Today, historically, has always been my favorite day of the year. Every person I’ve ever met or read that an individual was born on this day, have led extraordinary lives. Mahatma Mohandas Gandhi
Dear friends and readers,
As I type this blog post, I’m very concerned about my youngest sister. She just gave birth to her first child less than three weeks ago, and she and her family are stuck in the middle of major flooding along I-5 exits #60-#82. My sister’s home is located off the Interstate highway exit #77 to #72. Two bridges are believed to have washed away in this same area, and I can not contact her as phone service is unavailable. This is a state of emergency, and Mother Nature is acting most cruel.
Here is a link to what is happening right now according to reports from our local NBC television station, KING 5. The Denny’s shown in the video is six blocks from my sister’s house, and about a quarter mile away from my brother’s house; but his house is located on top of a hill, so he’s probably better off, albeit the Neuwaukam valley river runs directly through his property. I hope I don’t have to post any more sound-bites of anyone else being pulled to safety. I’m sorry to be selfish, I don’t want to see my sister, her baby and boyfriend pulled out of the flood waters, or find out that’s what has indeed happened. This is very nerve racking, and I hope the rain will subside before there’s any further damage to the area and it’s residents. Here’s a link to the local newspaper in the area, and also this link for voluntary evacuations in Lewis county,
I’ll post more as the information comes in. I appreciate all your concern and best wishes for this flooding to end, and your hopes that my family members are safe and well.
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Tags: Majorflooding hits Pacific Northwest, King 5 News video update, Flooding in Washington state, Neuwaukam valley river, The Olympian, Voluntary evacuations of Lewis county, Washington state, flooding
Season’s greetings everyone,
I know I’ve been extremely delinquent in writing (I really should say posting-I’ve written many posts, yet they’re not finished yet), so I’m going to write a quick note to say hello and get you up to par with my life.
On November 14th, my youngest sister welcomed her first child into the world. I wish I was at liberty to tell you about him, but I’m not. I respect my sister’s right to privacy, yet I will say this. Her and her significant other’s baby is one handsome boy, and as healthy as they come. He’s a very welcomed addition to the family; and if/when my sister relents, I’ll flood you with his pictures and stories about him. For now, I just want to welcome him to the world, and let you know I’ve joyfully become an aunt again.
My oldest daughter Kirsten, is expecting another child. I don’t know the sex yet, but I do know the due date. Her next child is due on April 20, 2008. My birthday is April 12th, and while it would be sweet if her child came on my birthday, I believe firmly this child should have it’s own date of birth. In the event Kirsten’s baby does arrive on the 12th, that date would then become the baby’s birthday, and mine will be quietly observed. I was due on my mother’s birthday, yet I waited exactly three weeks later to have my own. Eleven months later, one of my sisters arrived the day before my mother’s birthday; forever linking their birthdays together. One cake for two birthdays. Ouch! To make matters worse, it meant my mother had two children at the age of twenty-four years, turning twenty-five the next day. What a bummer . . . for them both!
My son Kevin was born on December 24th, yet he was due on Christmas Day instead of Christmas Eve. I willed him to come into this world the day before Christmas, because I wasn’t going to rip him off from having his own birth day! December 26th was out of the question, as that is National Whiners’ Day in the USA, and it’s difficult enough being born the day before Christmas as is. As I’m also part Scottish in heritage, I wasn’t going to wait until New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, as I wanted the tax write off that my son’s birth provided. What can I say? I’m cheap, impatient and practical.
Well, as we collectively head into the holiday season, I want to wish everyone a wonderful time during this period. I’m waiting to do my real celebrating (selfishly giving myself the present of going to the land of sunshine) until January. Sting wrote a beautiful song titled, “January Stars”, and I hope my ‘January Star’ comes true! If I were to ask for only one thing for myself (besides peace, health and good will for all), it would be for the fruition of my journey to be a new beginning of love, hope, and prosperity. I send this wish to all in our world, and I hope we all will have our dreams and desires come true.
Until next time, please know I send my love and gratitude for you, out to the universe in hope of safekeeping of us all. May you find peace and love in your hearts for yourselves, your loved ones, your fellow mankind, and all of Earth’s creatures.
With my utmost love for you all,
Dingo Brennan Stewart
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This is Dingo Stewart, and on today’s blog, I’m writing to you in a daze of cold medicine and too many prescriptions! I’m recovering from bronchitis, but I’ve been ‘doing so’ since late July. This last week has recked havoc for me, and has wasted my time, and I’ve been so preoccupied that I feel I haven’t gotten anything finished. I’m not happy that my physical state has had any reason to interrupt the work I (mental regime) have to do. So I’m wandering around the house, and I’m thinking about how critical I’ve been of myself lately. I hear Self say to me, “Lay off the dame for a while. Don’t you think you’ve ridden her hard enough.” Then I hear a cute little chuckle, when I realize it’s from me. I decide I have to agree with Self on this one, and I’ll fill you in why.
I’ve had this terrible relationship with my inner self for a while (all my life), and as I intellectually know that I’m a fairly decent person, I remember an event that kind of sums up this turmoil I’ve been going through in my judgment of myself. Today’s blog is so true of the effects of the Virgo Sun, and this under-current of proving myself to me is living proof to me that I’ve been basking in Her Sun’s waves lately. And I’m happy to do so because I love the rush of critiques that flow though me. Yet I’ve seen enough at this present age, that I know I have to be a little forgiving as I do so. This blog addresses an experience that happened to me when I was younger, and I think it sums up the effect of Virgo quite well.
When I was younger, I had a boyfriend that I just absolutely adored. I preface this strongly; because this guy was truly the exception to the rule. (And I wonder why I criticize myself?) One day, I was left alone at my former boyfriend’s mom’s house. I didn’t have a place of my own at the time, and he had to go to class to take his final exams. After much discussion, the conclusion was reached that I might be a distraction, so I was going to be left to be in the place alone. His mom was at work, and I didn’t have anywhere to go, but I was worried she may feel her privacy had been violated because her son left his girlfriend alone in her house. I don’t know about you, but this was not a comfortable position for me to be in. If I’m not already uncomfortable enough, my boyfriend asked me not to look into any of his personal items in his absence. I was cool about that. We were young enough I could understand the importance of his feelings and his need to ask. But as you will see, his request would make me analyze myself. I realized then that I put a high importance on how I am viewed by other people, even though I tell myself I don’t care. Pathetic, but true.
He left, and I had nothing to do. I don’t know about you, but silence was something I didn’t experience until I got much older. I’m the first girl in my parents’ family, and my sister was born after I was eleven months old. My parents had four more children after me, and our household was virtually sans an animal since the day I was born, so I was never truly alone. So at this moment, I am. I was painfully aware of the passing of time, and I’m driven to be as far away from even looking as though I touched anything in the residence. Yet in all that time, and even with the perfect opportunity presented to me, I never thought of looking at anything that was personal. I mean this. Even before being asked (given the choice), I wouldn’t have thought to go through his room and snoop around, let alone his mother’s house. But for some reason, now it escapes me why I find staying at his mom’s house a solution? Very odd. So, as you can tell, the day was boring, and I thought the whole day had gone on for nothing, because nothing happened. But I was wrong.
What I didn’t realize at the time was I had been presented with the opportunity of choice. I really could have snooped around at the time, and unlike today’s technology, I know there wouldn’t have been much of a chance for my boyfriend to catch me. Unless he was to test me, instead of going to class to take his. But as I walk around my house today internally beating myself up for being ill again, I have the wonder of this memory. As boring as that day was, the memory of it brought back a piece of clarity for myself. And by remembering, I was able to reflect on something in my character that made me happy. I like who I am. I love the strange complicity of this simple event from my life. After having this thought, I gave myself a break, and decided to do what I have to, to let myself do what I have to and let the self-critique go. So as I share this moment with you, I hope you find a moment of your own. I hope you remind yourself, as I did, why it is you are who you are.?! For every friend who has asked me to keep a secret, or keep what they’ve said to myself–don’t worry, we’re gold. And for a special sista in San Francisco, I’m so proud of you. You go girl!
I want to thank everyone for the feedback. Thanks for keeping me running. Remember, I’m always sending out positive thoughts for us all, so thank you for yours.
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Hello everyone. This is your blog host, Dingo Stewart. Before I begin, I’d like to wish my paternal grandmother a happy birthday wish today. If she were still alive, today would’ve been her 100th birthday. I’m sorry I never had the privilege to meet her, but I have the feeling she still would appreciate the thought. Happy Birthday Grandma.
Since I last posted my blog, I didn’t get to part two as fast as I would have liked. Why did I wait until the eve of our six year anniversary of September 11th? Coincidence. So for what I’m about to write, if you don’t like what I have to say . . . get over yourself. This is satire. If you agree, thank you. I’m sorry you’ve probably had to go through the same song and dance. And with that mentioned; here goes.
After attending BarCamp Vancouver 2007, our original party of three (Jay, Martin and myself) packed up and headed back to the border, so we could return to Olympia, WA., USA. The border wasn’t too backlogged, and I was content in believing this would be a better trip through; than the border crossing into Canada. You guessed it. I was wrong.
As we approached the border, Jay, who was holding on to the ‘documents’, gives us the all clear motion and rolls up to the booth. The male agent, an older gentleman (I say loosely), looks at our documents, and upon looking at mine, says, “Where’s the rest?” I’d given Jay my driver’s license and birth certificate, but somehow, the latter was missing. Don’t ask me how? It was there when I crossed into Canada, but now, it’s disappeared. This is when all his attention was focus on me. This I thought was classic. My friend Martin’s from Scotland. Homeland Security had a huge green government form paper stapled to the inside of his British Passport. Yet Martin was gold, and I became the target of this man’s interests. I didn’t understand the problem at the time. Now the agent of Homeland Security begins his questions, and I begin to dance his alien dance with my present crossing, and I am remembering that I must again perform. I proceed to perform the hoop jumping.
“Ms. Is the United States a republic, or a democracy?”, the officer asks. This is huge red flag. Maybe I should have given him my voter’s registration card instead of my driver’s license. I should have seen this coming, but he still gets me with his far-right punch. The officer looks at me. I look at him, wondering what’s up with the trick question? So I responded something like this, “Mr. Bush says we’re in Iraq to bring democracy to the Iraqi people.” Okay, now you have my permission to tell me how stupid I am to commit this rookie move. This did not go over well. Now, I’m going to give you some advice, especially if you’re stubborn and a dry smart ass like I am. Anyone, and I do mean anyone, that has a ‘Homeland Security’ job, wants to keep their job, and thus, they like Bush. If you question Bush, you’re a threat to the employees of the ‘Homeland Security’ team. Don’t mention Bush unless you’re waving the flag, and singing his praises. You and I both know that there goes the true drug/arms dealers; but I digress and am probably getting myself into deeper trouble than ever.
Again, the border officer asks me if we’re a “Republic or Democracy.” Now, this is getting me upset. F.Y.I. I suffered from spinal meningitis when I was twenty-five years old. Ever since, I have times, especially under stress, that synapses (neurological impulse/information passes from one neuron to another) doesn’t occur, and you’ve got it–I’m clueless. This is my outcome from having a 107 degree F. temperature that fried most of my photographic memory. (Un)Fortunate for me, most people don’t see my brain damage, and I’m able to pass by the most of the population as a fairly intelligent person. But not when synapses fail to occur. So as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I’m sitting in a car, with my covered mouth wide open, and nothing comes out. NOTHING! And to make matters worse, now the border officer adds to my stress by looking at me like I’m an idiot, or worse, an impostor. I’m trying to contain myself from bashing my head against something hard, in hopes my brain will switch back on, and I can spare myself from appearing like a deer caught in headlights. All I can think is, THINK!
So, after a moment of disturbing silence, the border officer prompts me with this tidbit of information. “You’ll find the answer in the Pledge of Allegiance.” All I can think is ‘cool’, I can do that. Wrong. You guessed it. After staring at him for what seems like a lifetime, the officer asks me to say “The Pledge of Allegiance.” All went fine until I got to the part about, ” And for the . . .” Blank. Nada. A Haon. Nothing! To save my life, I couldn’t remember ‘Republic’. This was not only one of my most distressing moments of my life, but the added stress reminded me of feeling as though I was locked behind in the ‘Iron Curtain.’ I attempted to say the pledge, but my memories kept crashing against the wall the neurons in my head struggles to repair. And I was upset, embarrassed, and ashamed. Honestly, I had to say that pledge everyday until I graduated from high school, just as most Americans do. I wanted to die, and I was angry this guy couldn’t tell I had a problem with my communications . This only fueled the five alarm fire in my head as I realized, “I am so dead,” and I can’t believe this could be happing to me in my own country. Why did I ever read that book about “A man With Out a Country.”
Finally, when I was sure I was going to get yanked out of the car, and stripped searched, I was able to relay my problem/brain damage from meningitis to the border officer. At least I could get that out, and he believed me. It wouldn’t have mattered in the long run, but I wasn’t looking forward to being probed and questioned by Homeland Security. I have the hospital records to prove I had this illness and the subsequential brain damage that occurred. But knowing my stress threshold, I’m sure I’d have lost my temper, and the outcome would not have come out in my favor. Flashes of Stanley Kubrick’s ‘A Clockwork Orange’ popped into my head. I’m strapped to a chair, and Homeland Security pries open my eyes open with surgical forks; making me listen and watch a video of school aged children saying “The Pledge of Allegiance.” Just going over and over again. Knowing my luck, even after the brainwashing, synapses wouldn’t work, and you’d never hear from me again. I’d be getting skin cancer from the sun’s exposure at Guantanamo Bay. I hear the medical benefits are great there, but I’ll pass, thank you.
So finally, the officer relents, and allows me back into the states. I still miss the America I used to live in, and I’m saddened that we rolled over like cowering beasts, asking to have our bellies rubbed, and now we’ve pass the responsibility on to some one else. I remember being happy I was born free.
The one positive part of this story was this. At least this officer wasn’t performing racial profiling. Not that I can say that for sure; after all, I’m a white female. My point is this. He didn’t care if I was white. All he cared about was whether or not I was a “Republican.” Be good to each other, and celebrate what’s actually good and wonderful in this world. Don’t give up your sense of humor; if you don’t have enough, I’ve plenty to give to you all.
See you soon,
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Tags: Dosesof Crack” “Homeland Security” Canada “United States Of America” “BarCamp Vancouver 2007” America, Border Crossing, Jay Stewart, Dingo Stewart, Martin Donnelly, Olympia, WA., Washington, Vancouver B.C.,
Hello again everyone. I’ll be surprised if you’ll notice it’s been almost eleven months since I last posted a blog entry, but I’m back in the game, and my health issues are nearly resolved, so hopefully I’ll be more myself, instead of bits and pieces of myself and the pharmaceutical being I was due to my chronic pain. So if you’re new to my post, my name is Dingo, and welcome to ‘Doses of Crack’. I appreciate you coming back to read what’s been happening to me lately, and I’m ready to rumble. So let the games begin!
I’m surprised I didn’t post this story to you folks sooner, but I had to cool down a bit before I ended up writing a tirade. It’s been almost two weeks since this incident happen, yet I still had to settle down, because truthfully, my panties were in a bunch from sheer indignation.
I went to Vancouver, B.C., Canada, for a techie ‘un’conference. With me on this trip were two male companions, Jay, and another friend from Scotland, named Martin. We arrived at the border with all of our papers, and we went to the Duty-Free store that is located just before the border. We promised another friend, Kris or a.k.a. KK+, a bottle of Maker’s Mark Bourbon. I went to use the restroom, and met with my traveling companions back at the car. (The way Duty-Free works is you buy your merchandise, they give you a receipt, and you drive around the building where an agent gives you your purchases.) Unfortunately, our driver forgot to pick up the merchandise, and he didn’t remember until we just passed the International marker into Canada. We hadn’t gone thru the border yet; we were the sixth car queued up to the cross the border. This is when our driver remembers about the duty-free, and he hands the receipt to me to go back to pick up the merchandise. I get out of the car, running before I’ve hit the ground, because I hear, “Run.” Mind you, I’m wearing four inch high heels, and I’m flying towards the duty-free store in a full sprint. Before I could reach my goal, a very crass and unprofessional agent (he directs traffic) tells me I can’t proceed to the duty-free store. This is when I know what should be a relatively simple task, has now become a fiasco.
So Mr. Wannabeacop stops me and starts to mock me. I don’t care if this poor fellow has decided to make sport of me, but this guy was too much. First, I show him the receipt, and very politely ask him if I may proceed, explaining what had just happened. He laughs at me and says, “Ha, ha. You’re just a stupid American. Let me hear you say that you’re a stupid American.” I decide to give him his laugh, just as long as he’ll allow me to proceed. “I’m a stupid American, okay?”, I said to him. I’m in a huge hurry, and Mr. Wannabeacop is hell bent on prolonging me from my mission. After I utter his desired response, he begins a litany of insults, ridiculing me about my heritage in his attempts to belittle me. The fact he didn’t have most of his bottom teeth, and he’s clearly in his sixties (unless he’s a meth user), just made me feel pity for this poor foolish man. I felt trapped in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” where the bridgekeeper says, “Stop! Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see.”
I believe you now see who I was dealing with; the exception being that Mr. Wannabeacop sported a classic orange safety reflective jacket, and his hair and beard were cropped short. Yes, I admit, the pun is fully intended.
After enduring my detainment, I’m finally allowed to proceed to the duty-free store, as the agents there watched me run to pickup our purchases. They were very nice indeed, and I greatly appreciated their help. I ran back to the car, bypassing Mr. Wannabeacop, because I was afraid I’d be detained again, and an international incident was the last thing I wanted. I get to the car, and it’s only moved up two spaces since I left. This was just a fore-shadowing of what came next.
We get to the booth, and due to the fact this was the first time Martin had visited Canada, we were instructed to pull over and all of us were questioned, had our backgrounds checked, and then we were finally admitted into Canada after Martin’s passport was stamped. His stamp was small in comparison to the huge green page stapled to his passport from Homeland Security. It actually was ridiculous the paperwork needed for a fellow from outside of Glasgow, Scotland. I digress. So we all pile into the car and proceed to Vancouver.
Once in Vancouver, we were reunited with some of the best people on the planet. With the exception of a few states in the south, state side Americans (Remember, Canadians are also ‘Americans’, as they live in North America, as we do), don’t possess the manners most Canadians display. Canadians are by and large, very polite and generous people. We met up at the ‘Alibi Room’ for our pre-BarCamp party. Our friends accomodated us with brilliant hospitality and lovely beds, so we were prepared for the morning’s BarCamp 2007. It literally lifts your spirits when you attend conferences with peers and peeps who share your passion for learning, networking, and meeting new friends. Not even in the states do you find that deep-hearted compassion and true sense of friendship. It’s a shame, because I believe we, as a nation, have become depressed due to war, government scandals, misrepresentations given to us via the White House and the media frenzy that occurs daily. We, as a nation, need a break, and fast! That’s why I love traveling to the Great White North. Peace is underated. Below is a sample of some of the best friends a girl could ever be blessed to have in her life!
Part 2 of this saga will be posted soon. After all, we had to come back to the United States of America. If you thought our entrance to Canada was difficult, returning was a nightmare.
For now, I wish all reading this blog, goodwill and peace on Earth to all of her inhabitants.
Love to you all,
Dingo Stewart a.k.a. Caerbannog is an ban coinin (In Gaeilge, or Irish, “The white rabbit of Caerbannog”, or better know as the ‘terrible beast from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) Sorry about not having the fadas. It sucks.
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Tags: BarCampVancouver 2007″ “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” “Miss 604 and OlyGirl/Rebecca Bollwitt and Dingo Stewart” “Lee LeFever and Derek K. Miller (a.ka. Penmachine” “Dave O with Conch Shell” “Dave O., Dingo and Part of Martin” “Kate, Airdrie Miller and Martin Donnelly” “KK+, Dingo, and Martin” “BarCamp Vancouver 2007” “Jay Stewart and Robert Scales” “Dave O and conch shell” “BarCamp Vancouver 2007” “KK+, a.k.a. Kris Krug” “Penmachine photographer” “Miss 604 photographer” “KK+ photographer” “Robert Scales, photograher” “dosesofcrack.wordpress.com
A funny thing happened to me today. I decided to live. What does that mean you ask? Let me start at the beginning . . .
Today, the day I decided to live, started very much as it had yesterday, and virtually everyday in between since the day I died. I won’t tell you the date I died, but I will tell you “today” is October 30, 2006. I woke up in pain. I can best describe my pain as an almost never ending, all consuming and enveloping flame; a flame that elementally consists of anguish, fear, and the self-loathing knowledge that I have failed to contain this self-imposed prison of a shell of this body I must call ‘mine’ can bear. I asked myself, “Self, what do you plan on doing today?” I had to think quickly before my husband realized I was awake. Self replied, “What do you have think you have to do, really, besides what you must before you can escape your pain.” Hmm, I thought. I wondered how many hours I would have to endure the pain today before I can return to bed, and escape?
Let’s see. I recalled it was around 10 AM. My husband was going to ask me what I was doing, so I informed both of us my plans for the day. “Good morning, sweetie.” I said to Cosmo. “I have to see my doctor today, around 2 or 2:30 PM, and I don’t know what else I’m doing after then.” My husband looked at me and replied, “Good morning to you too. How do you feel?” after noticing my routine grimace of agony spread across my face. I replied, “Like hell. How about you?” “It’s Monday. How do you think it is?” he said. I don’t go to work myself, because of my pain, yet I replied as though I did. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I stated, as I started quickly to drift away from Cosmo and into the enveloping arms of Pain. I recall thinking, as I’m now rushing completely to the nether region of my soul, ‘I’m the Queen of Pain, and I’ll never be anything else but the Queen’, as the syncronicity of the hauntingly meloncholic melody of Sting’s song “King of Pain” synapses through my mind and washes over me. I decide then that I’ll try to stay in bed as long as I can before I must attend my appointment. This is a decision that we both know I’d make.
So, up to now, what does any of this have to do with anything, you ask? Well, I attended my appointment. I went through the motions of living while at the doctor’s office; speaking to the staff, etc.; and continued the motions throughout the day, everywhere I went, until I arrived home. Once back home, I noticed I was in time to see that “Oprah” was recording on my ReplayTV unit. I faded in and out during the show, because I really wasn’t interested in what was actually happening on “Oprah”. I was actively listening to my wireless headphones, picking up on what I considered to be the theme of the day in my sub-consciousness. I listened to Sting sing “Tomorrow We’ll See” from his cd “Brand New Day.” Digesting his words as they stimulate my senses, I hear “Don’t judge me.” The words ring true in my ears. “Don’t judge me”, I tell myself. “Don’t judge me” sings Sting, and as I continue to think to myself, I’m drawn to look at the television. In that moment, I feel inspired. It is a thought that courses through my essence, and a word I hear whispered in my ear. Inspire. I contemplate the word, the meaning, and what it means to me as I find I’m inspired to watch what’s going on with Oprah. I pause Sting so I can listen to Oprah, and I realize immediately, that Oprah is actually asking for inspiration, as she’s simultaneously showing her favorite forms of inspiration to her audience and me. As I fully comprehend what’s happening, Oprah has reached the pinnacle of her episode. Oprah gives out $1,000. to the live audience, courtesy of Bank of America. She gives specific directions as to how this money is to be spent. And I am inspired, and find that I have found the meaning of everything with the challenge that this gift Oprah has given. With Oprah’s credits rolling across my television screen, I ponder, what I would do with the money Oprah gave? I’m a disabled housewife from Olympia, Washington, but how does that make me any different than the audience in Chicago? I’m no different than they. Think about it. I did.
I have decided to live, and by living, I too can help. I can live. And now, we are to the point of what this all has to do with you. Please read on.
I would like to document what I’m going to do to contribute to inspiration. First, I’m going to push myself through the pain. I’m reclaiming my body, mind and soul. I tried to remember what I used to do before I died, and I remembered a soul memory. I listened to the words and music of Sting, and as I did, I worked through my turmoil. Whether that turmoil or pain was presented in a mental or physical state, dancing and singing was my soul’s physical release from my troubles. I’m blessed with a state of peace of mind and rare moments of tranquility while I listen to Sting. Always have, and always will. Since that’s the case, I plan on listening to Sting music as I push myself to learn to live again. First, I must get back on my feet again, if I’m to walk away from misery. And my feet will start with the use of my husband’s elliptical exercise machine, to give me the strength and discipline to stay out of bed and stay in life. So I ask of you, my friends, to be inspired enough to send a thought of good wishes to me, and follow along with me as I embark on my journey. Follow along with me by reading what I do tomorrow. Tomorrow is a brand new day, and I have things to do. Tune in tomorrow, and we’ll see what I do with my life, and how my inspiration to help inspire others germinates.
Until tomorrow, be good to yourself. If you don’t, you’ll miss out on your life, and nothing’s more tragic than a life wasted. I just hope I can sleep so I’ll have some more to report, but until then, I’m satisfied that my first day is good, and the moon in the October sky is beautiful.
Photo Credit: idua japan
With Love and inspiration for us all,
His shot came out crystal clear! I was able to pass his Holiness at
the Portland, Oregon International Airport a couple years ago, and I
didn’t get an opportunity to take his picture due to heightened
security. This picture means more to me though, for I ‘bow’ down to Scales’ superior photography and skills ; ) I’d rather see the
complementary colors of the Mounties with H.H.D.L., than the discordant
U.S. Feds. who surrounded him in Portland. Go team Canada! We hope to see Crystal, KK, MC, Uncleweed, Cathycracks and the rest of the crew in
With much love and peace to all,
Dingo and “the Unabonger”
Hello friends and new acquaintances,
Happy Autumnal Equinox!!! What a long and eventful summer it was, and in typical fashion, too many new and cool things came up for me to begin my blog until now, and I had a wonderful time being a world class slacker. I’ve been living in Olympia for too long–“damn hippies”, myself included, and this has delayed my blog. Please accept my heartfelt apologies about my tardiness in beginning this project, but I’m sure you’ll find it was worth the wait.
Before I say anymore, I have to give thanks to far too many people who have been waiting for this site to start. Trust me, I plan on having a crack at getting to everyone ( of course the pun is intended), but I must give out my first honorable mention. May I have a drum roll please . . . for the catagory of Inspiration, “Doses of Crack” would have never come to light had it not been for my genius “RockStar” friend and winner of this award, “Cathycracks“. Had it not been for her hand in creating and inciting my natural competitiveness, I never would have started “Doses of Crack”. Here’s the first “Doses of Crack” toast to fellow ‘Cracker’, Cathy, and giving the public just a little teaser about her until our next part-ee, eh! Canada Rocks!
(F.Y.I. No crack was harmed during this photo shoot! Hey Scales!)
For those of you who don’t know where the word ‘crack’ originated, it’s from the Irish Gaelic word Craic. Craic roughly translates to “Big Talk” or someone who is full of stories and/or blarney. If you think about it, you’ll realize the word ‘crack’ has evolved (in it’s most base and/or depending on personal interpretation, demeaning form) in the States as the slang word ‘cracker’. If you’re from the southern region of the U.S, you may have been referred to or known as a “Cracker”. The reference usually denotes a generalization and stereotypical view (which may or may not be true) of a person’s heritage, usually Caucasian, as a lazy broke ass who ultimately doesn’t do shit with their life. History in the States portrays “Crackers” as people who wished/acted as though their family were of wealthy descendant(s); mainly English and Dutch, but by no means did this preclude the other northern European land-owner rapists bastards*. A day in the life of a ‘cracker’ could constist of drinking your day away, while ordering other people around, and just being an ass. Just something for you to think about, and interpret accordingly.
Since I’m completely (100%) second-generation born American, I’mobviously exempt from the forementioned sin. Now, as I’ve just demonstated by my preceding sentence, anyone can be a cracker. In case you didn’t pick up on my dry humor, I’ll just tell you I’m usually full of shit, but I do speak crack harmlessly and in a more of a theatrical effect ( for better storytelling or mayhaps a tad of embellishment), and I suggest you partake in your crack addiction in a lighter, healthier and in a good Irish traditional fashion.
So have fun, and I’ll start posting my bullshit stories soon! Until next time . . . much love and peace for us all.