abstract behavior

End of semester ruminations, meditations, cogitations, abstractions (these have always been the most gratifying). Filling with vital wellness, the war zones from the semester start to dissipate: my body instinctively melts back into suppleness. Super successful semester and learned a lot as an educator, a colleague, serial-expat, Homo sapien. You get the picture here? I'm going deep today people.

Keeping up with the news these days is stressful, yet highly anticipatory. Maybe it simply resulted from a challenging semester? At any rate, as I trotted back home daily, I treated myself to the news back home in America, and podcasts, and knitting. Season of the Knit y'all. Deep Space #1

So much has happened. Here's the summary: Seth Abramson on twitter; Robert Muller; Chris Hayes news show, Preet Bhahara's *Stay Tuned With Preet, Fashion Hags podcast, *Intercepted with Jeremy Scahill podcast, *You Might Remember This (specifically the Charles Manson series) podcast. As always I continue my semi- fascination with: *My Favorite Murder podcast,  various How-to knitting YouTube snippets (the nails... all their nails are, generally, so polished as they casually explain how to get out of some knitting snafu. I'm totally getting into those, and critiquing them. Yes, must be all those narrative essays I've been reading the last 1/3 of this semester...

Anyhow, yes, peeling off the layers of the semester. I fucking dig this feeling. I cultivate this essence. I deserve it. I gave somebody a massage last week and man it felt good to get back into traditional arts. To use my hands so creatively, to heal another fellow human being, and no computer on, sitting over a screen, talking to an audience that demands your attention (in such a good way this semester!), etc. Haha, this is more difficult, the shedding of the semester's shenanigans!

But I digress... So yes, incense, sweet almond oil, Tiger Balm, Tibetan Monks chanting with singing bowls (YouTube saves the evening- again), and listening to breaths, following networks of stress balls that you can feel bursting as you attack them. That feeling when you dissolve some area of stress and your massage table victim is nearly asleep. Good to heal people. Gratifying.

Scene: 6 am lying in bed drinking a Frangelico coffee... after an evening out with some fellow lovelies to one of our favorite haunts.  They make the best 'latinos' (totally stupid name for a large draft beer with a shot of tequilla inside, lime juice and salted rim (with crusted pomegranate). Anyway... yes, this exists here- in case you're wondering. I feel like I could be at Charley's, in Paia, Hawaii, or Omar's (Ashland, Oregon), or Teddy Beer (Istanbul, Turkey), or the Italian Arms (Tunis, Tunisia), or Rik's (Manama, Bahrain), or Zelda's (Capitola, Califiornia), or just any cozy neighborhood bar/restaurant with a scenic view.  This scene just so happens to span the horizon with a 240º view maybe, looking at the foothills towards Iran, etc.

The conversation spanned across broad and narrow disciplines; dream-time journeys, fashion, art, politics, fabric, food, literature, poetry, school (occasionally), surfing, vision quests, ceremony, travel...

Wanderlust. Under a 2-week countdown watch currently. Man I DIG this feeling, too. That pre-travel 'feeling'. Super sweet vibes here folks. Pure ecstasy. 

All week the big-wave surfing events were occurring- with the majority being held in Hawaii. I tuned into the Jaws Challenge, the 2nd leg of the big wave series. The first being Nazare, Portugal (which is a seriously sweet spot on this planet and have been contemplating this area on my slowly growing list of where to purchase a property), then Maui, and then off to Maverick's, just north of Santa Cruz. Yea, another sweet spot that had much significance in my life and formation of myself as an individual entity, Santa Cruz.

So Jaws swooped down and took me outta reality all this past week. So fun getting home, cooking some dinner, settling on the couch and getting cozy (yes it's getting chilly here now y'all), grabbing my current knitting project. Setting up the laptop on a big pillow and watching all the heats and seeing Maui and the surf, and the coastline, and the landscape... So much love for the planet.

So, this has been my mind frame as of late. I woke up at 5 am somehow (after falling asleep during the semi-finals 2nd heat) and put on coffee. Why not stay up and listen to eARTh rhythms while Suli sleeps peacefully. This city I call home. It works. But the village... The village where I plan to rest my head for many moons... This name I not know, yet. I'm plotting though. Portugal, Italy. That's the short-list. I have to say though, France (thank you Marseilles for being super awesome and grabbing my attention, unexpectedly yet in retrospect expected with serendipitous flair), could be a distant third.

When I have the time to indulge, I have been researching overseas properties. Another feeling full of abundance that makes my insides shine. Thinking about this time next year stokes me out even more! I'm slowly amassing a question bank for this task so I can make a logical choice. My logic concerns closeness to the ocean first/foremost. Next is locating a village fairly close to a medium-sized city. 

So, early this morning I'm back in bed, Frangelico coffee in hand (weekend, folks), laptop open positioned on lap (makes sense, right?), twitter-tweeting. First up, Chris Hayes (one of my fav, fun, geeky newspersons) is up with a photo of a sunset on Mars.  What ensued is pure internet relevance; robot-memes waving their hands back at the landing craft, with the original sunset photo behind some dark, threatening-looking Martin foothills- or mountain ranges, I guess it depends on perspective.

Current research projects coming up, along with my American sojourn are as follows, researching Italian immigration via grandparents, as well as looking into legalities of owning property in Portugal and Italy.

Kitties! It has been 11 months since I saw the Kitts. It's definitely tough being apart. I see how content they are, roaming around indoors/outdoors, and I know it's all good. What a life they have been having. From scrappy street kittens tasting death, Starr rescued them and it all unfolded from there. Bahraini kitties, sigh. 

Time to slink into the day here. It's 7:30 am and I have at the top of my list of one thing to do today- nothingness. Slink into nothingness. Ahhh. Running, yoga, meditation,  food, incense, da kine. Nothingness is awesome. I covet nothingness. I am natural nothingness.

So yea, here I be y'all. Hope it all made sense


Groove Thursday morning

Finally! A weekend to devote, mostly, to 'maintenance'; spiritual maintenance.

Out on my lanai drinking cold coffee and eating leftover potato chips this morning while surveying evidence from last night's shenanigans... Great to cut loose when you need to!

It's a fine morning here in the Cradle of Civilization: puffy clouds scattered across the horizon, linking up to one another towards the eastern mountains, yoga, grooving to a live house set from DJ Gabrielle over on Waheke Island in the southern hemisphere (NZ), exfoliating, tweezing, nail-polishing, thinking, creating, etc.

Soul food is real. I'm devouring since earlier this morning. Ah yes, consume that Soul Food. A tantalizing breeze across the city reminds me of the coming weather. This time of year is sweet.



Every Day is a MythHollyday

deep inside the bowels of Tuni Baba, Iraqi Kurdistan

Every Day is a MythHollyday

Equinox:  aequi- 'equal'     nox- 'night'  (Latin)

Autumnal Equinox: This land holding a firm grip to the sun beating down upon its earth, incessantly. The battle nearly won. Soon night shall prevail. This day brings change with equal hours of daylight and night. Tomorrow we are renewed: Winter is coming.

As I gaze into the bright morning sun beating down on my lanai here in the Cradle of Civilization, the rhythm of summer seems to want to reign supreme still. The marching clouds in the distance advance, they are equipped with a different story-ending. Fearless and fearful of the sun perhaps, they dance around and into the sun's path. As of right now, the sun has its way. Soon its time is up. Give in to the natural rhythms, please!

This transition holds much lore involving celestial science, oral traditions, and myth. I am attracted to THIS. In our modern world we are so far removed from eARTh rhythms unless we seek out the silence that opens up the channels to this awareness. Awareness. aWAReness. It is in a sense a war...

In ancient Greece Persephone returns to the underworld where Hades, her husband, dwells.

Ancient Mesopotamia and 3rd millennium Ur marked the change with the Akītu. Because the autumnal equinox marks the time when the moon is visible longer than the sun, it seems natural that the people of Ur revered Nanna (Inanna/Ishtar)- their patron (moon) deity at this time. Babylon, Uruk, Nippur, etc. all seem to have similar Akitu festivals, but with minute differences. Difficulty in interpretations, of course, result due to gaps in recovered documents (cunneforms) and interpretations.

Magikal traditions of autumn are especially potent, so I always like to delve deeper into my own 'Bewitching Hour' ruminations. After all, darkness is a beautiful thing; it's where seeds germinate. In terms of our subconscious, it's the center of power and so potency, IMHO.

Recently I've dusted off my tarot cards and indulged in giving a friend a reading. Intuitively, tarot necessitates reflection and observations of the natural world that can guide us in the present. It's an enormous task with responsibility attached. We are losing touch with eARTh vibrations, and context is blanketed with a myriad of external influences that work in equally mysterious ways. Just yesterday I picked back up my protractor and started messing around with geometrical shapes. Time to sink deeper, yes.

This coming autumnal equinox, I feel, is already tugging at my being. I am absorbed with seeking out the mysteries of this land I call home at this time. I am a blank slate eager to decipher cuneiform inscriptions that will etch themselves into my memory, my DNA coding.

So yea, that's where I'm at on this fine day. The Bewitching Hour of the autumnal equinox draws near; 5 am tomorrow or thereabouts. Such as the dying off of the crops with a procession of renewal of the eARTh, so shall I shed my past that no longer serves as once beneficial.

Okay, more coffee...


in the zone: I am woman, hear me ROAR


Holding Pattern

I've been on a 'holding pattern' for the past month or so- as in 'holding my shit together' pattern... Summer fever and working through summer; tough challenge, but I accepted it with as much grace as I could muster. The semester is starting to wind down now and the 2-week countdown has begun I'm elated to report.

World Cup fever has also taken over our crew here. Being on this side of the world (close (enough) to Russia) means that game-timing is quite excellent. We assemble at some local watering hole and watch the game under the stars and just shooting the shit basically. Good fun. Good crew. Good shenanigans.

Last night we hit up the Dubliner Irish Pub, our second choice. Our current favorite, 'Vogue', was all booked up. The tele is mega-huge, and it just kinda reminds me of the drive-in theatre daze- not that that was around when I was growing up. Actually I remember them mostly because of going to the swap meet with my dad on Saturdays.

This one we went to a lot was in the parking lot of a drive-in movie theatre. He would be wearing that raffia sombrero and walking around with glee looking at all the gadgets, wires, and all-things seemingly broken and useless. Yea, those aisles were his favorite aisles. When the owner of such fine curiosities would come up to us, my father would go into his 'demonstration mode' with his hands. Always the hands. Talking. Then the camaraderie would come about between inquisitor and seller. They spoke the same language. They spoke the language where hard-working men from immigrant families talk story- their stories. Yea,

Yea, those hands shaped me. Damn. I miss the shit outta him some days. Since I'm the youngest of 5, half my siblings had already left home when I was starting that staring-silently-while-questioning- life-around-me phase,  I spent a lot of time just hanging out with him on the weekends. Oftentimes he and my brothers could be found in the garage- working on projects: radio-controlled airplane building and repairs, working on cars, organizing tools- yea, that kinda family. My core is that (IMHO) solid foundation that produced my basic principles that I always challenge myself to live up to.

Ah family time.

But I digress... That was a great tangent to follow- great memories of my father add to my Saturday Morning Sanctuary Space. You know this space as all my previous 'blogging day' spaces; in bed with fresh french press coffee. The kitties are profundly missed. Their progress as 'dreamers' is going well. They are fully adapted into Pacific Northwest Americana Kitty Kat Kulture. Their family adventures continue on in spirit, and various social media, this Chapter. Damn the kitts; adorables!

Speaking of french presses, last summer I picked up this all kinds of awesome stainless steel french press on amazon. It is easily one of my most coveted items that made the cut in shifting spaces and heading to Iraqi-Kurdistan mode.

Back to the Russia World Cup 2018, last night's game was kinda a bummer; Brazil lost to Belgium. Admittedly, they played a solid game; Brazil just could not find a space opening up for them to score. Another game tonight awaits!

Back to the main idea I originally had for today's entry... 6-week vacation mode coming on strong. The long, slow build-up is so worth the wait. I'm gleeful just visualizing organization:

Step 1: Basically, spin the globe. Figure out main theme: yoga/sun/surf/Portugal. Then, change to Plan B (Thailand), then Plan C (Sri Lanka). Plan C was pulling HARD at me; had me nearly convinced that monsoon season won't be so bad- which I firmly believe is the case, but, Plan E (original Plan A) came back around again, after Plan D's inception, Morocco. Haha, yes. Step 1 has a delicate balance between wanderlust and logistics. The figuring out of flights, flight awards, multi-city itineraries, etc. Such matters lessen the stoke factor in those moments of frustration between different airfare websites, getting all the damn pass-codes together, etc. Exhausting that part, but then FINALLY one day it all comes together (this morning for me): Flying into Lisbon, and outta Marseilles back to Suli with stopovers in Istanbul, of course. Think about including Plan D, as well as semi-dwell on newly formulated (this morning!) Plan F: Marseilles! I haven't taken a look-see in Marseilles since 2001. I'm curious. I'm stoked. Then I was also thinking about a cruise through the second-hand clothing shops in Paris... All over the place I am. A solid plan, I was KINDA looking forward to tropics though... Alas.

Step 2: organize all tedious stuff: passport/currency info/train information/necessary documents for proof of existence- if necessary... Also included in this step is reviewing in my mind things that I need to gather. Put the backpack in an underused corner somewhere in the apartment and just lay it open and as I walk by here and there, as I remember things I just drop it into the bag. Don't even attempt to look at its contents piling up daily. Deal with it later.

Step 3: Later... Process of elimination. This step always makes me feel smarter- about everything. I'm really good about packing light (for trips ONLY, as I have a (some would say reckless habit of over-packing when I make my moves). Everything gets used, AND there is always room for exotic fabric purchases... If there isn't, boom get the cheap-ass duffel bag you got down in the bazaar and fill it with goodies!

Step 4: Plastic zip-lock baggies

Step 5: Just do it.

That's it for today folks, peace.


May The 4th Be With You

Spring Fever in full blossom here in the +964. Birds chirping, a fresh vibe envelops the atmosphere. Last night saw some heavy rain following a spectacular sheet lightning show through the clouds and buildings.

We were enjoying a bottle of Lebanese red out on the lanai when the sky violently tore open and cut loose. A mad dash inside, we scrambled to pick up our scattered accoutrements on the ground and take the party inside. From the comfort of the living room we droned on about life, love and the pursuit of happiness- as we do.

The weekend has arrived! I've settled into a comfortable routine here in my 4th month in KRD. My happy place HQ is my lanai. After a whirlwind trip to Istanbul during break, I returned with my belongings and finished 'setting up shop'.

Of course the trip included several unexpected hitches. Most memorable was the bus breaking down about 30 minutes from the border late in the night...

We, a group of seven- myself being the sole female, were traveling from Suli to Diyarbakir. I was anticipating the journey through the Assyrian Empire. Watching the moving picture show as we rolled along down the winding highway, the route cut through swaths of Fertile Crescent ancient pre-history much to my delight. A keen observer, my imagination wandered.

Dusk cloaked the physical landscape, provoking my mental running storyline to run into overdrive. Memories flooded of my travels through America with Johnny and Truck. I dozed off and on as I tried my best to settle into a comfortable position for the long journey through the night to the border.

The empty palace (bus) suddenly awakened. Slowing down, we were headed down a dirt path. Oh, is this where we get hijacked? No. Now wide awake, my traveling parter and myself discuss the drivers remiss hours before when we were barreling down the highway and hitting more than a few speed bumps at full speed... Something has gone awry.

Perhaps 10 pm, we all spilled out of the bus and stared as the driver, who had already called a mechanic, who was staring at the bus. Said mechanic rocks up in an Audi moments later and gets to work. Not sure of the problem, we settled down into our new scene on the movie set. Down and out somewhere between Zakho and the Ibrahim Khalil border crossing in the dead of the night.

Stars chattering and friendly dogs waging their tails greet us along with a lone nightwatchman of the area; keeper of the street dogs. Cigarettes are passed around. When in Rome...

Soon chai follows. From out of nowhere a delivery guy shows up with a fresh pot. As the only female on this movie set, my thoughts immediately run to, 'where am I going to go to the bathroom if needed'? I politely decline the chai.

During the next few hours new acquaintances and friendly conversations ensue. Keeping a low profile I get out my Ipad and start typing away, not wanting to let this newly-forming script disappear into the recesses of my internal hard drive.

At some point, we learn that the bus will not continue on with us on our journey. Everybody assembles in the bus to collect their things. We amble down the dirt road in the direction of the highway where we will wait until another bus comes along and picks us up.

Our new chariot arrives, fully packed. Ugh. This border crossing is definitely going to be long and unpleasant. Fortunately there is a double seat where we get to sit together in the back of the bus. All eyes on us, the only yabangees (foreigners *westerners*), we settle into the journey. Sleep arrives. But not for long. Soon enough we hit the border.

Something is up. As the token yabangees, we get interrogated by both bus driver assistant as well as passengers. Could we transport the black bags of cigarettes that seems every passenger possesses? We politely decline. Moods change. 

At the border such pomp an circumstance follows in a series of events. Giving passports/residency cards, getting them back, getting off the bus as it is searched, getting back on the bus, etc. This sing-song continues on for a few rounds, and we haven't even gotten to the official border procedural event.

Perhaps four hours later we are back on the bus driving on Turkish soil. Sleep. Sunrise knocking on my window, I awake to a spectacular scene. The hills are illuminated and sparkling this warm dreamy glow. There is no more sleep to be had when tasked with this situation. More pounding away on the keyboard.

the bus drops us off about 300 meters from the front door of the Diyarbakir Airport. Journey #1 ends. We get off and walk through the security area where the guards seem confused that we are walking. A taxi pulls us and asks us to get in for the remaining 200 meters... Weird. We decline.

Journey #2 goes off without a hitch. Arriving at Attaturk Airport in Istanbul, we go our separate ways. Feels good to be back. It's going to be an awesome four days. Indeed it was.

Next time I'll cover the return trip. Such highlights include a 16-hour unexpected layover in Baghdad- Airport... Ahhh Iraqi Airways, you disappoint...


armchair traveling

Sargalau, Iraqi Kurdistan region

Just another morning of pondering…

Dazzling sunlight streams onto my lanai (balcony) as I sip coffee and greet the day. It’s the last day of the semester and all is well in my world. Another milestone achieved in another country, I’m anticipating my upcoming adventure traveling through northern Iraq to Diyarbakir, southeastern Turkey next week.

I drift off into the past, seeking insights into the stories from these ancient paths. The caravanserai (resting spots for weary travelers and business people) where peoples from all over the ancient world would find themselves together for a night or two and tell their tales, eat, rest: Where they are from; what they are transporting; their destinations, etc.

In my mind I contribute to this ritual. I seek solace in the past, perhaps running away from the present confusions from a global world and all the ensuing difficulties. What has really changed though? From oral histories to cuneiform tablets to papyrus to paper to computer, humanity desires to create some sort way to immortalize their actions as their physical bodies decay. How do I weave my story into something finite?

I also desire to share ideas, stories, coffee with people. These brief moments of time shared, how to etch these soliloquies into a timeline that endures the shifting sands of time where I can return to at my will- whatever the physical coordinates I dwell in at any given time?

Sirens ring out in the distance. My coffee needs refilling, yet I can’t be bothered in this moment to shift into ‘that’ reality. Birds are chirping, palm trees are swaying, clouds are marching, and I am pondering. I stick around in THIS reality, waiting to intercept another story that surely will materialize through this diaphanous portal.

But, coffee…Time to disturb the past and enter the present. A sudden downpour! Perfect timing.


And the dark night will give you the day. (that Special Feeling-March 30: My most favorite bewitching hour- the storm commenced)

Tonight Suli opened up to me

(I love Airdrop; sometimes technology really gets it right. It's so fucking useful)

Anyway, Still washed aglow with that feeling one can get when they think they must have been the only earthling to witness an event. That feeling.

It was a crazy night *yawn* The day started trotting off to the bank. Yay! I finally was approved *yawn* for a bank account. I hadn't ridden in that direction since last week so knew about the civil servants strike, but hadn't seen it. There are tents set up, the road is closed so everyone has to circumvent. This region is so interesting, fragile yet with a core strength that inspires.

A few hours spent at the uni, and let the weekend commence. Oh yea, then I ended up back at said bank again- just joyriding this time though. My next super-exciting mundane stunt? I pulled off another Carrefour journey. I actually got to check one thing off my "to buy" list- a fan. I predict this next week to be the week that weather dictates I will need a fan...

There is just come comfort in knowing there is 1 grocery store with exactly 1 aisle that is dedicated to 'health food'. I know. It's not Mana Foods, or Ashland Co-op, but it's there. Another small victory is knowing that I already this was going to be the case, so faithfully every new move to new country I pack exactly 1 suitcase FULL of potions. It's like Christmas all the time for me; looking in my bathroom cabinet and see all those Dr. Bronner Organic Soap bottles awaiting...

PICK ME, PICK ME, they silently scream out at me when I peruse. Just last week I finished my Almond soap. I opened up that treasure chest of delight *squeal* and lustfully mulled over my choices: Peppermint (old #1), Almond (new #1 for 3 years running), Eucalyptus (unexpected pleasure), and Lavender (kinda going on the outs- yes, you can tell I chose this one).  And then there is the Skin Trip Mountain High Coconut body lotion, you fans know- that same one that hasn't changed in 20+ years. I love potions from home for sure.

Steering back on course now...

As you can tell, I'm still in that 'honeymoon' phase of a new area... Everyone seemed to (somewhat reluctantly) agree to hang low and we'd all resurface tomorrow evening, so I followed suit. I ate the entire box of bonbons (as I do) that my friend turned me onto that night at Carrefour when we were supplying for another's tequilla-themed birfday soiree. It has evolved into monthly tradition: Carrefour means payday means box of bonbons to devour in less than an hour. It works. Also, the chocolate soy milk, and the bubble water...

Continuing on...

The night was spent binge-listening to My Favorite Murder podcast and knitting my-totally-awesome-still-in-formation-pencil-skirt. I've come to an impass though, and need some critical consultations from friends in the know.

Eating. Yes, eating also played an important role. Spiritual binge-eating I call it. All week at work I only eat a (huge) salad, so that 1st night of weekend it's a grabbag. I dozed-off staring at the skyline as My Favorite Murder droned on in the background fuzz- something about their live show in Anaheim...

On a side note, I've LOVED watching these Murderino ladies evolve the past few years. I'm not even sure how I first found their podcast. I think it was Katie or Diana? I've turned quite a few friends onto this podcast. Istanbul, with the kitties, and the KnitWits (our group of wayward drinkers with a knitting problem during Snowpocalypse 2017. Yosemite, high in the Sierra Nevadas on the Merced River at the rock, by the Trailer Girlz pad. That was suck a fucking awesome headquarters. Twas also a great run. I did always think I was going to run into a bear- every day. Or a mountain lion. Heehee. Flying to Hawaii on 5 episodes. In Ashland at The Kitts groove pad listening to them outside on the lanai staring into raw SoOr landscape that can only be southern Oregon. Every trip I take, My Favorite Murder comes along for the ride (No Agenda, Snoop Dogg's GGN, Lore and Two Dope Queens podcasts too).

MFMs content- it's  just interesting, and funny in an organic kinda way- from the beginning. Random. Love it.

Back in bed later, I slumbered. Something woke me up. Thinking it was much earlier in the Bewitching Hour, I got up. I love roaming the halls at this hour. Always. All ways. It's that da kine abstract daze, my nocturne. Its arrangement of line, form and color leave my breathless and eager to indulge in its texture. Mood. Moulding. Nocturne. It's on.

What a fucking amazing display of nature follows. Darkness interrupted with horizontal streaks of lightning. I realized this grumble was rolling thunder. What a delightfully agitated scene I am witness to. I sensed rain to follow. This land knows. I know.  Just waiting.

My lanai is so inviting. Settling in, here comes the rain. A brief appearance and once again all is quiet (well, it is a city and all but it's still relatively 'quiet' as far as cities go). Thinking the show was over I debated going back to sleep, grabbing my computer to write...It was already 5 am. My internal rhythm's ego injured (thought it was 3 amish), I sat in disbelief. Get over it. Boom.

Light has broken through the greydation sky and suddenly a hugh 'crack' and the sky lets looks little balls of hail. The size of a Cocoa-Puff, they hardly stuck yet hail nevertheless. The moment was soon over. What a moment though. How fantastic to witness this event up in the foothills I imagine. Time to explore the hills. Perhaps that should be tonight's get together. Yes. I'll offer it up to the local local branch of the general council of weekenders' KRG shenanigans.

I realize I'm supposed to go hiking these very hills today, but that will likely be cancelled by this eternal downpour. I guess I'll just chill and watch the show from the couch unless I can wrangle anyone into some explorations. Oh, just realized this likely means no Nepalese food sellers down in the park today, or a run today.

It's nearly 8 am. Time to make coffee...


I spy

Friday morning; stillness. 

On my lanai listening to the birds. Only birds. Birds and Chinese Fan Palms. Two ghost apartment buildings standing like skeletal monoliths standing guard. Pigeons, squatters, take refuge there. Twenty four floors I count in each. I wonder what their story is. 

I spy street kitties. One is darting underneath parked cars, traversing its hunting grounds perhaps. I wonder what they hunt. Finally a meow!  A woman that lives in the building walking her dog passes by said kitty. 

I spy a car parallel parking. A five-minute endeavor. Fascinating. Going on month three here in KRD, I've made some observations. There are a lot of SUVs here. Gas must be cheap here... Certainly a hella lot cheaper than in Turkey. I didn't see a lot of SUVs there. The SUVs here aren't as massive as they are in the Gulf, but they do exist in abundance here. That is all, on pondering automobiles anyway.

I hear music off in the distance. If it's the cami, then the loudspeaker isn't working properly. This city, it's interesting. I wander the streets, almost feeling as if I'm cloaked, as I go about my business- whatever it might be. It feels normal, natural even. 

Coffee. French roast with a hint of pecan wafts through the air. That first strong sip feels warm and supple against my lips. It's comforting. I'm not that person that needs it to function though. I am my father's daughter, in that I'm compelled to activate upon waking. Coffee helps to slow this process down. It gives me the time to simply chill for a while as I connect with my other characteristics that many times take a back seat because, well that's life. You gotta go to work, and in order to do that, you gotta plan your day, etc. Coffee serves as my 'just chill the fuck out for a few minutes and let your intuition sort out some things semi-consciously, so things will be pono (in balance)".  

So, Suli here in the NW of the country lies in the foothills of the Zagros mountains. I'm currently re-reading The Epic of Gilgamish (I first read it when living in Bahrain), and Suli was the land of Zamua. The area dates back to The Flood and plays a prominent role, but in this (Sumerian) version Utnapishtim rids himself of all his possessions and builds The Preserver of Life, which lands atop Mount Nisir (thought today to be Pir Omar Gudrun here). After releasing all the animals, he and his wife are granted immortality. 

As I understand it, The Lullutu lived in Zamua, predating Assyrian and Sassanian invasions (dating from 880 BC to the end of the 3rd century). Zaman became known as Sharizor. Under Ottoman control (17th century), it became Baban, named after its 'founding fathers'. There is some connection here to a family of Georgian Mameluks- but I haven't researched this, yet. This seems to be the starting point for Slemani's 'modern era'.

*why doesn't coffee stay warm forever*

There is some sort of walking tour of the historic houses of Slemani- which is next up on my list of sites to see. 

The 'hood is starting to show signs of movement, it's now 9 am. I still hear music in the distance, along with the white noise of traffic. The birds do not accept taking back seat to the cacophony of sounds though. 

Looking up, I spy the pigeons roosting onside their austere-grey skeletal alcoves spying down across the land just doing their thing. In this moment I feel the sun warming up the land of Zamua. Taking off my hoodie, I'm ready to soak up the stories that might offer up in whispers.



...and in that instant, everything changed

stories from da `hood

...(l)and in that instant, everything changed. Something shifted alright.
transported back to El Portal and the seductive Merced (river). Further back I travel- back to any of those days, any of those lands- but the song remains the same; lying on a beach, some grass, the floor of my apartment, whatever. I am always looking up into the sun, as it warms my body.

You can take da wakine (girl) out of the beach, but never the beach outta da wahine. Hawaii, so many days staring into space and watching my thoughts, psyche, march by in steady rhythm- until something alters. Yea, these moments are exquisite. I covet them. So much thinking occurs on my lanai, while relaxing out in the sun. So.much.primal.pondering. The elixir. I found my dose, and apply it at every chance.

One of my favorite 'early-move' moves (~ 1-3 months) into a new living situation is to secure a beach chair, outside lounging furniture, and ambient lighting (still to come that one- outside of candles). Spirits help! All da kine fixings shape my reality. Every place different, yet every place connected- geographically, yet also spiritually. Spirituality, whatever it is, there is familiarity. Deep down in some powerful rhythm, worked by some powerful wizards (beings to tangible objects), whatever it is, wells up and needs to express itself. I guess this is my addiction that cultivated. It is me. 

So yes, here I am in KRD, connecting to my internally-wired hard drive looking at my photo stream from last summer: The Yosemite Chapter. The SoOr. Chapter. The Kas Chapter. The Laguna Beach Chapter. The Hawaii Chapter. The Gaziantep Chapter, etc... All are an inner-connected web. Not linear (the work of science). The work of nature (rhythm). For this knowledge I am sane.

I guess that's about all. I wasn't really thinking to post, but while sitting here on my lanai, knitting my pencil skirt (side 1), listening to Suli Sounds. Earlier I thought I heard an accordion. I haven't heard the sax in over a week. I hear children every day playing outside at the playground. Squeals of delight I tell you.

Then there are the two street kitties that faithfully come to the common area. WhitePaw, as some kid named kitty, is quite affectionate, very dirty, and reins as co-regent. The other co-regent is a tiger kitty. I can never understand what its name is. The two work you together as 1 entity, even though they aren't friendly with each other, at all really. They are felines. They are smart. We bond.

That kitty bond, though... The Kitts have my heart. Sometimes I'll be watching Brittania (new on my radar along with The Plebs and Altered Carbon coming up), or whenever and The Kitts are right there with me. We are cruising around the kitchen, I fret while they consider the balcony-which is open and so a scary option for any cat caretaker, we all hang out together doing our 'mundane' routine called life... All that, I miss.

But The Kitts are evolving splendidly. Warms my heart while making me forget how dastardly Sami Bey could be- with his ability to annihilate favorite fabrics   Every person that has catsat has a story that will unravel, such as a favorite item of clothing would when Sami Bey would masticate it into a black hole of death. Fortunately, he is LOVED so dearly and we cat-proof all fabric we covet...

Sami haze

hypnopompic Shaika

Shaika Spot; rabble-rouser extraordinaire. She knows how to satisfy her political agenda. She can shred, with her eyes all the while she is watching you stealthily. Wanting a reaction, she fidgits when I finally catch onto her vibe, that she's been vibing for likely minutes previously, slowly weaving her web until I fall victim. She is an adorable Svengali, and Sami Bey is duped into it. Always falls for it. He's onto her now, so now he indulges for a higher purpose. This is how they roll. I know...

So yea, that about wraps it up. I don't think I have any other tangents to stray off on. If I do, I'll save them up for the next communique. Haha, I just realized that I left off with my knitting mid-row (150-stitch long row) to write up this post.

I guess the thing to walk away with after reading this is that you understand how much I enjoy lounging in the sun.

                                                                       As always, no proofing


Somber Sunday

Newroz! Spring has spring here in the K.R.D

My staycation here in Sulaymaniyah continues. I woke up yesterday with an ever-so-mildly-annoying headache *hangover?*. It certainly wasn't a 'wild' evening; I had some friends over and we just chilled talking story(ies) about Hawaii, Lebanon, and Australia respectively. We covered the world- the universe actually- right here from 35.5570° N, 45.4359° E,  Iraqi Kurdistan- affectionately known as 'Slemani.'

I had been wanting to visit various museums here in the city so staycation offers a perfect opportunity to finally chill out and check out the city (most days I'm skooling myself about 3 books deep into grammar tagging- yes you know, breaking down sentences into its most basic parts... *le gran sigh*).

So, here's the breakdown of my day:

First off is the bank. It's taking a long time to get * be approved for * a bank account here. What place does one have to be approved to give an institution money? First I needed my Kurdish Residency card to apply. That done, it's been over 2 weeks, and...

Walking into the bank, after a light frisking- either physically or with just a 'you good' nod, depending on who's standing guard at the entry. Banks are serious biz here folks. I stared at the machine for a few moments- it clearly offers English directions as well, but I still stare. Every time. I sit and wait for that number to be called and pass my time people-watching.

Not much happens as I relay my story to the bank lady. I'm just wondering if my account opening has been approved. It has been 15 days after all. Phone calls made, information received (takes 18 days), feel I have made a major accomplishment in this task in that I have had confirmation on what I had previously suspected to know... A secondary tidbit was that as I was sitting there with the teller (yes, civilized- we sit here and transact), two colleagues walked in! I already know people out and about in the city! Major score for sure. I'm surely becoming localized.

I have finally succumbed to the quite normal ritual of having phone credits with internet access. Yea, I know. Why did it take so long. It certainly makes navigating around much easier... This means that I have to carry around my phone in my hand. Feels weird, but I finally get to where I'm headed anyway- after a slight detour (I didn't believe the GPS). Or, it was just a difficult building to locate. After all, I had just arrived at the Amna Sukara...

The Amna Sukara is the old HQ building of the Iraqi intelligence agency, the Mukhabarat. Under Saddam's (Hussein) rule, it was a most dark chapter.

Here's an article with a decent explanation of what happened inside its walls. I don't really want to even talk about my feelings experienced there. It's darkness and this vibe washes over you as you walk about, your mind simply blown while reading the words- words from the brochure, words written on the cell walls from detainees there... Fuck, it's fucking heavy. Then, you see some sort of beauty in some pictures, in the refugee camps or something. Something catches your eyes, the surrounding hills, the camps, the close-up shots of the people, and you sense a beauty within, and there's just this feeling of... I don't know. You have a sense of guilt for finding something beautiful from this capture of dark history. Art. Art is healing, bittersweet, ugly, beautiful- all at the same time and so there is this arrangement of fucked up emotions that consume... That's the best articulation of words that I can muster up in this moment. Yea, read the article.


Okay, now with some background, here is my eyefull:

the Hall of mirrors


something about irony and shit, coming out of the ammunition hall and all...
nothing like some fabric to put a smile back on my face though

I want...

So I'm deep in the beginning phase of my pencil skirt I'm knitting now so...

'Chemical Ali'; his desk...

After the darkness, heading out into the light

 Well, that certainly made for Somber Sunday. Wanting to readjust my kaleidoscope, I headed out on foot down to the Slemani Archaeology Museum.



Babylonian, Assyrian, Hurrian, Sassanian, Sumerian, Akkadian... Essentially it's a timeline extending back from pre-history up to the Abbasid Islamic Period. It's a sweet little museum packed full of history, and herstory. A volunteer came up to me, a local woman, and went around with me. She was clearly excited to talk about each piece. We had a great time, trying to negotiate words in both English and Kurdish. Heart swelling!

This was the perfect closure for my day of explorations! Yes, a successful Explorer's Club kinda day hitting up 2 museums. Satiated, I trotted off towards my favorite park, Bakhi Gshty. No sign of the South Indian and Nepali families that are there every Friday selling their homemade food, I trotted off towards the bazaar. I had one last item on my agenda- fabric cushions for my lanai (deck). I already knew where to go. BOOM. Fifteen minutes later, I'm cruising out with 2 sets of cushions in hand. I flop into a taxi and away we go.

Here's a little snippet of information on Sulaymaniyah, in case you're curious.


In other relevant news, spring is here. My 2 indicators went into high alert this past week: First, my coconut oil is at its most PERFECT consistency right now. Not solid yet not oil, it's just right... Last, no more comforter for sleeping. Yep, just a sheet and a smallish blanket- my new favorite from Yosemite!

Last, sound vibes this morning provided by Gabrielle. Ah memories flood from back on Maui in the day when the group pumping out beats and dancing in the jungle until sunrise. Good shit.


Peace from Iraqi Kurdistan,



giving thanks to the birth of Spring: Newroz

Newroz spiritual cleanse

Newroz: 2018 Spring Fling

statement of disinterest: I am totally disinterested in proof-reading this... Beware if you are a non-believer... (what does that even mean? lol) 

Listening to that sound; a few actually. Hyperaware, my ears tune into the drowning background rhythmic real noise we call rain. Rain is most fascinating. Living on the north shore of Maui, I was lulled to sleep with rain. No need this white noise shit to tune out of this mass vibration of a world where nothing quite shuts down- ever... Yea, that's the kinda moody mood I'm in this morning here in (Iraqi) Kurdistan.

Boom: Tosca Suzuki in Dub is my go-to foreground thunder.  The joint-harmony of today's moving picture show greatly amuses my soul.  Soul food literally.


Speaking of soul food... I've been indulging it since about 3 pm yesterday.  Yes, the return of the one-woman show ensued; a development in accompaniment to the official onset of Spring Equinox holidaze.

This annual renewal of spring, this Newroz, is my initiation into KRD life, I think...

Yesterday afternoon I blurted out that it was like a big, spiritual dump. She laughed a laugh that came from deep within. A welling up on feeling that upon release was satisfying- unexpectedly. Perhaps it was my out-of-nowhere exhalation of words that caught them off-guard. Whatever, it was a grand moment of cultural exchange.

Spring renewal: Newroz. With my spring renewal comes the first sips this morning of a new coffee cup! As today was initiation/activation, a wide smile creeps across my face, enjoying the slow traverse across the roadmap of my lips as if the setting sun was thoroughly enjoying the journey across the western sky so much that it was trying to hold off time, just a little bit longer...

Now, I'm a fan of ritual, and making room in life for ritual. It's the little things- truly. Take face-timing family & friends. This world is crazy tech, but often times I'm in awe of it. To express the heart-felt warmth of seeing people that are in your life so very far away and being able to share minutes exchanging with them from all corners of the world- precious indeed.

Newroz. New country. New coffee cup. New (old) tunes playing, messing with my mind- the good way. The way you thirst for in times of drought where you're so caught up with that 'other' (work) life, that you push aside what is innate inside yourself. Yes, body rebels after such a while. Always a good shake-up and recombining of the cells. Yea, I dig it.

I dig it so much that the one-woman party made an appearance last night. Now I know I'm 'home'.


No. No no.  This. THIS is the one...


This is how you purge. This is my initiation into spring rite of passage. Science! How to alter the chemical combination into a frequency that grooves through life. Yea. Spring Equinox Skooling I call it: music, food, yoga, running, mind enhancing- you know, da kine. all.of.it.

Some interesting stuff I'm finding along the way:


So, waking up to rain this morning; my heart sings. What a perfect omen, IMHO, that the goddesses/gods treat us with rain. Renewal and massive vibrational energy to clear away the vibrations of winter and make way for new experiences. The ultimate spiritual dump!!!

Yea, water is the gift of life.

In other purging news, I want to thank Miss MeGra for turning me onto yet another use for Oil of Oregano. Yes, mixed with white vinegar and water it makes a fantastic counter-top cleaner. Magic. I'm adding that to today's spring cleaning purge.

Here's an interesting interpretation of (Kawa and the story of)vNewroz from the Nederlands:


 So yea, this morning can be described as a Nowruz//trip-hop//Chinese medicine//yoga//spiritual dump-kinda round.

Unfortunately, I fear it's too late to get fabric and get to a tailor for a jili kurdi... alas.  Shame on me! How could I let this slip? Well, I have been crazy-busy for the past 2 months (lame excuse). Next time! Perhaps I'll check out the fabric section of the bazaar though and find some hidden gems.

I must say, there is NOTHING quite like walking by a fabric store around these parts! Bahrain was exceptionally amazing for textile discoveries. Oh I've got so many ideas for designs. This is the week to get cracking on my projects (spring renewal). Projects up on deck:

knitting pencil skirt
     window shading needed soon- and fan, and lamp (2), and beach chair (comfy)          (preferably 2), and the low shisha mats for seating on lanais (decks)
 Kurdish lessons
hikes into the mountains

Here's an interesting website for a viewpoint on Kurdish (language) origins.


NOTE: I would whole-heartedly welcome any other interesting links that y'all have about the region here. I am a sponge ready to soak it all up and try to comprehend the nuances. 

I've fallen down a few rabbit holes this morning! Here are some results:


Newroz: special flowers to focus on, special foods, special clothes, pottery to smash, mountains to climb, fires to alight, nature to 'worship', phamily to visit- I'm in!

 ...and a little something-something on the 13-days of Newroz:

pussy willows, pussy hat b/c rain!



This morning's blogposting vibes brought to you by:

 tosca (my musical accompanyment)
the spirit of da kine

Today: A perfect day to hit up the bazaar; moody and fiercely gentle the rain falls. Gotta find some pottery to smash next week!

In conclusion:


street life, downtown walkabout (after a Nepalese food run at the Park...mmmmmm)

Listening to Erykah Badu jam while in bed drinking some dark French Roast here in Suli. She's badass. It's a live stream from a link on FB, and some dude just finished singing Happy Birthday to her, and crowd is going wild, and he shouts out "Wakanda!"

On all matters Wakanda, I checked out Black Panther this weekend with our crew. I'm not sure if all the showings are 3-D, but ours was. 3-D; imagine that it seems so 'old skool' now. Just the cinematic experience in general seems ancient, yet it's still a pleasure every time.

I love the cool, dark vibe of theaters. Popcorn is a staple; I'm usually so hesitant to get some, but thankful after when I'm munching away I've sunk into my chair arriving at that sweet spot and prepare myself to be taken away on a journey. In a journey really.

Black Panther delivers, as anticipated. Killmonger, the antagonist - or not? That's my question. Great job delivering the conflicting identity of Killmonger. As the storyline goes, "Killmonger is not a product of the ghetto, so much as he is a product of the American military-industrial complex."


Onward. Satiated after filling up the reservoir with some cinematic wellness, we headed to Lalazar for a victory (birthday-- no, not mine) gathering. It's a really nice view of the city from there. I find myself mesmerized looking out the windows at active twilight. Sky ablaze with golden warmth fading... The last vestiges of sunset well below the horizon, I watch for the hills to stop glistening as the warm, yellowish lights of the city turn on. The changing of the guard here in Suli, Iraqi Kurdistan. 

There is some drink there A-Gra introduced me to; I like it. From what I can remember, it's a beer with a shot of tequilla in it and salt around rim. There seems to be one more ingredient perhaps, but I cannot recall. I think we called it a Ladino. As an afterthought at the end of the evening, I'm glad I ate dinner there...

As the story continues, we continued on to the Irish pub to meet up w/our larger tribe. Already in full swing, the NGO peeps were holding court. A few of their folk were finishing up their contracts and moving on to their next gig. There's not a lot of expats in Suli, so all our various tribes come to the neighboring watering hole to commune for a few hours along with the kind-hearted residents. That's one thing I love about the Pub, and living in Suli; all our tribes are together for peace and enjoyment. This is the kinda ethnography that a PhD could be made from, IMHO. 

A good evening for all. 

So yea, a shout out to Iraqi Kurdistan here. I am thankful to come to this place and call it home in this chapter. Let's see how the story unfolds! I'm stoked.

Things I've just learned about here that I will be checking out soon:

There is a Chinatown here! Yummmmm Dim Sum? We shall see.
There is a (new) Zoroastrian Fire Temple here. I'm intrigued.

Today, in part, was brought to you with contributions from:





ALOHA FRIDAY Kurdistan-style... and then this old, unfinished post: Hau`oli Makahiki Hou 2018 (Happy New Year)

Hau`oli Makahiki Hou 2018

The lost entry: Back in America, back on January 1st, 2018, back in yet another bed, with another cup of coffee, from another french press, I typed...

It's a fine, brisk, foggy, crisp winter morning here in So.Or. It's a new year, and I'm ready for it. Right now, as I sit here with the kitties and drink my coffee, I'm in preparation mode. A new year equals a new job, and with that new job comes a new country; Iraq- Kurdistan to be more specific. 

The kitties came to America ('Merica F*ck Yea!) and conquered the hearts of friends and family- much to my delight. They can't continue on in this next chapter with me, nor would they want to. The Middle East Beasts are deep in the honeymoon phase of their So.Or. HQ. 

What a journey, this ending of 2017; coming to America from Istanbul and temporarily setting up shop- first in Yosemite working for the NPS. The Yosemite Chapter captivated me. It lured me back into the beauty of America's wilderness. I got to live out that 'mountain high girl' fantasy. 

Integrating back into American life was somewhat challenging, I suppose. I think all expats feel a bit 'weird' at first going back 'home'. It helped to go immediately into a new job (NPS archaeologist) and community so as not to dwell on what I had left behind. A fantastic voyage back into archaeology and the realm of scientific methods were a welcome respite from language teaching; just what the holistic doctor ordered. The heroes and heroines of the Yosemite Chapter are far too numerous, but are etched deep into my heart. I wonder who will be the first to visit me in Sulaymaniyah!!! I have some ideas.

It had been eight years since I left America. What I realize is that 'home' is everywhere. My new 'home' is once again in the Cradle of Civilization. I'm so stoked. I'm so ready. I'm so fortunate that I have love and support from family and friends in these processes.  

FAST FWD 6 weeks and here I am in my bed, drinking my (french press) coffee, burning Nag Champa incense w/da kine on a moody Friday morning here in Iraqi Kurdistan. All I can eek out so far this morning is... oh what a night... We were all on point last night, our theatre troupe. That is all.

It's a moody morning. Solid waves of graydation interrupts the apartment buildings interrupting the Suli skyline. Luscious cashmere cocoons me in this perceived 'chill' my body is experiencing. Still, I stand strong; bare feet explore the wood floors- always.

Bare naked feet shuffling to and fro the hallway, into my living spaces. Oh the luxury. Toes spreading flat, walking my yoga-walk- trying to spread every toe up, down and out with each step- with some sort of consciousness. The toes knows; freedom. FREEDOM.

They pull on my body to enter THAT room. Yea, the one with the yoga mats; La Stanza nota come Studio di FORMolo. Funny, true story about Studio di FORMolo. Two evenings ago, after a long, successful week of work my feet bring me home. Seeking out the yoga mats, they set about into action. Unfortunately I stopped them from attaining total FREEDOM by first diverting them into the kitchen for a low ball glass of ice, tonic water, and a fresh lime. At this point said feet knew exactly where to trot off next; you guessed it- the bar, which also happens to be part of the open-air (of sorts) floor plan of Studio di FORMolo, which also moonlights as both a workspace and living room. Yea, give me some of that Sapphire gin (secretly pining for Hendricks). 

A friend calls & joins me for  pau hana cocktails (finish workweek). With da kine and Nag Champa incense wafting, slowly seeping through layers of skin, fighting its way inside cells to cleanse away the filth from the work week, I start to sink into the reality that I have 3 days off! I don't have to work at home  tonight. I don't have to pick up any work whatsoever tomorrow, you get the picture.

Said feet are quietly rebelling the entire conversation. Revolution. Time to draw Holly to the mat. To the mat; a welcome barge of familiar graphemes that always hits me like a mega-namaste-kinda-bomb. A phrase dear to my essence; all this shit that the universe constructed (chaos) and subsequently spit out to deposit into my star matter, back before 'it' mattered... Kinda like spiritual vomit, and I constantly seek out ways to express gratitude for the deposition, and the chance to walk this magical eARTh.

But I digress. Feet float me over and upside down. I'm in Sirsasana (headstand) pose. Headstand Pose, for me, is in the top five- with Trikonasana (Side Triangle Pose) being absolutely number one. One of my first yoga teachers back in Santa Cruz told me Sirsasana was the 'beauty' pose, because you never get the chance in life to maintain proper blood circulation to the head (brain) as you do when in a headstand. Any inversion in general is going to do this, but Sirsasana was my initiation into this school of thought. I love being educated, and am a dedicated student. As well, it's always hard to part ways with your first (yoga pose nirvana) love, isn't it? 

Moving forward, Sirsasana... it was beautiful. Blissed out, I returned to the couch, and my empty drink. Alone again and on the mat. Endorphins = addiction. Sweet addiction. 

I'm honestly not one to drink that much- I honestly think I'm too vain. Or realistic- I get that from my father. Perhaps it just comes down to I'm just too mortal. I likely won't be having a drink and doing yoga again... Something went awry, and I cannot say for sure what it was. There was no (distantly familiar) cacophony of listening to yourself pull a muscle and immediately know you fucked up. Having that happen once in life creates awareness of wanting to be really conscious of never experiencing that sound ever again. 

I recall going to sleep a bit freaked out. I hate fucking up my body. It was all so innocent; Marichyasana D (Sage Pose), which is always thrilling every time I nail it. And, by nailing it, I'm referring to relaxing in it with slow concentration and long exhales every time that mind tries to fuck up the body by trying to convince body that body can't do it. With each exhale body tells mind to shut the fuck up. 

Back to the main point of the story... even the tiniest bit of alcohol is going to favor mind over body.

Yesterday was spent babying the right side of my sacrum. I persevered, because I'm a Formolo foremost, yet I have allowed myself the ability to give in to a softer form of withstanding a sorta dull-yet-constant pain. Yes, I'm talking about taking a prescription anti-inflammatory. A very wise person turned me onto them a few years back. I hardly like to take them, but when shit hits the fan, you already know you have to deal with it, so may as well try to centralize where the fuck the pain is coming from so you can work on it.

Active work included (successfully I might add) liberal amounts of Tiger Balm slathered on lower back, 2 anti-inflammatories, loads of water throughout the day, and a cloth napkin wrapped around the head of a knife strategically placed in pain HQ. I used the 'attack from the hinterlands' method; slowly I worked from outside the enemy territory to the inner sanctum, where all the unrest was aflutter.

As I rest upon my acupressure pillow (this hard plastic square thing with about 500 pokey points sticking outta it- truly a nirvana once you get past the concept of the visual pain and sink into it and let it open up circulation in your blood vessels so oxygen can flow again and start circulating through the body, pumping it full of nutrients) and think I'm pretty fortunate.

Fortunate not just because I didn't really hurt myself, but fortunate for every thing.

It's Aloha Friday everybody!