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August 31, 2002

i'm a bad bad girl

I didn't water the garden for two whole days. My plants were drooping and very unhappy with me. So I gave 'em an extra good soaking in apology. I think they forgave me, they gave me some delicious tiny orange cherry tomatoes in return. Mmmmm...There's nothing quite like a sun-hot, fresh off the vine sweet cherry tom popping in your mouth as you water the garden.

You were expecting something else, maybe? Nah, I'm a good girl. Well, at least until D. gets back. He brings out the BAD girl in me!

I am listening to PJ Harvey yo. She always puts me in a tough girl groove.

I'm beggin' Jesus Pleeeeese. Send me his looooooove.
Send me pleeese his kisses, send him home today.
I'm beggin' Jesus pleee..ee..ese, send me please his kissses...

This love becomes a tether, this room becomes a cell.

How long must I suffer, dear god I've served my time,
this love becomes a torture, this love my only crime...

Or something like that. Man can that woman wail! I wish I could evoke angst like that with my voice. Guess I'd have to smoke a lot of cigarettes.

August 30, 2002

a miracle in the campground bathroom

my mom was healed a few weeks ago.

We were camping out at Camp Long and she followed an urge to go to the bathroom. While inside she was approached by a fairly ordinary looking woman who offered out of the blue to heal the ankle she broke many months ago. It had set all funky(due in part to moms firm insistance on NOT going in to get it xrayed and checked out by a professional) and caused her to limp and need a cane to walk.

Well, my mom's certainly not one to turn down magical assistance even when it comes upon her in a restroom. Lo, the healer laid her hands on moms ankle which promptly heated up and she is now walking without a cane! Hallejulah!

Later the healer told her that when her guides tell her to do a healing, she does it whenever and wherever she might be. They didn't even let her go pee first. She said they don't really comprehend human details like that, not being in the same dimension and all.


Sometimes I wish I was more in tune with spirits and guides and all those magical beings out there, and then I'm really glad I'm NOT. It's hard enough trying to be aware of life in the earthly dimension. It would be way too challenging to be talking to folks in several different realities at once, folks nobody else could see... Er...'scuse me a minute willya, I'm just...uh...talking on my cellphone, yeah that's it, my cellphone!

Am I getting too far out? I think Daniel's been gone too long. I'm going into withdrawal. It's not a pretty sight. Please, somebody stop me!

Oh well, better too far than not far enough.


my roomies are wrestling again

It's one of their favorite pastimes. Cara tries to take Ben down, Ben usually takes Cara down, then they usually dissolve into kissy giggly nonsense. Sometimes I help hold Ben down, or try to-he's pretty damn strong, and wary of being at the mercy of two wild wicked women-maybe I can get Daniel to help us pin 'im down when he returns from buddhacamp.

It's pretty good entertainment on a quiet night at home.

So, I had a nice day today, no more Irate Rzan diatribes.

I worked on my primitive man sculpture most of the day. Jim(the guy for whom I am sculpting it) came over and we worked on it together. It was really fun. He'd say:"the forehead needs to be a little higher", so I'd plop a little blob of clay on it and mold it smooth. Hey presto! A loftier brow. "More hair, he needs a big wild, sexy mass of hair" No problem, more clay blobs, rolled, tweaked on, smoothed and then roughened with a toothbrush(I love expensive tools) and voila! Big sexy hair.

I love clay. It is SO versatile and soft and lovely to tweak, pat, press, wet, squeeze and shape into whatever pleases me. Yum.

Then mom and me went and saw the movie Simone. It was amusing.

Now I'm home, blogging again. Hmmmm... How do y'all manage to spend this much time on the computer and still have lives?


a rant

to all you slacker boyfriends out there.

Yeah, you know who you are. The ones who come on all sweet and affectionate and romantical...'til you move in with us!

That's just false advertising, damn it. If you're a big fat slob don't pretend otherwise. I know everyone puts their best foot forward at first, but really, why not avoid the long slow path to hella heartache by telling it like it is right at the start?

Because then you'll never get a girlfriend? Well, maybe, but at least you will get an honest look at yourself and perhaps you might just understand what you are looking for a little better. Do you really want another human being to devote themselves to you? That's a HUGE thing to be asking for, and you have to be willing to give yourself in equal measure(that is, if you actually want it to fly)Relationships are serious work, so unless you're just looking for a good time, be ready to work.

Why the big sermon? I had a heart to heart a dear girlfriend recently. Our kids played while we made dinner and talked. She's rather aghast at finding herself living with her new partner and all the little things that magnify once you move into each others daily space.

Like dirty laundry, on the floor, thanklessly waiting to be picked up and made clean. Or dishes piling up, or dirty bathrooms...Any of the endless chores that SOMEONE has to do. Not to mention that lurking dragon of all relationship worries-finances! Who pays for what now that the couple has become a living unit?

And what about all that loving touch? Where did all the affection, the endearments, the rubbing, the little gestures and tender moments(like flowerpetals in the bathwater or lovesongs softly sung) go?

Hear me, all ye boyfriends! We need that! It is essential to our happiness. And our happiness is essential to your happiness, is it not?

Look on your mate. Is she not unique and incredibly precious to you? Then for Goddess' sake, tell her! Talk to her. You may have heard her whole story already, but I guarantee you don't know what's going on in her head NOW! Delve down into that secret magic of your lovers soul-if she will let you. It may be unsettling and a little scarey, but it will bring you closer and what are you in a relationship for anyway, if not relating?

don't be a dipshit about the dishes and chores either. Even if she is a mama, or motherly, she ain't your mama! And don't just do a minimum either, take on that whole gawdamn mountain of scarey greasy dishes-you're a MAN, aren't you? Then do chores like a real man! Put those burly muscles to use-scrubbing our floors and bathtubs. Show us what sexy and manly REALLY is.

Yes. Yes. Oh, YES!


August 29, 2002

it's late, i'm tired and...

...feeling a little sad and lonely.

Does anyone else miss being a kid? All I needed when I was a kid was a good book and a corner to curl up in. Well, and maybe a jar of peanut butter.

My mom was cool, she'd actually let me go to bed with a book and a jar of peanut butter. Man, those were the days!

There were no adult worries hovering over my tiny kid consciousness. I didn't have a clue that there were bills to be paid, debts racking up, money dribbling in too slow... Things like rent, credit cards, legal bills and tuition were so much mumbo jumbo. My only money question was if I'd gathered enough popcans to cash in so we(the commune bratpack)could hike through the forest to the local general store and buy donuts or candy bars.

Now I'm a mama and I'm the one responsible for keeping my son safe, wellfed, clothed, sheltered, schooled and as innocent and carefree as possible in this insane world.

Mom, how the heck did you manage? And I only have one little boy. You had three of us ungrateful little brats! Wow. Thanks for dealing with one crazy situation after another, keeping us safe and loved, giving us a childhood full of marvelous games and natural treasures. Teaching us to survive hard times and to create beauty wherever we may be.

I love you.

There, now I feel better. I'm going to bed.

the agony and the ecstacy

Today was errand day. My gracious mother Blackbird drove me around getting shtuff done.

i was shot down by La Tienda when I took my art in there this afternoon. He said it was "more suitable for the street fair venue"...Pah! Oh well, no sour grapes. I really need my own store anyway-everyone else wants 50% of my hard earned bucks, goldang it!

Then I went to the good ol' DOL and passed my learners permit test! That means I can now learn how to drive a car. Oh joy.

You'd think the thirty-two year old mom of a four(nearly five)year old boy would already know that, huh?

Nope, i never learned how, never wanted to, still don't really want to! To tell the truth, I'm scared shitless by the whole prospect of being a fragile human body in charge of a giant hunk of metal capable of high speeds and fatal collisions.

But it's starting to seem like the thing to do.

At least the picture came out pretty nice.

discordant construction noise, or, i miss daniel

Sound stirs
me from sleep,
fragments dream.

Remnants linger,
magic escapes,
driven from my head
by hammer bangs
and rumbling machinery.

Stretching, my body
protests awakening.
Suddenly stiff
and aware of too hot
blankets, sweaty limbs.

Eyes crack, unwilling.
Register dimly,
red numbers: 7:19.
Relief and annoyance mingle.

A luxury of hours,
mine to spend.
Naked and alone
in dreamtime.

only by discordant construction noise.


art or food?

One(hah!) more question.

As an artist who has spent many a craft fair watching customers hem and haw, decide not to buy an artpiece(something that could add beauty and inspiration to their lives for years to come) and then wander by carelessly stuffing their faces with overpriced fairfood (that lasts only as long as the indigestion)I have often wondered:

1. What do you need to see in an artwork that would impell you to choose it over yummies for your tummy?

So many people have come into my booth and just given me so much admiration and appreciation. It's a wonderful feeling and I'm glad that my art speaks to folks, but few are those who actually see the beauty and make the choice to spend their money and take it home with them. Those precious few always make my day.

2. What kind of art would you actually part with your hard-earned dollars for?

3. What do you want art to do for you?

I put a lot of my heart, soul, emotions and experiences into my sculptures, they kind of tell my story, but I like to let people experience them for themselves and make up their own stories. It's always fun for me to see people find themselves in my creations.

4. Do you like to be told about an artwork, or do you like it to be open to your own interpretation?

OK, that's definately enough, before my one more question turns into ten. I guess I'd better go back and number 'em for ya.

August 28, 2002

the tasty two-my version

It's all about food.

Food means so much more than simply putting nourishment in your body-this is currently being evidenced by the conversation taking place in my kitchen between Cara, my roomate and her boyfriend, Ben as they make midnight garden tomato salsa: "Cara, the tomatoes are chopped." "So chop the avocadoes!" "why'd you put them in there anyway?" "I don't know, you're the one with the plan, aren't you?" "I'm just here for the nipple tweaking and butt tickling" "You're looking to get avocado all over you!" "aaiieee!"..."The cilantro is chopped." "How finely?" "Good enough!"-I'm sure the salsa will be wonderful too.

So my questions are:

1. What is your security food? You know, the food that you eat when you need to feel loved, comforted, warm, at home? Mine is graham crackers and cocoa-it was just the thing when I came in frozen stiff from a Maine blizzard as a child, thank you, mom!

2. What unexpected things have you wrapped in a burrito shell and called a burrito? Did it work? Tonight I made garbanzo bean/lamb/sunburst squash/mushroom/avocado/tomato "burrito"s and amazingly enough, my guests ate it up happily. maybe we'll try a new combination tomorrow with the salsa my roomies are concocting...

3. What food do you most like to eat off a loved one? Chocolate used to be my favorite, but now I'm leaning towards blackberries...

OK, so that was three-I'm an artist not a mathematician.


a day in the life...

...of the rzanimal.

Bleary-eyed I wake to the familiar words:

"let's get up, mama!" my sleepy grey eyes flutter open to catch the gaze of my son Samadhis wide blue ones. "mama, what's for breakfast?"

Whereupon I grab him in a bearhug and pull him down for a few more minutes of snuggly torpor as I struggle up from that weird land of half-remembered dream images(boy, do I have some BIZARRE ones) and wake into the reality of being me, mama, Roseanne, the maker of breakfast.

Soon I'm sitting for Red Tara practice as he munches happily on organic cocoa puffs. It's an interesting counterpoint to meditation, not really recommended for quieting the mind, but it works alright for us. Sometimes he climbs onto my lap when he finishes his cereal and snuggles quietly(well almost always quietly) 'til I'm done. Then he usually wants to ring the bowl.

I think that must be one of the reasons why you don't see as many female lamas and gurus about-it's hard to look really serene and serious with cocoa puffs strewn about your cushion and a curious kid hanging onto you. Of course a really dedicated practitioner would rise up early and get the dharma in before her kid even stirred. I'm definately not there yet. I'm just a beginner. Maybe someday I will get serious about what life is all about. Right now I'm just living it.

Serious like Tenzin Palmo. She is amazing. I just saw her speak at Third Place books. She read from her biography, "A Cave in the Snow" and told of her life. She was one of the first western women to embrace Tibetan buddhism wholeheartedly. She spent thirteen YEARS in a cave in the mountains of Tibet meditating, by herself. She is establishing a nunnery where formerly there has only been monestaries. Building it from the ground up. What a strong, clear, powerful being she is, a truely incredible woman.

Back to my day. Watering the garden comes next, a daily ritual, somewhat tedious, always mesmerizing. I watch the cold water rainbow out in the hot sunshine, spraying down onto all my thirsty veggies, soaking the dry soil again and again to ensure that the water reaches deep down to the roots. I watch, as it bejewels the lush green leaves, dripping and sparkling on the ripening fruit. Beautiful.

Sam harvests tomatoes "are these ripe, mama?" and lays them in a long line along the garden wall, a beautiful pattern of red and orange globes, big and small. Our feet invariable get too hot on the concrete and I hose us down to the sweet high sound of his giggle.

He finds a zucchini and I let him cut it off carefully with a sharp knife. He carries it solomnly in and sets it on the counter. Then I water the flowers out front while he frets about when the sunflowers will be ripe enough to yield seeds for us to munch on. He frets at ME too much and I tell him to talk to THEM about it. So he does. He gave them quite an earful too. I'm sure they will probably ripen a little faster this year.

then I get him ready to go to his fathers house. i wash his face "Blarrgh, mama!" and brush his long blond hair "OUCH, no, no, NO!" read him a story, kiss him goodbye and watch the van drive away.

Invariably I feel sad. his father and I are not friends and it hurts. It just feels so wrong that two people who loved each other and have a child together cannot even speak freely or touch each other in friendship. They say that time heals all wounds and I continue to hope so, but the acid of this particular one seems like it will keep on boiling for a long time.

However, there's a lot to be done and so I get to it, chores and errands and emails...

And here I am, blogging! This is quite enjoyable, thanks, Daniel.

Later I will sculpt. I have a brand new bag of clay and time to myself-that's a treasure to be savored. I have work to do-a clay bust of a primitive hero and I'd better get started before I have to go and pick up Rowan and babysit her for the evening.

Wow, that was a long one, thanks to any of you that actually made it through and read my whole day!


August 27, 2002


After being catless in Seattle for far too long, my house is now swarming with kittens!

Well, actually there's only two, but it certainly seems like a swarm at times.

my roomate, Cara went to her highschool reunion out in the badlands of Wenatchee and came home with the little cuties. She found them in the woods where they had apparently been abandoned.

Skinny scruffy love-starved little buggers but they are filling out quite nicely now as she's spoiling them rotten with raw organic beef hunks and Iams kitten chow. It's pretty hilarious watching a tiny kitten rip into a piece of meat purring and growling at the same time.

I sure missed soft fluffy purry kitty love. I could have lived without the crazy night antics, yo(thundering across the wood floored hallway while we are trying to sleep), the attacking of hapless toes, the dragging off and rending of numerous small household items and last but not least, the ever overflowing litterbox.



slug exportation

So, the kids have this wacky game that they play in the dahlia bed out front...

They turn over these huge rocks, I don't quite know how they manage it-some of the rocks are too heavy for ME to heave, admittedly I'm no muscle woman or anything but they are just bitty kids!-to search for critters.

Pill bugs get ooohs, they're cool 'cause they roll up. Spiders get screeches and beetles are kind of interesting but by far the most exciting are the slugs.

The bigger the better-Rowan: "whoa, look at that fatty!"
Sam: "Ooooh, that's super big!"

Somehow a game developed where they pick up the slugs(using leaves for slime protection) and carry them over to the yard next door, which just happens to be the yard of my landlady. There they "set them free" to join their little slug friends in "the wilderness".

Well, today I was sitting out on the front porch indulging in a sunny afternoon jaw session with my friend Ben, Rowans dad. The kids were playing happily out on the rocks and I was vaguely aware of their simple discussion of bugs and dead flowers which made a pleasant backdrop for our more adult topics of relationships, vulnerability, fear and buddhism.

Then my landlady came walking up the driveway.

She said hi to the kids and they immediately filled her in on the bug game. To my dismayed amusement, Rowan eagerly showed her how they export the leaf-wrapped slugs right over to her front yard!

She came over to talk to me and I offered her a rueful grin and apologized for turning her yard into a slug haven. To her credit she just laughed and said she'd merely come over to say we were welcome to pick the blackberries in her yard.

Thank heaven for nice landladies.


August 26, 2002

Woops, I forgot the orgy part

Unfortunately, that was only in our heads. We were gazing into the enormous tub of glistening berries and imagining the naked fun of taking them home, spreading out a plastic drop cloth and romping and rolling and feasting until you couldn't tell the purple people apart from the purple people eaters...

Then Daniel suggested the big blow up kiddie pool and it became more of a blackberry wrestling fantasy than an orgy. Easier to clean up certainly, but I think the neighbors might freak and I'd hate to have to try and explain it to the authorities...Nude sticky purple people just don't get any respect.


We decided to freeze the berries for cobbler, pies, cakes and other delicious socially acceptable items.

blackberry orgies

Blackberries, all I see when I close my eyes is blackberries. Lush clusters of purple-black berries glistening sweetly in the sunshine amidst dark green foliage and ominous prickles.

I saw Daniel off this morning with a kiss, three of the biggest sandwiches I've ever helped make and a sack of freshly harvested cherry tomatoes(his favorite garden snack).

Boy, did he get all scratched up! Those blackberries really took vengeance for our plundering yesterday. They even tore into his legs through his Carhardt jeans- poor thing, he looked like he'd been wrestling with a tiger!

No complaints, yo. We sure had an awesome day and took home a simply astounding amount of berries-filled every tupperware, and two gigantic stewpots.

The kids(my son, Samadhi and his six year old friend Rowan) had a blast gorging on berries, stomping on dry leaves and adventuring on secret paths where adults fear to tread(there's a dragon, you know-the fearsome prickly Blackberry Dragon who, of course, only eats grownups).

We wandered farther and farther off the beaten path until we came to blackberry heaven-it was absolutely crazy-amazing how plentiful the berries were there. They covered the bushes like a thick juicy blanket. Cara, Daniel and I picked and picked and picked while the kids giggled and giggled and giggled. By the time we were done it was getting dark, we were starving, scratched up, all sticky purple fingers and faces. So Daniel took us out for pizza on the way home. Yum.

It was a thoroughly satisfying day.

I'm gonna miss that boy.


Woops, I forgot the orgies part.

Unfortunately, that was only in our heads. We were gazing into the enormous tub of glistening berries and imagining the naked fun of taking them home, spreading out a plastic drop cloth and romping and rolling and feasting until you couldn't tell the purple people apart from the purple people eaters...

Then Daniel suggested the big blow up kiddie pool and it became more of a blackberry wrestling fantasy than an orgy. Easier to clean up certainly, but I think the neighbors might freak and I'd hate to have to try and explain it to the authorities...Nude sticky purple people just don't get any respect.

We decided to freeze the berries for cobbler, pies, cakes and other delicious socially acceptable items.

August 25, 2002

mwa ha ha-i'm in charge now!

Little did Daniel know what he was getting into when he innocently left for retreat...

Just kidding, honestly I'm honored to be guest hosting on my very favorite blog.

If anyone has some good ideas to keep it entertaining around here while he's off refining his mind, let me know. He didn't even leave us with a juicy little survey to comment on...


500! retreat!

I just looked and saw that my last post was my 500th post. That's a lot of posts.

I'm going on retreat until September 1st and Rzan will be manning the helm here at the tinyblog until then...I hand it over to her...

boot to the head

When I was a kid, I used to listen to the Dr. Demento show, a radio show that played novelty songs, sketch comedy, and all kinds of crazy stuff. I used to huddle up in my bed with secret headphones on and listen to Wierd Al Yankovic ('dare to be stupid!') and Barnes & Barnes ('I took a fish head out to see a movie, didn't have to pay to get it in!').

Some of the funniest stuff he played, though, was the sketch comedy of The Frantics, a Canadian comedy troupe around way before Kids in the Hall. First there was 'Last Will and Temperament', which I couldn't find on the internet (or in print on CD). It's about the reading of a will where a rich man leaves 'a boot to the head' to all of his relatives and leaves all of his money to his cat.

Then, they came out with 'Ti Kwan Leep', another sketch about booting people in the head. I liked it so much I actually did it as a play in 7th grade.

I was pleased to find it floating around on the internet.

Download it (1.1mb) in .mp3 format from my secret underground server and listen to it under the covers at 2am. It's better that way.

August 22, 2002

retreat...guest curator?

Again I go on retreat for a week or so. Anyone interested in guest curating the tinyblog whilst I'm gone so as to keep it interesting? And give me something to read when I get back? Rzan? Gina?

I'm gone from the 26th through the 1st.


I thought that, like pool, my skill in bowling was destined to remain the same no matter how often I played. I think that my bowling is actually improved though, since I again shattered my previous all time high score (of two days ago) with an astounding 154.

I know, I know, two bowling related posts in one week. Hell, two times bowling in one week. But it was really good clean fun and pretty good physical therapy for my healing arm.

And really, a 154 is not too shabby!

August 21, 2002

dhtml art installation

My fellow LXIS man Joe just put up a small installation of his experimental DHTML art, cirrusa. It's elegant and simple and looks pretty.

One of my favorite pieces:
Los Amigos Invisibles

August 20, 2002


Tonight I beat my previous all time best bowling score of 123 with an astounding 139. Yatta!

August 15, 2002

next in the sea of blogs

Been entertaining myself with Blogger's NextBlog link.

It picks a blog at random from the sea of blogger blogs (I think they have several hundred thousand now) and deposits you there with little fanfare. It's kinda nice when you have a moment. Just browse a few. What's amazing is that it has never sent me to a blog I had ever seen before.

Too bad it's only blogger blogs. Maybe Movable Type could institute something similar for Movable Type blogs, but they could only do it among their considerably smaller pool of paid customers.

i miss my mom

Isn't it about time you came out to Seattle, mom?



It interesting what you find when you clean. Rzan did this only a few months ago.

August 12, 2002

the dirty joke vending machine

Saw the midnight movie at the Egyptian Theater. It was Brazil, directors cut. My god what a dark movie. It's hard to know if I felt satisfied or not after seeing it.

On the way we were walking down broadway and walked by a guy sitting on the sidewalk selling CD's. We walked right past him. Right next to him was this tough punkish girl with a sign I didn't see until I was almost past her.

Dirty Jokes
$ .25

Four steps past and I realized that this was a service I really needed. I stood before her with a quarter extended and she let loose with her first. Perfect deadpan delivery. I smiled and reached for another quarter. My friends got in on the act and handed over quarters.

Finally she told a joke that was so...well...kinda vile that it shocked the kid next to her selling CD's. He looked over at her, "Hey, you shouldn't even fucking say that!"

"I'm selling dirty jokes," she said in her own defense.

"That's not a dirty joke," he said, "it's a molestation joke! You shouldn't even say that."

I looked at him squarely, "Hey buddy, I paid good money for that joke. You gonna let the lady do her job or what?" I handed her a fourth quarter and got another.

Finally we headed towards the movie. As we packed up to go she said proudly, "I'm the dirty joke vending machine."