My friend Heather called yesterday to read “our” horoscope to me. We are both Virgos. Part of the horoscope said we could see an improvement in our financial situations. I’m unemployed — or maybe “under employed” is a better description — so I am game for an improvement.

After we talked, I decided to run quickly to the little store down the street and pick up some pet food to hold me until I made the big run on Wednesday. Driving through Clear Creek Forest, a car coming in my direction suddenly pulled to the shoulder. Quickly enough to push up a cloud of dust and catch my attention. Shit! A police car!

I let my car slow a bit and kept my eye on the rear view mirror… sure enough, it was me he wanted. So I pulled over on one of the little side streets. The road I was on was hardly wide enough to accommodate us on the shoulder and other traffic passing through.

The officer walks up from the rear and touches the back of my car. Why? I don’t know. He comes to my window, introduces himself and says he clocked me going 45 mph in a 30 mph zone. My lucky day, I guess; only doing 45. But that’s because there was someone in front of me only going 45.

Then he taps on the windshield. Shit #2! “Do you know that your registration expired in January and your inspection expired in February?” “Oh wait,” I tell him, “I have the new registration sticker right here” and I pull it out of the glove box.

“Well, that’s one out of two,” he replies and he asks for my license and proof of insurance. So I hand him my insurance card that shows an expiration date of the end of that day. I explained that I am transferring my car insurance to the company that also has my home insurance to save money. The insurance company had both policies years ago, but that’s another long and crazy story.

The officer and I discussed the insurance discount for a bit during which I mentioned that being unemployed, I am trying to save everywhere I can. He seemed to understand that.

So he went back to his car with my license and insurance card. And within a few seconds shit #3 hits me. The tags on my car expired just over two years ago. I have the new ones in the car… just haven’t put them ON the car yet. Shit, shit, shit.

A friend and I were comparing levels of procrastination a few months ago. I told her I could beat her hands down and explained about my car tags. I told her they were under the seat, so I could show them to the cop should I ever get stopped. As we were laughing about this, she told me that I should be very careful if I reach under the seat for the tags else the cop might think I am reaching for a weapon. I had never thought of that, but she was right. I moved the tags from under the passenger seat to the space between the passenger seat and the stick shift console so I could visibly reach them.

I calmly waited for the officer to return and ask about my tags. When he came back, he had his little clip board. He told me that because I was unemployed, he would cut me a break… and give me a written warning. I was so excited that there was no mention of tags that I never even asked what consequences there are to a written warning. I signed the ticket and thanked him profusely.

I still don’t know what if any consequences there are to a written warning (instead of a verbal warning), but tomorrow I plan to put the new tags on my car and get it inspected on my way to the pet food store.

When Heather called back last night, I told her about being stopped and my hope that my financial improvement goes beyond not getting a speeding ticket. While I have no idea how much a speeding ticket costs these days, I was hoping that the astrological forecast for financial improvement meant something bigger. This “squeezing nickels out of pennies” routine gets exhausting.

And one more thing: 30 mph is too damn slow! But I’ll certainly give it a try. And I’ll stay out of Clear Creek Forest as much as possible.

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TV is mostly background noise for me. If my house is too quiet, the dogs will hear things that are miles away and get distracted by it. Generally the background noise is music. I plug the iPod into the stereo dock on my way to the coffee pot each morning, usually select the option to shuffle the songs and let it run until bedtime. As though that is not enough, I sometimes go to bed with the iPod plugged into my head. I select an album to play to slow my brain and generally fall asleep before it’s done.

A few days ago, I tried to turn the tv on, but no luck. Nothing happened. Was it the hairball on top of the tv causing the problem? I tried a few things, walked away confused, returned to try a couple more things and again walked away confused. However, after a brainfart, I think I may know the answer. I think the same cat barfed a hairball into the digital tuner thereby shorting out any digital service to my tv. Damn!

I went to WalMart yesterday looking for a new tuner, but they don’t sell them anymore. Don’t sell them anymore? They were stocked in huge piles months ago (or was that a year ago?) just before the conversion to digital tv and now it’s like it never happened. They suggested a few places I might check, but I didn’t have the time yesterday to chase “mights.” So I am home again and tv-less. Perhaps I can keep up with what I like via the computer.

When you live with animals, you can quickly realize how unimportant most material things are (except for my iPod and my computer). Years ago, one of my dogs, Brie, found that the glue in the binding of some very old books was very tasty. She chewed it from the backs of 3-4 books printed in the 1920s. They were from a collection my mother had as a child. It was the complete collection and they WERE in mint condition.

Once eaten, there is little you can do but utter a few choice words under your breath and move them. And so it goes here at the bit-by-bit ranch… it’s always something.

Creative Coops (a small time manufacturer of modular chicken coops) has announced that it will give away a new back yard chicken coop worth $260. Keeping back yard chickens is a revolution that is spreading across the country. Facebook members are finding it easy to join in, because by just by signing up as Fans of the Facebook page Creative Coops, they are entered into the drawing. People have until, October 30, 2009 to sign up as fans. The drawing will take place at the APPLE Center for Sustainability in Nevada City, California on Halloween, October 31st.

Grass Valley, CA (PRWEB) October 20, 2009 – Why would anyone want a back yard chicken coop? Because raising chickens and enjoying fresh eggs is one thing people can do to off set rising food bills. Its fun, kids love it, and the eggs are healthy and delicious tasting from happy chickens. Producing food locally saves fossil fuels and it doesn’t get much more local than the back yard. Even the garden benefits from all the free fertilizer which serves to restore the soil. Only two or three fun and entertaining pet chickens will provide one to two dozen eggs per week.

For people tentatively taking their first step into the field of chickens, the back yard chicken coop offered by Creative Coops is an easy way to start small with only two to three chickens in a single hen house. But unlike any other coop on the market, all the parts are modular, so along with some new parts, customers can later transform what they have into a larger hen house to accommodate more chickens. One hen house can expand from 2′ x 2′ to 2′ x 4′ or as much as 4′ by 4′. “It’s like LEGO® meets chicken coops” says owner Mark Hall. Wheels can even be added allowing any hen house and pen to be easily moved around a yard. Everything is ordered over the internet and shipped to the customer’s front door.

Become a Fan of Creative Coops and join the feather revolution today!
Web site | Facebook

Related links about the feather revolution:
NY Times | The Economist

Being the eternal romantic that I am, I love songs like hers. This quote from Hot Indie News website explains her style better than I can:

Love Travels has been called “one of the top debuts of the year” by the Associated Press, and received three-out-of-four stars in People magazine, which announced Angel as, “fresh and honeydew-sweet … her glowing pop tunes will win over fans of both Corinne Bailey Rae and Colbie Caillat.” Essence magazine raves that Taylor is “heaven sent” and that her “graceful piano driven songs about finding, losing and yearning for love are sure to resonate with audiences of all ages.”

I immediately searched the internet for her debut album — Love Travels. Not on eMusic.com yet, so I googled her name and found that she is available for download from iTunes and Amazon.com for $7.99. Get her at this price while you can, I say.

I would be hard-pressed to name my favorite tune right now. Seems that with each listen, it changes — there is just that much to like about this album.

She’s really off to a great start, having toured with Adele and Brett Dennan this Spring and heading on the road now with Brandi Carlile and Five for Fighting. You go, girl!

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey.. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:

Dear God,
Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick. I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim.

I am sending a picture of her so when you see her You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.

Love, Meredith

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office.

A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, ‘To Meredith’ in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, ‘When a Pet Dies. Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith,
Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn’t sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don’t need our bodies in heaven, I don’t have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by..

Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I’m easy to find, I am wherever there is love.

Love,
God

 

Click on the photos to see larger images.

[Show as slideshow]

I’ll take squirrels, thank you!

• 10 cups oatmeal
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 1/2 cups peanut butter
• 1/2 cup oil
• 1 can frozen concentrated apple juice

Directions:
Mix is all up and bake on 2 cookie sheets at 250 degrees for 1 hour (stir after 1/2 hour). This stuff is way better than store bought granola (especially fresh out of the oven!).

This cultural innovation was gradually picked up by various monkeys before the eyes of the scientists. Between 1952 and 1958 all the young monkeys learned to wash the sandy sweet potatoes to make them more palatable. Only the adults who imitated their children learned this social improvement. Other adults kept eating the dirty sweet potatoes.

Then something startling took place. In the autumn of 1958, a certain number of Koshima monkeys were washing sweet potatoes — the exact number is not known. Let us suppose that when the sun rose one morning there were 99 monkeys on Koshima Island who had learned to wash their sweet potatoes. Let’s further suppose that later that morning, the hundredth monkey learned to wash potatoes.

Then it happened. By that evening almost everyone in the tribe was washing sweet potatoes before eating them. The added energy of this hundredth monkey somehow created an ideological breakthrough!

Although the exact number may vary, the Hundredth Monkey Phenomenon means that when only a limited number of individuals learns and practices a ‘new way’, it remains the conscious property of those individuals. But when one more individual manifests this awareness and acts on it, the field is strengthened, a critical mass is reached and the awareness becomes the conscious awareness of all.

Moral of the story?

If we bring to the world through our lives what we learn about compassion, treating animals better, treating people better, creating a no kill community then it ripples outward. What’s the base of a community without killing? It may be one more act. Tell one more person of the change you’d like to see. Tell one more person of your vision of the future. If opportunity presents, save one more animal, feed one more stray.

Live your life aware that your approach to everything could become everyone’s approach to everything. Quietly do your regular job with faithfulness and love. I think every day in my job about what Mother Teresa said. “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”

Today, make one compassionate food choice, feed a stray, love on your dog a few extra minutes, take a minute to whip out a note to someone telling them that they matter.

Here’s the beautiful thing to me — Imo the young monkey was not a CEO, she did not set out to head a movement, she didn’t have a college degree, a marketing strategy and hadn’t even finished growing up. She performed one small act. Everything we do may be just that powerful.

Nelson Mandela said that man’s greatest fear is not that he is powerless, it is that he is infinitely powerful. Contemplating that our actions may change everything around us is not something that most of us do. But maybe we should. It is an awesome responsibility to be sure. Let’s go out there and use it to make everything better.

Any one of us may be the 100th monkey. One of us is.

What do you want to teach the tribe ?

reprinted from Friends for Life website

The cycle of feeling sorry for myself

Every so often a funk grabs a hold of me, for no good reason. And not the sequined Rick James funk of awesomeness either. I feel sorry for myself. I lament my unemployment and the general state of my life. I start to envy all the things everyone else has and I don’t – big apartments, cars, jobs, stuff. It’s an ugly scene, and the envy can reach ridiculous proportions. The other day I found myself begrudging Matthew McConaughey his success as an actor. Why should I care? I don’t even want to be the male lead in bad romance comedies that should go straight to DVD. The six-pack abs would be nice though. And the million-dollar paychecks… I’d take those.

When in these funks, I feel like the only person who is struggling – a ridiculous notion, but true in the world of me, myself and I. This is a selfish and irrational way of looking at things. And people would be right to call me out on it in the forums and comments sections. Hell, you have my permission to walk right up on the street and slap me across the face if you have to. I forget to give equal weight to all the good things in my life – family, health, etc. They get minimized and pushed aside. The feeling sorry for myself isn’t productive. But it happens every now and again, often enough that I recognize the cycle for what it is.

My birthday was such a good time that the letdown afterward probably sparked this latest round of woe is me. But any little slight or setback can do it. Getting out of bed that next morning took some serious effort. I lay there staring at the insides of my eyelids, thinking that more sleep might make everything better. But more sleep only makes me feel guilty for wasting the morning. So I dragged my ass up, put on my workout clothes and headed off to the gym.

This funk-y workout wasn’t very good as workouts go. They never are. I tried to harness the negative feelings to push myself harder. In the movie version of my life, this would be the montage scene before the moment of truth. Alas, without the ’80s music, the cameras and the inspiration, this tactic didn’t work. Rocky had Drago. Lane Meyer had Roy Stalin, that blond-haired skier guy. I have unemployment as my nemesis. There was no face to picture when eking out that last set. There wasn’t even a last set. I just wanted to go home and stay there.

Home is the best place when I’m in a funk. The only people around the apartment during the day are the cats. And they just sleep and leave behind tumbleweed-like fur balls. I did go out that afternoon for cookies and coffee – the bread and nectar of life. I have to stay strong in case a potential employer wants to interview me. I can’t be scaring children like Michael Jackson or Sophia Loren if I ever want to work again. Walking the streets was a challenge. People were everywhere and always in my way. Part of that is just my neighborhood, Jackson Heights, where most of South America now lives. Everyone seemed to be going important places and doing important things. Most of them, of course, were not. But I saw everything through a lens of negativity. It made me want to just push people out of my way.

Nothing seemed to work right during the funk. My muscles felt heavy. My brain couldn’t hold a thought. I moved with lethargy and less purpose, avoiding new tasks and lingering over tasks that are second nature. My attitude was poor, and my temper short. I complained about really stupid, unimportant stuff. And I got teary-eyed and emotional over sappy TV. (Damn you Sarah McLachlan for showing me hurt animals!) The frustration, boredom and dissatisfaction inside leaked out in weird ways.

Something always pulls me back into real life. This time it was a two-year-old boy on the subway discovering the world outside. He stood on the seat watching the passing buildings, pointing and laughing as his mother held him steady. I sat across the aisle, iPod on, watching him. Something about the scene made me feel better. Maybe it was his joy. Maybe it was his innocence. Maybe the chemicals in my body picked that moment to readjust in a way that improved my mood. I don’t know, but I’m glad it’s over.

We all have ups and downs in our moods. They’re part of life. But unemployment can make the peaks higher and, in my case, the valleys lower. I go through these cycles often enough to recognize them. If I could steer clear, I would. That hasn’t worked so far, so I just try to just be productive and minimize the downtime. My best is the most I can ask of myself.

reprinted from Jobless and Less by Norm Elrod