Oh my poor vanilla car.

The first time someone told me I didn’t live in Portland and my bumper stickers were going to cost me jobs, I rolled my eyes and laughed.

The second time someone pointed out people might be suspicious of me as a social worker because of my bumper stickers, I was like “oh well, people learn when they are uncomfortable.”

The third time I was like:

“OK FINE SWEET JEBUS. No, I don’t want to alienate my damn clients.”

grumble grumble grumble hiss

So I finally stripped my poor car today.

Luckily, I was married to a redneck who did auto body and paint once, soooo I knew how to do it with out scratching my car but gees…

My poor car is humiliated.

She is vanilla.

She is now an asexual gender neutral it.

It is now apolitical.

The only thing that could offend my client’s now for sure is the fact it’s not American made.

Oh! And that it’s white. Damn it!

I have to draw the line.

But I suppose this is what being a grown-up anti-oppressive practitioner is.

Boo.

Survey says…..

CERVEZAS!

Just kidding.

But after about a month of heartburn, ulcers, sleepless nights and related irritable attitude combined with relationship woes, professional misfortune, scholastic pressure and being a parent; I have decided where I will live (for sure) after graduation.

I made a pros and cons list for Idaho and for Washington.

I meditated.

I surveyed Facebook friends and frenemies.

I did tarot cards.

I talked to classmates.

I talked to professionals.

I did guided meditations.

I talked to my counselor.

I talked to my mentor.

I talked to my soul mates.

I did about 34,834,530 different things as instructed by various decision making models and blogs.

I flipped coins. Over and over.

This morning I woke up and just knew:

I have to stay in Vancouver.

My heart said so. I can go where ever I want in 5 years. But for now, in fact for once in my life, I am thinking of my kids and my kids only. I am not rationalizing my needs or wants. I am not running home because I have a broken heart. I am planting roots.

Kudos to me.

I’m not neglecting you. Here is a poem for the interim:

Song Of The Rain VII by Khalil Gibran

I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven
By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn
Her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;
When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;
When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers
And between them I am a messenger of mercy.
I quench the thirst of one;
I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;
The rainbow announces my departure.
I am like earthly life, which begins at
The feet of the mad elements and ends
Under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heard of the sea
Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in
Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and
The trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently at the windows with my
Soft fingers, and my announcement is a
Welcome song. All can hear, but only
The sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,
But in turn I kill it,
As woman overcomes man with
The strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;
The laughter of the field;
The tears of heaven.

So with love –
Sighs from the deep sea of affection;
Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit;
Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

 

xoxo

Broccolini, Broccolini, night and day it’s Broccolini….

I’ve become slightly obsessed with broccolini, to the point my kids are sick of it. Oh well, apparently my heart chakra is in need of some greens, ok? I had been trying to incorporate them into my diet more and more (greens that is) and had run out of new things to try in my neck of the woods. That is, until the farmer’s market opened back up.

Broccolini is a magical hybrid of broccoli and kai-lan, of the cabbage family. It is sometimes sold as Chinese Kale. It should be bright green with yellow flowers and florets.

It is touted to have massive inhibitory effects on human cancer cells and is all around just good for you. So I have a simple recipe for you brave souls who would like to try it and those of you who are familiar, perhaps a new way to eat it!

Broccolini Mussolini

The first thing I do is to heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in my lovely cast iron pan, then add 3-4 minced cloves of garlic, stir until soft and fragrant. Then add a couple of spoons of pesto, some chopped sun-dried tomatoes and a few capers with some sea salt. Gently fold in your rinsed broccolini and cook until wilted.

Meanwhile, I have a pound of penne cooking in salted water….drain of course after cooked….then…

Toss the two together!

Shave some parmigiana over the top and eat. It’s magical. And much lower in bad fat than creamed sauces…

The part of the recipe where I sing, “Broccolini, Broccolini…” to the tune of “Cinderelli, Cinderelli…night and day it’s Cinderelli…” is totally optional.

Vision Board, check.

I have a vision board. It is about 2 years old. I have been reevaluating it and taking stock of what it meant, what it means and what is coming to fruition. I am more than pleased with my progress.

My not for profit is becoming more and more shaped in my head and on paper, due to my using it as fodder for my MSW assignments.

My advanced placement practicum is going to be at my first choice org. which I have been salivating at getting to work at, to the point that I have put off my volunteerism in order to not engage in a conflict of interest.

Yay for me at the Cascade AIDS Project!

I have missed my intrinsic rewards….a.l.p.h.a. had me at “Hello.”

Also, I have a couple leads on summer jobs!

I am pretty much just excited in general about life, right now.

There is still much work to be done, but I am getting there.

Where, I do not know. But it is closer.

Cheers!

❤

Poverty, Homelessness and privilege:

Have been the topics du jour in my classes this week. My poverty class is putting together a small Peoples Movement Assembly on poverty next month at Portland State, so I have been thinking a lot about poverty.

Homelessness is one of the many frustrating facets of it which are immediately apparent, particularly for me here in Portland. They make fun of the “gutterpunks” and the  panhandlers on “Portlandia,” but rarely do you see the REAL inequities and injustices without being here. I watch people a lot on the trains and at the stops and just downtown in general; most people avert their eyes as if not looking at the homeless will make them go away. Shameful.

I read a pretty resonant blog today that I would like to share with you:

http://adventuresofcassandra.tumblr.com/post/21338683124/homeless-happy

I encourage you all to remember that poverty is a human issue, not a poor issue. It is systemic. It is RAMPANT in the United States, despite what we may want the world to believe.

Don’t turn away. If you have nothing to give, you are dead. Sometimes just a smile can change someone’s world. Energy is cyclic.

Thanks, Cassie.

xoxo

Jani

My backyard is much more amazing than I thought!

I spent the day gardening and then got sidetracked into the little itty bitty things I saw….I’m sure my neighbors thought I was quite the fool crawling around on my hands and knees with a camera about 2 inches from the ground at times….

So here is your zen slideshow to look at before we all head back into the Mondays….

Enjoy the fruits of my battiness…

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I found naughty stamens, throbbing veins, fairy treasure maps, dripping nectar, hidden bugs, creepy crawlies, 5 different kinds of clover, blooming lichens and mosses…Lots more….What did you find?

Coat rack, Coat schrack.

Yesterday, I became obsessed with the idea that I need a coat rack. We have only recently gotten a couch and it appears that everyone has begun to use it as a coat rack. I can’t handle it! I admit, I am a cluttery person…my house is clean but there is always one or two spots, usually the extra? counter in the kitchen and/or my desk that are just pretty much covered in crap. Oh, and the bookcases….

Ok, screw it, I am like 3 avalanches away from being featured on the show “Hoarders.” I admit it. Let’s focus on the issue at hand. Gees…

I digress.

Point being, our closets contain most of our jackets; but one of us, (I wont name any names, ahemhusbandcoughcough) has about 938,273,028,457,034 jackets, coats, hoodies, hats, etc. Also, we have a really lame and needy dog that can’t handle when we leave. He will pull coats from where ever to sleep on and sniff to remember that we are coming back or some weird shite. Ergo, the one I had on the back of the door was continually getting broke as he pulled things off, not to mention the fact that the sleeves of our jackets were getting stretched. So, I decided to get a real coat rack. I hit up a few thrift and vintage stores, even a local trade shop that has a lot of really cool wooden things. Could NOT find a coat rack for less than 145 dollars. What? Hell no.

I came home and googled. That is what I do. I found lots of cool ideas, but none that looked really janified. So I took about four ideas and mixed them all together. Hence the janified coat rack: (pvc pipes, magical display vase I flirted the guy out of at World Market, spray paint and cement.)

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AND

It cost me a grand total of 32 dollars. BOOM.

That is the sound it will make if the damn dog pulls it over on his dumb self.(Concrete, hello)

*And I accidentally made my drop cloth into a cool backdrop. Woot, woot.

New workout friend!

I recently placed an ad on Craigslist that stated something to the effect of “Fat girl seeks same for competitive workout partner to keep me honest and blah blah.

I got several responses but only one seemed safe 🙂 I Facebook stalked her and we finally met up today and it seems fab. It will be nice to have someone that I am not in a relationship with to share weight and measurements and f**kups with.

We are very close to the same size and have incredibly similar goals and time frames…..

We both are gonna do this:

ZOMBIE RACE

So we have a goal and a date to get there.

Plus, we both have spouses to work with. YAY us.

Au revoir, Ass.

 

Bacon Leek Tomato Soupage Cha! BLT soup!

Here is the way to make one of my most favoritest tasty creations:

BLT Soup Recipe

Rough chop 6 slices of bacon, render until cooked but NOT too crispy.

Chop 1 whole celery bunch, excluding the last 3-4 inches but including the little baby leaves in the center…

Slice 2 leeks and mince about 3 cloves of garlic, add to bacon and saute about 10 minutes.

Don’t my leeks look like lips? lol

Meanwhile:

Dice 3 large creamy taters, I like yukon golds….

We will say these represent our potato bread in our BLT.

 

Pour enough chicken or mushroom broth combined with a little water to cover them in a stockpot. Boil.

Add the leek mixture and salt, pepper, thyme, celery seed and a couple bay leaves. Bring back to boil.

In a bowl, mix 1/2 cup flour with a  cup of milk. Slowly pour into stockpot while stirring. Turn down, cover and let simmer.

Simply slice in half a variety of small cherry, grape and pear tomatoes. About 2 pints. I like the heirlooms because they taste good.

I hated tomatoes my whole life until I came to hippyland and tasted organic heirloom tomatoes. They are different and BEAUTIFUL! I can’t help but take pictures! Look at these! They look like pomegranates!

Add to your soup.

Cook another 5-10 minutes on low and stir gently, so you don’t destroy your beautiful little tomatoes.

Enjoy.

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.” ~ Alice

I feel like I should have so much to write about the last week seeing as it has been my spring break, but I really have been struggling. I went to Wicked and it was magic. I saw The Hunger Games and it was pretty badass. I had a nearly 4 hour conversation with my baby daddy and it was civil and comfortable and nice even. The girl child left on a plane for her spring break, all alone (she is so brave…) and the boy child went on a 3 generational road trip with only men to meet a 4th generation. I got a new neighbor whom I anticipate being fraking fantastic. I found a new shortcut from my house to the redbox and my favorite grocery-like store. I read three books. All my textbooks came before my quarter starts tomorrow. I’ve had the house all to myself, all weekend. I slept till 10 this morning. I braved the panic-inducing store with the happy face logo to buy crap tons of soil and moss (irony right?) so I can plant my new herbs and replant my houseplants. I got to watch everything I wanted to watch last night without anyone complaining.

But truly, the most compelling thing I want to tell you voyeuristic pawns of my narcissistic needs is this:

I had an avocado for breakfast and seriously spent 5 minutes trying to figure out where the seed from the OTHER side went. yes. Are you freaking kidding me? I fished the garbage disposal. I looked in the trash. I was seriously confused because I could only find one pit from my ONE avocado. It was then I realized I needed coffee. Stat. I wish this was an April Fools joke. Sadly, it is not.

Avocado: 1

Jani’s brain cells: 0

De toutes les langues poétiques, le Français est le plus beau or “Expanding the languages you can curse in, a necessary evil.”

I just purchased levels 1-5 of Rosetta Stone, French. I am so excited. I’ve always wanted to try to learn another language, being from Idaho and in the US the language to learn seemed to be Spanish. But I don’t want to learn it. I’m choosing French because so many of my favorite things are French. If I win the Mega Millions lotto tonight, I will buy a vineyard in France. Plus, if I don’t, I will probably either move to Canada to continue my PhD or join the Peace Corps or Doctors without Borders with my MSW until I have my loans paid off, forgiven or paid down enough to purchase the land for my magic farm.

So it’s an investment in my future. Many of the potential foreign places I could go have French as an official language. I never realized how many! According to Wikipedia, which is NEVER wrong (right, lol) 30 countries, including the Vatican (that is a country? wtf, I missed that….) declare it an official language and 17 others use it, not to mention its unofficial status as a language in Louisiana. My husband also told me many people in the middle east use it or understand it. So yes.

A new thing to add to my vision board 🙂 YES!

Winning.

Mixed Messages

I always find it odd when someone tells you something and somehow they really mean something else. I find this to be true in all relationships be they familial, romantic, or platonic. I’m sure everyone does it, I myself am admittingly guilty as well.

For example, someone may say “Do you care if I go to _____’s house?” and on the inside I may be saying “NOOOO!!! I have been alone all day stay and fold laundry with me!”

But I don’t.

I say, “Sure, Girl Child, be home by 5.”

Let’s say, hypothetically of course, someone tells you in 38,495,304,570 different ways to get a life, get some friends, start working out (and of course, this doesn’t mean they find you fat or unattractive, they just want you to be “healthy.”), go out, “be free you hippy butterfly,” you start to get the feeling that you are being too codependent or cramping that person’s style. Your mere presence is irritating them. Their lives are affected and effected by your neediness or something, I don’t freaking know.

I digress.

Eventually you choose one of two paths: 1) You do what they have been telling you to do or 2) You eat an entire roll of cookie dough with a raspberry coffee and chocolate milk. and rationalize it was a healthy balanced meal 😉

But when you do choose to DO IT, how can that person be mad at you for it? If that isn’t what they wanted, what did they want?

Speak freely for sweet  ancient baby alien space monkey Jebus’s sake!

In the words of John Mayer, “Say what you need to say.”

I am not a mind reader.

I assume the rest of the world, Sylvia Browne and Alison Dubois aside, are not either.

When you say go away, I assume you mean it.

So when I get confused that somehow instead of someone being happy that I am doing what I need to do and no longer depending on them to entertain me, don’t make it about you again. I did exactly what I was told. BY YOU.

Next time, choose your words more carefully and/or imagine how you will handle the result.

You never know when someone will finally listen, hypothetically.

“IT’S NOT A TUMOR!” ~ Det. John Kimble

This morning I had to take the boy and girl child to apply to get their passports. According to the website for the post office, they do passport applications from 8 am to 2pm Monday through Friday.

Au Contraire, mes ami.

Apparently because of cutbacks, they have reduced the hours so we had to leave and comeback, ergo the kiddos missed even more school than I intended. WTF ever.

I digress.

The actual point of this post is that when I got out of the car at the post office the first time, the sun actually peeked out from a cloud and forced me to put my sunglasses to work as a sunglasses, rather than as a hair control tool.  Suddenly, from nowhere I smelled nag champa. LIKE BAM. The kids said “No, I don’t smell anything.” So I am smelling my clothes, the car, the air, whatever, like a crazy person while my children are laughing at me. I can’t find the source of this scent that is bordering on causing a headache. We go in the post office and it magically dissipates.

We come out a few minutes later, disgruntled at their ineptitude for changing websites (totally their fault I am sure) and I smell it again! The kids, nothing. My son offers that we are in the “hipster neighborhood” maybe there is just someone burning nag champa and only my well honed nose can smell it. Possible. So we go get the kid some crepes, while we wait.

An HOUR passes and we go back to the post office. Do what we need to do. Come out, and I smell it again. The kids laugh and at this point I am starting to believe it has something to do with the post office or phantom smells or paranormal hippie ghosts, perhaps I have had a stroke or I have a brain tumor, cause this is giving me a headache.

I turn down Washington, away from the sun and take my sunglasses off. Miraculously, the smell is gone. A light bulb went on. I put the sunglasses on, the smell is there. It was my sunglasses! I had them in the bathroom basket with my soaps overnight. They now STINK of nag champa.

HAHAHHAHAH. Well played, goat milk soap. Well played.

BUT HEY! All this means is the sun is shining! WEIRD!

I’ll take a nag champa induced headache over clouds any day.

Cheers!

xoxo

The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men…..

I had such plans for today!

Alas, Mother Nature had other plans.

 

So kiddos are home for a couple more hours.

I’m looking at the snow, it’s looking at me, and I want to seed the clouds with Lithium.

So in honor of rolling with the punches, I give you music for the snowy soul (atleast it’s not rain yet!):

Yeah ah ey yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……

Perhaps my Spring Break will be better tomorrow.

I like it, I’m not gonna crack……..

But I would like to sing a different song tomorrow:

Spring…is here…..again…..