Happiness is an Inside Job

Man, I've been really happy lately. Why? An increase in pay, a new man in my life, better job, an agent for my book or big publishing contract? No, no, no, no.

I've been expanding my horizons, and that's what's making me happy. Joining new clubs, meeting new people.

Like Lennon said folks, "Life happens when you're busy making plans." I'm sure Chris Stevens would agree.

You're not going to find happiness later on in that "future life" when you find a relationship/better career/better job/house/etc.

It really is in the NOW, man, in an Eckert Tolle-esque karmic burrito called life, so suck it up, folks.

Speaking of karmic things, I'll end on a quote from my friend Chris in Northern Exposure: "Some things are better left alone. Certain things were not meant to tamper with or possess. And that's OK. Because happiness doesn't come from Having things--right? It comes from being Part of things.

Get out there and walk your dog, plant a tree, hold the door open for someone and just laugh at the little things. Don't think about "work." Don't think about finding the love of your life.

Just enjoy the moment.

Spring's Giddiness

Man, Bennie and I went for a long walk for exercise and saw so many cool things today, the last day of Spring Break.

There's something about 70-something degrees and the snow all melted, the chirpies being back and the blue sky that just lends hope.

And I had a coffee date with an interesting dude who wasn't throw-up bad looking. Yay! In fact, he could almost be called cute, yay! Best of all, he did something that was SO CUTE. When he was getting ready to leave as we were sitting at the coffeehouse table, he cupped my hands together and put his hands around them warmly and said how much fun he had. It was such a warm gesture, that I was grinning from ear to ear.

Pretty good news after slowly recovering from Invisible Man and his hijinks, who is . . . tada, still invisible, shocker! In fact, when I was feeling really accountable and rock solid two weeks ago, I sent him two emails. One, just sort of telling him where I was at these days and asking about him, and one that was VERY as in "tell it to the therapist, baby" direct, as in "talking with the judge while you're being sworn in court" sincere asking simply "what happened with us and what were your intentions last year?" Get this, he ONLY responded to the one email and ONLY talked about himself and his father. Zippo. All "adult" and mature questions I had asked, zero response. ZERO.

Well, sometimes GOD yells in your ear, and sometimes he whispers. When IM sent me those sweet Christmas gifts and nice Valentine, I thought he was legit, and I thought there'd be a sincere conversation about what had happened to us. I thought GOD was whispering, "Give him another chance."

No dice. GOD was yelling in my ear: "THIS DUDE WILL NEVER, EVER COMMITT TO ANY WOMAN, EVER, EVER, EVER." So, thanks, GOD.

And, if all this isn't cool enough, another intersting dude who's not "throw up ugly" is writing me from Lead. And 1. he's from Oregon (Oregon people are usually very interesting) and 2. Has a cool natural science background like IM used to. I dig environmentally-conscious dudes. And, he DIGS history, especially Old West history.

Such good karma. I dig spring.

Is it a Her or Him?

SHIM--a person whom you cannot tell what gender they are by just looking at them. According to old Saturday Night Live skits, this is also known as a "Pat."

OK, so Bennie and I were out walking in the glorious park we are so fortunate to have when we spotted a "Shim." Setting all PC aside, and not trying to be an ass, but what gives when you can't tell someone's gender? I know our looks cannot be avoided, but still, what gives?

Now, I know I look pretty rotten without makeup. In fact, if I wear a cap, no makeup, let my hair get really scraggly and dirty, and don a pair of big coveralls, I myself, might be mistaken for a shim.

Again, I apologize for being non-pc, but do shims want to look genderless? Or is this a sort of Ausberger's Disease of Fashion?

I think sometimes the smallest tip off helps, a barette, a pink accessory, a girlish neckline.

I'm perplexed.

Talkeetna, Alaska: The New El Dorado

As a writer and traveler, this is my newest obsession. Some people get obsessed with a hobby or a new love, but I get obsessed with places. How'd I find this completely out of the way new place?

I read somewhere that one of the writers/creator of Northern Exposure was charmed, (or as writers often get) obsessed with this place and it was the inspiration for the show. They weren't able to film there though due to location and the fact that half the year it would have been probably pretty cost prohibitive, so they chose the next best thing: Rosyln, Washington. ONLY, Rosyln is slowly turning into a bedroom community to Seattle. Of course, to artists like me, that kills its initial charm.

But Talkeetna is only close to one thing: Denali. And that's about it. It's about a two and a half hour drive from Anchorage, a little far to be a bedroom community.

BUT, look at this view: http://www.talkeetnachamber.org/

As with all cool places, I have no idea what a person might do to earn a living out there as there'd not be the good paying jobs a metropolis offers.

But an obsession with something is what every good writer needs. Every obsession I've had, I've turned it into art. I'm rolling it around in the back of my mind for a novel since I've finished my last one and am only doing the last revisions before submitting it to agents this summer.

Say you have a village of eccentrics, and maybe you base the novel around a group of writers who've formed their own writing circle who also feature as characters in the novel. It's churning in my mind.

I think I'm on to something. But then my feet get to itching as Rapid City is developing so fast. I get to thinking I might have one more, big last move. But I wouldn't want to do it alone. Maybe some day. Maybe indeed. If not, I've got my next novel in the "thinking stage" which only lasts a few months, then I start hammering something out.

Alaska, the final last frontier. Ahhhhhhhh.

Spring has Sprung

Or has it, asks Bennie balefully from his warm perch.

It keeps tempting us to think that spring has moved in. Yet, anyone who lives in the Rocky Mountain chain (of which the Black Hills is technically part of), knows that a mild winter can always pull a few switch-a-roo's culminating in sudden dumps of heavy wet snow and bone-numbing drops of temp. We've had nary a blizzard this year. I've not even busted out my cross-country skiis yet.

But here I sit reading in my living room with a million spring chirpers outside of my window and an owl and mourning dove.

Sooooo, is it spring, or isn't it?