tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70928000367794519082024-03-13T00:45:17.848-07:00SaramasfinaSarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-41915374140604847012017-06-05T09:49:00.000-07:002017-06-05T09:49:20.410-07:00Cats I have knownI can't remember when I didn't have a cat in my life. Mom said there was a cat in my crib when I was placed there for the first time as a newborn. Probably Regito, Dad's cat.<br />
Here is a list of cats:<br />
Regito and Gina<br />
Totie<br />
Chang Mai<br />
Totie (named after the first one)<br />
Sebastian<br />
Fred<br />
Cosmo<br />
Kiggee<br />
Fionna<br />
Oscar.<br />
Fred, Fionna and Kiggee all reached an age over 17. Fionna is still with me.<br />
Oscar is the baby (at a whopping by 24 lbs!) He is only 2. Kiggee passed away 2 yrs ago. He was 19 and I still miss him dearly.Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-91135138270477849042015-04-14T15:40:00.000-07:002015-04-14T15:40:40.882-07:00Regarding: Cake BatterREgarding cake batter, don't lead me on<br />
and say that the cake batter ice cream<br />
so delicately pastelled in cream and pink and baby blue<br />
is the holy grail of desserts I seek.<br />
Don't say, "It's so simple!" in that annoyingly delicate little font.<br />
Do not even Attempt to list more than 4, no, 3 ingredients<br />
and not include golden cake batter mix<br />
from Duncan Hines,<br />
Creator of my childhood batter,<br />
For I seek the simple, pure recipe.<br />
Don't even, cause I can't even.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWaLu62ZAiS_WFMPk_yahZoIQvJGMSmgI5NDAJrTavboE7CbPUiq8_qLmTz4Eyv17MKXuk9paXYpv9Fcw_5C6GtsxX0VBj16nuz7EF06XOrIQMpOrBWcLNJC4U3XdS89kj4zAF5k9Su5z/s1600/cake+batter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWaLu62ZAiS_WFMPk_yahZoIQvJGMSmgI5NDAJrTavboE7CbPUiq8_qLmTz4Eyv17MKXuk9paXYpv9Fcw_5C6GtsxX0VBj16nuz7EF06XOrIQMpOrBWcLNJC4U3XdS89kj4zAF5k9Su5z/s1600/cake+batter.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-90015482007254307942013-07-09T20:01:00.001-07:002013-07-09T20:01:45.414-07:00Amtrak trip from LAX to ABQ and back<div style="padding: 0; overflow: hidden; margin: 0; width: 500px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250543645/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3809/9250543645_4880b2e05a_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250528439/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5321/9250528439_66d6fb6abf_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250529949/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3682/9250529949_3ded352d27_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250530549/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7430/9250530549_997c2d3bfb_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250531337/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2818/9250531337_7a1aae37ea_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253313660/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3834/9253313660_a8f875f35c_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250532423/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7428/9250532423_d9cdb72840_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253314408/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5491/9253314408_982c5c4150_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250533877/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5467/9250533877_a341ee2fc8_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250534781/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3708/9250534781_a688e26e58_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253316870/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3772/9253316870_a59ffc967b_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253317812/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5460/9253317812_f90d0ddae4_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250537561/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7350/9250537561_f9d08b0541_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253319918/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5527/9253319918_bb58bd4872_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253320918/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3790/9253320918_275092d61e_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253321976/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3696/9253321976_a49f80b04b_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250541605/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3683/9250541605_0178d789b0_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253326358/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3805/9253326358_a43241fd6b_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253327450/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2872/9253327450_1e0a6d70dd_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9253328526/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2874/9253328526_810636903b_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250550103/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7427/9250550103_3d4c920f84_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250548007/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3668/9250548007_b9fd7594f4_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250548931/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3788/9250548931_8c99430e18_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/9250550999/in/set-72157634576032376/" title="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5542/9250550999_992b77c284_s.jpg" alt="Amtrak trip from LA to Albuquerque and back." style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 5px"><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/sets/72157634576032376/">Amtrak trip from LAX to ABQ and back</a>, a set on Flickr.</p></div><p>My son and I took the Southwest Chief from LA to Albuquerque. </p>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-59847544072238672362013-05-27T19:05:00.003-07:002013-05-27T19:05:39.351-07:00Personal Art ChallengeI'm going to try to start painting or drawing again. Challenge is this: create one little piece each week and then post it here. <br />
<br />
Here's a piece I did some time ago.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RYNJriHh95TaPEIsWeVH8Z_7qY_MR6ag79RnmC-q5zlGNuPnIgcrf6olh2TlJlnD6KWeWx_raHmCTyiF44T8JGgWW0QyCqTtSvGGCGx4-0Mq3ddvFd8Hl-u1jUJ23Zbt9fQ8X6gM13L4/s1600/Cottage+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RYNJriHh95TaPEIsWeVH8Z_7qY_MR6ag79RnmC-q5zlGNuPnIgcrf6olh2TlJlnD6KWeWx_raHmCTyiF44T8JGgWW0QyCqTtSvGGCGx4-0Mq3ddvFd8Hl-u1jUJ23Zbt9fQ8X6gM13L4/s400/Cottage+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">2005, Digital, Corel Draw with a Wacom tablet.</span></div>
<br />Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-82318854378747203052012-05-28T18:52:00.003-07:002012-05-28T20:05:15.704-07:00Ants and Copernicus<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BbhMcac1w8Nnu3gZphVOWi8CDp2K11GjOQzRBVSJRDIfE9iKHZ_4K3TeItwu9Hi4Er6HFnCMKZq6dF0yV0zEgtEUNNg8u7ht0NFE3EQUTsAnPzrDl-xgJ1cehfuS3LanF_3z_USLe-g2/s1600/queen-bulldog-ant-615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BbhMcac1w8Nnu3gZphVOWi8CDp2K11GjOQzRBVSJRDIfE9iKHZ_4K3TeItwu9Hi4Er6HFnCMKZq6dF0yV0zEgtEUNNg8u7ht0NFE3EQUTsAnPzrDl-xgJ1cehfuS3LanF_3z_USLe-g2/s400/queen-bulldog-ant-615.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Formicidae Denizens</td></tr>
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I have a colony of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ant" target="_blank">ants</a> in my bathroom. The colony is part of a massive one that is, no doubt, scattered throughout the entire apartment building. I've had my little battles with them for a couple of years now. I always ALWAYS feel guilty for setting traps. I don't like killing anything. But I see it like this: they're destroying the structural integrity of the home in which my son is sleeping. An earthquake plus rotting wood frame does not equal safety. So I set the traps.<br />
<br />
Well, I think about ants now and then. Probably more than a gal should. Collective species, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eusocial" target="_blank">eausocial</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superorganism" target="_blank">superorganisms</a>, they are. They share information with each other about where to find food, where is the nearest threat, should they build up or out despite zoning laws, etc.... The queen is the brain, in a way. The nexus of the collective. Her wishes become the colony's missions. The workers carry out the mission while soldier ants protect them from invaders. The collective system is strong and runs like a well-oiled machine. That is the world of ants. Ants don't survive well alone.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOfBIT_UztQkwXmEy7mPcO0OO054NRKmYNk7EXJwp9IaTZ_j4iPUGkInpNGiV7kRjoDUrANstCmT1gKvHlhhuF_h74wA2oI-Q1SFhaP_lQTWZTmL3l1TvphSHquVCvxAcJyIabDzw_b2U/s1600/a_bugs_life_shocked-ant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOfBIT_UztQkwXmEy7mPcO0OO054NRKmYNk7EXJwp9IaTZ_j4iPUGkInpNGiV7kRjoDUrANstCmT1gKvHlhhuF_h74wA2oI-Q1SFhaP_lQTWZTmL3l1TvphSHquVCvxAcJyIabDzw_b2U/s400/a_bugs_life_shocked-ant.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ants don't survive well by themselves, (unless there are other bugs to help them).</td></tr>
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Well anyway, I take a shower and see ants taking the food from the traps. The food contains boric acid, which mixes well with sugar and slowly kills the ants and queen, since she is fed this food like a diva being fed bonbons. And I think about this. The queen eats this stuff, maybe detecting something odd, knowing it's not a normal food, and still wants more. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfj1BqwcrOMew23EZ_m-bEputoho2ys0yWziP-k1t3jMnZ9IzDYTYC5aLuzyLXbxiFLWVdinry8X2C9jrSiuZZMauTk7Ema0ZzbkBOYzN6FIJcAGNjNSyP9tEsnpBAaxbjwojdweZYInEq/s1600/plate_15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfj1BqwcrOMew23EZ_m-bEputoho2ys0yWziP-k1t3jMnZ9IzDYTYC5aLuzyLXbxiFLWVdinry8X2C9jrSiuZZMauTk7Ema0ZzbkBOYzN6FIJcAGNjNSyP9tEsnpBAaxbjwojdweZYInEq/s400/plate_15.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ant queen, middle, is the nexus of the colony. Is she wants poisonous bonbons, then you better dang well get her some poisonous bonbons.</td></tr>
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Her wishes become the colony's mission, remember? They keep eating the poisonous food and bringing it back to her. They are all living for the next 24 hours on borrowed time, all because momma queenie has to be kept happy and fat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMn-zUXeijpYlGIROX_JapONGvo-iuFGN5bPnIWr3OmMa49R9uAVUOVWXjOfSpSOQs0yqwTgR7_dPwgq8QNqAp4TXV8RYg-mwrVbngt2JYsJgDLc1sb8ee9qFzzrupkVkM80hsHmQ3RQDE/s1600/220px-Borg_Queen_2372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMn-zUXeijpYlGIROX_JapONGvo-iuFGN5bPnIWr3OmMa49R9uAVUOVWXjOfSpSOQs0yqwTgR7_dPwgq8QNqAp4TXV8RYg-mwrVbngt2JYsJgDLc1sb8ee9qFzzrupkVkM80hsHmQ3RQDE/s1600/220px-Borg_Queen_2372.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You better keep her happy!</td></tr>
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Well, I see some poor ant there in the shower with me. Now I have a vivid imagination. I imagine she's talking to another ant, most likely about where the bait is, maybe about how hot and humid it got suddenly, who knows. She kinda stops a bit, appears perplexed, like something is amiss, then regains the pheromone trail the others are on. I look at this worker ant, just there, doing her job, and I think, "I bet she knows there's something wrong with this food." (Another part of my brain goes on a tangent thinking, "Awww crap. The ants. They know too much!" And a 1940's noir-style scenario where the ants are like an insect mafia and I'm an undercover cop starts taking off. That scenario runs in my mind's background and amuses other parts of my brain at that point.)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUACVBvu6NFzyh5gmNX1dq_F9wHN1IKkp4uLIdCGCzm3gK8I6CvJ7KKNLNQEec6z_N77v1q9P5oYYv_ex78XO02bYr3Ti35ScBK8ZVrn1BL6fcnsUrDtLVaR_tWGA4sr3IzPTckPP4ger/s1600/poisoned-food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUACVBvu6NFzyh5gmNX1dq_F9wHN1IKkp4uLIdCGCzm3gK8I6CvJ7KKNLNQEec6z_N77v1q9P5oYYv_ex78XO02bYr3Ti35ScBK8ZVrn1BL6fcnsUrDtLVaR_tWGA4sr3IzPTckPP4ger/s320/poisoned-food.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But Yelp said the food in Sarah's bathroom was awesome!</td></tr>
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This poor worker ant. She tastes the food, says, "Something is horribly wrong with this food source. We shouldn't be eating this," and has no choice but to carry out her mission. It would be nearly impossible for her to walk away from her colony and away from the danger. She'd have no protection, no communication, and a sense that she is not fulfilling the mission she knew from the first time she left her larval stage. She is doomed, and she knows it. She will watch her sisters die, her queen die, and she won't be able to stop it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQeQU_ZUoCgX6RTuKceG4Zt27AHGA-kOYhmbZPsHdnfl_Lsy0RW0mW6JXzuIGtAXillVzfrJdmx8CZhOnT8fjkH6jPJnvwAO5Z5Zj-cKdpHu41K5E3sHe6W69KsfgXTOK1hjpLzs8Q6P9c/s1600/WE'RE+ALL+DOOMEDtall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQeQU_ZUoCgX6RTuKceG4Zt27AHGA-kOYhmbZPsHdnfl_Lsy0RW0mW6JXzuIGtAXillVzfrJdmx8CZhOnT8fjkH6jPJnvwAO5Z5Zj-cKdpHu41K5E3sHe6W69KsfgXTOK1hjpLzs8Q6P9c/s1600/WE'RE+ALL+DOOMEDtall.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little worker ant in my shower has this on one of her Pinterest boards, I bet.</td></tr>
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I then start thinking about humans that have been in this sort of position. Those people who say, "Hey, something isn't right here. This doesn't make sense." <br />
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A person who sees a truth the others don't is a very lonely person. Everyone else around this person goes along with some directive without questioning "Why?" If he or she says, "You know, this doesn't add up" she/he feels or actually is oustracized, belittled, made fun of. A lonely life. That person has to decide "do I go along with the crowd because they are my family and friends, or do I stay here alone with the truth?" <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copernicus. He was sure the earth revolved around the sun and not the other way around. He was also very afraid to offend the church and his collegues with the truth he knew.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicolaus_Copernicus" target="_blank">Nicolaus Copernicus</a> was one of those people. He has been credited with the heliocentric model. He said the earth revolves around the sun, not the other way around. He was really, really nervous about telling everyone about his findings. His closest friends knew what he had found, and said, "Come on, Nick, publish this!" but he was so worried about religious objections that it was only at his deathbed that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_revolutionibus_orbium_coelestium" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; color: #0645ad;" title="De revolutionibus orbium coelestium">De revolutionibus orbium coelestium</a></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> was printed. If it weren't for the support of his closest friends, the heliocentric model of the solar system and subsequent discoveries would have been in jeapordy. Around 50-60 years later Kepler and Galileo gave Copernicus's theory the world-wide treatment it deserved. Both of these men, too, were alone in their ant-worlds, pointing to a truth the established colony denied existed.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seems like such an ordinary fact to you and me, but in the mid 1600's this picture was heresy and could get you killed. Times change, science advances, humanity advances. What seems far-fetched and blasphemous to many now may be an ordinary fact in a 100 years. You or I could be one of the people who change humanity's mind, if we're brave enough.</td></tr>
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In the 16th century, it took guts for a man to say, "The earth is not the center of the universe." That takes cajones. Guys like Copernicus stood to lose everything, including their lives. We look back at people in that era and say, "Those guys, were stupid! Of COURSE the Earth revolves around the sun. Pfft, everyone knows that!" Well, we know it <i>now</i> because brave people decided to ask a few questions instead of just accepting what everyone simply accepted as truth. In fact, most of the advances in science and morality that we take for granted-take <i>as fact </i>now, were only brought to light by men and women who stood alone in a sea of hatred and contempt with nothing but their belief in their truth. <br />
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It's a lonely world for these people. Humanity moves forward, and it has done so on the backs of lonely and accused people. <br />
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LINKS<br />
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A look at how far humanity has come in what we know to be true.<br />
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<cite style="font-style: inherit;"><a href="http://www.sciencetimeline.net/prehistory.htm" target="_blank">Link to timelines of scientific advances</a></cite><br />
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Persecution of scientists goes on even in this century.<br />
<a href="http://shr.aaas.org/aaashran/directory_2003.pdf" target="_blank">Directory of Persecuted Scientists, Engineers and Health Professionals</a><br />
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This was just a kinda interesting perspective.<br />
<a href="http://amasci.com/freenrg/arrhenus.html" target="_blank">They Laughed at the Wright Brothers </a><br />
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Also gives an enlightening perspective on folks who risked something to tell a truth.<br />
<a href="http://amasci.com/weird/vindac.html" target="_blank">Ridiculed Discoverers, Vindicated Mavericks</a><br />
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Zombie Ants<br />
<a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2011/03/pictures/110303-zombie-ants-fungus-new-species-fungi-bugs-science-brazil/">http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2011/03/pictures/110303-zombie-ants-fungus-new-species-fungi-bugs-science-brazil/</a><br />
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The fungus that creates zombie ants<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophiocordyceps_unilateralis">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophiocordyceps_unilateralis</a><br />
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What the hell, for you zombie fans<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetrodotoxin#cite_note-Hines-24" target="_blank">Tetrodotoxin, the toxin that may or may not cause people to think they are zombies</a><br />
<br /></div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-79724758254596465062012-04-30T19:18:00.001-07:002012-04-30T19:18:19.971-07:00Patience<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I follow the Dalai Lama on FB and Google +. Today he posted about patience. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"...The practice of patience guards us against losing our presence of mind. It enables us to remain undisturbed, even when the situation is really difficult. It gives us a certain amount of inner peace, which allows us some self-control, so that we can choose to respond to situations in an appropriate and compassionate manner, rather than being driven by our disturbing emotions."</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Humans are amazing. We can suppress the urge to kill each other by using <b>patience</b>.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I normally consider myself really patient. Lately, that has not been the first adjective that I would have used for myself. Oh, I've been patient with my goals and such, but lately my patience with <i>people </i>has waned. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">In the past I have had to exercise extreme patience with my son.* Kids with processing problems need patience or else they start to feel unworthy. (They need love, too, but that goes without saying.) I think I've always had the ingredients for that kind of stamina, but I think my son taught me Industrial Strength Patience. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I later had "patience refresher training" when I helped my mother care for an Alziemer's patient and my dementia-suffering grandmother, all under the same roof. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I think being a parent has increased my capacity for love, and therefore by association, patience. I am less likely to, say, sucker-punch a lady if I look at her and think, "Bless her heart, she's </span><i>someone's</i> baby. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I guess I'll just put my fists back in my pocket.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">" This strategy has worked well for me, so I stick with it. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">The trick, I've found, to employing patience to avoid multiple homicides is directly related to 2 things. The first is money. Being <i>paid money</i> to be patient. The more money they pay you, the more patience you have. Any geriatric nurse or Fox Studios </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">errand boy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">will probably agree with this. It's horribly true. Money can fix many problems. And those it can't fix, it can at least render neutralized for a while.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">The other thing that is directly proportional to patience, is love. Good old, sucka-fool love. If you are a parent, you know this. If you are <i>caring for </i>your aging parents (and haven't killed them yet), that's love working right there. Good on ya'. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Well, it works most of the time. I have a few friends who test my patience on a regular basis. One or two of them do it everyday. In unique ways, I love them. Lately, I have had to juggle a couple of these noodle-heads along with everything else. I try to do the "someone's baby" thing with them, but it only works for a second or two until the next sentence comes out of their mouths. My defense is like a phaser blast that just impacts on the surface. It doesn't go in. So I desperately whip out the auxilliary strategy - I pretend they have cerebral damage. But they vote and drive cars and such! My logic tells me they would not be able to do these things if they were <i>truly</i> incapacitated, so I get upset again. This has happened over and over lately. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">So I sit and ponder, "What can I do to be more patient?" Well, I can't change them all. (I can influence them, but I can't change them.) I <i>can</i> change <u>me</u>. I can change <i>my</i> reaction,<i> my</i> choice of words/retorts, <i>my</i> interactions. It's the right thing to do, and it's cheaper than hiring a violent crimes lawyer. Like my buddy DL up there says, ".<b>..patience... allows us some self-control." </b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">I want self-control.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">The problem is actually my perception. I perceive an issue that rattles my view of the world, and I react to that. Therefore, I should only have to change my perception of the world, or of the idiot -I mean, <i>per-son</i> in front of me, or stop and acknowledge that this is a situation that I cannot control, and I should trust in something greater... to key their car <i>for</i> me.** </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">erhaps, with this new strategy, we can see the following scenario, instead of crime scene tape:</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Friend</i>: I'm going on a trip and I'm going to leave my car unlicensed in a remote location no one can get to. hahaha</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Me:</i> You're an idiot. I am impatient with your behavior.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Friend</i>: Hahahaha.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Me:</i> Let me help you fill out a power of attorney for it, and I can register it and take care of that problem.. again. (Bless his heart he's someone's kid. :/ )</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Friend</i>: Nope. I want to make it difficult so I can learn things. Learning is so much fun. It will be awesome to experience the pain of learning.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Me:</i> Have you ever had a CAT scan of your frontal...? Oh never mind. (Auxillary patience strategy depleted.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>Friend:</i> The car is not street legal, by the way.</span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">(Here is where I have to guard my presence of mind. Friend is young. He is learning. He's allowed to make mistakes just like I was. People were patient with me, I should pass that forward to him. The perception of the scene changes, and I can be patient because I know I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">only </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>saw it from my point of view.)</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Me</i>: I won't kill you after all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Friend</i>: Hahahaha</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"><i>By the way, Friend is actually a great guy. Love the kid. He should write about the picture-perfect stupid things I do. It would be a good thing.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>*I'll write more later on autism because I feel I need to share with other moms who may be going through that emotional roller coaster.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>** I don't key cars and would never do such things, but I imagine it would render some level of satisfaction.</i></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-11369778705962648102012-04-29T12:06:00.001-07:002012-04-29T12:06:10.372-07:00BioBlitz 2012, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, Species Inventory Information, Facts -- National Geographic<a href="http://www.nationalgeographic.com/explorers/projects/bioblitz/bioblitz-co-2012/">BioBlitz 2012, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, Species Inventory Information, Facts -- National Geographic</a><br />
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I am planning on trying to do this. Seems like fun!Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-6323480194921717422012-02-06T17:34:00.000-08:002012-02-06T18:04:56.967-08:00Arise! Leviathan of the Deep!At six every morning a group of people start to assemble on the cliffs of Rancho Palos Verdes. Below them, under the blue Pacific, are their targets. Other groups like them form loose squads up and down the Pacific Coast. They volunteered for their mission, and yet they are unarmed. They set up their positions, check their bearings, and begin scanning the blue horizon. They peer quietly through their binoculars or telescopes. The ignore the tugs and freighters, quickly dismissing their markings and bearing. What they seek lies below the surface, moving quietly and with purpose. This morning, I was with them.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVy8ce0H_I9Kq3SUXIUc59ecXUGz-BPtOspbj_xpFjqZMjsbAQ5_uwGQVWH0kvXU_nlGteJmBIy01Jg9JKiodlRfkBjx-uhohlMKFhFM3V7kEGMUbFgP4gw580RbnO3gut8xayhzvW4xm0/s1600/2012-02-06_09-47-54_257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVy8ce0H_I9Kq3SUXIUc59ecXUGz-BPtOspbj_xpFjqZMjsbAQ5_uwGQVWH0kvXU_nlGteJmBIy01Jg9JKiodlRfkBjx-uhohlMKFhFM3V7kEGMUbFgP4gw580RbnO3gut8xayhzvW4xm0/s400/2012-02-06_09-47-54_257.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Scanning the horizon.</i></td></tr>
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The grey-haired gentleman to my left, who is scanning the southern sector suddenly stops, breaths in a bit and bellows, "Arise!!! <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_leviathan">Leviathan</a> of the Deep!!!"<br />
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Suddenly, there is much more activity. <br />
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"Where? Bearing?"<br />
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"136! Do you see it?!"<br />
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A pause as everyone focuses their eyes. Suddenly, I see what they are looking for.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQo1FdzSTwqbmG8HDUv-kuCbROFBW_gUWpDRnze-d88WW4G4uZjunFlB4s8Z96rr7ykvR5o1wV3n06v6Xzhwu5oMPM4eqRpJbcSi5aLCTOrSjPnTbIkw0E2i0zuzDTqZckeFWZZxAHAAS/s1600/gray+whale+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQo1FdzSTwqbmG8HDUv-kuCbROFBW_gUWpDRnze-d88WW4G4uZjunFlB4s8Z96rr7ykvR5o1wV3n06v6Xzhwu5oMPM4eqRpJbcSi5aLCTOrSjPnTbIkw0E2i0zuzDTqZckeFWZZxAHAAS/s400/gray+whale+.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gray whales spouting.</i></td></tr>
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A shiny, deep gray form breaks the surface of the water, moving north. <i>A whale!!! </i>Then I see the plume. I can hear it breathing in! Powerful!<br />
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<i>Whales.</i> A pod of four gray whales breaking the surface of the water to breathe before they go back down for about 4-5 minutes. Beautiful creatures! <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXwkgNw8sYhyphenhyphenB9rRYkRJ-BbgP0ZCUyWlpDDGvFg4tcRPdhhp_GeQbVGUvsIiVEwLyY7iX7o20OLijC-1E9AmUHTWJlGncNwtMZBJF3erwpnN08_xDkxu1FUaY_1ZaA7-l8N8mW-_CrHXU/s1600/2012-02-06_09-53-16_274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXwkgNw8sYhyphenhyphenB9rRYkRJ-BbgP0ZCUyWlpDDGvFg4tcRPdhhp_GeQbVGUvsIiVEwLyY7iX7o20OLijC-1E9AmUHTWJlGncNwtMZBJF3erwpnN08_xDkxu1FUaY_1ZaA7-l8N8mW-_CrHXU/s400/2012-02-06_09-53-16_274.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><i>Cetacean comparison chart.</i><br />
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</tbody></table>The group chatters excitedly and documents everything. Their enthusiasm gets carried over to the joggers and walkers along the coastal hiking trail. These people are not part of the Civil Defense or Coast Guard Auxiliary, looking for enemy submarines. They are whale watchers. Volunteers, all of them. These men and women are whale spotters for the <a href="http://acsonline.org/">American Cetacean Society'</a>s (ACS) <a href="http://acsonline.org/conservation/gray-whale-census-and-behavior-project/">Gray Whale Census</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissR9JTvioxmv7XOxrdNdEpTT3nhZCMKXKBwrLRw94w4dH7al58hg91t62Y4F0sexzZB_XbbYzDn96EoCUDJiIQbzGTxZ5JYjimxY7R3HUVSGSrTyQczM_sal_gzNxU4KjFW8l_8M8MRod/s1600/2012-02-06_08-17-16_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissR9JTvioxmv7XOxrdNdEpTT3nhZCMKXKBwrLRw94w4dH7al58hg91t62Y4F0sexzZB_XbbYzDn96EoCUDJiIQbzGTxZ5JYjimxY7R3HUVSGSrTyQczM_sal_gzNxU4KjFW8l_8M8MRod/s400/2012-02-06_08-17-16_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>ACS Gray Whale Census Volunteers. I was told the patches on the chairs are designed by volunteers and represent each season in which the volunteer participated.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The group tracks and counts gray whales and other marine mammals that move up and down the US Pacific coast. Their "camp" is the <a href="http://www.palosverdes.com/rpv/recreationparks/pointvicenteinterpretivecenter/">Point Vicente Interpretive Center</a>, a nature center that showcases the flora, fauna, history, and marine ecosystems of the Palos Verdes Penninsula near Los Angeles, Calif. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggk3OFYwlc9aS9Zkn8q-sHp5Cd8FH8OTQi00eka4ssQe9qp_xuxCiPzh8LE4snBWg9rKzJCNdqfPcEdCysLC2luV901lhGs1iziYAoESdguhrpnUx-LIzJGYKBtdpxR8OtQ5zKR-MwIvqo/s1600/2012-02-06_08-17-05_668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggk3OFYwlc9aS9Zkn8q-sHp5Cd8FH8OTQi00eka4ssQe9qp_xuxCiPzh8LE4snBWg9rKzJCNdqfPcEdCysLC2luV901lhGs1iziYAoESdguhrpnUx-LIzJGYKBtdpxR8OtQ5zKR-MwIvqo/s400/2012-02-06_08-17-05_668.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This season's whale counts have been big. There have even been orcas spotted in the harbor this year.</i> </td></tr>
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This morning the group consisted of local residents Jean, Bob, Steve, Nancy, and Stephanie. Bob tells me that the group has been doing this for around 30 years. They are unpaid, dedicated, and work in all kinds of weather. (Read the <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204624204577179010281182798.html?mod=slideshow_overlay_mod">Wall Street Journal article</a> -if you subscribe - about these dedicated people.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaitnfr9uo8kxrx-v4L1_p_pSSinFF8_yjkTvJjpy67-2Hg1ReTjDO0XhfAQmY8DgY4Siv9FVpF5_UmVfTF78zNgO1vEa7_JjPcrQ-1GxrGrfJbJya3SokqWqY_uBZ1gdCA_6IxdYTAML8/s1600/2012-02-06_08-14-44_40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaitnfr9uo8kxrx-v4L1_p_pSSinFF8_yjkTvJjpy67-2Hg1ReTjDO0XhfAQmY8DgY4Siv9FVpF5_UmVfTF78zNgO1vEa7_JjPcrQ-1GxrGrfJbJya3SokqWqY_uBZ1gdCA_6IxdYTAML8/s400/2012-02-06_08-14-44_40.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Volunteers keep an eye on the gray whale pod they spotted traveling north.</i></td></tr>
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The group tracked a pod of grays as they moved north up the coast. Several species migrate along the Pacific coast, but the ACS, based in San Pedro, Calif., tracks the Eastern Pacific gray whales because they frequently use the California coast and Channel Island corridor as their route.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdo4-WsnC8DR4nWW6ttzQzKae2hz0H2sp5H5fyg4LRXajcx08OncZ1xvdSo_bvM7AsoEG8npBPZwZYR2ediFgH3K2Fglnjq0O6TuuhMvAJ9iMoD95AstiAExsN50XlG5-4e12-gS2Tum4/s1600/2012-02-06_08-51-43_577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdo4-WsnC8DR4nWW6ttzQzKae2hz0H2sp5H5fyg4LRXajcx08OncZ1xvdSo_bvM7AsoEG8npBPZwZYR2ediFgH3K2Fglnjq0O6TuuhMvAJ9iMoD95AstiAExsN50XlG5-4e12-gS2Tum4/s400/2012-02-06_08-51-43_577.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Pacific ocean from the Palos Verdes Peninsula looking toward a hazy Malibu in the distance. The Channel Islands, out of view but to the left, create a very busy cetacean migration route, mirroring the human, yet just as busy 405 Freeway that runs the same direction on land.</i> </td></tr>
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The whale spotters track numbers, species, behavior, and the number of calves they see. They only see a handful of a great number of migrating whales, but their data is indicative of the overall health of the migrating species. <a href="http://malibu.patch.com/articles/record-number-of-gray-whales-migrate-south-in-december">This year there has been a record number of southbound gray whale sightings</a>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5lEZKaL9hmVs6uB2X2QJLoXjcza_yBmR7GsSJ6479W6PDkgjnUNlI5Z32Fw-UiXfMuhjYjobzigJe4Z0x0hVSMjPL6taCT0LI8V6rDp679i2Kw64Qi-URYFQgejlTLPxNGCBR-I3iXVTQ/s1600/2012-02-06_09-31-15_79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5lEZKaL9hmVs6uB2X2QJLoXjcza_yBmR7GsSJ6479W6PDkgjnUNlI5Z32Fw-UiXfMuhjYjobzigJe4Z0x0hVSMjPL6taCT0LI8V6rDp679i2Kw64Qi-URYFQgejlTLPxNGCBR-I3iXVTQ/s400/2012-02-06_09-31-15_79.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stephanie, a veteran whale counter, uses a telescope to track a gray whale pod. She recorded the number of whales, times they surfaced, and if they "fluked" - showed their tails before diving under.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>As the pod began to move out of sight, I took my leave (and took a a few pictures) just as a group of school kids arrived at the center.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhmH92Cz13aJHSTnNNL7yUJofIoRk6hN2JiZNRF9jP42twR11Mbwn-j-IpGbtLvAqhpvz9YV5WwMQGk8T430mIRxIoX0sy8E-Kx2tE2RuEe9qX7aEfVgQwtprkqLzUzvta-PB4w1B5i21/s1600/Kids+at+the+center+watching+whales.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhmH92Cz13aJHSTnNNL7yUJofIoRk6hN2JiZNRF9jP42twR11Mbwn-j-IpGbtLvAqhpvz9YV5WwMQGk8T430mIRxIoX0sy8E-Kx2tE2RuEe9qX7aEfVgQwtprkqLzUzvta-PB4w1B5i21/s400/Kids+at+the+center+watching+whales.jpg" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kids line the railing next to the Pt. Vicente Interpretive Center. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I watched as they were quickly ushered to the railings to catch a glimpse of the whale pod as they took their deep breaths before going under for another 4-5 minutes. I saw the ACS volunteers watch them with pleased smiles. I wondered if the kids realized how lucky we are to see such magnificent animals. Maybe one of them will be watching for whales one day.<br />
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<i>Resources and Sites:</i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Blue Whale Census and Behavior Project at <a href="http://acsonline.org/conservation/gray-whale-census-and-behavior-project/">http://acsonline.org/conservation/gray-whale-census-and-behavior-project/</a><br />
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The ACS Los Angeles Chapter at <a href="http://www.acs-la.org/resources.htm">http://www.acs-la.org/resources.htm</a><br />
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<a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203718504577179342791012120.html?mod=googlenews_wsj#slide/1">Slide show of whale watchers in the WSJ </a> images about the whale watchers<br />
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Follow the ACS on Twitter @CetaceanSociety<br />
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They're also on Facebook at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AmericanCetaceanSociety">www.facebook.com/AmericanCetaceanSociety</a></span> </div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-34643342036644990322012-01-28T16:50:00.000-08:002012-01-28T17:10:57.622-08:00Birthday 43: Carpe Diem<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzpdm18XghyOPRi_WdYkPhuQbc0uV06DwdKMkFSOYt9qkZkSBlU_GIRjVXPxpneFfRhq2X4okdeRojoyop_3-yYvXj8LFe1Kfga49E6j6e-AAExyN7ujTycR-Zw8XwauQGPTuVeoPz-us/s1600/P1279413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzpdm18XghyOPRi_WdYkPhuQbc0uV06DwdKMkFSOYt9qkZkSBlU_GIRjVXPxpneFfRhq2X4okdeRojoyop_3-yYvXj8LFe1Kfga49E6j6e-AAExyN7ujTycR-Zw8XwauQGPTuVeoPz-us/s400/P1279413.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lanterns above the Mad Hatter tea cup ride.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">January 26th was my birthday. The day before my birthday was preceded with a week of deep blue funk. It took a week of meditation and social networking abstinence to make things right again. The day I finally cleared that hurdle was January 25th, last Wednesday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, the week in question must have been prey to some <a href="http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn13769-does-the-earths-magnetic-field-cause-suicides.html">horrid cosmic influences</a> (besides the <a href="http://www.spaceweather.com/archive.php?view=1&day=19&month=01&year=2012">CMEs</a> that plagued the upper atmosphere that week) because there was a spike in the suicide rate among Airmen. Twelve Airmen took their own lives between January 1st and the 23rd. That's unreal. And in the Air Force culture, it feels unforgivable. So the military's response to this kind of spike is to <a href="http://www.usafa.af.mil/news/story.asp?id=123287789">stop all operations and look at what is causing the problem</a>. At upper levels this is a valid response. When the order gets filtered down to lower levels it may suffer a bit and turn into an email like the one I got that said I was required to come to work on January 26th and participate in mandatory fun and don't-kill-yourself briefings. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After a week of working through anger and sadness to get myself out of a deep, blue funk, the very LAST thing I wanted to do was attend mandatory-fun and don't-kill-yourself briefings. A co-worker said, "Tell them if you have to sit through this you <i>will</i> kill yourself." I laughed, but there was a small truth there. I <i>wanted to celebrate</i>, not wade through mindless talks about depression. I made it out of a little whole, and I wanted to smell clean air and drink coffee in the sunshine. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I hijacked my birthday. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Months ago my sister and her boyfriend, Dimitri, grabbed tickets to a Disneyland after-hours event for JPL employees. Tickets were for January 26th, my birthday. The park would close at 8 to the general public and remain open to special ticket holders. We had 4 tickets, so I planned to keep my son from school that day and bring him along for the celebration. This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing, so having my office demand my presence on this particular day was deeply ironic. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My birthday was a <u>blast</u>.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lqzfDGts7nhRixacLx15W8GVbJgDu-Hcr66QAgHmeXrB3dB9c86tWr5OGHxck4qVEPsvtZArAxYN30UZYqJn3rSEGlIJ_0pfS69oYUiqd_xodz0_OtxkfimGxlu-Y0ZYG-ecPvDh4DzO/s1600/P1289454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lqzfDGts7nhRixacLx15W8GVbJgDu-Hcr66QAgHmeXrB3dB9c86tWr5OGHxck4qVEPsvtZArAxYN30UZYqJn3rSEGlIJ_0pfS69oYUiqd_xodz0_OtxkfimGxlu-Y0ZYG-ecPvDh4DzO/s320/P1289454.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister and I at 1AM after Birthday 43 celebration was over.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I ate junk food. I rode anything that was open. I screamed like a kid. I danced down the street behind the parade. I freaked out when I saw Tigger. (He was day-glo orange!) I was a kid again. I haven't had that much fun on a birthday since I was 6. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I seldom make a big deal about my birthday. I assume people will forget it. I don't ever expect a cake or presents (When I get them I am always grateful, however.) I never plan parties. This year was different. though. This <i>day</i> was different. This was MY day. I didn't want to attend a suicide briefing. I was rewarding myself for making it this far, through whatever crap I had gone through in my life and would go through in the future. I was seizing the day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In my 43 years on this planet I have endured death in the family, countless moves and painful goodbyes, heartbreaks, teasing, being used, being forgotten, the guilt of hurting others, spiritual upheaval, watching my son struggle with autism, divorce, depression, denial, loneliness, yada, yada, yada.... I have also lived in other countries, seen amazingly beautiful creatures and people, watched my son overcome autism, made supernatural friendships, and have been constantly (and I mean <i>constantly</i>) amazed by nature. You would have to pull me kicking and screaming from this planet, this time and this space. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The twelve Airmen who took their own lives must have been at the depth of sadness. Each <a href="http://www.ellsworth.af.mil/news/story.asp?id=123287115">one of their lives</a> is irreplaceable. I know that suspending business to review what went wrong is the generally the right thing to do. Looking at ourselves and our co-workers and asking, "Are you doing ok?" is a great start. But doing this over and over can have an adverse effect. Bringing the discussion of suicide to the front of conscious thought over and over may create the <i><u>perceived option</u></i> of suicide where none existed before. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been depressed. It's sobering. For me it was like a dark fog that clouded my brain so that the things that anchored me to this world were becoming obscured. To some people I think it's full of screaming sounds and firey colors and light, so painful and loud that death itself is the relief. For some it might be the dark, still ocean that obscures the friends that care, the sunshine, and the small things that anchor them to reality, until its vapor invades their lungs and smothers their life. And for some, I think the boundary of this reality and another universe becomes a fine line, and they willingly go to the other place, sensing, for some reason, that life is better over there, not here. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I kicked my depression with trips to sunny places (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seasonal_affective_disorder">a basic SAD cure</a> and one reason I live here in LA), art therapy and journal-writing. I have a <a href="http://members.itstartswith.us/index.php?option=com_content&view=frontpage&Itemid=1">network of friends</a> in place. Guided <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guided_meditation">meditation</a>, writing this blog (and others), along with <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/sets/72157629001120445/">time alone in nature</a> is my psyche's EMS. I have even found solace in <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/search?q=%23ItHurtsWhen">twitter hashtags</a> that gave me proof I wasn't alone, something that made loneliness disappear in an instant.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The day after my birthday I found out that, while I was chasing Tigger at Disneyland, an <a href="http://www.dailybreeze.com/news/ci_19827514">18 year old kid threw himself off of the ledge</a> less than a mile from my patio, where I sat and had coffee that morning. He was trying to get to the next world. His mother, sister and others had spent the morning trying to talk him back to reality. They watched him run and jump off the ledge to his death. He left them behind. His mother and sister had to watch the fire department airlift his body from the rocks below. Later they will have to pick out his clothes for a funeral. They will have to answer questions. They will carry guilt with them the rest of their lives. They'll have to carry the memory of <i>the moment </i>of his death the rest of their lives. This is what suicide does to the living. This is why you seize your days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't need a briefing to understand this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-84541020227044821732011-12-27T21:41:00.000-08:002011-12-27T21:41:20.114-08:00I was one of the 3 Kings.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I was one of the 3 Kings.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vs83rUWNnvk/TvqryW0TIQI/AAAAAAAAAJw/RkdbZHU-qeE/s1600/Brooklyn_Museum_-_The_Magi_Journeying_%2528Les_rois_mages_en_voyage%2529_-_James_Tissot_-_overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vs83rUWNnvk/TvqryW0TIQI/AAAAAAAAAJw/RkdbZHU-qeE/s320/Brooklyn_Museum_-_The_Magi_Journeying_%2528Les_rois_mages_en_voyage%2529_-_James_Tissot_-_overall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">6<sup>th</sup> grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.stal.org/">St. Alphonsus Elementary</a>. Ocean Springs, Mississippi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm guessing probably late November. We sturdy 5- 6<sup>th</sup> graders were vying for roles of a lifetime in the Christmas Pageant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was knee-deep in that “Maybe-I-Can-Be-An-Actress!” phase of girlhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was probably riding that wave of popularity that came from winning the Speech Contest the year prior, and thought only<i> I</i> would dazzle the audience as Mary, Mother of Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I thought no one else could sell that role.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably thought people would see me up there on that little stage and stand up and say, “Why, she’s JUST. LIKE . MARY!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other girls were CRAP compared to Sarah!!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That role was gonna be mine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Except it wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It went to Juliana Skelton, I think, who actually did a great job. )</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The audition process for roles in the Christmas Pageant went like this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sister Rochelle* wrote the name of the character on the board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who wanted to play the role raised their hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wrote the names down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We closed our eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sister Rochelle spoke the names of the nominees and we raised our hands to vote for who should play the role. When we opened our eyes we saw the name of the person who had the most votes and BLAM!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re a star!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There were 3 roles for girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary, Mother of Jesus, and 2 angels (one a speaking role, I think.) So the role of Mary went to Juliana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was crushed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw her name on the board and thought anything from sabotage, to favoritism, to “knows-someone”, and ultimately realized she was just like me, wanting to “make it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I let it go quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, there were 2 other roles.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaaaaannnd strike 2.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aaaaannnnd strike 3. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">WHAT!?</div><div class="MsoNormal">No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NOOOOOO!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My little dreams of accepting Academy Awards were dashed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just ripped to pieces by rabid little Yuletide dogs with sharp little teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God did not want me to play Mary or his little angels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God didn’t think I was good enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or at least that's how it felt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girls sighed, knowing their chances were up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only boys roles from here on out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind my disappointed eyes I started to shut out the world while I tried to recover from a broken heart and broken dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, I got mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t like needless restrictions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as a little girl! If it didn’t make sense to me I probably said something. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still do! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the emperor has no clothes I’m gonna point to his doodle and say, “HEY! I can see your doodle! (your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">majesty</i>,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>haha.)”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THAT is who I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If something doesn’t make sense I will point it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who says that the 3 Kings HAVE to be played by boys? Where is that written in stone? Huh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SHOW ME!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This role is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just for boys</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boys who can’t read well, and freeze onstage, and have the emotional range of peas?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would YOU want to see your kings that way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> kings that way!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my king</i> to stand up there regally!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With purpose!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/3_Kings">KING</a> who travelled over the desert to give presents of gold, frankincense, or myrrh to a baby he thought was the physical embodiment of his GOD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You want to trust THAT kind of responsibility to a kid who throws pennies at girls then picks his nose AND eats it? REALLY?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not ME!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I was little, I didn’t want to be a princess - helpless, dependent, useless.<span> </span>I wanted to be Robin Hood, Bruce Lee, Mr Spock, Dr Who (Actually, I wanted to date Dr Who.)<span> Those were the roles of a boy, not a girl. I wanted to f</span>ight injustice.<span> </span>Sarah!<span> </span>Fighting for the little things, the oppressed, the forgotten, the Misfit Toys. Little Sarah. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I thought, “WHY did this have to be a boy’s role?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can’t handle this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, LOOK at them for God’s sake! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I made up my mind, right there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was NOT going to be the kind of girl who let some institution dictate my future to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not going to sit quietly and watch boys who knew less than me and acted immaturely walk away with everything they didn’t deserve because they were boys and I was a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was injustice!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted that role more than ever now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to be a KING. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I raised my hand.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">AND was selected.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">AND played the role well.**</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">AND I was the first girl to do so<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I</i> WAS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since then I have heard that other girls had played the role.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gender restrictions have been lifting in the halls of St. Alphonsus due to my “Stands-With-A-Fist” attitude toward women’s rights in the Catholic elementary educational arena.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was thinking about that memory and that part of my personality the last few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was one of the three kings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I suppose that was a kind of a little turning point for me. It was a cosmic "go". </span> Pushing the boundary and not being satisfied with the status quo. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*Sister Rochelle needs to take a bow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She ALLOWED me to play a King.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SHE took as big a chance as I did, in a nun’s habit, during the male-chauvinistic 70’s, in a Catholic school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THAT takes guts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She believed in me and I will never forget her .</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">**The story of the actual play was pretty funny, actually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baby Jesus was a baby doll Juliana brought with her to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Baby Jesus was, well…. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">well-loved</i>, obviously, and showed some wear and tear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the pivotal performance, when we kings gathered around to pay our respects, Joseph or Mary was so nervous, (or seeking comic relief) that they rocked the manger<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(a toy crib) so violently that Baby Jesus head came off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one cold see this from the audience, just us poor actors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stifled hoarse laughs and bowed our heads convulsing with laughter while the audience probably marveled at how emotional we all were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bravo, Mrs Porche!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bravo!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">***I know that millions of women have faced FAR more serious battles every day.<span> </span>Some places, like here in the States, we women are lucky enough to have the freedom to do almost anything we think of, and if we don’t, we have the freedom to challenge that, like I did.<span> </span>The rest of the world needs to catch up.<span> </span>Women’s equality is as crucial as clean water to make a society progress.<span> </span></span></div><!--EndFragment-->Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-76134949400460262852011-12-18T12:23:00.000-08:002011-12-18T12:23:15.625-08:00Hiking in the RainLast week I went for a hike in the rain. It was cool, around 40 something degrees, and the rain was light when I started at he Portuguese Bend trail head. As I got to my halfway point, the wind and rain got stronger. I am no stranger to doing stuff in the rain, and I was wearing my issue CW Parka (thank you, Army), so I was happy, mudskipper Sarah. The air was clear and cool and clean. Heavenly.Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-81780945547065360342011-09-02T12:57:00.001-07:002011-09-02T12:57:20.254-07:00scorrice's photostream<div style="padding: 0; overflow: hidden; margin: 0; width: 500px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106610357/in/photostream/" title="2011-09-02_08-22-14_233" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6186/6106610357_feaa0d5a7e_s.jpg" alt="2011-09-02_08-22-14_233" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107157778/in/photostream/" title="2011-09-02_08-38-36_327" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6074/6107157778_8b7651b258_s.jpg" alt="2011-09-02_08-38-36_327" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106609861/in/photostream/" title="2011-09-02_08-14-12_154" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6209/6106609861_845e059333_s.jpg" alt="2011-09-02_08-14-12_154" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107156214/in/photostream/" title="P9038687" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6202/6107156214_902810d289_s.jpg" alt="P9038687" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107155974/in/photostream/" title="P9038686" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6197/6107155974_d474bfab56_s.jpg" alt="P9038686" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106606483/in/photostream/" title="P9038684" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6199/6106606483_01a182b12b_s.jpg" alt="P9038684" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106606217/in/photostream/" title="P9038683" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6189/6106606217_ee418dc3c6_s.jpg" alt="P9038683" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106605083/in/photostream/" title="P9038676" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6209/6106605083_d2e12ef599_s.jpg" alt="P9038676" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107152234/in/photostream/" title="P9038673" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6199/6107152234_57a8942199_s.jpg" alt="P9038673" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107151918/in/photostream/" title="P9038678" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6071/6107151918_44531dbd2b_s.jpg" alt="P9038678" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107151660/in/photostream/" title="P9038680" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6184/6107151660_b07b1e1f3b_s.jpg" alt="P9038680" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107151322/in/photostream/" title="P9038677" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6185/6107151322_d52210502f_s.jpg" alt="P9038677" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107150964/in/photostream/" title="P9038682" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6186/6107150964_b33baa401d_s.jpg" alt="P9038682" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106603267/in/photostream/" title="P9038679" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6106603267_7bfdd8029d_s.jpg" alt="P9038679" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106601521/in/photostream/" title="P9038671" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6183/6106601521_2dc3e58728_s.jpg" alt="P9038671" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106601157/in/photostream/" title="P9038668" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6069/6106601157_02fb6c996a_s.jpg" alt="P9038668" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107143750/in/photostream/" title="P9038659" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6071/6107143750_315a441351_s.jpg" alt="P9038659" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107140598/in/photostream/" title="P9038649" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6188/6107140598_6b57f9f40d_s.jpg" alt="P9038649" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107139718/in/photostream/" title="P9038647" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6082/6107139718_09b2499ef1_s.jpg" alt="P9038647" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106590457/in/photostream/" title="P9038636" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6071/6106590457_81f6fe2808_s.jpg" alt="P9038636" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107136528/in/photostream/" title="P9038630" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6201/6107136528_7f8835566e_s.jpg" alt="P9038630" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106588619/in/photostream/" title="P9038631" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6084/6106588619_9af12f0227_s.jpg" alt="P9038631" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6107135718/in/photostream/" title="P9038629" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6082/6107135718_a7638c0e47_s.jpg" alt="P9038629" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/6106587841/in/photostream/" title="P9038628" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6062/6106587841_412f7ff330_s.jpg" alt="P9038628" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 5px"><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/">scorrice's photostream</a> on Flickr.</p></div><p>Today's hike at Portuguese Bend. Got there with great fog and walked out in sunshine. Took the Ishibashi trail, Rim trail, and main trail. Saw a scorpion and gave water to a thirsty lizard. </p>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-65286928087620365192011-08-11T19:41:00.000-07:002011-08-11T19:41:53.230-07:0015 Month Me is the Same as 42 Year Old Me!My mother sent me a package of AWESOME yesterday. <br />
<br />
In it was a folder with pictures of my son that survived Katrina and 2 yellow hand-written pages describing me as a baby at 15 months and 17 months. <br />
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Some things have changed, like my absolute love for a hot bath, but a few folks who know me well know I still climb things. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvakBqv8dFcz-xmSqk61REo6_4omyxvoPlOcFeramaccSD1pOvDim8bTiv7gGIvWDO3SJM0OVUhpkm8X9caL48d_D13G_jWpW0CTA-cQTO8Hi0ur9Te2_ZJAiUaTLlf6l2r56450AFNAM0/s1600/Baby+Sarah+17+Months.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvakBqv8dFcz-xmSqk61REo6_4omyxvoPlOcFeramaccSD1pOvDim8bTiv7gGIvWDO3SJM0OVUhpkm8X9caL48d_D13G_jWpW0CTA-cQTO8Hi0ur9Te2_ZJAiUaTLlf6l2r56450AFNAM0/s640/Baby+Sarah+17+Months.jpg" width="492" /></a></div><br />
Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-63237490382210680712011-07-17T22:35:00.000-07:002011-07-17T22:35:16.285-07:00True Stories, Traveling and NoticingJust downloaded <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/True_Stories_(film)">True Stories</a></i> by the Talking Heads. It's been one of my favorite movies for several years now. In one of the last sentences of the movie, David Byrne talks about how he likes to travel to places so that he can "forget". That, in another place, he notices the color of paper, how people walk.... I understand that feeling completely. I do the exact same thing. I watch the clouds. I notice the neon signs. I hyper-focus on the accents. Each trip is a sensory overload until I can attenuate.<br />
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I think my "noticing" is enhanced by my being a military brat as a child. In order to move through an environment with as little friction as possible, it helps to assimilate into the culture quickly. Doing that means noticing everything. One behavioral psychologist called it the "<a href="http://cec.sped.org/AM/Template.cfm?Section=Home&TEMPLATE=/CM/ContentDisplay.cfm&CONTENTID=9643">unwritten curriculum</a>". Learning it meant fitting in or being conspicuously different. <br />
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When I moved here in Southern California, I noticed several things right away. People don't tend their own lawns - someone is paid to do this. Teens wear black in the middle of scorching summers. Folks drive <i>recklessly</i> fast on certain freeways. There is an unwritten 2-cars-can-turn-left-on-a-red-light rule during peak traffic hours and no one will honk at you. Small things like this make up the sum total of a place's personality.<br />
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I will be traveling to Washington in a few days. I used to live there. The last time I visited after I moved away, I was flooded with memories. The feeling was a swimmy, blurry, and sweet feeling. The second time I went back I felt like I never left and just picked up where I left off. I am wondering if this next trip will bring a more "home again" feeling. We'll see.Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-916621845893264902011-07-14T19:38:00.000-07:002011-07-14T19:38:24.903-07:00Frog Man TravellingMy son just flew from LA to NYC and grabbed a connecting flight all by himself. I am so impressed.<br />
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When did he get that old?Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-35052413683347934202011-06-24T21:16:00.000-07:002011-06-24T21:16:31.182-07:00In the drink.I just spent the last 3-4 days in Pensacola, FL getting dunked in the BIG DRINK for training. I enjoyed it immensely. My body is tired beyond belief and I still feel the motion of the waves when I look down at my keyboard for any amount of time. I have had 3 hours sleep in the last 48 hours. Thankfully I have a 3 day weekend to recover.<br />
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I drove home from work today and was amused at the way we reservists have to do amazing things one day and resume a normal life the next.Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-68325681003064497332011-04-24T16:48:00.001-07:002011-04-24T16:48:30.999-07:00scorrice's photostream<div style="padding: 0; overflow: hidden; margin: 0; width: 500px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5651558142/in/photostream/" title="Palos Verdes Peninsula Vicente Bluffs" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5269/5651558142_88c45d23a0_s.jpg" alt="Palos Verdes Peninsula Vicente Bluffs" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5651557744/in/photostream/" title="Mineral Close Up" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5101/5651557744_4e9fc8d6bc_s.jpg" alt="Mineral Close Up" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650990803/in/photostream/" title="Mineral Close Up" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5226/5650990803_91ef3478d9_s.jpg" alt="Mineral Close Up" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650990393/in/photostream/" title="Beach Stones and Rocks" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5226/5650990393_5b9e9b0491_s.jpg" alt="Beach Stones and Rocks" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650989935/in/photostream/" title="Incoming Wave" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5189/5650989935_e743faf135_s.jpg" alt="Incoming Wave" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5651556140/in/photostream/" title="Waves" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5102/5651556140_297f7b23ac_s.jpg" alt="Waves" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650989111/in/photostream/" title="Palos Verdes Peninsula Vicente Bluffs" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5305/5650989111_510e3e1f83_s.jpg" alt="Palos Verdes Peninsula Vicente Bluffs" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5651555374/in/photostream/" title="Pelican Formation" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5146/5651555374_6d16022ec5_s.jpg" alt="Pelican Formation" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650988463/in/photostream/" title="Hiding Crab" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5110/5650988463_66fb0af662_s.jpg" alt="Hiding Crab" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650988041/in/photostream/" title="Sea Anemone and Sea Slug" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5064/5650988041_83cca4cb8a_s.jpg" alt="Sea Anemone and Sea Slug" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5651554334/in/photostream/" title="Chiton" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5265/5651554334_43165da387_s.jpg" alt="Chiton" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5651553892/in/photostream/" title="Ocean Rocks" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5302/5651553892_1928ec931e_s.jpg" alt="Ocean Rocks" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650986837/in/photostream/" title="Ocean Rocks" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5147/5650986837_1755884cfa_s.jpg" alt="Ocean Rocks" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650986419/in/photostream/" title="Mussels" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5066/5650986419_e8ca99f536_s.jpg" alt="Mussels" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5650985089/in/photostream/" title="Palos Verdes Peninsula Vicente Bluffs" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5104/5650985089_17f9fe580b_s.jpg" alt="Palos Verdes Peninsula Vicente Bluffs" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5564677031/in/photostream/" title="Phacelia cicutaria" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5188/5564677031_56e398c38c_s.jpg" alt="Phacelia cicutaria" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5565254898/in/photostream/" title="Phacelia cicutaria" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5022/5565254898_c758b10eb0_s.jpg" alt="Phacelia cicutaria" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5565254412/in/photostream/" title="Portuguese Bend Reserve" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5014/5565254412_63cd01477e_s.jpg" alt="Portuguese Bend Reserve" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5564675923/in/photostream/" title="Hedge Mustard" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5292/5564675923_d57e6ec086_s.jpg" alt="Hedge Mustard" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5565253838/in/photostream/" title="Yellow Warbler" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5019/5565253838_dd3d382161_s.jpg" alt="Yellow Warbler" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5565245570/in/photostream/" title="Austrocylindropuntia vestita (most likely)" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5095/5565245570_45555659c9_s.jpg" alt="Austrocylindropuntia vestita (most likely)" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5565245226/in/photostream/" title="Camellia" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5180/5565245226_c573b60a39_s.jpg" alt="Camellia" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5475949792/in/photostream/" title="Old Air Tower, Ford Island" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5097/5475949792_408f9a78c0_s.jpg" alt="Old Air Tower, Ford Island" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/5475350289/in/photostream/" title="Hut" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5099/5475350289_b5389c8679_s.jpg" alt="Hut" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 5px"><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/scorrice/">scorrice's photostream</a> on Flickr.</p></div><p>Neat little tide pool critters!</p>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-72555735471751350962010-12-11T12:30:00.000-08:002010-12-11T12:30:54.445-08:00Christmas in the PhilippinesAnother memory to upload to the net.<br />
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When I was a little girl, we lived in Clark AFB, in the Philippines. December was always rainy and warm. I was age 4-6 and just becoming aware that I was a separate entity in the Universe. This led me to relate to my surroundings and make intellectual connections based on those surroundings. In other words I thought the entire world was a lush tropical paradise populated with beautiful dark skinned people. I also thought that winter and Christmas meant lots of rain and typhoons.<br />
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And somehow my little mind made this equation: <br />
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Green and red decorations + December + Snow = Santa Claus comes. <br />
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Therefore,<br />
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Green and red decorations + December + NO SNOW = NO SANTA<br />
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Now, I can't tell you how horribly anxiety-inducing that thought is to a 5 year old. We were all kids at one time, so I'm sure you can imagine. Thankfully, I was a US Air Force dependent. The DOD is very much aware of the importance depressed dependent children have on Air Force work flow. SO, having moderate air resources available, the AF teamed up with the Big Guy in Red and brought Christmas to my little elementary school. <br />
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Imagine a group of little kids lined up and marched to the playground. We gathered at the edge of the field where we saw folks in uniform (many of them our moms and dads) acting busy and serious. Stand here! Don't go there! Accountabilty! What the hell was going on? And then....we heard it. That tell-tale whomp-whomp sound of Huey rotors. The chopper came over the trees and hovered over our little playground. Dirt, straw, grass and pebbles blew all around us as the rotor wash created this turbulent micro universe where every eye was focused on the line that dropped from the Huey. Every man, woman and child watched as Santa himself rappelled like an Air Assault master out of the chopper and landed on the field to roaring applause. <br />
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What little kid would ever forget that?Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-52546162071079174752010-10-30T12:33:00.000-07:002010-10-30T12:33:53.626-07:00Halloween and Hibernation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-cIYc90Qn7pPdXsqzk7lHP4NOB7E7MiBe1XvOVLvgP6zgGbQJ5O5_YB0yUj1ji5CX4QY9SEkR1Xl0TQ4xBFvib5ocLN_LX3xoegCKwQOZP0qTTVZ7xgf9_Vfe5vILpeR30Uc_fdMKo7O/s1600/Kiggee+eating+pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-cIYc90Qn7pPdXsqzk7lHP4NOB7E7MiBe1XvOVLvgP6zgGbQJ5O5_YB0yUj1ji5CX4QY9SEkR1Xl0TQ4xBFvib5ocLN_LX3xoegCKwQOZP0qTTVZ7xgf9_Vfe5vILpeR30Uc_fdMKo7O/s320/Kiggee+eating+pumpkin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My favorite holiday of the year. <br />
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Some folks think I love Halloween because they also think I'm a witch. I have red hair, 2 black cats, play with tarot card, and "talk" to ravens.<br />
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That's not the reason why. (And I'm not a witch or Wiccan - not that there's anything wrong with that.)<br />
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I love Halloween because it begins the holiday season, and it rolls fast right after Halloween. It's also the prettiest part of Autumn. The fervor and excitement I feel during this season is much stronger on the East coast, however, since the seasons are more clearly marked. Here in California, Autumn sneaks in and eases her way through the end of the calendar so that you say "Yay! Halloween!" Then what feels like a few minutes later you're saying, "What the...4 days until Christmas? How the...OH! There's the In-and-Out. Turn HERE! TURN HERE!" And all the cool things out here distract you from the fact that you still haven't mailed a damn card yet.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hEcXOC-bBcl0t_SFH7U5kMkG-XqJb9Z50hYxVy-WflFoH7ULsNcdqmDvs1TBqv_ovPunYf8MPGmuZOFkch_Rc0TA1miTFz3dR1Zq-Mnt3d9j65pINv41ZAoOruvLDHr6ZS1-aVGadaOJ/s1600/PC034104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hEcXOC-bBcl0t_SFH7U5kMkG-XqJb9Z50hYxVy-WflFoH7ULsNcdqmDvs1TBqv_ovPunYf8MPGmuZOFkch_Rc0TA1miTFz3dR1Zq-Mnt3d9j65pINv41ZAoOruvLDHr6ZS1-aVGadaOJ/s200/PC034104.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>The environment has a big effect on my psyche. It does for most folks to varying degrees, but I am super sensitive to it. Whatever junk DNA lies quietly in my genetic code are light sleepers. The first nip of cold and I spring into hibernation mode, like a little ground hog. The house gets cleaned. I MUST have things that smell like apple and cinnamon strewn about the house. And the eating! Ugh! I crave carbs in Autumn like a vampire craves blood. Gotta pack that fat for winter hibernation. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGrTUCvRT0YQCwsMzcvhW1UPRthvOTCzNqUA0p5KPYgNXeW1J-4mXC4iNwxhT1bhydaxki21LYuTd8JdZ9bqNQzd1SOmlEjX95EokjcNGAN6fUn7FlzLxHm66bEPOaUpvj3YtRahkcL8H/s1600/PA272321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGrTUCvRT0YQCwsMzcvhW1UPRthvOTCzNqUA0p5KPYgNXeW1J-4mXC4iNwxhT1bhydaxki21LYuTd8JdZ9bqNQzd1SOmlEjX95EokjcNGAN6fUn7FlzLxHm66bEPOaUpvj3YtRahkcL8H/s320/PA272321.JPG" width="320" /></a>Back East I am not able to control these instinctive behaviors well*. The rustle of orange and red leaves makes me rush about like the squirrels on the ground. I feel the urge to get in my car and drive very, very far like a migrating goose with a driver's license. I can capitalize on this seasonal effect because I become quite productive. Make hay while the sun shines because when the leaves are gone and the land is windy, icy and quiet, I am hibernating.<br />
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Hibernation. My poor little solar-powered mind is powerless against the instinct to drop everything in my hand and ooze into my bed when the ratio of sun to dark becomes "less than". It took me a few decades to simply admit this, and then another few years to work around it (ie: move to California.) Basically, the situation works like this: Sun comes up, Sarah is up. Sun goes down, Sarah goes down. This was a horrible obstacle to my 8-5 job. The sun came up at 8 and went down at 4. I'd look around at other people on the highway driving to work, as I did - in the dark, and think, "How the hell is everyone ok with this?" I felt cheated, and annoyed, and mad-as-hell-notgonnatakeitanymore. And just when all of the injustice was too much to bear, especially around Cruel February and Psyche-Out March, I'd get struck by the smell of Spring.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0X32cX00136uZPkjGVh29CAedAR39Id3O_c8FO8BdWy3i2nPIC7B16iU2fOqWOhKzem_6eAFCJesAKCRjGLt3hjoKtlx2hpzFbxOdJ0CCYL0McCVVIweqWsxC8_30UvQAlbeh2sJtOxE/s1600/LA+Arboretum_032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0X32cX00136uZPkjGVh29CAedAR39Id3O_c8FO8BdWy3i2nPIC7B16iU2fOqWOhKzem_6eAFCJesAKCRjGLt3hjoKtlx2hpzFbxOdJ0CCYL0McCVVIweqWsxC8_30UvQAlbeh2sJtOxE/s320/LA+Arboretum_032.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Oh Spring! Back East you were a tired and welcomed soldier back from the war that I ran up to and jumped into your arms! (A little dramatic, you may say? No. That's REALLY how I felt. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Really!</span>) I figured out later that I was smelling minute traces of a <i>Clostridium species</i> of bacteria that is released into the air after the snow melts. Again, my junk DNA kicked into high gear through an environmental stimulus. A hint of yellow on the forsythia buds and cherry blossoms threw the final switch and SARAH was back online. <br />
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Well, at some point a few years back I got tired of this wild, emotional ride through the seasons. I moved to California, (where I was born) and where my body was able to come to some kind of homeostasis. It's 2 days until November and I have the doors wide open, the trees are green and the sun is shining. My roses are blooming and birds, bugs, and critters are everywhere. The sun may stay out a shorter amount of time, but my body is adequately tricked into thinking it's always Spring. It's like environmental Prozac. The flora and fauna are always telling me "Eeeeeeverything's just groovy, man. No worries, Braddah." Then this narcotic grin comes across my face and I deliriously forget about the stupid Christmas cards I was supposed to send 2 weeks ago. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLnuvUCpBEvatmd5Eie_7Kr_0WzPihzmz4PebdsncOgA6D52edFERqgrtNhkNuaFEzJjvH1TsvyrZXejlvNNQNXoNtAgsnsS9EZULVsE_BTBdKREQGc0tfno6wfSIZBJ4mA2jvoMy2Z90/s1600/P8096848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLnuvUCpBEvatmd5Eie_7Kr_0WzPihzmz4PebdsncOgA6D52edFERqgrtNhkNuaFEzJjvH1TsvyrZXejlvNNQNXoNtAgsnsS9EZULVsE_BTBdKREQGc0tfno6wfSIZBJ4mA2jvoMy2Z90/s320/P8096848.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
"Noooooo worries, Braddah."<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">*Oddly enough, this environmental phenomena has no effect, whatsoever, in the Northwest. My years in Tacoma, Washington were ideal! Wet, but ideal.)</span>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-68418079612762418582010-10-26T20:25:00.000-07:002010-10-26T20:25:03.023-07:00Barbie's WardrobeI'm a girl. That means when I was young I had a Barbie or Barbie-type doll. If you were a lucky girl she was a real Barbie that, when thrown at someone would do some damage (not like the hollow plastic ones that could be caught in mid-air by a little boy named...say...Michael Kidd, and thrown back at you.) <br />
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Barbie wore high heels and tight dresses with unbelievable large seams for her scale. She may have worn home-made bellbottoms and a Bob Makie-style tank top. My Barbies had long blond hair, for a while anyway, until I'd take mom's sewing scissors and give her the worst haircut ever. I even had a Barbie with long red hair! She lasted a little longer until my son got a hold of her. I think his GI Joe had something to do with that. Was never proven, though.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OX-p9XnRsYmQyZdQmLaPAL9xKnP8jPWj-OyZ27JHtS59A11I9es514uMquatusEViYNNnffNcZjGwHy9zSgtkX2LrujmDaH5FwxkIhayI8nsFw5YqA7w-9kUcHuivkjSR_4u3IPfDZ-i/s1600/PA277191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OX-p9XnRsYmQyZdQmLaPAL9xKnP8jPWj-OyZ27JHtS59A11I9es514uMquatusEViYNNnffNcZjGwHy9zSgtkX2LrujmDaH5FwxkIhayI8nsFw5YqA7w-9kUcHuivkjSR_4u3IPfDZ-i/s320/PA277191.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
ANYHOO I gave up on Barbies for a while until 10 years ago. I was shopping in a toy store and saw a bin filled with College Cheerleader Barbies. Imagine my surprise when I found a Virginia Tech cheerleader. I <i>had</i> to buy it for oddity's sake.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmgCFpazE6OtZTk1jN7aDr7io62WicqPP_wsJn9GXpKV_Owpr85Dofuc80NrVVkpKhcm7qpkzIVTGQahJtbVrHMfZ83QitwOWMSXZ0M1lqDQ6TV3460sy4CQXDFV3KsHUJfIn9yDObL0Y/s1600/PA277193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmgCFpazE6OtZTk1jN7aDr7io62WicqPP_wsJn9GXpKV_Owpr85Dofuc80NrVVkpKhcm7qpkzIVTGQahJtbVrHMfZ83QitwOWMSXZ0M1lqDQ6TV3460sy4CQXDFV3KsHUJfIn9yDObL0Y/s320/PA277193.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>I took her home and for the last decade she's been sitting in her short skirt and tennies. She spent winters like that, with no leg warmers or letterman jacket, a constant smile on her face. Poor Barb. Resigned to her fate.<br />
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Last weekend I went shopping with my mother at Target. We wandered through the aisles leaning on shopping carts and letting the subliminal advertising run its course through our minds. We must have walked into the toy section just as the secret suggestive voices said, "Isn't it about time Barbie had a new wardrobe? (Asile 10.)" Well, heck yeah! Mindlessly, I maneuvered my cart into the <i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">pink</span></b></i> aisle and perused the dolls. The new Barbies were pretty neato, actually. Internationally themed ones and dolls that looked like classic movie characters. Pretty cool! Based on the variation I was seeing I thought, "Oh maybe a nice ball gown or a sari. Maybe something in a batik pattern." Let me tell you, I was so disappointed. All I saw were thin little rags that made Barbie look like a 14th Street hooker. I wondered if the "<i>dresses</i>" came with mini prophylactics or penicillin. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0YedX_5LOK5sMbOrxQGbo5WpfmnKnuOGkI1PBjjCAAJeGumFZrsUQa6KkdYP5zLru8DHbokbuXX2HpoK4jUyu-HnfazmYLM96iHiQx_3FxbeD6M-AfF9qXoKbz-7xp-oz-27gPP-JxCy/s1600/PA277192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0YedX_5LOK5sMbOrxQGbo5WpfmnKnuOGkI1PBjjCAAJeGumFZrsUQa6KkdYP5zLru8DHbokbuXX2HpoK4jUyu-HnfazmYLM96iHiQx_3FxbeD6M-AfF9qXoKbz-7xp-oz-27gPP-JxCy/s200/PA277192.JPG" width="148" /></a></div>I wondered if my Barbie was condemned to sit on my desk in a skimpy cheerleader uniform forever. Then I saw it. A nice sweater and khaki pants! Hey! That's nice! The shoes are kinda big, but HEY, fitting Barbie feet into Barbie shoes is a notoriously painful exercise. Maybe Mattel listened to the pleas of little girls and their moms, no doubt submitted in letters written with bandaged fingers. Then I looked closer. KEN. They were Ken's clothes! Well for Pete's sake!!! Can't Barbie have a descent set of casual clothes? I'd be happy with stretch leggings and a tiger print tunic at this point! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyh3V0qEYo23O5Vp-HaavEfCxHTsimZFQkuXNcSGjdIOCdCursbNsCAUgOTWymQg9HXXj48wz2ykfH60B1qhaIlhhJefuPGs_l7S74JXhZkAGInX4Lwol57WCdFSs5K_TbPKNdbB2vr6ef/s1600/2010-10-26_19-52-33_85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyh3V0qEYo23O5Vp-HaavEfCxHTsimZFQkuXNcSGjdIOCdCursbNsCAUgOTWymQg9HXXj48wz2ykfH60B1qhaIlhhJefuPGs_l7S74JXhZkAGInX4Lwol57WCdFSs5K_TbPKNdbB2vr6ef/s400/2010-10-26_19-52-33_85.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>KEN. That jerk. He was so useless! Now he sat there on the shelf taunting me and my Barbie. He had comfortable, normal, law-abiding clothes. It wasn't fair. <br />
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So I made a decision that wasn't too unusual for me - a girl, the first girl to volunteer to be a Wise Man (#2) at the Christmas play at St. Alphonsus. I decided Barbie would be wearing a pair of khakis and a dang sweater. Who were these market researchers to tell my Barbie-with-the-cold-legs that she couldn't wear normal clothes? They were obviously people who didn't have teenage daughters to worry about, or there would have been USAF Flight suits, or jeans and a blazer, or yoga pants! I proudly took the Ken outfit off the rack, threw it in my cart on top of the Franken Berry box and proudly strolled up to the register, proud of <i>sticking it to the MAN</i>.<br />
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This evening I took Barbie and finally, FINALLY changed her clothes. I think this pleased me as much as I'm sure it pleased her. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekSbP3jzDW1XVnCcTSbBs5aOIEceCKzC4kJqogCdmDO-XlZTM_pMMhFZW8ansbB0gP_TkOjtQJV8b6WoD-eGGSP4SAPoKHtRIsD9ptvnDBoZMLvuVz9G9cwSUMNaGQpLSWri_Jjk8FFh7/s1600/PA277197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekSbP3jzDW1XVnCcTSbBs5aOIEceCKzC4kJqogCdmDO-XlZTM_pMMhFZW8ansbB0gP_TkOjtQJV8b6WoD-eGGSP4SAPoKHtRIsD9ptvnDBoZMLvuVz9G9cwSUMNaGQpLSWri_Jjk8FFh7/s640/PA277197.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-10410412590234858052010-10-25T21:10:00.000-07:002010-10-25T21:17:51.368-07:00Brown County TownI had to upload this memory to the Net since the Packers won last night. I only saw the replays but didn't have to see much footage to know what a helluva party Green Bay and most of <a href="http://www.co.brown.wi.us/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">Brown County, WI</span></a> had last night. <br />
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I used to live in Green Bay. My ex and I were stationed there for an "evolutionary" piece of my emotional career that lasted about 3 years or so. I spent most of my life in the DC Metro area, Northern Virginia to be more precise, so I have typically been a Redskins fan. Since I am not religious about football I have the privilege of casually supporting 2 teams: The Redskins* and the Packers. And no, it's <i>not</i> like cheating on a spouse. <br />
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SO. We moved to Green Bay. That was around.....mmm...2002? 2003? I can't remember. It's not too important. What I DO remember is how <b>masculine</b> the town felt. Yes towns and states and regions all have a "feel" to them. I have lived in many many places, being a military brat and eventually a military service member. All military brats learn to assimilate - quickly. My adjustment period in Green Bay was no different. Get apartment, learn the lingo and slang, decipher the accent, and carry on. I did this dutifully, and when I felt confidant enough, I got in my car and went to the grocery store.<br />
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Pleasant people. Folks were very friendly. And driven by something. That was odd. I didn't expect that. There was a sense of urgency in every aisle. <i>Slow down lady. Where's the fire? </i> What was up with these folks? It didn't dawn on me until the cashier handed me my change and said, "Go Packers!" OOOooooh! I see. It was Sunday. Factoid was duly noted and logged into my mental database, cross reference "super fans".<br />
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Green Bay has a current to it that is kicked into a fierce gear during - you guessed it- football season. I won't go into Packer history. You can find that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><a href="http://www.packers.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">here</span></a>. </span>But when the fans <i>own</i> the team, you will have fierce fans. The street signs in Green Bay are <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">green </span>and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000;">gold</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">My ex-husband worked on </span><i>Holmgren Way. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Football icons are elevated to historical status. We're talking f. a. n.'s. Well to an outsider, as I was when I got there, it seemed oddly extreme, albeit refreshing. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I felt like I was in college again. The pride I felt for my Alma Mater when I was in college (VaTech) was strong. So was this feeling in Green Bay, except it was much, MUCH bigger. In college, the fervor for the team (Hokies btw) was contained to a demographic that was roughly 18-36 year olds. But Green Bay... well, it was infants to grannies. </span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'd see little old ladies knitting green and gold scarves (or purple things in crocheted nooses.) I saw oblivious babies in green face paint. Packer fans crossed genders and generations, but they added a sense of family as well.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">To illustrate how Green Bay life changed when the Packers played I will describe a trip to the grocery store, <a href="http://www.festfoods.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Fe</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">sti</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">val</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Fo</span>ods</a>. I liked going there because they had a day care at the front of the store. You could deposit your offspring, get a claim ticket, not unlike a hat check, and commence your shopping experience. Loved it. Well Festival knew how concerned you as a parent could be when you were separated from little Wally. So they installed monitoring stations all over the store (ie TVs). In the meat aisle, look up and there's Wally! Eating a crayon, how cute. This made my shopping experience great! My son was, well, a little difficult. I relied on the monitoring stations. They kept me paced. Eating crayons- ok, that means he's still good. Running around the room - eh, maybe 10 minutes. Mouth-open scream and a slight delay in the sound getting to me in produce - OK. It's time to go NOW. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">So lets recap. Monitors = Brilliant. HOWEVER, Monitors + Football Season + Packer Game = Monitors SHOWING Packer game. Yes. This particular day it was a Packer game. I strolled along the meat section, looked up and... What the hell! Where's Wally? I saw Brett (whose name was still spoken aloud back then) running here, there, whatever. "Where are the KIDS?" My concerns were drowned out by happy fans who cheered throughout the store when Green Bay took that pigskin and scored. I gave up. I submitted to the waves of exhilaration when the ref's hands went up. The kick was good. And for a good half hour </span><span class="Apple-style-span">everyone</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> in the store- rich, poor, hispanic, white, Canadian were all united in a joy that lasted all football season, every Sunday, especially during home games. Thanks for the great memories, Packers. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">*(By the way, I have just as happy memories of my 'Skins and will write about them this winter when I go back to DC for holiday.)</span></span></i></span>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-13672415368342551082010-10-24T19:00:00.000-07:002010-10-24T19:00:51.895-07:00Portuguese Bend Reserve Hike Part 2Saturday I went back to the PV Nature Preserve's Portuguese Bend Reserve. It had rained the last time I went, making picture-taking a muddy venture. I parked the car, walked to the trailhead and was stopped in my tracks when I saw just how beautiful the vista was. The visibility on my earlier hikes was no more than 20 feet so I never saw how high, or breathtaking the view was.<br />
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The first thing I noticed on this hike was the great commotion above me. Ravens. There were up to 50 or so ravens ganged together partly to attack nearby hawks or vie for potential mates. Their calls varied from the typical "Hey-Everybody!-Check-This-Out" coarse caws to very sweet and rounded "Hey-Baby" hoots. Some carried pebbles in their beaks, the raven equivalent of a fat wallet. The aerial acrobatics lasted the entire hike. <br />
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The ravens weren't the only aerial stunt-masters I saw that day. Zipping in and out of the clouds were 3 fixed-wing aircraft that were performing spectacular maneuvers as part of a mock dog fight. The area right off the coast here in Southern California sees a lot of historic aircraft, zeppelins and blimps. <br />
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As I continued down the trail the sun started to gather strength and heat, drying out the water-logged flora. I started to hear a consistent clicking or popping. I leaned closer to the bushes from where I heard the sounds and found these little guys.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqef_RNIFb9hPjMrebcSCcnEWANeGWvYT2-sFdqzELQ0maclLQGWejyvxJznYUvvgaGhV9-FukQrGrHkSdxBPMnUud8PtJ0EMgGT0EVF3GhjHZyEaiRWYxaxZJp-i1tD5XzCkrCu0i0xX/s1600/PA247142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqef_RNIFb9hPjMrebcSCcnEWANeGWvYT2-sFdqzELQ0maclLQGWejyvxJznYUvvgaGhV9-FukQrGrHkSdxBPMnUud8PtJ0EMgGT0EVF3GhjHZyEaiRWYxaxZJp-i1tD5XzCkrCu0i0xX/s320/PA247142.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><i>Acacia melanoxylon</i>. The plant is non-native and considered invasive. Originally from Eastern Australia, it finds American soil just ducky. It grows fast after fires and is easily propagated. If left unchecked it can grow into a substantially tall tree. Like most invasive (and successful) species it tolerates almost any kind of environmental condition. Kind of like a special ops soldier.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyJy7QO5hCfsbCh-_maVG-eWEbBxb5r51xPwyOi5m9aKFThA_AudB5_YQCXxwIGIunb9jzER0VTeVUE3Fg16NAbA7BKvprIvJ5UMVV1nqYHmDYySfAsJtBpzWAaN6LW5OPVxyELjHFdIq/s1600/PA247149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyJy7QO5hCfsbCh-_maVG-eWEbBxb5r51xPwyOi5m9aKFThA_AudB5_YQCXxwIGIunb9jzER0VTeVUE3Fg16NAbA7BKvprIvJ5UMVV1nqYHmDYySfAsJtBpzWAaN6LW5OPVxyELjHFdIq/s320/PA247149.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I ended up walking to a nice little shady spot near the start of the Klondike trail. From here I was able to see Palos Verdes Drive South and Catalina Island peeking out of the clouds. I sat down and watched pelicans dive into the ocean, ate my banana, and let whatever doubts and confusion about life's constant dramas dissipate from my mind. It was a good hike.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUrZjm5F3HyNKtjSbOP8sqBjhuN1skLIEhjHLopiOu63tT4eHymBoptjxy9RhTLw8pLABhcMmXmAmcUN03LE7yXLIjGdeMGkFBj1YgSZ5qI0jTe8QzRa16pvRK2XMNHVoz8ljA4Zcjjrq/s1600/PA247157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUrZjm5F3HyNKtjSbOP8sqBjhuN1skLIEhjHLopiOu63tT4eHymBoptjxy9RhTLw8pLABhcMmXmAmcUN03LE7yXLIjGdeMGkFBj1YgSZ5qI0jTe8QzRa16pvRK2XMNHVoz8ljA4Zcjjrq/s400/PA247157.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-33221637678111669362010-10-22T21:16:00.000-07:002010-10-22T21:16:04.068-07:00Replicants, Robots and AndroidsI was talking to my co-worker today about sci-fi stories and eventually the conversation led to robots. He remarked that the US Air Force led the way in unmanned vehicles. Sure. I agree with that. Then we started talking about lunar and Mars missions. Unmanned missions lately. Makes perfect sense. Let the androids, robots and replicants take over these missions. Agree with that, too. But when do robotic missions cross into the moral grey area? <br />
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Goodness, this isn't a new question, but as I am sitting here watching <i>Blade Runner</i> for the umpteenth time (director's cut, btw) I can't help but see a very large ethical debate approaching in MY lifetime. It may be time to ask ourselves now: How would you perceive an android? As tool or friend?The question should be tossed around more often than it is, I think.<br />
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Friend or tool? I tend to anthropomorphize so my answer would tend toward the "friend" perception. But then I think about all of the lame little cell phones I have gone through. I have a little box of them. A collection that looks like a technical chronology. What worries me is how fast the upgrades came and how easily I grew tired of the older models. How fast will I get disappointed in my Droid? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaO2HNrB23R1_47qV1-8a0XNizFXDOCIaP8HD_W-zguHkfHAgUS7MKsdAFv1xxY0Gp51GQvQn77hzSkC8sCyb0PyoKS9wmDmyTB1gbDuc3g5tj86dXIK8BB65eYfIhequan6ng5yvlj9z/s1600/220px-HONDA_ASIMO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaO2HNrB23R1_47qV1-8a0XNizFXDOCIaP8HD_W-zguHkfHAgUS7MKsdAFv1xxY0Gp51GQvQn77hzSkC8sCyb0PyoKS9wmDmyTB1gbDuc3g5tj86dXIK8BB65eYfIhequan6ng5yvlj9z/s320/220px-HONDA_ASIMO.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Last summer my son and I went to Walt Disney Land and had a chance to see Asimo, Honda's robot. My son was fascinated. Everyone was, really. But I kept thinking the show was a bit demeaning. The poor thing had to walk here, bow, do other tricks. Now, I know Asimo isn't Data or Roy Batty or Batou even. He - It is limited. But I still saw a future of I Robots and gynoids being discarded as soon as upgrades walk onto the showroom floor. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHJEGkwjOJRM9qAwEMfRC7_e1XBXAWRCpieuXWB69MaXaX41tdWuDXsRJmYsFRQmQ8e02PY8aG8dwrlNnWdmti3C6ZFVS_LELBfY3jh6We5yuJOOuLB_ivW88e5IPxy3xdfg0HrcMxp9c/s1600/220px-Innocencepostereng.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHJEGkwjOJRM9qAwEMfRC7_e1XBXAWRCpieuXWB69MaXaX41tdWuDXsRJmYsFRQmQ8e02PY8aG8dwrlNnWdmti3C6ZFVS_LELBfY3jh6We5yuJOOuLB_ivW88e5IPxy3xdfg0HrcMxp9c/s320/220px-Innocencepostereng.jpg" width="215" /></a>AI is progressing so quickly. And although I don't foresee a protocol droid in my apartment anytime soon, or even a better vacuum, I know that someday I will be a little old lady in my cottage trying to wrestle a broom from Rosie the Robot. Will I fire her or turn her off? Looking at this box of cell phones now I begin to wonder.Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-70683266400462706822010-10-21T20:51:00.000-07:002010-10-21T20:51:46.910-07:00FionnaThis is my little girl.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOKLltCAHrW61018jVN_zGDxz7iIWm7pbsk2SkqSERSC2G1dkWM9eg8vfSBeDNufqxg3WJPSh-7yWALDApoRpDwlHJYU-kIw1tBs-kImGqjuzTwDVDA8fpQjl9ULGXOpgI5-aV3tgUUNU/s1600/Photo+on+2010-10-21+at+19.57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOKLltCAHrW61018jVN_zGDxz7iIWm7pbsk2SkqSERSC2G1dkWM9eg8vfSBeDNufqxg3WJPSh-7yWALDApoRpDwlHJYU-kIw1tBs-kImGqjuzTwDVDA8fpQjl9ULGXOpgI5-aV3tgUUNU/s400/Photo+on+2010-10-21+at+19.57.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Her name is Fionna. She came with an apartment we rented in Blacksburg, VA back in 2003. When she became part of the family she was a small black puff ball who couldn't meow. Oh, she'd open her mouth and look like she was meowing, but nothing would come out. It took a while to train my ear to the little breathy hiss she made when she spoke. She is more vocal now, but only chirps like a sparrow. It's a beautiful sound, if I may say so.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why am I devoting a blog entry to Fi? Well she, along with Kig, are a huge part of our lives. We are cat-worshiping types who cater their every whim. In return they let us...um... cater to their every whim. I also feel that if any soul is that much a part of your life, it deserves to be uploaded to the Net. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCF2TxTqu8Ju7Fop7rpcN3DQVwitm3MGiplhjvQqWx-S8fexfq_9ErW62LZkKp7dhncMwEuFs-nSqgGu659eTjhFlwH1KWx23ltkoeelRG3UnDbS6-weYXFyxkNAM23UVsPKF-K5rJagS/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCF2TxTqu8Ju7Fop7rpcN3DQVwitm3MGiplhjvQqWx-S8fexfq_9ErW62LZkKp7dhncMwEuFs-nSqgGu659eTjhFlwH1KWx23ltkoeelRG3UnDbS6-weYXFyxkNAM23UVsPKF-K5rJagS/s320/IMG_0603.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fionna was named for Fiona Apple, who is a great singer, but has nothing in common with my little girl. Fionna the Pest or Princess Fionna has a better ring. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fionna's former people, a couple of well-meaning VaTech students, seemed to think that their animals should eat vegetarian food. I'm sorry. I have a degree in Biology so I've had some measure of instruction in animal physiology. Cats are carnivores. They eat meat. I ... you know, I could go on about that, but it's not the time or place. Let's just say Fionna happily gained the weight she needed by eating real kitten chow - finally.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fionna has short legs. She is almost like a munchkin. Her fur is rabbit-soft and unlike anything I've ever felt. The hairs are very, very long. In the sun she is a beautiful dark chocolate color. She is a complete clown, and when she knows she has your attention, she will play games just to see your reaction. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibakmw3zVoc39IUjmqdFJIIIFj9Iwu77W550iGDpT2rR8CXI2QUaVSpKwYB5uJwViDITb8z3RFrWE2ToyXZ6bX4WqpTfD2tKQY-7B7NHhB5y7Ga8Pwkm9SYweW3Oec5w3-CLpE0X8UEih6/s1600/P9056891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibakmw3zVoc39IUjmqdFJIIIFj9Iwu77W550iGDpT2rR8CXI2QUaVSpKwYB5uJwViDITb8z3RFrWE2ToyXZ6bX4WqpTfD2tKQY-7B7NHhB5y7Ga8Pwkm9SYweW3Oec5w3-CLpE0X8UEih6/s320/P9056891.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When we took in Fionna we already had a cat at the time - my other little boy, Kiggee. The adjustment time for them was very short, mostly because Kig is a good, even-tempered and patient soul. Pretty soon they were grooming each other and wrestling. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHvDdIBR3T7XBh8xPLGeJVeFr3oCZdz6_WsZtW5jFfURlQgUNjS_kDB-eTHFgjQAfoEkGBt3Rb7H80C_cQ-AbClAuenfCbsqLqwNB8YolKMTgybG8tw7Spnnvn8rsDu3G-9nLhQjtyNoq/s1600/kitty+kissing+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHvDdIBR3T7XBh8xPLGeJVeFr3oCZdz6_WsZtW5jFfURlQgUNjS_kDB-eTHFgjQAfoEkGBt3Rb7H80C_cQ-AbClAuenfCbsqLqwNB8YolKMTgybG8tw7Spnnvn8rsDu3G-9nLhQjtyNoq/s320/kitty+kissing+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Both of my cats are black. Some people think I'm a witch because of this. I'm not. I never care what color or breed my adopted cat-kids are. The universe just pulled us all together somehow. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now Fionna welcomes me at the door along with Kig the moment I come home. She and Kig usually demand a treat and then Kitty Wresting begins. This pleases me. Actually, I do get a kick out of watching their stalking techniques. (Cats have wonderful stalking and capture strategies, and my babies don't disappoint.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBSLD69L4EbwlXMRT4lPq6AfbEGKF5SwLSX_aSSZi7lentMqPgqQsVenhzBaBnh_LTd5qKrDCqlQI5TGURf0F2Kcz8BuitvcUaPpOF2jcz61en6nblmz-4iSXM3HJuSfmy9KTEKY3RUOX/s1600/P9296971.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBSLD69L4EbwlXMRT4lPq6AfbEGKF5SwLSX_aSSZi7lentMqPgqQsVenhzBaBnh_LTd5qKrDCqlQI5TGURf0F2Kcz8BuitvcUaPpOF2jcz61en6nblmz-4iSXM3HJuSfmy9KTEKY3RUOX/s320/P9296971.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tonight, like every night, I will soak in a tub. Fionna will demand to be near the water. Later she will go to my son's room and lie next to him until he falls asleep. Then she will come to my room and sleep next to me. If I don't wake up at 0400, she will wake me up. If I sneeze she will come running up to me to check if I'm ok. I am a mommy cat to her. That's cool with me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVp6qK6tGVr9NT4JJWYXrmwgDrDzmPNr-5nuYq8Zrcm3rqg5-PfQgDfivg8lZUSBEBMdluvbBF57p3MZDUUZ-GQpaptUV6rtLZrzEP9ABr4zZUZnrPzUzGpMuZU248mw5G-XY_jIkIqaqZ/s1600/2010-09-28_20-04-53_207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVp6qK6tGVr9NT4JJWYXrmwgDrDzmPNr-5nuYq8Zrcm3rqg5-PfQgDfivg8lZUSBEBMdluvbBF57p3MZDUUZ-GQpaptUV6rtLZrzEP9ABr4zZUZnrPzUzGpMuZU248mw5G-XY_jIkIqaqZ/s320/2010-09-28_20-04-53_207.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092800036779451908.post-12210110048956571862010-10-20T19:43:00.000-07:002010-10-23T11:42:27.675-07:00Last Weekend's Hike: Portuguese Bend Trail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOVOtJZYjzMUdEdQabLIulNiAkcN9qba83wVSySm98xShuRNRSDQGQZupDEF6mItNhUhpBGJvxE4kcesEYwnRcBR38VU95MTr3fE8QenLYaPupFUv0GtNftIgSwRPX7z5Ii04m3BAGuxL/s1600/2010-10-15_13-04-40_922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOVOtJZYjzMUdEdQabLIulNiAkcN9qba83wVSySm98xShuRNRSDQGQZupDEF6mItNhUhpBGJvxE4kcesEYwnRcBR38VU95MTr3fE8QenLYaPupFUv0GtNftIgSwRPX7z5Ii04m3BAGuxL/s400/2010-10-15_13-04-40_922.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I spent last weekend walking along the Portuguese Bend Trail in the </span><a href="http://www.pvplc.org/land/portuguesebend/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Palos Verdes Nature Preserve</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. Beautiful scenery. The weather was atypical for Southern California. It was foggy, raining and chilly. That would keep a good number of people away from the woods and trees, but this park sees a steady stream of visitors regardless of the weather. </span><br />
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</span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5DW8H25LskvRmRa5nDjtXgSc7MzvWzIO52uGLo982_YHobiIZrPo3VwHzU_v3g0ak3P_pnexM9khEUUTMvQ-fUeAHgRci2Ssuh_nhsfIpH8OQLEIYj6691ng-PtzmkbOeqVLAe1hqk9J/s1600/PA167043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5DW8H25LskvRmRa5nDjtXgSc7MzvWzIO52uGLo982_YHobiIZrPo3VwHzU_v3g0ak3P_pnexM9khEUUTMvQ-fUeAHgRci2Ssuh_nhsfIpH8OQLEIYj6691ng-PtzmkbOeqVLAe1hqk9J/s200/PA167043.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last August, the park was engulfed in flames. According to the </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1248859325"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Conservancy’s 2010 1</span></a><sup><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1248859325"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">st</span></span></a></sup><a href="http://www.pvplc.org/newsletters/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Quarter Newsletter</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, about 165 acres burned. Walking about the trails I could see the clear evidence of fire destruction. Happily, I also saw evidence of regrowth. Even though it was a year, later the rain made the smell of soot and ash very easy to detect.</span><br />
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</span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR556krPI6nuVNFlGYpaYpfYvW3kHR5gMCGiUJC_rAAdMtC9EGXCDjZf7SnxPFtgHn0JhSmg5ZWI8u1Gd8yxcYlB2iwW1tZtoNlWd-eUfCvXPqMxbDcAp9Hv8K96rEfUKxEAaTc0uNqRw_/s1600/PA187108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR556krPI6nuVNFlGYpaYpfYvW3kHR5gMCGiUJC_rAAdMtC9EGXCDjZf7SnxPFtgHn0JhSmg5ZWI8u1Gd8yxcYlB2iwW1tZtoNlWd-eUfCvXPqMxbDcAp9Hv8K96rEfUKxEAaTc0uNqRw_/s200/PA187108.JPG" width="146" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This area is filled with large patches of opportunistic fennel that grab the empty real estate left after a fire. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">H</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">umans seem to be the only ones that dislike the herb.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s considered an </span><a href="http://www.cal-ipc.org/ip/management/ipcw/pages/detailreport.cfm@usernumber=51&surveynumber=182.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">invasive species in California</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and is usually slated for eradication by one method or another, even though it has been wild here over a century. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Several bird and insect species love the stuff.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The plant perfumes the air when the fog rolls in, making any walk memorable for the smells alone. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFv5cthIOuJFRVnBvELF87EQLed-2a8muKAJvk6bqdhkFPRusgbhU0-mlxKzlvcXHURrPwe8TtNCWqwtbqdkiw-6xFuIritw1ESlLyk6IxvCnZEVtg2bHsp8fdCl8UUAGdFEY5WPbQmXqs/s1600/PA167029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFv5cthIOuJFRVnBvELF87EQLed-2a8muKAJvk6bqdhkFPRusgbhU0-mlxKzlvcXHURrPwe8TtNCWqwtbqdkiw-6xFuIritw1ESlLyk6IxvCnZEVtg2bHsp8fdCl8UUAGdFEY5WPbQmXqs/s200/PA167029.JPG" width="148" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The twisted, fire-ravaged trees made wonderful Tim Burtonesque shapes in the grey fog. I expected the headless horseman to come flying out of the fennel fields holding a flaming head. Instead I had to (several times) hastily make way for a heavily-geared mountain biker who looked like something out of Battlestar Galactica.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxI_om3b7-LTiaqRamer7faPNECHnU6UIR6Jigvhuj8Mm6hdKUb5evsXujz3vbLsgsW-JGfoT4lQcXjBq1ULvcrcEZBewVEIbmwSBgEC5P1bZaXEw-49wfMRw3-yrk5ybmMQGgsTPrq_1/s1600/PA167074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxI_om3b7-LTiaqRamer7faPNECHnU6UIR6Jigvhuj8Mm6hdKUb5evsXujz3vbLsgsW-JGfoT4lQcXjBq1ULvcrcEZBewVEIbmwSBgEC5P1bZaXEw-49wfMRw3-yrk5ybmMQGgsTPrq_1/s200/PA167074.JPG" width="147" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> also noticed the network of fissures along the Ishibashi sub-trail. After it rains the area hills become waterlogged and the upper layer of land slides down along the more steadfast, lower layer. </span><a href="http://www.tulane.edu/~sanelson/geol204/slopestability.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Landslides</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> aren’t uncommon in these parts, but it’s still impressive to see the cracks and fissures that precede the break away. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I went to the trail twice that weekend. It rained both days and I muddied up 2 pairs of hiking boots. It was worth it, though. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></o:p><br />
<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You may not be able to sense it from the paragraphs above, but walking in the woods is crucial to my mental health. Ever since I can remember, and I mean, really remember anything, nature has been like another soul to me. It isn't "me" and "it". It is "soul mate". I don't just appreciate nature, I have a personal relationship with it. I have mentioned to some folks that it is my First Love. It calls me back every once in a while like some jealous lover. It fills the mental and spiritual voids. </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></o:p><br />
<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was a little girl I used to come home from school and, after watching Dr Who or Star Trek, I would go outside and just look at nature. Stick my feet in a stream and watch minnows nip at my toes. Climb a tree and look at the pattern of the bark or the seed pods on a magnolia. I'd follow my cat, Fred- my kitty Sherpa guide, all over our territory. I would observe the anole lizards and study their hunting skills. Sometimes I would just watch how the wind would move over the bayou reeds, in waves and in a frequency I eventually absorbed. I'd watch the thunderstorms move over the Gulf before the wind got too strong and I had to go back inside. </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was older the connection was stronger. I could "feel" my way through the woods without a compass by just sensing something from the trees and ground. I knew it would rain days before it happened. I could smell the differences in tree species. </span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My skills were a little more Jedi. I could feel the hum of the earth beneath my feet. As I sit here and type, I am amazed that so much of that neural net is rusty. I have been working inside for waaaaaaay too long. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It- Nature was, and still is a breathing entity to whom I belong. I am like some distal phalange or a scout insect from a colony. I am part of some larger brain/force and destined to carry out it whatever impulse it sends my way. It's no wonder I initially went for a career in natural and environmental science. This career was far too brief. The military is very good at diverting your attention, apparently. </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now it seems my First Love has come back at my window (or patio) and has demanded that I start making some preparation to come back out to the woods. Each time I go back to a trail, some buried memory surfaces and taunts me. What's a little wood-witch like me to do?</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So. 3 more years and I will be able to pull up the anchor and go find my little woods. I'll be ready. Meantime, I hike a trail.</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sarah Rivera Corricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00108388996719964184noreply@blogger.com0