June

When we lived in Olympia, there was a parade every year called "The Procession of the Species." There was only one parade rule: no motorized vehicles. And people made elaborate costumes of various species, real or imagined. We thought it was pretty cool, and apparently so did the rest of western Washington State - you could barely walk down the sidewalks.

Today we experienced our first New England 4th of July parade, and it was different. The parade dragged on for hours, giving us time to shop at the farmer's market in between sections, and let's just say there was no rule about motorized vehicles. Except maybe "Have as many as possible." The fumes on the sidelines of the parade route were noxious, and the various sections (for example, a group of twelve elaborately appointed Harley-Davidson motorcycles) had epic gaps between them. All sections were preceded by an immense wall of sound. At one point Sean turned to me and asked, "Since when did traffic become a parade? Next time we're stuck on Route 9, don't think of it as being stuck in traffic, just think, 'We're in a parade!'"

There were old men stapled onto broken-down horses while singing into microphones which were wirelessly transmitting their croons to a float about 100 meters ahead. There were clowns on stilts with no shoes, just the ergonomic padding of the stilts peeking out from ten foot striped pants. We heard rumors that there was a Nancy Kelley dance troupe, but somehow we missed that, I guess the good Lord decided we'd had enough of Nancy for our lifetimes. Or maybe her spandex was dirty. And there were fire engines from seventeen neighboring towns (I counted). Don't they have parades of their own? In all, the parade was a bit forlorn, somewhat depressing, and quite disorganized.

In the past few weeks we've had some interesting changes in our family. No, I'm not pregnant. But we did get rid of our second child, the 200-pound television. Maple was initially very lonesome without her brother the TV, but she's gotten over it. I still miss my "friends", the cast of Lost, in whose story I was deeply involved (Season 3) when Sean lodged an intervention that resulted in the discovery of freecycle.org and the eventual dispossession of our fair screen. Life is more connected now. I have more time for Maple and Sean, more time for cooking and reading. It's great. I no longer push Maple aside when she gets between me and the screen. Now I push her aside when she gets between me and a book. I've become one of those addicts who trades one habit for another slightly healthier one.

Last Friday we went to Maple's dance recital. For this particular pleasure, we bought a $50 costume, spent hundreds on dance lessons that Maple was tired of after the first month, and in the final weeks, spent backbreaking hours sewing finishing touches on the costume-with-homework-assignments, during which my eyesight went from 20-20 to 20-500. For the recital, Maple would need to have white ballet shoes. We weren't willing to buy another pair of shoes, and white vegan shoes were impossible to find anyway, so we brought her pink satin shoes to the local cobbler, who, in his fuddling attempt to spray paint them white, dyed them green instead. Fortunately he was able to get them to a sickly yellow by layering white paint on top, but they certainly didn't look good.

A few days before the recital, we attended the rehearsal. The dance teacher Nancy Kelley had given us a mimeographed sheet of instructions, with phrases like "BRING YOUR TICKET OR RUIN THE ENTIRE EVENING." And then it was the night of the recital ($68 for tickets!). We were told to sit in the auditorium for the first number, which we dutifully did. It almost killed me. The first act was a bizarre 30-minute ordeal including obviously Jewish girls in long blonde wigs, Nancy Kelley lipsynching to various 80s power ballads, and a girl with Downs Syndrome piroutting perilously close to the front edge of the stage. It was quite a show. Sean said it was an acid trip, minus the acid. I had to avoid making eye contact with him, for fear that I'd have to run out of the auditorium in mid-cackle. Even my parents got to witness this mythic wonder of Natick, Mass.

It's naptime now, and my clicking is keeping everyone awake. I'll try to write soon about our first hike together in Vermont. I knew I found the perfect guy, but I had no idea I'd found the perfect hiking partner!

tired

After three days and forty miles of hiking, I have open sores on my feet and collarbones (?) and I'm *so* tired. But I made it to Vermont, and in one day less than I'd planned. You are probably thinking that I had lots of time to think, and so I probably had some amazing thoughts while I was out there, like how to solve this whole climate problem, or at least convince everyone that there isn't a problem. But the thing is, I had "Old Black Joe" stuck in my head the entire time, which really tempered the quality of my insights. But here's a quick summary:

- porcupines are scarier than any other woods-dwelling animals I've seen
- I don't want to hike alone anymore
- whoever made the AT north of Mt Greylock did not believe in switchbacks. (I'm not going to make a Guggenheim joke. They have switchbacks at the Guggenheim.)
- the appearance of a "bad weather bypass" trail means something heinous is coming up on the regular trail

And now I'm going to bed, in Massachusetts. But part of me is in Vermont.

made it!

greylock monument
Originally uploaded by maple's mama

I made it to the top of Mt. Greylock today. Huge thanks to my sweet pea, who encouraged me, and without that I might not have even tried. Tomorrow I get into Vermont!

june hike

koppers made the AT pole
Originally uploaded by maple's mama

This weekend, Sean, Maple, and I are in Lanesboro, Mass, for a hiking weekend extravaganza. I'm doing four day hikes, and Sean and Maple are doing lots of driving. Right now we're relaxing in our cabin, watching REAL HOUSEWIVES OF NEW JERSEY. I really love the contrast between my 10-mile hike in the gorgeosity of the Berkshires (in sunny weather!) and the REAL HOUSEWIVES OF NEW JERSEY. Awesomeness.

This telephone pole was made by my dad's ex-employer. It was a really nice pole at the intersection of Rt. 8 and Rt. 9 in Dalton, MA. I passed it during my 1.5-mile road walk. Did you know that if you live on High Street in Dalton, you actually live on the Appalachian Trail? I would love that. It's kind of fun walking through a town with white blazes on telephone poles. Tomorrow morning, I'm heading back into the woods, to Cheshire. If I'm up early and feeling good, I'll climb Mt. Greylock after that. Or, I might quit early and go eat embarrassing quantities of food.

I hope that by Tuesday, I'll have crossed the VT/MA state line, Maple will not be dead from boredom, and Sean will not have left me for a big-haired, botoxed, rich older woman from Jersey.

weekend update

We had a blissful weekend, which started at the Farmer's Market and ended, well, I'm not sure yet how it will end, but I think vegan coffee cake will be involved.

Saturday morning we woke up late. Sean was up early but Maple and I slept in until 10:30! I love that Maple is growing up and realizing the awesomeness of sleeping in on Saturday mornings. We walked Phoenix in her usual spot, the Natick Common, where the Natick Farmer's Market has started up again. We bought some local organic kale, sage, and arugula. Our CSA hasn't started yet, so we are enjoying the freedom of farmer's market purchases, before we are inundated with unchosen produce. Since there weren't too many vendors on the common this week, we drove over to the Natick Community Organic Farm (where I volunteered last week as part of my company's 8-hours-a-year-of-volunteer-time benefit) and got some greens and asparagus. We spent the rest of Saturday eating our bounty and relaxing.

Yesterday, we woke up and drove out to western Mass for the first hike of the year. Maple and Sean "crewed" for me, dropping me off at US 20 near Lee and picking me up on Pittsfield Road, outside of Becket, MA. I walked 9.4 miles of the Trail, putting me 37 miles from the VT border. After my hike we went to an Indian restaurant in Northampton and had great vegan potatoes, corn coconut curry, samosas and pakoras. And then we went home and watched TV.

In bed last night I was complaining (I've been doing that a lot lately) about my hiking boots. Last year I lost a toenail because of the stupid Keens, and yesterday the same toenail (the new one) really hurt after the hike. Sean asked me, "Why don't you take them back?" I thought he was kidding, but he was serious. Even though I bought them almost 10 months ago, I had to admit they sucked, and I either had to get new boots, or try to trade the Keens in for new boots. I hate taking things back, even if they are unworn, let alone 10 months old and well used (I walked to work in them all winter long, in addition to the 25 trail miles I did in them last year). But I did hate them, they did kill my toenail (which now grows straight out of my foot), and I always felt bad because they weren't vegan. (I used to call them "the cow boots"). And then Sean offered to take them back for me! He knows I hate that kind of stuff and he's really good at it.

So this morning he put together some receipts (we couldn't find the receipt for the boots but we found some other receipts to show we spend a decent amount of money at that store) and threw the shoes into the bag. And then we drove to EMS and Sean talked them into taking them back, and I got a pair of Garmont Vegan boots (the same ones I hiked most of the AT in back in 2001) on sale! The Vegans ended up being $22 less than the amount they gave us for the old Keen toekillers. I'm so grateful to Sean for foisting those old, dirty boots on them, and now I have vegan boots for my next hike!

Now Sean is making curry with roasted asparagus and potatoes, which smells amazing, and I'm planning for my next hike. I might finish MA next weekend! I have the best crew.

uno

I know it's dorky to brag, but Maple just won her first game of Uno, and it was the first game of Uno she ever played. It says the game is meant for ages 7+.

back

We got back to Natick yesterday, after spending a lovely and eventful week in Pittsburgh. We saw two cemeteries and three museums. We ate vegan cupcakes and vegan Buffalo wings. We saw a number of sentimental sites from my youth, including the house I grew up in. And we got to spend a lot of time with my parents, who are moving to Maryland later this year, and that move was really the impetus for the trip.

Two years ago, Sean and I planned to move to Pittsburgh, but we ended up outside Boston because I got a good job here. And partially because we didn't move to Pittsburgh (and partially because they are nuts), my parents started building a house in Maryland. So now I don't live in Pittsburgh and soon I won't be able to visit there either. Or at least, we won't have an excuse, or a place to stay. I am pretty bummed out about this, and that's why I dragged my faamily to suggested we spend a week in Pittsburgh.

Anyway we're back now and I'm feeling totally uninspired. I'm still reading my birthday books and learning alarming shit about the global economy and the impacts of civilization on the planet. Right now I'm watching William Blake die.

Sean sent an important package last week, and somewhere far away, gears are turning. It's sort of like developing film. In three months we'll see if he gets great pictures or if he left the lens cap on.

Five Years

Five years today.

bill and michelle, sittin' in a tree

P042109PS-0438
Originally uploaded by The Official White House Photostream

From the official white house photostream, Bill Clinton sneaks a look at Michelle Obama. Classic!

Commencement Address

This is the speech portia mentioned a few posts ago...i wrote it in '02 i think

Do go into the world, but…
Sean O'callaghan

I offer these words in the spirit of things I think it would have been neat to hear sooner. Even if you disagree with the content of these thoughts, I am sure you agree that it is a fine gesture to share uplifting discoveries with people younger than we were before discovering them.

"Keep it in your mind and not forget that it is not he, she, them, or it that you belong to." – Bob Dylan

Above all, trust and preserve your irreverence towards everything which promises to reward you for displacing you from yourself, and also toward things which promise to numb the pain you shall endure while trying to find and stay true to yourself. You will encounter many folks in your time who are cow dumb and half-finished; they are so for renouncing their own irreverence and unique sentiment in favor of wooden nickels, and bubbles of reputation. They are parrots and pick-pockets.

Do go into the world, but be watchful of its tendency to render one insensible of one's self. Treat our culture like the Theme Park that it really is, employing all manner of mascots, and choose rides and contests only because they intrigue you. Be as big as it is within you to be. This theme park is relentless in its application of pressure. It persuades most of the people I have ever known to isolate and exploit their first talent as quickly as possible, in order to climb ladders and secure more buying power. Rather, talent is the poetic charm nature endows us with so that we may come to rhyme ourselves. Though society beats one senseless with countless questions and attitudes, which are variations on a theme of, "If you are so smart, why ain't you rich?" – keep a cool head; resist the panic which transforms a man or a woman into a large, vicious hunk of meat, animated by just the tiniest of charges. The theme park thrives by turning potential dynamic individuals into monkeys who can turn a trick or two for sixty hours a week. You may earn nuts, but at the cost of yourself. "Learn a trick monkey, and we shall let you perform it in the theme park," is the standing offer. And with dignity, your response, always, "Thank you, but I shall learn of myself first and visit the theme park as I will, as an expression of my freedom, rather than as a venue for turning tricks." (It is heartening to be aware that I am aiding and abetting a spirit to life and caution regarding the theme park, which he is blessed in already having exposure to, being raised in this special place peopled with many maverick individuals. But the ethos of the world is a far cry from the haven which is Big Sur.) No matter if the theme park promises all its riches, it is abject poverty in comparison to the richness of self-possession.

Do go into the world, but use it to discover yourself, and everything else shall follow. Another thing. You will draw slings and arrows of outrageous fear and envy during your efforts to become a specific and realized personality. The vague and nebulous folks of the world turn vicious on individuals for reminding them of their own spiritual suicide.

Your greatest gain and your greatest loss is always your self. Engaging with the Theme Park is ever a long series of acting, thinking on your feet, and perfecting your voice.

Give yourself leave to express your most sincere and candid thought, and demand whether you have been heard or no. There is no rudeness in making sure you are being understood before another starts chattering back at you. People are unused to this and may at first be taken off guard. But awkwardness will soon give way to trust, and they will come to associate your presence and feedback with artfulness and clarity. Even if folks are unclear about the exact nature of your excellence, they will regard you in highest respect, and not knowing quite what it is, they shall know where it is. The people in your life will experience a fresh and superior possibility in communication and companionship. They will feel more confidence in listening to the quiet inner voice which notices that “this or that friendship or romance limps along on habit and requires of me for its continuance to be more dull-sighted and lifeless than I wish to be.” A desire for value is awakened, and nausea will let fall that of lesser import and passion. Dedication to imagination and dignity attracts the coolest of people and will underwhelm and repel the vulgar and the frivolous. Imagination is finest when dedicated to discovering itself, mutinous when ignored, and demeaned when indentured. Reflecting on experience teaches that the blunder and folly in a man's life results more from disregard of his common sense than a lack of it.

A most tricky tactic that the theme park employs to frighten one into remaining blank and unfinished is to convince one that something is amiss if one is not liked by all. The thing about praise is that there is never enough of it. One is better off never awakening a hunger for it or constructing an identity with it. We live in a moment during which folks are trading in their souls for self-esteems. Where the soul promotes inward movement, and seeks to honor itself, the self-esteem derives its value in the frantic accumulation of approbation and applause from others. For one to be liked by all, one must be empty. If too large an audience agrees with you, then you probably stand for nothing.

The genuine and precious are rare, and rightfully so, for a person who has found out their own preferences and has the courage to live by them, however they may evolve, even if new ones seem to contradict previous ones. Development is more gestational, transformative, and whole, than it is perfunctory, or nominal, or partial. Life is long and throughout it the caliber of souls with whom you wish to hold discourse will be those with sharp sight and unconditional love for the fact that you embrace many forms out of a striving to come into more complete contact with yourself. They shall recognize your spirit in every identity it submits to inhabit and even cherish each one as an opportunity to celebrate the parts of you to which it presently gives emphasis. Only cattle and automatons will find your movement hard to follow and discomfiting. They never even knew you to begin with. In your surface identity they see a reflection of their own and, unaware that you are playing with it only for a short while, they seem to take you to friend, but only because they can extract affirmation and confidence that they are correct and normal and all that. When your surface changes they will feel betrayed. Not playing at self-discovery, they are unable to understand that you are. The dear ones in your life recognize your essential self underneath all the roles that you try on, knowing that they are all rounded in by the law of your soul.

A joy and privilege won for enduring this arduous and long labor shall be when, sitting on a porch or standing around in a kitchen as an old duffer surrounded by old friends, each and every one an individual, you are relishing being in the company of the like.

Go into the world. It is unavoidable. Just be watchful during the commotion that you don't slip through your fingers. Your soul is as pure and plenteous as the air, and if cut off from either too long, you will turn pale, cold, and lifeless.

I hope that I've shared more with you than my oddness.

[With honor and in good-humored provocation I wrote and delivered this commencement address at the first Big Sur Charter School graduation.]