Category Archives: Guest Posts

Nov24

(Guest Post) This Is the Story of a (Kind) Girl

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Today’s guest post is from Devan, an internet friend of mine. We haven’t yet met in person, but I hope we can someday soon. Devan kindly offered the following inspirational piece to me for use during this busy time.

I had been at work since before 9 AM and it was now after 8 PM. All I really wanted to do was settle in for the night. Unfortunately, toilet paper is an unforgiving need when you’ve run out. As I made my way through the drug store near my home, I could hear an unusually loud woman talking about the price of Oreos. Then, as she must have passed the liquor aisle, she spoke about a particularly raucous night involving a cheap bottle of vodka and a hat with a feather in it. No matter where I went in the store, her voice carried. I heard every word as if she were talking to me directly. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, marveling at the inappropriate public display.

With large 9 roll pack of toilet paper under my arm and medicine for a developing headache firmly in hand, I headed to the front of the store. As I rounded the corner to the registers, I saw the loud woman and her quieter female companion had beat me there.

They were a colorful pair. The loud one was very tall and curvy. Her leggings were black and white striped and she wore a short shirt that showed her bare belly. Her hair was shoulder-length, wild, messy and frizzy. She wore a huge welcoming smile to accompany her gregarious nature and carried herself with enviable confidence. In one arm she carried a large box of tacos from the restaurant next door (it was $1 taco Tuesday), a backpack in the other.

The quiet one was shorter, had a robust figure, and wore a generously sized t-shirt and yoga pants. She had long straight unkempt hair and was very pregnant. She too kept a smile on her face. It was a bashful awkward smile, but it radiated warmth. Her eyes looked down most of the time, glancing up shyly on occasion. She was rolling a small suitcase on wheels behind her.

The cashier was a cute young girl named Ashlee with unnaturally red hair, several tattoos, and facial piercings. Because of her alternative look she often got strange glances from customers. Yet she never seemed to get frustrated with anything or anyone.

As I stood in line, I found myself growing frustrated with the 2 women in line in front of me this particular evening. They had no sense of urgency at all and had questions about everything. Ashlee, as usual, began friendly small talk while checking out their purchases. During this small talk, it was determined that the women had gotten a ride there, but didn’t have a ride home. They laughed that they were short on bus fare as well, after getting food and milk, so they would be walking home.

To my complete dismay, Ashlee enthusiastically encouraged the women to allow her to pack their backpack and suitcase in the most optimal way, to prevent having to carry anything too heavy. As I stood there aggravated and just wanting to leave, Ashlee proceeded to work their items into their bags. She carefully placed the heaviest items in the rolling suitcase and the lighter ones in the accompanying backpack. It took much longer than if she had simply put everything in the store bags and left them to deal with it, but the women glowed with gratitude. Ashlee then asked for the awkward box of tacos they were carrying and slipped them into a bag for easier transport. The women left with big smiles on their faces and, I assume, began their journey home.

As the women left the store and I approached the register, Ashlee greeted me with that same kind smile and an enthusiastic “Hey! How are you today?” My grimace quickly melted into a broad smile. I forgot all about my aggravation as we chatted and she swiftly moved me through the checkout. As I was leaving the store, as I often do, I felt appreciated and valued. Not just as a customer, but as a human being. The same feeling the two women in front of me were likely feeling as they left the store.

When I got to my car and opened the door to get in, I glanced back over my shoulder to the store exit. The elderly lady who had been behind me in line was walking out of the store with a beaming smile, her small bag in hand. I knew the smile that brightened her face was because of Ashlee. In less than 10 minutes, Ashlee had touched the lives of 4 women with her positive, kind, and compassionate nature. She had definitely changed the mood of everyone’s evening. More importantly, she made me realize how frustrated and judgmental I had been toward the 2 women in front of me. I laughed at myself the entire drive home.

I often think of the two women in front of me that day. I wish I had been more patient and kind, perhaps offering them bus fare or a ride home. I am grateful for them. I am grateful for Ashlee. I am grateful for this experience, reminding me the importance of basic kindness and the impact it can have on each person we encounter. Now, when I interact with anyone in line at the store, waiting at the DMV, in the Dr.’s office, etc., I try to remember that no matter how crazy my day may have been, someone is having a struggle that is far worse. A kind smile or gesture just might lift their day a little, just like Ashlee did for me.

Devan is a 40-something single female blogging online as Xsyntrik Nomad (xsyntriknomad.com). Committed to the dream of a simple but adventurous life, she is rarely found in one place for long. Her preferred ‘home’ is a converted van in which she can freely explore every corner of the country, with her two feline companions in tow. Devan is a positive living enthusiast who strives above all else to live a happy, kind, and inspired life. She hopes to motivate others through her writing and by sharing her journey.

Nov22

(Guest Post) Cows & Boy Scouts

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Thank you to Blaize for allowing me to guest blog for her today.  We met Blaize while camp hosting in Sequoia National Forest this summer.  We (Jeremy & I and our 2 dogs Dakota & Crosby) traveled from Ohio to California and now are staying in Taos New Mexico.  We live in a converted school bus and are enjoying our traveling adventures!  I do not currently have a blog but I do write and the following is something from our stay in the Coconino National Forest near Flagstaff AZ. We camped there almost 2 weeks and most days we had a huge area all to ourselves…but not this day.

camp-spot-coconino

Tent pitched too close to the author’s bus, viewed through the windshield.

I woke early.  The first up actually.  Don’t gasp!  It happens, regularly even since being on the road. I think I am still operating on Ohio time, or perhaps I’m more in tune out here.  Getting up closer to sunrise, going to bed early…not too long after dark. That, however, is beside the point. As I said I woke early. Usually I have my coffee and sit on our front porch, aka driver seat of the bus, and enjoy my three-sided view of the forest, scanning for wildlife in the growing morning light.  Not this morning.  This morning I have woken to the multitudes of squealing children. “Boy Scouts, why’d it have to be Boy Scouts?” I mutter in the spirit of Indiana Jones. I roll over. It appears we have been invaded by a family troop excursion.  Dozens of tents and pick-up trucks now dot my view. One in particular has set up their tent not 50 ft from the front of our bus.  Seriously? There are acres and acres of open space here.  He has set up closer to our bus than to his own group.  Camping etiquette folks: Give a camper their space!

The group arrived yesterday while we were doing “town” stuff.  I almost wish we had been here when they arrived.  Surely the barking of my dogs would’ve encouraged a respectful distance.  Maybe Crosby will pee on their tent which has so obviously been placed within his territory.  Actually that prospect is pretty likely. The thought makes me smile and consider letting him out and maybe not watching him too close for a minute.  A wave of guilt passes over me and then quickly recedes as a pack of wildings run squealing through our camp.  Boy Scouts always conjure up images of Lord of the Flies for me.  It’s unsettling.  In the woods they are downright frightening.  I’d rather camp next to a pack of wild coyotes than in the midst of a group of Boy Scouts.

Suddenly an angry low of a cow cuts through my thoughts and the melee of the boys.  If you don’t think a cow can sound angry you’ve not spent time around wild forest cows.  Out west cows roam everywhere, especially on National Forest land.  Around any given corner you can encounter a cow standing in the middle of the road.  Many of which have large horns…and attitude.  This one sounded very angry.  Not the gentle moo of a cow contentedly chomping grass, but an almost roar.  Think bear growl crossed with a moo.  This cow was seriously pissed.

Rounds of squealing Boy Scout ruckus followed the bellow, and then more angry moos.  I can visualize the wild pack of boys harassing the cow.  I can hear the cow getting angrier and angrier.  Oh this is going to end badly.  More squealing, more angry moos.  Suddenly a whistle blows long and hard.  Still squealing and angry moos continue.  Another whistle blow and the squealing abates.  Another angry moo or two.  Evidently an adult has finally stepped up to control the situation.  The whistle serving as a sort of code to call in the wildings. A dark side of me is disappointed.  The karma of a cow trampling through their camp seems almost appropriate. There are a few moments of silence and then the ruckus begins again, without angry moos. The cow must have moved on, probably as perturbed by her unexpected visitors as I am.

I pour my coffee and remind myself that the forest belongs to us all. Wildings, cows and buslife hippies alike.

Later that afternoon I breathe a sigh of relief…they are packing up.  Just a one night trip.  We have our peaceful forest back, the cows are pleased.

20150714_1605121

The author took the photos in this post.

Nov19

(Guest Post) Why Phoenix?

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Today’s guest post was written by an old friend of mine who currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona.

It’s November 1st and finally, I believe the summer has left us. Don’t get me wrong. We will still have days with temperatures in the 80s but the evenings and the mornings are so cool and comfortable and finally wearing long pants is an acceptable dress code.

This summer has been especially hard on this perimenopausal woman in her late 40s. The temperatures have been no higher than other years and the fact that the hundred degrees last until October is normal. But my ability to cope with the warm temperatures is not what it was 20 years ago.

When I moved to Phoenix, many friends asked “Why Phoenix?” “What’s in Phoenix?” And honestly for years I had no answer for them. It’s flat, it’s brown and it’s very new and modern compared to other cities in the United States.

Tovrea Castle

Tovrea Castle

The history here only goes back to the 1940s. Convincing the city council that we need to keep those buildings from the 40s and 50s has been a challenge. Hence why everything is so new and modern. So when I find a building that is unique/different/older I get super excited and I must go inside and explore! That’s the case with the Tovrea Castle. The Ellis Shakelford House. The Security Building downtown. Luhrs Tower.

When I moved here 20 years ago, Phoenix was only supposed to be a temporary layover to my next destination somewhere on the west coast. I never intended to stay this long but good jobs, a great husband and my beautiful daughter all led to me becoming an Arizonan. I’ve not forgotten my roots. I will forever and always be a Louisiana girl. Nolagirl at heart. For that is where I found my true spirit, my true self. But now when people ask me what’s in Arizona, why Phoenix, Arizona, I can say: the Grand Canyon, street corn, fresh homemade tortillas, a sunset and

Phoenix Sunset

Phoenix Sunset

sunrise every morning and night that can take your breath away. Sonoran hotdogs. The Superstition Mountains. Home of Miranda Rights. Witnessing the evolution of a grass roots art and historic preservation community. My family. My community.

The photos were taken by the author.

Nov9

(Guest Post) Three Poems by Laura-Marie

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Today I am once again happy to offer poems written by my friend Laura-Marie.

no

Will vinegar kill the fern
I’m trying to kill this winter?

Awake but still in bed.
Sitting on the ottoman.

Welcome the stranger,
welcome the stranger’s phone call.

Our beliefs about our hair.
She thinks music is noise,
and she doesn’t want to hear it.

some did wrong

Some did wrong,

a hushed crime,

secret and cruel.

 

A single man

spoke the unspeakable.

Others joined in—

 

the infiltrating agents

had their evidence.

It was over.

Dream dystopia again.

 

Naked people gathered

around the piano

sang, waiting for

death the inevitable.

 

baby dream

All of the babies are girls.

I bent down to kiss one.

She slipped her tongue into my mouth.

It turned into a thorned vine

and forced itself through my body.

Thorned vines like sleeping beauty

but inside.

Laura-Marie is a zinester and peace activist living in Las Vegas, Nevada.  She likes cold brew tea, writing letters, and visiting friends.

Nov1

(Guest Post) “Yer Little Poet Friends” or How I Came to be Your Guest Columnist Today

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Blaize and I don’t go way back, but we go back far enough. I had a bookstore in Portland, Oregon, back before the days of Portlandia, and one of the many services I tried to provide through my store was books to prisoners.

Why would anyone want to provide books to people who have broken the law, you might ask. Let those coddled scofflaws luxuriate in their three hots and a cot, their free health care, their free whatever it is you think incarcerated folks have abundant access to.

Of course, if you think that way, you probably don’t read Blaize’s blog to begin with. In fact, I can’t imagine it, but then, there are a LOT of things going on in the universe right now that I never figured would happen, so there you are. And here I am. And here is our story…

Being a book person, I knew that prison libraries are generally not the luxuriously full of ancient tomes libraries that you see in the movies. We should all remember that life is in no way like the movies, but when it goes flashing by that fast, you just tend to accept what you’re seeing and not think about it too much. How did I know this about prison libraries? Being a book person, you listen to others, you listen a lot. Booksellers are usually frustrated authors first and foremost, after that, they descend into a broad spectrum of what my former book boss used to call “…people with unfortunate personalities.” Yes, she wrote, poetry for the most part. I got the job at her store because I was a poet in need of a job, and her bookstore was enjoying a small boost in sales (ah, the very late 1980s!) and was in need of an extra hand. Luckily enough for me, my hands were a good fit.

It was at this first bookstore that I learned about sending books to prisoners. Family members would come in, usually a mother or girlfriend, always mortally embarrassed, to inquire if we could do such a thing, and if so, what would it cost. While the owner of the bookstore had always provided this service, she was more than happy to hand it off the time-consuming jumping thru hoops required to send a book into the prison system. I learned very quickly that each state has its own set of picayune rules in regards to what can be sent, who it can be sent to, and who can send it.

For example: At the time, Texas did not allow hardcover books to be sent, no how, no way. They figured prisoners might cut the cover into a weapon. How they were supposed to cut a hardcover book (trade or textbook, those covers are thick!) without already having a weapon, well, who can say, but never underestimate the ingenuity of anyone who can make a knife from a toothbrush. Only mass market paperbacks were allowed, and even those could not be over 200 pages or so (all those George R.R. Martin fans were S.O.L., until we started cutting the books into sections to mail).

But that’s Texas and we’re talking Oregon here.

My main takeaways from this time in Texas however, were that  prison libraries sucked, people need to read, and that nobody should ever be ashamed for wanting to provide reading material to anyone, anywhere..

So at my store I tried to charge the bare minimum to folks who were trying to get something to read to someone in jail. Just what the book cost and what it cost to send it to the library. No “handling” fee. Word got around that I was not fleecing the friends of and/or the incarcerated. A donation box for prisoners was set up; a group would have used my store to meet and distribute books, but they already had a setup at another famous bookstore, perhaps you’ve heard of them.

But what about Blaize? Blaize was active in her own community, and thus our paths crossed. We corresponded. I found a funny, artistic, intuitive and kind person. Lord only knows what she thought of me.

One holiday season, Blaize was passing through town. I offered to meet her at the airport and give her a ride to the bus station. My sister was in town also, so we both went to meet Blaize. Since there were a few hours in between flights and busses, we went to one of the more notable dives in town and had Chinese. The three of us sat around the table, chugging gallons of green tea, guessing the provenance of our eggrolls,  and it felt like we’d known each other forever. After I dropped Blaize at the bus station, I wondered if I’d ever see her again.

Well of course you know the answer to that.

hobo-catOver the years, we’ve managed to keep in touch. Even had a road adventure or two. Blaize is the Queen of Thrift: if there’s a store out there, not only does she know about it, but has Googled it and has directions and hours for the place. The purple rain coat that we found in Seaside, Oregon, got away from me (sadly), but the Hobo symbol that we found in another place up the road still hangs on my wall–a smiling cat in a box with four hearts, one in each corner. The design is a message to other hobos that inside this house is “a good hearted woman”, something that suits Blaize to a T.

As for the title of this piece, it comes from an Anarchist friend of mine, who was one of the inadvertent catalysts for our meeting. A couple of lifetimes ago, he was complaining because I wanted to go to my weekly writers group instead of party with him. He meant it to manipulate me, but instead I embraced it and use it to describe my best friends, my writing friends, the ones who have the time to listen and observe and comment or perhaps just be quiet and listen. The kind of friend you want to hang on to forever. Someone like Blaize.

So a huge THANK YOU, BLAIZE, for being there and writing of your travels and trials. I can’t wait to see your book. Maybe I should start another bookstore, so I could sell it.

Oct29

(Guest Post) A new way of living

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Today’s guest blog is by my friend Nina. I met Nina a couple of years ago at a gathering for people interested in van dwelling. We don’t see each other often, but we stay in touch electronically. Nina has been very supportive of my life and my writing. Today you can read her story.

Thank you to my dear friend Blaize for having faith in me and asking me to write an article for her blog!

Two years ago, being 50 years young and having to resign from a full time permanent position with a government environmental agency was the beginning of a new way of living for me. This same agency had been my employment with seasonal, term and lastly a permanent position for a total of about 11 years. It was my planned career and retirement until fate intervened. The stressful permanent position was an office job, unlike the prior office/outdoor Nature dominated tenure.  The stress had been building through the years and I was researching various other options.

RVing full-time and van living was on my radar. I had come across a website, www.cheaprvliving.com by Bob Wells, which resounded with my unique ideas and philosophy.  It was a great source of information and I started bookmarking articles that were important to me! It seemed that the RV life would be feasible after I retired.

A renovation had started in our work building and certain floors were being worked on two at a time. When it came time for our floor, the tearing out and replacing the carpet, plastic baseboard, paint and the various glues, dust and cleaner smells were too much for my body to endure. Accommodations were made by moving my desk, files and phone onto another unrenovated floor until the work process was complete.

When I returned to my new cubicle, the smells and chemicals were causing headaches, nausea, dizziness, vomiting and diarrhea as I tried to tough it out. My symptoms were discussed with my supervisor and off I went to my Naturopath Doctor (ND) in another city. The ND and I had a good relationship for several years prior. My prior positions had involved herbicide and pesticide applications along with my other outdoor duties.  Chemical sensitivities, allergies and various intestinal issues appeared that had me turn to natural medicine and eating healthier.  Meeting her had changed my life! She helped me understand the antibiotics and drugs the regular Medical Doctor (MD) had given in prior illnesses only dealt with symptoms not the real problem.  A wide array of blood tests that included the liver were run and compared to my prior tests. The ND discussed the results which showed my liver was overwhelmed with toxins and was dumping them for other organs to try to handle.

The agency then put out canisters designed to detect dangerous chemicals and sent them to a lab for testing. After reporting the ND results to my supervisor, the agency decided they wanted my tests redone by a qualified MD in order to accommodate me. In the meantime, the canisters came back with no harmful toxins or chemicals in the air. It was discussed with my ND and decided that for me to recover as much as possible, exposure to the area was to be limited. Choosing between money/career vs. my health was made. Resignation was the hard, but clear choice.

It was then the realization of how full-timing, van living could possibly improve my health!  A van was chosen, because of my financial situation. Each day afterwards there have been many adventures, challenges and new people, both good and bad. It would have been harder without the wonderful support of many people including Blaize!

Oct24

(Guest Post) Three Vignettes by Laura-Marie

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Today it is my great honor to present as a guest blogger my friend Laura-Marie. Laura-Marie is a sweet person and an awesome poet and writer of personal prose. Today she is sharing with us three vignettes that are part of a forthcoming zine called lost child 2.

eclipse
We were in Reno visiting a crazy friend, the one who kept broken mirror fragments in his pockets and read difficult books.  He found things on his late night walks, looking in dumpsters.

His sister, the house they shared, a meal made with dumpstered veggies.

We woke up and I needed to pee, so we walked to the In & Out but it was closed.

Later that day there was an eclipse.  We went back to the In & Out and people were in the parking lot looking at the sun.  We ate grilled cheese sandwiches.  It got dark for a moment then light again.

manic

When I had my first manic episode, when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I thought I’d have a lot more manic episodes.  So I took a ziplock bag and stole a lot of Benedryl from my mom.  The pills were hot pink.  Then I put that bag into a tin, like a tin for mints.

I thought when I started having another manic episode, I would take some Benedryl and it would help me sleep.

This was ten years ago.  I still have the Benedryl, bright enough to burn your eyes.  I never took any of it.

soap

Mom had a glass jar in her bathroom with pink soaps in it.  The soaps were shaped like seashells.  I wanted to wash my hands with them so badly.  But they were for decoration only.  They smelled perfumey, and my longing for them was mixed up with my longing for all the childhood things I was denied.

Lite brite.  A certain kind of bedside lamp the neighbor kids had.  When my brother was being potty trained and I was banished to other rooms.

I feel sure that color of pink will always be with me.  The soaps got dusty.  She must have thrown them away when we moved.

Laura-Marie is a zinester and peace activist living in Las Vegas, Nevada.  She likes cold brew tea, writing letters, and visiting friends.

Oct12

(Guest Post) Curing Nature-Deficit Disorder and Saving the Planet: Is there a connection?

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Today’s post is the first by a guest blogger. Thanks to Muriel Vasconcellos of Finding My Invincible Summer (http://www.findingmyinvinciblesummer.info/) for offering me the use of one of her blog posts to kick off the featuring of guest bloggers. The following post first appeared on Finding My Invincible Summer on September 4, 2015.

Curing Nature-Deficit Disorder and Saving the Planet: Is there a connection?

Tom - NDD 3Many pundits agree that if we don’t heed the warnings all around us, the barriers we put up to protect ourselves against nature may well turn out to be our self-inflicted weapons of mass destruction.

I have long believed that these bastions we erect will be our undoing. Like the hapless people inside a besieged fortress in the Dark Ages, we are gradually walling ourselves off from the sources that sustain us. Eventually our supplies will run out. Since we can’t see the walls that we build, we go on our merry way, inexorably depleting the the reserves that our descendants will need in order to survive. We don’t need plagues, nuclear bombs, or meteors from afar to end the world. We wage war against ourselves every day in millions and trillions of little ways. We are the creators of our own apocalypse.

We close our doors to the outside world and huddle inside our homes, burning energy to stay alive and “comfortable” –treating the air so we won’t be inconvenienced by minor rises or falls in temperature, turning our natural functions upside-down with artificial light, nuking our food, drawing entertainment from electronically fueled sources. Every time we venture out from our homes in sealed metal boxes with wheels or wings, we expand our carbon footprint. We wantonly strip the Earth of its trees, the lungs that make air breathable. We pollute our rain, our lakes and rivers, and our oceans. We reconstruct the food that nature gives us through processing and genetic modification to the point that it is already threatening our health. We kill every creature we don’t like or think is expendable, upsetting the preordained balance.

Many have turned a deaf ear to the warnings: if it works today, who cares about tomorrow? Some of us see parts of the picture; very few see all of it. It takes education. That’s where High Tech High stepped in.TomAndJay

High-Tech High is a charter high school in San Diego. It accepts students by lottery and 98% of them go on to college. My friend Tom Fehrenbacher (on the right in the photo), who taught humanities there until his recent retirement, teamed up with biology teacher Jay Vavra (on the left) in a six-year experiment that opened their students’ eyes to the importance and meaning of nature in their lives.

Their first project was to study the Boat Channel next to the school, but when they got outdoors “they didn’t feel at home in all the sunlight and air; they didn’t want to get their feet wet.” In short, they were suffering from symptoms of nature-deficit disorder, a term coined by author Tom issue13Robert Louv in 2005 in his best-selling book Last Child in the Woods that focuses on the problems that society inherits when children are deprived of contact with nature.

By the end of the first year, the students had moved beyond their comfort zone and produced a field guide, The Two Sides of the Boat Channel, with in-depth descriptions of its wildlife and reflections on nature. The interdisciplinary project grew over the next six years, producing a total of six ever-expanding field guides that reflected their growing understanding of the ecosystem in which they were living.

Tom has written an eye-opening report on the project’s history for the publication UnBoxed, a Journal of Adult Learning in Schools. It is one of the most interesting stories I have come across in a very long time. I urge you to read it and pass it on. http://www.hightechhigh.org/unboxed/issue13/logs_from_san_diego_bay/.

About the Author

In addition to her work as an author and blogger, Muriel Vasconcellos is a translator by profession. Her translation career spans more than four decades and she has clients throughout the world. She lives in San Diego with her twin Malt-Tzu pups.