Declared redundant

The pressure builds, the atmosphere shrinking, pressing.  High-altitude breathing, gasping to tease out the combo of airs that will sustain.

Only in the last year or so did I hear the expression “made redundant,” which is the equivalent of the US “laid off.”

To be laid off is a shunting aside, a putting away, but still along the stream of the action.  To be made redundant says that the purpose is gone, done, over, shoved away from the stream.

Coming on two years ago I was made redundant.  …  More

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Frozen nose hairs

The muted orange glow in the east tells me the time this morning.  At this 47-degree north latitude, the minutes in a day are changeable according to the tilt of the Earth.

Slow down enough to notice how the light changes as the seasons progress.  In February in Anchorage (latitude 61 degrees north), the sun comes straight at us; here at a lower latitude, that same straight approach comes a little later.

Slow down enough to gauge the temperature.  If the nose hairs are frozen, it’s at least 10 below zero F.  Important to know that for philosophical musings:  once while camping in February in the wilds of southcentral Alaska, my camp-mate and I were hanging around in the late afternoon dark, nose hairs frozen, having finished dinner in a plastic mug. 

We were bundled to the nth degree–on my feet, 2 kinds of socks, fleece booties, insulated soft over-booties, plus gore-tex knee-high overbooties.  Under our bums we each had a piece of blue foam thinsolite, keeping the frozen ground temps from seeping into our puny 98-degree F bodies.  He leaned back against a scrawny spruce trunk, sighed, and said:  “Life’s a bitch.  Then you die.”

© No Stealing!  That’s what the little c in the circle means!
© lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Gypsy

A long time ago a friend called me, in Spanish, gypsy.  Other people from time to time, in English, have also referred to my spirit that way.

I have viewed myself as a gypsy, but thought I had more in common with a quixotic search than a roaming life.  Life is an enormous search to feel the breeze of the bits and pieces of existence against my brain.   Because of this internal wiring, I can’t have a sedate life, a life full of predictability and assumption.  I want to be like the other kids, sometimes, but I’m not.  When I was a kid, I would beg the Universe for a boring life.

Accepting limitations is anathema.  Again, I try to fit in, but that internal wiring jolts me.

When I follow that roaming instinct, I feel joy and fully alive.  Parts of my brain feel connected to the parts of the world I’m tasting.  As if the wiring circuits become complete and I’m functioning on all 4 cylinders.  (Can’t be 6 or 8 cylinders because that’s just too much!)

It’s time to make a list of those Taste of the World experiences.  Just for grins.  Just to remind myself that I really am having a good time even though the daily grind does grind.

Time to dash (!) into Big City along the repugnant, incomprehensibly-wrong freeway (free?  hahahaha! huge price to pay to be among humanity that way) to pick up my design drawings from the last class.  Which is another thing.  Hokey-smoke, Bullwinkle!  Do I really have to make a 40-mile trek one-way to go to a class where I am taught for 2 hours, then for the remaining 3  I am teaching myself??!!   Don’t get me going!  I’ve had lots of formal education and this new piece is sposta be preparing me to get back into the workforce, from which I was forcibly ejected because of the economy 1-1/2 years ago!  Yeah, right.

However, those attempts at preparing to return to work have shown me my roaming-ness again.   I prolly need to have a bunch of income-producing activities rather than one job, even though that one job I had was pretty darned good.

How about concrete art?  Garden design?  OK.  >:-D

©  No Stealing!  That’s what the little c in the circle means!
© lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Rockin’ the Purple

Playing with concrete creations, learning garden design, puttin’ purple in my hair, and that’s just this year.

I’ve had an interesting life so far and have had a richness that I appreciate only now, at 54.

I want to tell how it feels to remove myself from chronic injury, pain, and illness as I work with concrete.  How mixing the concrete reminds me that I understand it a little because I’ve been a baker most of my life.  It helps to be fearless and to have a constant How hard could it be? attitude.

There’s a reason I studied Chinese in college and excelled at it.  It plays directly into garden design–the Chinese characters have life and meaning, rules, and art.  Garden design is like that–understand the language of design, be artful, work within prescribed limits, and take joy in the expression of the intricacies.

©  No Stealing!  That’s what the little c in the circle means!
© lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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