It's official!

I am shaking and a little bit crying. It's 12:56 AM, November 30th, and I have won Nanowrimo.

So now I've a day off before NaNoFiMo! Kt, if you're out there, that's the challenge site for the two of us!

Christmas gifts

You know who's having a green Christmas this year? The library, that's who. They are making BANK off me this year. Woof. When did all those books get overdue?

Holiday musings

There is something about winter, the quality of its thin gray light, the depth of its long darkness, that turns the mind to the spirit. For me, every year around this time I look into my heart and my soul and ask questions and listen for some kind of answer.

This was a weighty year in the spiritual realm for me. I explored yogic teachings and read Christian thinkers like Thomas Moore. And some time in the summer--not a time I usually think about anything more serious than sunscreen--I came to a realization. I do not believe in God.

For years, I have said something different. Something along the lines of "Of course I believe in God! God is the perfect metaphor for the beauty and harmony of the universe!" (This is analogous to my feelings about Santa and fairies and forest spirits.) And then it hit me that believing in a metaphor isn't the same as believing in something. Metaphors are not things in themselves; they are the tools we use to describe these things.

So I believe in science. I believe in a beautiful harmony and order of the universe, bound by the activities and entities than we may not understand in their entirety, but do not undermine the truths we have fought to carve out. I think that makes me an atheist.

Some people feel like atheism is a selfish, shallow, hopeless state of being. I don't see it like that. When I look at the stars in their whirling patterns of light and heat, I am awed by the forces around me, and I can name them--gravity, inertia, entropy, electromagnetism. When I hear the whoosh of my own pulse inside my body, I am thrilled to know that the same forces are at work on all the tiny motes of own being. There is such beauty there, such power and majesty.

And I can have absolute faith in the universe and its rules. Gravity will never leave me, never stop affecting me even if I should choose not to believe in it. The laws of physics will not abandon me or reject me or send me to eternal suffering for not believing in them. And they are the same for every person, no matter what book is the rule of the land around them. Now that is beautiful. That is powerful. That is awesome.

I am proud to believe these things. I am proud to say that there is plenty to have faith in that is not God. I am proud to say that I believe morality and justice and order have a place in a world that is not religious. But in many places of this world, I would be killed for saying this. In my own country, I would never elected. Many communities would not allow me to teach their children; if I was found writing about atheism on my personal website, I would be encouraged to leave my job. Even among my own friends I feel nervous saying these things. Somehow it is easier to say "Hey, I'm a Muslim now!" than "Hey! I'm an atheist!" I could wear a cross on a necklace to work--even though the cross is a torture device that has also been used to harass and frighten people, primarily blacks, in this country--but if I wore a similar item that said "Atheist," I would be asked to remove it.

That's why I put the scarlet 'A' on my page. I wanted to show people that I am proud of what I believe, even if it's not normal in the United States. I wanted to show people that a nice smart woman like me can be an atheist. And then maybe they would feel okay with themselves.

Happy holidays, everybody. Peace be with you.

Happy T-day!

A few days ago I had the random desire to see the movie "Tremors 3" again. Okay, so it wasn't random--I have the bad habit of quoting from the movie after certain ordinary bodily functions (all right! I admit it! If they stink, I shout 'Blast your own damn ass, ass blaster!'), and it had been a doozy of a day. Anyway, I was overwhelmed by the need to see Bert and company in action.

My family doesn't have a whole lot of traditions, but I feel safe saying that in the Wagner family, nothing says "holiday" quite like the Tremors movies (or tv show). I can remember the long ago Thanksgiving my oldest sister introduced us to the first movie. It was a beautiful day.

Then when I was living with my mom and brother, he was a hardcore Tremors fan, hooking me on the sequels and the show. Wow. That's some good television. Catch it if you still can--I don't think it's on the SciFi channel anymore. But you can still get all four movies on DVD (and if you've only seen the original on VHS, ruuuuun to the video store and get your hands on the DVD; the picture quality is just so much better). In fact, we were able to rent the Tremors pack, which has all four movies on it.

Yes, I did allow my four-year-old to watch Tremors (the swearing was the worst part!). I did try to cover her eyes in the scary parts. However, all that happened is that she said she'd like a pet graboid to keep in the back yard. She thought they were kind of cute.

Is she my kid or what?

Whoah ... Turkey!

I can't believe that Thanksgiving is just two days away! I am super-duper excited. This year, I am making a kale/swiss chard gratin, mashed tatoes & gravy, sweet potatoes and cranberry bliss bars. The piece de resistance: Organic Valley Eggnog. We tried this kind of eggnog at the farmer's market Saturday, and it's incredible. Not too sickly sweet, not too fakey rumish. Not yellow, either. Just mild and nutmeggy.

I love Thanksgiving! I love all those warm happy feelings of Thankfulness. And a full tummy. And our annual trip to the zoo (it's almost all volunteers running the show, so I feel slightly less bad about going out on Thanksgiving). And having breakfast with Heidi! It's just a lovely, lovely day.

The only trouble this year is how to fit in a couple hours of writing in between all that family stuff?

She failed me!

So for years--about 16, now--I've been in love with a book called Tam Lin, by Pamela Dean. It's the most amazing book I've ever read, and I re-read it almost every Halloween. (It's also landmarked in my head as one of the books lost in our housefire, when I was twelve.)

But I've never read any of Dean's other books. I never even tried to find any at the library, and I'm not sure why. I usually pick one author and gulp down every known work in an orgy of author-love. So this year, I decided, what the heck? Why not read more P. D.? And I checked out Juniper, Gentian and Rosemary.

It was fine, I guess. I mean, I love Gentian, the main character, and I liked her friends. But OMG! She used the same tricks! Even some of the same quotes! And once again, she spent pages summarizing plays that the protaganist is reading. Uggh! Uggh! Uggggggh! And to make it worse, the ending was totally unsatisfying, and the girl pisses off her cat. You just don't go around separating a girl from her cat unless it's for a really effective and satisfying climax, and this ending did not merit it. Jeez.

So I put another book on hold by Dean just in case this one was a fluke. I've got my fingers crossed. I don't want my heart to break!

Brain twisters

Why is it so much more tempting to make a blog entry than work on my latest novel-in-progress? Hmmn. I suppose part of it is knowing Fibee will wake up any moment, ruining any attempt of mine to even think coherently. Actually, now that you mention it, that's probably the biggest reason. If a bird makes a clicking sound remotely similar to the sound Fi makes when she turns off her nightlight, I spasmodically save every document and prepare to slam the laptop closed. Whew. It's exhausting.

Another difficult-to-answer question: why do my parents torture me? Why do they keep saying "Why don't you visit more often?" Or "Well if you were up here, I could get you a llama for about $5." Or worse: "Well, if you'd come up and help me build the coop, you could play with the chickens all you wanted." Yeah. Torture, especially when you consider the fact they live in WILBUR, Washington! In case you aren't familiar, it's in the the northwest corner of BFE. You know, the part with no trees. Or jobs.

Sigh. These are the mysteries that torture a woman.

Doo-doo-doo-doo-Dooooora!

I have had the Dora theme song stuck in my head all day. It's painful.

It is so creepy. I have become the face of the Portland Children's Museum. Birthday parties were featured in Portland Monthly, which is kind of my thing (actually, my face is on the birthday party brochures), and now my Bendy Wendy program is featured. And I'm on the newsletter. It's just kind of ... weird. Like almost being famous.

Me! Almost famous!

Holy freakin fong!

I'm online in my very own house!!! Wow! Wow! Wow!

This Tuesday in Garden Club we're going to talk about worms. I am so excited. I actually couldn't fall asleep last night because I couldn't stop thinking about how great the lesson will be! Then I had dreams that the worms in my bin crawled out and I was searching all over the house for the escapees.

Back ... a little bit

So I'm making an effort to get back on blogger. Dial-up is coming soon to our household ...

Do you ever have one of those days when you want to abuse the ellipsis? I think it's because I got up at a quarter to 6 this morning. I could have slept until 6, but I was starting to get nervous about this green thing the museum sent me to for breakfast, so I gave up. And I was right to be nervous. The meeting was at the Multnomah Athletic Center, and it is a frightening wealth-center. I just kept chanting to myself, "You have an invitation. At least it's not the City Club." I was nervous as hell until I saw some a couple of people wearing jeans. There's nothing like a room full of business suits to make you uncomfortable, and nothing like the comforting presence of people who are dressed worse than you.

I am cruising along, slowly, slowly, but honestly with my NaNoWriMo project. I won't make it to 50K, but 40 is not unreasonable, and I'm in LOVE with the book. It is worth waking up early for!

Sorry gang!

For now the only blogging I am doing is on my myspace blog:
http://www.myspace.com/wagnerianbuffo

I miss my blog!

Man, I miss blogging every day. Since I stopped, it feels like my writing brain has just ... shut off.

Last week was an overwhelming kind of week. I had my second meeting with Growing Gardens, and I am super psyched for the class to begin. I am also extremely gung-ho about starting a worm bin. John and I sewed bags for the preschool, which sucked up some time. John set up a stand at the Alberta Art Walk and sold a painting. I had lunch with my sister, and then my neice spent the night. We took the girls to the Polish festival on Saturday. And then yesterday was crazy day at work!

So, all in all, busy. But not too busy to learn how to play Boggle!

Back from outer space

So still no Internet at home, but I am back from vacation. We took a great trip to Eastern Washington--and no, that's not an oxymoron. Stay tuned for pictures!

Back to the 50's!

There it is folks, the image you've been waiting for. The one that's going to change the world, free up the landfills and rock your fridge.

In case you're rubbing your head, wondering what in tarnations I'm talking about, this is a picture of a bowl of leftover macaroni and cheese that's about to go in the fridge. But what the heck is on top of it?

That's right. A saucer. An ordinary, garden variety saucer. Not plastic wrap. The saucer is--get this--like a LID for the bowl. No plastic involved. No matching lids. Nothing along those lines. A reusable saucer and a reusable bowl. Wow.

In case you wondered, that's what people used to do when they had leftovers, before the plastic era came along. If there was no handy crock or jar, they just topped a bowl with a plate or saucer and considered that food covered.

Rock on, housewives of yore!

I was sniffed by a ostospermophilus beechiyi!

And he sniffed John's camera, too! I'm not really into taming wild animals, but this little Californian ground squirrel was so darn cute! He had no fear of people whatsoever and happily scrounged for food in the parking lot. Unsurprisingly, he was at least three times bigger than the other ground squirrels. I had never seen an animal with fat rolls on its arms before--he doesn't look that fat in this picture, but he had double chins AND little pudge-rolls on each limb. Poor guy. I see a short life for him. I thought about bringing him home, but once again, the no-pets rule trumps all.

I am a bad reader

I will be the first to admit that I am a terrible, uncritical reader. Unless I run across a major typographical or grammatical error, my first reading of a text is basically thoughtless. I just read a friend's critique of HPatDH, and I noticed none of the problems she noticed. Plot holes? What? My total experience was this: adrenaline, tears, adrenaline , tears. Giggle. Tears, tears, tears. And that was it.

These things continue even in the world of nonfiction (philosophy and music excepted). Right now I'm reading an amazing and terribly amusing book called The God Delusion, by Dawkins. It's a hard-core denouncement of religion and an appeal to atheism, and I'm eating it up. Six months ago, I was reading The Soul's Religion, by Thomas Moore (the contemporary Christian writer, not the 19th century one) and eating it up.

That's not to say that I never read critically. I practically lived and breathed critical analysis in college, and when I pick up anything on philosophy of mind, the derisive comments are scathing. When I read my own writing or those of people I'm editing, I can be downright brutal (in a warm and considerate way, of course). Some might even use the word 'nit-picky.'

But I guess when it comes to escapist literature, I box up my brain and let it snooze. It's pretty pathetic, and it's a bad habit. A habit I think I should break now, before it causes me permanent damage.

Kt, you've inspired me! From now on, I shall try to be a better reader!

There's no place like home

Sometimes I become overwhelmed by a vast sense of loneliness. It invades me at times I least expect it or at times when I'm feeling a little weak to begin with. It's not a loneliness for any person I know--it's a loneliness for small living things and for tall trees and the sound of rain hitting the ferns. I suppose it's homesickness.

I love living in Portland. It's a charming city, full of all the things that are good about a larger community. There's a great library system, fantastic restaurants, art, music and, most important of all, a good coffee shop on every corner. But it's not home.

Home gets a little mixed up in my head. Mostly, it's Ash Valley, with its narrow canyons and second-growth trees. I spent most of my childhood exploring a space the size of three city blocks: a wonderful expanse of swamp, stream and forest. I can remember a few hikes with Jan Tetrault, who took us kids out of our backyards and up into the hills (they'd be mountains in Pennsylvania). She told us the names of plants. What a gift.

Sometimes, home is the even smaller stretch of Gardiner that I walked with Fiona in her baby pouch. Throughout the cemetery were old garden classics like grape hyacinth and hydrangea and plum trees that were the children of the pioneers' orchards. Then there were the tenacious weed-fields that were slowly taking back the old mills.

Further afield but equally loved was the beach and the spruce forests abutting the shore. I can think of no place more enchanted than the woods behind Haceta Head. The forest spans no fewer than 4 microclimates with varying guilds of plants and lichens, and the duff is so thick that your feet spring up on every step.

And of course home has never been home without the animals. My first real memories include the lambs, butting up against smell and all milky-smelling. After that, there were the cats, so many I can hardly count. Squirrels and deer and rescued baby bats and ducks and snakes and horses. And chickens. And donkeys. The city can feel a little lonely with all the pets just hidden away.

That loneliness is always there. Most of the time, it slumbers, held under the surface by the distractions of city life. But sometimes, when things get quiet, it wakes up. And I am homesick again.

Guerrilla gardens update!

Sorry for all the delays on guerrilla gardening at its finest! But I've gotten things up and running and should have more regular fantastic posts on everybody's favorite topic: the shady side of plants!

So check out what's new on http://guerrillagardenspdx.blogspot.com/!

Survivalist

It's hard to believe, but I think deep down I want to be a survivalist. You know Bert from Tremors? I want to be him.

A lot of that has to do with my childhood out in the Oregon woods (when you put it like that, it sounds sooo rustic). My parents weren't really the back-to-the-land types--mostly because they'd never left it. I mean, right now they live in a house my dad built himself, and he only added a bathroom last summer. His designs for an outdoor shower with a homemade flash water heater were pretty cool, too. And my mom? Well, she grew up without electricity.

Needless to say, childhood memories of helping in the garden and licking jam out of pots aren't all idyllic, but as I get older, I find myself drawn more and more strongly to that life. It's not just nostalgia. Exposure to "The Morning After" and "Max Max & The Thunderdome" at an early age seems to have triggered a profound paranoia about the end of civilization as we know it. Deep down, I'm just waiting for the petroleum to run out and my knowledge of hand-sewing to come into play.

Anyway, if you get a chance, I recommend the book that I'm reading: The Post-Petroleum Survival Guide and Cookbook, by Albert Bates. It's like a summary of all the stuff I'm obssessed with, give or take a few pointers on loom construction and operation of your own printing press.

Oh yeah. I'm getting more Bert every day.

White trash vegan

Tonight I had to dip down into the bottom of my recipe cheats and make something tasty and easy to go with macaroni salad. I was feeling mighty lazy, so here's what I came up with:

Po' White Beets
1 bunch baby beets and greens
1/2 Tb olive oil
1/2 C lemonade
1 tsp white wine vinegar
salt & pepper to taste.

Scrub beets and remove all but 2-3 inches of stems. Heat oil in pan on med. high heat; when warm, toss beets around for about 2 minutes. Add lemonade. Cover, reduce heat to low and simmer until beets are fork-tender (about 4 minutes if very small). Add beet greens, vinegar, salt and pepper. Cover and simmer an additional minute until everything is soft.

Lazy Kidneys
1 can kidney beans
1 Tb ketchup
1 tsp onion powder
2 dashes hot sauce

Stir to combine and heat in the microwave.

The creepy thing about these foods is that they turned out the same color. Still, they tasted mighty tasty and took less than 10 minutes to prepare; they were low-fat and healthy. It almost made up for the Safeway macaroni salad. Yummmmmmm.