My day was brightened considerably by running around during lunch. I redeemed a bunch of birthday stuff: perfume and lip gloss at Aveda, got new belts for my belt buckle gifts at the market, saw the Maximus/Minimus pig on 2nd & Pike, and all while running around listening to the awesome filthy crunk-tastic mix Randy made for me when he was DJing at Grey Gallery & Lounge a few weeks back.

I love this town. I love my downtown culture, buskers, business, and the bustle of the market-- tourists, smelly fish and all.


Red with stars belt, with wooden inked geisha buckle Natalie gave me for Christmas:



Samish tribe eagle & orca embossed belt with pirate buckle, given to me on my birthday from the mighty mighty Jill.

So it's been an amazing summer already and it's barely July. Epic motorcycling, long weekends on the island, fun OSHA-violating work-like play, social justice for kids at the office, loving, creative fella, awesome roommate, incredible friends, more laughs than I can count. Every time I look around I realize just how lucky I am and how much I'm growing in my surroundings. I'm incredibly happy and satisfied in ways I never thought I could be, and I'm excited and energized about the adventures ahead.

That being said, it's been a rough couple of years for me. It's been a hell of a struggle to get from emotional ground zero to where I am now. While I open my head and heart to the world I must confess to being gunshy. I'm afraid that I will get to Burning Man, as prepared as possible to have my mind blown in the way only Black Rock City can, and discover that I am too fragile. That a wildfire will be unleashed and I'll be broken down in depths of anguish and have to begin again. I'm afraid that I'll spend the rest of the event crying and wishing I hadn't come. I'm afraid that I will be jumped by some unforeseen something-- disillusion? Regret?-- about the house. I'm afraid that I'm like a victim I am returning to the scene of the accident, thinking this is what I was doing when it all went to hell, this must be what I need to be doing. Right?

I'm afraid of these things because I've dealt with them before. I've known my mind to hide things from me, like memories of my Father. For a long time a lot of my teenage years with him were simply inaccesible to me. I used to worry that I couldn't remember and wouldn't ever again, but then one day I did remember. I remembered and the emotional impact of it broke over me like a wave, and I wept. I've pushed through time operating on terribly little mental capability. Only in retrospect did I see how, like iron eaten by rust, I was critically failing and it's kind of a miracle I didn't break down altogether. Perhaps my lesson is that I have and will weather this adversity, and what I aspire to is strength and wit enough to be graceful when it inevitably comes.

I'm also coming to realize that letting go isn't a milestone, at least not at first. Letting go means letting the balloon string of thought for someone or something else go over and over and over, every time you see something they might have liked or see someone they know or want to share a thought or feeling with them or simply miss the person that you are were when you were with them. Over and over and over, and I guess eventually you hope that over time the moments where you are required to conciously let go of them will become fewer and far between, and faded enough not to color your being anymore.



++
'And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom'- Anaïs Nin

When I feel the need in the morning to meditate, to organize my head and heart, it is a sure sign of that I am feeling out of control. Usually mornings the cyclone is stilled and how I feel about where to put my energy is clear, but not today. I have two weekends in town between now and mid-September, and every weekend has appointments.

Operation Victorian must return to the negotiating table and try to get the seller to put a new roof and gutters-- at least-- on the house. She's a 100 year-old house, there are inescapable quirks and repairs that go with that. But it must get a new roof or my interest in buying it goes dangerously down. It's time to kick it into gear for Burning Man. 50 days until we get to the playa! I've got to put together the tool wagon, design and make the book of souls, finish a couple of other projects as well as plan and pack for my own personal stuff.

For the work I have cut out for me, there are so many good things. This weekend will be spent with Iko's family out on Whidbey, then out at the Smoke Farm for Burning Beast with my favorite CB. Next weekend Team ZK invades Canada for the Disaster Daze festival and much riding. Rusty is bringing home a new kitty fresh out of kittenhood. I'm sure the introduction will be loud but I am happy Ursa will have a kitty to play with. Work at the office is steady and rewarding. My life with Iko remains strong and nurtured; I feel invested and uncompromised with him. Also he's a great kisser and a hill of fun.

Last night Operation Victorian got together to go over Tenants in Common agreements and pocky faxed pages of the counter offer from the seller, who is currently vacationing in Maui. Their offer isn't jump-up-and-down awesome but it is workable, so we got down to nitty gritty with the real estate agent and loan officer and put hiring lawyers on deck. This has been a roller coaster of a-ha! moments, exploring homes, giddy laughter, building trust and sharing whiskey and getting happier than I ever thought I would about included washers and dryers. It also included no small amount of dread and anxiety about assuming this kind of responsibility again, where I want to go in the next few years, and fast emotional evaluation of why I want this. Hell, this time last week I was backing out because I couldn't see a way to make it work. I was tired last night and so perhaps my sense of humor was dulled, but Leslie's right: anyone that buys right now is going to look like a genius. We decided to sleep on it and make a decision whether or not to take the offer this morning.

The house is beautiful: a lovingly restored 1908 Folk Victorian that is cut like a huge single family home but by virtue of zoning and a tidy kitchen on the second floor is a legal duplex. Chris and Leslie will take the elaborate, open first floor and I will take the two-bedroom second. It has 10 foot ceilings throughout, gorgeous fir floors and claw foot tubs in both units. It includes details like stained glass and curved ceilings. I've never really approached Victorian-style homes, I've always like Craftmans, but what the hell? Every yuppie in Wallingford has a Craftman. I love the style and it fits. The house is in fantastic repair and includes new appliances and recently rewired electrical. It's on top of Beacon Hill and from my bedroom window I can see the Cascade Mountains. It's a half mile from the Beacon Hill Light Rail station and incredibly centrally located. We are well within stumbling distance from my beloved Stronghold or from Whaya's. Chris, Leslie and I agree on a lot of things from pets to gardening to emergency planning that includes Burning Man. By the end of the night I drove home and found myself grinning involuntarily.

I fell asleep wishing I could see the place again. Was there a shower in the upstairs, or just a tub? What's that thing on the fireplace? What the heck am I going to do with two bedrooms? And an oven! I'll have an oven! My mind is spinning. I am bracing for the work ahead-- inspection, closing the deal, moving, finding a roommate for Rusty, all within the week we leave for Burning Man. Whee!

Wow. I just found an entry from January 2007 that I wrote about the upcoming election:
"
Senator Barack "Rock You Like a 109th Congress Hurricane" Obama has "announced that he is forming an Exploratory Committee with view to challenge for the Democratic Presidential Nomination." this makes the two Democratic frontrunners a woman Senator from Arkansas and a mulitracial Senator originally from Hawai'i. pretty boy Johnny Edwards, whom i broke up with in my heart after Dick Cheney spanked him like a little girl in the 2004 Presidential debates, has got a challenge of Sisyphusian proportions on his hands with these two popularity contest winners competing for the Democratic nomination. he's in last place behind Al Gore, who hasn't announced that he is running. but for that matter, neither has presumed leader Hillary.

Obama is one charismatic fella, that's for sure, and definitely the strongest minority potential presidential candidate in American history. but he's a sophomore politician with some utopian ideas and he voted for the fence (see rant here). Hillary tends to talk out of both sides of her mouth. Edwards has the potential to really make changes, but he's such a slave to the muse i suspect the political machine will chew him up and spit him out. and good old Al. $5 says he doesn't even run.
"

A fine thing, is a bunneh.

Jenna & Tomoe

More here and here

Ursula and I are holding the couch down with skill and panache, as we spent another delightful evening laughing late around the fire with my Stronghomies. Yesterday afternoon I jumped out of work a little early for a last-minute meeting. Chris, Leslie and I are setting gears in motion that change our collective direction in some fun-as-hell exciting ways, and true to our playful grown up characters we set off the legally binding stack of dominoes with an old-fashioned rochambeau. Leslie won. And no, you don't get any details. Mysterious Jenna is mysterious. Anyway I'll find out on my birthday if this penguin will fly.

I headed up to Highland Park for Thursday night pickleball and squeezed in a few games with my handsome fella and our pals. I love the Zero Thousand crew with a respect and joy for kamakazi creativity and wit, balanced with more playful grown up characters and an appreciation for whiskey. We trooped out to the West Seattle junction where I redeemed my six-year-old free cd card at Easy Street for the new Neko Case (yay!), then tucked in to a delicious Indian dinner. As usual the table conversation careened around like a hilarious pinball between throat singing, Transformers, goat on the bone and tales of urban home-ownership.

Feeling kinda like a deadbeat cat owner I headed home, and was happily surprised by a fire in the courtyard and a heated debate about the changing face of Georgetown culture. Then it was Randy, Gabe, and I and the bottom of the case of Tecate when who comes through the gate but Chris and Leslie! Pretty soon there was hula hooping, Ursula on a leash with us, the beautiful embrace of bluegrass in the digital age, riotous laughing and by one AM plots had been hatched for a traveling carnival complete hoops, stilts and fire and Georgetown pub crawl (well, pub lurch, anyway) on converted buses. Since the moment was right I cracked open the delicious bottle of beer Nathan gave me last November for my housewarming when I came to live at Stronghold and we shared it all around. Today my head may be ringing like a bell but my heart is overflowing with shenanigans and promise.

This made my day.

"We the People of Oklahoma, Invoking the guidance of basic reason and logic, in order to prevent that vein in our foreheads from popping out; to secure a state government that is merely corrupt rather than criminally insane; to promote our mutual Welfare and Happiness, do establish this proclamation and call upon the people of the great State of Oklahoma, and our fellow Patriots in these United States of America who look to non Gaylord owned media for guidance, to acknowledge the need for Sally Kern to step out of the spotlight for a while and mutter gently to her handgun...."

The rest of the hilarious text this-a way.

"...NOW THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED that we the undersigned snarky bastards, appealing to the basic decency and reasonableness of our fellow citizens, solemnly declare that the HOPE of the great State of Oklahoma and of these United States, rests upon politicians and civil servants who care more about their constituents than about the 15 or so votes to be gained by showboating and being self righteous..."



In response to the absurd Morality Proclamation.

Houses, houses. It seems I always dream of houses. Last night I dreamed that Leslie discovered a huge empty space behind the shower wall. She was upset about it and thought it was going to be expensive to fix. I was worried when she told me there was a problem with the shower, that we were going to have to deal with soggy tile and rotten drywall, but when I saw the space it didn't seem hard to correct at all. This is something we could handle.

On the other hand, when did I start dreaming about grown up things? Where are the bath houses full of living statues and talking toucans of my youth?

Stop it. Touching molten metal-- though yes, it is cooling-- still hurts. So keep your damn nose out of it already. You have better things to do, like being brave, like playing ball, and like being smart to catch this opportunity tiger by the tail.

Volis!

In the morning things seem simple. What and who I need to focus on, think of, look after. How to do these things. By evening it is a tangled garden and I am tired.

Am I ready to go?

My birthday season begins June 27, tomorrow! Wait a second, you say. Your birthday isn't until July 5, lady. What the heck is Birthday Season? Are ya tryin' to pull a fast one?

Birthday Season is the two-week observation (the weeks preceding and following the official day) of my birthday. Get ready to celebrate! Hooray Hooray Hooray! Gaiety, song and dance, here we are and there we are!

Your thirties are all about coming to terms with contradictions. Think of things that remind you of being both playful and responsible, outrageous and subtle, well-read and full of wonder, knowing the rules and breaking them, and share them! Share them with me, share them with each other, everyone should celebrate the Birthday Season!

I like whiskey, water balloon fights, art, flowers, rust, being read to, mischief, being upside down, music, vodka, toys, and you. Do with this information what you will.

A man was found dead in Oklahoma City today. The address is less than a mile from a handful of people I care very much about, including my brother and his family, a cousin and some very, very dear friends. Seeing this article led to ten panicked minutes on google maps trying to determine, beyond all doubt, that I did not know that house.

My heart is still racing. My nest, my family, I love you. May you stay safe.

South Paw Screen Printing Inc
5840 Airport Way S
Seattle, WA 98108-2748
(206) 762-2926‎

Ask for Scott & tell 'im Jenna sent ya :)

Photo by leenerella, design by my beloved Iko & imperator_mei. Thanks, gang!

I spent savasana thinking about lasagna. Thus, after giving permission to one of my favorite maniacs to pilot a boat I attacked the idea of making tiny, toaster-oven spicy spinach and mushroom dairy-free lasagna in pot-pie cups. Delicious!

I've told myself I haven't had time for yoga lately, but it is a mistake to avoid the mind-clearing and body-strengthening exercize. I was gripped by an urge to do some sun salutations on Sunday and found myself sore today for it. Unacceptable! Yoga makes me happy and healthy. I may even ohm sincerely someday yet.

You know you want to!

It is a bizarre place of Burning Man, weirdly in a no-man's landscape. I have ridden my motorcycle there and it is time to contemplate going home. I am trying to convince Morgan to stop in San Fransisco on the way for a shower. He is angry because he has received reports that his motorcycle is running poorly. At last word they want him not to ride it at all, but to trailer it to a repair shop in a nearby town. Me, I want to go to San Fransisco and I hope he will come with me anyway. I try and sway him with stories of how nice and ocean-fresh it will be in The City, and we don't have to go out or anything. He is enthusiastic about it, but I can tell it is partly because he simply doesn't want to deal with the reality that his motorcycle is broken.

The place has few of the realities of Burning man but, in the way of dreams, I know that it is. There are no close friends with me there, just folks with whom I am acquainted and people that used to be friends of mine. They all have non-debilitating ailments that are very odd; Amanda is oozing a kind of lactation from a cut in her chest that she calls 'Easter's Milk.' She treats it as an inconvenience and not as something totally weird.

About this time of year I begin to dream of Burning Man like this, as if my head and heart are priming me for the mind-blowing experiences to come. I have always dealt with radical changes in this way, with an instinctive, primal preparation. I suppose it is the unconscious part of my mental work to try and stay open to experience, to do as much to build the psychological and emotional tools to not only deal with a situation that I cannot control but to play and grow in it.

Either that or I ate my spicy Filipino dinner too close to bedtime.

I opted not to go on the ride today, but went down to All City to hang out with the folks that were going. We had a delightful laugh and some coffee. Since I needed kibble for Ursula I decided to hang out a bit until Dog's Dream opened, and what did I see? Susie and Cheryl come down for coffee! What the hell, I had another cuppa and caught up with them for a bit. I ran into one of my Stronghomies, too. How serendipitous!

Wildly overcaffeinated but happy, I've come home to map my lazy day. I need to tidy up Snatcher a bit and I need to build my Power Tool racer, but for now I'm content to play Grow and Samorost with a purring Ursa on me and old Siouxsie in the background.

Happy Summer Solstice, y'all.