Work

To exert oneself by doing mental or physical work for a purpose or out of necessity; "Obama's still working on his legislative agenda"; " The Republicans are working overtime in lock-step against him"

To be employed; "What's a nice girl like you working in a place like this?"

Have an effect or outcome; often the one desired or expected; "Toyota's breaks aren't working"; "The Tea Party's working on blowing the liberals' fuse"

Function: perform as expected when applied; "Who ever said hard work pays off wasn't working too hard"; "When's The iPad gonna work?"

Exercise: give a workout to; "No matter how hard you work out if you eat too much chocolate, it will never work out"

Make: proceed along a path; "It's very hard to work your way through the forest if you can't see the trees"

Proceed towards a goal or along a path or through an activity; "If you start at the top you can't possibly work your way up any higher. So you might as well stop working and give up"

Behave in a certain way when handled; "If your jeans are too tight your love handles will inevitably work their way up over the top of them"

Influence: have and exert influence or effect; "It takes work, alot of work to work your influence, exert your influence or effect your influence on anyone. If that even works at all"

Hope this worked for you. It didn't work for me. I worked too hard at working hard. And working too hard, made me work even harder to make it work. So what's the point of working hard if not working works? And work that works is the best work of all.

(c) 2010

Got the hang of things

At least for now.
Have to start my work. NOW.
Ten thousand calls to the west coast.
NOW.
They're just waking up.
Researching human interest stories for a travel doc series.
Unique Americans, the client said.
Sponsored by a beer company.
Small towns.
People who mean something.
Do things because they're passionate about them.
Not for the fame and glory. (Like me for instance).

Life's simple for them.
In the Redwoods. Fremont. Camas Prairie.
Cottonwood. Temecula Valley. Fort Bragg.
Caspar. Willits. Bear Valley. Red Lodge. Hamilton.
On ranches. For generations. Families. Loners.

Off the grid. Celebrate their diversity, the client said.

Cutting champions, grave witchers, loggers, mustangs, tree climbers, rangers, base jumpers, sheep herders, rodeo champs, dune boarders, avalanche patrols, rescue dogs, surfers, tarot card readers, crystal healers, micro-brewers, artists, biologists, Big Foot enthusiasts, self proclaimed sausage kings, visionaries, chainsaw queens, "45 year old dirt veterans," "high tech rednecks," vintage roadsters, builders of a 7 foot Lenin Statue, (not John), in the middle of nowhere.

Real, salt of the earth, the client said.

The weather is pretty bad in Oregon in March.
You never know when it's going to rain.
Going anyway. Got a dead line.
The launch. The website.

Not like these people. Honest. Authentic. Blunt.
Crusty. Warm. Generous. Trusting. Open.
Big hearted. Take things at face value.
I understand.
Know what it's like to work on a farm.
Plant corn. Ride a 1904 McCormick
Hay Cutter hitched to a 1989 Toyota. Dig ditches.
Ride horses. Make apple cider. Live for a dream.
Get hammered by life.

Hope they don't take advantage of them.
Hope their foot print, their website, their message
is as meaningful as they say it will be.

Will be and is are two different things.
Believing is seeing. Seeing is believing.
And we shall see. Sooner than later.

(c) 2010

Long Time No See

Dropped off the face of the earth for the last month. Combination of working two jobs. Drinking too much caffeine, not getting enough sleep, stressing about money, paying the bills, shopping for food, cooking the food, washing dishes, shopping for food again, eating again and washing the damn dishes again. Did I mention laundry?

Thought I met someone. Hah! One date. Tall. Angular. Handsome. Well worn face. Intense. Gaunt. Buzz cut. Silver and grey. Stunning smile. Brooding. Loner. Wolf. Fat chance. Better luck next time.

It's snowing but then again you already know that.
Still thinking of something to say.
I'm just trying to get into the swing of writing again.
Take it easy.
Give me a break.

Starting to wonder about the title I've chosen for this blog.
Still like it.
Sounds catchy.
Things are shifting.
What the hell am I talking about?
Better keep it for a while still.
Or at least until I get the hang of writing again.

Pause.
5 minutes go by.
Still trying to think of something to write about.
In case you haven't noticed the snow is blowing sideways by now.

What next?
Ok. Got to hit the loo.
Again.
For the upteemth time.
Or maybe not.
Relief.
Trying to beat the odds.

This post really sucks.
Really, really sucks.

Massive Pause. Went into the kitchen.
For a break.
Ran out.
Massive amount of unwashed dishes in sink.

10 minutes later.
Staring at the computer screen.
Hoping for an inspiration.
Waiting.

Ok. Giving myself 2 more minutes and then I'm out of here.

Can't take myself.
What IS wrong?
Why can't I just write.
Write god damn it. Write. Anything. Everything. Nothing. Write. Write. Write.
Make 'em laugh until their sides split.

Pause.
Don't hold your breath.

I've had it.
If I can't write something now it's never going to come.
Signing off.
Please forgive.
Promise to delight and amuse later today.
Tonight. Tomorrow. Next month.
Next year.


P.S. Just located photo for the post and saw someone else's post.
Same idea as mine.
Photo. Essay.
Sh#$%^^&&*!
Thought I was original. A master. Unusual. Unique. Utterly fabulous.
Stop dreaming. One among many. Oh well.
Ta for now.
Keep the faith.

(c) 2010

Flora et Fauna

Flowers in a Terracotta Vase
Rachel Ruysch

Florigraphy. The language of flowers. Struck my fancy since yesterday. I went to see Young Victoria. Not a movie I would recommend spending $12.50 to see.

Nevertheless, as a hopeless romantic, I found myself swept up in the England's landscapes and gardens. Victorians were enamored of everything botanical and especially flowers. Young women "au fait" (fully versed) in the art of floral arrangements, growing, preserving, pressing and painting flowers were considered the pinnacle of refinement.

I am neither "au fait" in the art of floral arrangements, or for that matter in growing, preserving, pressing and painting flowers. I do have a plant in my house. How it is still with me after 16 years is a miracle in itself. I forget to water it. Forget to pull the blinds down so it gets drenched in the hot blazing sun from around noon to sundown and I've placed it right near the radiator so I'm sure I've dried out its roots. I probably would not have been considered very useful, or elegant or "refined." I wonder how I would have made it then. The thought of wearing a corset is terrifying. And the innumerable layers and density of their underclothes would have seriously hampered my life style.

Rules make the hair on my neck stand up and I have the unfortunate propensity to speak loudly in small places. I'm definitely not musical. The only thing I can play on the piano is chopsticks or greensleeves. I can't sing (can never remember the words or the tune). I can't sew. Or crochet or knit or embroider. Painting or watercoloring are not my forte. I do speak French. I am quite witty and conversational but am awful at cards, archery and curtsying. And if anyone really cares to know, the thought of having to ride side saddle is unimaginable. How I would been able to stay on the horse is beyond me since I tend to fall off things instead of stay on them. I fell off a bus once. That was really embarrassing. Think of the horror if I had to wear long dresses with petticoats and carry an umbrella in one hand, a fan in the other. In the summer no less! Should I continue?

That being said, the beauty and splendor of their forests and gardens stay with me. They are wild and tame. Endless. Tranquil. Calming. Inspiring. Getting lost in nature is a gift. Living in the city on concrete is not. Had it not been for Victorians we would not have had Central Park. And I don't know how many people have noticed recently but they have been slowly but surely renovating it. Oddly enough the fountains and lamps resemble the architecture of the Victorian period. As I walk through it on the rare occasion I feel transported back in time. Only this time I have the luxury of walking without a chaperone, being able to wear comfortable clothes and certainly not having to carry an umbrella.

Dedicated to A.
(c) 2010

To Die For

We use it all the time. I'm dying for a glass of water. I'm dying to be famous. I'll die if I don't get this. I'll die if I don't get that. I'm dying to try that. I'm dying to try this. It's a view to die for. Get rich or die trying. I'm dying for a vacation. He's to die for. She's to die for. It's worth dying for. It's not worth dying for. Didn't you just die laughing? I'm dying to meet you. Or better still, I'd rather die than meet you.

If we really died doing or not doing, trying or not trying, waiting or not waiting. We would never get to do or not do, try or not try, wait or not wait.

Who came up with this ridiculous expression anyway? How did they know what to die for really means. They certainly didn't actually take their last breath, bite the big one, blow their brains out, buy the farm, croak, cash in their chips, give up the ghost, come to a sticky end, become food for worms, fall off their perch, hop on the last rattler, join the great majority, kick the bucket, ride the pale horse, snuff it or take a dirt nap.

No they just thought they'd have to take their last breath if they didn't get what they wanted, saw what they thought they needed to see, or meet the person they felt entitled to meet.

Before I take my last bow, turn up my toes, go six feet under, pop my clogs, peg out, shuffle off this mortal coil or push up daisies, I'd rather live for that glorious sunset at flying point beach or laugh myself silly.

(c) 2010