I'm dying for a taste of gold

Wish me luck. I'm about to go out into the field and stake some gold claims. Why? I'm a fool. See, I got this idea about a week ago that it wasn't such a good idea to sit in front of my computer all day, that instead, I should go outside and work. I haven't seen my dad this worried since I went off on my bike tour. And he got me the job after all.

It's gonna be 110 degrees or something, though, and, after all, it's only been one month exactly since he fell off a cliff while staking his own gold claims somewhere out in the desert near where I'll be.

"I survived a month, huh?" says Daddy. "That's a good sign, right?"

It's not like he minded being in the hospital all that much. He had cute blond ladies teaching him how to breathe again. But still, he worries about me.

He's handing me all the gear that he normally carries, the heavy cotton long-sleeved shirt that kept him from getting melanoma sooner than he actually did, the oxygen tubing from his mishap that he says might be helpful for binding stakes, and with much ceremony, he gave me a Brunton lesson. Turns out a Brunton (which for much of my childhood held much mystique as a tool of my daddy's extractive trade) is just a compass. Only took about five minutes.

Google fills poor people's bank accounts

Here's a story to make you all feel shiny and happy.

Google's hidden payroll at the Christian Science Monitor

What's really great is that the people making money off of AdSense are producing top-notch content that I rely on whenever I have, say, technical questions, and that others rely on for cultural and religious forums. Etc.

I've got the Christian Science Monitor on my short-term list of future writing outlets. They print stories that actually assume that there's more to life than money and real estate. It's really novel.

By the way, check out my new website launch: EricaWriter.com
and let me know what you think. And if you're an artist, don't hesitate to get in touch with me for web design. It's more of a love rather than money thing, which means, even if you're starving, we can work something out.

All my best,

Erica.

saving a horse or the planet

This is Brooke. She lives across the street from us in a teensy weensy little corral. I have felt bad for this horse since I've been here, but mostly don't do anything about it. Occasionally his Artness and I will feed her carrots, but that seems like so little for an animal who lacks companionship and a place to run.
Today, I went over and brushed her. I could tell she liked it; she made sure that I could reach every part of her through the fence.
Brooke made me realize that sometimes you can't change a crappy situation, but you can help a little - especially if you don't let the pain get you down and just give what you can.

Why the lady doth protest

I get the sense that some of you all might not understand why Brad, Carol, Gene, Trilight and others stood out for hours on the war anniversary. Truth is, I wasn't even sure. My best friend, Jason, asked that hard question when I had barely begun to recover from that difficult vigil, and I told him the truth. I didn't do it to change minds, I didn't do it to change anything. I did it for myself. It's a vigil I do once a year (and I'm convinced I'll do it next year as well) to mark the anniversary as a difficult tragedy.

What, you may ask, do I do the rest of the year? I build bridges. I find similiarites with people whom I should by my political beliefs detest. Everything I do is guided by that. That's why it's easy to be in a loving relationship with a man who's away at sniper school right now. Because our similiarites are greater than our differences. And because I trust that he is a good and loving person of high ethics and integrity. While I myself feel no need to go to sniper school, I don't have a desire to stop him. In fact I said, "Honey, when your peace activist girlfriend tells you to buy a new assault rifle and go to sniper school, it's time to think about it."
Okay, I know this horrifies some of you, but the man, who writes an outdoor (think huntin' fishin' shootin') column, was able to work my vigil into last Friday's edition with a little humor but dead serious intent. He's into building bridges, too.
So why I do it. Because I must. I must mark that day. And will continue to do so until there's no anniversary to mark. And I'll continue to be grateful to Jason and all of my friends who lovingly point out that it seems a little wonky. Because it is. But so's the war.

ANWR?????????????

Well, they did it. ANWR is open. I know this because I've got my homepage set to Will Pitt's FYI, a tremendous blog community that beats the otherwise highly recommended www.democracynow.org in that the folks who post comments to his blog offer ways out of the darkness. One great website I found this evening is www.buyblue.org. Yep!!! Turn your dollars into hollers, folks!!! We need to scream and cry, we need to stand on corners for 27 hours on the anniversary, like I'm gonna do with my Women in Black homies. If you are in Prescott, come join us this Friday through Saturday. Don't let anyone say that the peace movement is dead. Don't let anyone say that progressivism is defeated. All of my love to all of you, Erica.

Magicians among Us.

Sometimes when I'm surrounded by children, I think to myself, look at all these mini-sorcerers running around here. What powerful little packages they are.

I believe that we were made in God's image, that of the creator. Those little kids are all alike now, pretty much through the age of 20, but by the time they hit 30, they'll be distinct from one another. Some will dream drug addiction, some Fortune 500 success. Some dreams will be as mainstream as husband and 2.4, and some as wild as Brian Gianelli, whose birthday it is today, forever riding the wave of 'what next'?

I think of Margaret Mead's famous quote, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed individuals can change the world. In fact, it's the only thing that ever has," and realize for the first time that she's talking about a bunch of focused Creators changing the dream of the planet. Human beings with focused intent are more powerful than the dreaming masses (that's me and you buddy- when we aren't being intentional).

The irony that occurs to me this morning is that being made in the image of God is pretty much being told from the get go that we are practicers of magic- "the art of changing consciousness at will" (according to Dion Fortune via Starhawk).

Have a happy Brian Birthday. Weedwack flour bags, scream epithets at hippies. unicycle on steep mountain roads, build giant bloody feet out of snow. Be half the magician that he was, and you'll be incandescent.

A walk in the woods. A pot of gold.

I went walking today in the woods south of my hometown. The air was filled to capacity with the roar of a generator that seemed to be running a television inside a motorhome. Even after I climbed several hills, I couldn't get away from that sound. It was constant and maddening. I tried to let it go, telling myself that I needed to come to terms with the fact that I'm dependent on loud, revolting technology, and more importantly, that this was one of my favorite hiking spots and that I've never heard anything like this.
There was just one problem with this. For the last ten years, everywhere I go I see earth moving equipment. Every year that passes, I see giant rent increases. A great large machine is eating Prescott, and spitting out something that I can't afford.
On the outskirts of town is land that the city council wants to annex. It will be great for a few people, and a great burden for the rest of us. To live a simple life and work hard for reasonable rewards is leaping out of our reach. Or so it seems....

The thing is that yesterday, I made $60 on a copywriting job. It was easy to get and will be fun to produce. I realize that I've found a way to make it into the demographic of Prescottonians who pay homage to the earth-eating equipment and it scares the hell out of me.

I hope that I don't settle for comfort and mediocrity in exchange for the good fight to see this town grow into a manageable and beautiful place where we can all live. If I make 10,000 or 100,000 this year, I want my goals to stay the same- simple home, tight community, lots of beauty.

There are 13 different versions of the tri-cities available to all of us. I always like to invite people to enjoy the version that I live. Amongst the anarcho-bookstore, the literary center, the quiet little art openings and the raging punk shows brimming with ugly little kids is a life I have dearly come to love. I just hope that it and I can stay around for a few more years.

Due in Two Hours

I've got an article due in two hours. I'm going to get to it. I'm going to get to it..just..as..soon..as.. I quit messing with my site. It's remarkably addictive. It's nice, because I've had a crap couple of days and had told my friend Jason that I was in the market for some sort of drug. Designing is cheap, safe, and legal. No one has to know (except for you and me, babe, except for you and me).

Last night, my friend Candace and I sat near each other working on our respective obsessions for hours. She's making technofolk on GarageBand. Samples of her work are forthcoming.

She, like all of my creative friends and I have these days when we feel as though we are facedown on the carpet. This I know because I've had a few crap days and she said that after 30 years it gets a little easier. Good. Sometimes it takes me four hours to get ready to go somewhere, and then, when everything is said and done, all I've packed is a toothbrush.

Overlooking Prescott on a tall granite outcrop.