It's a beautiful day in Costa Rica. In fact, all of the days have been beautiful. The light rain showers in the afternoon are very refreshing. The town of Fortuna is beneath Volcan Arenal and at night you can see the lava glowing red! We went on a boat ride and saw many exotic animals. We also went to a wonderful hotsprings and soaked for hours and hours under the starry sky. The locals set off fire works last night for Christmas Eve. It was quite the show. Today we are off to the cloud and rain forests of Monte Verde.
Merry Xmas all!!

Hello my darlings!
I am speaking to you from the ever wonderful, the ever green Costa Rica!
After a lot of unwanted and uncalled for delays we finally pulled into town today at 2:30 pm. That's right, over 24 hours worth of travel.
But Costa Rica is warm, beautiful, green and completely different from anything I've ever experienced before. The aunt, the mom and I went for a walk along the road (busy as hell and no sidewalks) to a little restaurant were we ordered up some bebers (drinks) and some chow. A wonderful mix was on the radio and we had a varied assortment of dishes including little tortillas with a relish tray and a whole roasted garlic, enchilada, stuffed chilis and heart of palm salad. MMMmmm. The people here a really nice. I can't say that I have seen a lot of the real culture, mainly just a busy road but I have high hopes for the next month. Tomorrow, we head to the grand Volcana Arenal, which is still lively as all get out and soak in the hot springs there abouts, go on a night tour looking for animals and generally bask in the "bad" feeling one gets from hanging out within death's grip right under an active volcano.
Adios!

Dodowa Road

Lapping dogs with lamenting dirges
called to me from sunburned Savannah
hills. Thirsty dogs, dry as sand and wind-
streaked tongues, with paws cracked
in Hamartan heat, pad up and down
the blood red road. Back and forth
they oscillate, circle round and round,
dead dogs. They haunt the side of the road,
rotting like war, rotting like rinds
of salted roast. Day after day, electricity,
cascading neurons, vanish with five
o'clock sunset. Hair and eyebrows gone
like a two year old's birthday cake.
Muscle and skin, toenails and eyeballs
are devoured like a fine book at one a.m.
Nerves and muscle, cartilage and soft
organs are pulled from cavities like precious
jewels and day after day, the road reaches
long to the north, and south to the sea.
The entire walk, rotting dogs decay
to dusty bones and dripping dreams.

Reflex

It all began on a rocking horse.
The story of my life, a talking horse,
started slow, like a second date,
a secret wish served on broken
plate, a golden coin, flattened
on railroad steel. I twitched
and conceived a critique
of consciousness. A cactus of truth
pierced my skin, drooled out
a foreign friend. Transposed
in a perspiring melange,
we painted a tapestry
of terracotta pearls and timid
paper and plastic,
expanding like a wicked
little shadow, inebriating
me like a salty sailor.
The curve of a smile puckers
in carefully colored calendars.
Teeth on Tuesdays, grins
on Mondays and chortles
on Fridays.
Week after week a sad
love song whispers
on my shoulder like an evil
demon, urging me to your
cracked egg shell smiles
and flakey pastry prose.
We both know that making
the sun rise is like muting
a silent monkey.
It has already happened.

Ripping Off a Whiny Song

A three pronged hat and a tin roof
sunday ice cream strolling
in Central Park, a chapeau
and a fatty dairy product,
it's true, but what were
the chances, of them strolling
in Central Park.

Come to me in a satin scarf
and robes of milky cream.
Come to me and listen
to my ditherings, my digressions,
commas, quotes and quid pro quos.
Six thousand words I have scribbled
with a million, trillion, gazillion
to follow. Hanging clauses,
compound sentences without
a pound, raw, unfinished.

If you came to me
in the hollow honeydew
haze, you would scare away
the spider webs of Easter egg
shadows and render me
a loquacious fool with your
enchanting cantations.

One for puppies and two
for pain. Another for love
and three for flying angels
raining fairy dust and subjunctives.
I am counting crayons,
each one a different color.

the leaves have fell off all the trees and despite the fact that i can see through the naked branches, i still can't see the stars for the fog. it the kind of fog that creeps up on you around corners and taps your left shoulder and quickly moves to your right side when you turn your head. outside is a death trap and i can't get used to the cold. i want to love it, to embrace it, to cuddle in front of a fire or walk briskly down the trail, feeling the coolness on my cheeks but knowing that i am warm. have you ever looked closely at hoar frost? it clings to pine needles like nylons in humid southern afternoons. it clings but it also pulls away like a thousand jagged saw tooths or a layer of sharks teeth. i've never seen anything so polar, clinging and pulling. it's like me in a way. stretching with all its might, pulled by some unseen force towards the mysterious future yet grounded, rooted to the tree afraid to take the first bite that will eventually devour the elephant. if i can't see things through to a successful ending, i terminate them before they begin and in the spring, i melt with the warm sun and trickle into the thawing ground. some wise wit once said, nothing ventured, nothing gained. well, my angels, he was right.

{From a documentary called Africa: A Triple Heritage}
The whole universe has been created in the image of god. In fact, the universe and the creative process are a kind of autobiography of god; god telling his story chapter by chapter, tree by tree star by star stream by stream. All of the different elements in nature can be expressions of god. The sun rise can be god’s smile, the draught, the wrath of the ancestors and thunder and lightening could sometimes be a divine orgasm.

If you believe in this
then the following is of no
consequence but if you
think that it is nothing
more than grey swirls
in the bathtub
then it is only a ring
'round the rim to me.
I repeat it over
and over, believe
with all my energy
and I can tell you
twice if not thrice
that there is no
difference between
you and me whether
they think so or not.
You have never
uttered a word
about it before so I
do not think it
matters anymore.
Tomorrow was the same
as yesterday and today
is coming faster then
I want to say. Let
them all wash away.
Now, weeks are like
petals on a flower.
I will not concern
myself with hours.
They cannot be there
and be here with me
so I leave them to
regimented minutes.
Because I believe
it is true. If you
do not...
simply be,
so that we can
be together.

The World According to Dan Dustin:

I am the the old original iron-jawed, brass-mounted, copper-bellied corpse-maker from the wilds of Arkansas! Look at me! I am the man they call Sudden Death and General Desolation! Sired by a hurricane, dam'd by an earthquake, half-brother to the cholera, nearly related to the smallpox on the mother's side! Look at me! I take nineteen alligators and a bar'l of whiskey for breakfast when I'm in robust health, and a bushel of rattlesnakes and a dead body when I'm ailing. I split the everlasting rocks with my glance and I squelch the thunder when I speak! Stand back and give me room according to m y strength! Blood's my natural drink, and the wails of the dying is music to my ear. Cast your eye on me, gentle-men, and lay low and hold your breath, for I'm 'bout to turn myself loose!

The Rolling Stones rocked. And be assured that I told you all about them and then promptly lost it all in an unexpected computer freeze. I'm just not really interested in rewriting the masterpiece so I'm going to give you some highlights from other peoples' masterpieces...

"Pasted on my open window, I see the sky above me, raw."
"I'm hoping to find a plug for my heart's leak."
"We are nothing but common souls, crying common tears."
"The paintings on the wall were filled with my blood."
"As a child, I thought we were all going to become famous."
"I've broken my laws too many times. Do it. Shoot me. I'm beginning to find my music."
"A leaf brushed my face on its way to disintegrating."

Out of context, they crinkle a little bit, a little less potent.
I danced in the oval last night under the half moon. I was alone, again.

Hey ol' buddies ol' pals.
I'm on my way to Seattle this coming weekend, Friday -Monday. Why? You ask. Because Sarah's darling dad found two tickets to the ROLLING STONES and he's giving them to us. So if you're a Seattlite, let's meet up, that is when I'm not rocking with Mic and Keith and Bill and Charlie!!! You know you can't always get what you want, but I did this time!
Thank you RICHARD!

Jules is in Ghana for a semester at Legon University. She has sent numerous emails about her time there and they echo so many of my experiences! She has been to so many places that I also went to. It is so cool to think that my footsteps fell on top of Sarah's and then hers on mine. Three friends have ventured to this place on three separate occasions and it is nothing but infinite and who knows who will follow? I am toying with going back for school. It think Jules has the right idea. She is taking classes which include Twi, indigenous religions, Ghanaian history and drum and dance. And what is even cooler is the fact that Jules is visiting Orphanage Africa. When she writes about the kids and the women that work there I just want to burst. I am overwhelmed with jealousy and excitement. Africa was such a nothing. I never thought of it. I never cared and now it is so huge. The African studies class that I am taking plus Jules' emails are reminding me everyday that I have only done half the work for my time in Africa. I want to set up something permanent. Saralita and I have tossed around ideas for Engineers Without Borders and I have been trying to think of something meaningful that I could coordinate with the school. But my thoughts need to be turned into action.

Do you want to meet my red HOT crew, the North Bend Berserkers?












Chris, Kyle, Maloney, MJ, Ryan and Rachel


Do you want to see what we do?

Bake apple crisp cakes...

and clear logs off the trail ...



Scale high rock faces....






carry heavy tools...

transplant ferns...

throw rocks...

and light ourselves on fire...

It is a measurless hour,
quiet, like a stream at twilight
is quiet, murmering its own sound,
murmering its watery prose.

The yellow light is ripe
on my face, spilling
over my lap, dripping down
to my toes.

It is the kind of light meant
for empty stores
and halloween nights.

If it were not for the people
permeating the darkness,
I would be a ghost.

I have never wanted to be
so much at once. A rip
tide pulls me back
to a feeling I forgot.

It is the midnight hour,
the stillness,
the frictionless love,
that pulls me like a cord
down into this deep caldron.

When there is nothing
in the noises of night
but isolation.

When there is nothing
in my heart but a need
to be, I think the noisless
night is breathing a song.

I try not to listen
but it is not there.

I DIDN'T REALIZE THE SKY WAS THIS SHALLOW

Has life been happening? I feel so tired I could sink through the cement foundation like honey in hot water. We all know summer is over. It happened last Friday and even though the temperatures may reach 72 degrees and the sun shines with all its might, there is snow on Lolo Peak and there are dead orange and red leaves in our yard. It smells different out there; summer is broken. Sleeping with out a sleeping bag, shot down dead, alpine lake swimming, murdered in its sleep, napping in the burning hot sun, stabbed straight through. Fall rises out of summer fire. No more burning dreams. I'm not anywhere new except beneath my house surrounded by cement feeling like Fortunato, all bricked in with irony. There are three ways off a merry go round. I don't think that I'm going to let it slow down, I'm going to burn it down. It isn't Fall in Seattle...

"Recreate your heart hour after hour for the tired hearts go blind"
(from the Hadith)

the spring break of our freshman year, sarah patrick and i flew to new orleans. it was the same day the war began. i cant find my journal from that time to refresh my memory about the people and places. but i dont need to. i remember that we almost stayed. a lot of people do. half the kids in the hostel originally had a plan ticket home. we took the ferry across the mississippi dozens of times, played sharks and pirates with the local kids, tapped our feet to strumming guitar and grating washboards. this poem was for sarah now its for memories, music, travel, the kids at algiers point, the piano player, the lovely people at india house and the partiers and the circle bar and all the people who lived in new orleans.

The Big Easy

The war is starting and sticky air breaths on our faces,
arms and stomach. Snaking brown river laps our feet,
curling over each toe like sifted powdered sugar
and every breath we take fills our lungs with hot pungent
Cajun spice. We blithely chase our fears with sips of mango
and spilt plastic cups of New Orleans’ cheapest brew.

Night falls slowly in a lazy southern city and street bands
play for old men, young girls, witch doctors, palm readers,
accountants, homeless and wonder lust teenagers alike. Dance
in the moonlight, swing our arms like monkeys and skip
around, through and under while jazz strums and girls yelp
and raucous laughter spills under the moon’s streaming beams.

Catch the rainbow beads dripping from the torrid sky,
wring the strands from our hair and watch the dripping
puddles form on the cool, cement floor while piano players
tap out an easy pace and children scramble like sharks over
yellow and red and blue metal. We call it life and let it slip
away into peyote smoke. We call it home and never leave.

So...Yesterday, the 27 of August was my 21st birthday. But the good birthday vibes seemed to have soaked into the entire week. My last trip with the NBTC was amazing. We hiked into the most beautiful glaciated valley I have ever seen. The jagged mountains were laced with snow and glacier remnants. The river was clear, so clear I could not see it. The only evidence that it really existed was the steady rumble of water flowing. The work was fun and challenging but not killer. We secured a floating bridge and did drainage work. On evening MJ and I took off up the steep side of mountain, scaling talus slopes and gaining ridge after endless ridge to finally arrive at the most beautifully juxtaposed barren high alpine lake. We could see for miles and miles including my old Skykomish playing grounds. We hiked home in the dark and the night was so cold and clear you could taste it. In the morning, we had back country baked apple crumble cake with a single candle in it to celebrate my birthday and Rob's anniversary. We worked half the day and took the rest off to play in the mountains. I feel like I could dangle them from a string and bat them about like a cat does with a mouse. We went straight up. I had to schmear. I had to pull myself up with whatever I could grab and when we finally emerged on a talus slope we were below jutting granite cliffs and below was a glacial valley full of morains and rounded boulders and cobbles. The valley looked like a waste land and I stayed there while my boys hiked even farther upward and onward. That evening we played the most incredible game of pinochle and Kyle and I won by the skin of our teeth. It was a roller coaster game with us in the lead and then trailing by a devastating number and then sprinting towards the finish line and barely pushing our chest through the red tape before Chris and MJ. The drive from the trail head takes around 1 and half hours and we rocked to the Killers and George Clinton and I could not have been in a better mood. On Saturday, my birthday, I was assailed with happy birthday wishes from my bunkmates. Willow and I went to the NB farmer's market. I took off for Seattle to meet up with my aunt and uncle who fed me lunch and a lemon drop, which made me dangerously loopy. Then I met up with wonderful friends, Sarah Patrick, Chris, Aaron and Dan. I love my friends, I do. We hung out at Pike Place and Discovery Park. When I walked into the bunkhouse in NB, my entire crew plus some were sitting around the table with 21 small shot bottles full of a variety of drinks. Baileys, Kahluha, Absolute Peach, Jack Daniels, Southern Comfort etc...21 different kinds. We stuffed some in our pockets and purses and headed to the Mount Si tavern to have beers and play horse shoes. A band was playing all the country rock classics like Sweet Home Alabama. The band got word it was my birthday and had me come up on the stage. We all sang happy birthday and then they gave me their pitcher of beer to chug. I didn't though. Not good at that kind of thing. We moved on to the NB bar and grill and I had a birthday cake. Which is some kind of mixed shot that you guzzle and then chase with lemon. It didn't taste good but it smelled just like cake batter. I was very reluctant to drink it. Our last stop was the Pour House, a common hang out for my boys. We had beers and arm wrestled. I didn't win once but what can I expect? The music was spiced with Imagine by John Lennon. I can't help but wonder about that song. It has been played at every keystone point in my life. Paris, Ghana, Birthdays, last days, sad days...I started to get very sleepy around 1:30 so the mile or so walk home was a bit of a challenge. I could walk a straight line, no problem. It was staying awake that was difficult. And as we all looped our way home, laughing and reminiscing, the crescent moon rose over Mount Si. It was all so very ethereal and I felt strangely transcendent (probably just drunk). What a wonderful ending to my season.

it is finished...

the sleepless nights have returned and i once again find myself in a time of transition. for the first time, i am able to identify the changes in my attitude and energy that come with certian types of stressful situations. the real me has been exposed and i'm not sure i like it. i am finally recognizing how self-conscious and critical i am. my physical and mental inferiority on the trail crew has really given me a lot to think about as have recent interactions with my peers. i am passive in certain circumstances and assertive and in control in others. i like that fact that i can interact with a lot of different people but not that i can't be the same person for all of them.

and that was all leading up to this announcement...drumroll please...i will be turning 21 on saturday! no that wasn't the real announcement. i finally decided to move back to missoula and embrace all of the wonderful opportunities that the u of m has to offer. i'll be home sunday.

I have the most bizarre dilemma and it is one that I am most ashamed to admit. Over the course of the past couple of months, I have been trying (but not very hard) to decide whether to attend school at the University of Montana or Seattle Central Community College. Now deadlines are approaching and the shit is about to hit the fan. My dilemma sounds fairly black or white, easy to decide right? WRONG. I have a whole host of factors, pros, cons, desires and fears attached to each school. To summarize, and believe me, this onion is chalk full of layers:

UM has home, family, comfort, personal space, is in state, long term possibilities, friends, personal refocusing possibilities such as getting back into yoga, exercise, guitar, planning Nepal, getting some Ghana projects started and NOLs.

But it also starts earlier, I'm not registered and have a lot of hoops to jump through to become registered.

SCCC has a later starting date(so I could work for the forest service longer and go out on fires) and shorter quarter length, friends, new living arrangements, excitement of a big city where I am no longer a minor, a really cool 18 credit collective learning on Southeast Asia, possibility to work at Great Harvest again, I have already registered and paid and Ghana project options.

But it costs more, would be a lot of intense courses that don't offer much in the way of a career, a dead end, more stress and personal compromise, harder to work on planning Nepal and not home.

Two days ago, I was planning on SCCC but yesterday and this morning I was dead set on going to the UM. Right now, I'm staying in Seattle and just finished paying my tuition at SCCC. I'm playing both sides of the field here folks and I just can't make up my mind. I'm sure everyone is feeling so sorry for the poor little girl who has options and opportunities and the financial capabilities to screw around like this but just for laughs and sympathy and shear curiosity, where do you, dear reader, think I should go and why?