Monday, January 18, 2010

Seeing Things

I've decided to try out a writing prompt. I'm always trying to use writing as a way to detox my busy, busy mind. Problem is, I get a little caught up in self-criticism, and either stay too much on the surface (a.k.a., I write about rancid yogurt) or too deep (a.k.a., I wouldn't dare publish the post because innermost thoughts aren't meant for places like facebook). So, maybe a writing prompt will provide me with a happy medium. Here's the one I found just now:

From where you are sitting right now, make a list of everything you see. Keep listing until you feel compelled to write more than just a list.

My daughter, curled up in a "C" on my lap, has just finished nursing. Her features, while still small and delicate, are growing in size and sturdiness at a rate I can barely track. Her once paper-thin fingernails are now strong and sharp as they trace up and down my side, slow and rhythmic as she fights the urge to sleep.

Her head rests on a burgandy throw pillow that we bought a good five years ago. A time in our lives where things like throw pillows made us feel more like adults. I took comfort in the domestic significance of a throw pillow. Patrick, however, approached decorative housewares like a claustrophobe approaches an elevator. I think he saw them as youth's death sentence, and in essence, he was exactly right.

The pillow's twin rests to the other side of me, propped perfectly in one corner of the couch, just where it should be. I need order, especially now, when parenthood presents daily, unexpected, little eruptions of chaos. Even when I'm ten minutes past the point I needed to leave the house, I will always stop to arrange those pillows, despite knowing full well the dog will toss them to the floor before day's end. He's just another shifty pawn working to undo my already failing sense of order. He sees through the guise of an organized house. He knows, as we ask each other for the second time that evening, "Did you feed the animals yet?" that we aren't a tight ship.

Above the couch are two, newly framed photographs I took this summer on our second annual trip to York Beach. It's a diptych (two separate pieces hung together to create one comprehensive piece of art) of a multifaceted, mirrored column, reflecting the seaside town's amusement park. A colorful whirlwind, abstracted and broken down into separate, structured pieces - I guess that's a pretty accurate description of myself right about now. It's nice to have some of my own art up on the walls again. Somewhere in between college and the acquisition of throw pillows, I'd stashed all my work out of sight. Starting a new chapter of my life, prints of naked women cradled by large desert cacti didn't fit in with my more subtle style of expression.

The propane fireplace directly in front of me, while undoubtedly warm and convenient, is not very interesting to gaze upon in terms of fire. The fake, "burning" wood and flickering, glowing embers are mildly convincing, but the flame follows a very short pattern that lacks all the spontaneity a real fire boasts. I could watch a real fire for hours, and have. And though all the technology that goes into operating my flick-of-a-switch fire would likely have Ben Franklin turning cartwheels in his grave if he only knew, I'm much more awed by basic, burning wood. Of course, with the family, the 9-5 job, and the need to sit down and enjoy some time to myself once in awhile, I guess I'm better off with the switch.

The room observations stop here, as the household routine ensues. There was a time I could've broken it down all the way to the coasters in the bowl on the coffee table... but I think it's safe to say that things have changed.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Snowed in, and writing about yogurt.

A few months back we visited our old stomping grounds of Brattleboro, VT, for a wedding. Every time we go there, or even just pass through, we're fondly reminded of the different pace of life there. It's an anything-goes type of place, but not in that elitist sort of way where you have to be weird to be normal. Come to think of it, the last time we drove up main street, a father with huge hair ran across the street with his young son (who was wearing an animal tail) into a shop called "Knit or Dye." And, it just was what it was.

I used to work at the Brattleboro Food Co-op; a vegan paradise for me at the time. I still favor the food there (grocery and deli) more than anywhere- partially because it's a great selection of really tasty stuff, and partially because of the nostalgia factor. On our last trip, I decided to bring back a quart of yogurt, since I buy one each week to eat at work. "Butterworks Farm Maple Yogurt." Can't get more VT than that. Well, breakfast time on Monday morning, I was anticipating a little "bring-me-back" moment when I took my first bite of creamy, organic, mapley goodness. Instead, I almost gagged. I don't know what happened to that yogurt on its journey from cow to container, but it wasn't pleasant. There are some foods that we Americans have over-processed, over-sugared, or watered down into a version so tame and bland, we're completely missing the true food experience. I've had "real" yogurt before. Some can be sour or strong, but it's more in the way of "this is different," than "this is BAD." My maple yogurt was just wrong, and I was sad.

I've been on a kick lately of seeking out help when I'm dissatsisfyed with a product. I had never been one to contact customer service over anything, until I started hearing all the ridiculous emails coming in to my friend and cubicle neighbor at work, who answers customer emails of all kinds. Like, "I've lost weight and can't afford all new clothes- will you take back my ratty old extra large tee shirts and give me brand new ones in a smaller size?" That kind of ridiculous request. So, I figured, if that lady can get a tee shirt or two out of the company I work for, perhaps my justified complaints may see some results if I'm nice about it. So far, Starbucks is the only company that didn't do something for me. (Please keep that in mind the next time you're deciding where to get a coffee.)

Well, just yesterday, after I'd long forgot about my letter to Butterworks Farm (which I had to snail-mail, as they don't have an email address), I got a response back. A two page, hand written letter by the founder of the farm, including a 5 dollar bill so "I can either try another one or buy some more Stoneyfield. [The farm is] too small for the coupon thing." He also told me,"we are not the least bit put off if you like Stoneyfield yogurt better. We are number one here in Vermont."

There's just something about the proud, yet non-defensive reply I received. This farmer hasn't had any customer service training, and he didn't have to hem and haw over what to do about my letter. He simply gave me my money back, along with the tip that the State St. co-op in Concord sells his yogurt. If the world was run like Butterworks Farm, we'd all be in a much better place. Joking aside, most of Vermont pretty much runs the same way, and the natural, simplistic zen of it all is why I'll always long to return.

(http://butterworksfarm.com/)

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Star Searching

I take horoscopes as one step up from a fortune cookie. I don't think the message inside that little, processed, mass-produced origami wafer is ever destined for me and me alone (even if I did always want to learn how to say "umbrella" in Mandarin). However, I can always find some truth, some applicability, in the piece of wisdom inside my cookie. And, if it's an intriguing fortune, I usually keep the idea on my subconscious radar, and in turn may be more apt to notice something that would have otherwise passed me by. Like I've been given a little tip from fate, I will consequently walk with ears pricked for the "good news that will soon come," or eyes seeking the "chance encounter with an old friend."

Anyhow, considering that fortunes are all of about a sentence, horoscopes lend a little extra insight. I know that everyone has a 1 in 12 chance of getting the same lowdown as me... but why is it that we often relate most to our assigned predictions? Nine times out of ten, my horoscope is more appropriate for me than any of the other months. Maybe I just want it to be. Maybe it's just another way to make sense of all the ridiculousness- or maybe it adds to it. Maybe it's a security blanket to hold onto; facing the future like it's a monster-concealing closet. Whatever it is, a good one gives me hope.

The traits of my astrological sign are right on. http://www.astrologycom.com/pisces.html It does make me consider that, somehow, the time of year I was born has a strong influence on who I am. While I'm always skeptical of these notions, the romantic side of me loves the idea that the stars have their way with me, decide who I'm compatible with, and what the future holds in store.

I ran across this year-at-a-glance horoscope today. I intend to put the positive points into my subconscious, and with any luck, I'll bump into one of several opportunities on the horizon.
http://shine.yahoo.com/page/2010-horoscope

Friday, May 22, 2009

Flight

High time I clip my proverbial wings
and assume responsibility,
but the apple juice that trickles from my lips
signifies my immaturity.
And while I've learned to harbor the actions,
I'm struggling with thought.
As if the snake that winds around my tree
has trapped me in a knot.
Leaving me bound, in perfect irony,
for I have a choice to make,
yet neither option presents itself
as a risk I'm willing to take.
And so, there's a comfort in helplessness-
my excuse for standing still.
The wings, though folded, remain unscathed
and probably always will.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

E.T. text home.

I want to know how, and when exactly, we decided it was okay -in the middle of a conversation- to pick up a tiny little square electronic device and turn our attention to it. Be it a razor, a blackberry, an i-whatever... I just can't stand how perfectly rude and perfectly acceptable it's become to momentarily disengage from human interaction just in case the message in one's hand is more interesting. Because even if it pales in comparison to a person's present moment, he or she undoubtedly still diverts focus just long enough to check what's going on elsewhere.

Now, I really don't mind mobile phones when used for their intended purpose. It's the texting that really... saddens me. Sure, a text is a super handy way to say "meet me at 6," versus going through the whole how-are-you routine when that's the main purpose of meeting at 6. But then I meet you at 6, and as I tell you how I am, you half-heartedly listen while typing to god-knows-who about god-knows-what on your itty bitty keyboard. The irony is that if you were with god-knows-who, I'd probably know more about what was going on in your life, because you'd be ignoring god-knows-who as you texted me.

I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm not shaming the cell-savvy, and I'm not even saying I don't do it, too. But I will testify that I'm someone who dissects human behavior. I try not to judge it, and when I do pass judgement, it's only after I've attempted to assess that which I judge from every angle. More commonly, I observe, I consider, I observe some more, and then marvel. Even the most atrociously boring person is fascinating to me if I'm given the opportunity to observe from a short distance. (Just don't make me talk to them.)

I'm a little off-course: the story of my life. But I think what I'm aiming for is that my as-of-late observations on human interaction are so depressing. I really am pretty shy when it comes down to it, so figuratively hiding behind a phone does indeed sound... comforting. But then, not so comforting is the thought that I -that WE- are creatures of habit, and we like our comforts. We're not going to come out of hiding; we'll only burrow deeper into ourselves and our need to look occupied.

I started out pissed at the way technology has spiraled our face-to-face social skills into the sewer. But really, I'm just frightened of the world my daughter is going to grow up in. I'm weirded out by the teenagers I saw out to breakfast; 4 out of 5 phones going at all times. All I can picture is WALL-E.

I could vent for a good while longer, but I can only take so much computer.

(P.S. Don't laugh, but the whole reason I went on this rant is because I just ordered a new phone.)

Monday, April 6, 2009

Rain

The best thing about a rainy night is that no one bothers to go out in it. While I have to psych myself up for the wet ground's tendency to latch on and creep up my pant legs, or for the smell of damp dog fur that will undoubtedly follow me back inside... I honestly love the privacy of a walk in the rain after dark. It's relaxing, and kinda romantic to be alone under an umbrella without a visible horizon to separate the pavement from the sky.

But I do agree with the Carpenters: Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. Okay, not always, but today at least. It was one of those days I would have liked to have had a remote with 3 buttons on it. Rewind, Skip, and Delete. Would've pushed 'em all day long. The rain was almost ridiculously cliche, and I listened to Radiohead on repeat in honor of the circumstances.
As my friend Coyote once said -as we slogged through our tenth straight day of rain hiking through the Tennessee woods- sometimes you just have to "embrace the suck."

Tonight, I embraced it as best I could. Hopefully, it worked.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

25 Random Things (and one random picture)


A good writing exercise... and a challenge to even come up with 25 honest and interesting things about myself. I always feel pressure with this stuff- so we'll see how I do. ;)

(Rules: Once you have been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. Also, tag the person who sent it to you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you or you wrote 25 things about you already. If I didn't tag you, write anyway!!)

1) The house I grew up in was built in the 1800's, and we still use the original key to get in the front door. It's longer than my index finger, and I used to live in fear that I would lose it- there was no copy.

2) I used to wish on stars at night for a baby sister. I hated being an only child, and for this reason, I want to have another kid.

3) I also used to wish for a best friend. This wish came true in first grade: A girl with the same name and the same lunch box showed up to my classroom in the middle of the school year. (Made me a believer in a higher power for quite some time.) We were absolutely inseparable -even our cabbage patches were best friends- until she moved away at the end of the summer just before 4th grade. The day she came to say good bye before riding off in that minivan still ranks up there as one of the worst days of my life.

4) (Since I'm stuck on the topic of childhood...) As an only child I was forced into fostering my creative imagination. I discovered a giant boulder in the woods that looked like it was smiling. I named the rock "Hibble," and deemed her grandmother of the rock planet. I developed a rock language (a character map and the pronunciation) and wrote secret messages to Hibble in a locked spiral bound notebook while sitting atop her "head." Odd kid, I know! To this day, I love the personification of inanimate objects... in a less serious way, of course.

5) If you know me well, you know that I wrote my 7th grade research paper on the life of Neil Diamond. I didn't get to see him live until this past summer... and it was worth the 17 year wait.

6) I can remember some of the dreams I had when I was 3 years old.

7) I am great with names, but can't recognize faces to save my life, unless someone's appearance is exactly the same as it was the last time I saw them. I often think a stranger is someone I know, or fail to recognize someone I should know, even if they start talking to me.

8) I honestly think I have a disorder when it comes to my sense of direction. I am fine with north and south, OR east and west, but I can't use them in conjunction. I memorize my routes based on visual landmarks, and am too stubborn to depend on a GPS.

9) I did love living in Boulder, CO, because the mountains always let me know exactly where I was. I had no problem navigating the Rockies region. Yet I do look at that move as one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. I went out there to fill a promise to someone else, but I didn't listen to myself. I learned a lot from my time there, and it lead me to where I am now... but overall, what a stupid move.

10) I probably don't give things enough of a chance, but still I've never regretted a snap decision when my gut was polled. My gut is surefire. It's the decisions that I hem and haw over that get me into trouble.

11) I wish I'd gone to college for something other than art.

12) I have an extremely high tolerance for pain. I didn't cry when I broke my wrist or during natural childbirth... and I'd be really proud of that, but I think it's simply an inherent trait. My 'rents are rugged.

13) Even though I'm super healthy most of the time when it comes to food choices, a trip to the beach is not complete without a bag of nacho cheese doritos and a few captain 'n' cokes with lime. Something about laying lazily in the sand makes me want junk food.

14) Pre-Patrick, I have about ten journals that I've filled. Post-Patrick, I have about ten that I've started and dropped. My single self was the best muse I ever had, which is funny considering that my single self was constantly seeking a muse.

15) I miss the satisfaction of being pursued by the opposite sex. I've been "taken" for 9 years, and often wonder how my 20's would have played out had I been available a while longer. I wouldn't want things to have turned out any differently... I just wonder what "differently" would have been.

16) I'm not very organized but because I desperately want to be, I'm very anal about my house, my car, my desk at work... clutter is very hard for me to cope with... especially if it's someone else's, because then there's nothing I can do about it.

17) Unloading a full dishwasher (when I know where everything goes) puts me in a meditative state.

18) I usually evaluate the ratio of exclamation points to periods when I write an email. I use exclamations too frequently, so I have to limit myself. Since my emails are also often sarcastic, the infamous sideways smiley also must be kept in check. There's almost always at least one, but there shouldn't be more than two, tops.

19) My dad and I had 2 horses in my mid-teens. As much as I love the thrill of fast trail rides and the awe of big animals, I've never felt like a real "horse person."

20) I'm incredibly social, but only when provoked. Yet, Patrick constantly provokes, and is responsible for 80% of the plans we make.

21) A good cup of coffee and good company is my idea of a perfect afternoon. Patrick and I have judged every town line we've ever crossed by whether or not it has a good coffee shop.

22) If we hadn't conceived a child by 2009, we were going to vacation in Italy. Zinnia was created last March, and thus we happily settled for Maine.

23) They say that thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail with a significant other is worth 25 years of marriage, and by my experience, I completely agree.

24) The day I actually got married I was only nervous about one thing. The weather. My dream wedding consisted of very little criteria, but the sun was a major expectation of mine. It showed up about 10 minutes into the ceremony, and I still remember how perfect that warm glow made me feel.

25) Whether it be in 5 years or 25 years, I am confident that we will one day move back to Vermont.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Endeavors on the table.

I'm settling into my routine with Baby Zin. She's still fickle, as a newborn should be, but the one-on-one time is really helping me to "read" her. Her favorite thing to do is fall asleep on my shoulder, face down... so I'm pretty much limited to sitting on the couch, or the rocker, or engaging in one handed activities if I want to stand. I don't like to sit still, so this is hard! Thank god we got this laptop. At first, I wasn't sure how important it was to be mobile with the computer- now I can see it's the best decision we could have made!

Surfing Facebook and checking my email got really old after a few days of being home-bound with the little spud. So... I decided to play around with an idea I've had for quite some time. See, my friend is getting married, and being maid-of-honor (refuse to call myself a matron!) gives me the opportunity to help with some of the plans. This may be considered a burden to some, but I LOVE planning, or at least I love the crafty elements that go along with a wedding. Both the brainstorming and execution phases; I love it. So much so, that I actually (almost) applied to be a bridal consultant back when I was searching for a new job. Then, I came to the conclusion that unless I could choose who I was going to consult, I would likely strangle myself with a garter belt. Brides can be evil- especially to people like bridal consultants, who are prime candidates for punching bags should something, anything go sour in their eyes. Anyhow...

I found myself overly enthusiastic about helping my friend make her invitations. She already had a plan and a design, so like a good girl I didn't "take over." Anyone who has been a bride is aware that everyone else's opinions are a threat to her own personal vision. (And, okay, yeah, I still made some suggestions... but nothing that altered the aesthetics of the thing). Instead, I went to the craft store, grabbed some paper, and played around with my own independent project. Then, I did a little research online (a.k.a. I scoured the internet) for what other people were offering in the way of handmade invitations, mainly to see if what I created could be lucrative in any way. The answer? I think I can find a way to make it worth my while, feed the little creative beast in me, and if nothing else, nurture a new hobby.

I've decided to keep it simple and stick with one design that can be executed in endless color combinations of solid paper with a patterned accent, or two solids. I'd like to do a "test run" to see how long it takes to make 50+ sets (invite and response card), and to see if my cost estimates are accurate. I need a chance to meet any potential kinks that I haven't anticipated, and to see if I can manage it with a baby in the mix. In exchange for the experience, the rights to creative license, and perhaps a testimonial, I'd give my guinea pig the full set of invitations at materials cost only- a great deal for someone who's looking to cut costs, but doesn't have any interest in the DIY approach. I would certainly cater to the couple's desired color scheme, and would welcome a basic wording structure, if they wanted to provide one.

So, if you know me, and you know someone who might be interested in such a trade-off, please connect us! I'm excited to get started and see where, if anywhere, it takes me. The event doesn't have to be a wedding per se, but it should be something involved enough to require at least 50 (give or take) invites, and it should merit response mailers. (I'm going to want to see the shape they're in when received back.)

Time for my 6 week postpartum check up. Funny that once the baby's out of ya, they don't need to see you for 6 whole weeks. If something was to go wrong between delivery and recovery, wouldn't I be about dead by now?

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Hope

I'd hoped, and continue to hope. And I'm pretty confident, too. :)

Inaugural address.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Resurrection of... whatever this was.


I'm back - I think. That crazy little person to the left is the product of Operation Make-a-baby, thus I've been MIA in the blog world for quite some time. Any extra moments I could spend at the computer (over the course of my pregnancy) were devoted to an insufferable need to "research" what I was in for, a.k.a, what could I do ahead of time to make parenting easier. It was all about what was in my belly, not what was in my head.

Now that she, Zinnia Jane, as arrived, I'm ready to reclaim a little of myself. Sounds a bit backwards, as though now is the time to give up a little of myself. But I did that from the moment I knew she was in the womb. Now, as I get to know her, it's like getting to know the new me at the same time. The Mommy Me. I'm okay with the Mommy Me, but I think new moms can easily slip into a weird baby vortex. A vortex that consumes all independent thoughts and interests, leaving behind a shell of the woman she once was, stuffed with baby-focused cream filling.

Of course, how can you not be all but obsessed with living, breathing, mini look-alike that you and your partner made out of love? It's totally amazing, and cool, and indescribable. Still, I want to make a distinct effort not to get lost in the wonder of it all. Mostly because I've witnessed it from an outside perspective, and have always found it kind of annoying. Yet, from this side, a new baby means not much else is ABLE to happen in my life, thus she essentially becomes it.

To counter this, I've begun planning a small business venture. It’s very slow going given the circumstances, but still something other than Zinnia on which to focus some effort. Reading is fun again, and hopefully, writing will be, too. I think writing is that thing I constantly resolve to get back into… so often that I really can stop resolving and just know that it will always be something I pick back up when I can. And despite my aim to have a life outside of the baby, you can be sure she’ll provide me with plenty of material to document- which I WILL document.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Thoughts of morbid, nature.

photo by Kimberley Campbell
While an odd topic, it's an important one. I came across an article in a magazine that's similar to the one below. If ever I make an early exit, I just wanted to put it out there that this is what I'd like....

Preserve Offers Natural Burial Sites

This may not look like a cemetery, but it is for the more than 300 people who have pre-purchased grave sites at Ramsey Creek Preserve, a memorial nature park in Westminster.

Instead of an ornate tombstone, Sam and Eva Pratt have chosen a stately white oak to mark their final resting place. They've opted for patches of wildflowers and ferns to carpet their grave site, instead of neatly manicured turf.

"I do not like the sameness of most modern-day cemeteries with their rows of plastic flowers," Eva Pratt said. "The white oak is a noble tree that denotes and imbues life and withstands the storms and seasons."

The Pratts are two of the more than 300 people who have chosen "natural" burials, pre-purchasing grave sites at a memorial nature park called Ramsey Creek Preserve in Westminster.

"All natural" means the body isn't embalmed and can only be placed in biodegradable containers like a shroud or a cardboard or plain wood casket before it is buried. The eco-friendly cemetery is the first in the U.S. and meshes the need for burial space with land conservation, using the bulk of the money it receives to purchase, restore and maintain nature parks.

Breaking through stereotypes

When the Pratts invited Tommy Campbell, the founder of Ramsey Creek, to speak to one of their local conservation groups, Eva Pratt overheard a woman call the preserve a "place where they just throw you in the ground."

"People are skeptical at first about the respectability of natural burial, but after the services they'll come up and tell me it was beautiful, and this is what they want for themselves now," Campbell said.

"This really isn't a granola-crunching-hippy-dippy-Wiccan-earth-worshiping thing."

Sam and Eva, both 66, are anything but crystal-toting, astrology-subscribing new-agers.

Reserved and eloquent, they are evangelical Christians who believe passionately in land conservation and struggle with what they see as the waste and extravagance associated with modern burials.

"Land is the most wonderful asset we have, and in the 30 years we've lived in Spartanburg, it's become more important to me as I've seen more land degraded and bulldozed," Eva Pratt said. "And the things we took for granted when we were young are disappearing.

"I am happy to have my final spot on earth be a place I know, of preserved beauty, and for my body to become a part of that, undeterred by chemicals and hardware."

Saving both kinds of green

Three years ago, Mary Woodsen, a member of Commemorative Nature Preserves of New York, an organization that advocates memorial nature preserves, calculated the ecological cost of all the "chemicals and hardware" American cemeteries generate annually: 827,060 gallons of embalming fluid, 1,636,000 tons of reinforced concrete, 104,272 tons of steel, 2,700 tons of copper and bronze and 30 million board feet of hardwoods.

Campbell estimated an average funeral costs between $8,000 and $12,000 and industry revenues at $15 billion to $20 billion each year. At $2,000 for a plot, the cost of being buried at Ramsey Creek isn't cheap, but does offer substantial cost-savings over the conventional alternatives.

As a doctor and environmentalist, Campbell said he took a keen look at the funeral industry when his father died prematurely, and he had to make arrangements.

"The funeral director was talking about the vault and he told me 'not only does it have ornate scroll, it was guaranteed to last 100 years and would take 20,000 pounds per square foot,' " Campbell said. "My questions were who is going to dig it up in 100 years to check that, and are we trying to protect the corpse from a direct nuclear strike?"

Campbell was told the measures were to protect the body against nature, an idea he found both ridiculous and wasteful.

"Back in junior high, I had a teacher who said when he died he wanted to be put in a burlap bag and have a tree planted on him," Campbell said. "I thought it was the coolest thing in the world."

Then, in a medical anthropology class during college, he was enthralled when he learned about a tribe in Papua New Guinea that kept their dead in sacred "spirit forests."

"They created little pocket wilderness, and the people protected these forests to honor their dead," Campbell said. "This stuff all kind of simmered in my brain until 1985 when my father died and a light-bulb went off and I realized you didn't have to be a New Guinea person to have a memorial park."

The thought of channeling funds from the lucrative funeral industry directly toward land conservation was a heady thought for the Campbells, but more so was the realization this could be an avenue to get people more deeply connected with nature and the land.

"Whatever kind of spiritual lens you bring to Ramsey Creek Preserve, something happens in a natural setting when you are quiet and surrounded by nature," said Kimberley Campbell, Tommy's wife. "It is a moment of mystery, like a peaceful sunset at a beach."

She said one of their clients, a 76-year-old woman, summarized the appeal of Ramsey Creek with a profound elegance that surprised her.

"We were walking through the woods and she said, 'I have to tell you I have gone to my church for 40 years and love it, and it was built by man to glorify God, but in these woods, this is God, this is His creation and I feel so close to Him and so peaceful.' "

With its bounty of wildflowers, foliage and the gentle gurgling of the creek, Ramsey Creek conjures up none of the traditional imagery associated with cemeteries.

"It's not creepy at all," Tommy Campbell said. "Come here on a spring day where all the leaves are popping and the woods are filled with butterflies and birds, and you'll see it's anything but creepy."

Originally, he thought the idea of a natural setting would appeal mostly to boomers, but Campbell has been surprised by the diversity of the people who have expressed interest in the memorial park.

"Some are attracted to the whole-body burial for a much lower cost; then we do have the older outdoorsy people who just like hiking, as well as the evangelical Christians who feel its more in keeping with the dust to dust and protecting God's creation," Tommy Campbell said. "One patient of mine who had led anti-zoning people locally surprised me when he bought a plot; but he told me, 'I love the woods, it's you environmentalists I don't like.' "

Disruptive innovation – challenging the status quo

The cost savings and natural beauty suggest Ramsey Creek would be a compelling option, but since the park opened in 1998, it has only had 80 people buried there, while another 300 plots have been pre-sold.

In contrast, Glenn Miller, the general manager at Floyd Mortuary in Spartanburg, said his business performs about 850 burials in a year. He said he has only fielded one inquiry about natural burial.

"It may be the distance people have to travel if they care to visit a grave site or the fact there may not be any permanent memorial," Miller said. "Most families still have the traditional type funeral service with a final disposition."

Kimberley Campbell said she thinks the tendency toward traditional burial has more to do with misconceptions about the natural alternative and a lack of education about other viable options.

Sam Pratt, for example, said he'd "been laboring under the misapprehension that burial without embalming was unlawful."

Not only is it legal, Kimberley Campbell said the stigma of natural burial being crude or uncivilized seems misplaced when compared to the invasiveness of pumping chemicals into the body.

"During the embalming process you are replacing the blood with toxic chemicals that burn if you get them on your skin," Kimberley Campbell said. "Its not a legal requirement to be embalmed but people think they are preserving the body and are uncomfortable with the sense of decay."

"Apparently, Americans have been sold the notion they can protect their deceased loved ones against the elements," Eva Pratt said. "I thought it was necessary to be embalmed, and I also thought the time constraints would be more stringent for natural burial."

In reality, Tommy Campbell said, keeping the body in a cooler works as well as embalming to preserve the body.

Their customers have the option of using local funeral homes to keep and transport the body, but Kimberley Campbell said people also can opt to do everything themselves and use dry ice or keep the body at the hospital morgue until the burial.

Another question people raise is if their loved ones will be able to locate their grave in the woods. In the case of Ramsey Creek, "simple" burial takes advantage of modern technology in the form of a geographic information system to record the exact location of each burial site. Clients also can choose to get their names and dates engraved on a stone, but the slab has to be of South Carolina origin, as does any foliage.

The Pratts chose a stone from a creek on their property to use for a tombstone.

"The owners have an obvious commitment to the preservation of the indigenous flora and fauna to the area," Sam Pratt said. "We found a more natural, scenic burial ground more attractive, and we're glad to be able to participate in land preservation."

The Campbells say they aren't discouraged with the progress they are making as they attempt to disrupt social norms with their innovative idea.

"If this can work in conservative, rural Westminster with its rebel flags and churches, it can work anywhere," Kimberley Campbell said.

Since opening Ramsey Creek, the Campbells have helped start three other memorial parks across the United States and are working on a fourth in Atlanta.

"To disrupt an industry you generally need to find people who are underserved, over served or both," Tommy Campbell said. "We have people who can't afford regular funerals and people who don't want them, and that's the perfect climate for being disruptive innovators. Once we are out there with more locations it will become a more convenient choice."

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Thank you, Todd.

Dear Todd,

It seems like just yesterday I was rolling you out of the lot. A toddler in the car world, you were just broken in, but quite far from broken. Many miles under your belt, you still rode smooth and confident through seas of inferior autos. You gleamed in the sun; you gleamed without the sun. You were my first certified pre-owned companion to the highway.

You carried me through the mid west, twice.
You took me over the Rockies, and into the deserts of Moab.
You have served as a bed, a storage unit, a dog crate and a waiting room.
You've seen snow, wind, rain, and Mass drivers. And you've never failed me.

Today, as you rotated your wheels over your 150,000th mile of earth, I thought about how lucky I was to have found you, Todd. Our journey has been long and expansive, and it has been a great success.

Keep up the good work, my big little Subie. Thank you for all that you do.

Regards,
Your humble driver.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Grout and Rosita.

We decided to re-do our shower (a.k.a. the "bathtub surround" -according to home improvement how-to books). As usual, we forgot that we aren't blessed with superpowers to finish a project in one weekend. So... here we are in the middle of weekend #2, in the home stretch, which is sometimes the worst place to be. And, when I say "we," it's really been Patrick's project- but since it's all but had him sleeping IN the bathtub, I've been keeping up the rest of the house. Running all those errands, walking the dog, and cooking those meals by myself makes me mega-appreciate Patrick's regular contributions. He does a lot. BUT this ambitious project means that I, by default, must do more than usual. So, I'm really tired, and I'm bitching about it. Thank goodness we're getting to do this stuff before children happen. I can't imagine how anyone gets anything done with kids in the mix. I admire anyone who can- but I can say I'm thankful to no end that we got into the homeowning realm, pre-conception. We would not be re-doing anything if we were already parents, and we would not be paying someone else to do it, either. We'd be living with the mauve, vinyl-sided tub walls until the day we sold the damn place.

Once the tile grout is dry, (T - 48 hrs) I get my shower back- and it will be a much much nicer shower- so it'll all be worth it. But right now, I'm sticky and sweaty and angry- and in order to rinse off I must take my shower basket (yes, the same one I used during college dorm life!) to the clubhouse pool showers. While annoying, it's been a very nice option to take advantage of. When we hiked the AT, going for a week without a shower was all part of the experience, and I accepted it without qualms. But at work I have to sit at a desk in close quarters with several people, and smelling like a hiker isn't as appreciated in that setting.

Speaking of my early morning clubhouse shower escapades... I've had the pleasure of stripping down to the skin in the company of my elderly European companion, Rosita. Rosita is the very sweet, very kind, very chatty little lady of Mountain Home Estates, and she likes to swim at 6 am. I've had the pleasure of showering with her before work for a week, trying hard to politely participate in the conversation -despite the fact I'm used to speaking to no one until my first cup of coffee at 8:30. Here she is at dawn telling me I have a beautiful figure. I'm getting hit on by a female senior citizen. Truthfully, she comes from a generation and culture that would never consider such a compliment as a come-on. All the same, hearing this statement almost made me drop the soap as I thought "Am I still dreaming, because this is all too surreal." Again I'll reiterate that she is the sweetest person I've met in this neighborhood yet, and once she talks for a bit, I find myself engaged in the conversation. As engaged as I can be; talking to a stranger whilst shaving my legs.

I've been writing in installments tonight, in-between grouting the tiles. The project, long as it was, went incredibly smooth until tonight. We've been grouting for 6 hours, it's 11 PM, and we've not eaten since breakfast. The grout decided to dry before we could finish laying it. If ever a Saturday night was not fun, it was this one. And when I did venture to the clubhouse at 10 to clean the grout off my ass (literally) - a big skunk ran in front of me. The dude carrying a sixpack up to his front door looked thoroughly confused as to why I stood stone still in his parking lot, holding a basket of shampoo.

Six pack... sounds like an incredible idea about now.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

From the archives

Sometimes, when I get overwhelmed or stunned at how quickly the last 10 years have passed, I'll pull out an old journal. I think it's important to periodically look back and see where my mind was at. It's like reading a letter from an old acquaintance. Weird, sure... but that's the way I've always looked at it, and while new journals are for writing in, the old ones are most certainly for reading.

Here's what I opened up to tonight... (in which I am very tempted to change the line breaks , but will not in order to honor authenticity.) It's scribbled and not very well thought out or constructed- but the state of mind I claimed at that time is what gets me. I don't remember that confidence, but this is apparently a record of it:

Oct 14th, 2001

Yes,
I have swam
to both ends of my being. I have
raced with myself. Sometimes
I win, others I lose.
But I have
learned each time, received prizes unfathomable.

I have impressed my soul.
I have lied to my head.
I have nourished and starved my very heart-
and it has all been in love.
In love with the breath I truly breathe,
and the steps I truly take.
Not with the face I contort, the voice
I stifle and the belly I tighten,
but with the honest and able woman
I embody.

I have swam to both her ends
and all her beginnings.
I didn't skip a single in-between,
and I am proud of every moment,
until now.
Now,
I am only in awe.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

It's not saying much,

It's one of those dear diary nights... but where to begin?

It's been a great summer so far. Different than usual in I'm not sure what sort of way... but great none-the-less. My one complaint: I'm still lacking the natural tan skin I've usually attained by this point of the season. Don't care about the color of my skin, but it signifies the scarcity of outdoor time this summer. (one exception is this handsome pic. of my boy in the Whites. -->)

I feel like this is headed in a dreadfully boring direction. I want to write what I'm really thinking about right now, but without the ability to screen readers, one can't be too careful. It's frustrating to sit down with a lot to say, and not feel comfortable saying it. And, going completely anonymous just doesn't work for a person who wants to be so open. And, the written word, despite what I think, often portrays my thoughts in entirely contrasting ways from how I'd expect. I feel like I'm direct, but I know from outside sources that most people take what I say as open for interpretation; set up to be "read into." Why is that? I need to make myself a tee shirt that says "hidden meanings" across the chest. See, I find that hilarious, and I bet no one else gets it. Which is fine, because I don't quite get it myself. That's why it's so hilarious. My god. It's been a long month.

I've been trying to find a song to define the way I feel, since that's sometimes easier than trying to get at it myself. Problem is, I always revert back to favorite songs- not songs that truly represent me. The songs likely to represent me are probably gay-ass 80's ballads about love and soaring birds and battlefields inside. New White Stripes album has a line in it: "You can't be a pimp and a prostitute, too." Love that. Could apply to anyone if taken the right way... if "read into." I make the little quotes around phrases too often. I hate those little quotes, and the hand gesture that goes with it... and still I'm guilty of using the ensemble daily.

...shifting gears...

Gathering of the Vibes is coming up next month, and I'm going! Can't wait to get back to those old roots with some tamed down style. Just me and my "sister" Stace. (and, Jess, if you're reading this, please try to come -even for a day!!!) We're going to pimp out our campsite to no end- and hopefully get an ocean view... the venue is Seaside park in CT. We're only in the beginning stages of the plans, but there is going to be an endless supply of food, drinks, and luxury- yes, the theme of the evening is luxury. The outdoor music scene has been calling my name for a long time coming, and this couldn't be shaping up more perfectly. I'm sad that Patrick won't be there to join me, but he's got a school weekend, and I'm sure us girls can still rock it on our own. I'll get away with him the following weekend, when we hit Northampton for our second anniversary. Two years since that wedding... where the hell did it go.

My next door neighbor's ex-boyfriend's car was here tonight. I assume his coming over was a big deal- I think he broke her heart a bit when they called it quits a few weeks ago. To think, a 65 yr old woman got that fluttery feeling while she waited for him to show up this evening. I haven't dealt with that in 7 years... and here's great grandma (yes, a great grandma at 65) getting jittery over her heart's flame. Life is wild- and age doesn't mark experience as much as I'd once thought.

I'm running on fumes- time to watch The Office and forget that I have one to show up at tomorrow.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Slowing down and Simplifying

Been on a higher speed than usual, and I'm just beginning to wind down. In some ways, anyhow.

Work continues to challenge me in non-traditional ways~ constantly allowing me to self-evaluate my actions as I interact with people not of like mind. I am seeing how much there is to learn from those with adverse opinions... while those kindred to me are rarely my most impacting teachers. I would have thought the opposite a few years ago.

My internship still has me juiced, and while it may be slow going, I'm feeling thankful for the patience I've gathered. It's marked a turning point in my life; turning back down a path I once traversed, but now travel with what I'd like to call wisdom. To be direct, I am re-finding morals and values that were once clouded by concern of acceptance. I guess that's what the late twenties are- tossing the bullshit and deciding what is and isn't me. It all makes me so happy. Even better, I've got a personal, new-found motivation to be ecologically conscious... and find myself now thinking that way all of the time instead of part of the time. I have some new resolutions to work on. It is a sound calling.

Spent time with dear friends yesterday and we all wondered why that time was so infrequent. Maybe the lack of a community to belong to has me feeling like that- I'm not sure. Just seems like most of the people I love- most of my "family"- falls into the long-distance category.

On the upside: I made 4 more necklaces and 2 more pairs of earrings this week. It's getting easier, and is a soothing absorption. Still very simple designs, but then again, I'm in a simple kind of mode these days.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

fingerprints and promises

Feeling ridiculously complete.

Just when I was afraid I couldn't bear the monotony of work much longer, I acquired an internship position that couldn't be more stimulating. I get to help save the planet on company time. It's probably the best opportunity I could have asked for: Instead of nagging at people about my personal beliefs on environmental consciousness, I get to enforce recycling, conservation and waste reduction as a job responsibility. The list of requirements is daunting as hell, but the trial and error of setting sustainability initiatives in place is going to be (and already has been) a major motive to learn more about something already close to my heart. There's such deep inspiration that comes from knowing I'm going to leave my fingerprint by reducing the footprints.

This weekend was pretty close to perfect. Well deserved margaritas on Friday night after a long, busy work week. A well-executed wine and cheese party with good friends on Saturday. A warm, peaceful afternoon by the seaside today. Many enjoyable moments with Patrick throughout. I feel closer to him than ever.

The inscriptions on our wedding bands are promises. Promises we've made not to each other, but together. His reads: "to make the world a better place." Mine reads: "to cultivate beauty." Our hope was, through loving and supporting each other, we would encourage each other to fulfill these promises. We would socially improve, and physically beautify the place we call home.

To evaluate our progress at this moment, I'd say we're headed in a great direction.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Saints and Squirrels

I came across Mr. Francis here when in a church garden in the North End of Boston last weekend. I remember I used to see him everywhere in Ireland when I went to school there. Frank always shows up in the garden, in the most serene of landscapes; his stoney animal friends often juxtaposed by real birds flitting from flower to flower in that little gated paradise. I think we should stick him in less likely situations. At the front entrance to a factory. By the landfill. In McDonalds. Let's challenge ourselves to remember the patron saint of creatures great and small in real world situations- not in perfectly sculpted green lawns, where we can simply smile and say "Isn't that nice." After all, what's his message all about?


Here he is with a missing hand, which I found rather hilarious.... Lion-feeding accident, perhaps?? Even the human icon of the peaceable kingdom isn't exempt from the payback we're bound to endure for trading in our survival instincts for our troubled, busy, dissatisfied minds.

The birds in my own backyard are abundant and active. I tried feeding them and was enthralled with how quickly they caught on to the new seed location. However, the squirrels followed suit, and wiped out a month's rations in an afternoon. They're pretty cool, but the birds got the major raw end, and I was going through seed too quickly to continue feeding those already chubby, bushy tailed rodents. I need to block the extension pipe for the feeder with something that can't be climbed. I did try putting out suet, and for a week or two the birds were able to dine undisturbed. But, like they mastered the seed feeder, the squirrels eventually prevailed over the suet box as well:

I suppose there's still a hierarchy no matter whether you're feathered, furry, or nude.

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

pre-conception of rhythm, I hope.

The second entry.

It's like the second day on a new job. It's way more difficult than the first.

You know just what to expect, but you're still so uncomfortable.
You're past the point of "where's the water cooler?" but you still aren't sure you can find it on your own. You have your notebook to cling to, and you know who your safety blanket is, but someone else still sits at your desk until the end of the week. And, when you make it to that first Friday, and start tacking up photos of your dog, everyone walks by and exclaims "I can't believe [Mary] is gone!" - a sentiment with which you fail to empathize, considering you very obviously occupy [Mary's] space, and the news of her departure has been public for 2+ weeks.

I've been in my position for a year, and despite the onslaught of monotony, I don't miss being the new girl.

All this, because of my second entry... which really isn't a second entry because I've been writing on these types of forums for years. I guess I just need a rhythm.

My life, in general, would like a rhythm (not to be confused with a routine, because I have a trustworthy one of those, and it's not anything I aimed to obtain- it just sort of happened). I think I move in and out of temporary rhythm, which isn't much like rhythm at all considering consistency can't very well be sporadic. Then again, rhythm can change, and should change for the sake of interest... so I guess I like the idea of sporadic rhythm. I like contrasts- Darkening the shadows and lightening the highlights, yet still moving from black to white by means of the notorious gray.

And now that I'm on a rhythm right here, I have to go. Sporadically.

Monday, June 4, 2007

I'd start at the beginning if I knew where that was.

I can't just be creative on command. I can't whip anything out from under my skirt just because I'm in a new little cyberspace with a fancy new backdrop. But, I can say that I'm happy to be branching out into a more ...tailored... version of the Open Diary concept.

The "Open Diary" was around before "blog" was a term. "It's like an online journal," I'd say. "It organizes your entries by date. People can read what you write and even comment on it for others to see. Everyone writes under a pen-name..." I can clearly remember having to explain this concept to people- no one had heard of it I didn't tell many of my friends about it- only a few. I figured it would get me into trouble. I wrote about friends, and about lovers. One day I got so paranoid that one of these lovers may have discovered my Open Diary, and I deleted pages of writing. Eventually the thing deleted itself when I stopped using it so religiously. Poof, gone. Just like that. And it was just as well anyhow, the site had been bombarded by juveniles with nothing better to say than, "BRAD IS SOOOO HOT!!!" with about 5000 times the number of exclamation points.

It was always odd to think that someone besides myself was reading my journal. Now, it's odd to have a journal that isn't public in one way or another.

As for THIS journal- I hope it's a place to purge and release. I hope to reap the benefits of disclosure, and I hope anyone who visits will reap the benefits of my honesty. I try so hard not to contrive; to be lyrical without being artificial. To be passionate without being preachy. To be connected without being a new-aged flake. (If I recognize the stereotype, does that mean I still fall into it?)

I have so many many emotions and notions and commotions crashing around in my head and heart and bones... and it's often very difficult to put that shit into words. It's so difficult to put that shit into any visible form. Maybe it's just hard to find the right people to share it with. Most of the free-spirited and open-hearted people that relate to me are not the type to be grounded by a communication box, a.k.a computer. I like the way the screen centers me and channels my thoughts from my head to my fingers into characters into words into thoughts that speak back to me and reach others at the same time. I think it's amazing- and still, I think I live a little too attached to this type of expression. I would like to put myself out there physically as ferociously as I put myself out there mentally. I seem to take more risks with sharing my mind than I do with sharing any part of myself in the flesh.

Ahhh, I should back up and attempt some linear, structured introductory thought. But, I've had one mega-glass of wine, which constitutes for 3 I'm sure, so I would rather trail off at this vulnerable and incomplete moment in hopes that it does not end as abruptly as---

So, is this a good start?