Pictures of Louisville, my beloved hometown and someday home-again... from across the river, at the Kentucky Derby Museum and overlooking the Churchill Downs infield. I am homesick now.

Fun with Kuko

Kuko is one of our most popular tour guides, and many times they tie him to the wall outside of the window of our offices at the Plant. Today he seemed a bit down so my coworkers and I went out to cheer him up. I scratched his ears for a while and then we took some (un)glamorous shots together.

Ecology and Oscar, friends for life

Friends, I am catching up, frantically…

Recently I have been thinking a lot about how to reduce my personal “environmental footprint,” since I have been researching how to reduce our company’s collective footprint on the face of the earth. However, when I think about how big my footsteps are, especially when I wear my heavy-duty work boots at the Plant, I want to crawl into a hole and hibernate (which would effectively solve the problem, unless I were smushing ants or something).
I have asked myself over and over what I can do, and I have a long list of things that I have tried or am currently experimenting, and I guess I’ll go right ahead and share those with you.

Things I have tried/am trying:

1. Cleaning the bathroom with only vinegar and baking soda (although not together, cause that creates a reaction that is only appropriate for elementary school volcano projects). Outcome: Works on the sink, not so effective on the inside of the toilet where the sitting water changes it colors, and if you don’t wash off ALL the baking soda of the rim, it irritates your skin.

2. Using non-toxic things to exterminate roaches. Outcome: The only effective non-toxic way to kill roaches is to stomp them until their brains and organs splatter, which requires that they live and grow in your house. So they are living in my house I think, until I find something that won’t fumigate me too.

3. Roof-top composting. Outcome: I guess we’ll see in a couple more months. I am taking the lazy approach and layering dirt and kitchen scraps in large rice bags and leaving it until it breaks down, or some kind of larvae eats it and produces nutrient-rich excrement from it.

4. Car-pooling to and from work. Outcome: Successful, since I make it every day. That I usually make it a bit late because I stand on the street corner for 20 minutes waiting for my tardy friend as people (men) honk at me is beside the point.

5. Buying locally. Outcome: They don’t try to force us to use plastic bags and the chicken doesn’t come on a Styrofoam bed. But, the questions loom: how local is the produce? Did they use pesticides or hormones that are not approved for consumption in other countries like the US? Are people earning a living wage for the food they sell?

6. Buying at the organic store. Outcome: Little selection and more expensive than in the US. The homemade yogurt had a really strange taste and poor consistency, the cereal and bread would have put me over my monthly budget, and there were not many products that contained protein. However, we did eat a couple of delicious tamales, bought some long-lasting bars of avocado soap, and have been enjoying agave plant syrup.

7. Making plants my pets. Outcome: I like puppies, but I opted for green friends instead because they are cheaper to feed, quieter, will eventually use up the compost that nature is helping me produce, and they make me feel healthier. Plus, I have fresh mint and basil leaves when I need them.

8. Collecting gray water. Outcome: The bucket in the shower is not that obtrusive, and it just eases my mind that we can use the water to flush the toilet. Why flush nasty stuff with clean water?

9. Recycling. Outcome: Mexico doesn’t have many recycling programs, so I started one at work. And, since I knew I was going to start a recycling program at work, I have been saving my recyclable goods, so the pantry has more used items than containers with new products. But, since we started this week, I can now bring in my cans, plastic containers, newspapers (though lots of those are hanging with the plants or in the compost), cardboard, etc. And I’ll keep the glass bottles for all of the broken glass plans I have.

10. Using natural hygiene products. Outcome: The shampoo wasn’t all that great, but Oscar uses it. The soap is swell, and otherwise I don’t use face-care stuff anyway because I’m lazy. The deodorant crystal is amazing… it is a hunk of minerals that you wet slightly and then rub under your arms or anywhere else on your body. It has no smell, and it keeps you from smelling by killing bacteria. It doesn’t stop you from sweating, it doesn’t have a container (they give you a little wooden box thing to set it in), and it lasts up to a year. All for $6! Just so you know, you’re getting one for Christmas. All of you!

Some of my major quandaries still are these: What to do with the dern plastic bags that I have accumulated (at first I didn’t have a market bag)? Can I compost my used toilet paper (since it can’t go down the drain)? How can I contribute to recycling in my apartment building and neighborhood? Can I make my own paints? Etc.

I have gotten sort of wrapped up in these issues, but I like thinking about this and not office gossip which is like a competitive sport here. And, Oscar has been participating in all this too, which can be pretty interesting because he did not grow up with five different recepticles in his kitchen to separate materials and a pot on the stove for feeding scraps to the dogs, nor has he ever had friends like mine who know the seasons for every fruit and vegetable and drink raw milk. So now I will talk about him:

Regarding this subject, he cooks a lot so he deposits most of the organic material in the bucket so I can take it up later to deposit it in the bag and cover it with dirt, something that he refuses to do (according to him, it’s my thing, he just goes along with it). He uses the gray water bucket and always turns off the shower when he is soaping up, since water conservation here means saving money. And, for the same reason, he never has more than one light on at a time, and uses the stove and water heater very efficiently. Aside from that, he makes like some Cuban refugees and brings home cool stuff that he finds in the street, including huge sheets of glass, shelving, flower pots, Ferrari calendars, etc. And, he very seldom splurges on cut flowers, surely to protest those that are not organic. Ha!

Aside from being compatible with ecology, he is a good cook. He makes some tasty soups, potatoes and tinga. He is also a good drinker, and he likes bourbon a lot which will one day make him popular with the family.

Currently he is working on starting up his new screen-printing business, so he has a new chrome-plated octopus (the name for the six-armed machine, so maybe it is double amputee) and he built his screen developing table. He is in Puebla this week getting some more supplies and visiting, and then when he comes back we hope to start printing our own designs and lots for other people.

His other big focus is on learning English. He sort of resisted for a while, but now he’s in daily classes. I met his teacher the other night at a bakery, and she said that he talks about me a lot in class. He is starting to be pretty funny in English, which is a nice change because before he was pretty obnoxious since his favorite phrases were, “Come on,” “Hurry up,” and “Take it easy.” Some of his most recent stories follow:

One night he was doing his interactive homework by listening to a CD and answering the questions. He listened to some girl talking about her sister, and proceeded to say this:
Oscar: “Her name is Melanie. She is fifty-five years old.”
Me: “Fifty-five?”
Oscar: (incredulous) “Fifty-five?” “No, she is fifteen, of course.”

I asked him one day what he learned in class, and he said that they talked about opposites.
Me: “Like what?”
Oscar: “Like short and tall, happy and sad, rich and poor. Like you are rich and I am poor. Are you okay with that?”

One day I got home and I was whooped (you know, real tired) and my head hurt a lot. I sat down and leaned over and he rubbed the back of my head and said, “This is bad. You are made in America and you are sick, and I am made in Mexico and I am okay. What happened?”

He sort of has a deadline since my parents are coming for ten days in October. Obviously, he won’t be a pro, but since they are staying in the apartment, he figures it is a little more serious this time around.

And I think that’s all I’ve got for now. Saludos!

World-Renowned

The picture is from Engrish.com, which is a funny site that I have shared with some of the Spanish and English speakers here. It seems that I am really revered in Japan.

The real point of this blog is to let you know that I have posted a link to my birthday and furniture pictures to the right, for you non-facebook users.

Post-Birthday Revolution

First, friends, forget that you forgot my birthday. Let’s move on. But check out the pictures anyway, since I got a new haircut and am starting to paint on my canvases, beginning with red and some interesting people and moving on to dancing horses. I am also hoping to make sort of hippie-type bead strings to hang in my windows, but instead of using beads I am going to use pieces of broken glass wrapped in wire and connected to make a chain. I think the light should reflect nicely from those, and there is an abundance of glass on the ground and in the form of empty bottles of all kinds around here. I am also thinking of printing a picture on a banner or something and hanging it behind my bed as a headboard. Or something. And since I am talking about interesting design concepts, check out www.greatgreengoods.com, because it features a lot of really cool items made mostly out of recycled, reused or sustainable materials.
That leads to the main focus of my work recently, which is planning and attempting to implement a comprehensive Corporate Responsibility project (which we hope will lead to the creation of an area or department down the line) here at Casa Herradura. We are a bit behind the curve so far, but Brown-Forman is going to release its first CSR report in the next couple of weeks, and we have approval for our plan and activities. The starting point is a company-wide recycling program (Guadalajara, Plant, Mexico City) and campaign to reduce energy use, and then we will be working to do things like make the marketing more responsible, purchase “green” cleaning products, protect natural resources like water, reforest certain areas, contribute to the local communities, etc. It is a big goal, but it is definitely the part of my job that I like best. Otherwise, I am working on an Objectives plan, where I will be in charge of helping everyone in the company set objectives on a quarterly basis that contribute to the long-term goals of the company. That will enable me to get to know everyone, and will show how persistent I can be in tracking people down and demanding their participation.
Aside from work, I have been exploring my neighborhood, and I have some very good things to describe. Food-wise, my top-two favorites are Beirut and Toyo. Beirut is a Lebanese restaurant that has wonderful things like baba ganoush, falafel tacos, mint-flavored water and shisha (hookah) pipes (although I haven’t smoked yet). One night Oscar and I went to eat dinner and we got rained in, so we hung out for about 45 minutes extra observing the Lebanese family members, who were smoking the pipe and telling stories that seemed hilarious, although we couldn’t understand. Toyo, also known as “Sushi & Beer,” is wonderful because the chef really is Japanese (as opposed to being Imitation, like fake crab meat or something) and he makes excellent sushi rolls and cones and incredible udon soup, and they sell about 100 different imported beers from all over the world (and beer-related memorabilia covers the walls). For a good local option, there is a new 2 for 1 meat restaurant (about $6 for two people to eat a plate of meat each), where they serve baby white potatoes covered in chipotle salsa and really tender steak. My least favorite options currently are any restaurants that serve seafood, as the last time I ate mariscos Oscar had to stand in front of me so people driving by wouldn’t see me puking next to the road. It was certainly a good thing it rained that night.
Otherwise, the grocery store is in walking distance too, so I have mostly been cooking things like bean and vegetable stew, cannelloni with assorted fillings, fried apples, rice and garbanzo and spinach medley (an invention, yes), beef fajitas, etc. And I have done my share of drinking good, cheap wine and mixing some drinks like the Finlandia Lily for my friends. And then, there is a Pub down the street that has beer by the liter, including lots of beer from independent Mexican brewers and pretzels (a small milagro, I think they are specially imported or something).
Also nearby is Blockbuster, and since I don’t have or plan on buying a TV, I have taken advantage of the fact that my company computer is a laptop and that I am a “Distinguished Associate” which infers certain privileges like extra free video rentals. I finally saw Little Miss Sunshine, The Holiday and I am gearing up for The Unbearable Lightness of Being tonight (which, for those of you who don’t know, is based on the book of the same name by Milan Kundera, who is a genius and I highly recommend his works). For live entertainment, I can go to Expo Guadalajara, which is a big exposition center that hosts all kinds of events, such Expo Mascotas. Oscar and I went to see lots of puppies, kittens, reptiles and the assorted monkey a couple of weekends ago, and I was highly tempted to come home with a Great Pyrenese, like the one in the picture, although it is only two months old and already “eats a whole plate full of food everyday!”, not to mention that it will soon weigh more than me. So, I am going to stick to my plants and rooftop composting project for the time being and maybe invest in a good stuffed animal if I need something fluffier.
In more enlightened news, here are some stimulating articles from the NY Times:
About Mexican immigrants who bring back more than money… also HIV that they contract in the US for various reasons and that is now spreading among rural populations in Mexico.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/17/world/americas/17mexico.html?em&ex=1184817600&en=7c41a234f27dc0e7&ei=5087%0A
About the mere three-mile but big cultural divide between two border towns.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/18/travel/18frugal.html?_r=1&oref=slogin
And, a list of quick and easy summer recipes to end things on the light side and keep you well-fed for less.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/18/dining/18mini.html?em&ex=1184904000&en=c7b9dea42eb9cefa&ei=5087%0A

And, a good bit of a poem, since my Mom sent me some poetry books recently:

The last section of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poem “Renascence”
The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky, --
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat -- the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.

Which Mexican am I?

I was going to write on my one-month anniversary, but alas, I am five days late (and now, even later in posting this). But here I am, addressing you from Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico, where I am living, working, exploring, making friends, experiencing funny things, getting sick, etc.
I read through some of my previous blog entries recently and decided that I might need to explain myself a bit, because although I ended up in another country, I am not exactly dedicated to art travel, at least full-time. Currently I am a Human Resources Analyst in a Tequila company, which entails working on whatever comes up or gets directed toward me. For the first week my objective was teaching people to pronounce my name (let’s be honest, that is still a constant task) and making it clear that I will be living and working here for a while (but I don’t know how long). The next weeks were devoted first to perusing all classified ads for departments for rent and calling each and every one that was within my budget, and then visiting all the ones that passed initial muster. I saw one with a “fully-equipped kitchen” and “new” furniture that had a two-burner stove, a mini fridge, and a well-worn bed frame and mismatched kitchen chairs. There were others that were certainly not as “precious” as they were purported to be, and one that was a three-story funhouse that should be a hip café or nightclub, but most likely won’t ever be anything as long as they refuse to clean the dog poop and dead insects from the rooms.
After all that adventure, I had to decide between two winners in the area of town that I had liked most, and I settled on the apartment that you see in the pictures. Even nearly three weeks after renting it, the apartment still offers quite a bit of free space. The bulky looking blue thing is a strange desk that was left by the previous occupants, which serves to put things on. The first piece of furniture that I purchased was a bed, for most obvious reasons, and it happens to be one of the nicer beds I have ever owned. I found a chair in the upstairs patio/service area, and then my boss lent me a very large decorative table and an even larger refrigerator, which is located in the living room because it does not fit in the kitchen due to a protruding portion of the counter. I went to Tonalá, a crafty area to the southeast of the city to buy furniture, and I finally decided on a fairly two-tone living room set (three couches) which finally arrived after having to harass the salespeople almost daily for two weeks and taking my second choice color combination. Related to that and leading up to my first actual piece of furniture is the inspiration for the desired color scheme, a square seat. I was really hoping to go all modern and minimalist, but I really like sitting and lying down on couches, so I will have big couches and a couple of square imitation leather seats and eventually some other furniture like a bar and stools. The guest bedroom is empty and hasn’t been much of a priority since I have not had any guests (hint, hint), but that eventually will be equipped as well. I have no real further purchasing priorities, as I use my laptop from work as a DVD player (thanks to my Blockbuster membership) and therefore have no real need for (or, honestly, any interest in buying) a TV, and I hope to paint some pictures and design some huge pieces of glass, wire and bead jewelry to hang on the walls. I have bought and acquired some plants: one that looks like the leaves are covered in yellow confetti, one that hangs, and one that is just a nice leafy plant. And also, I have an agave plant that the Field Supervisors cut out of the ground for me last Friday, called a “hijuelo” because it is one of the baby plants that grows up beneath the big mother plant.
Speaking of agave, that’s the reason I came, or at least on account of the product that comes out of the distillation process. But I have to say, agave country is beautiful. The only type of agave that can be used to make tequila is the blue agave, and like bluegrass, it has a nice smoky blue tint when you see it from afar. The plants take 6-8 years or more to reach maturity for harvesting, but the land doesn’t need to rest between plantings so there are always nice landscapes. The Plant for our company is in Amatitán, which is about an hour outside of Guadalajara and a short jaunt in car from Tequila, Jalisco where other renowned tequila producers are.
Our Plant is on the property of a large, well-cared for hacienda, sort of like a southern plantation, complete with stone entryways, a stable, a private chapel, horse stables, a large house and, of course, the production facilities. I am going to take you step-by-step through the process of turning agave into tequila.
1. Plant the hijuelos, or baby plants, about 1 meter apart in fields that have always been used for agave, but only in the states of Jalisco (all areas), Nayarit, Guanajuato, Michoacán and Tamaulipas (those four, only in areas designated by the Mexican government, since the conditions aren’t right for good cultivation in other areas).
2. Wait a couple years and spray them below the leaves with non-toxic products to keep things from attacking the roots. Continue to keep the fields clear of other invasive species. If it is a big tree-like thing is growing out of the middle, cut that because it would eventually be necessary in sexual reproduction, but it makes all the sugars leave the middle of the plant and go to that part instead, which is not good for making tequila. Anyway, the asexual reproduction produces the hijuelos, which is more efficient.
3. After about 6-8 years, take your team of Jimadors out to harvest. The Jimadors use a flat, round metal tool on a large wooden pole called a coa to shave off all of the big aloe-like leaves and to shape-up the piña (pineapple, cause that’s what it looks like) that is left. That is the heart of the agave and what contains all the good stuff. Cut the piñas in half and help carry and load them into the back of a big truck (or, if you planted on the side of a big hill, toss them into baskets on the backs of donkeys and send them down the hill to the truck) which will transport them to the ovens. Keep in mind that each piña can weigh between 80 to 120 pounds or more.
4. Get a team to help load the several tons of cut piñas into the ovens, which are huge rooms made from clay from the side of another nearby hill. When you finish loading, seal the oven door with the straw-like fiber that is left-over from other cooked piñas, and seal it with a wooden door. Pump in heat and cook the piñas for 24 hours, then leave them to cool for another 24 hours before unloading the leftovers.
5. The aguamiel, or honey water, goes to the fermentation process, where it sits in large vats and naturally ferments. When you look in from the top it all moves around as if it were being churned by something, but it is just the movement of the liquids interacting with oxygen and yeast.
6. After that the mosto, what we bourbon people call mash, goes on to distillation, where it is processed two times to become clear and more like something you would want to drink. The white tequila is normally finished there process there, and is sent on to bottling. Tequila reposado (rested) goes into barrels for a couple of months depending on the brand. Tequila añejo (aged) sits in barrels for a couple of years. The color changes come from sitting in the barrels, which are once-used charred white oak bourbon and whiskey barrels exported from the US. The longer the aging, the smoother the tequila.
7. Then comes the bottling, the marketing, the distribution, the sales, etc., which of course are jobs done by people, which gives me a chance to work in Human Resources. And also to enjoy tequila.

So that’s my day job. It actually feels longer than a day, since here they like to work 9 hours a day. So that means that I work 45 hours a week. I am not too keen on the fact that I work more to earn less, so one of my major objectives is convincing the company to adopt a 7.5 hour work day, like the parent company observes. My other major projects right now are planning a series of Corporate Communications and Product Tasting events, featuring tequila and products from Brown-Forman, like Jack Daniel’s, Early Times, Finlandia Vodka, etc.
Related to those drinks, this weekend I am hosting my first house party and will be featuring those items, and then I will be writing weekly entries. Feel free to ask questions to spice things up.
Check in the link section to see photos of all this excitement!

¡Ya llevo 14 días en Guadalajara! The only downside of being here for two weeks is that I have spent all of them in a hotel. It is actually a luxury hotel, but I despise the fact that the bellhops and attendents and maids (somehow that makes me think of J.Lo) know my comings-and-goings, even if I am only going back and forth to work and to get some food. Speaking of work, that's why I came and where I am now. Actually, most of the time I am working. Turns out that the work week here is 45 hours long, plus the five hours when I am on lunch break but technically tied here.
Really, though, I like where I work. I am in the main offices of a renowned tequila company, and about an hour outside of the city is a historic hacienda where the agave plants are planted, harvested, cooked and mashed, and then the honey juice is separated and sent to the fermentation tanks where it is turned into alcohol by natural air-borne yeast, and then piped into the distillation tanks to be purified, and then onto barrels to be aged if necessary (if it is going to be Reposado-- rested or Anejo-- aged instead of Blanco-- white tequila). And then of course it is bottled, labeled, boxed and shipped out to be enjoyed. Whew.

Checklist of things left to do before departing for Mexico

1. Finish packing my bags
2. Write addresses and phone numbers in my mini-notebook
3. Run around the yard
4. Take my last real bath
5. Narrow down my book selection to cut weight
6. Ride my horse once more, slowly
7. Eat 15 more pounds of food
8. Watch CSI: Miami since my Dad isn't here to control the TV
9. Kiss my dogs good-bye
10. Relish my last nights on my featherbed
After Wednesday, I'll be writing in Spanish, so start practicing!

Brief, but it's something

Alright, Carrie, enough of the snippy comments. Update:
It is my second-to-last day as a temp, and I am scheduling and touring candidates around to the finish. I am going to sorely miss my co-workers, all of whom think I am witty, responsible and diligent without me having to come out and tell them that I am. Ha. They are beautiful and swell women who make me appreciate daily life a lot.
Anyway, I started packing for the big move to Guadalajara-- I fly down with Bree next Wednesday. I have finally been assured that the company will pay for me to stay in a hotel until I find a place and a mattress, and they are planning to take me on tours of the city and the tequila fields and plant, etc.
I will write more real soon (ie in less than 3 months).

Craziness

So I will just go ahead and be honest. My spells (episodes, partial complex seizures, excuses to take long naps) have made a strong comeback, like the Police. You could even say that they my spells are on tour again, I suppose. I knew that it was going to happen, what with me scheduling people and taking a slew of art classes and driving back-and-forth to all of those worthy activities, but I find myself perplexed by my reaction and inability to shake the feeling that I should be more normal than this.
Just to recap, repeated head injuries of varied sorts led to these spells, which cause me to get confused, to feel as if the world is losing meaning and closing in on me, to experience acute dizziness and try to lay down wherever possible, to cease talking and slip into a trance-like state, sometimes characterized by calm staring and other times by excessive eye rolling. I eventually fall asleep and wake up groggily two or more hours later, wondering exactly what transpired and to whom I might owe explanations.
Take, for example, two weeks ago Thursday, when I had my first big back-to-work extravaganza. The whole day I told my co-workers that I felt weird, sort of drained and slow-witted and exceptionally tired. At 5 pm I left work promptly to get to the glassblowing studio and change clothes for my weekly class. I went in to the studio and stood around staring out the window at downtown traffic, thinking that wasn't terribly appealing but I couldn't tear my eyes off of it. Within a few minutes, my instructor had startled me back to reality and was proceeding with a plate-making demonstration. The first gather of glass ended up on the floor, then the second cracked or something and he was started on the third while I was arguing with myself about whether or not I was fit to continue (1. "I could just lie down here for a few minutes, on this concrete floor." 2. "No, you need to call someone immediately. You are having a spell." 1. "I need to learn!" 2. "Not if you are going to skewer yourself or someone else with a lead pipe tipped with molten glass!", etc.) and slowly retreating from the heat of the furnaces and the glow of the failed plate. While the other two students were engaged with assisting tasks, I saw my chance to approach the instructor.
"Um, I think I need to leave immediately," answered by a puzzled glance up from the mass of glass. "I sort of have epilepsy and I am sort of having an aura or something and I need to leave."
So he says, while looking at me standing awkwardly before him, "Should I do something? Like drive you somewhere?"
"Um, no, I am leaving now. I will call my family. I need to go. Goodbye. See you next week. Okay," as I back away.
"I'm sorry, babe. I hope you feel better. I will call you later or something? To make sure you are okay," he says, staring at me still like maybe I have lots of ketchup on my chin.
"Okay," I stammer, by then at the door gathering my things and then running out the door and across the street. I called my Mom from the car, half-whimpering and trying to explain. From there, she told me to drive only as far as my aunt's house, where my uncle escorted me in upon arrival and my cousin talked to the side of my face not buried in the couch briefly before concluding that I wasn't up for much conversation. My Dad picked me up, deposited me in the car and took me home where my Mom guided me up the stairs and into the bed, where I stayed, undisturbed until the next morning, when I got up, showered and commuted to work again.
So the hard part is owning up to all the things that are not evident in the story, like the fact that I am sort of morally, or at least pragmatically, bound to disclose the fact that I have an illness that may render me incoherent and dependent on others, a bit of information that may come in handy to nearly everyone I interact with semi-regularly. So, the next day at work I confess to my closest co-workers and then field the inevitable questions about how to deal with me in those situations, and then last Thursday to return to glass-blowing class and declare that I should be able to last the whole class period, but what symptoms of weakness to be aware of just in case.
And then there are the considerations that are intangible to most people to don't inhabit this skin or share these neurons: my long-term memory has been sorely affected, I often feel as if my brain is covered by a perpetual fog, I am more hesitant to do things that would expose the reality to many more people, as it is often wrongly perceived as excessive drunkenness or a psychological malady.
The one comfort that I draw from it is that it helps me decide what are and are not appropriate ways to conduct myself, which is obviously healthier for me physically and mentally and may be recommended for most people in general. For example, I need a minimum of 8 hours of sleep a night, and preferably more, so as to considerably lessen the probability of a spell. I need to stay away from pulsating lights and blaring noises, including but not limited to: strobe lights, sirens, loudspeakers in close proximity, black lights, etc. I need not ride on roller coasters or other apparati that move humans about in fast and jerky motions, especially upside-down. I need to eat consistently, and not forget about or disdain that necessary human function. I need to stay away from activities that could cause further damage to my brain. I need to work the hours necessary in a job that is rewarding and flexible, not one that dictates and consumes my life and gives me nothing but stress in return.
The funny thing about all the things I need to do are that they are pretty reasonable (although they are not the entire solution to my malady), and it seems ridiculous that they would be hard to comply with. However, I am a person who tolerates pain and crap to the point that I nearly break, so I continue doing things that keep me awake, worried and off my schedule more than I should because I think I should be able to do exceptional things.
I read an article in the Courier-Journal Weekend Extra section yesterday about Britney Spears' meltdown. I don't feel sorry for her that the fame go to her anymore than I feel sorry for myself that a few bangs on the head while doing enjoyable things left me sort of altered, but I can understand her craziness at knowing she has reached the breaking point. I have, too. I am getting this really intense desire to do exceptionally crazy things. For starters, I shaved my horse's mane. Here's to you, Britney.

You can tell a lot about a person by the things about which they blog

On the way to my art class tonight, I stopped at Moe's Southwest Grill for dinner (think Q'doba or Chipotle style food). Anyway, I was looking at the walls because I was eating alone, and I read all the sayings Mr. Moe thought kitschy enough to make into mandatory franchise wall hangings. The one that caught my eye and has been repeating in my head for most of the night is,
"You can tell a lot by the way a person dips their chips."**
Now, I am no philosopher, but I have been pondering this for a couple of hours, and have a few high-order questions. Like, what can you tell about a person by watching them dip their chips? The same thing you can tell about a person by what shoes they wear or if they like dogs or cats better? Or is that different? Would you be more worried if the common expression was "You can tell a lot by the way a person eats" or "You can tell a lot by the way a person drives" (the guy who called today after I scheduled him for a job interview was real worried that his driving record might keep him from getting a job... what does that mean? Is he then inherently reckless, dangerous, impulsive, paranoid?)? And if I venture to make observations about the way you decorate your bathroom, does that mean that I am more prone to make a judgment about you? You know, that Sally, she chose a puke brown sink, so she will never amount to anything. What????
Let's take for example even a slightly rational saying: "You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat their mother." We might sympathize with this, nod in agreement, maybe relate to it. We can say, people who are nice to their mothers are generally good and kind-hearted. Except though for people who don't have mothers, or who have socio-pathic mothers who don't deserve to be treated nicely, or who for whatever reason do not observe cultural or societal mores about how we were raised to treat mothers (pretend somewhere else it is acceptable and even encouraged to smack your mother on the hand to show affection, and that is perfectly acceptable and right and good and loving, while we, due to our cultural ignorance, treat it as contemptible behavior... then who's treating their mother right?). Further, the opposite may be true. We may think a "bad" person must be so in all aspects of the characterization, until we discover that some murderers are wonderful to their mums. Then what's to be said? "He/She is a terrible person and therefore he/she must treat his/her mother poorly." No! It cannot be applied either, because herein again lies the fault of not being able to know very much about a person by isolated actions and instances. So maybe you can't tell so much about a person by how they treat their mother or even dip their chips.
I am therefore exclaiming that I know very little about any persons on account of this and other impossibly simple ways of characterizing them. I can't even tell a lot about myself by the way I live life.
As evidence, I will post a poem to unprove what I had thought true about myself before, namely that I could not ever dare to reveal such sexy and scandalous personal writing. But here it is, a poem I wrote this week. I am not saying it is good, it just kept me awake and I had to write it, and it is further unsettling the theorem that you can tell a lot about the person by the stuff about which they write, even if it is just to get it out of their head and have a peaceful night's sleep. You might still venture to say that I am a lovesick crazy mo'fo, but you wouldn't be able to prove that anymore than I can.

He whispers, from behind,
I want to make love to you.
His hands inch down to my pelvis
As I lean over the stove
Cooking everything on high,
The gas-fueled flames licking the pots
And I let them boil over and brown.

He declares, from afar,
I want to make love to you.
His hands inch down to his own pelvis
As I curl up in my bed,
Letting everything simmer within,
The love-filled pangs searing my heart
And I let it blacken and char.


** (from above): as a former English major, I have to clarify, that since "person" is singular, it is not really correct to say "they." It is correct to say, "You can tell a lot about a person by the way she/he dips her/his chips." And that is still not ideal if we are dealing with a person who does not fit into the he/she gender category.
Note: I have not yet deconstructed the meaning of "you can tell..." Is that tell in the sense of determine, observe, say or gossip? As in, you can gossip a lot about a person based on the way she/he removes a big black something from her/his teeth at a dinner party. In that special semantics case, I may be prepared to defend the saying. I can gossip a lot about the way a person talks to me on the phone, among other things.

Moral: be glad that I do not analyze things, strategically or otherwise, for a living, only when multiple hours in front of a computer screen has otherwise rendered me useless for life. However, if anyone reading this is interested in Strategic Analyis, please consult me for a possible career path.

Memories

This morning I got up fairly early and walked down our one-lane road to see my grandmother Betty. She was pleasantly surprised to peak through the curtains on the door to see me yelling at my mutts to "Get down!!!!" and she let me in for an hour-long chat.
There's no telling how we got on the subject now, but she started telling me how she used to live in the small house on the corner and that was where her 3 year old sister contracted measles, later got pneumonia and then died. She continued by describing her only memory of the funeral; viewing the small casket through two large windows at the front of her grandfather's house.
While on the topic of funerals, she exclaimed that this year will mark the 18th anniversary of my grandfather's death. She asked me how old I am to be able to calculate, and we concurred that I was too young to remember too much about Royce Daddy. Enblazoned in my mind is a photo of me, my brother and my younger cousin Alex sitting in our best clothes on the porch swing, not understanding the gravity of the ceremony we had just witnessed and why everyone we depended on was crying. She asked me if I recalled much about her husband, and I related that my one real memory is of getting bit on the nose by his dog Buck. Actually, I remember from stories that I was on the front patio playing alone, and that for some reason the hound dog bit me, and that my screaming prompted both my Dad and my grandfather to rush out to my aid. My Dad carried me in and everyone inside looked after me, and when I had calmed down I asked where my grandfather was, and then fretted because my parents told me he was outside beating the dog. Pretty graphic I know... it is interesting to me that I am still concerned about the dog, and impressed with my grandfather's rencor with an animal that would dare to hurt one of his grandchildren, and unaffected by whatever wound I suffered.
My Mom and Dad also shared shoe-shining memories; my Mom was polishing her shoes and then polished the shoe-shine box, and my Dad shed light on the origin of said box. He received it for Christmas from his father when he was seven so he could earn a dime per pair shined and my Mom countered that he got the short end of the stick, since she was given a quarter for every pair she shined (including the pair of her father's shoes to which she applied shining liquid to the leather soles as well, making a slick surface on which to walk).
I wonder a lot about the stories I will tell future generations, if they will seem as foreign and ancient as the ones I have heard today, if our way of life will be fairly incomprehensible due to all of the changes that are constantly occurring. I want to be able to convey more than a couple of images or motifs; I want to be able to recreate a little of my world so it is not lost like these stories that haphazardly come up in mundane conversations. I wish there were some way to preserve all of the memories that my grandmothers and parents and aunts and uncles have stored inside, especially including the senses of deja-vu, the sights, sounds and smells that trigger the past and cause it well up inside them, when they can only hope for someone to listen to the legends of their youth, lives, loves and losses.

Working Girl

Today I reported for temporary duty at a local corporation (anyone else think that is an ironic pairing?) after being called in a bit off the cuff on Monday when I was on my way to Lexington for fun and poetry. I did manage to squeeze those things in before starting by jabbering endlessly with Carrie, downing a couple of pints and being amazed by Saul Williams and some UK student-poets, and now my life has changed. Actually, it is not all that dramatic, but instead of being farmed out to one of the many departments, I am in Human Resources and learning all about hiring people. I will be assisting two great women in something, as I have passed all of the computer proficiency exams (thanks be to my thorough undergraduate education!!) and plan on showing up tomorrow. I am most looking forward to lunch break, the office gossip and the swivel chairs. Really, it should be quite bearable and neat, and pays in dollars, which is a real perk.
It is a welcome opportunity, considering that today I was finally informed of the outcome on the OTHER job: "Thank you for interviewing for the SOS position. All of us were impressed with not only your experience but also all of your positive energy. As you know, there were many candidates for this position and you were among the top three. While we loved your background and abilities, we ended up choosing a person who could give us a multi-year commitment. It was a difficult decision and we hope you understand."
I can't say that I'm broken-hearted. They made me feel good about myself, and even better that I am not the one making a MULTI-YEAR commitment. I just can't swing that yet, and I have majorly ridiculous adventure plans coming up soon (after the paychecks start rolling in) which include a lot of art, travel, writing, new acquaintances, friends and soon-to-be disclosed project for combining them all. Stay tuned for that.
Also today, I visited the Kentucky Museum for Art and Craft, bought supplies for my acrylic painting class and ate Cuban food for dinner with my family (washed down with a -singular- sangria made by a lovely Venezuelan woman). What treats in this life!
But, now it's almost 10:30 pm, two hours later than my retiring time last night, and I have to join all the worker ants in the march to the work colony early tomorrow. So, adieu for now.

A Series of Fortunate Events

I just read the poem that Carrie sent the FJ:

We must become ignorant
Of all we've been taught,
And be, instead, bewildered.
Run from what's profitable and comfortable
If you drink those liquors, you'll spill
The spring water of your real life.

Forget safety
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation
Be notorious.

I have tried prudent planning
Long enough, from now
On, I'll live mad.

Then, I received an email reply from a glassblowing studio in a small town outside of the capital city of Oaxaca, in Southern Mexico, where they use recycled glass to make cool wares and try to keep the studio as sustainable as possible. They are evidently willing to train me.

Then, I ate a Dove Chocolate that commanded me to "Do Something Spontaneous."

And, prior to that, I never heard back from the job that I had really thought I wanted.

I took an informal survey of all opinions expressed to me by friends and family concerning my decision between a stable job here or a leap into art and further foreign travel, and it weighed strongly in favor of running "from what's profitable and comfortable."

Further, I finished Narcissus and Goldmund and rejoiced in the triumph of the wandering artist, who lived a life full of adventure, suffering, hardship, discovery, passion and illumination that led to him being contented in the culmination of his creations and deep understanding of the world and sacred feminine.

And, I have had the fortune of being advised by numerous established older people who have lit up upon hearing of my adventures and admonished me to travel without hesitation.

Fortunate, indeed.

To the FJ, Feliz Dia del Amor y Amistad

I have been reading a lot lately since I am unemployed and cannot make crafts at all hours of the day, and I have discovered that once you suppress the feelings of guilt at being so self-involved, it works out well. I am currently in the middle of Narcissus and Goldmund, by Herman Hesse, loaned to me by Carrie, and Ten Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives, by Dr. Laura Schlessinger. The former is the story of a friendship between two men who couldn't be more different, as one, Narcissus, is driven by his masculine side, and the other, Goldmund, by his feminine side. Goldmund wanders around homeless making love to women and becomes an artist, which explains a lot about me and my choices as a female. I love it.
The latter was checked out of the public library by my mother, who wanted to preview it to decide if it would be helpful for one of my cousins who is having real problems deciding if her fiance is the man she really wants to marry (no one else seems to think he is). I grew up listening to Dr. Laura's radio show on the way home from school in the afternoons, and I have never forgotten the self-proclaimed voice of reason that speaks into the lives of women who have concentrated all their life energies into a man (who usually is a bum or a louse, as it would seem). I haven't made it past the first chapter, but I want to share something from it:
"It just seems such a tragic waste to see young women suffering needlessly by having no independent goals, to observe them acting so stupidly. I can't tell you how many twenty-something women I've talked to over the years who are furious with the young men in their lives who don't want to get married just yet because they're working practically full-time getting their education and/or building their careers. If you're one of those women, take his hint-- or follow his example! Because, as I've said, men do have traits we'd be smart to adapt."
Now, I cannot speak for the rest of the book, but what I draw from and appreciate about what I have read so far is that she posits that women can and should do many things for themselves aside from hinging her whole life on a man, although she celebrates the positive qualities of men. My Mom asked if I thought the book was helpful, and I said that I think my friends and I are a bit outside of the target audience as we all have our big ideas, strong opinions and wild dreams, plus an insatiable sense of adventure. Now, that doesn't mean we don't have some pretty sweet lovers, but our lives can exist independently (case in point: long-term separations that don't kill the relationships) and we are still free and confident enough to pursue what makes us happy, like teaching English and environmental education, working with high-need populations, writing, drawing, reading, traveling, serving others, learning languages and supportive friendships that will carry us through it all. And we realize that we can learn a lot from boys, but that we most need to learn to be and love ourselves, since we that's who we never will be able to escape. So, cheers to my beautiful friends and all the women who find inspiration and power in being female and having male partners who support but do not consume them.
Sort of related, the woman who is teaching my adult education acrylic painting class, Laura Parker, is facilitating a "state-wide contemporary art exhibition about growing up female in Kentucky." So, all my talented friends, you have until May to submit your writings, art or music for the project. See the blog: http://kygirlhoodproject.blogspot.com/
Lots of love to you, today and always.

Number One Stunna

I am bypassing my anxiety to post my first blog entry ever, since all my friends are doing it and they are utterly inspiring and interesting people. I thought I wouldn't have anything to write about since I am no longer in a foreign country, but in my hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. But then I got to thinking about how someone from another country could be reading this, and my bluegrass life and frenetic personality would definitely be foreign enough to make this worthwhile. Also, my glass-blowing instructor told me I am traveling in glass and relating my adventures to my far-away friends (it sounded better when he said it). That may, then, be the purpose of this... to explore my artistic activities and reverse culture shock as a journey too.

Just so you know, because I have some new friends who only know me by stories they have heard, and other friends that I have not told much to, I am seriously contemplating jumping into art and trying to make it a lifelong endeavor instead of a short-lived hobby. I started out making jewelry when I first moved to Puebla, Mexico about a year and a half ago, when I was teaching English classes to artisans and hung around afterwards to watch them fashion their crafts. So I got some supplies like wire and pliers and picked up broken pieces of glass from the roadside, and started making pendants and earrings and such. That has evolved to include more beads and stones from Mexico and Asia, and I am starting to do more collage and layered work. I am borderline obsessed with glass, and wanted to take the reusing to a dimension beyond merely smashing colorful wine bottles, so I am saving up for a blow torch to start melting it down into custom-made pieces.

Since I returned from Mexico in December, I have been in a weekly glass-blowing class where I have learned to blow ornaments, cups (a bit lopsided, but thoroughly functional), vases with pulled edges, a giant kiss and a miniature gravy boat (a welcome accident). Also, this Saturday, I talked my mom into going to a one-day glass fusing workshop with me, and I think I may have discovered something that I could dedicate guiltless years of my life to pursuing. Fused glass is cold glass that has been pieced together to make a design or image and then heated in a kiln to close to 1500 degrees F until it fuses together. After that you can take the piece and put it over a mold, heat it again and let it slump into a new shape to make a plate, vase, dish, etc. It is wonderful not only because the glass is so colorful (you can use matte, metalic burnished, patterned or translucent glass in a rainbow of choices), but also because depending on how you piece it, fuse it, slump it, and decorate it (with stringers, confetti, copper, frit, etc.), it always comes out differently. It is also perfect for making jewelry pieces.

Also, I am looking into learning metalsmithing to be able to set stones and glass in silver. There is this great school in the Estado de Mexico, and you should check out your website and then encourage me to go. Here it is: http://www.escueladisenodejoyas.com/Galeria.html

Aside from glass, I am attempting to sew my own clothing and bags, although I am still not too proficient with the machine. I am a good hand sewer, but let's face it... that takes forever.

As for Mexico, I am pining for it and can't wait to go back and visit Central and South America, too. However, I am waiting to hear about a job that I am in the running for with SOS, a nonprofit in Louisville. Here is their site, and it is worth looking at even if they find someone they like better than me. http://www.suppliesoverseas.org/ If they do not hire me, I think I will start traveling again, and if they do, they are setting up some connections in Nicaragua and that will keep me connected for the meantime.

That's all I have for now, and it's about 41 degrees so I am going to see my horse before the temperature drops again.