She glides gracefully, fur trimmed pads travel across the snowy sea.
Awakes a glimpse of times never seen.
Each step balances perfectly, purposefully upon the ice interned tundra.
Runs aside the spirit of fallen heroes.
In her heart flows songs of her kin, ancestral purpose fulfilled in harmonious gait.
Bravery beyond the reach of man.
And behind the deepness of her almond eyes, the wisdom of ancient ages concealed.
Eclipsed by the midnight sun.
She competes only with the glare of a snow blinding blanket, aiming to please not to triumph.
Friendly glares give away loyalties learned.
Tails tighten their grip in the winter winds, feathery plumes wrap warmth around icy muzzles.
Unaware of those ahead and behind.
In the moonrise of an endlessly setting sun, her dreams begin to tell the tales of tomorrow.
The story dances, distant, yet familiar, on the trails of now.
Restor(y)ing
connection. environment. malamutes. justice. health. community. happiness. mindfulness. place. citizen. play. nature. community. story. relationship. identity. family.
13 March 2012
21 October 2011
Everyone go look at your garbage can...
Then ask yourself, what is it's purpose?
As the day continued, it got harder. I barely escaped lunch. We ate out, real plates, real mugs and didn't leave a bite. I pocked the napkin to throw in the composter; in this case the napkin was a necessity to tidy the avocado spread that refused to stay IN the sandwich but an avoidable disposable wasteful product nonetheless.
For most of the day, I was too busy to make garbage. And by 6pm, I used an elevator as my poor fibromyalgic feet were skeptical and insistent on avoiding stairwells. Ugh. Lazy use of unnecessary energy. Slap on the hand for that one.
Supper. Possible? No Garbage? Well, I really lucked out to tell the truth. It just so happened that I didn't empty the bulk bag of chicken breast and I didn't empty the bread bag,which we would have reused to scoop the poop, thereby saving the new plastic and greenwashed biodegradable versions. Add a couple sweet potatoes and a side salad... ROAD BLOCK. A piece of "lost and found" broccoli attempts to ruin (pronounced ruewin) my day. a. food wastage, compostable but sad and wasteful even if it doesn't get canned. AND b. it still has the evil little rubber band, acting very blue and unassuming. FAIL. What to do? FB message from Mom. "Yopu do not need to be the waste bucket either" after 10 minutes deciphering the message, figure out she meant I don't have to throw it out. For a minute, I thought she was telling me I eat too much (also probably true). SAVE POINT MOM. Then, more Facebook friends to the rescue: make a rubber band ball, secure your jars, Tupperware. SCORE. Stupid blue band.
Final Result: NO GARBAGE... until I use that last chicken breast tomorrow. Waste composted: too much AND I have to eat a WHOLE container of mushrooms tonight!
In other challenges, can I keep this blog going?
- to discard the refuse of our being, to hide our wastefulness inside a nicely formed plastic bucket - everything we've used, exhausted, done with. Chuck it.
- our forests, our oceans, our soil and rocks, under our earth. Not the store.
As the day continued, it got harder. I barely escaped lunch. We ate out, real plates, real mugs and didn't leave a bite. I pocked the napkin to throw in the composter; in this case the napkin was a necessity to tidy the avocado spread that refused to stay IN the sandwich but an avoidable disposable wasteful product nonetheless.
For most of the day, I was too busy to make garbage. And by 6pm, I used an elevator as my poor fibromyalgic feet were skeptical and insistent on avoiding stairwells. Ugh. Lazy use of unnecessary energy. Slap on the hand for that one.
Supper. Possible? No Garbage? Well, I really lucked out to tell the truth. It just so happened that I didn't empty the bulk bag of chicken breast and I didn't empty the bread bag,which we would have reused to scoop the poop, thereby saving the new plastic and greenwashed biodegradable versions. Add a couple sweet potatoes and a side salad... ROAD BLOCK. A piece of "lost and found" broccoli attempts to ruin (pronounced ruewin) my day. a. food wastage, compostable but sad and wasteful even if it doesn't get canned. AND b. it still has the evil little rubber band, acting very blue and unassuming. FAIL. What to do? FB message from Mom. "Yopu do not need to be the waste bucket either" after 10 minutes deciphering the message, figure out she meant I don't have to throw it out. For a minute, I thought she was telling me I eat too much (also probably true). SAVE POINT MOM. Then, more Facebook friends to the rescue: make a rubber band ball, secure your jars, Tupperware. SCORE. Stupid blue band.
Final Result: NO GARBAGE... until I use that last chicken breast tomorrow. Waste composted: too much AND I have to eat a WHOLE container of mushrooms tonight!
In other challenges, can I keep this blog going?
12 June 2011
metaphorical me
I have arrived at a place and time in my life where and when I realize that I have become disconnected from my own reality. I've escaped from all that is important, buying into the world's dominant destructive, industrial epistemology, become trapped in modernity where it is easier to have other people think for you.
I have lost my voice and my person and with it social comfort, a sense of global confidence; the reflection in the mirror is empty and unfamiliar. I have always had and always will have a story to tell, with an importance and intelligence that needs emancipation.
I'm here now to tell my stor(y)ies, the restoration of self though the collective lens of all my "ologies and ographies."
Most people introduce themselves in the past. And since individualism is but a theoretical myth, the past is ever important to creating the lens through which we view, interpret, or critically think about the present and future. This bring me to..metaphorical me. A wise man today said that words are metaphors. I imagine the beginning of my restor(y)ation goes something like this:
daughter. sister. granddaughter. newfoundlander. canadian. dancer. artist. musician. gardener. sandboxer. brownie. frequenter. camper. martial artist. girl guide. player. friend. barbie girl. part of lorne green's new wilderness. wok with yan fan. mr. dress-up idolizer. imaginer. natural. princess of power. animal lover. basketball enthusiast. good sport. reader. bright. distracted. challenged. undecided. mislead. sarcastic. naive. intelligent. spiritualist. recreationist. environmentalist. educator. adventurist. mountain biker. canoeist. facilitator. steward. social. extroverted. friendly. pablo's best friend. studious. photographer. gifted. hippie. connected. naturalist. geographer. superhero geek. health nut. conservationist. ecologist. aunt. treehugger. geomorphologer. over-achiever. type a. birder. recycler. biogeographer. interpreter. hiker. snowshoer. singer. songwriter. stage performer. program developer. fun. care-free. neurotic. mountain climber. researcher. academic. master. critical thinker. postmodernist. ultimate frizzer. coach. breeder. wife. homeowner. organic gardener. free thinker. jaded. angry. disconnected. connected. trapped. free. contradiction. hypocrite. unhealthy. dog sledder. dog fancier. hopeful. loved. involved. volunteer. inspired. culturally aware. citizen. treasurer. secretary. writer. employee. presenter. fairy dogmother. lucky. privileged. fortunate. me.
I also learned recently that original ideas are fairly non-existent so I should mention that I came by the restor(y)ing concept through a professor at the university of saskatoon.
I have lost my voice and my person and with it social comfort, a sense of global confidence; the reflection in the mirror is empty and unfamiliar. I have always had and always will have a story to tell, with an importance and intelligence that needs emancipation.
I'm here now to tell my stor(y)ies, the restoration of self though the collective lens of all my "ologies and ographies."
Most people introduce themselves in the past. And since individualism is but a theoretical myth, the past is ever important to creating the lens through which we view, interpret, or critically think about the present and future. This bring me to..metaphorical me. A wise man today said that words are metaphors. I imagine the beginning of my restor(y)ation goes something like this:
daughter. sister. granddaughter. newfoundlander. canadian. dancer. artist. musician. gardener. sandboxer. brownie. frequenter. camper. martial artist. girl guide. player. friend. barbie girl. part of lorne green's new wilderness. wok with yan fan. mr. dress-up idolizer. imaginer. natural. princess of power. animal lover. basketball enthusiast. good sport. reader. bright. distracted. challenged. undecided. mislead. sarcastic. naive. intelligent. spiritualist. recreationist. environmentalist. educator. adventurist. mountain biker. canoeist. facilitator. steward. social. extroverted. friendly. pablo's best friend. studious. photographer. gifted. hippie. connected. naturalist. geographer. superhero geek. health nut. conservationist. ecologist. aunt. treehugger. geomorphologer. over-achiever. type a. birder. recycler. biogeographer. interpreter. hiker. snowshoer. singer. songwriter. stage performer. program developer. fun. care-free. neurotic. mountain climber. researcher. academic. master. critical thinker. postmodernist. ultimate frizzer. coach. breeder. wife. homeowner. organic gardener. free thinker. jaded. angry. disconnected. connected. trapped. free. contradiction. hypocrite. unhealthy. dog sledder. dog fancier. hopeful. loved. involved. volunteer. inspired. culturally aware. citizen. treasurer. secretary. writer. employee. presenter. fairy dogmother. lucky. privileged. fortunate. me.
I also learned recently that original ideas are fairly non-existent so I should mention that I came by the restor(y)ing concept through a professor at the university of saskatoon.
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