Dragonfly Dreamer

Robotic Groundhog? Just Teach Him To Dance

2010-01-27T17:06:00.000-08:00

AP – FILE - In this Feb. 2, 2009 file photo, John Griffiths, a handler of the weather-predicting groundhog …

PETA proposes robotic groundhog for Pa. festival - Yahoo! News

Wed Jan 27, 9:25 am ET

PUNXSUTAWNEY, Pa. – An animal rights group wants organizers of Pennsylvania's Groundhog Day festival to replace Punxsutawney Phil with a robotic stand-in.
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals says it's unfair to keep the animal in captivity and subject him to the huge crowds and bright lights that accompany tens of thousands of revelers each Feb. 2 in Punxsutawney, a tiny borough about 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh. PETA is suggesting the use of an animatronic model.
But William Deeley, president of the Inner Circle of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club, says the animal is "being treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania." The groundhog is kept in a climate-controlled environment and is inspected annually by the state Department of Agriculture.
Deeley says PETA isn't interested in Phil from Feb. 2 on, and is looking for publicity

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Hey! I'm not sure what's worse in this story - that people want to replace the groundhog with a robot or that his care is compared to that of children. Oh, pluzzzeee! Get a life people! If you have nothing better to do than worry about Punxsutawney Phil's quality of life, then maybe you need to get a grip and spend time on something worthwhile. Such as aid to Haitian earthquake victims, for instance? Or universal American health care? Or how about the many people who are willing and able to work, but can't find a job? Or can't make a livable wage at the job they can find? Now, what would happen if they fire poor Phil too! I wonder if he could apply for unemployment benefits?

I find the statement that the groundhog is "being treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania" quite disturbing! Not that I have anything against Phil. It's not like I'm advocating feeding him to hungry coyotes or anything. Hey! I think he's doing a fine job. As fine as most weather men that I've ever seen. I'd guess that he's right about 50% of time when it comes to whether or not we'll have those six more weeks of winter each year. Yet, here is an important point I'd like to make. He is not a human being. He is not a child. HE IS A GROUNDHOG! I'm not saying it would be right to, for instance, beat-him-with-a-stick-until-his-little-rodent-self-is-a-pile-of-mush. I just don't think he should be getting better care than any child. Then, again, that's why I'm not a member of PETA.

In the meantime, instead of replacing him with a robot, let's just teach him to do the robot.

Oh, yeah! Spectacularly rad!!!

Until I type again,

Kami

(Link to source: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100127/ap_on_fe_st/us_odd_peta_punxsutawney_phil ) ============================================================ Yahoo! News http://news.yahoo.com/

WIDE AWAKE -- Part Eight: Dead Man Flirting

2010-01-05T07:00:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

*** Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, below are the links to do so.

Part One: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html

Part Two: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html

Part Three: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html

Part Four: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-four-education-in.html

Part Five: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-five-thomas-story.html

Part Six: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/11/wide-awake-part-six-curse-of-ring.html

Part Seven: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/12/wide-awake-part-seven-newly-dead.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Eight: Dead Man Flirting

My sister, Stephanie, and I had both been rapt listeners to Thomas' story. The more he had shared with us, about himself and what had happened to him, the more fascinated with him I became. He was, obviously, unlike anyone else I'd ever met before, since he was the first, and only, ghost I'd ever encountered, but he was a special person in many other ways. Thomas was intelligent, kind, honest and more interesting than all the guys I'd ever met rolled into one. Stephanie's encouragement to have a romantic relationship with Thomas was an tempting thought.

Recognizing the direction my mind was going, I had to laugh at myself. When my sister had first started talking about ghosts, I'd worried that she was crazy. Now, who sounded like a crazy person? Was I actually contemplating a romance with a ghost? Not a very practical idea, Lily!

Then again, was the practical path the way I wanted to go here? I'd spent all my life being practical. My choices were made only after weighing all my options. By the time I made my decisions, I was sure that my choices could be considered safe and smart. Yet, hadn't I already decided to break my own rules? Wasn't I going to try to go with the flow? Wasn't I going to allow myself to have some fun this summer?

Thomas was certainly a key part of my plans to have fun. I was surprised at myself for enjoying conversation with him so much. I felt a little ashamed of myself too. His tale of his tragic death surely shouldn't be so entertaining, should it? Was it wrong to enjoy hearing about how he became a ghost? Wrong to want even more details? I don't know. Maybe, it wasn't right, but I couldn't seem to resist questioning him further.

I asked. "So, they never found out who killed you?"

"No, I doubt they'll ever find out who was responsible. After all these years, there hasn't been a single new lead. Thus, it's entirely possible that I will remain a ghost forever." He gave a dry laugh. "That's an unpleasant thought, isn't it? I suppose I should try not to dwell on that idea too much. . . In the end, I could just consider myself another victim of the ring's curse."

The three of us were silent for awhile. Thomas let Stephanie and I absorb the impact of his story. His unhappy, oftentimes lonely, life. The cursed ring. Thomas' unsolved murder which led to him becoming a ghost. The idea that he might forever exist in this state somewhere between life and death, never fully belonging in either. How awful it must be to exist in such a state of perpetual flux! Really! It was a lot of information to take it.

Not surprisingly, it was my sister who broke the silence. "Thomas, you told me before that while you learned to speak with the living, and to sometimes make yourself visible, but that it's not easy. Why did you bother learning how to do it? I mean, you said that there are other ghosts to talk to. Why didn't you stick with only talking to them?"

"Talking with other ghosts is different from contact with the living. You've got to understand that most spirits are, pardon the pun, haunted by their own personal ghosts. By that, I mean that whatever trauma and unfinished business that keeps them from moving on, also makes most of them poor company. I learned what I could from them, in the beginning, but, in the long run, I've had to distance myself from them and their troubles. It helps keep me sane to stay focused on what I can do rather than what is unchangeable."

Twirling my fingers in my hair, I smiled brightly at him. "So, what do you with all your time? Practice using your ghostly super powers?"

Thomas chuckled. "I'm hardly some sort of super hero. My perception of time isn't the same as yours, although I can never forget that I have an abundance of time on my hands. At risk of sounding terribly boring, I spend a lot of time reading. Of course, that's when I'm not occupying myself by flirting with pretty ladies."

I tried not to blush, but I could feel my face heating up anyway. The sight of my shoes suddenly seemed very absorbing, as I stared down at them for awhile. Not surprisingly, Thomas noticed my discomfort and chuckled again. My own mouth couldn't help quirking up in a smile. I really enjoyed the sound of his laugh.

* * * To Be Continued * * *

WIDE AWAKE - - Part Seven: Newly Dead

2009-12-01T07:19:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

Part One: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html

Part Two: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html

Part Three: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html

Part Four: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-four-education-in.html

Part Five: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-five-thomas-story.html

Part Six: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/11/wide-awake-part-six-curse-of-ring.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Seven: Newly Dead

"Thomas' Story Concludes (Yet, Just Begins)"

It was as if I were waking from a deep sleep. Gradually, I recalled my shooting. Yet, now I was suddenly free of pain. My vision had become clear. Standing up from my position on the stairs, I felt relief. Maybe, I wasn't hurt as badly as I had initially thought. If the bullets had caused a lot of damage, then surely I'd still be in pain and not able to stand up so easily.

These were the thoughts that flooded me in those first moments, but as I looked around me, fear and horror replaced my relief. I was standing, but somehow I was also lying down. I was conscious, but I was still sprawled out on the stairs, my body filled with bullet wounds. Blood was covering me and had pooled beneath my prone body. I stood above, looking down on myself.

"How is this possible?" I wondered aloud. "How can I see myself down on those steps, as if I were looking at someone else?"

Of course, the answer was right there. It had been since I'd first awoken, pain free, despite my injuries. It was just taking me time of process the idea. Shocking reality and denial were fighting a war within me. Despite a valiant effort, denial was quickly losing.

Lying in front of me, my body was very still. I didn't look good at all. Besides the ugly wounds and all the blood, my face was horribly ashen. I'd never before seen it that particular shade of gray. I looked completely different from any view of myself that I'd ever seen in a mirror.

I spoke aloud again. "I look dead."

Dead. I wondered about this. Was that the explanation for why I could look down and see my body, as if I were completely apart from it? Was it why I could suddenly stand easily, free of pain? Was I dead? Really, and truely, dead?

Yes. Yes, I was. I am dead. That explained everything. Someone had ambushed me and shot me on the third floor stairway of my office building. I'd been murdered.

I was dead. Newly dead, yes, but dead nonetheless. Being newly dead is, in some ways, like being the new kid in school. You don't know your way around. You feel lost and afraid. Everything is at once both familiar and also unfamiliar. You hope that the people you meet will befriend you, take you under their wing, and show you the way. With the help of others, perhaps it will be possible to navigate your way through this strange new reality.

I was fortunate to realize, from the start, that I needed to connect with other spirits. I met several, and it did help. Learning about other ghosts, I discovered that most who die move onto something else, something better. They don't get caught in the limbo of ghost-hood. It is a very difficult existence. You are not alive, but not fully removed from this world of the living either. Most of the dead don't attend their own funerals, as I did, and they don't follow the course of their own murder investigation.

It was beyond frustrating to watch the homicide detectives attempt to solve my murder. It wasn't their fault, really. They did their best with it, given the circumstance. There were no leads and robbery was the only presumed motive. Yet, it was clearly not a random crime. The killer had targeted me.

All in all, I know that it wasn't that long after my shooting, that my body was discovered. It felt like a long time. . . It felt like a very, very long time, but it wasn't. The building had security guards, and, as you might imagine, gunshots in a stairway echo loudly. My body was found just shortly after I stood up and took those first steps away from it.

Both of the building's main elevators were discovered propped open on the third floor. The killer must of stopped them there, below my floor, expecting that I'd give up waiting for them and take the stairs. This, of course, it exactly what happened. Whoever killed me had been watching me. They knew I had purchased the ring. They knew about my dinner reservation, and that I'd have the ring on me that evening. Not that I'd made any secret of it. Many people could have found out these things, and I'm usually at the office working late and alone in the evenings.

All of these things the police figured out, easily enough. Taking my wallet was only an attempt to throw the investigation off track, but it was unnecessary. The police knew that the killer had targeted me because they were after the ring, but they had no idea who might be responsible. While investigating my case, the detectives spoke with everyone who knew me. They even spoke to Martin Dobbs, the estate executor who had arranged my purchase of the ring, by phone from his London office. Nothing came from any of it.

Despite all the efforts of the detectives on my case, there were no suspects in the investigation. The whereabouts of the cursed ring, after it was stolen from me, has also never been determined. Did the killer sell the ring on the black market? Was the killer a hired hitman who obtained the ring for someone else? Or did the killer keep the ring? Considering the ring's famous curse, even if the killer intended to hold onto it, it's entirely possible that it's passed through many hands by now. Perhaps, it has left an even longer string of bodies behind it than anyone knows. Whatever the ring's fate, someone got away with stealing it, and that same person also got away with my murder.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami

"Thanksgiving Turkey Blues"

2009-11-24T20:22:00.001-08:00

kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube:

In honor of Turkey Day, here's a video I wanted to share from YouTube.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Remember: Try to leave the blues to the turkeys.

Thanksgiving Turkey Blues

Thanksgiving Turkey Blues Lyrics

Verse 1:
I woke up this mornin'
thinkin' that I'd be just fine.
I got out of bed,
then I strutted down the line.
Lord have mercy,
the farmer's blade was all ashine.

Verse 2:
Oh, I'll wake up in the mornin',
raisin stuffin' on my mind.
They'll be heatin' up the oven,
and now I think I'm in a bind.
'Cause I see I'm on the menu,
some way out of here I've got to find.

Chorus:
My momma she got it.
My daddy got it too.
Yah, now I'm next in line,
and I'm singin' the Turkey Blues

Verse 3:
I hate Martha Stewart and Rachel Ray's cookin' too,
Yes, I run from Gordon Ramsey,
do I hafta run from you?
Cause I am beggin' come and help me help me help me,
I've got those turkey blues.

Slow Reprise: (slower swing)
I'm down here on my knees.
I'm checkin' other recipes.
This year for Thanksgiving PLEASE,
won't you eat Chinese!

Until I type again,

Kami

Turkey and Questionable Kebabs

2009-11-18T14:53:00.001-08:00

Here are two odd news stories that I just had to share:

First, is a story about a Turkey on the NJ Turnpike. I wrote a short story when I was in grade school about a runaway turkey. I think, if I remember correctly, that it was trying to escape being eaten for Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe, that's what this turkey in the news is trying to do as well. If so, it's not the best escape plan, though, since it's too easy to become road-kill playing on the NJ Turnpike.

Secondly, here's a story about some homeless people in Moscow who sold a corpse to a kebab house after eating their fill. Yikes! Were they so hungry and desperate for money that they would do something so terrible and disgusting? Hopefully, no one ate the human kebabs. Hey, if the corpse's name was Robert, then would he be a Bob Kebab? Ugggh, bad joke, Kami! Well, I'll stick with eating the turkey.

Here are the complete stories:

"Turkey that played chicken on NJ Turnpike caught" - Yahoo! News http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20091118/ap_on_fe_st/us_odd_turnpike_turkey

"Cannibals nabbed selling corpse to kebab house" - Yahoo! News
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/us_cannibals

============================================================
Yahoo! News
http://news.yahoo.com/

Until I type again,
Kami

Emily Dickinson Poems

2009-11-12T06:40:00.000-08:00

This morning I felt like reading some poetry by Emily Dickinson. I've always considered her one of my favorite poets, and when I read some of her poems this morning, I was reminded why I like her work so much. There is such charm and an almost child-like awe of life in her work, which I really admire. She celebrates the world, appreciates loss, and enjoys its many beautiful wonders. She produced a massive quantity of poetry, and I particularly enjoy the poems she wrote about nature. Here are some pieces that I wanted to share:

"TWO butterflies went out at noon
And waltzed above a stream,
Then stepped straight through the firmament
And rested on a beam;

And then together bore away
Upon a shining sea,—
Though never yet, in any port,
Their coming mentioned be.

If spoken by the distant bird,
If met in ether sea
By frigate or by merchantman,
Report was not to me."

"BESIDES the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.

A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eves,—
Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves.

Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.

Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!"

"THE MOON was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.

Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.

Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!

And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.

Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,

The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue."

Note: Photos are courtesy of http://www.pdphoto.org/

Until I type again,
Kami

WIDE AWAKE -- Part Six: Curse Of The Ring

2009-11-09T07:26:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html

For Part Three go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html

For Part Four go to:http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-four-education-in.html

For Part Five go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-five-thomas-story.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Six: Curse Of The Ring

"Thomas' Story -- Continued"

My proposal to Angelique had been impulsive, so I had yet to get her a ring. After she agreed to marry me, my search for the perfect ring began. Beautiful and expensive were requirements, but Angelique and I also wanted a ring that was unique in someway. Using my connections at the art and antiquities dealership, I came across the largest and most gorgeous diamond ring I had ever seen. It had been crafted in Europe in the early 17th century for a family of French nobles. Only recently, it had come back on the market as part of an estate sale in London. It was beautiful, but it was more than that. The moment I saw it, I was transfixed, as if a spell had been caste upon me. Who knows? Maybe it had. Knowing the ring's history, and what happened to me after I bought it, I have wondered if dark magic may have been at work. I would never have believed such a thing when I was alive, but death has made me more open minded.

The executor of the estate, a pale, gloomy man named Martin Dobbs, told me the ring's history before I bought it. He said that he couldn't allow anyone to buy it without full disclosure. He'd never forgive himself otherwise. I remember thinking, at the time, that he was a superstitious old fool when he told me that he believed that the ring was cursed. Cursed! How ridiculous that sounded! Who could believe such nonsense? Certainly, not I.

Mr. Dobbs believed in it wholeheartedly. He sat at his scuffed up desk, in his small, cluttered London office, and I could see his hands tremble. Martin Dobbs was afraid of the ring. He would not touch it directly, only the outside of its box. He would hardly look at it. The entire time he told me what he knew of the ring's history, there was terror in his eyes.

He told me that the ring was crafted in the 17th century for a wealthy French noblewoman by her husband. Legend says that he had the ring made in an attempt to appease her anger after she'd learned of his latest mistress in a long line of extra-marital affairs. The story goes that he presented it to her while in an upper hallway of their large manor house, just before they were to descend the stairs for dinner. She took a long look at the ring, smiled, and, in a gesture of rejection, threw it past her husband, onto one of the steps of the staircase.

She told him, "I curse you, and I curse your ring."

Appalled, he stared at her in shock for a long moment, before he turned to retrieve the costly ring from the stair upon which it had landed. Just as he was bending over to pick it up, he lost balance. I was unexplainable. One moment, he was bending over, feet firm on the floor, the next he was falling down the steps. Down, down the remaining steps he fell. He landed headfirst at the bottom of the staircase. Shocked to witness her husband's sudden fall, the noblewoman rushed to his side, but it was already too late. He'd broken his neck, and the beautiful ring was clutched in his dead hand.

The French noblewoman had loved her husband, despite his infidelities, and his death sent her into a deep despair. She kept to her rooms after that night. Visitors would come and go, but each left disappointed in their desire to see her. Food and drink were also sent away, barely touched by the lady of the house, if they were touched at all. Only a favorite ladies' maid was allowed to keep her company, and even those occasions grew less and less often.

One day, two or three months after her husband's tragic fall, the noblewoman was discovered missing from her rooms when her favored ladies' maid went to check on her. Since she'd not left those rooms in so long, this was an immediate cause for concern. A search was begun, but it did not last long. The noblewoman was found at the bottom of a high tower, which was the oldest part of the manor house. She was quite obviously dead from having jumped from the top of the tower. It was discovered that she was wearing the same ring her husband had been trying to give to her when he died. Her fingers were so broken in her fall that it was difficult to pry the ring off her hand, but, nevertheless, someone managed to remove it and add it to the rest of her vast jewelry collection.

The diamond ring was then passed on to the couple's eldest son and heir as part of the family's estate. By this time, the ring was thought to be cursed, and this belief was furthered by the many years of misfortunes that took place. There were accidents, suicides, and even murders surrounding the family and friends of all who owned it. During the French Revolution, the ring was sold by its owner, a distant cousin, and last living heir to the original owners. This lady had no choice, except to sell the valuable family heirloom. Her escape from France to England had left her with little to support herself in her new life abroad. In fact, she felt fortunate to have made it to London at all, since the rest of her family had already lost their heads to Madame Guillotine. Some have said that it was unfortunate that she did not sell the ring sooner, perhaps then she could have escaped the curse before it had left its mark on her too. Only a day after she sold it, she drowned in a boating accident on the Thames.

I was told that all future owners of the ring were equally effected by the curse, and that this tragic pattern continued until I was the one presented with the opportunity (if you can call it that) to buy it. I found the ring's history to be a fascinating story, but not one that I believed to be true. To me, it was an impressive, valuable piece of jewelry, and I was sure Angelique would want it as her engagement ring. She would not believe it was cursed, anymore than I did. So, I bought it; bought it without hesitation, even as the estate's executor looked clearly relieved to see it go.

After buying the ring, I flew with it back to Seattle right away. I remember the day I arrived back was a Tuesday, mostly because I had a dinner reservation for Angelique and myself just three days later, on Friday night. It was then that I planned to give her the ring. In the meantime, I kept the ring in my office. I had a wall safe there, and it was common for me to use this as a temporary stash for some of the smaller valuables while they were transitioning in and out of the dealership. I was sure the ring would be secure there for a few days until I gave it to my new fiancee.

As was my habit, I was the last to leave my office on Friday evening. Before I left, I took the ring out of the safe and put it in my inner coat pocket. My plan was to hurry home to change, and then to pick up Angelique for our big dinner date. I worked in a large office building where there were several tenants leasing office space, besides the company that I worked for. Frequently, I encountered unfamiliar faces in the elevator, the lobby and the hallways. My dinner date with Angelique was scheduled late in the evening. Usually, the building was fairly empty by this time on most Fridays, and this day was no exception.

I ran into no one on my way to the elevator, which wasn't at all surprising, but something happened that I did think was strange. When I pushed the elevator button, I could see that one of the two elevators went up to the third floor, and then it stopped and stayed there, two floors below mine. I pushed the button again, could see the second elevator move up from the lobby, and then it, too, reached the third floor, and stopped. Like the other elevator, rather than continuing up to me, it seemed to be stuck. Growing impatient, thinking that I would be late getting Angelique if I didn't leave soon, I pushed the button several more times. Nothing happened. Neither elevator moved from the third floor. Frustrated, and knowing my fiancee would yell at me if I were even a few minutes late, I took one last look at my watch before deciding to take the stairs.

I headed down the stairway at a jog. It was as I turned down the second of the five flights of stairs, to the entryway to the third floor, that I saw a figure in front of me, dressed in black clothing and wearing a ski mask. Before my brain could really register what it was seeing, a gun was pointed my way, and I was hit by the first of several bullets, fired in rapid succession. I tumbled the rest of the way down the flight of steps, landing in a sprawled heap at the gunman's feet, as he stood in front of the third floor exit. In pain and shock, I tried to cry out, but I could only manage a low gurgling sound. My pockets were quickly searched by the shooter, and, although I wanted to struggle, to fight him, I couldn't seem to move. He took my wallet, my watch, and the infamous diamond ring, and, after obtaining these valuables, he shot me a final time before running off. I lay there, I don't know how long. I remember feeling the wetness of my own blood pooling around me. My vision began to fade. It didn't take long before everything sank into total blackness.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami

kamikae5 sent you a video: "Grocery Store Musical HQ 2009 official video download link"

2009-10-27T06:30:00.000-07:00

help center e-mail options report spam

kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube:

I took a class in high school called just "Musicals". It was co-taught by the music & drama teachers. I enjoy most musicals, and I remember the classes' drama teacher saying that idea behind a musical is that the characters become so filled with emotional energy that they can no longer just speak their thoughts and feelings - they must sing them! I think this sums up musicals very well, and I've thought how funny it would be if we all did that in our everyday lives! This improv group has this same idea, it seems. It's soooooo funny!

Grocery Store Musical HQ 2009 official video download link

Grocery Store Musical HQ 2009 official video download
new music video 10/2009

Until I type again,

Kami

Farmers sell wives to pay debts in rural India - My comments on CNN news story

2009-10-26T07:06:00.000-07:00

This CNN news article speaks of both economic despair and the horrible objectification of women. I wish that, especially in this day and age, I could say that there aren't still human beings buying and selling others, as if they are nothing except property. Sadly, it is still going on. Our world is deeply divided between the haves and the have-nots. Often, women and children are those most victimized by these highly unequal socio-economic systems.

In the climb up the ladder of social and economic mobility, those lowest on the totem pole are also those most easily stood upon. So, while I believe we all have the basic human right to try to improve the quality of our lives and the lives of our families, I also believe that we should never stop looking down when we do so. We need to see clearly where we stand, and we need make whatever hard choices that will be required to prevent the crushing of others. In our struggles to survive and thrive, we should attempt to limit our "us and them" thinking. Instead, we should try to recognize that there really is just "us".

For the full CNN news article go to: http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/10/22/india.farmers.selling.wives/index.html

Until I type again,

Kami

WIDE AWAKE - - Part Five: Thomas' Story Begins

2009-10-21T07:01:00.001-07:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html

For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html

For Part Three go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html

For Part Four go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Five: Thomas' Story Begins

"Murdered?" I repeated the word back to Thomas as if I questioned whether I had heard him correctly. That wasn't actually the case. I knew that I hadn't misheard him when he said that he had become a ghost because he'd been murdered. It was just that I was having trouble accepting such a terrible event had happened to someone as nice as Thomas.

"I'm afraid so." Thomas, ghostly and invisible, replied. "After all these years, I still have difficulty with the concept myself. Yet, I know it's true. I remember too much of what happened to think otherwise."

Stephanie interrupted. "Do you know how many years ago this happened? You said it's been years. Do you know how long ago you were killed?"

"Yes, I've been able to keep track of the time. It's been eighteen years since my death."

"Wow!" Stephanie exclaimed. "That's two years before I was born."

"That's right, and Lily, you would have been only five years old, just a little girl."

"How old were you when it happened?" I asked.

"Twenty-seven. Doesn't it sound strange to think that I've actually been twenty-seven for the last eighteen years? It's as old as I'll ever be."

"Yeah, it does." I agreed. "You died when you were only four years older than I am now. It's not fair that you didn't get to live so much longer than that."

Thomas sighed. "I've found life isn't always fair, and death is rarely, if ever, so."

There was sadness in his voice. It made me long to put my arms around him and give him a hug. Of course, this wasn't possible. I couldn't even see Thomas, yet alone touch him. I had only a general idea that he stood nearby, and to the left of me, since his voice came from that direction. This was also assuming ghosts aren't skilled ventriloquists, and that he really stood as near me as he seemed.

It was odd to me that I should have any feelings towards Thomas. I had just met him, and he was, after all, a ghost. Why should I have this desire to comfort him? Was this a normal reaction for someone to have in such an abnormal situation? I didn't know.

I spoke softly, hoping he'd feel some comfort from my tone. "Thomas, if it's too difficult to talk about what happened, then you don't have to. You don't have to tell us about it."

"No, I don't have to tell you, but I want you to hear my story. I feel you are. . . my friends."

Friends? I thought about this. Like my sister, I had become friends with a ghost. Yet, my friendship with Thomas wasn't the same as his friendship with Stephanie. He'd expressed having feelings for me that were more than friendly. Our relationship had begun with both of us aware of his attraction towards me.

Try as I might, I doubted very much that I could think of him as solely a friend. This confused me. If he was more than my friend, then what was he? I barely knew him, had only heard his voice and never even seen him, but, I wondered about my feelings. How long does it take to develop an infatuation?

"Lily?" Thomas sounded concerned. "Are you alright? You have the strangest expression on your face."

"Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just deep in thought." I realized I needed to stay focused on the conversation. "Please, go on, Thomas. Continue with what you've been wanting to say. Tell us your story."

"O.K., then." Thomas agreed, and he began to tell us about his life and his death.

"Thomas' Story"

Thomas Malcolm Davenport III is my full name. I was born forty-five years ago, the only child of wealthy parents. Unfortunately, both my parents were more interested in the idea of having a child than in actually raising one. When I was quite young, they sent me away to boarding school, and I regret to say, this only further damaged our relationship. Throughout my life, my parents were cold and distant, nearly strangers to me. Once I became an adult, I had very little contact with them. It was easier, on all of us, not to try to pretend affection that just didn't exist between us.

As an adult, I went to an Ivy League College, but instead of getting into a profession acceptable amongst my family's social circle, such as law or business, I became fascinated with art. I dabbled in painting and sculpture, with limited results. Eventually, I discovered that my talents lay elsewhere. I became quite knowledgeable in art history, and, after completing my degree, I went to work for an art and antiquities dealership with an office based in Seattle. My supervisor was a brilliant art historian, twenty or so years older than myself, named Professor Christine Harper.

In those days, Christine divided her time up between working for the art and antiquities dealership and teaching locally at the University of Washington. This changed, after my death. She told me it was too hard to work there without me able to work by her side, and she decided to quit the dealership altogether and focus on academics alone. You see, when we started working together, she and I became very close friends, really more like mother and son. I think that since neither of us were married or had children, we quickly adopted one another as our only recognized family.

Under Christine's supervision, my career flourished. I didn't need to work for the money, since I had a trust fund that supplied me with more than ample funds, but I enjoyed my job. I was also good at it. I'd been seeing a woman, romantically, I mean, for quite awhile. Her name was Angelique, and she was very beautiful. I wish I could say she had many other good qualities, but she didn't. Angelique was beautiful, but she wasn't a nice person. I believe my money was her main reason for being with me. I think that I was aware of this, even back then, yet it wasn't something I was willing to acknowledge. The fact that my requirements in a woman were so shallow didn't say a lot in favor of my maturity and judgement. Sadly, it seems that only after my death has my taste in women improved.

We all make mistakes, and my immaturity led me to make most of mine. I could blame my parents for not giving me a suitable role model in forming a health relationship, but long ago, I came to realize that blame gets me nowhere. I know that I must accept responsibility for my own choices. Dating a woman like Angelique was the first of those mistakes. Becoming so infatuated with her beauty that I proposed to her, was my second mistake. Yet, it was the third mistake that ultimately had the worst consequences. Although, I suppose it was the whole combination of errors, working together as a whole, that led to the final outcome.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami

kamikae5 sent you a video: "John Hiatt - Have A Little Faith In Me"

2009-10-15T16:46:00.001-07:00

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kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: About a month ago, I saw the movie "Love Happens" in a local theater. I very much enjoyed it, very sweet movie. It was immediately after seeing the film, that I decided I wanted to hear one of the songs in the movie again. This song really sparks my emotions, and I am glad I'm finally getting around to sharing the Youtube video. Until I type again, Kami John Hiatt - Have A Little Faith In Me Another Live HALFIM - imagine what would happen if he skipped this one - just once - and did eg. "Love Like Blood" instead - would walls come down ? Would the Earth stop rotating ?
© 2009 YouTube, LLC 901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066

WIDE AWAKE - - Part Four: Education In The Supernatural

2009-10-07T15:20:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: http://www.freedigitalphoto.net

For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html

For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html

For Part Three go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Four: Education In The Supernatural

After my late night, I slept in the next morning, so that I awoke much, much later than usual. Stephanie was always a late riser, but this morning, for once, I even managed to sleep in longer than her. She was already at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal when I walked in the room. I immediately headed to the coffee maker and started brewing a pot. Still very groggy, my

"Good morning" to her was punctuated by a wide yawn.

"Good morning." Stephanie replied. She studied me a moment. "Still tired?"

"Yeah, I was up late."

"Trouble sleeping?"

I couldn't help the silly grin on my face. "Yes, but that turned out to be a good thing." I told her about my meeting, the night before, with Thomas, including our conversation about why he'd been reluctant to start talking to me. She was as shocked as I was to hear his reason.

"He likes you?" She asked. "Do you mean that he likes you? Or that he likes you likes you?"

"He likes me likes me."

"Wow!"

"Yeah. Wow!" I agreed.

"So, how do you feel about him?"

I was caught off guard by the question, and it instantly deflated the cheerful mood my conversation with Thomas had created. "Me? Well, I just met him last night." I knew I was squirming. "Besides, there's the small fact that he's a ghost."

My sister rolled her eyes. "Oh, puhleeez!"

"What? Don't you think that's a problem?"

"Sometimes I can't even believe we're related. Thomas is a nice guy. I'm sure that he'd be the first boyfriend you've ever had who wasn't a loser."

"Hey! That's not true! I've dated some great guys."

She made a face. "Yeah, sure you have. Name one."

Once she put me on the spot like that, I was surprised to find I was struggling for an example. "I. . . um. . . well, there was Dale."

"Dale!" Stephanie almost choked on the bite of cereal she'd just taken.

"What? What was wrong with Dale?"

"Borr-rring. Didn't you break up with him because he never wanted to do anything other than watch sports on ESPN?"

"There's nothing wrong with liking sports." I replied. I was feeling defensive, although Stephanie was right about the reason I'd stopped dating Dale.

"Watching sports is all that he liked. He wouldn't talk about anything else either, if I remember correctly. Why did you even date him to begin with?"

"I met him in one of my business classes. He wants to open up his own sporting goods store, and I really like how he put together his business plan."

"His business plan? Oooo, so sexy. You're such a nerd, Lily."

"I am not!"

My sister snickered. "Do you know what's worse? Dale wasn't as bad as John."

Now, I was the one making a face. I couldn't help feeling disgusted at the mention of my ex-boyfriend, John. He and I hadn't dated long. The first fight we'd had, he'd slapped me. It was a hard smack, right across my face. No had ever been violent with me before, and the shock and emotional anguish it caused had been worse than the physical pain. I broke up with him because of the incident. I felt I'd been lucky to get out of that relationship in one piece.

"You're right about John. He was a jerk. I still say the other guys weren't that bad. Maybe, they weren't the most exciting guys in the world, but how can you compare them with a ghost? At least, they were all alive."

"Barely." Stephanie gulped down some orange juice. "Like I said before, sometimes I can't believe were even related. Why does everything have to be so serious with you? What about just having some fun?"

"Well. . . I admit, that last night I probably would have agreed with you. I enjoyed talking to Thomas. I've been wanting to have fun this summer, and I was surprised to realize that it's fun to talk to him."

"Good. So, what's the problem?"

"I guess, I've started feeling different about things this morning. It sounds crazy to even think about. . . liking him back. Doesn't it?"

Stephanie began to laugh. "You wouldn't be wondering that unless it was already too late." She broke into song:

"Lily and Thomas,
Sittin' in a tree.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
First, comes love.
Then, comes marriage.
Then, comes Lily,
Pushing a baby carriage."

I started laughing too. "You're ridiculous, Steph! He's a ghost!"

"Hey," she shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."

Shaking my head at my sister's silliness, I asked her, "Speaking of Thomas, have you heard from him yet today?"

"Nope. You kept him up late. Maybe, he's napping."

"Ha, ha. Ghosts don't sleep. At least, I don't imagine that they do."

Stephanie grinned. "Maybe, he's been listening to our conversation, and it hurt his feelings when you said you don't like him back."

"I never said that I don't like him. I said that I just met him, and that liking him or not doesn't really matter since he's a ghost."

"I'm sure it matters to him."

That stopped me. It was a good point, and something I hadn't considered. Had I hurt Thomas' feelings? I'd only just started believing in ghosts last night, and I'd already discovered that a ghost could develop romantic feelings. Couldn't I also assume that a ghost could get his or her heart broken as easily as anyone else? Did that also mean that a heartbroken ghost could also heal? Or were they doomed to carry around their heartache for eternity? That was a terrible thought, but it made me realize that there was a lot about Thomas, and ghosts in general, that I didn't know. It was time for me to further my education in the supernatural.

"Thomas? Thomas, are you here?"

When I heard his voice, it was so close to my ear it made me jump. "Good morning, Lily. Good morning, Stephanie. How are you both today?"

"Great!" Stephanie answered. She was smiling at my still startled expression.

"Have you been here, listening to us, this whole time?" I heard the irritability in my voice, but I couldn't seem to help it.

Thomas laughed that warm, rich laugh of his. I suddenly felt unaccountably flushed. This irritated me more. I didn't like being laughed at. Worse than that, though, was the uncomfortable realization that it mattered what he thought of me. He'd told me that he likes me, and it was important to me not to lose his positive regard. Why this should be the case, I was afraid to acknowledge, even to myself.

"Don't worry." He murmured into my left ear. I felt the touch of his invisible fingers as they brushed a strand of my hair off my cheek. Louder he said, "I wasn't listening in on your conversation. I just stayed nearby, in case either of you called for me."

"That's cool." Stephanie responded while I was still trying to get my dry mouth to work.

"Um, yes." I agreed. "I appreciate you giving us some privacy."

"No problem at all. So, was there a particular reason that you called out to me, Lily? Not that I wouldn't mind if you had no reason, other than wanting to enjoy my company, but I'm betting that you have another reason?"

"Well, yes." I answered as I added milk and sugar to the cup of coffee I'd just poured. "I'm hoping you'll tell me more about ghosts. Why, for instance, are you one? I mean, I assume that there's some alternative afterlife other than becoming a ghost?"

"Yes, there is. Most souls move on to something else. I don't know where they go exactly, but it's more desirable than becoming what I am. Only a smaller percentage of souls continue to exist among the living, and we consider ourselves to be trapped here."

"Do you know why only some become ghosts and all the others don't? For instance, do you know why you became a ghost after you. . . died?"

"I've met others like me, and the general agreement is that we become stuck here either due to trauma or some kind of unfinished business. Some of us ghosts remember more of our lives, and our deaths, than others. Remembering helps us make sense of why we might still be tied to our old lives. In my case, I've a pretty good idea why I'm still here."

Stephanie looked surprised. "Really? I didn't know that. Since you've not said anything about it, I assumed that you didn't remember your life or why you became a ghost. At least, you've always given me that impression."

Thomas sighed. "Yes, I'm sure that I've led you to believe that. I'm sorry, Stephanie. Your so young and enthusiastic about life. I suppose that I've been reluctant to expose you to the darker side of things."

"I'm not a child." My sister crossed her arms and her bottom lip was sticking out in a pout. It made her appear two years old instead of sixteen, and it was in comic juxtaposition to her words.

"I know that." Thomas replied gravely. He realized that he'd hurt my sister's pride. "I apologize for implying otherwise. I'm afraid I seem to fall too easily into the overprotective big brother role."

His words were just the thing to sooth her ego. Stephanie visibility relaxed. "Oh, O.K. It's just that I get enough of all that from my parents and Lily."

"Hey! Wait a minute!" I disagreed. "If you're trying to blame me for them grounding you don't bother. That was all because of your choices. Besides, you've not been grounded at all since you've been staying with me."

"Fine. Sorry. You're the best big sister in the whole wide world." Stephanie smirked. "You ought to win a Nobel prize and be written up in history books."

"Ha, Ha. Very funny." I responded in turn to my sister's sarcasm. "Getting back to the original subject. . . Thomas, you we're telling us that you know why you became a ghost?"

"Yes," He replied. "I remember enough about my death to know that it was the sort of sudden trauma that can sometimes trap a soul among the living."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Well, in a nutshell, I was murdered."

*** To Be Continued ***

Until I type again,
Kami

Some Thoughts On The Season

2009-09-27T15:00:00.001-07:00

It's a beautiful autumn day here today. The sky and water are blue, the trees are a mixture of green evergreens and many others whose leaves are changing and beginning to fall. The breeze is pleasantly cool and the sun is comfortably warm. I feel very peaceful. I realize how grateful I am for the simple gift of these moments.

Last week was very busy and stressful, but this weekend has revitalized me. I've taken time to rest and to play and to laugh and to talk and to sing. Whenever I am not careful to keep my life balanced, I find that, if I pay close attention, life brings me the opportunities that I seek to regain my center. These opportunities will stand before me waving their arms, saying "Pick me! Pick me! You know I'm just what you need right now." If I'm not paying attention, not doing what I need to take care of myself, these opportunities become more aggressive. They will pout and cry and scream and finally, if I'm still ignoring them, they'll hit me over the head. Ow! O.K. There's no ignoring them now.

Autumn is my favorite season because it is a season of transitions. It is a time to harvest all that we have grown in our lives, and it is also a time to let go of what has served us in the past, but is now no longer useful. We let go of what we no longer need to hold on to, so that there is room within us for what new things we now need. It is all O.K. It is alright. Life moves on. Life changes, just as the seasons change, and we can harvest what we need and release the rest.

I've been grieving these past many months for losses in my life, for things I can not change, for the witnessing of a loved one's tragic self-destruction. These things have left their mark on me. I have been through fire. I have been burned. Yet, I am a success story.

It is not because I have obtained fame or fortune. Not at all. Really, I find those things hold but fleeting joy. My success lies in my survival. It lies in my continual striving for growth. I consider myself a fearful person, but I'm working at facing those fears rather than hiding from them. I have good days and bad days, just as we all do, but I feel my life is getting better and better everyday. I'm becoming a better at planting the seeds of change within myself, at nuturing those seeds, and at harvesting what comes out of them. Sometimes I get what I expect from them. At other times, I am surprised to discover what has grown.

It is not a clear and easy path that life gives any of us. Yet, if we pay attention, there are always new opportunites to learn, to love, to grow and to appreciate. I see the cycles of our lives mirror the cycles of nature in that there is a time and place for everything. Sometimes we feel the need for change, for movement. Sometimes we feel the need to stay still and enjoy the beauty of the moment. At all times, I find, it serves us best to pay attention to what we need.

No matter how busy we might be, each day holds moments when we can nourish ourselves. There are always moments when we can ask ourselves "What do I need right now?" It might take us time to find the answer sometimes, but that is perfectly fine. If we are seeking to find the answer than we are on the right road. The most important thing is to keep asking the question.

Until I type again,
Kami

WIDE AWAKE - - Part Three: New Believer

2009-09-22T12:30:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of http://freedigitalphotos.net/

WIDE AWAKE

Part Three: New Believer

I've always been fascinated by the fact that a single incident can forever alter the course of ones life. This happens all the time. Often those events are obviously life-altering, such as a birth, death, marriage or divorce, for instance. At other times, we are not able to recognize what impact an incident will have upon our future. We may feel that something has changed, but all too easily this can be considered to be of less than life-altering significance. After being saved from a fall off a chair by unseen hands and being warned to be careful by an invisible source, I had the feeling that some things would be different. A brush with the supernatural had turned me from non-believer into believer. This was not a natural leap for me. I'm the sort of person who is comfortable with the concrete and logical. A belief in ghosts was neither of these. My coming to hold such a belief required a shift in myself. The old Lily Wilson could no longer exist under these circumstances. A new Lily Wilson was forced to begin her existence.

This creation of a new me was not something readily apparent. I didn't realize that I was forever altered until the transformation was fully under way. One day I was a business grad. student on summer vacation, and the next day I was a woman who communicates with a ghost. Yet, at the time, I was so caught up in these bizarre new circumstances that I had no thought about how my life might be changed by them. I had the obsession of a new believer so caught up in the practice of their faith that they can not seen the world beyond it.

My focus became centered upon a ghost. In particular, I was locked upon trying to communicate with Professor Harper's resident ghost, Thomas. My sister had been in contact with him for a couple of weeks, but his rescue of me was the first time I'd had contact with him. Oh, that doesn't mean he hadn't been around me. The night he'd rescued me from falling off the chair, I'd puzzled over the cold drafts and the sensation of being watched. I hadn't wanted to conclude that there was a spectral origin for these. Now, I was sure that Thomas had been there with me all that night after my sister, Stephanie, had gone to bed. He'd been near me, hovering about. Had he been planning to make contact with me that night? Stephanie had said that he'd told her he was planning to speak to me soon, but that he'd been putting it off because it was hard for him to do so for some reason he'd been unwilling to explain.

Could a ghost be nervous about speaking to someone? Had he been hanging around me, trying to build up enough courage to say something? It was an odd idea. Why would Thomas be nervous about speaking to me? He couldn't have known that I'd nearly fall off a chair in the pantry. He'd prevented me from injury although, in doing so, he'd suddenly put himself in position to make the contact with me that he'd been reluctant to initiate.

After my near-accident, I sat in the kitchen drinking my tea. Although I'd originally made the tea to help me sleep, I doubted I'd be able to relax anytime soon. My eyes scanned the room over and over, but I saw nothing. I put down my cup, held my breath, and listened as hard as I could.

Silence.

I might have thought that I was alone if it weren't for the on-going chill in the room and the continuing sense of another's presence. No, I wasn't alone at all.

Alright. Enough is enough. I wasn't just going to sit there all night. I could passively wait for Thomas to contact me again, or I could take action. I decided on the latter.

"Thomas?" I whispered into the icy kitchen.

I paused, and then I whispered again. "Thomas?"

No answer.

"Thomas? If you're there, then answer me."

Still no answer.

Standing in the brightly lit, silent kitchen, in the middle of the night, it occurred to me how foolish I must look. Maybe it was this house. Could poison vapors coming through the floor boards lead us to hallucinate? I'd been perfectly fine before I'd begun house-sitting here, a couple of weeks ago. Although, it had only been Stephanie who was in contact with him until tonight. If I could have continued thinking of Thomas as her imaginary friend, it would have been so much easier. Then, I wouldn't be feeling like an idiot, talking to myself.

These thoughts made me angry. Why should I be spending time trying to get a ghost to talk to me? I never asked for this drama. I was here to house-sit, not to ghost-sit. Other than house- sitting, I was on vacation. I should be having fun, and this was not my idea of a good time.

I poured the rest of the tea down the sink. I was too angry to drink it now. Tired and grouchy, I ranted aloud as I paced around the room. "Fine. Don't answer me. Don't talk to me at all. Apparently, that's how you want it. Why is that? Huh? Why is it that you'll talk to both Stephanie and Professor Harper, but you don't want to talk to me?"

Silence.

Silence and more silence.

"Forget it! I don't care if you talk to me or not." I stopped pacing. "Oh, this is ridiculous. Reality check, Lily. You're having a one-sided argument with a silent ghost. Not your brightest moment."

I nearly jumped out of my slippers when these comments at last elicited a response. "No, really?" An invisible, amused man spoke right next to me. "I was enjoying this one-sided argument of yours. It's a shame to interrupt it, but I suppose I should start talking to you before you go back to believing that I don't exist."

"Not much chance of that now." I replied. "I assume that I'm speaking to Thomas?"

"Yes, you assume correctly, and you're Lily."

I nodded, although it had been a statement rather than a question. Now that Thomas was speaking to me, my anger had drained away. Jagged frustration had become smooth relief. I couldn't understand it. Once I believed in Thomas' existence, it became important to me that we start talking. His reluctance to get to know me in return only increased my interest in him.

"Are you going to tell me why you've not wanted to speak to me?"

He laughed. It startled me that his laugh sounded so warm, so rich, so alive. A ghost surely shouldn't sound like that, I thought. Although, I really couldn't claim to be an expert on ghosts. My only knowledge of the supernatural came from t.v. and movies. So, all of what I knew could be purely invention. Maybe all ghosts have laughs that make them sound as if they are still alive.

Thomas finished laughing and asked, "That really bothers you, doesn't it? Do you hate not knowing why?"

I would have glared at him if I could have seen him. I settled for eye rolling and shaking my head. "Will you just answer the question?"

"I've been watching you, Lily. Ever since the first time that you entered this house, I've watched you, and I've listened."

He paused, and I asked, "You've been spying on me? Don't you think I deserve any privacy?"

"Yes, to both questions. Don't worry. I don't watch you all the time. I've not seen anything you'd be embarrassed to show a stranger."

I blushed. It hadn't occurred to me that as a ghost he could watch me anywhere, at any time. Hopefully, he was telling me the truth about giving me privacy at those times when I'd most want it. Oddly enough, I believed he was being honest about it. For some reason I couldn't explain, I didn't feel that Thomas was a liar. I did, however, see that he was trying to distract me as a way to avoid my original question.

"I'm not going to bed until you tell me what I want to know." I crossed my arms.

Thomas laughed again. "It's not wise for the living to try to out wait us ghosts. Time doesn't mean the same to me as it does to you. If I choose not to answer you, then you could stand there until you collapse."

I didn't budge. My family has called me "stubborn". I've never disagreed with this assessment. It was foolish, in this case. I was already tired. I wonder, in retrospect, if I would have actually stood there until I collapsed? Was I stubborn enough for that? I think that I might be. Fortunately, it never went to that point. Sounding exasperated, Thomas finally answered my question.

"Alright, alright. Fine. I'll tell you. Jeez, you're stubborn, Lily. . . Well, as Stephanie told you, it has been hard for me to speak to you. It's not that I haven't wanted to talk to you. I have. Since you moved in, I've been trying to work up the courage to say something. It's been. . . difficult. I've been too nervous."

"Nervous? Why?"

"It's because I like you, Lily. I like you in a way that a ghost has no business liking the living. It's not right, not natural. If I were a regular man, it would be different. That's why I've been reluctant to start talking to you. Usually, I'll look at you, and I'll think how beautiful you are, and then the words will just stick inside me."

My head was spinning. I couldn't process what he was saying. "You like me? You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course. You're beautiful woman. I've listened to you, Lily, and you're also smart and interesting. That's why it's been so hard for me to be comfortable speaking with you."

"Yet, you're doing it. I mean, you're speaking to me now."

"Yes, I wasn't sure I would have if you hadn't almost fallen off that chair."

"Well, thanks for saving me from falling."

"You're welcome. I couldn't let you get hurt. Until then, I know you didn't believe in ghosts. I'd considered letting it stay that way, but then that was no longer possible. You started talking to me, and I finally found I couldn't resist answering you."

"I've never been liked by a ghost before. At least, I don't think I have." I smiled. "Actually, I could have had a whole supernatural fan club, and I'd never know it."

Thomas groaned. "I shouldn't have told you how I felt. This is can only cause trouble for us both."

My smile grew wider. I'd worried that I wasn't having any fun on my vacation. Yet, suddenly, I was having a good time. In fact, my life, usually very practical and well-planned, had suddenly become very unpredictable. It surprised me that I didn't mind the change. I'd never wanted trouble more.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,

Kami

"Lewis Black - Evolution"

2009-09-19T11:01:00.000-07:00

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kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: I'm posting again from my cell phone. My internet access at home is so poor these days that it's nearly non-existent. Yet, I am not going to let that stop me from posting! Today, I'm in the mood to post some comedy. This bit is from the comedian Lewis Black on creationism and evolution. I'm not someone who believes that it makes sense to take any religious text literally, including the Bible. I find more meaning in taking religious text as I would other books, as cultural tales and metaphors. I find I value the stories more when I treat them as I do other stories, and there can be a lot of meaning to be found within any story. This is why I find that I can fit science and religion together very well in my own life. Of course, this isn't the case for a lot of people. Science and religion are in opposition for many. I think this allows for some prime comical material. Until I type again, Kami Lewis Black - Evolution Lewis Black
© 2009 YouTube, LLC 901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066

A Lovely September At Dawn

2009-09-15T14:54:00.000-07:00

I was taking a walk at dawn before work this morning (I go to work quite early), and I took these photos on my new cell phone (a purple LG Lotus - - which I love). It was so quiet and peaceful this morning, and I was able to watch the sunrise over the water. I captured a tree just beginning to change colors, some interesting pretty flowers just peeking out of the near darkness, and plenty of shots of sky, clouds, sun and sea.

Until I type again,
Kami

WIDE AWAKE- -Part Two: Haunted House

2009-09-09T16:40:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freefoto.com/index.jsp

***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read Part One, here's the link to do so first http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Two: Haunted House

Goosebumps covered my arms. I shivered. My sixteen year old sister, Stephanie, had just told me that she'd been communicating with a ghost for the past two weeks. She said this ghost was named Thomas, and he lived -- no, wait, lived is surely the wrong term to describe it -- he resided in Professor Harper's large house in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood. I was house-sitting for the professor while she was on in Europe on sabbatical, and my sister was staying with me for the summer. I'd thought things had been going very well in the those two weeks, since we'd moved in, but I questioned this after Stephanie's announcement that the house was haunted.

My name is Lily Wilson. I'm twenty-three, and I have to admit that living in a haunted house was a frightening idea. It gave me the chills. At the same time, I was sure I didn't even believe in ghosts. I thought it likely that my sister had things wrong. After toying with several ideas, possible drug use or physical or mental illness, I'd decided that Stephanie was just imagining her conversations with Thomas. This so-called ghost had to be the product of the overactive mind of a lonely, excitable, troubled teenage girl. If it was O.K. for little kids to have imaginary friends, then it was possible, and even O.K., for a teenager to have one too.

Alright, alright. If I'm being honest, then I'll have to say that a child's imaginary friend and my sister's so-called ghost aren't really the same thing. Comparing the two was only designed to make myself feel better about the situation. Stephanie, not surprisingly, had no problems with any of it. She thought it was cool that she could talk with a ghost. She said Thomas was very nice and friendly to her. I couldn't fathom how the words "nice" and "friendly" could apply to a ghost, but my sister had her own way of looking at things. It was never easy for me to understand her point of view.

I did try to understand. After she told me about her imaginary ghost friend, I reached the just-play-along-and-humor-her stage. I tried to learn more about Thomas.

I asked her, "Do you see him? Or do you only hear him?"

Stephanie said Thomas chose to talk to her most of the time while invisible. He had made himself visible to her, but that was only twice. He told her that any contact with "the living", as he called us non-ghost people, wasn't easy. Making contact required both concentration and practice. For years, Professor Harper had been the only one among the living to whom he'd spoken. He'd managed to appear to the professor several times.

It was at this point that I interrupted Stephanie. "Thomas told you that he's also communicated with Professor Harper?"

She nodded. "Yeah, he says she's a great lady. He knew he'd miss her during her sabbatical, so he's glad to have us here."

"Whatever makes the ghost happy." I muttered to myself too softly for my sister to hear. Louder, I asked her, "If he's so glad to have us here, then why has he chosen to only communicate with you and not with both of us? Isn't he going to be pretty lonely when you go back to Portland for school in the fall?"

"Um, well," Stephanie seemed reluctant to reply. "I've asked him those same questions, and I told him that he needs to start talking to you too. He. . . he said that it's hard for him to talk to you, Lily."

"What do you mean? Why would talking to me be any different than talking to you or to Professor Harper?"

"I wondered the same thing, but he won't explain it. All I could get him to tell me is that it's hard for him to talk to you, but he does plan to try it soon."

"He does?"

I felt chilled, as Stephanie nodded her reply. The goosebumps returned to cover my arms again. Even though I'd only been pretending to believe in a ghost, the thought of hearing a dead person speak to me creeped me out. I didn't make sense. How could I be afraid of something I didn't believe to be real?

Fear and logic are not comfortable companions. I thought of myself as a logical person, not someone who is afraid of things that go bump in the night. Stephanie was the one with the overactive imagination, while I was the one with a cool head for business. That's why I felt getting my master's degree in business was logical. I was investing in my future, and I was keeping things practical. It wasn't practical to be afraid for what couldn't possibly be real.

Later than night, I was reminding myself of this as I tossed and turned in bed; the bed that was mine for the year I was to spend in Professor Harper's house. I told myself that it was illogical to be afraid. I wasn't Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol". Ghosts weren't coming to visit me at bedtime. Only my sister, sleeping in a room down the hall, was in the house with me. No one else. There was no reason I should have the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

I'd already gotten up once to make sure the window blinds were tightly closed. They were. I was quite sure no one could see into the dark room. I hadn't really believed that anyone could. Even before I'd gotten up, I'd doubted the possibility, but I was looking for some kind of rational explanation for why I felt the way I did.

Huddled in bed beneath a quilt, I puzzled at the chill in the room. I could see my breath floating out of my mouth in small clouds. When I'd made my sleepy way to bed, the room had felt hot and stuffy. It was a warm summer night, and, after I'd brushed my teeth, I'd planned to turn on a fan to cool down the room. However, this odd feeling that I was being watched came to me when I returned from the bathroom. A draft of cold air came along with it. I'd pulled a thick bathrobe over my light, summery pajamas before climbing into bed. Yet, as tired as I was, I was quickly too cold and too anxious to fall asleep. Neither of these feeling made any sense, and I dislike it when things don't make sense.

My feelings drifted from fear into anger. I was angry with myself for being afraid. It was unacceptable. I blamed Stephanie's stories for sparking my imagination although I'd previously thought my imagination nearly non-existent. My sister's attempts to convince me the house was haunted hadn't been the best conversation to have right before bedtime. I found it ironic that, while she no doubt slept peacefully down the hall, to my frustration, I was wide awake.

Getting out of bed, I decided to head to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of chamomile herbal tea would help me relax. Wrapping and tying the long, thick robe tighter around me, I slipped on a pair of slippers and went downstairs. As I went through the house, I checked the doors and all the windows. They were closed and locked. Of course, they were. It was too much to hope that there would be a sensible reason for the chill breeze or for the feeling of being watched. Both sensations came along with me into the kitchen.

I heated a mug of water in the microwave, pulled it out, and added a tea bag. While my tea seeped, I dug through the cupboard looking for some honey to put in my tea. I remembered seeing some in the house, and, after a few moments, I recalled seeing a jar on a shelf in the pantry. Sure enough, there was a jar of honey on the highest shelf, out of reach of someone as petite as myself.

Grabbing a chair, I pulled it into the pantry and climbed up onto it. I could barely brush my fingers against the edge of the jar, not quite enough to grab hold of it. Raising myself onto my toes, I stretched up as far as I could. Just as my fingers wrapped around the jar, I felt the chair sway and start to rock to the side. In a split second, I became certain I was going to fall. The thought had barely registered itself when I felt the sensation of the chair suddenly stabilizing itself, as well as the touch of someone firmly grasping onto my left arm. Thankfully, both of these movements prevent my fall.

"Be careful." A masculine voice said near me.

If the grasp on my arm and on the chair hadn't been so firm, the sound of that voice might have startled me enough to start falling again. I jerked my arm away from the hand and quickly jumped off the chair. Frantically, my eyes darted around the room. I was looking for the man who had first broken into the house, and then had prevented me from falling. I was breathing hard, lost in the grip of panic for a short while. I remained this way until my rattled brain registered what I was looking at - - empty room.

I could see no one in the pantry, and I knew that no one had broken into the house. Everything was locked up, and I would have heard someone if they had tried to break in. Nevertheless, I knew, deep within myself, that I wasn't alone. There was a man in the pantry with me; a man who had saved me from a fall off the chair. I was certain that I had felt his hand on my arm and heard him warning me to be careful. I was also certain that I could no longer claim that I didn't believe in ghosts.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami

Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen) - Allison Crowe live performance

2009-09-07T11:13:00.001-07:00

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kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: I am posting to my blog using both my e-mail and my new LG Lotus cell phone. I love my cool new phone. I was way overdue for both an upgrade in cell phones as well as a phone play with data & texting. I'm curious to see how well this entry posts. Also, I've been meaning to post this youtube video for some time now. I find this song haunting & beautiful. There are many verisons, but I find this to be my favorite. Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen) - Allison Crowe live performance "It's, as I say, a desire to affirm my faith in life, not in some formal religious way but with enthusiasm, with emotion.... It's a rather joyous song." ~ Leonard Cohen, creator of the song, Hallelujah. He says: "I wanted to write something in the tradition of the hallelujah choruses but from a different point of view... It's the notion that there is no perfection ~ that this is a broken world and we live with broken hearts and broken lives but still that is no alibi for anything. On the contrary, you have to stand up and say hallelujah under those circumstances." Canadian indie singer-songwriter Allison Crowe's uniquely potent interpretation is heard on her album/CD, "Tidings". (The song enjoys increasingly wide appreciation - even marching into the mainstream recently with performances by American Idol contestant Jason Castro and by UK X Factor winner Alexandra Burke and Dutch X Factor champ Lisa Hordijk. Leonard Cohen himself has b... more
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Wide Awake - - Part One: Crazy Talk

2009-09-01T20:02:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freephotosbank.com/

***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts.***

WIDE AWAKE

Part One: Crazy Talk

I wished it were a joke. A twisted stupid joke. I looked over at my sister's face hoping that she'd show me some sign that she wasn't serious; that she hadn't just told me the craziest thing I'd ever heard her say. My false hope slipped away along with the sigh that escaped my lips. She gazed at me expectantly, worriedly chewing on her bottom lip, trying to anticipate how I was going to respond to what she'd just told me.

"Steph," I sighed again. "I . . . I really don't know what to say."

My sister, Stephanie Marie Wilson, is seven years younger than myself and my only sibling. The age difference between us was hardly noticeable by this time. At sixteen, Stephanie could almost have passed for my twin. We had the same petite, slender frame, the same blue eyes, the same shoulder-length, silky brown hair. We weren't identical, of course, but looking at our pixy-like faces, it's obvious that we are sisters. The most noticeable difference is in our personalities.

Stephanie is more adventurous, more rebellious, than me, Lily Ann Wilson. It isn't just that she is a teenager. She's always been like this. I, on the other hand, have always been cautious, hesitant. I do very little without analyzing my options first, weighing the pros and cons, judging the risk involved. My sister thinks this makes me dull. I don't see it that way. I see it as being smart.

"Lily," Stephanie sounded annoyed with me now. "Just tell me what you think. You believe me, right?"

I couldn't lie to her face, so, looking down at my feet, I mumbled, "Um, yeah, sure."

When I looked up again, it was to encounter her silent glare. I couldn't take her looking at me like that for long. I sputtered. "O.K. Fine. No, I don't believe you. I don't believe you at all. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Crossing her arms, Stephanie stuck out her bottom lip like a petulant two year old. Her question came out sounding whiny. "Why don't you believe me?"

I couldn't help myself. It was such a ridiculous question that I rolled my eyes as I answered. "Oh, pulleeeeze. Come one, Steph. It’s . . . well, it just sounds crazy."

"I'm. Not. Crazy." My sister spat out her response one word at a time.

"Well, I'm not saying you've completely lost it or anything. You must have let your imagination get carried away. Or, maybe, it's something you've dreamed."

"I was wide awake, Lily. Wide awake."

"Are you sure of that? Maybe you dozed off without realizing it." I frowned. "I hope you're not sick or anything. You could have a fever that's causing hallucinations. I should take you to a doctor." I tried to touch her forehead to see if it felt hot, but she dodged my arm.

"I feel fine." Stephanie grumbled. "I don't have a fever."

I chewed on my lip. I was growing more and more worried by the moment. "I don't know, Steph. Maybe you're a narcoleptic or something. You might be falling asleep suddenly, without realizing it. That could be dangerous."

Just as I had become the lip chewer, Stephanie had become the one rolling her eyes. "You don't have to explain it. I know what a narcoleptic is, and I'm not one. I'm not sick. I'm not crazy, and I'm not going to a doctor. So, forget it."

To be honest, she didn't look sick at all. In fact, she appeared to be doing better now, than when she'd first arrived in Seattle three weeks ago. Then, Stephanie's face had been blotchy and her eyes red from crying. She'd been fighting with Mom and Dad after she'd skipped the last day of school, along with her boyfriend, Cody. When Stephanie had come home again, it was the next morning. She had a butterfly tattoo on her ankle, a belly button piercing, and a hangover. It was the worst trouble she'd ever been in. It was hard to say what in this whole scenario they had been most upset about. Probably, it was her spending all night alone with a boy. That fact alone most likely had trumped tattoos, body piercing, school skipping, underage drinking, and even disappearing for twenty-four hours without a word. I just hoped that whatever she and Cody had done that they'd been safe about it. My adventurous little sister wasn't ready for the adventure of motherhood. Not at sixteen.

Mom and Dad had responded to her behavior by grounding her. It was the start of summer vacation, and she wasn't allowed to go anywhere, do anything or to see Cody or any of her friends. Stephanie responded by sneaking out of the house two days later. Unfortunately for her, she got caught, and this only made matters worse. Mom and Dad took away both her phone and her computer. No texting, no chatting, no calls, no e-mails, nothing. She was in Teenage Hell.

After only a week of watching her cry and mope around, Mom and Dad said, "Enough! We're driving you up to Seattle to spend the summer with your sister. You know she'd love to see you."

It was true. I'd been trying since Spring Break to get Stephanie to come up from our family's home in Portland, Oregon to spend her summer vacation with me. I planned to enjoy a summer off from grad school at U.W., University of Washington, in Seattle where I was working on my M.B.A., Master in Business Administration. After working so hard on my degree, I felt the need for a break, and I thought it would be nice to have Stephanie spend some time with me. Of course, I hadn't considered that Mom and Dad would practically force her to come; that I'd be taking responsibility for a moping, moody, misbehaving teen for the next two months.

My plans for a fun summer break had quickly begun to feel like a punishment. I wondered what I'd ever done to our parents that made them think I deserved this. Maybe it was their way of getting back at me for going to college out of state. They'd ended up helping me with tuition a lot more expensive than it would have been if I'd gone to an Oregon state school. If this was my punishment, Mom and Dad had a sadistic streak I'd been unaware of previously.

I’d still be suffering a miserable summer if it weren’t for a great opportunity that had suddenly fallen into my lap. One of the art history professors at the U.W. was going on a year-long sabbatical. Professor Christine Harper was originally not leaving Seattle until the fall, but she’d changed her plans suddenly. She’d begun asking her colleagues if they recommend a student willing to housesit for her as soon as possible. I’d made it known to several of the faculty members that I was looking for just this sort of opportunity long before I’d thought there was any real chance that my sister would be spending the summer with me. Once she was with me, I’d figured house-sitting would be off my summer agenda, at least until she went back to school in the fall.

Although I had never met her before, Professor Harper called me based on recommendation from one of the professors who knew me and knew of my interest in house-sitting. I drove to her house in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighbor that same afternoon. It was a large, two-story, five bedroom home; an older house that had been recently remodeled. Its outside was painted a shade of ivory with the door and the trim painted dark blue. It was obviously a home of an art history professor, since every room was filled with a variety of carvings, sculptures, ceramics, watercolors, and paintings. The professor herself was a tall, lean woman with a flowing mane of gray hair. She had the kindest smile I’d ever seen.

After just the one meeting, Professor Harper said that she had a good feeling about me and asked if I’d be able to move in right away. She was eager to catch a flight to Rome where she’d be beginning her sabbatical. When I explained that my teenage sister was staying with me over the summer, the professor said, “No, problem. It’s a big house. Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see. Please, Lily, will you take the job? I promise that you’ll not regret it.”

I had agreed then. I mean, how could I not? I was a beautiful house, and I'd be getting paid to stay there and take care of it, and all its artwork, for a year. Now, though, I'd started to wonder if Professor Harper was right. Would I really have no regrets? How could that be true when my little sister was telling me that she’d been hearing voices?

Well, to be exact, Stephanie claimed to have heard one voice, other than our own, since we arrived at Professor Harper’s house. Personally, I would have been equally disturbed whether she said that she was hearing one voice or twenty of them. Either way, didn’t it indicate that something was wrong? Surely, this wasn’t normal. Didn’t it mean that something had to be very wrong with my sister? Another thought suddenly occurred to me.

“Steph, you haven’t been using drugs, have you?”

Stephanie scowled and spoke slowly as if she considered me dim-witted. “Nooooo, Lily. I don’t use drugs, and I only drank that one time, which I really regretted by the next day, so I’m not an alcoholic either. I told you. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“How can you say that when you’re hearing voices?”

“Lily, it’s not like that. I’m not hearing voices in my head. This is real. He is real.”

“He?” When she had told me that she was hearing a voice, I hadn’t considered that Stephanie was hear a male voice.

“Yes. His name is Thomas, and I don’t just hear him. We talk to each other. We’re friends.”

All of this was really too much for me. If my sister wasn’t sick or crazy, then she was letting her imagination get out of hand. Was I supposed to believe any of this? It sounded like a fantasy to me. I gave up trying to reason with her and turned to sarcasm instead.

“So, is your friend, Thomas, a gnome or an elf?”

Stephanie laughed. “No, that’s silly. He’s not a gnome or an elf or anything like that. Thomas is a regular person. At least, he was. Don’t you understand what I’ve been saying? This house is haunted, Lily. Thomas is a ghost.”

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami

Washington Renaissance Fantasy Faire 2009

2009-08-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month, my boyfriend, Nathan, and I went to the 2009 Washington Renaissance Fantasy Faire. It was the first time I'd been to a Renaissance Fair, and I had a very good time there. This year, the fair was held at Maris Farms in Buckley, WA. Here are some of the photos from that day.

Sign for the farm with the faire's tents in the background.

The castle gates.

Some fair-goers in front of the food stands where we ate sausages, fries, and Hawaiian ices.

There were many performers. We watched a joust and heard some of the music. There was also an opportunity for those wanting to learn a little about the fine art of fencing. I snapped a photo of a couple of the fencers above.

Then, I snapped a photo of my own knight, Sir Nathan.
The Blue Fairy was one of the many wandering performers at the fair. I saw her several times.
There were a lot of people in costumes and even some of the pets. I wonder if this doggy breathes fire?

There were many things to see and to buy. A couple of those things were ribbon and flower wreaths and flower wands.

Nathan took this picture of me with my new wand and my purple flower wreath.

More wonderful things to buy or just to look at: fans, lamps, belts, peacock feathers, a quiver of arrows, beautiful dresses, suits of armor, shields and weapons, just to name a few.

It was a wonderful day, but, alas, all too soon it was time to go.

Until I type again,
Kami

Computer Woes & Airplanes At The Mall

2009-08-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

It's been while since I've had a chance to post. I still plan to post some pictures here that I took earlier this month at the Washington Renaissance and Fantasy Faire, but my slow internet connection, combined with being sick a lot the last week, has postponed my plans. I'll being giving it a try this evening, and I'll get them on here asap. Last night, I spent most of the evening just trying to get my virus protection software to download & update. I kept losing the connection on my wireless, and I finally got it to update this just this morning. Grrrr! Better, more reliable internet it looking more and more necessary to my peace of mind.

Have you heard about the small airplane that made an emergency landing at a shopping mall in New Jersey. Can you imagine it? You're in the JC Penny's store trying to decide if you prefer the Hello Kitty or the Garfield pajamas when suddenly, there's a roaring sound in outside. You peak out the glass door and WHOA! What in the world? An airplane landed in the parking lot! Gee, someone must have been in a big hurry to get to the mall. Hey, wait! Is there a big sale that no one told you about? Of course, there can't really be an airplane landing at the mall. You're blood sugar must be really low if you're seeing unbelievable things like that. You'd better go to the food court to buy a cookie or some ice cream to stop the hallucinations. . .

No, wait it's a real news story, not some hallucination, although maybe there really was a big sale at the mall. I don't know. It would be a faster way to get there than driving. He's a link for the full news story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32554194/ns/us_news-life/

Photos courtesy of http://www.pdphoto.org/

Until I type again,
Kami

Castles

2009-08-20T07:22:00.000-07:00

"Fitou Castle" France

I've been frustrated with a poor internet connection lately. I'm getting closer to giving in and forking out more money each month just to have reliable service. I haven't been able to get any images to post unless I use the computer at work and, for security reasons, I'm not able to download pictures off my camera at work. Frustrating, frustrating. Fortunately, I have found some pictures on-line that I wanted to share today. I love castles, and I found a website with many castles that I had never seen before. I love their variety.

This castle shown above is called "Kuressaare Castle" and is located in Estonia.

This second castle is "Bratislava Castle" in Slovakia.

Third, we have "Castle Zuylen" in the Netherlands.

This castle pictured above is the "Castle of Bourglinster" in Luxembourg.

The fifth lovely castle I wanted to share with you is the "Royal Castle of Warsaw" in Poland.

This last castle is "Gresmold Schloss Castle" in Germany.

These photos are all courtesy of http://www.castles.info/.

Until I type again,
Kami

A New Day - A Poem

2009-08-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

Photo "Dawn" courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

***Here is an original, previously unpublished poem that I wrote.***

"A New Day"

I say,

Arise bright sun.

Clear away.

Those last bits

Of darkness.

Morning brings us.

Its freshness.

A promise.

A new day.

A clean start.

Loosen those ties

Which bind us.

What we no longer

Want to hold

Can be released.

What is to us

Most precious.

Hold lightly, softly

As one ought hold

A small bird.

Photo courtesy of http://www.pdphoto.org/

Too tight a grasp

Could injure.

While a gentle touch,

When the time comes,

Gives freedom for flight.

Until I type again,
Kami

Dealing With Stress

2009-08-12T07:27:00.000-07:00

After having a summer of extreme heat, the weather in Western Washington already has the damp feel of Fall. It reminds me how quickly the seasons change. Work lately has been very hectic, and I've been struggling each day to relax. Time flies, but I often need to remind myself to slow down and enjoy my life in the here and now. Stress is a normal part of life, but how I choose to deal with it is up to me. Humor is one effective way.

FAMILY STRESS TEST

How to score: 0 if the statement is never true, 1 if it is rarely true, 2 if it is sometimes true, and 3 if it is always true.

1. ___ Conversations often begin with "Put the gun down, and then "we can talk."
2. ___ The school principal has your number on speed-dial.
3. ___ The cat is on Valium.
4. ___ People have trouble understanding your kids, because they learned to speak through clenched teeth.
5. ___ You are trying to get your four-year-old to switch to decaf.
6. ___ The number of jobs held down by family members exceeds the number of people in the family.
7. ___ No one has time to wait for microwave TV dinners.
8. ___ "Family meetings" are often mediated by law enforcement officials.
9. ___ You have to check your kid's day-planner to see if he can take out the trash.
10.___ No-Doze gives you bulk rates.

How you rate:

30 - A perfect score. Welcome to the neighborhood!

20-29 - You are doing reasonably well, but still have too little going on in your life. Crank it up.

10-19 - You have mastered some of the aspects of the stress-filled life, but still have a long way to go. Have you considered a parallel career path?

0- 9 - Enjoying all that extra time? What do you do anyway?

"FROM SEATTLE WITH LOVE"

A curious fellow died one day and found himself waiting in a long, long line for judgment. As he stood there he noticed that some souls were allowed to march right through the gates of heaven - others, though, were led over to Satan, who threw them into a burning pit of fire.
Every so often, instead of hurling a poor soul into the fire, Satan would toss him (or her) to one side. After watching Satan do this several times, the fellow's curiosity got the better of him and he strolled over and tapped Satan on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, there, Prince of Darkness," he said. "I'm waiting in line for judgment, but I couldn't help wondering why you are tossing those people aside instead of flinging them into the fires of hell with the others?"
"Ah", Satan said with a grin. "They are people from Seattle; they're still too wet to burn!"

MENTAL HEALTH HOTLINE

If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

If you are co-dependant, ask someone to press 2 for you.

If you have multiple personalities, press 3,4,5 & 6.

If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want.
Stay on the line so we can trace your call.

If you are delusional, press 7, and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.

If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press, no one will answer.

If you are dyslexic, press 96969696969696969696.

If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the hash key until a representative comes on the line.

If you have amnesia, press 8 and state you name, address, phone number, date of birth, social security number and your mother's and grandmother's maiden names.

If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, slowly and carefully press 000.

If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.

If you have short term memory loss, please try your call again later.

If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All of our operators are far too busy to talk to you.

Lastly, here's some relaxing music which I find is also is a great way to unwind.

The source of the "Family Stress Test", "From Seattle With Love", and "Mental Health Hotline", as well as more on relaxation, can be found at http://www.relaxation.com/.

Until I type again,
Kami

Choosing Your Own Adventure

2009-08-10T18:24:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, I used to write all the time. Mostly, I’d create characters and little stories. I had a complete, certain vision of myself as a writer. As I grew older, my world became more complex, less narrow and less certain. My vision of myself became a shifting thing, rather than something concrete. By the time I reached college, I didn’t have the time or energy to write anything except what was school related. After college, writing slipped out of my life almost completely.

Since I started this blog, three months ago, this has been the longest consistent period of writing that I’ve had in years. I’m really enjoying it.

Every time I publish a post, I feel a lot of satisfaction. It’s a sense of having accomplished something, but it’s also a feeling of reclaiming a part of myself, the writer within me, that I’d almost given up as lost. (I can’t resist inserting a pun: "She found the writer inside her." - -- Ugh! Please feel free to groan here.)

The most common piece of advice that I’ve heard given to writers has been “Write what you know”. I used to puzzle over this when I was a child. I’d think “Hey, I’m just a kid. What do I know?” Then, being a know-it-all sort of child, I’d proceed to act like I knew a lot more than I really did. Usually, I’d exercise my imagination. What I didn’t know, I would make up. Don’t get me wrong. I still have an active imagination, but I’ve also gained some life experience. This is something that I’ve seen reflected in my recent writing. Although, it still catches me a bit off guard whenever I recognize these parts of myself in what I create, I feel it’s a good thing that I am able to do this.

I used to love to read a series of books, when I was a kid, called “Choose Your Own

Adventure”. At the end of each page, there were choices to make, and each choice jumped you forward or backward to a different page, depending on what you decided to do. Eventually, sometimes sooner than later, one of the pages would bring you to one of the many possible endings to the story. I remember reading each book over and over many times, making different choices, and journeying to a different ending each time.

In a recent prior post, I spoke of control as an illusion. I think my favorite thing about the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books were that they gave me a feeling of some control over the story. Of course, despite the many choices we make each day, life is not like one of these or any other book. First of all, in life there are many, many more paths and possible ends than could ever be contained in one book. Secondly, we can’t go back and redo the story of our lives as I could when reading a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book over and over again and making different choices each time. Lastly, we can’t peek ahead in our lives to see the outcome of our choices should we feel so inclined.

In my own life, I find that the more I try to control the outcome of anything, the more

frustrated I end up feeling. Life is easier for me when I try to make what choices seem best at the time and then detach from the results. This doesn’t mean I don’t care what the consequences of my choices might be, but rather that I try step back a bit and see what happens if I don’t try to hold the world in a death grip. If I’ve done my best, what more could I fairly expect from myself? If the results don’t turn out as I hope, I can accept that and go from there. I still feel like a novice when it comes to practicing this type of detachment, making my choices and learning to let go of the results, but it is a challenge that I believe to be wholly worthwhile.

For more on the "Choose Your Own Adventure" books which is having its 30th anniversary this year, here is a link to their web page: http://www.cyoa.com/

Until I type again,

Kami

Likes & Dislikes

2009-08-07T16:17:00.000-07:00

Hey, we all have things we either do or do not like. This blog entry will give some of my own likes and dislikes. Of course, if I tried to list everything, this blog entry would never end, so I'm just giving a few that I wanted to share today.

First, some of my dislikes:

I hate slugs. They are slimy, little creatures, and I've seen plenty of them living in Western Washington. I once got a slug in my hair, and that, by no means, changed my dislike of them. I find it interesting that I don't mind snails, though. It must be the shell that makes all the difference. Maybe, I should try to imagine that those slugs are just wanna be snails.

Speaking of both shells and gross, slimy things. I like some seafood, but I've never liked clams. Even their shell, doesn't make me want to eat them. I've honestly tried them more than once, and I still highly dislike them. I tend to prefer milder tasting seafood that doesn't actually taste all that fishy.

Violence, wars, bombs, weapons. I wish that people would find a better way to resolve their issues than these means. Diplomacy, diplomacy, diplomacy. It's not "us vs. them". It's just "us". We are all the people of the earth. Living otherwise will get us nowhere, fast.

Aagggggh! Snakes terrify me. The big, fat ones are the worst, but I'm not too fond of any of them. Although, even I will admit that the colors of this particular one above make it look kind of pretty. I still think I wouldn't want to encounter it in real life. I recently saw a guy with a big boa constrictor or python (I didn't dare linger around to be sure which) wrapped around his shoulders when my boyfriend and I were walking around at the Whaling Days street festival in Silverdale, WA. When we went past the snake, I was holding my boyfriends hand. I didn't realize that I was squeezing his hand very hard until he pointed out that he'd still like to keep it in the future. Hey, he has another one on the other arm! I guess he just prefers to have two. I was a little nervous and paranoid for awhile after I saw the snake. I glanced around periodically looking around for the guy and his slithering pet in the crowd. It was a relief not to encounter them again.

Now, some of the things that I like:

It's clear from my blog that I like dragonflies, but I'm also a big fan of butterflies as well. They are so pretty! I like that they come in such a great variety of colors and patterns, and they are an ancient symbol of the soul and of transformation. In the photo above, the blue of the flowers is also very lovely.

Yum! Pizza is one of my favorite foods. I like all kinds of toppings on it. I even had pizza for dinner just last night.

I have had visions of the Eiffel Tower in my head since I was six years old and first began to dream of going to Paris one day. I've travelled, but I've not had the opportunity to visit France yet. Someday, I'll go there and see this view of the Eiffel Tower for myself.

Last of all, I love flowers of all varieties and colors.

All photos in this post are courtesy of http://www.public-domain-photos.com/

Until I type again,
Kami

Finding A Healthy Way To Fix

2009-08-04T22:22:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

It's been hard for me to understand that much of what I think of as "control" is an illusion, albeit, a very powerful one. Life is full of things that I have no control over. This doesn't mean that I haven't spent plenty of painful time, bashing my head against the wall, and trying to take control of many situations that weren't actually my responsibility. I have spent most of my life trying to fix things and people over which I have no real control. It has taken me a lot of time to recognize that I only have the ability to make decisions for myself and my own life, not for other people and their lives. That doesn't mean I don't still try sometimes to fix things and people that I have no real power over. Yet, these days, I'm more easily aware of when I'm trying to do this, and I don't try do it as often as I used to. That, my friends, is what I call progress.

The first time I heard the song "Fix You" by Coldplay, I loved it immediately. It has both a haunting and an uplifting quality at the same time. Although, in trying to free myself from the compulsion to always fix other people, I have to admit that the lyrics of the song used to bother me. My brain keeps screaming - I DON'T WANT TO TRY TO FIX YOU! THAT'S NOT MY JOB!

Tonight, I've been doing some thinking about this. I believe that I've been looking at the idea of "fixing" too narrowly. Perhaps, there is a more balanced path where exists a different, healthier way of fixing; fixing that isn't trying to change someone else, but involves just being there for them, offering them love and support, as they heal and grow. Instead of trying to solve someone else's problems for them, by being present, a person can offer them the strength and, thus, help "fix" them in this way.

I was curious what was intended by the lyrics when the song was written, so I did a little research. I found that most people agree that Chris Martin wrote the song for his wife, actress Gwyneth Paltrow. The commonly given reason is best summed up by a respondent on Yahoo Answers:

"Chris wrote this song for Gwyneth Paltrow after her father died. She came home from the hospital covered and drenched in tears, and he started crying and asked her, `what can I do for you? tell me how I can do it' and she looked up at him, and said `just hold me... cause you're the only thing that can fix me right now'

And that was that - he wrote the song the next day."

Whatever the true meaning behind the words, I've grown to have a new perspective on the lyrics. Now, I believe the song speaks of the comfort and peace that can be found in the presence of those who love you, especially during those difficult times when love is most needed. With this new understanding, I can better explain why I always feel such strong emotions when I hear the song. Whether you are or are not familiar with it, here are the lyrics:

Lyrics to "Fix You" By Coldplay

"When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse?

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I...

Tears stream down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I...

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you."

Now, please use this link to enjoy the official version of video on YouTube

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI-o25K6B-E

Until I type again,
Kami

Princess Silly Putty Pants

2009-08-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

As a kid, I remember playing with Silly Putty. Usually, I'd first get the Sunday newspaper. The Sunday comics were the only day the local newspaper printed them in color. The other six days of the week, the comics (and in that particular newspaper this is still true) are a single page and in black-and-white. Sunday, on the other hand, brought several pages of colorful comics which I'd look forward to getting my hands on each week.

I'd read every comic, eating my breakfast of pancakes or cereal, or something like that. Then, I'd open up the Silly Putty in its plastic egg shaped container and wonder "Why does this container look like an Easter egg?" I'm sure I asked the question out loud, but I don't think anyone in my family knew why it comes in a plastic egg that looks like the kind you'd fill with candy at Easter time. After opening the egg, I'd pull out the glob of putty and stretch it, bounce it on the table (makes sense because Silly Putty used to be known as "Bouncing Putty"). Finally, I'd start pressing it onto the comics, pealing it off, and marvelling at each picture as it was replicated onto the putty. I'd stretch the faces of the comic characters, smash and fold them, and then do it all again, over and over.

Oddly enough, I've been planning a blog about silly putty for awhile. It's become something of a joke between my boyfriend and I. One day, I thought of Silly Putty, out of the blue while we were out having breakfast. He looked it up on-line, and told me somethings about it. At the time, I didn't even think to ask him about the egg-shaped Silly Putty container. I took some notes from what he read, and then I finally said "Hey, wait! If you read all this yourself, then it might spoil what you'll read later, in my blog." He laughed and stopped reading and has since then decided to call me a ridiculous nickname "Princess Silly Putty Pants". We agreed that it would take a lot of Silly Putty to make me a pair of pants, and it would be quite the strange pair. Of course, if I had a pair, I'd have to sit on some colorful comics and walk around with Garfield or Snoopy on my rear. Can you imagine how big their poor heads would be stretched each time I bent over? I'm sure that would be one use for which Silly Putty was never intended. That's saying a lot for a product that's been around since the 1940s and has been many places including an exposition at The Smithsonian and even to the Moon!

Not surprisingly, Silly Putty has a official website which they call "Silly Putty University Camp". Yes, if you're so inclined they have a test and a degree that you can earn. On the site, there's a must read timeline of the history of Silly Putty under "History 101" which includes some short original T.V. commercials. The "Silly Science" section tells us more about how its made and some experiments that can be done with it. Also, don't skip the section from a contest that they had where they list the "Silliest Use Winners". Be sure to note, that none of them are wearing Silly Putty pants. Maybe, they can only be worn by a true princess.

Here's the link to the Official Silly Putty website: http://www.sillyputty.com/ There's also a lot of neat info. and some other links about Silly Putty to be found in Wikipedia, so here's the link to that as well: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silly_Putty

Until I type again,
Kami

Whaling Days

2009-07-30T10:42:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, my boyfriend, Nathan, and I went to the annual street fair in Silverdale, WA which part of the festival called "Whaling Days". It was the first time I'd ever gone to Whaling Days, and I had a good time even if it was too hot! Nathan kept bringing me into the shade because he was worried I'd get heat stroke. I did get a head and stomach ache, but both went away, and I was fine long before we left. Here are some photos I took.

A view of the street fair with its rows and rows of booths.

A ray of sunlight shining down on the fair-goers.

These booths were near the shady area where we spent most of our time eating and listening to some of the live bands.

This booth ended up being the source of all our food. First, we both bought lemonade and gyros. Next, Nathan bought an ice cream cone. Before we left, I just had to buy an elephant ear. The little wooden machine in the middle of the picture is used to flatten out the elephant ear dough. It has two metal rollers that are hand-cranked as the dough is feed through it. The huge piece of dough was fried and covered with a lot of cinnamon and sugar.

A glimpse of the Ferris wheel moving by. It was behind the top of one of the booths and the roof of a building.

A complete view of the Ferris wheel.

Nathan bought me this adorable toy gecko. It's stuffed with sand.

I've propped the geico across a bar in my hallway, so that it hangs above my head and stares down at me.

The day ended with the most beautiful sunset. I took many, many shots. Here are just a few.

Until I type again,

Kami

The Cutest Boy In School

2009-07-28T07:24:00.000-07:00

"Victorian Love Letter" Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Valentines_Day_g135-Victorian_Love_Letter_p5746.html

***This is an original, previously unpublished fiction story that I wrote. Like a lot of my writing these days, Sandy's experience in school is loosely based on a similar incident in my own life. I hope that you enjoy the story.***

“The Cutest Boy In School”

Sandy had liked Pete for two years now. Ever since he’d first transferred into Mrs. Kennedy’s fifth grade class and sat down at the desk in front of Sandy’s own, Sandy had decided that he was the cutest boy in school. His hair was a shaggy mop of dark brown waves. His eyes were also brown, just a few shades lighter than his hair. It was his smile though that Sandy most adored. It was broad and toothy and endearingly crooked. Every time she saw that smile, Sandy felt a tingle from head to toe.

Did Pete also feel tingly when Sandy smiled? Dearest reader, if you had asked Sandy that question anytime over the last two years, she’d have sadly admitted that it was very unlikely. It wasn’t that Pete was unaware of her existence. Oh, no. He and Sandy had briefly spoken to one another on several occasions. He had even addressed her by name. Each time he spoke to her, Sandy felt a flicker of hope. Usually this was a brief flicker, since when he came across Sandy walking her dog before school each morning; he demonstrated more interest towards her dog than he did towards Sandy.

Her dog was a dachshund, one of those cute little wiener dogs that you see scurrying around like a relative to a caterpillar. Sandy’s dog seemed especially caterpillar-like, and she sometimes wondered if he didn’t really possess more than the standard four legs. A few times, when she’d watched him run, she could have almost sworn she’d seen a half dozen more legs pop out. Only when he slowed did the legs seem to vanish once again.

The first time he’d seen the dog, Pete had asked her its name.

“Mustard,” she replied with a blush.

“Mustard!” Pete had exclaimed. “Why do you call him that?”

“Well. . . He’s a wiener dog, and I only like mustard on my hot dogs.”

Pete laughed, gave her his crooked smile, petted and played with Mustard a little. He didn’t hang around her very long. He left with a wave and a quick. “Gotta go. See ya!”

Was it any wonder that Sandy had good reason to doubt Pete had any real interest in her? She had no reason to think that the feelings she harbored for him would ever be shared. At least, for the past two years, Sandy had no reason to believe this to be the case. Recent events led her to believe otherwise.

Notes had begun appearing in her locker at school. Love notes. On these notes were written things like “I like you”, “You’re the prettiest girl in school”, and “I saw the shirt you wore yesterday, and you look nice in green”. The notes were all signed “Your Secret Admirer”.

Sandy was so surprised by these notes that she would have thought they’d been slipped into the wrong locker if her name wasn’t written on the outside of them. She puzzled everyday over who they might be from. Of course, the first person she’d think of was Pete. This wasn’t, as has already been explained, because she had any real reason to think that he liked her. It was because Sandy couldn’t think of any other boy from whom she’d liked to get such notes.

Vicki, as girl in Sandy’s math class, asked her about the notes after she read one over Sandy’s shoulder. “Oooo,” Vicki almost squealed. “A note from a secret admirer! You’re so lucky! Do you know who it is?”

“I have no idea.” Sandy admitted. She went on to mention that there had been other notes before this one.

“Really? Someone must like you a lot.” Vicki responded.

Sandy hardly heard Vicki’s last comment Pete happened to walk by at that moment. Vicki didn’t miss Sandy’s clear expression of longing while watching Pete. Perhaps, if this timing had played out differently, then the events that happened next might not have taken place. It’s difficult not to wonder this when looking back on things.

Later that same day, Sandy received the last of these notes that would be put into her locker. This one read: “Hey, beautiful! Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Instead of the usual signature, “Your Secret Admirer”, this one was signed “Pete”.

To understand Sandy’s feelings at this point, picture yourself as a thirteen year old girl with a long held crush on the cutest boy in school. Imagine how you’d feel if the boy you’d secretly adored, gave you a note asking you to be his girlfriend. As you might expect, Sandy felt as if she were floating amongst the clouds. Only a bird could touch her now. It was as if someone had plucked her greatest wish out of her head and turned it into reality.

Bubbling over with joy, Sandy saw Pete approaching. She stood in front of her locker, note in hand, grinning broadly as he walked toward her. I wish I could report otherwise, but Pete did not even glance in Sandy’s direction. Thinking he didn’t know she was there, as he began to pass her, Sandy called out to him.

“Hi, Pete!”

He looked over at her. “Hi, how’s Mustard doing?”

“Good! He’s good!” She replied in an overly loud voice.

“Cool.” He stood there a moment, staring at his feet, before quickly turning away. “Gotta go. See Ya!”

Sandy wasn’t sure how long she stood there, staring after him with what was no doubt an expression of shock on her face. Gradually, she became aware of the laughter of a nearby group of girls. The group consisted of Vicki and three other classmates. They were looking at Sandy and were laughing heartily.

“Hey, Sandy!” Vicki shouted over at her. “How is your secret admirer? I don’t think he likes you anymore.”

A sick feeling flooded Sandy’s stomach. Dread was making itself manifest. She thought that Pete hadn’t acted like a boy who had been sending that girl love notes or like a boy who had just asked a girl out and was still waiting for an answer. He hadn’t acted like her admirer, secret or otherwise. All of the notes had been in the same handwriting, so, if Pete hadn’t given her the notes, then who had? Who, in particular, would have given her love notes and signed his name to the last one?

Sandy hadn’t told anyone except Vicki about the notes, but it was obvious that Vicki’s friends, those three girls that she was with now, must know about them too. Horrified, she realized that Vicki, or one of her friends, had written the notes! That’s why they were laughing at her after she’d talked with Pete. They knew the notes weren’t from him!

It was all a cruel practical joke! Boys didn’t pay much attention to Sandy; these girls knew she wasn’t popular. So, they’d decided it would be funny to write her love notes to get her excited about someone liking her. Then, they’d figured out that Sandy liked Pete, and they had signed his name on the last note. They thought it was especially funny to see Sandy’s expression when Pete walked away.

These girls knew that Sandy was disappointed, confused, and hurt. As she realized the notes were a joke, she was also embarrassed and humiliated. Hurting their classmate this way had been Vicki’s idea, but the other three girls had known about it all along. They considered hurting Sandy, a classmate they hardly knew and who had never done anything to them, merely a form of entertainment.

Looking back at this, years later, can I tell you, sympathetic readers, that these girls eventually learned their lesson? Did they learn the error of their cruel ways and grow up to my kind, sensitive adults? Alas, to my knowledge, I can not tell you that is the case. As far as I am aware, they grew up to be adults with as much empathy as a bunch of toads. Fortunately, I do have some good news to report.

The year after the final love notes incident, Sandy’s family moved, and she started attending a different school. Thus, she didn’t see Pete again until they ran into each other one day when they were both twenty years old.

“Hey, how’s Mustard doing?” He asked.

“Mustard died two years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sandy. He was a good dog.”

“Yes, he was. I’m thinking about getting another one.” She told him. “A dalmatian.”

“Let me guess. You plan to name him ‘Spot’.”

“No,” Sandy replied with a smile. “I’d name him ‘Stripe’.”

He laughed. Pete then went on to tell Sandy that he used to be grateful that he could use Mustard as an excuse to talk to her. It turns out that Pete had always liked her as much as she had liked him. He used to get so nervous when he spoke to her that he could only do it a short while before his anxiety overwhelmed him. That’s why he’d always say “Gotta go. See ya!” and then leave so abruptly.

Older and less insecure, Pete was over his anxiety when speaking with Sandy. Pete hadn’t gotten over liking her nor had she gotten over her crush. The two started dating, and fell in love. During this time, Sandy told him about the mean practical joke that Vicki and the other girls had played on her in seventh grade. Both of them appreciated the irony that they had really liked each other the whole time, though neither had been aware of the others feelings.

Pete and Sandy were married. On their first wedding anniversary, he gave her a handwritten note with her gift. The note had Sandy’s name written on the outside and read “Hey, beautiful. You’re still the prettiest girl I know. I love you.” It was signed “Your Secret Admirer, Pete”. He wrote her an identical note every anniversary thereafter for the many years that they were wed. Sandy kept every one of them.

-The End-

Until I type again,

Kami

Ireland

2009-07-24T07:25:00.000-07:00

"Clover" Photo courtesy http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=6051

I've been so tired this week that I've not had much time or energy to blog. I slept better last night, so here I am! My internet connection has been really poor lately also. I've been putting off getting a better connection for so long now, that my boyfriend is telling me that he's ready to start paying for it himself, if I don't fix the problem. So far, I've not agreed to let him do this. I might feel differently if we lived together, and he were paying for something that both of us were using, but I think that I shouldn't get better internet service unless I'm willing to pay for it myself every month. It's very sweet of him to offer though. He knows how frustrating it's been for me to get and stay on-line, and it's difficult for him to watch my frustration without wanting to try to relieve it.

Today, I found some beautiful pictures on-line that I'd like to share. I've never been to Ireland. Some of my ancestors are from there, and some of my family have talked about how wonderful it would be to take a trip to Ireland, but we've never gone. Sigh! Who knows, maybe I'll go to Ireland someday. . .

"Carrowmore" Photo courtesy http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=6015

"Glengesh Pass in Ireland" Photo courtesy http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=5932

"Rock of Cashel" Photo courtesy http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=6080

"Deerpark" Photo courtesy http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=6047

"Ireland" Photo courtsey http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=6064

Until I type again,
Kami

The Sun

2009-07-21T21:56:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=5702

“The Sun”

The Sun shines so bright

That she fills the world

With her light.

Her smile glows from above.

The brightest star

Gives our planet love.

From happy days at the park,

To the longest hours

Of deepest dark.

Winter, spring, summer, fall,

She’s the source of life

Throughout it all.

The Sun likes her job a lot,

But when she works too hard

It gets wayyy too hot!

Until I type again,
Kami

The Waters Of Grief

2009-07-18T16:52:00.000-07:00

Photo "River" courtesy of http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=5320

GRIEF IS LIKE A RIVER

By Cinthia G. Kelley

My grief is like a river,
I have to let it flow,
but I myself determine
just where the banks will go.

Some days the current takes me
in waves of guilt and pain,
but there are always quiet pools
where I can rest again.

I crash on rocks of anger;
my faith seems faint indeed,
but there are other swimmers
who know that what I need

Are loving hands to hold me
when the waters are too swift,
and someone kind to listen
when I just seem to drift.

Grief's river is a process
of relinquishing the past.
By swimming in hope's channels,
I'll reach the shore at last.

Last night, I learned of the recent death of a wonderful woman who played an important part in my life. She was my mother-in-law, the mom of my husband, Chris, who, himself, died in 2007. She was kind and generous, practical and honest. She gave me both love and respect. She told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to her son. I feel this is the ultimate compliment that anyone could receive from their in-laws. In short, she was just the opposite of all those bad mother-in-law stereotypes.

A lifelong smoker, she died of lung cancer. I could easily make this blog a lecture on the hazards of smoking, but really, is there any point in that? Does anyone not know about the dangers of smoker in this day and age? It is a powerful addiction, more difficult to beat than heroin, according to some opinions that I've heard. I'm not a smoker, but I have loved smokers, and I do appreciate that it's a very, very hard habit to kick.

I've learned firsthand that grief is complex and confusing. It makes me see the preciousness of life and the bittersweet gift of loving people. When my grandpa died, my family deemed his memorial service "A Celebration Of Life". This seems to be the way I most react to death. I want to laugh in the face of it. In the midst of my sadness for the loss, I also feel the need for humor. I want smile, to giggle, to sing, to dance, to celebrate as much as I want to cry.

It has been said many times that laughter is the best medicine. I believe that this is true. Searching the Internet for humorous material, I recognize that I am looking for more than a distraction. I'm seeking balance, comfort, joy and appreciation of the goodness to be found in the universe. It's out there. Even when loss enters our lives, the rest of the world doesn't disappear. Life goes on. Love and joy and hope and laughter are eternal forces. I think of the times that I have laughed so hard that it brought tears to my eyes, and I think of the times when I have cried until it turned into laughter. They are opposite, yet, they are also the same. Yin-yang. Together, they represent part of a whole. To have full, complete lives, we can not avoid pain, loss and sorrow. It is through these experiences that we can most learn to find our own path to beauty, awe and happiness.

I leave you today with a scene from the movie "Anger Management" because, even though I've seen it several times, I still laugh each time.

Until I type again,
Kami

To Change Or Not To Change? A Look At The Question

2009-07-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

We are all different. One important way in which people can greatly differ is in how comfortable they are with change. For some, almost constant change is desirable and highly sought after. For others, like myself, change is mostly undesirable and typically avoided. It's not that all change is either good or bad, right or wrong. It's more about that fact that some people frequently seek out a variety of new stimulation, and some people prefer it when life feels mostly predictable and orderly. One person's idea of boring is another person's idea of serenity.

Of course, when it comes to making some major changes, such as dealing with things like phobias, addictions, co-dependency, illness and death, these are hard for anyone, irregardless of whether an individual tends to like or dislike change. It takes both time and effort to change some things or to accept those things we can't alter. This reminds me of "The Serenity Prayer", beloved of 12-Step programs everywhere. (Keep in mind that it the word "God" can be replaced with that of Goddess, Buddha, Allah, Mother Earth, Father Sky, Great Spirit, Universe, Higher Power, etc. etc. Personally, I don't bother changing it when I say it because I know what I mean.)

"The Serenity Prayer"
God, grant me the serenity

to accept the things

I can not change.

The courage to change

the things I can

And wisdom to know the
difference.

For me, I have difficulty not only with those changes that are hard for all of us, but also with other changes as well. It's certainly not that I dislike the new and different. It's just that it takes me some time before and after; time to actively make changes and time to adjust afterward. I like it when I feel a certain sense of harmony in my life. Change tends to give me some tension, anxiety and a feeling of disorder. This is interesting to me since I've gone to foreign countries, by myself, hopped on the public bus and explored. So, it's not as if I always avoid new experiences. Yet, I'm limited in my spontaneity. I might go explore a foreign land on my own, but I usually do so with language books, maps, guidebooks, and money in different forms. I'll have likely researched, planned and studied that foreign country, including those bus routes, beforehand. Change is harder for me if I don't have the luxury time.

Originally, I was thinking of change in terms of big and small changes, but I find, for myself, that change usually comes only in plus-sizes: Large, LARGER, EVEN LARGER, and OVERWHELMING LARGE. My difficulty with change tends to make me view change in these big quantities. That's why, whenever I choose to try to change something in my life, the first thing I need to do is to hit whatever it is with a hammer. I need to hammer it until it shatters into smaller, more manageable pieces. Then, I can try to change those pieces one by one.

When it comes to some types of changes, this approach might be very practical. When it comes to others, like, say, changing my socks, the best approach is not to hit my feet with a hammer until they are shattered into pieces. (Ouch! Good thing I realize this!) It is more practical to alter some things by taking a simpler, and in this case, saner approach, such as only mentally breaking them into pieces.

Sometimes, it's most rewarding to face changes from outside the desirable, comfortable place from which we normally would approach them. If making changes is easy and frequent for someone, there can be much growth and knowledge gained by not changing something. Instead of always looking for the fresh and new, gains can be made by staying still, sticking with something and, then, seeing where it takes you. There are somethings that are worth holding onto and some that are better off being left alone.

On the other hand, if changes are difficult and done infrequently, much growth and knowledge can be gained by pushing forward, following through, and, as the Nike ads say to "Just Do It!", despite any reluctance. By doing what might normally make us uncomfortable, by pushing pass our usual boundaries, all sorts of discoveries could be made. This is not to say that we should act contrary to our own standards of right and wrong. Instead, I ask how many times do we resist taking the different, less comfortable approach, not because it is wrong, but only because it's not what we usually like to do?

Some things are beyond our limited sphere of control. It's a fact that not everything falls into our personal realm of responsibility. Like it or not, there will always be many, many things in life that are beyond our individual capacity to alter, even if it we try our hardest to do so. I believe that happiness can be found in discovering our personal balance between when when to change and when not to change.

(The photos I included are a few that I recently took. I seem to take a lot of pictures of flowers and of the sky.)

Until I type again,
Kami

Dragonfly Dreamer - A Poem & Pictures

2009-07-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

These are some photos I recently took and a poem I wrote today.

Drop of dew on a blade of grass.

Raindrops sparking like bits of crystal.

Away, away she flies.

Gone into a sky wide.

Open your eyes and your mind.

Nurture and nature together blended.

Feel the brush of a wing.

Loosen your grasp.

Yesterday fades into memory.

Dawn still far, far distant.

Reach out your hand.

Exit the fog.

Awake to a clearer dawn.

Move along, holding onto her tail.

Endless twirling, spinning, soaring.

Riding through and past the storm.

Until I type again,

Kami

Welcome Home U.S.S. Stennis!

2009-07-11T15:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, while I was on my way to work, what should I happen to see sailing by?

It was the U.S.S. Stennis on its way to it's home port at Naval Base Kitsap in Bremerton, WA. The Stennis has been out to sea for six months, and there were a lot of happy family and friends in Bremerton awaiting her arrival. I was glad to have my camera with me so that I could capture some shots as she sailed past. It's the first time I've seen an active-duty supercarrier at sail. It's a really big boat, and it moves surprising fast! As far as the size, to give you some perspective, all those small white dots surrounding her deck are actually it's crew, lined up and dressed in their white navy uniforms.

From Wikipedia:

"USS John C. Stennis (CVN-74) is the seventh Nimitz-class nuclear-powered supercarrier in the United States Navy, named for Senator John C. Stennis of Mississippi. She was commissioned on 9 December 1995. Her home port is Bremerton, Washington."

For the complete Wikipedia article:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_John_C._Stennis_(CVN-74)

Until I type again,
Kami

Foggy-Headed Day

2009-07-09T07:27:00.000-07:00

Greetings! It's been difficult to find time to blog this week. Work transitions have been stressful and my allergies have given me sinus problems since last Sunday. This, in turn, is upsetting my stomach. This morning, I first handwrote this blog entry into a journal that has become a composition book for this blog, and, right now, I'm at work typing it up in the break room before my call-center shift starts. I'm having a difficult time trying to be coherant because not feeling well kept me from sleeping much last night. I feel very foggy-headed.

I think it's this foggy-headed feeling is interesting. It's a medicated-without-being-medicated drowsiness that seems to wrap the world in a thick, cotton wool. I want to curl up and take a nap but part of me says "Hey, when you get off the bus and arrive at work you'll need to wake up!" (As I mentioned before, I'm at work now, typing this, but I still feel really foggy).

Currently, I'm rather enjoying some minutes of this cloudy, floating feeling. It's a pseudo-trance. There's something safe and comforting about it. It's as if my body is in a natural protection mode. My body is telling me something. It's a matter of whether I choose to listen to it or not.

My body is saying, "You don't feel well. You didn't sleep enough. Let's go into a low-energy, power-save mode. You're like an organic computer, and I'm activating the screen-saver. So, relax. Take it easy. I would have preferred that you called in sick and went back to bed, but, since you didn't, well, don't expect too much from yourself. You won't be able to operate at one hundred percent today. It's not happening. Today, your personal motto will have to be 'Chill out, baby. Chill out.' "

Speaking of mottos, someone has posted a handwritten sign on a bus I got onto this morning. I don't know if it's the driver or a bus maintenance worker or even a passenger who posted it, but since I just read it, it's on my cloudy mind. I have no idea who originally wrote this, so I apologize for not giving proper credit. The sign says "On your longest day, life's too short." Well, that is really good to know, since I think today will probably feel like a very long day.

The first photo I included is called "Misty Landscape" and the second one "Somewhere Over Sibera". They are both courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

Until I type again,
Kami

The Stove

2009-07-07T18:48:00.000-07:00

**** This short story, "The Stove", is an original, previously unpublished, fiction story that I wrote. The story is fiction, although I do live in an apartment with an old stove that is much like the stove in the story.****

It was electric with four burners. Three of the burners were small and one in a larger size. Having only one large burner made it difficult to cook a proper meal on the stove, but Ann was used to the inconvenience by now. A person can get used to almost anything, given enough time.

She’d been cooking on that same stove over thirty years now. It was narrow with the oven built into the front of it, and it would have been more suitable in a little apartment than in the three bedroom home where it was located. Ann figured that, if her home was any example, the people who built houses in the 1970s never expected the kitchens in them would get much use. Why else would they have made her kitchen so tiny and put in only a small stove?

Obviously, her kitchen wasn’t designed for a couple raising three children. Yet, it had been used by such. Countless meals she’d cooked on that stove! Burners had gone out and been replaced. The oven had been repaired. The drip pans had worn out and new ones put in. Still, it was always the same stove, always narrow and inconvenient.

Ann had asked her husband, Ray, for a newer, bigger stove many, many times over the years. He’d shake his head every time and tell her, “There’s not much point in getting a new stove. It’s not going to make your cooking any better, is it?”

A brand new stove like the one Ann wanted to buy. Photo courtesy http://www.sears.com/

Ann tried not to let it hurt her feelings too much when Ray insulted her cooking. She wasn’t the best cook in the world, she knew, but she thought her food usually turned out fine. The kids hadn’t complained about it, but, then again, they had eaten most of their meals at the same table as their father, and they knew better than to complain about anything in front of him. Mostly, they tried to stay quiet during meals. They’d figured it was safer that way.

The children were all grown now. They’d moved out as soon as they were old enough to support themselves financially. Ann knew that all of her children were barely getting by, but they’d never ask their parents for help. Certainly, they’d never ask to move back in with mom and dad, no matter how bad their financial circumstances became. Ann could hardly get them to come over for a visit. When they did come, it was usually on a weekday afternoon, while their father was at work. They’d leave not long after Ray got home. He made it clear he preferred them not to linger long enough for dinner.

So, these days, Ann stood at the old stove and cooked meals for either the two of them or for herself alone, if Ray was at work or had gone out to eat with his friends. Ann didn’t work outside of the home, and Ray didn’t like her to go out without him, unless it was to grocery shop or run a household errand. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken her out anywhere. Ray said preferred his friends company to hers when he went out. He told her that he had more fun when she wasn’t there, hovering around, worrying about this or that.

If anyone had asked her (not that anyone she knew would ever ask), Ann would not have told them that she was unhappy with her life. Even in her own mind, she didn’t think of the feeling as unhappiness. Maybe, she’d call is discomfort or disquiet or dissatisfaction, but, no, she wouldn’t have said that she was unhappy. She cooked his steak (which Ray only liked served medium-rare) until it was black and tough as boot leather. She boiled him some white rice, scooped out grains while they were still hard and crunchy, and placed them on a plate next to Ray’s overdone steak. On the stove, she cooked up a large pot of lima beans (something Ray absolutely loathed) and dumped a pile of them on the plate next to the burnt steak and the undercooked rice.

Shortly after Ray got home from work, he called out to Ann. When she didn’t immediately come out of the kitchen, he didn’t think much of it. He figured that she was doing her usual last minute fussing over dinner. He’d told her many times not to bother. Her cooking was terrible. It had always been terrible. Why did she waste her time when it didn’t make any difference?

The stove was a perfect example. Why did she keep nagging him about buying a new one? Hadn’t he told her and told her, over and over again, that it wasn’t worth the money? If he gave her a new stove, what would she expect next? That he’d hire a chef to come in and cook it for her?!?

Ray sat in his regular chair at the table in the dining room. He unfolded the newspaper, read awhile, and started to feel a little thirsty. “Hey, Ann!” He bellowed. “Get me a beer!”

He was surprised when his wife didn’t respond right away. Normally, she would have been scurrying into the room by now, beer in hand. Come to think of it, he realized, he didn’t hear her usual clattering in the kitchen. In fact, the house had been oddly quiet since he’d walked through the door.

“Ann! Ann!” Ray briefly glanced in the kitchen, saw it was empty, and began to search the house for her. He called out her name as he went from room to room, but Ann wasn’t in any of them.

“She must be out in the yard.” He muttered to himself as he returned to the kitchen.

Intending to cross the kitchen to the back door, he stopped short when he saw the plate of food sitting on the stove. Burnt steak, undercooked rice, and lima beans! What the...?!? Then, Ray saw the note. It read:

"Dear Ray,

I’m leaving you. I took some of my things, the car, and half the money in our bank account. Enjoy your dinner! I know you hate my cooking, so you’ll be relieved to known that it’s the last meal I’ll ever cook for you.
Ann

P.S. You can keep the stove.”

Photo courtesy http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=8259

Until I type again,
Kami

Celebrating Independence Day

2009-07-03T14:20:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, July 4th, is America's Independence Day. The history of this nation, like that of all nations, is complex. There have been tragedies and atrocities. There has been glory and beauty. There has been hope and despair. At times, the American people feel sadness and shame. At other times, we feel hope and pride in this country we call "home". Independen ce Day gives us a chance to appreciate all that right about the United States of America. It gives us a chance to celebrate, to have fun, to play, and to dream.

"Where liberty dwells, there is my country." ~Benjamin Franklin
"What we need are critical lovers of America - patriots who express their faith in their country by working to improve it." ~Hubert H. Humphrey
"The American Revolution was a beginning, not a consummation." ~Woodrow Wilson
"You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism."~Erma Bombeck
"Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better." ~Albert Camus

"And I'm proud to be an American,
where at least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me."
~Lee Greenwood

Photo credit: http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?pg=5873&mat=pdef

Fireworks are a popular way to celebrate Independence Day. One place where a lot of fireworks are sold are on the Native American Indian reservations. Considering the historical treatment of America's First People, there is a certain irony in this fact, yet, it also seems most fitting. As a group, Native Americans have faced many challenges, and those who live today are an example of survival despite all odds. I'll end this post with this lovely video I found on YouTube.

Happy Independence Day!

Until I type again,

Kami

The Maiden

2009-07-01T07:29:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

The Maiden
Quietly stood
Within the deep,
Deep wood.

Amongst the trees,
She watched,
With great delight,
Patterns of shadow
And of light.

Alone in her forest
Home, she thrived,
Despite the many
Suitors that arrived.

Each would call,
With gifts aplenty.
Just a glance, she took,
Rejecting all
With one brief look.

Then, one day,
A suitor came along
Who happily sang
A different song.

He did not bring
An expensive gift
His was quite,
Quite, modest, yet,
Was just right.

This Suitor’s gift
To the fair Maid
`Twas a single daisy
Which in moss, he’d laid.

She gladly did
Receive this gift,
And in tissue, she did place
The flower, and its mossy bed,
With a smile on her face.

Until I type again,

Kami

Public Art And The Possibility Of Intelligent Life On Earth

2009-06-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

There's a new statue in a Burien, Washington outdoor art space which is drawing a lot of public attention. The bronze statue is that of a nude woman squatting, and some parents are asking that it be moved. Besides being located in an outdoor art space, the statue is also next to a public library where a lot of kids come and go. The parents who want it moved are not happy at the thought of their children seeing it.

Now, really, folks! Are you kidding me? With all the internet porn to block and t.v. and video game sex and violence to get into a tizzy about, you're worrying about this statue??? Is this some kind of phobia created by "The Night In The Museum" movies? Are you afraid the statue is going to come to life? Then, what? Will it start acting like a metal pedophile? I say, "Hey, Parents! If you're going to spend time worrying, how about worrying about the real risks? Such as real pedophiles hanging around and not innocent public art that isn't capable of actually harming your child!"

Yes, indeed, I do have to wonder about some people. What are these parents most concerned about? That their kids will see a nude human form? Oh, no! Nudity! The unclothed human body! Oh, the horrors! The horrors!!!! (Aaaaaaaak!!!!) The children will be forever corrupted! They'll never grow up to be healthy, educated, moral adults if they see a naked bronze lady. We must put the kiddies in a small bubble full of hot air and made of hypocritical morality. Keep them there all throughout childhood, and then, as soon as they become adults, "Pop!!!". Deflate that bubble, and throw those kiddies out into the world like innocent lambs thrown to the wolves. Don't let the children learn about biology or anatomy. Certainly, don't educate them about human sexuality. It's soooooo much better to let it all be a big surprise, especially nine months later.

We must all take responsibility to protect our nation's children from public art. Art is dangerous. It might encourage those greatest of life's hazards: creativity, imagination, free expression, even (heaven forbid!) enourage free thought. Most especially, none of us want children to grow up with the ability to think for themselves! It would cause so many difficulties to those comfortable with the status quo. What are we going to do if we raise children more intelligent than ourselves? We can't let that happen. If they are more intelligent than their parents, these children will recognize how many generations of morons have lived before them. We can't have that! We can't, as a society, raise children that might actually have enough brains to solve those very real social problems that we've been struggling to fix. Just imagine it! Expose children to educational things, such as public art, and they might develop critical-thinking skills that could someday save the world. No, we certainly can't have that!

I wonder, though, if her nudity is really the main problem that these parents have regarding the statue. I wonder this because, when I see the statue, the first thing I think of is that she bears an unfortunate resemblance to a woman squatting in the woods to relieve herself. Maybe parents should be concerned that she encourages public urination. Besides the possibility that the someone might look at the statue and laugh so hard they wet their pants, I can also imagine an enraged mother saying, "It was hard enough to potty-train my little Johnny without this woman flagrantly ignoring the nearby public restrooms! Now, he thinks that, if she can water the shrubbery, then he should be able to do it too!"

This all reminds me of story about another, more famous, nude statue. When my younger brother, Jeremy, was about eight years old. We were playing a game where we were impersonating different things and trying to get the other person to guess what we were supposed to be. It was his turn to come up with a pose. He sat down and leaned over with one hand on his chin, forming the pose of the classic, Rodin statue, "The Thinker". He asked me, "Who am I supposed to be?"

I answered, "That's easy. The Thinker."

He says, "Noooooo. . . I'm that statue. You know, which one I mean, right? I'm that statue of the guy sitting on the toilet."

Further information:

Wikipedia article on "The Thinker" statue by Auguste Rodin http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thinker

Local KOMO news article which includes photos of the controversial bronze sculpture in Burien, WA http://www.komonews.com/news/local/49052321.html

Until I type again,

Kami

Eavesdropping

2009-06-24T22:22:00.000-07:00

I confess. I'm an eavesdropper. I find nothing wrong with it, as long the eavesdropper is only listening in on already public conversations, and as long as it's not being used as means to spread nasty gossip. Under these terms, I consider it harmless, free entertainment (similar to when I'm engaged in another great past-time: "people watching" -- i.e. watching random passersby while in public places). As a small experiment, I decided to spend 24 hours eavesdropping and some of what I overheard I wrote down. Most of what I recorded has little or no surrounding context, so these bits and pieces are open to various interpretations, especially when you're an imaginative person like myself. Through eavesdropping, I doubt that I'm likely to discover the wisdom of the ages, but, then again, you never know. . .

Here are some things I overheard during my short experiment:

Two ladies riding a bus to the ferry terminal where they'll be catching a ferry to Seattle. One says, "She drives me crazy. Every time she comes in, I leave my desk."

I went to a coffee shop for a very, very large coffee, two young female employees were talking about their previous evening. One of them says, "I met my boyfriend's brother last night. He was creepy. Kept being weird and trying to impress me."

Two men on foot, passing by me on their way to work at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard in Bremerton, WA. One man declares, "Well, I could put bacon on it, but that's just going too far for me!"

While looking out the window of a city bus, a mother exclaimed to her toddler. "Look! Look! There's peoples everywhere!"

This youtube video shows a negative, yet comical, glimpse at an eavesdropper:

Until I type again,

Kami

Politics, Religion, and Protest: Thoughts On The Iranian Protests

2009-06-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

I've been following what has been happening with the post-election protests in Iran, and, in the process, I've had some thoughts that I'd like to share here. First of all, I'm reminded of our recent U.S. election, and the passion and energy I saw so many people put forth during this democratic process. It awed and humbled me, and it filled me with pride in my nation. I'm also reminded of some other experiences and of some things I've learned when it comes to politics, religion, and protest.

In 1999, there were dramatic protests during that World Trade Organization (W.T.O.) meetings taking place in Seattle, WA. At the time, I was working in an office building in downtown Seattle which was connected to the Washington Convention Center building where the W.T.O. meetings were being held. This gave me a ringside seat to the events. I walked through lines of protesters to get to work. I watched the crowds grow more and more unruly and then begin to violently smash and break things and get into altercations with the police. One day, while my building was under emergency lock down, I witnessed, from my office windows, protesters being tear gassed, dragged along on the street and arrested. I went to work during the martial law that followed when guards in military uniform surrounded my building. I was stopped, briefly questioned and made to show picture i.d. on a public street corner, before I could cross into the barricaded city blocks to get to my office.

These protests led to violence and vandalism, followed by oppression and limits on personal freedom. Right or wrong, these limits were deemed necessary for public safety. I can't help but compare this experience with the protests in Iran where tear gas and arrests have come hand-in-hand with beatings and bullets.

The United States Constitution guarantees us the rights of peaceable assembly and peaceable protest. American citizens also have rights protecting religious freedoms. Sometimes, in this nation also founded on many Christian principles, the exercise of these freedoms feel like a delicate juggling act. There is a constitutionally mandated principle of separating church and state. This principle was intended for greater religious tolerance and to allow citizens to practice their faith without government interference. Thus, politics and religion are perceived as separate, often opposing, entities. Yet, there is no denying that the American demarcation between the two is not always clear. Our legislative sessions open with prayer and "In God We Trust" is printed on our currency. While the separation of church and state paves an easier path for religious diversity, ironically, it also makes it more difficult for us to grasp that, in many ways, politics and religion are inseparable.

For example, let us look at the non-violent protest used to obtain political freedoms by Gandhi and the Indian Nationalist Movement. Gandhi was Hindi, but he was also influenced a great deal by the religion of his mother, Jainism, which emphasizes doing harm to no living thing. He, himself, was as much a religious leader as he was a political leader, and his philosophy of non-violence was a spiritual practice as well as a political one. He believed in using moral persuasion to sway your opponents into seeing the injustice within their own laws and actions; in using love instead of violence to achieve social change. It was inspired thinking, and, as it turns out, very adaptable.

The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. proved the flexibility of Gandhi's thinking by putting it into action in the U.S. Civil Rights Movement. Christian biblical ideas such as the Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you", as well as, "Love your neighbor as yourself" and "Love your enemy" were demonstrated to be highly compatible with Gandhi's ideology. Without religion, the world would not have the philosophy of non-violent protest that we have today.

I took a class at the National University of Singapore (when I spent a semester there in college) on society, history and politics in South Asia. It focused on India, Pakistan and Bangladesh during the 19th & 20th centuries, and the professor who taught it was from Bangladesh. There is one thing that this professor said that I not only most remember from that class, but which has also altered my perspective on the relationship between religion and politics ever since. He said that it was often difficult for people in the Western World, particularly for Americans, to relate to the thinking of people in the non-Western World. He explained that this difficulty was due to the concept of church and state as separate and mostly incompatible. He argued that most of the world not only finds nothing incompatible between religion and politics, but most of the world does not perceive that there is a difference between religion and politics. When viewed through this lens, the post-election protests in Iran are about several things: the right to peaceable assembly and protest, the right to a fair, honest electoral process, and the right of the people to make political decisions based on their individual moral/spiritual/religious framework. The protesters are calling to Allah for assistance. They are asking for divine protection and divine guidance. They are putting into question where primary access to divine wisdom lies within Iran and within Islam. Does divine wisdom primarily reside within their leadership? Or is it primarily accessible through the exercise of each individual conscience?

What is happening in Iran is demonstrating that religion has not lost its place in the modern political world. Religion is having to adapt, as most everything in our lives is adapting, to fit together with the people in our modern world. Those faiths which don't adapt, even if only to some extent, have a tendency to dwindle away. The Iranian victims of the protest violence, for instance, are being perceived as more than political heroes. They are also being seen as religious martyrs.

I've heard questions regarding what kind of democratic system could exist within the Islamic religious framework? Are democracy and Islam, a religion which most values obedience to Allah, fundamentally incompatible? I don't think so. Democracy is about freedom to shape and operate government according to the will of the its people. If the people believe that their behaviors are acts which show obedience to Allah, then democracy fits in nicely with Islam.

Political protest has never really existed in a separate sphere from religion, despite ideological attempts to disassociate the two. I think my former professor was correct. No matter what words might be used to describe religion and politics, for most of the world, (even, it may be argued, for all of the world), religion is politics, and politics is religion.

Until I type again,
Kami

"Feminist" Is Not A Dirty Word

2009-06-19T11:17:00.000-07:00

I was watching CNN news this morning, and one topic that was under discussion is whether the word "feminist" has become obsolete. One argument made was that the term has such different meaning to each individual that there isn't much point in using it. Another point made was that the term "feminist" shouldn't continue to be used because it has so many negative connotations to so many people. It was even said that, to some, "feminist" is the "F" word.
At first, I laughed at this. What term, particularly political terminology, doesn't mean different things to different people? We all see the world in our own, unique way. If we start tossing aside all the language that has unclear meaning or words that have negative connotations to some people, would we have an words left? What are we supposed to do? Revert back to silent gestures and body language because we fear our words might be misconstrued or too politically volatile? I think not.
I, particularly, chuckled at some comments made on CNN that the term "feminist" was not inclusive of all women; that it left out women, like Sarah Palin, for example, and seemed to represent an exclusive club. Ha! Who are we kidding? The only women left out by the term "feminist" are those, like Sarah Palin, who choose to be excluded through their words and, most significantly, through their actions.
Being a feminist is a choice that we all get to make. We have the freedom to do so because of the generations of feminists who came before us. They sacrificed. They struggled. They fought. They suffered heartbreaking loss and inspiring victories. Doubting the on-going value of the term "feminist" is a denial both of this amazing history and of the continuing battle for women's rights around the world.
I am proud to call myself a feminist. My great, great grandmother was forced by her Morman polygamous community to marry an elderly man when she was only twelve! It's not surprising that she told my grandmother that one of the happiest days in her life was the day the old lecher died. That, my friends, is the kind of world women with limited options have encountered. There are still groups today, such as the Taliban, for example, they still try to limit women's freedom. Life without feminist ideology is not pretty.
To be a "feminist" is to honor, respect and empower women everywhere. Feminists have worked over many, many years to give women the kinds of rights and opportunities that many women have today. Feminists still fight to increase these protections and freedoms in the United States and across the world. If we dismiss the term "feminist" as having gone the way of the corset, then we are denying that it was the efforts of feminists that made the corset go away.

Until I type again,
Kami

Signs That You Might Be A Storybook Character

2009-06-18T17:51:00.000-07:00

Storybooks are filled with princesses and princes, heroes and villains, and countless other magical creatures. So, even if you're in a storybook, it certainly doesn't guarantee that you'll having a happy ending. While I can not offer you conclusive proof that you are actually a work of fiction, here are some signs that you might be a storybook character.

1. You have an endless supply of ballgowns and recently cut your foot when your glass shoe shattered.

2. You never sleep soundly because every time you start to fall into a deep sleep, your boyfriend kisses you awake and nervously checks you for a pulse.

3. You live under a bridge and frequently harass passersby.

4. You have very involved conversations with woodland creatures who possess annoyingly high-pitched voices.

5. You're a vertically challenged, hardworking guy who goes by a name like "Dopey" or "Grumpy".

6. You're always obsessing before that mirror and demanding it to tell you that you're the fairest in the land.

7. You recently filed a police report after a rude blond broke into your house, ate your cereal, damaged your chair and was caught while sleeping in your bed.

8. You rent a limo, but you're disappointed that it's not pumpkin-shaped.

9. You walk around with a sword and tights, although your not an actor and have never attended a Renaissance Faire.

10. Your former house was made out of straw or sticks, but now you live with two obese brothers in a house made out of brick.

11. You have a wicked step mother.

12. You're relieved when you discover that your girlfriend is a mermaid because it finally explains why her house smells like tuna.

13. You've had a near-death experience involving dwarfs and waking up in a glass coffin.

14. Your hair is so long that you could braid it and have a prince use it as a rope.

15. You hang around swamps, kissing frogs, hoping one will turn into a prince.

16. You've once fired a fairy godmother or a genie for failing to grant all your wishes.

17. You buy more wart remover than you buy any other product.

18. You live in an edible house.

19. You're not bright enough to immediately recognize that a wolf in a night gown is not your grandma.

20. You've developed an allergy to pixie dust, due to frequent exposure.

21. You're pleased that you've found a beautiful girlfriend even though you're a very hairy and unattractive fellow.

22. You quit your day job to fight dragons.

23. You try to foist shiny, red apples onto pretty girls while you, yourself, look in desperate need of some cosmetics and a new wardrobe.

24. You attended grief counselling after someone dropped a house on your sister.

Until I type again,
Kami

Collin Cactus Has A Dream

2009-06-16T11:05:00.000-07:00

***"Collin Cactus Has A Dream" is a little fiction story I wrote yesterday. The photographs included are also mine. I really do have this giant cactus, and a smaller cactus next to it (which I grew from a piece of the larger). Lately, since it's been warm outside, I 'm brushing by the cactus more frequently as I open the window behind it. In the process, I've been getting occasional prickles, particularly in my hands. After this happened again yesterday morning, a story flowed out of my brain.***

Collin Cactus only wanted one thing. He'd been wanting this one thing for a very, very long time. He didn't have dreams of starting a cactus company or winning the cactus lottery. Even the thought of being the richest cactus in the world, was not Collin's dream.

It must be said that fame was also not what Collin sought for himself. He didn't fantasize about being the first big cactus movie star. Other cacti might wish to make it big in Hollywood, to be more than just a stage prop or part of the set design, but not Collin. He'd never been interested in auditioning for a play nor had he tried out for even a bit part in a commercial. No, Collin's dreams did not extend into the field of acting at all.

What, you might ask, did Collin Cactus want so badly? Well, all Collin really, really wanted was to get a hug. Now, it might seem to you that a hug is a small thing. This may be especially true when compared to big dreams of fame and fortune. Yet, the most powerful of dreams, those rooted in our deepest and most basic of longings, often have nothing to do with career or financial success. A single, small hug might mean the world to someone. In fact, to a cactus, a hug might seem an impossible dream.

Collin had witnessed others hugging on many occasions. He'd seen people cuddling on the living room sofa nearby him. The aloe vera plant had snuggled with the jade plant. Two birds outside the window nuzzled each other as they sat in a pear tree. Even the flowers were known to frequently embrace. The daisies, in particular, could easily be braided into chains. They didn't mind hugging one another in the slightest. Everyone, or so it seemed to Collin, had opportunity to be hugged (if not often, at least once in awhile); everyone, that is, except for him.

It's understandable that Collin would feel that something was very wrong with him. He couldn't figure out what it was that made him so different from everyone around him? No one else seemed to have a problem getting hugs. What did they have that Collin did not? Why was it that no one wanted to hug him?

Collin Cactus tried to be as friendly and lovable as possible. He tried to reach out to others, hoping that if he were to initiate a hug, then maybe he'd be hugged back. Unfortunately, these attempts never turned out how he hoped. No one wanted to hug him, and sometimes it seemed that no one ever would.

There was a Cute Little Palm Tree in a pot nearby Collin. Over the years, he had tried, on several occasions, to reach out his prickly arms to her, but every time she'd evade his touch. The Cute Little Palm Tree would shake her fronds and sway as far away from Collin as she could. When this happened, Collin always felt the sharp pain of rejection, but, nevertheless, he still did not give up on someday fulfilling his deepest wish.

Lately, he'd been trying to get a hug from the Long-Haired Lady With The Water. She'd been coming around for quite awhile, and she, at least, seemed to care something for him. After all, she liked him well enough to water him occasionally. So, Collin Cactus didn't think it was at all unreasonable that she might be willing to give him a hug once in awhile too.

At first, Collin tried to tell the Long-Haired Lady With The Water what he wanted. He was very polite, but she never responded to him. He wasn't sure if she was intentionally ignoring him or if she was unable to understand even basic Cacti. Perhaps, she'd never had an opportunity to learn his language? Or might she be too mentally challenged to grasp it? Regardless, of the reason, she seemed to pay no heed to his requests, no matter how often or how politely he made them.

Collin, finally decided to reach out to the Long-Haired Lady With The Water whenever she came around give him some water. He was very disappointment to discover that she responded even worse to his advances than the Cute Little Palm Tree had done. Every time that Collin Cactus' prickly arms touched her, the Long-Haired Lady With The Water would shriek and say something that sounded like "Ooouuuchh!". She would then back away and try to carefully avoid him. Not only did it seem that she didn't want his touch, but it appeared that she was injured even when he'd barely brushed her hand!

This puzzled Collin Cactus a great deal. It seemed that he had hurt the Long-Haired Lady With The Water, although, he had not meant to do so. Did his touch cause others pain? Could this be the reason that no one ever wanted to hug him?

It was a terrible thought. Deciding that he had to know for certain if this was the problem, Collin waited until the next time the Long-Haired Lady With The Water came nearby. As she leaned over him, pouring water into his dry soil, Collin quickly jerked one of his many arms forward, intentionally smacking it directly into her hand.

The Long-Haired Lady With The Water yelled something very loudly. She made some angry sounds and glared at him in a way that no one had ever done before. This was one of those times when they did not need to speak the same language in order for Collin to understand that something was wrong. She was in pain and also very, very upset with him.

All these years, Collin Cactus had not been willing to give up on his dream, no matter how challenging it had been for him to achieve it. Sadly, he had now learned that he could not touch someone without hurting them. This new knowledge made him see his situation much differently. His dream seemed hopeless to him now. Collin decided that the wisest thing for him to do would be to accept that he was never going to get a hug from anyone.

Have you ever wondered why it seems that, just when we've given up on our dreams, just when we've decided that they are impossible, something comes along to give us hope again? So it was for sad, depressed, prickly Collin Cactus. Just the day after he had given up on his dream of receiving a hug, something happened. Something WONDERFUL happened!
The Long-Haired Lady With The Water came over to him. He was surprised to see her, and, it must be said, also very alarmed. Was she going to water him again? Two days in a row? He wasn't at all thirsty yet, and more water would surely make him very, very ill! As much as he disliked the idea of intentionally injuring her again, Collin knew that he had to defend himself if someone was about to do him harm. In fact, he was just about to swing a prickly arm at her, when he realized that the Long-Haired Lady With The Water didn't have any water with her today. Instead, as she approached him, Collin could see that she carried a familiar looking plant in her arms.
Could it be true? Or was he imaging this? If a cactus is capable of pinching itself, Collin surely did so then, just to make sure that he was really awake, and not dreaming up the beautiful cactus that was heading in his direction.

No, it wasn't his imagination. The Long-Haired Lady With The Water had indeed sat a very lovely cactus right on the table beside him. The cactus was clearly of the same variety as himself, perhaps they were even related somehow. He didn't know, and he didn't really care. All that Collin could think of how wonderful it would be to have another cactus nearby him!

Collin was so excited that he forgot about his fears, his sadness and his feelings of hopelessness. He forgot all about his self-consciousness and his unfulfilled dream. Collin was SOOOOO excited that, as soon as the other cactus sat down beside him, he didn't hesitate before he grabbed it and gave it a tight squeeze.

After the hug, Collin immediately jumped away feeling utter horror. What had he done?!? Was he crazy? He'd finally met one of his own kind, and the first thing he did was to attack, and likely inflict harm upon, the other cactus!

It was with a great deal of difficulty that Collin dared to look at the newcomer. When he did, he was shocked to discover that the other cactus was smiling at him. "Hello. Thank you, for that! It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Collin couldn't reply, at first. Finally, he stuttered. "You'-r-r-re w-w-welcome."

"My name is Carol Cactus. What is your name?" The new arrival asked him.

"Collin. Collin Cactus." He replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you too. I'm sorry about grabbing you like that, I got a little carried away by excitement. I've never met another cactus before."

"Neither have I, " said Carol. "I'm excited too. I'm also very surprised that you don't seem to have been injured by hugging me. Were you really not harmed?"

Collin gave Carol a big cactus grin. "No, I wasn't injured, and it appears that you weren't hurt by being hugged either."

Carol giggled. "I guess we don't hurt each other because we're both so prickly."

Tears of joy filled Collin's eyes. "I've always dreamed of being hugged, and, for the longest time, I tried everything I could to get someone to hug me. It was only just yesterday, after I realized that my touch is painful, that I decided to give up on my dream."

Carol Cactus felt tears in her eyes also, she whispered. "It's been my dream too, and, a moment ago, you made it come true."

Without another word, Carol reached several of her prickly arms towards Collin. She wrapped these arms tightly around her new friend, and she gave him the biggest, longest hug that you could imagine.

Until I type again,

Kami

Sunset Over The Olympic Mtns.

2009-06-12T11:34:00.000-07:00

I took these photos at the beginning of this week, and I've chosen to post them unaltered by any photo editing software. These photos were taken in Bremerton, Washington looking towards the Warren Ave. Bridge and the Olympic Mountains behind it. The next morning, I saw on the local news that there was a brush fire in British Columbia, Canada on this day. This caused smoke to linger in the upper atmosphere and made the sunset exceptionally beautiful. I loved taking them with my new digital camera. Enjoy!

Until I type again,
Kami

Confessions Of A Coffee Addict

2009-06-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

I live in what could be called the Land of Coffee. I'm in Western Washington, near Seattle, which is home of the world famous Starbucks Coffee, among other coffee companies. The Seattle area is so greatly associated with coffee-loving that, when I was in Atlanta, Georgia, during the 1996 Summer Olympics, I was given a job as an espresso barista based only on the assumption that all Washingtonians MUST know how to make a great latte. I never misled the job agency employing me that I had this prior experience, it certainly wasn't posted on my resume. I think that it was just assumed that anyone from the Pacific Northwest would be knowledgeable about coffee, whether this be due to nature or to nurture.

In fact, I honestly I didn't have a clue how to make a latte at that time. I received some on-the-job training there that summer in Atlanta, but until then, I'd never worked at an espresso stand. I had never even brewed a regular pot of coffee before. Most comical of all, at that time in my life, I wasn't even a coffee drinker! Picture this scene: I'm working an espresso machine for the first time. I scramble to make the drinks. I try to be friendly, even bubbly, although it isn't easy. I'm busy and stressed, and I really don't feel very friendly or bubbly. Since it seems like it's the bubbly baristas who get the best tips, I try to act in a fraudulently cheerful way. Unfortunately, I'm not too successful.

The tips that I receive are terrible. This is especially true when you compare them with the tips of other baristas who are working stands in nearby areas. My stand brings in the same sort of profits as theirs, but they are all receiving a lot more tips each day than I am. I start to think that what I needed was to be more alert, even hyper. If I'm in a really peppy mood, I figured that I'd work faster and better, and it would also be easier to be more cheerful. Then, one day, I came to believe that I had discovered the solution to faking happiness. I thought that the answer had been right there in front of me the whole time.

The solution was coffee. Coffee. . . coffee. . . coffee. . . Coffee is good. . . Coffee is a stimulant. . . Coffee doesn't actually make me more friendly, but coffee does make me more bouncy. . . Hey! See Kami make coffee. See Kami drink coffee. See Kami go bouncy, bouncy, bouncy. Bounce. . . bounce. . . bounce. . . Bouncing all the way up to the ceiling, or so it seemed to me.

Suddenly, my plan backfires. Oops! Ugh! Oh, dear! Too much coffee, too soon! Way, way, wayyyyy too much coffee! My head is flying. My brain is spinning. My hands are shaking. . . shaking. . . shaking. They're shaking so much that it's hard not to spill the milk that I'm pouring; the milk that I need to steam for all those the lattes and cappuccinos . . . Then, the worst feeling comes. Too much coffee has made me sick to my stomach. Ooooohhh! I believe that this is a case of too much of a good thing.

When I was in college, which was before my summer in Atlanta, I didn't even like the taste of coffee. I wasn't a big drinker of any type of caffeinated beverage. In fact, I could amazingly pull an all night study session caffeine-free! That's an almost unimaginable concept to me now.

Those days of being a either a novice or non-coffee drinker are long gone. I now drink it on a daily basis. Occasionally, if I sleep in late and/or don't drink coffee until late morning, or if I drink much less coffee than I normally do in a day, my head will start to ache. These caffeine withdrawal headaches are no fun, and, of course, I'm not happy when I get them. Yet, they are also a reality check.

With my head pounding, I am forced to confront the reality that I am hooked on coffee. I'm not just enjoying a beverage every day. I must admit that my body craves it. I must accept that fact that I have withdrawal symptoms when I've drank less than my usual quantity of coffee. I must confess that I am a coffee addict.

Sometimes, this idea that I'm a coffee addict really bugs me. When this happens, I usually try to cut back on coffee for a while. Despite the threat of possible withdrawal systems, I'll begin to have one less cup every morning. I might successfully do this for a couple of days, or, perhaps, for a week or two, until along comes that one day. You might know what kind of day that would be. We all have them sometimes. It's a day when I haven't slept well the night before, and I'm feeling extra tired. I need to get some work done with a clear head, so I decide that what I need to do is drink that extra cup of coffee again. I won't do it all the time. Just today. Just when I need it most. It never works the way I intend, of course. Almost immediately, that one extra cup is back in my life everyday. I can't even count how often that I've done this.

Although, to be completely honest, what I described above, is not what I do most of the time. On most days, I continue along my path of coffee addiction without any interruption at all. Why is this, you might ask? It's because I love coffee. I gratefully bless the abundance of espresso stands in the Pacific Northwest, and I blissfully sip steaming cups. After all, I am a coffee addict, and that is what we do.

Until I type again,

Kami

(Both photos in this post are courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/)

Kami Goes To Digital Camera Land

2009-06-08T16:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think my boyfriend, Nathan, can read my mind. This past Saturday, he gave me a digital camera. I'd been wanting one for awhile, but I hadn't yet mentioned that to him or anyone else. In fact, I'd pretty much given up on taking pictures long before this. Most of the time, when I'd used film or a disposable camera, I'd never get around to getting the photos developed. Finally, I had to admit that there's not much point in taking pictures that are never seen, and I decided not to bother with it anymore. The best part of a digital camera, of course, is that I can just plug my camera into my computer to get my pictures, and I don't need to worry about getting any film developed. Well, duh! Welcome to the 21st century, Kami!

My new digital camera is also easy to use. I'm a photography novice, but it'll be fun to play with it and improve my skill. Nathan was hoping I'd like it, and he also figured that it would be useful for blogging. What a sweet and smart man! He's very good to me.

Here's some examples of pictures from this past weekend:

View of Seattle in the distance taken from on of the ferries. We were going to Seattle to see the movie "Up!" in Disney digital 3-D. It was a funny and well-made movie. The digital 3-D in it is amazing!

There were a lot of sailboats out on Saturday, sailing in some kind of regatta. Using my photo-editing software, I made my really blurry photo of them look like an interesting impressionistic painting.

This photo is of the Maritime Building located near the Seattle Waterfront. I took the picture beneath the Alaskan Way Viaduct on a walkway from the ferry terminal.

I love this old building in Seattle's Pioneer Square which appears to have once been some kind of factory. I think the building looks like a giant cigarette in a holder.

These pictures were taken through the window of the ferry. I think that the reflection of the interior lights on the outside sky look like a formation of alien visitors.

This is my sweet boyfriend, Nathan.

He took this picture of me. Thank you for the camera, honey!

Until I type again,

Kami

Thirty Things To Do During Hot Weather

2009-06-05T15:20:00.000-07:00

The weather where I live has been very hot the past several days (it started cooling down last night - Thank goodness!). Since it's not even the first day of summer yet, there's still plenty of opportunity for things to heat up here again. So, I thought it would be helpful (and amusing) to post some ideas for things to do on hot weather days. Some of these are good ideas and some of them bad, but I'll let you decide for yourself which are which.

1. Go home and take a cool shower.

2. Go to the home of a neighbor that you've never met, when they aren't home, and take a shower there.

3. Put on sunblock.

4. Coat yourself in vegetable oil and let the sun deep-fry you until your skin is the texture of an onion ring.

5. Buy a new swimsuit and go swimming at a local lake or outdoor pool.

6. Buy a hazmat suit and go swimming at a local waste water treatment facility.

7. Exercise in the cool morning.

8. Exercise at the hottest time of day in hopes of meeting a cute E.R. nurse after you collapse from heat stroke.

9. Wear sunglasses that make you look like a movie star.

10. Wear ski goggles all summer long, day and night, and tell everyone that you are waiting for the first snow fall.

11. Go surfing.

12. Go surfing in shark infested waters wearing a wetsuit that smells like raw hamburger.

13. Eat an ice cream cone.

14. Eat an ice cream cone after it has fallen into the street by licking the melted ice cream off the pavement.

15. Drink lots of icy cold water.

16. Drink lots of water out of your toilet bowl like you're a german shepherd.

17. Go to the beach and build a sandcastle.

18. Go to a farm and build castle out of chicken manure.

19. Have a cool, refreshing tropical drink after work, such as a mai tai or a pina colada.

20. Have fifteen cool, refreshing tropical drinks, while still at work, and lose your job. If your job
is in law enforcement, medicine or, if you are an airline pilot, have twenty drinks instead.

21. Heat up your barbeque and grill your dinner.

22. Heat up your barbeque and sit on it.

23. Try to cool your home using a fan or air conditioning.

24. Try to cool your home by cranking up the heater, as high as it goes, in an attempt to bully the
existing heat into backing down.

25. Have a picnic.

26. Have a picnic on top of an ant hill after drizzling honey on yourself to give them a sweeter meal.

27. Put on mosquito repellent.

28. Don't put on mosquito repellent. Instead, when one is biting you, capture it, and torture it
into confessing all its crimes against humanity.

29. Run through your garden sprinklers.

30. Run through someone else's garden sprinklers, naked, except for a big floppy sunhat. Sing "Zippity-Do-Da" the whole time, loud enough that you don't even hear the police car when it pulls up.

Until I type again,
Kami