Apr 01 2010

moving on . . .

Category: education,gardening,travel,weather,work & employmentlittleREDelf @ 8:54 am

moving

yes. i know. it’s been since February . . .  but let me explain:
we’ve moved our home from Southwest to Northeast Portland
(from the South Burlingame to Irvington neighborhood).

i’d barely finished Winter term when Spring Semester was
already bursting through the ground (like those new black
and red tulips i left behind and the compost bin i had going.)
that would’ve come in handy for some fresh gardening.

and soon, i will be helping my boss to move our office . . .
Does the fun ever end?

i’ll tell you all the rest soon!

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Nov 27 2009

She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo

Category: poetry,psychologylittleREDelf @ 12:53 pm

She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo

She Had Some Horses

She had some horses.

She had horses who were bodies of sand.
She had horses who were maps drawn of blood.
She had horses who were skins of ocean water.
She had horses who were the blue air of sky.
She had horses who were fur and teeth.
She had horses who were clay and would break.
She had horses who were splintered red cliff.

She had some horses.

She had horses with long, pointed breasts.
She had horses with full, brown thighs.
She had horses who laughed too much.
She had horses who threw rocks at glass houses.
She had horses who licked razor blades.

She had some horses.

She had horses who danced in their mothers’ arms.
She had horses who thought they were the sun and their bodies shone and burned like stars.
She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.
She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet in stalls of their own making.

She had some horses.

She had horses who liked Creek Stomp Dance songs.
She had horses who cried in their beer.
She had horses who spit at male queens who made them afraid of themselves.
She had horses who said they weren’t afraid.
She had horses who lied.
She had horses who told the truth, who were stripped bare of their tongues.

She had some horses.

She had horses who called themselves, “horse.”
She had horses who called themselves, “spirit.” and kept their voices secret and to themselves.
She had horses who had no names.
She had horses who had books of names.

She had some horses.

She had horses who whispered in the dark, who were afraid to speak.
She had horses who screamed out of fear of the silence, who carried knives to protect themselves from ghosts.
She had horses who waited for destruction.
She had horses who waited for resurrection.

She had some horses.

She had horses who got down on their knees for any savior.
She had horses who thought their high price had saved them.
She had horses who tried to save her, who climbed in her bed at night and prayed as they raped her.

She had some horses.

She had some horses she loved.
She had some horses she hated.

These were the same horses.

~ Joy Harjo

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Nov 07 2009

Open Letter To the Cockbag Who Smashed My Car Window and Stole My Purse

Category: family,friends,health,humor,love,psychology,relationships,UncategorizedlittleREDelf @ 10:00 pm

Cat Burglar

I ran out to get cat food and then to the Market Of Choice just to grab some Ramen Noodles and Yogi Calming Tea to have a quick, cheap snack at home with a friend in need who stopped by.

I was going to go to yoga, and do some homework for the 3 classes I am taking this semester at PSU, but your violation of my privacy and peace of mind upended my entire evening and probably my weekend after I’m through sorting out repairs and replacements.

You were probably scoping the parking lot for people like me who felt safe and believe they live in a nice enough neighborhood where they can leave their home doors open in the afternoon or run in to get a few groceries, like me: with just a cell phone and the necessary bank card to travel light and not have to lug in bags in order to take more heavy bags out. You were probably in this particular grocery store lot because it’s kind of upscale, with hard-working people who drive decent cars in a good community.

You probably think I was just some little rich bitch who could afford to have her well-maintained, red Volkswagen Rabbit broken into and not have it take any serious change out of my bank.

You were wrong, jackass. I’m a newly married, 1 year resident of Portland. I’m a college student and I keep my things nice because I pay for them and honor the work and balance it takes to maintain an orderly lifestyle that is not beyond my means. And it’s not the pride in the car – I paid extra money to buy a Tri-Met pass so I can ride the bus to school so as to NOT drive the car everywhere and it can’t be replaced – it has to be repurchased. The unfortunate thought is,  some derelict dipshit like you would happily ride public transport for free on my dime, so they don’t issue me another one for free. Thanks a lot, you freeloading douchebag.

It took me nearly 9 months to find part-time work for a psychologist. I got the job on my birthday and it was a gift after I had a car crash and minor surgery all last year but came out healthy and happy and back into the work force. After you broke into my car, I was timely enough to cancel my personal credit cards and freeze all activity on my credit report before you tapped into them. But that didn’t stop you – you took the business card belonging to my kind, socially and ecologically sensitive and responsible boss. You took a card, that with my job so new, it wasn’t even in my name yet. It belonged to the woman who worked there previously and I used it mostly to buy flowers for the office. You cleaned out the checking which subsequently withdrew further into the linked savings account. You stole not only from me, but from someone who you could probably stand to see for emotional and psychological help, you morally depraved social miscreant.

Damn shame your absentee mother was an emotional suckhole when present and didn’t love you enough to teach you right from wrong and your father was a treacherous carbon-based life form, soaked in alcohol and permanently affixed to the living room chair when he wasn’t getting a ride home from the police. Everybody hurts, bitch, and your suffering is not special and the world doesn’t owe you a seat-warmer in a snowstorm. Your beginnings aren’t your only road map, you have the ability to toss the shitty hand you are dealt and to overcome – especially in this country. You have the power to decide if you’re going to turn out like Nelson Mandela or Charles Manson. Seems like the wrong people are in prison, but some people still manage to embrace life and not take it. You have too much leisure time. You need to work, contribute, make sense, make love, build and fill your life with meaningful people instead of robbing people in order to make your life easier, you lazy turd.

I know times are hard. I know jobs are scarce. I know people are hungry. I know it costs more than a quarter now to call someone who cares . . . but you stole not only my important IDs and cards, you took paper and snapshot memories of trips to Rome and to the British Virgin Islands. You took a moleskin sketchbook I have carried all over the world to write in and jot notes of things I want to read and learn about. You took a dog-eared paper copy of our wedding vows that I carry with me to remind me, to be grateful and to think back on the beautiful day my life changed and moved forward in love and companionship in this crazy world. You took fortune cookie papers from dinner nite’s out, letters from friends, reminders and receipts, my favorite lipstick and a very functional nylon, waterproof purse my husband bought for me as a gift before seeing the Blue Ridge Parkway on a beautiful Summer day in Virginia. I am glad I have my memories, my health, and my husband – the cards and IDs can be replaced, but you took some very important keepsakes, you heartless bastard. There was $5 in that Japanese paper wallet I received from a dear friend for my birthday many years ago. You should just send my bag back to the Market Of Choice, minus the one card you went shopping with. Do one thing right in your whole worthless life. Lucky for me, my old driver’s license was in my wallet so you don’t have my address. You do, however, have some handsome pictures of my husband. An intelligent, kind, respectable man who works for a living and provides a comfortable, stable life (unlike you and yours) and whom I carry in my heart and carried with me wherever I went until you took the wallet with the pictures. I want those back too, you greedy fuck.

I’d hoped you bought some diapers and groceries for your family or paid some medical bills or fixed your car or bought some presentable clothes so you can find a job. I’d really hoped you didn’t waste it on frivolous bullshit that most people buy whether or not they can afford it. But you went on a little shopping spree at Target, The Auto-Zone, Sears, EB Games, Fred Meyer and Safeway, Radio Shack, plus a few other random nonsense places ranging from $75-$400 a pop. Really? Your vacuous, emotional needs were met at a video game outlet?!?! I hope that purchase was for the child you never spend time with. No – I take that back, I hope you spend time with your child.

No – forget all that . . . I hope you haven’t reproduced at all. Shitty examples of humanity shouldn’t be replicated and populated into more window smashing, thieving-ass fools.

I am stung, but acknowledge that I must be more vigilant, that my senses were telling me not to park there; that you were probably the creep pretending to talk on his cellphone but were actually just swimming between cars like a shark looking for prey. I described you to the police and the car you parked all retarded and cock-eyed. Here I was, worried you would back out and ding me, but you were more the hit-and-run type. There’s security cameras monitoring the parking lot and though I neglected to memorize your plate, if that WAS you, the cameras and backup have it. I did manage to remember that big, dumb cranium of yours and so will they . . . in jail.

It’s all on video too, fuckhead, and a CD his being burned for the police investigator, as is the record of all the store locations by number that you essentially “robbed” in your route. Soon enough, total frauds like you are going to go down the hard way. Despite the senselessness in random acts of vandalism, theft, murder and general fuckery in the world, I still believe in the positive nature of the universe. I have witnessed that there exists a beautiful chaos and a balancing system in which the practice of goodness is paid in kind and the asshatery practitioner loses the head to put it upon. Living like you do, especially if you cross the wrong person, and you will, this all leads to inevitable consequences and death, and death is the ultimate equalizer. I trust you will arrive there well before I do, you miserable prick.

But it’s all good . . . your ignorant, selfish act has reminded me that it’s ok to lose things and that I will still survive. That it’s good to take stock and periodic (or in this case, forced) downsizing once in awhile is a necessary regulating system. I am reminded to unclutter, to simplify and to cut unhealthy, unnecessary attachments that don’t serve me. I don’t need “stuff” to be happy or to live. And that even after my mood, my day, and my organizational flow are turned on their respective heads, my husband and friends can strip all the worry away and take me to dinner to get my mind off it all and prove I can still eat and sleep well knowing I am thought of, respected, and loved. This is more than you may ever have. This is the emptiness you try to fill with “things” that never will. This lack is what drives you take what isn’t rightfully yours. This is where your skewed sense of value ruins your life. This is more than likely, your fucking problem.

No matter how many windows you break, how much you steal, how many people you wrong, how many places you go, how many times you start over, you will never get over the mountain of lies you tell or out of the rotten, bottomless place you dwell. Not until you join the civilized, sweet part of humanity. The part that doesn’t take from each other so weightily that it causes them to suffer. The part that gives, even to a fault. The part that honors the idea that we are the keepers of our brothers and sisters and we lift ourselves by lifting them up as well. The part that strips it down to the basics, and points out the blessings and is grateful for the people that try, even in thin times, to comfort and feed their loved ones when they realize that something has been taken, but all is not lost.

I know you won’t read this. I know you don’t give a shit, not really, else you wouldn’t have taken such a careless shit on my day. You wouldn’t have smashed and dashed like a common criminal. You would’ve kept walking and kept waiting and kept hoping for a change in your life or imagine it – get out of the twisted, polluted, self-absorbed cycle you’re mired in and do something the fuck about it. You, sir (I guess this by your string of purchases) don’t deserve the honorific, courtesy title of a man and are truly lost. And I hope that you are found.

By wolves.

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Jul 15 2009

Back To The Garden

Category: books,food,gardening,love,nature,photography,travellittleREDelf @ 11:09 pm

::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::

We are stardust, we are golden,
We are billion year old carbon,
And we’ve got to get ourselves
back to the garden.

~ Joni Mitchell

::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::

I know, i’ve been remiss at posting. But it’s been for good and happy reasons. It was months packed with gardening, visiting gardens, hosting a Pagan Potluck for Easter, reading, cooking, eating, drinking, berry picking, jamming, canning, beach vacationing and when i wasn’t too busy doing all that – i took some quiet time out for the Ancient Forest at Opal Creek.

Hmmm . . . so because i’ve been immersed and seeing and doing, what’s the best way to describe the last couple months of activity?

Visually! Of course . . .

In My Garden

(see the full set on Flickr)

strawberry wishes closed mouth

Spanish Lavender & Bumblebee girl & boy hydrangea

view from the gargen 2 hearts

poppy Clematis



Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden

(see the full set on Flickr)

Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden 003 Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden 010

Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden 024 Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden 008

Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden 027 Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden 035



Holden Beach, NC

(see the full set on Flickr)

hat day rainbow umbrella

gaillardia in hand squiggly sand

snail 3 painted lady on my finger

HOLDEN BEACH 083 sun kissed b&w

seagull in the sky lizard

snail shell full moon on the ocean




Opal Creek Ancient Forest

(see the full set on Flickr)

so clear 1 view from the hammock 2

pile up Antique Truck at Jawbone Flats 2

yes? Joe heading to Jawbone Flats

woodsy ornaments hiking elf

more soon.

again.

i promise

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Aug 14 2006

Keeper

Category: death,dreams,love,nature,poetry,psychology,sexlittleREDelf @ 9:18 am

I am breathless knowledge and light.
I use my fingers as eyes and keep my hands behind my back,
can you imagine all that I have seen?
I am tall enough to listen to Gods who are distant and removed
I am low enough to swallow mouthfuls of Earth,
tasting the Gods we all have buried.

I am here now and I will come by knowing you.
And yes, then, I wore red cloak and spoke
with a tongue that knew your name.
But I eat only what I am hungry for:
angelfood cake,
tasty, white prophecy.

I regret no words that speak for you,
from them I am created.
I will go only where I am sought after
and with me I bring whispers.
On my feet will travel stories of a thousand couplings.
My ring, your fixed attention please.
I will make you remember all who you have tangled with,
every street where you were kissed.

I will not wait on excuses or under false pretenses.
I hurt for you where moments string out and break
like beaded necklaces.
And in a world of upside-down
where those thoughts fall into
the branches of trees,
I will hunt those droplets out,
I will climb there and collect them for you.
And when it is night, I will swim far into your rainswept dreams
and spill them into your hands.

~ Andrea E. Janda

9:18 AM

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Nov 29 2004

Casting the Deeper Reflection

Category: writinglittleREDelf @ 4:37 pm

She bends into the pool of water with softer expectations.

She has come here to know what the others must see. She wishes to throw off her feathers and know grace. She wants to leave the rippling wake of the Swan. It is not what she sees, but what she feels when she sees it. She drinks deep of herself, pulling down the stones that hold the water back, untying those ribbons that make her simply, “girl,” and she understands these things for the first time:

the shape of her hands as instruments, not locks,
the curve of her mouth as sugar, not starch,
the lilt of her speech as power, not prattle,
the set in her gaze as intention, not ignorance,
and movement of her body as purpose, not presence.

She leans inward, she takes inventory, unearths the wreckage, and blossoms. They will see her differently, now. They must. For she has come to reclaim what she had before not recognized.

I am She.
. . . And i have always been.

I realized my own life force — my own powers.

There was far more in the reflection than a creature with dimples and delectable features. i was no longer a map of fine shapes to plunder. No circles. No Triangles. No lines. No jutties. i was more than a giggle and a hair toss. More than a Mistress and a Maiden. i was something with wings. i was fire and water and magic and truth, and it came from me in waves: out of my fingers, out of the breaths i spoke, out of the voice i lilted and thrust into song, and from the burning tendrils of silken-red hair when i turned to listen.

When the change occurred, they stood watching. Some came to embrace. Some came to crush. Some came to borrow and to bathe. And still some others came to steal. Always, there are those that want to get close for their own intentions. Both come into your night, both come into your Garden to feed on things that grow and fuss, blink and bluster. But some come on white-dusted looms to leave only glitter on your finger when you touch their wings, and some come elusive but gorgeous, with their own space and light, vanquishing dark, green and etherly. But most important the change delivered my sight, my strength to recognize dark moths from fireflies.

I wasted my time kissing villains.

i knew what a lover was but i did not love. i saw it in black and white and red. What i knew of love taught me how to leave one slowly and to tear flesh as i went. i did this only to fill the open mouths, the holes, the digs in my own flesh that were missing. When dark angels move in, you cannot see that under their cloaks are wings and within their wings are pinions and any one feather, small and sable, can be fashioned into a fine dagger or an ink well to scribble their name from head to hip in long red letters the length of your paper white canvas. But wings can be bound, as hands. Or cut. And wounds as words can be sewn and stifled. i allowed few wings to brush my cheek and fewer still, the hands that cut through my skin and left weeping scars.

She leaves the water to the wild.

Silver fish with golden eyes. They must know something about breathing from a mutable element that she does not. How can you drink what can tear down the shore? How can you bathe a sharpened something in a fluid that will tumble a stone, a shard of glass, until it is safely smooth and delicate? What did Narcissus see but an Echo? And what does an echo teach but to love only the song of yourself, though the body shrivels and the bones become stone. A flower is nothing that cannot wither while the eye inside denies this death.

She wishes . . .

to be blind as Tiresias, as the twin thoughts of a soft, penetrable creature; worry and pleasure slither over each other as cool as snakes. And when those mouths open to swallow, to draw breath and blood, when all of love repeats, a tongue can trick. To taste is to suffer, and the resounding “yes i will i can i do i am” doubles back. She swims away into the depths of the next breath, and she leaves a rippling wake. Her feet do not touch the bottom stones and she draws the water, a nectar for nymphs. Her eyes light in golden flame, two suns on the lake, and her skin smoothes out silver, her hands web to fins. She will not crawl wild-eyed, with her fingers in dirt, she will wait underwater for her hands to break and her wings to grow back, and then —

Emerge.

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Feb 02 2004

color

Category: poetry,writinglittleREDelf @ 11:40 am

A contradict of forces
of white and spotted horses,
blue ribbons tied
to hold the lines
of gold-flecked fish
who swim away,
burnished and beautiful
to meet the day.
You’re a contradict of forces,
from grey and untamed horses,
red-murdered young,
my limber tongue,
so lily-white and silenced
by the day i met you,
burnished and beautiful
but black i chose
and kept you
uncolored.

~ Andrea E. Janda

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Jan 30 2004

Eye

Category: poetry,writinglittleREDelf @ 10:41 am

watching …
watch you.
red-to-blue-to-black
is that you?
laced your fingers
into mine
mouths traced by tongues
thousand years ago
cannot seem to
tear this glance away
eyes locked like
fortresses, doors propped open
to the sunlight
alien birdsong, unfamiliar fruit
and the breadth of your hands
begin this way, texture
I remember something …
glassy, colored like clay
recognition – smile
no one sees this union
centered, full-circle
wish to step through this
… and I do – ancient company
is that you?

~ Andrea E. Janda

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Jan 29 2004

upward

Category: poetry,writinglittleREDelf @ 10:14 am

from being pressed
his arms lengthen
and arc on either side,
my own secretive cross
there above me.
red hair swings up
to meet the wall.
mouths form falling crescents
warm focused breath
lights a trail from
my cheek to my neck
his hands find the hollow
as he finds it with
no hands
and his luscious eyes
all the while
over-looking.

~ Andrea E. Janda

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