Friendship

It amazes me how kind people are. Really. Sure there are crappy people out there, disgusting people, aggravating people, and pukes but usually it seems I find those people when I am in a real mood myself. I don't know why I come upon the real good people but I do and for that I am grateful.

When one lives here "forever" one just gets into a mode with blinders not realizing how many more people there are than just the same old that were there from school days. Mind you, nothing wrong with that crowd in the least however we just don't seem to see them around anymore. It seems funny to fall in with people that we have just met as if we have known them forever.

I think that is what blogging does, though. You read someone for so long you feel like you know them. People are sharing their "journals" with one another, sometimes writing what they wouldn't dare even say outloud, and it is a form of trust and a baring of soul which sometimes takes quite a while to take place in the "real" world seems to go faster in the blogsphere. There is an intimacy here which lends itself to coziness.

Sometimes, it seems, it can also lend itself to craziness. On some of the forums and message boards behaviors that you would rarely see and never excuse occurs on a regular basis. Name calling and the blame game, back and forth, back and forth. Who's fault is it now, who's fault could it be, should it be? Arg! So on and so forth until you grow bored with th whole topic.

My new bff is a delightful blogger who's daughter promptly sobbed because she thought she was being replaced! When I was meeting my bgf with my bff (okay, I borrowed that one!) my own twenty-somethings kept circling the building to make sure we weren't having too much "fun"! Too funny.

Friends are those people in your life that you choose. They are people who help you scratch those itchy places. You scratch theirs, they scratch yours and you all scratch together! Although forwards are not my favorite brand of communication one that made the rounds a while back I did appreciate and it went something like: A good friend is there to bail you out of jail, a best friend is sitting there next to you. I think everyone needs both kinds. I hope I learn how to be a better friend. I hope I am the kind of friend that if I'm not close enough to be sitting there next to my friend in jail at least I am the kind of friend who can raise the bail!

Gesundheit!

Ahhhhh-ahhhh-ahhh-ahhhhhhhhh-ahchooo! And so it goes on. My eyes itch, the back of my tongue itches. I play the rotating pill game because my body becomes immune to whatever it is I am currently taking if I am on it too long, or some nonsense. I hate anti-histamines because they make me have medicine head. I loathe medicine head!

My grandma name is Babika. 'Nother story, 'nother day. My 28 month old grandson is learning manners and spends his afternoons saying, "Bless you, 'bika! Bless you, 'bika! You want me blow your nose, 'bika? You be all better soon, 'bika! Mama says you not rub your eyes, 'bika, I telling!" Ah, yes, a two year old tattling on me! The wonders of living in a multi-generational family.

Today, not many families live with one another unless in dire straights. And, although there are days I want to pull out hair (and most of it not mine) I am intrigued with this process and in love with my family, which is quite ironic. We have four generations under one roof right now. The other day my daughter said, in a bit of a pique, "I'm twenty-five, I don't think I'm obligated to report to you where I'm going or when I'll be back!" My reply, I am sure, was kind and filled with the sage wisdom of an elder.

I remember the last time I felt as if I was not answerable to anyone and I remember distinctly what I was doing. When I am only accountable to myself, I don't know that I like myself. When I don't think about the ripple effect, when I just scratch whatever itches whenever it itches wherever it itches without scratching for someone else, I just end up feeling disgust. You only go around once, I sincerely believe. You meet people and the moments that occur with them once. There might be 525600 minutes in each year but they are each, distinctly, different minutes. We shouldn't waste them.

While none of those moments are anything to sneeze at, I wouldn't trade a single one of them away and miss the chance on hearing a tiny, voice clearly sing out with love, "Bless you, 'Bika!"

Observance of Ascension of Baha’u’llah

Baha'u'llah's ministry came to an end in 1892. He left to humanity a priceless heritage of spiritual and social teachings which He claimed would lead humanity to true and abiding peace. He endured decades of suffering in order to accomplish this mission. In His own words, He stated His motive for doing so:

"The Ancient Beauty hath consented to be bound with chains that mankind may be released from its bondage, and hath accepted to be made a prisoner within this most mighty Stronghold that the whole world may attain unto true liberty. He hath drained to its dregs the cup of sorrow, that all the peoples of the earth may attain unto abiding joy, and be filled with gladness. This is of the mercy of your Lord, the Compassionate, the Most Merciful. We have accepted to be abased, O believers in the Unity of God, that ye may be exalted, and have suffered manifold afflictions, that ye might prosper and flourish.

He Who hath come to build anew the whole world, behold, how they that have joined partners with God have forced Him to dwell within the most desolate of cities!"

Upon entering His presence historian E.G. Browne writes of the experience: "The face of him on whom I gazed I can never forget, though I cannot describe it. Those piercing eyes seemed to read one's very soul; power and authority sat on that ample brow.... No need to ask in whose presence I stood, as I bowed myself before one who is the object of a devotion and love which kings might envy and emperors sigh for in vain!"

A day of reflection for Baha'is everywhere. I can not describe to you what fills my heart now, it is beyond my ability to put into words. Love for you my friends, love for family. Aching sadness for the divisions everywhere. And such a deep ache of longing for that place in the picture above where I go in my mind's eye every day in meditation.

Prayers for courage for all to persevere.

O SON OF SPIRIT!
The best beloved of all things in My sight is Justice; turn not away therefrom if thou desirest Me, and neglect it not that I may confide in thee. By its aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor. Ponder this in thy heart; how it behooveth thee to be. Verily justice is My gift to thee and the sign of My loving-kindness. Set it then before thine eyes.

(Baha'u'llah, The Arabic Hidden Words)

Teamwork?

One of the problems I have with sharing my own life in writing is that it involves the sharing of other lives, often without their permission. At what point do I "own" the right to do that? At what point is it gossip? These thoughts do bother me. I try to write vaguely about my family, unless of course they are deceased (lol) and are thinking only the best about me and my intentions, anyways (grin).

Recently, one of the most precious gems in my life told a story in which I am decidedly the villain. Twenty-something angst? Who knows, maybe I am a bit of a villain, which of us are pure? But for the first time in my life someone I deeply care about has a decidedly negative viewpoint of me and our relationship. It hurts for now though I know we will get past it.

So, how to tell one's stories? I am going to share something in which I will use first names. I do apologise ahead of time if I offend and people are welcome to start or add to their own blogs for their side of the story!

My teen job wasn't the typical one. No fast food restuarant, wait tables or maid work. My paper route and babysitting days were behind me (WOW, those stories maybe later). My first, take taxes out, job was as a "gym supervisor". I "watched" the gym in the evenings up at Astoria Junior High (now middle school) as adults cavorted through basketball for half of the year and volley ball the other half of the year with a three month break for softball, at which time I umpired the youth leagues.

It was here that I learned who was "running" my city and my county. They were really a hairy group of people, men and women alike! I saw the teams that "worked" versus the teams that didn't. The ones that had a great time just being together and the ones that were only together for the win. Yeah, they were the elite and nobody could touch them, but then again no one wanted to!

From watching these teams work with and against one another I went on to coach three sports for a combined total of 27 seasons. Some winning, some loosing. I spoke the hype. TEAMWORK! And it is about teamwork. Teaching people to recognize who the leader is, teaching the leader to work with their team, teaching the team to follow the leader and protect the leader. One of the reasons why certain people fight to keep sports in schools. I homeschooled. I do not coach any more. Only one of my children was ever involved in sports. Another time, another post.

At the gym I was fifteen years old and one of my "idols" was a young man recently out of university and paying off his student loans by taking on every refereeing job he could get. To his horror he ended up often refereeing with a rather swarthy man whose shirt was open down to his navel so he could display his chest that often had a small silver spoon entangled in the coarse hairs!

During time outs the young man would sit on the score table and talk with me as I ran the clock and score book, telling me about his goal to become the district attorney, to "clean up" the messes created by ... and a gesture at his refereeing partner . I would talk about my dreams and goals. He influenced my decision to take Latin in high school and as many other courses as Astoria had to prepare me for the future I thought I wanted. He was remarkable. It was 1977 and he was going places and I could always proudly say I knew him when. If I planned it right, just as I finished university I might have a place to work.

About a decade later the goals had dramatically changed for me. I had already had a divorce, two children and Hodgkin's Disease. The young man had indeed become the district attorney and my heart had been broken with many of the decisions he had made, jading me towards the legal profession. When I have had the time to reflect on it, I wonder if he even remembers that teenage girl who he helped plan high school courses with or if he cares how the decisions he made as a District Attorney influenced her life?

Then I think, how many lives around me have I influenced or affected? Do the decisions I make, however much I think are my own business, ripple out to many? Or, am I just a bit player in someone else's drama? Am I a leader or a follower? Don't the actions of the followers often outweigh those of the leaders? There's more of them.

There, I did it without a single name. I just bet no one could figure anyone out, either! (snicker)

Hard working mama!

All day today I have been writing tonight's post in my head and now that I am sitting here, nada! Where did the brilliant idea go, that beautiful turn of phrase, that perfect description that everyone is waiting breathlessly for me to reveal? Chasing it around, peeking in each corner of my mind and all I find are cobwebs and a few, ewwww, hairy spiders!

Tonight I am off to Shrek with daughter #3. We have just finished cleaning up the mess of painting half of the outside of the house, the paint sprayer taking the longest to clean and clean and clean. Thank-you, carmel, for the use of the sprayer! I am tired, in a good way. The house is now a sage color, emanating the wisdom of the people who reside inside. HAHAHA!

This afternoon I had coffee with two of my favorite bloggers. We have almost worked out details of the caper of the century, to reclaim the tape of my triple toe axle from the vaults of ABS, where it is being held so THEY can claim the $100,000 super prize for America's funniest home video. You do realize, of course, that my idea of doing a triple toe axle, while skating eloquently over shimmering paint, will most likely look like someone else flopping about unceremoniously, quite like a fish out of water!

Talking about that and painting this afternoon brought back the pain in my butt. Tonight's movie and later a soak in the spa will be nice. So, what was it that I was going to write about, anyways? Oh, I'll remember it later ... right in the middle of ... the MOVIE~!

Ahhhh ... So Nice!

This is my dream of a good place to soak in a hot tub

FINALLY! The NuWave heating element arrived for the spa. We have been without almost one month. I can't believe how long it has taken for us to track down the part, and this is even with me keeping everything together in one spot!

I took the owners manual apart and slipped each page into sheet protectors so we could read it by the spa if we needed to (like when we empty and refill it to clean it, etc...) and put it all in a binder. In the side pockets I keep the purchase order, the receipt and the warranty. See, I was being quite responsible!

And it still took two week to track down the element and another two weeks for the right one to come. Luckily for us we have a friend to advise us on how to install it. In turn we exchanged Kona coffee and computer advice with him! My sister, Daintry, lives in Hawaii and visits the NW often so we have a regular supply of Kona if we desire. A good exchange, its nice having neighbors with talents different than yours. It just seems that the more tools to exchange in the neighborhood make for a more diverse, colorful and interesting place to live. And, in most cases, helpful too!

The spa is not just a luxury or toy. Between the Parkinson's Disease that is Dad's bane to bear and the  natural aging process that is all of ours to bear the spa is almost a necessity and with the most recent acrobatic performance in Astoria Builders Supply it surely is one of the most needed tools in our household at this time!

We head for Portland today so Dad can see a Physical Therapist about his balance issues due to Parkinsons. He has taken some pretty serious tumbles lately because of leaning forward too far, a common occurance w/Parkinsons. This trip is going to be painful for the both of us. My back is still hurting and Dad's legs ache after just half an hour in the car.

Ahhhhh the spa tonight, under a clear sky! Sooooo nice of a thing to look forward to.

OUCH!

See yesterday's post if you need further clarification.

Pride goeth before the fall

When you read the paper tomorrow and think you've seen me before only I was driving through town with green hair, wrapped in a plastic, see-through shroud ... yeah, that was me.

Today, I woke up with a pounding headache. A dozen things happen and I keep forgetting to take Excedrin for Migraines which is the only thing that seems to work. Anyhow, 11:30 am finds me still in jammies and a robe and I am stripping 25 years of polyurethane off of a cupboard door when I suddenly remember a letter I HAVE to overnight. CRAP!

I rush to the bedroom and jump into clothes. I yank a comb through my hair and rush out the door to the post office. I finally make it to the front of the quarter mile long line only to find out that I have filled out the form wrong (actually grabbed the wrong one) and so must stand to the side and fill out the right one. When I finish, again, the lady says sorry she's going to lunch and directs me over to the other window and of course that person who I am behind is mailing fifty billion boxes to Kookamonga.

As I leave the building, maybe slightly muttering, a woman stops me. Will you comment for Daily Astorian's something or other column? I look at her stunned. My head is still pounding. I blame what happens next on the pain. She says, "It won't hurt, it is a painless question!" So, okay, what harm? "Were you ready for the pay increase in the postage stamp?" I respond, "Yes, and I blame it all on the District Attorney, Josh Marquis!"



No! Of course I didn't say that. I only wrote that for the hits when people google his name. I actually muttered something equally stupid. "Yes, I was ready." Because I was thinking she meant mentally prepared. See, that's how my mind works. I was mentally prepared. I just wasn't physically, in the sense of the boyscout motto, prepared. So then I hastily added, "I was just lazy." Now, since people who are going to read that in the paper weren't in my head going through the thought process with me they are going to read my comments and say, "What a moron. Who do they pick to answer these questions? Why didn't she comb her hair. Why didn't she just say no when the reporter asked her to respond to a question?" Whenever I see people in the paper with their hair disarrayed saying stupid things I think, "Why did they let that happen?" Well, because we are morons who can't say no.

She says, "Can I get your name?" Honest to God, this time, I replied, "Esmeralda" and she wrote it down. I almost went ahead and finished it with "Smith" but I couldn't. I said, "No, that was a joke!" She wasn't amused. I sighed and told her Carrie and spelled it for her. She then asked my last name. I paused big time. She said, "WELL?" I am thinking, maiden name? Married name? Grandmother's maiden name? "WELLL?" Fine, and I tell her the dang TRUTH! ARG! I am an idiot! She's probably going to use the crappy full body shot now. Like the head shot was any prize. Hair blown all over the place, standing in line balancing my mail from the PO box and writing out the forms, head pounding, no make-up. ACK! End of my day of idiocy? Oh, hell no!

I go to my next stop, Astoria Builders Supply to get more paint. They want $110 for a five gallon can of eggshell exterior latex. I am not going to pay that. Well, the nice man tells me that they do have rejects that might be cheaper. We go out to the warehouse and there is five gallons of grey exterior for $25. I'll take it. I also take 1 gallon of green and 1 quart of light green. I think, I am so friggin brilliant I'll just mix this with the four gallons I have at home and come up with a phenomenal color that no one else in the neighborhood has (or probably wants). As the man is shaking it up I finish picking out the rest of the items on my list and go to the front check out where the hand truck with the paint is waiting for me. A different clerk rings me up and I pay. There is a line of people behind me and the clerk calls for customer service. The man that helped me pick out the paint comes up front to help out. At first I thought he was going to help me and so I stand to the side of the hand truck but he goes over to the other check out stand. I think no big deal, I can handle it and announce, "I'll just take this."

Now, I have been around hand trucks most of my life. My father was a "van foreman" and my parents owned City Transfer and Storage, agents for Allied Van Lines. "Skin grows back, wood doesn't" was the family motto. I can pack a storage unit so tight that if you removed the unit the boxes would still be in perfect place. Consequently, I put my foot on the bottom and expertly flip the truck back. In one hand I had the handle of the hand truck, in the other my purse and the bag with the rest of my purchases. In one FLUID motion the top quart of paint flew up into the air, landing just under my foot, lid off, the paint following in a rainbow arc. I completed my stepping down motion which flipped the can, spilling the rest of the paint onto the ground. I then skated through the paint and proceeded to do a triple toe axle, landing on my back and coming to a spinning finish with a paint angel. TAH-DAAAA!

I hopped up as quickly as my body would allow with the assistance of a rather startled young man who had been watching the performance from behind me. There was dead silence as everyone just stared at me. "Are you okay?" both of the clerks blurted at once. "Yes, yes. I'm fine, just fine!" When I related this to my son he said it reminded him of a bit from Dane Cook's latest cd, Retaliation, where the guy just got struck by a vehicle and when everyone asks him how he is he replies, "Fine, I'm fine. Has anyone seen my shoes? I just kicked them off in a fit of joy!"

There didn't seem much I could do to save my dignity, really, so I just started laughing. A few joined in with me. A few acted as if they didn't see it happen. How do you not see that happen? A butterball just did a triple axel followed by a backflip in a pool of green paint at the checkout stand and finished it off with a paint angel! It was beautiful. I wish to God I had been watching it!

One lady said, "Oh, thank God your laughing because that was the funniest damn thing I ever saw! If someone had only gotten that on tape you'd win America's funniest home videos." The clerk who had not yet even cracked a smile and was somberly mopping me and the floor up with a few blue shop towels motioned up to the security camera, "Oh, we got it ALL on tape!" The lady was excited to close the deal, "See, you've got it made, you won't have to paint your own house again for a long time!" I hastily reply, "My dignity is worth a hell of a lot more than $25,000. I will never sign a release form. No one ever sees that tape. I want it mailed to me." The clerk, who never laughed and had expressed only concern so far replied, with total seriousness, "I think we'll be watching that in the break room for quite a long time."

The mess was too big to wipe up with the roll of blue shop towels leaving me with the remaining option of being wrapped in plastic to keep the car clean while quickly driving home with my green hair covering my red face.

SIGH! And I was worried about what picture Tryan might post? If I see this on YouTube I will cry. Otherwise, I guess there's not a whole lot one can do but laugh. Oh my aching head and butt!

Vote YES For Clatsop Community College

We need a new college. We have needed one for a long, long time. Our college is, literally, falling down around peoples' heads. Potential faculty take one look and say, 'No, thank-you, they don't care about their school and they sure won't care about giving me a pay increase in a few years!"

The benefits of a beautiful college on a beautiful site with beautiful facilities surrounding it (library, performing arts building, graphic arts, technical trades, musical, sports complex) is something the whole county can enjoy whether or not the people are taking classes. The buildings can be used for various meetings as well and the other schools can use the sports complex.

Wireless! Please! For all throughout the county where our hills don't impede or they can have relay stations. A sports complex that can be used year round so our kids have a healthy alternative to drugs and alcohol. The adults too, for that matter. More business classes so the entrepreneurs have a healthy alternative, again, to drug dealing.

We NEED fifty percent of the county to get out there and vote or it doesn't even matter if the yesses are the majority. If fifty percent of the voters don't vote it doesn't count. Today Katrina said someone came into the library and said they were deliberately witholding their ballot because they want to vote no but had heard the vote was so close that the nos should just not vote because they had a better chance of not making the fifty percent requirement than making sure that there were enough nos to defeat the bond! So, that also means the port race loses, too! What are people thinking? I guess whatever it takes to "win"?

Hmmmm, Is someone trying to tell me something?

Are someones trying to (or trying not to) tell me that me writing stinks?

Now watch, Tryan will finally update the photo page on the blog role for NorthCoastOregon.com. LOL! Serve me right for the poor me no comment blues!

Roadside "Assistance"

I ran up the highway to my sister's in Bellevue to get our mother the other day, it took me 10 hours one way. We are sharing her of late. My sister is moving and I am trying to. At the rate I am going, though, maybe my grandchildren will be having their children here. ACK!


Ten hours one way! Me, lead foot. Ask me why, go ahead, I won't bite your head off. Its hailing off and on and I know its going to be a slooooow trip so I decide I want to listen to a movie on the way up. The DVD player in the backseat so I won't get a ticket but I can't hear the volume so I stop to get speakers. I purchase said speakers and they don't do anything except whisper on two sides of me instead of straight down the middle. Okay, I try the head phones that came with the thing. Still can't hear. Crap. Okay, radio. Crappy radio, however I have already spent an hour in the parking lot in Longview. I get more coffee. Now I am on my second or fourth coffee and I have to pull over, again, to, will, purge it. So I pull off once, twice and again in Centralia. In Centralia at the factory outlets I somehow get turned around and go down a side road before getting back on track and back on the freeway.

I am buzzing along when WHAM my wheel starts tugging back and forth, like something has become wrapped around the tires. I can't figure out what is happening. The driver next to me is pointing at my tire. A frigging blow out! Since I am using my father's blazer for this adventure (I am bringing back a garden wagon and a cover for his hot tub) I know he has roadside protection for his brand new tires from Les Schwab in Warrenton so I call them.

Me: "Hello, I have new tires purchased from you guys and one of them have blown out and I'm stuck alongside the highway. Do you have any suggestions?" I was thinking they would tell me which of their affiliates I could call. Sue, their rep on the phone: "I suggest you call your roadside assistance program, triple A or whatever." Me: "What? OH! But is says in this contract that you provide roadside repairs" Sue:"No, it says we provide repairs on tires for roadside wear, AFTER you bring it to us." Me: "Okay, thank-you anyways." I call my dad and tell him what happened. He is livid. Dad: "I bought from Les Schwab INSTEAD of Costco because Les Schwab has ROADSIDE assistance at the road. Costco repairs tires that you bring to them as well." So he calls Les Schwab and gives them an ear full. Meanwhile I call my mother in Bellevue and get Centralia Les Schwab's phone number.

Me: " Hello, I have four brand new Lew Schwab tires and one of them have blown. I am alongside the highway right under the roadsign for Tenino. What can you do for me?" Centralia Les Schwab: "We can send out a repairman right away to put your spare on, bring you into the shop, repair the blown tire and put it back on for you. How is that?" Me: "That would be great." So I sit back and watch my movie for a few minutes. Not even 15 minutes later the Centralia Les Schwab man is there. He puts on my spare and I follow him in. A half hour later I am at the counter getting my keys back and a bill. WHAT? A road service charge. Yes ma'am, the customer service person was supposed to tell me there was a charge of $86.50 charge for service calls made on the the highway. Me: " I HAVE Triple A." THEM: "I am sorry, ma'am. You should have been told and given the option however it is the price." He still has my keys. I weigh my options. I shake my head and give him my debit card. Me: "You know, I have triple A and we could have bought from Costco." HIM: " I know ma'am. The service rep should have told you and given you a choice."

So, I am helping to give you a choice. $86 buys you ONE trip to Les Schwab. OR $86 buys you and one other person in your family a year's subscription to Triple A where you can each have four assists a year and then pay just $25 for each incident after that. Plus get discounts on auto insurance and reservations for trips and hotels and motels. Then, purchase your tires at COSTCO! COSTCO! COSTCO! Les Schwab bad, Costco good. If you want people to buy local, you have to give them a reason to do so. If I am not going to get better service or better care from the supposedly locally owned store and its cheaper from the "big box" especially when I am always treated nicer in the tire department at the "big box" then the "big box" gets my business.

I then hit rush hour. Happy? Not!

Spackle, Spackle, Spackle

My back hurts! My butt hurts! The back of my thighs hurt! This would start sounding kinky if it weren't about that filthy activity of SPACKLING! How I detest, loathe and just plain ole hate it!

I always look for short cuts when I do household maintenance and it is stupid because there is no such thing. Whenever you short cut you pay for it and it takes twice as long to undue, especially where spackle is concerned. It hardens and if you were too darn lazy to make sure and apply it evenly, -say, for instance you couldn't find the spackle spatula and so you used the paint stir stick - scraping off the residual, you are left with hardened "wrinkles" that now must be sanded off. If you sand too much you must spackle again to even it all and where did the damn spatula go? Oh, never mind, I'll just use the paint stick.

Standing on a ladder spackling the holes in the ceiling (another story, another day) as my arms grow weary and sore, I try to take my mind off of what I am doing and think of other things. The spackle starts flinging it glops before it dawns on me that angry thoughts and spackling upside down don't really go together!

Glop, glop, glop! I can't wait for this project to be OVER! Sell, sell, sell! I want this house to sell so we can move, move, move and Bart and I can travel, travel, travel! Mmmmmm, mediterranean, much nicer thoughts to spackle by.

Take that GOOGLE

Okay, so, when you accept freebies you have to accept what you are paying for. I type into the search engine, "curry" because I want a recipe for a curry dish. Up pops:

Google
Error

We're sorry...

... but your query looks similar to automated requests from a computer virus or spyware application. To protect our users, we can't process your request right now.

We'll restore your access as quickly as possible, so try again soon. In the meantime, if you suspect that your computer or network has been infected, you might want to run a virus checker or spyware remover to make sure that your systems are free of viruses and other spurious software.

We apologize for the inconvenience, and hope we'll see you again on Google.

WHAT? "Curry" looks like a query similiar to an automated request from a computer virus? BULL! You, google, are pissed because I am using Mozilla and I have it set to NEVER accept cookies from google.

In order to publish on my blog I have to accept cookies. I have internet explorer set to accept google's cookies. As soon as I am done with my blog post explorer is turned off and I am back on Mozilla with my browser set at NEVER ACCEPTING GOOGLE COOKIES!

(Slight snort with satisfaction)

That feels good.

Believing

A friend's post on his blog mentions preconceived ideas that many people have of what believers believe. What I believe differs vastly, sometimes even with fellow Baha'is, from many believers. The reason for this is because we each "hear" differently as we all can see from reading one another's blogs, from reading the news, from reading a book. We interpret even the most "obvious" things completely differently.

Take the remark "a woman without her man is nothing". Outragous as it stands, but is this how it was said or meant? What about, "A woman: without her, man is nothing." Back in the day when oral tradition reigned how many things were passed down that were changed in the interpretation, in the inflection, the tone, the syntax?

When we think about who was writing down the oral stories of that time and place we can understand how these men would have a hard time believing many of the things they were being told. To change an inflection would have been relatively easy, especially if you have one superpower telling you to come up with one "true" book to read and follow. You can also understand the inclination to try to make one set of books the authorative one when you have hundreds of small booklets running around with thousands of sentences with millions of punctuation marks changing the meaning of a sentence.

Even in the languages that didn't use punctuation inflection is [was] used and when interpreted from oral to written would reflect the transcriber's idea, reflecting his prejudices and predilictions, of what was meant. Interesting that much of it was done by men, in self-imposed segregation.

Try writing an idea that you think is self evident and play with the punctuation. Say something to someone in one tone, say the exact same thing to someone else using a different tone. What are the results?

Now, write something meant for all the cultures of all the people of the world. For those words to have a chance of being interpreted correctly and with the highest regard for the most people it has to start with a common foundation. For many, it is with belief.

Natahlia Woods

Blessed is the Spot, Baha'i prayer chanted

Riverfront Homesteaded Property for sale

Lately so much happening. WE are selling our HOUSE. It has been a royal pain, even though the land it sets on has been in the family since President Grant deeded it over in the late 1860s the house itself has done nothing but cause problems since it started to be built in the 1970s and the first contractor took the money and absconded with it! Since then it has done nothing but cause one family member or another grief and now we are done!

I know the next door neighbor is asking for $385,000 for his 4 bedroom one and half bath house but he has been doing EXTENSIVE work on it. It also happens to be one of the family's old homes. That house happens to have been built by grandfather, Everett Bartoldus, with his own two hands and a bit of help from his brothers. My grandmother sold it about 10 years after he died w/o telling any family. An odd woman but probably, knowing family, she just didn't want to deal. Anyhow, the family there now has torn out the pond my grandfather put in, torn down the retaining wall he and my father gathered rocks for, and ripped out all of the trees that were keeping the bank from falling onto highway 202. They also put in the original driveway joining it to the old driveway and making a private cul-de-sac. They have finished the basement and added a nice patio and have one outbuilding. It sets on just about 3/4 acre of land on the Walluski River.

Our house is five bedrooms, one and half baths, 1440 sq ft. A patio, and no outbuildings on .91 acre OVERLOOKING the same river. The slip of wetland, with old pilings for a possible dock, is a seperate tax lot and available for purchase but not part of the house deal. About 1/4 of the house needs its trim finished along with transition strips joining the lamenant floorings where we tore out the ugly, ugly carpet. I don't want to do much more. I am thinking about posting on craig's list and starting at about $279,999 and stating renovations have not yet started. Once renovations start, price goes up.

I just want to be done here and moved back up the hill to our property there so we can work on building our home. We are getting conflicting views on this and for the most part are loathe to call in a realtor. In the past we have been BURNED by realtors and mortgage brokers. Paying alot and receiving nothing, not even protection when a mortgage provider lost my dad's escrow account even though the mortgage broker was paid, oh blah, blah, blah!

I think I may start a blog with the house and its starting price and then how the price increases with each renovation. Bathrooms painted, lamenant flooring installed, price up $5,000. Kitchen cabinets painted, ceiling light styles changed (we have some inherited UGLY ones up now). Price up $5,000. Paint the outside, up $5000. Install shower, up $10,000 (plumbing ready for that, except drain will be a bit more difficult).

I am done with this project before I am started. Now that we have decided not to refinance I just want to be gone. SIGH [dramatically] nothing ever goes the way I want it to! AND IT KEEPS RAINING, making it hard to do outdoor stuff. Today I am supposed to be doing the kitchen light fixture. Instead I am looking for a way to sell cheaper but be out quicker! Accepting ideas. Oh, if you want to buy the house, it might be haunted (spectre sighted by some in the hallway, not me), you would be only the second family to own the property since settlers came to the area, and you could have river front with the possibility of a dock.

Ruhi Book 3

Bart and I are facilitators for those who want to teach Baha'i Children's Classes. I really, really like this course. It is one of the courses we took back in 1992 or '93 when we were contemplating and then began homeschooling. Why? Because it doesn't so much teach curriculum (although it does have outlines for 15 lesson plans) but because it teaches the attitude that the teacher is required to have before, during and after teaching children.

We are to teach the children how to teach themselves. How to mine for the gems, within. The teacher should not be attached to the outcome of the lesson. Did the child learn the quotation by the time they return to class the next week? What does it matter to the teacher? It should only matter in the context of teaching the child how to memorize and what the child gets out of the accomplishment. The teacher shouldn't judge themselves on the child's abilities or accomplishments, neither postive or negative because both of these are purely subjective.

If the child easily memorizes the quote but is terrorizing the kids when out playing what difference did the memorization do? If the child is terrorizing the other kids outdoors, shouldn't the teacher know the homelife BEFORE deciding on appropriate response? Yes, stop the negative behavior and protect the rest of the children but before the blaming and naming game begins find out what the child is reacting to. Is it a selfish nature? Use the selfishness to show a postive side of selfishness, like working with the rest of the kids to get something done because it means a treat for everyone, and therefore the child, when the task is accomplished. Don't deny that negative appearing traits exist, train child to use what is perceived as negative to a have postive outcome.

Detachment from the outcome, that is the teacher of a Baha'i children's class teacher. The good and the bad. Pride in the child's accomplishment for the sake of the child, not because the teacher was the one to guide the way. The Baha'i children's teacher can expect to be with the same group of children for a few years because it is neighborhood classes, around the kitchen table, so the teacher should be fairly familiar of the child's homelife as well as culture, etc ...

O My Lord! O my Lord!
I am a child of tender years. Nourish me from the breast of Thy mercy, train me in the bosom of Thy love, educate me in the school of Thy guidance and develop me under the shadow of Thy bounty. Deliver me from darkness, make me a brilliant light; free me from unhappiness, make me a flower of the rose garden; suffer me to become a servant of Thy threshold and confer upon me the disposition and nature of the righteous; make me a cause of bounty to the human world, and crown my head with the diadem of eternal life.
Verily, Thou art the Powerful, the Mighty, the Seer, the Hearer.
- 'Abdu'l-Bahá
(Compilations, Baha'i Prayers, p. 36)

Tarabithia ALERT SPOILER!

Tarabithia hurt! And you know why? It didn't invest enough time with me to hit me like that. I felt betrayed and cheated. Expecting this retreat to a magical world instead I get kid angst, dealing with bullies and why they bully and then an emotional heart bang that was unexpected, unneeded and unearned! Sucky!

I loved our "Tarabithia." We called it? What, what did we call it all those years ago? It was up behind Shaner's old mansion on twentieth and Irving and probably incorporated a, what had to be at one time astounding, huge garden. Out of the ground would emerge a cement arm, or urn or basin. Steps that led to nowhere. Pieces of fountain were scattered. Hard, condensced bushes took on vague animal shapes. It was our world and we deeply resented it when, in our play, our world collided with lost adults as the wound their way from Cathedral Tree to the Astor Column, inevitably getting lost in the spider web of trails we knew like the back of our hands.

We would scream in delighted terror that a predator had entered our mists! Alert, alert! Hide the goods (candies, twinkies and such stolen from mothers' cubbards for fathers' lunches) flee into the thickets and brambles! "Wait, wait!" the lost adult would wail, "I'm not going to hurt you! Come back, please, come back!" Will, of course that meant he was going to hurt us! What troll tells the truth?

The adult would stomp away, muttering and swearing, words we quickly stored away and tried out on one another outside of the ears of our parental guards. One time, as we played, a man with an overgrown beard and dishevilled hair suddenly emerged and yelped, "HELP ME! I LOST! NO ENGLISH!" We were so startled, we couldn't even move. He stared at us and we stared at him, hearts racing sure we were about to be murdered by a crazed, long lost logger from the first Norwegians, or maybe a Viking, that had come to the area. Finally, it dawned on us that unless we showed him the way out he would be here forever, waiting to pounce, killing us off one by one! We led him down out of the woods and he called his thanks as he hastily made his way off the hill.

With one of our neighbors being the locally infamous Roger Miller, whose poor wife often invited us in to play in their childless home and baked us all birthday cakes, another being a doctor of questionable ethics, and the inevitible neighbor of nefarious means of making a living (it was the seventies, think about it) predators did, indeed abound. Of my own knowledge, none of these true to life boogey men "got" any of us children. One of my playmates is now in prison while another is a police officer. I wonder how that kind of thing happens? The prison inmate being a kind, compassionate child, always looking out for the youngest on our adventures in the "wild." The police officer forever taking his toys and running home whenever the game ceased going his way! As adults did they meet one another in their line of work? Did they look into one anothers' eyes and say, "Remember when we created magic together? When did our ways part?"

I loved our "Tarabithia." A magical world and time when I could do anything, be anything! Magic was not only possible nothing was possible without it. A beautiful world that we saw, I thought, together. I wonder now what others saw in Shaner's old delapitated garden?

Ayyam-i-Ha Surprise

Later, I will take a picture of the laptop I have been using for the last few months, loosing keys, bit by bit like an old crone slowly going toothless but still willing to gum her food, just to get out few juicy bits before finally giving over and dying.

So, here it is. My inspiron e1505 and I can honestly say that I was soooo taken by surprise I sat down and sobbed. Yes, I hinted, whined and cajoled but with not one single indication in sight that I was being listened to I had thrown in the towel. Then, the tax man cameth and spitteth in my faceth. I knew then that I would have to wait a good long time for a new laptop and I just didn't see how that the old one would last. My PC was oooollld and stuffed w/photos and programs and papers and clutter and so forth. Spring cleaning was going to suuuuck!

Then, my mommy came home for Ayyam-i-Ha! And we drew names. And my mommy picked my name. And there is a $30 limit. And everyone knows my mom hates limits. And my mom drew my name and ignored the limit and I got a new laptop.

I am so obnoxious right now I can hardly stand myself. I have a new laptop, I have a new laptop, I have a new laptop! Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahahaha-hahaha!

Now, to try to transfer EVERYTHING from the old computer. For those of you who know me you know what an INTENSE project that is. I LIVE through research via my computer. Teaching via the computer, taking classes via the computer. I am the website manager of our local Baha'i Community as well as Twowings Learning Center our family's social and economic development project. I also have our family website and Bart and my pilgrimage website. Then, random files as the secretary of the Spiritual Assembly of the Clatsop County Baha'is, files from the Parkinson's Resources' Support Group, files from stories I am working on, etc, etc, etc...

Whine, whine~ Grin! I think there is an information cable so I can transfer directly from the old laptop to this one. I am glad for this kind of "trouble" to be "bothered" with. Nice stuff to be bothered with, eh?

Baha'i Ayyam-i-Ha. The time of year that you gift those you may have been overlooking during the year. An opportunity to thank your near and dear as well as do acts of charity in their name. Thank-you Mom! May I be able to gift each of my daughters, similarly, during a year when ... well ... just when they really need something like this. Thank-you!

Auntie's Questions Birth More

At Auntie L's blog she links to her hero who she thinks is also a real cool guy. I think the guy is pretty cool, too. Although, God knows, we have had our differences over the years and will have them in the future, all in all what makes him pretty remarkable is that he attended public school, yet it never prevented him from not only asking questions but asking whatever questions he feels needs to be asked.

Ban the CAM and instead have each 16 year old make a list of 20 questions he still doesn't know the answers to but thinks he should in order to have a productive life. When he finds the answer to those 20 questions then he has graduated high school and can start college/university or vo-tech school.

Self-motivated learning, keeps them involved, its their life let them pick the questions that matter to them. I think one of the reason's why there are question askers among the publickers (what we call those who remain in the public school system) is they're the ones that maybe they were skippers, tokers, drinkers or daydreamers. Whatever, they weren't paying attention when others were being told which questions they were permitted to ask, which they weren't and when it was appropriate to ask them. Consequentially, they thought they could make their own decisions, take chances on sticking their foot in their mouth and plow ahead! Really ticks some people off, this propensity to ask questions without proper authorization. It could be dangerous to one's health so note the advisory before continuing to do so.

For 2005 the graduation rates are: Astoria 77%; Knappa 85.7%; Jewell has an 84.6; Seaside 95.3%; Vernonia 82%; and Warrenton 84%.

Phenomenal Women

Maya Angelou, of course, in my book a phenomenal woman. Her poetry I began reading when I was in seventh or eighth grade after I read her book, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. A few grades later, as a sophmore in high school, a teacher sucked that love out of me. A Ms. Snyder taught me to sneer at poetry. She showed that there "really" was only one way to appreciate poems and that was to "understand" them as she did. I dutifully regurgitated what she taught, got an "A" in her class (yes, I still have the poetry journal with the "A" in it) and because back then hadn't yet learned the proper way to express dismay at authority, promptly cut off my own nose to spite my face and refused to enjoy poetry for decades.

Fishing through a box of books I came upon, And Still I Rise. OH! I know this friend! And I began to read, devouring line by line.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

This imagery fills me with so much.

From Momma Welfare Rolls:
Too fat to whore,
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for
Her portion.
'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'

I like that! I may have a lot of problems with the state and welfare system, but I like this woman going for what she figures is her due. Why is it her due? Because ...
and because ... and because ...

Then from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings:

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Powerful poem from a woman who can make you feel a part of her life, of her race, of her pain. And finally, if you try hard enough, you can feel a part of her sex and beauty:

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Maya Angelou

I am stronger for having read these words. I am nobler for having known her life. A part of her became a part of me, making me a better person.

Holding ourselves back

From the moment I remember "being," I remember the stories of how our families, on both sides, must pay for our heritage homelands’ roles in WWII. My father’s family is Prussian which was absorbed into Germany. He was raised, mostly, by his grandmother, with the help of some beloved nannies. She lost all three of her sons within three years of one another, and she said it was God’s punishment. He would punish those who should have done something about Hitler, especially the Germans. That sense of debt, of owing humanity goes deep into you. On the maternal side my grandmother’s maiden name is Canaris. None of her brothers were allowed to fight against the Germans because they were related to Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of "the" SS, until he was caught as a double agent trying to kill Hitler. My great-uncles were sent to fight against the Japanese in WWII. Yet, right this moment my brother sits in a family room in Japan with his wife, Takako, and their daughters, Ruriko and Suyeri. My great-uncles were ashamed that their cousin was unable to kill Hitler, and the family owed a debt to society for that failure.
In recognizing that failing these people raised up a generation of children who now are relatives to all those who were once thought people to be conquered or subdued. My cousins are Carribean Indians from the Dominican Republic. I have stood next to them as they were called nigger. I have cousins who are the Indians who are being shot at as they try to exercise their right to fish. I have cousins who are the Japanese who wonder how we just stood there and let the government take other Americans land just because their eyes looked different. I have children who are Hispanic and wonder why we allowed their grandparents to be kidnapped and railroaded into a native country. I have cousins who are not only Jewish but every single one of God’s religions.

To understand the feelings that each minority race, tradition or religion has gone through is beyond our ability to empathize. What we can do is acknowledge the pain that has been suffered is pain suffered on behalf of all of humanity, on behalf of each us, in the painful process of rebirth into a global civilization.

When we become we, is when we well have truly progressed. When the Japanese internment camps become our collective acknowledged shame; when the Holocaust becomes our collective acknowledged horror, when the annihilation of the Indians becomes our colective anger, when the acknowledgement of the economic sacrifice of the African slaves becomes our dearest wish for reparation then we will recognize we are one humanity, with lots of differences, incredible and wonderful and intense, differences.

But, for now, we are nowhere near sharing the suffering and the pain. Some of the people who are suffering right now for their cultures/religions that have been the subject of severe discriminatory practices are the Bahá'ís in Iran, where a program of extermination has been ordered by the government. Bahá'ís are not allowed to marry, own property, go to school or have jobs in most sectors. The reason for this is that the Iranian Government regards the Bahá'í Faith as a misguided or wayward Islamic sect with a political orientation that is antagonistic to the Iranian revolution. However, Bahá'ís view themselves as an independent religion with origins in the Shi'ite Islamic tradition. Apostasy, specifically conversion from Islam, can be punishable by death. Bahá'ís are considered apostates because of their claim to a valid religious revelation subsequent to that of Mohammed, despite the fact that Bahá'ís do not consider themselves to be Muslim. The Bahá'í Faith is defined by the Iranian government as a political "sect," linked to the Shah’s regime and, therefore, counterrevolutionary. All of this is according to a report compiled by our own government. In 1993 the UNSR reported the existence of an Iranian government policy directive pertaining to the Bahá'ís. The directive lays out the design for the Supreme Revolutionary Council, who instructed government agencies to block the progress and development of the Baha'i community; expel Baha'i students from universities; cut Bahá'í links with groups outside the country; restrict employment of Bahá'ís, and deny Bahá'ís "positions of influence," including in education. The report also stated that Bahá'ís must be expelled from universities, either in the admission process or during the course of their studies, once it becomes known that they are Bahá'ís. They may not teach or practice their faith or maintain links with co-religionists abroad. The fact that the Bahá'í world headquarters (established by the founder of the Baha'i Faith in the 19th century, in what was then Ottoman-controlled Palestine) is situated in what is now the state of Israel, exposes Bahá'ís to government charges of "espionage on behalf of Zionism," in particular when caught communicating with or sending monetary contributions to the Baha'i headquarters. The Iranian government is persistent that until the Bahá'ís have been annihilated and all traces of the Faith obliterated from the land they will not stop with their ongoing harassment of the religion.

The Human Rights Watch have reported that in China the government has persuaded the Bush administration that a little known Uighur exile group, the East Turkistan Islamic Movement, was responsible for terrorist acts and belonged on America's list of leading terrorist threats. The isolated terrorist acts have been used to justify a wholesale crackdown on its Uighur Muslim population, including intensive political vetting of imams, surveillance inside mosques and screening of literature and poetry for even vague hints of dissent.

The Somali Bantu are descended from six African tribes and in the 1700's and 1800's Arab slave traders armed with muskets and whips plundered these regions. These slave traders captured untold numbers of men, women, and children to be sold on the Zanzibar slave market and shipped to the Persian Gulf and the Middle East. The few Somali Bantu now left have been driven away from Africa entirely because of the persecution and violence. Returning to Somalia with any reasonable expectation of a life of freedom and security is not possible.

There are countless others throughout the world. On every continent, almost every country has a group of people that they have chosen to arbitrarily persecute, giving everyone someone on whom to blame the problems of society.

While we are progressing to some degrees, in that we are able to watch ourselves and acknowledge these follies, until we are able to accept the fact that we are all one race, the human race and the people that we are harassing and harming, is us we will make little steps forward only to be dragged back, over and over, like an elastic band snagged on the nail of prejudice.

Tribal Lands:Doing What's Right and Figuring Out What That Means

There are two sides to every story, so the saying goes, so I sift through the story of the Klamath Indians wishes to restore their reservation after having sold it off to the US government back in the 1950s. Their money was held and dispersed by trustees who paid themselves well for their services. The Klamaths say they were terminated as a tribe vis a vis the US government. A website against the Klamaths receiving US federal lands as a reservation uses the Klamaths own constitution to supposedly show that the Klamaths were never terminated as a tribe. However, it was not the Klamaths' contention that they thought they had ceased to exist, they knew the US government tried to force them out of existence.

Much is the same with our local Indian tribes. Many supposed land sales in which a few supposedly bartering on behalf of a whole nation, or a clan on behalf of a whole tribe all the while selling lands at a mere fraction of its worth or the sale of the land is still considered justified even when the rest of the treaty has not been honored.

A while back it was proposed that the local tribes step forward to assert their claim to the property that is now being proposed as a site of the LNG holding terminals. I think we see, over and over again, how dishonor is rewarded by further dishonor. We steal and in turn the land is stolen from us, we then wish that the original land owners would fight to get their land back.

If we want to protect the land from the LNG corporations we can, indeed, fight to restore these lands to their indigenous owners, and I would hope we would honorably continue the fight to see that they are federally recognized and their lands permanantly preserved. I wonder if that is something we would really do, locally?

Happy Birthday to our Pal

The anniversary of my grandmother, Beatrice Fern Canaris Woods' birthday was today. Born in 1912, grandma saw this nation go through many, many changes from travel by horse and carriage to travel to the stars. From women not allowed to vote to a woman being governor of Oregon. From war, to war, to war, to war. From weapons of the British MLE (which we both shot but called the 303) to the nuclear bomb, my grandmother watched humankind love one another and destroy one another for ninety-two years and when she left this world she had grandchildren and great-grandchildren from every corner of it.

She was born in the Eloquiem Valley. Her mother was a Matthews from Michigan whose parents hailed from Mariposa Canada. Her father was a Canaris born in Clatskanie. His parents were John and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was from England. John was from a small town in Westphalia, Prussia. At the outbreak of WWII grandmother's brothers were not allowed to fight against the Germans because of who they were, cousins to Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, so they had to fight against the Japanese. For a few years "they" were "japs". The Germans were "jerrys". My mother's name is Jerry, and my brother lives in Japan with his Japanese wife and their children. Internationally, grandma never taught to hold grudges and she encouraged apologies to be asked for and granted.

My grandmother was quite proud of her "cousin's" role in saving lives in WWII as well as the way he died. We do not know that he was her cousin. The army may have been playing it safe for anyone with certain names during war time. Both Canaris families lived in Westphalia in the early-mid 1880s. My grandmother certainly was as closed mouthed and secretive as a spy, however, and could certainly shoot like someone well trained.

She was quite an angry person, maybe almost bitter about some areas of her life. She didn't trust anyone between the ages of 13-18! Once they were over that age they became her friend again. She alluded to being molested or raped and then being laughed at or disbelieved by her siblings and cousins. Maybe that age group? We will never know, now, I think. She loved long letters and wrote eloquently and well with beautiful handwriting. For years she worked at Utzinger's book store and that was her heyday!

Everyone knew her as quite the lady. Always well coifed (she had two children who were beauticians) with long elegant fingers always bejeweled. We all knew we got our best swearing combos from grandma. She never said "the" four letter word. She said a variety of ones we never hear anywhere but from her. "Ah, go piss up a slack rope" was one of her favorite expressions. One of the funniest things she would say, but she would say it when she was really, really irate, "see that tree, buster? Will, go climb it!" And then she would would make a fist with her right hand and twist it while thrusting it up into the air. She would nod her head while she did it. Grandpa would shake his head and say, "Ah, Bea! Why'd you go and do that?" I never understood what that particular phrase or gesture meant.

Personally, I was impressed with her audacity to speak her own mind even in the day and time when that wasn't so popular. She gave up being an Eastern Star when she became a Baha'i and took quite a bit of flak for that. When some Baha'is were upset with her new, black Dominican, grandson, she took them on, too, with equal determination. Trying, in her own way, to show zenophobia for what it was. Just because some people said they were Baha'is it didn't mean they were necessarily ready to embrace all of its principles or laws. She, too, had much to learn about this religion she had newly embraced and was often at the forefront of study classes and deepenings. I have her Baha'i library and so many of the books have her handwriting throughout it, pencilling in the definition of words as well as her understanding of concepts. Sometimes another explanation would appear in another color of ink and would be another understanding of the text. She was a member of the first Spiritual Assembly of the Baha'is of Clatsop County and was its librarian for the next twenty years or so. She contributed books around the world and her slipper pattern was taught to rural women in India to help them overcome the devastation of the legacy of being of the caste of Untouchables.

Man, that woman could weild a mean pair of knitting needles and crochet hook. Not only the best slippers but also the finest afghans, kitchen towel toppers and cotton wash cloths! She taught me how to knit and crochet and I am the only one that I know of that knits with my hands over the top of the knitting needles instead of from underneath. We've wondered if some of these pecularities could have come from Canada? Or maybe from Prussia? Her father's mother stayed with the family when grandma was young but her mother never spoke of her Matthew's family. She said it was hinted that the Michigan family was not happy that Hattie had married the farmer from Clatskanie.

Grandma died when she was 92. My husband and my daughter sang her into the next world, holding her hand at Columbia Memorial Hospital. Then, my husband left the room and my daughter began the ritual of washing her body, preparing her for the coffin. Always before, I was the one that prepared the body for burial. Baha'is do not embalm and if refrigeration is not available must be buried within 24 hours. We wash our own people and then rub rose oil into their skin. Grandma was the first person Katrina had ever prepared, and she did so all by herself as my husband stood outside of the hostpital room and chanted the Tablet of Ahmad, over and over. Katrina washed Grandma Bea and rubbed the oils in from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, taking over an hour and one half to complete. So much love from a great-grand-daughter to the grand dame. With love, Grandma, with love. We miss you. We know this next adventure is the best one yet, pal! Thank-you for the memories.

Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, Grandma's cousin?

Yikes! Where did the 19 hand towel dispensers disappear to?

Hi! My name is Carrie and I have an addiction. Its called auctions. Specifically government surplus auctions. It has been 32 days since I bid on an item.

I have 500 green helmit covers. The reason that I have helmit covers is because they came in the lot shipment with the half shelters, which I bought because I could (and did) get them for $25 for 70 of them. Put them together and you have a whole tent, 35 whole tents. If you could put them together, which you don't know until you get them home. And we could and did put six tents together, except they didn't have poles so they went over tree limbs and that was fun, right guys? Guys? Well, it was fun when they were kids. Right, guys? GUYS!

Like when I got that box of 250 socks for $10. No, not pairs. Individual, two hundred and fifty wool and cotton socks. Yeah, they were salesmen samples and none of them were mated but that taught the kids about fun and art and looking for the best almost mates. To this day none of them are influenced by the whims of fashion. Okay, except the barbie doll daughter. But, even she only has three pairs of mated socks. And I wasn't cruel. Remember, we homeschooled, no one even knew they had on mismates.

Our first projector was an Ask bought for $100 (including a screen) from a surplus auction. Hooked up to a dvd player or the cable box and we had a wide screen television that none of our friends could beat. Our portable dvd player (an orbit game, tv, cd, mp3, and video pic viewer) and our most recent Sanyo projector are both auction purchases, both ebay, though. We also have 15 1980 apple computers in a heap in an old rotting tent. So, you have to put up with a few mistakes until you get to the good stuff.

Right now I am looking at a drafting table, 747 pairs of fire jeans, a suture kit and a 1990 Toyota forklift with a worn starter silinoid. I think I can hide it somewhere on the property until Bart just stumbles across it. Then, maybe, he'll think its left over crap from when mom and dad owned CT&S? I have until tomorrow night at 8 pm, when this auction is over. It may be days until another GSA is posted. Thank God for ebay.

Blogger Party Change?

So far there are two people, plus me, who can make it "for sure" on Feb 4th. Would Feb 11th be better for more people to attend? If we move it to the 11th I would like to make it at 1:00 PM.

Blue Scorcher(1493 Duane St. in Astoria), Feb 11th, 1:00 PM. What do you think?

Guarding Us Still

We watched The Guardian last night on the big screen and as much as I really hate that crap of sergent raising up the boy and making him into a man, ala An Officer and a Gentleman, I really liked this movie.

My Grandpa Roy was a lifer in the Coast Guard. As a surfman and then a boatswain mate first class he battled the water his whole life. He knew how to come into any of the harbors up and down the Oregon and Washington coast by the whistles and bells of the bouy and by the stars. Many a captain stepped off the helm to let Roy Woods bring that ship in.

To see the waves that those small boats battle to save lives chills me to the bone. All of us children were taught to swim at a very young age. Coasties swim, a swabby don't know how. My father was Navy. Hahaha! It was probably 15 years before the two of them grew to like one another. By the time my parents' divorced the bond had grown to love. My dad still doesn't know how to swim, all of us kids could swim across the Walluski and when the tide was going out that was a mean feat. We all have a healthy respect for the rivers and especially the mouth of Columbia and the sea. One of my dearest friends lies at the bottom of river, somewhere. Hey, Brian, here's to you!

My cousin, Jimmy, and cousin-in-law, EJ, spent eight hours in the Bering Sea, waiting for the coast guard to find them when their fishing vessel went down. Shouldn't have ever gone out, except for the owner's greed. For years afterwards they couldn't even sit in a tub of bathwater without sweat dripping off of them in memory of that time. My grandfather would talk for hours to them about that awful night, hoping to pull them out of their day/night terrors.

He was a talker, my grandfather! The stories he would tell. He ran bootleg in Aberdeen back in the 20s. His father died when he was nine and he was raised by a bunch of older brothers who showed him the side of their hand, when they had time. So, he was on his on as often as not and he could make a lot of money runnng booze through the redlight district. Police never bothered the 12 year old boy, who was so small he looked like he was eight. Grandma would get so angry at him for telling us those stories. "Watch it, buster," she would warn, "you'll get yourself into a heap of trouble for what you were up to!" She didn't believe the statute of limitations ever ran out, and they both were afraid the retirement money would disappear. Made more money after they retired then they ever did while working. He retired when he was 68, mandatory. He died when he was 96! He always chuckled that "they" didn't know what they had gotten themselves into giving him lifetime retirement with insurance! Grandma had 12 heart pacemakers put in!

He deserved the money and the benies. After taking the helm so many times to guide the ships into a safe harbor, after receiving the Gold Lifesaving Medal, he retired from the CG as a cheif, giving him a few extra dollars in the pay envelope. Yet, a few years later when he retired a second time from the Astoria School District (as head custodian of the new Junior High School) that designation was stripped from him when the title was reclassified for those who had captained a 52' boat or larger, only. Grandpa said the CG knew what it was doing and a patriot didn't fight something like that. What was a few extra hundred? How he got the rebels for grandchildren, I'll never understand!

In this town it is good to know the signs of a coastie. Your friend/family member might be dating one, or maybe your loved one's thinking of joining? Have fun with this.

Seperate But Together

I read the local blogs and feel that I am a friend of the family, knowing so much personal information about them. They share a lot of family stories, inviting you into their lives. As an aside: personally, I don’t see NorthCoastOregon.com as a blog. Its sort of our own local Indy Media that Tryan took the initiative to find a way to bring to us after Portland’s Indy Media took away the coastal voice and just lumped everything that wasn’t Portland under "oregon and cascadia" and even then more than half the articles are still metro crap. NCO really filled that void Indy Media left gapping open.

I find that this blog isn’t just my story. It is the story of my family and my friends which can cover quite a lot of ground. I have been married twice and have stayed good friends with my first set of in-laws. We just celebrated Thanksgiving together, with them coming over to our home. They are a pretty large family. My own family, immediate and aunts, uncles and cousins and their families extends to about 1/16 of the county. My husband’s family covers another 1/16 of the county. Together, we are related to about an eighth of the people who were born and raised here. We tell the children that they really shouldn’t date anyone locally unless they have lived here less than 10 years. More than that and you still have a chance of them being someone’s exe’s children and that could just end up being awkward. I think its just plain old, well, for lack of another word, trailer trashy to be marrying your cousin’s ex. I think once someone’s been in and out of a family, its done. No one else in the family can marry them. Thanks for playing, Bob, take your door prize and go to the next game.

At what point do I guard someone else’s privacy? My favorite times have been with one of my loved ones, family or friend. What is my right to expose that moment? This is my quandary. I don’t want to betray a confidence that may be implied.

I think, for some, that might be why the blogs are anonymous. For others who write about just a specific thing (like a hobby or maybe a political or news blog) they might not be so personal. I feel, though, like what I have to bring to the table is my life. It just happens to be wrapped around, snake through, be entwined with, so many others. Sometimes, it feels like gossip.

One time, after an evening visiting with some close friends and their children, we were driving home and my son was sitting there rather sulkily, not joining any of the car songs. I asked him what was the matter? "You told that story, again!" he exclaimed in a pained voice. "Oh, but its such a cute story. I love telling it and we were with friends. There’s no reason for that story to embarrass you after all of these years." I rattled off excuses, rather irritated that we were having this conversation. "But its MY story," he replied, softly but firmly. He was about twelve and rather small for his age, but oh so serious and suddenly I flashed back to a time of hearing my aunt tell a story about me and how embarrassed and angry I was. It’s his story, he had claimed it, rightfully, to decide who would tell it and where it would be told. His to decide if it was to be told at all. At what point did that happen?

It is time for me to learn how to tell the story that is mine while leaving the story that is their’s to them. In the meantime, I hope they remember it is a learning PROCESS. Little by little, day by day! Remember, everyone is laughing with you, not at you!

We don't need no education?

So, after taking the Guy’s weekend seminar, Blogging for Dummies, I have decided to give posting daily a try. What I might do is write up a week’s worth a head of time and then try to remember to post them. The man really is a phenomenal writer and since he has alluded to writing under his "real" name in publications I can’t wait to meet him at our blogging get together and see what else he has written.

I really admire the local posting community that I’ve been reading. For the most part they are people who write well. Sure, a red pencil could come out, however, the red ink has always ticked me off. It seems to silence soooo many people and so many items that are red lined are completely arbitrary. One English Prof wants punctuation whenever the writer pauses. Another doesn’t want a comma unless you can prove its needed but feels a paragraph isn’t complete unless it has one semi-colon. Sure, there are rules but as we all know there are exceptions to the rules. And the kid that goes to the PA’s study group is going to get graded more lenient.

I am of the mind that grades just don’t matter. I was almost always on the Dean’s list so I do not say this because of being on the receiving end of poor grades. Quite the opposite. I was on the receiving end of, often, undeserved good grades. In high school I skated. It is one of the main reasons my kids never went. High school in the USA is where young adults go to be babysat for 40 hours a week while they plot revenge on the society who sentenced them there and then we promptly forget it as middle aged adults with high school age kids. TEACHER! Leave those kids alone!

I don’t care if they’re punctuating correctly. I do like them to publish more often. If I’m investing time into getting to know them I don’t like to suddenly be denied the knowledge of what they are thinking about. On the flip side of that the idea that someone might be annoyed that I haven’t written something new in a week or two flips me out. I have too many obligations as it is. Who cares if some nameless, faceless person is annoyed with me? Uh-oh, what if … [imagination runs wild] it’s a potential client or friend or I could have done some good or now I left a bad impression?GASP!

LOL! It’s a blog. I haven’t written anything important or earth shattering. Sure, I am annoyed when someone I read hasn’t published but it hasn’t made me want physical challenge or to not do business with them, etc… I am going to try to publish daily. If I don’t, read a back issue of the Guy’s, or MO3s, or …. Go read what they’re writing about you know who over on one of the forums.

BLOGGER GET TOGETHER!

Blogger get together for everyone who is blogging in Clatsop County and nearby. What do you all say to Sunday, February 4, Blue Scorcher Bakery, 2 PM?

At the last one, some showed and didn't know one another so maybe everyone wear something red? Or, everyone carry a book (which one)? Or, what's a better way to know who we are?

NO, this is not me! It's the photo I took from the Daily A's article about Blue Scorcher. It sounds like a great place. If people want to offer another venue, we can chat about it.

RSVP on the comments. If the 4th doesn't work for a majority of people then we can change it.

Missing Haifa

We have some friends who will be leaving to go on their Baha'i Pilgrimage at the end of February. At the end of February it will be one year since Bart and I were on our Pilgrimage and how I yearn to be there, now.

I loved the snow here. I love my family here and adore my grandchildren. We enjoy our Baha'i community. Bart likes his work and I like school. Our hearts ache with hunger for the middle east.

When we hear the call to prayer resonating from a television program tears sting my eyelids and I see the cobblestones of Akka's streets. People scurry this way and that as people seem to boil out of buildings into streets already teeming with masses of humanity. Side streets so very tiny you hardly can believe it is a street until you see a tiny Citroen barrelling down it with a motorcycle passing it on the side! Pedestrian right of way? Never heard of it!

The very best pressed honey nut brittle was outside of the Al Jazzaar Mosque. We spent a whole day walking those blessed streets of Akka, cobblestone by cobblestone, the one time prison city by the sea. Bart bought a bedoin headress there and looks quite tribal Arabic when he is in full beard. The sun beat down so hot that day that children were jumping from the ramparts into the sea for money from the tourists. I laughed and Bart gave them handfuls of change they may or may not have been worth dollars, I cannot remember now. The children obviously thought the I should have squealed and told them to stop because the jump did look spectacular (I'll dig out the photos) but I knew they wouldn't be doing it if they hadn't a hundred (or thousand) times before. Bart peaked over the side and commented that it was still quite a feat!

It the evenings, before listening to a member of the Universal House of Justice speak to the pilgrims, we would walk to a falafel shop and have the most scruptious falafels with fresh pita bread made before your eyes and the best tsatziki sauce and hummus. Fresh avacados with every meal and as much grapefruit and oranges as you could eat.

Of course, the main attractions for Baha'is, are the Shrines. I am someone who has not had an easy road with my "religion," yet my faith has remained pure and confident. I may not understand myself but there is within me a core that is so strong and sure that I am left in marvel at this feature. I know it through meditation. What some would call prayer, some introspection. I know faith. I know assurance. I know there is a Divine Being and I have never felt It more strongly than a few times while on Pilgrimage. Someday, if we should meet face to face and the moment is right I may be able to convey to you my experience. It is too private for a blog, or at least for me here and now.

The center of Haifa is called "Hadar" and it is where most of the commercial parts are located. They don't really cater to the tourist trade, here, but we found great places to eat and a market to bring food back to the hotel. We always thought we would have another day to do our shopping and ended up getting people postcards and things from the airport at 4:30 am on the morningn we left, we just ran out of time. Baha'is who do not work at the World Centre (or visiting family working there) can only stay in Israel for 2 additional days. Basically because it is for the best, worldwide, with the strain the way it is between religious denominations and Baha'is are forbidden to use their religion as a point of contention. Please, be careful of how that is said. Not the principle's of the religion, etc.. Another blog entry, maybe.

When we travelled about Haifa (and weren't on the tour bus) we often took a sheroot or a taxi. A sheroot is a taxi van that doesn't go where you want it to but rather has specific destinations with very few stops in between. Sometimes it seemed that they were independently run. But we went all the way to Akka from Haifa for about $5.50 so it was a HUGE bargain. A travel site has this to say about the underground transportation (which we took numerous times):

Moving between the top and bottom ... you can also go from the city to the Carmel [top] in only 8 minutes by taking the Carmelite. I'm talking about is a funicular subway, which is probably one of the few of its kind in the world. This fun and interesting way to get from one point to another was opened in 1959, and while it was closed for several years due to disrepair and lack of funds to fix it, it's now open again for your convenience and enjoyment. The Carmelite has six stations - the lowest one being "the city" and the top most being the Carmel. Since this is a subway, it goes totally underground. And because it climbs a hill, it's very step-like in its build, traveling at an average of an 8o angle. The tunnel is 2000 meters long, and climbs a total of 268 meters from the city to the Carmel and travels an average of only 28 kilometers per hour. Before the renovation, there were drivers on these but now they're totally automatic and computerized. Throughout the tunnel there is only one set of tracks except for a spot in the middle where there are two sets. It's at this point that the two trains (one going up and the other going down, of course) pass each other on their journey. If you're ever in Haifa, I recommend you go on the Carmelite just for the experience, even if you don't need to get from one spot to another via this type of transport.

The friends we met! Oh, I am half afraid to even try to name any in case they ever found this remote little site and thought I had forgotten them! I haven't, on most days I remember everyone's! We met up with 225(ish) people from about 100 countries/states. Only two others from Oregon that we had known from before this trip. That large group was broken down into smaller groups of 25 for morning or afternoon tours and then, when you weren't on a tour you arranged your time yourself with friends you met. When we weren't at Baha'u'llah's Shrine at Baji we were combing Mount Carmel with our new found friends Karin (from Cape Town, South Africa), Parissa (from Perth, Australia), dearest Bonnie and Serge (with the lovely hair from Quebec), Jack from Hawaii, our friends from Slovania (names just flew out of my head), as well as from the family from Spain! Ack, there was the young couple that scared us all so much when they put their passports in their knapsacks and their knapsacks in the luggage compartment under the bus which angered the 15 year old with the machine gun who stopped the bus and wanted to see ID!

Even that, machine gunned youngsters guarding the bus stops I forgot until just this moment, doesn't make me want to stay away. I crave the pictures coming to my mind's eye of that world. I can dredge up, at a moment's notice the vivid colors of the market place, from the burkha's the older women wore and the dresses of the younger ones to the cloths covering the stands and the flags flying overhead, to the gems worn intertwined in the silvers or goldwork of fine jewelry, ornate heargear or tableware. My ears ache to hear the cacaphony that comes from so many different languages being spoken in a sing-song voice, almost becoming a symphony of well tuned intruments deliberately playing out a secret concerto for the tourist with the discerning ear to hear.

We hope we have the opportunity to one day return.