Hi everyone.
In addition to everything else going on in our lives, I have set up the accounts, and mailed my books to amazon.com. They are soon to be available to the mainstream. If you are out there, and you have ever read either of my books, please review them at amazon, or send me a book review that I may post. Thank you, and happy reading.
Here's the links: Tripping with Gabrielle
A Woman's Bike Book
Jules
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
I have waffled long enough
Everyone who reads Tripping with Gabrielle loves it. As much as I really don't want to bow down to industry pressure, as much as I want to support local bookstores...I am going to sell my books on amazon. Just like facebook, I am officially sucked into the machine. So, folks, to buy both A Woman's Bike Book, and Tripping with Gabrielle, just plug my name into amazon.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
It's llama land!
After reading blogging asking friends and watching Bobra Goldsmith's DVD "Llama Training," I was able to successfully and without a fight go into the catch pen and halter Arpeggio. I can't believe it. The slow haltering style actually works! Thank you Bobra, you are the best.
The secret was to retrain myself, as Peggio is a good llama and he didn't act up around my friend Ally, he only does it around me. Therefore, I am the llama to be trained.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
It's been real folks
Between the bike, the hike and the cliffs, I have enjoyed many an adventure this season. The garden is sort of sleeping, along with the bees, but that doesn't mean the work is over yet. We have been working on the trails and riding them (yahoo! expert only!) while I've also skulked around with my rifle hoping for a deer. Woofers a plenty are calling wanting to come work so yes, I put them to work, happily. The quanset hut will become a greenhouse in the spring, and the greenhouse is currently without plastic as I have to replace that. More wood to haul, cabbage to harvest, still enjoying the kale. Life is sweet here on the farm.
Today I'm riding my skateboard :)
The adventure continues...
Today I'm riding my skateboard :)
The adventure continues...
Thursday, November 3, 2011
There's snow then there's pavement
I've enjoyed cruising Albany on my Kracked Skulls longboard....wish there were other 50 something women out there who also liked to skate in preparation for snowboard season, which is not far off... this is some great vid, I am just a cruiser ...
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
What climbing is all about. Falling.
And having your climbing buddies catch you. Wow. This is amazing footage, a great message and a wonderful story about a group of guys who are ice climbing when fatigue sets in and the leader just can't clip the anchor. We have all been there. His miraculous fall of 60 feet caused some damage but he walked away and is fine. I was very touched by the message, the music and the climbers themselves. Bravo!
http://vimeo.com/cabinone/fall
http://vimeo.com/cabinone/fall
Thursday, October 13, 2011
What's been happening?
Put some 28X700c tires on both road bikes and I've been getting in a loop every day. Really sweet, those puppies don't even notice the potholes and crevasses on Route 22. Taking yoga of course at Kripalu, including the recent Annual Yoga Teacher Conference. Then there's a Gabor Mate seminar in Albany, plus I'm teaching yoga at the Rensselaer County Mental Health Clinic. Probably going to do some more technical writing at some point also.
At this very moment, I'm finishing up a book review for the Meridian, a publication of the Mountain Rescue Association. At some point it's time to go around to all my favorite bike shops and replenish their copies of A Woman's Bike Book, which seems to be selling well. The Coop Scoop Gardeners Diary is finished for this month, starring Ticks, Mold and Fleas. If you are a ski patroller or are a rescue person, you may enjoy this MRA book review.
75 Search and Rescue Stories
Shaun Roundy, a Utah County search and rescue professional, writes poignantly about the many events he’s participated in, by foot, sled, motorcycle, ski, rope, ATV, boat, belly (in the caves) and underwater, diving for body parts. Shaun is the kind of guy you just want to hang out with and swap stories, knowing all the while that by the end of the evening he’ll be still telling more while you are quietly listening, in awe of his experiences.
And it can get gross at times. When he describes the rotting faces of bloated waterlogged corpses whose arms may fall off you have to cringe a little. When he talks about the little girl’s body that is caught in river debris, at least you already know she’s dead because otherwise you’d be heartbroken like the rest of the rescuers. Lots of kids die in Shaun’s book, in fact, lots of people die. Several also survive, although as he says, most of the time the SAR groups don’t even know if their patient lived or died unless they come back and tell them.
Shaun is no stranger to death and destruction. He sees it all the time, and writes about it in a way that puts you there with him. All throughout the book, you will see many photos of different rescue scenes, and some photos of SAR folks just having a good time. It’s important to remember that SAR is almost always volunteer, and as volunteers we have to have a good time once in a while. Speaking of which, there was the time Shaun had a cute chick out for a date on the lake when his boat capsized. He was forced to call for rescue, which we all know means he’ll never hear the end of it from his SAR friends. The cute chick pretty much ditched him for his rescuers, but at least he can laugh about it now. As, I’m sure, does the rest of his SAR team.
Vignettes of what it was like to develop the motorcycle contingent of Utah County’s search and rescue really made me want to go out and buy a motorcycle. You can personally experience how hard they had to push those bikes straight up gnarly rooted paths late at night. I still can feel what it must have been like for the guys to feel their bikes rear up in front of them, and have to somehow get them back on the path again without falling to their deaths way down below. The motorcycles speed up rescue and recovery, and are fun too. Still, a high level of skill is required to ride where you once hiked, and Shaun certainly takes you there in his book.
When Shaun says 75 stories, he’s not kidding. This 214 page book is jam packed with stories, photos and discussions of what SAR life is like for the average person who also has a job and a life to juggle. At one point, Shaun is about to sit down with slathering hungry jowls to Thanksgiving dinner prepared by a friend when of course, right while he’s piling his plate with food, the pager goes off. The two rolls and slice of pie provided by the host at the last minute give Shaun and another rescuer some food while they are stuck high on a mountain cliff, freezing cold and bivvying for the night. Those two rolls and pie sure tasted good, I can feel them in my stomach all the way here in upstate New York.
I admit it, rescue stories are a favorite. Right now, Accidents in North American Mountaineering 2010 is sitting on my desk. I had to put it down to devour Shaun’s book for this review. If you don’t have a copy of 75 Search and Rescue Stories in the mail to your address right now, I highly recommend you get one. This is the best rescue book by far that I’ve ever read. Get your fix and get it now at: http://ucssar.org/search-and-rescue/rescue-stories/
At this very moment, I'm finishing up a book review for the Meridian, a publication of the Mountain Rescue Association. At some point it's time to go around to all my favorite bike shops and replenish their copies of A Woman's Bike Book, which seems to be selling well. The Coop Scoop Gardeners Diary is finished for this month, starring Ticks, Mold and Fleas. If you are a ski patroller or are a rescue person, you may enjoy this MRA book review.
75 Search and Rescue Stories
Shaun Roundy, a Utah County search and rescue professional, writes poignantly about the many events he’s participated in, by foot, sled, motorcycle, ski, rope, ATV, boat, belly (in the caves) and underwater, diving for body parts. Shaun is the kind of guy you just want to hang out with and swap stories, knowing all the while that by the end of the evening he’ll be still telling more while you are quietly listening, in awe of his experiences.
And it can get gross at times. When he describes the rotting faces of bloated waterlogged corpses whose arms may fall off you have to cringe a little. When he talks about the little girl’s body that is caught in river debris, at least you already know she’s dead because otherwise you’d be heartbroken like the rest of the rescuers. Lots of kids die in Shaun’s book, in fact, lots of people die. Several also survive, although as he says, most of the time the SAR groups don’t even know if their patient lived or died unless they come back and tell them.
Shaun is no stranger to death and destruction. He sees it all the time, and writes about it in a way that puts you there with him. All throughout the book, you will see many photos of different rescue scenes, and some photos of SAR folks just having a good time. It’s important to remember that SAR is almost always volunteer, and as volunteers we have to have a good time once in a while. Speaking of which, there was the time Shaun had a cute chick out for a date on the lake when his boat capsized. He was forced to call for rescue, which we all know means he’ll never hear the end of it from his SAR friends. The cute chick pretty much ditched him for his rescuers, but at least he can laugh about it now. As, I’m sure, does the rest of his SAR team.
Vignettes of what it was like to develop the motorcycle contingent of Utah County’s search and rescue really made me want to go out and buy a motorcycle. You can personally experience how hard they had to push those bikes straight up gnarly rooted paths late at night. I still can feel what it must have been like for the guys to feel their bikes rear up in front of them, and have to somehow get them back on the path again without falling to their deaths way down below. The motorcycles speed up rescue and recovery, and are fun too. Still, a high level of skill is required to ride where you once hiked, and Shaun certainly takes you there in his book.
When Shaun says 75 stories, he’s not kidding. This 214 page book is jam packed with stories, photos and discussions of what SAR life is like for the average person who also has a job and a life to juggle. At one point, Shaun is about to sit down with slathering hungry jowls to Thanksgiving dinner prepared by a friend when of course, right while he’s piling his plate with food, the pager goes off. The two rolls and slice of pie provided by the host at the last minute give Shaun and another rescuer some food while they are stuck high on a mountain cliff, freezing cold and bivvying for the night. Those two rolls and pie sure tasted good, I can feel them in my stomach all the way here in upstate New York.
I admit it, rescue stories are a favorite. Right now, Accidents in North American Mountaineering 2010 is sitting on my desk. I had to put it down to devour Shaun’s book for this review. If you don’t have a copy of 75 Search and Rescue Stories in the mail to your address right now, I highly recommend you get one. This is the best rescue book by far that I’ve ever read. Get your fix and get it now at: http://ucssar.org/search-and-rescue/rescue-stories/
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Breath~Body~Mind Level I Teacher Training at Kripalu
Breath~Body~Mind
I am now fully certified to teach this wonderful breathing and body work. Please see my blog www.yogafortrauma.blogspot.com for more information.
Jules
I am now fully certified to teach this wonderful breathing and body work. Please see my blog www.yogafortrauma.blogspot.com for more information.
Jules
Monday, July 25, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Today we tried to capture a swarm of bees
My neighbor called..."Jules your bees are swarming at my house!"
I checked the hives, nope, all bees are snoozing in the garden. "Must be a swarm from another hive," I told her. After calling my good buddy Joe Hess who wasn't around, I called the godfather of bees, Vilnes Mattison, a wonderful gentleman who really knows everything you need to know about bees. After quickly conferring with him, I drove into the back forty with ATV to grab the extra hive I kept in the apple orchard. I guess this post is really for Cherry Plain Farm blog but anyway, we put the extra hive up on some ladders with some queen scent and hopefully those swarming bees will move in. It's a long shot but like my neighbor said, "There's not enough honey bees in the world..."
They do love their flowers :)
I checked the hives, nope, all bees are snoozing in the garden. "Must be a swarm from another hive," I told her. After calling my good buddy Joe Hess who wasn't around, I called the godfather of bees, Vilnes Mattison, a wonderful gentleman who really knows everything you need to know about bees. After quickly conferring with him, I drove into the back forty with ATV to grab the extra hive I kept in the apple orchard. I guess this post is really for Cherry Plain Farm blog but anyway, we put the extra hive up on some ladders with some queen scent and hopefully those swarming bees will move in. It's a long shot but like my neighbor said, "There's not enough honey bees in the world..."
They do love their flowers :)
Monday, July 18, 2011
Kripalu Yoga Teacher and PTSD training
Hi everyone. I've been a tech writer forever yet my heart is in working with underserved populations. This is why you'll see on this blog stories of helping animals and people.
Having had PTSD, I understand what trauma is like and where it begins. As a ski patroller I also believe that every second counts, and if I can help someone calm down, and feel relief by just breathing with me, then I have done a good service.
By mid November I will be certified in both Breath~Body~Mind breathing techniques with Dr. Richard Brown and as a Kripalu yoga teacher.
Here's a description from the Have a Healthy Mind website:
http://www.haveahealthymind.com/kripalu-training.html
Breath~Body~Mind Training is a fusion of ancient and modern mind-body techniques designed to rapidly restore balance to the stress-response system by optimizing brain, heart, and lung function.
In this 5-day trauma-sensitive training, participants will learn how to use this practice for self-care and healing others. Didactic sessions will cover neurophysiology, current research, clinical issues, and teaching methods. Experiential training will include movement, breathing, meditation, and practice-teaching under supervision. The unique techniques taught in this workshop serve to calm the body's central fear-processing networks and reduce the physical and psychological symptoms of anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Developed and researched by medical doctors Richard P. Brown and Patricia Gerbarg, Breath~Body~Mind methods have been used successfully to work with military veterans as well as survivors of mass disasters, including the Southeast Asia tsunami, World Trade Center attacks, earthquake in Haiti, and war in Rwanda.
Here's a description of Kripalu yoga teacher training. http://www.kripalu.org/study_with_us/305
Once I have both certifications, my goal is to reach homeless shelters, rape crises centers and prison inmates with a message of hope, breath, and yoga.
Right at this moment, we just returned from SolarFest in VT, where I presented an interactive bike repair workshop. I'm currently working with the Rensselear County Sheriff's office to assist them in giving away their unclaimed bicycles to our local population here in Berlin, NY. Last winter I worked with the Albany Police Department to help give away their unclaimed bicycles. In each case, we target lower income kids who just need a bike. We teach safety and also forge a new friendship with the police.
Please feel free to contact me directly if you have questions or know of a group that would benefit from the breathwork/yoga work I am doing in the winter (in addition to ski patrol). Thank you for reading.
Jules
Having had PTSD, I understand what trauma is like and where it begins. As a ski patroller I also believe that every second counts, and if I can help someone calm down, and feel relief by just breathing with me, then I have done a good service.
By mid November I will be certified in both Breath~Body~Mind breathing techniques with Dr. Richard Brown and as a Kripalu yoga teacher.
Here's a description from the Have a Healthy Mind website:
http://www.haveahealthymind.com/kripalu-training.html
Breath~Body~Mind Training is a fusion of ancient and modern mind-body techniques designed to rapidly restore balance to the stress-response system by optimizing brain, heart, and lung function.
In this 5-day trauma-sensitive training, participants will learn how to use this practice for self-care and healing others. Didactic sessions will cover neurophysiology, current research, clinical issues, and teaching methods. Experiential training will include movement, breathing, meditation, and practice-teaching under supervision. The unique techniques taught in this workshop serve to calm the body's central fear-processing networks and reduce the physical and psychological symptoms of anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Developed and researched by medical doctors Richard P. Brown and Patricia Gerbarg, Breath~Body~Mind methods have been used successfully to work with military veterans as well as survivors of mass disasters, including the Southeast Asia tsunami, World Trade Center attacks, earthquake in Haiti, and war in Rwanda.
Here's a description of Kripalu yoga teacher training. http://www.kripalu.org/study_with_us/305
Once I have both certifications, my goal is to reach homeless shelters, rape crises centers and prison inmates with a message of hope, breath, and yoga.
Right at this moment, we just returned from SolarFest in VT, where I presented an interactive bike repair workshop. I'm currently working with the Rensselear County Sheriff's office to assist them in giving away their unclaimed bicycles to our local population here in Berlin, NY. Last winter I worked with the Albany Police Department to help give away their unclaimed bicycles. In each case, we target lower income kids who just need a bike. We teach safety and also forge a new friendship with the police.
Please feel free to contact me directly if you have questions or know of a group that would benefit from the breathwork/yoga work I am doing in the winter (in addition to ski patrol). Thank you for reading.
Jules
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tripping is here!!!
500 beautiful copies straight from the printer in Georgia, MarketSource. They are just awesome. If you are interested in reading a really fast and crazy story...buckle your seatbelts folks...
By the way, the garden is a blooming! Even our bees are smiling these days...click the image if you want to see her close up.
Peace and climbing,
Jules
By the way, the garden is a blooming! Even our bees are smiling these days...click the image if you want to see her close up.
Peace and climbing,
Jules
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
I originally hoped to become an acupuncturist, but time is of the essence so I have shifted gears. Based on my experiences teaching local residents yoga at the Stephentown Library, I have decided to focus on yoga and breathing rather than the entire Masters of Acupuncture.
This is where I'm going folks. This fall and winter, in addition to helping out with OEC candidates who wish to become ski patrollers, I will be training for crises intervention through Kripalu yoga (hope to cert. Nov 2011) and Breath~Body~Mind© Training for Trauma (cert. Sept 2011).
I am particularly concerned about our growing population of people who suffer from PTSD, enduring overweight bodies, and hurting psyches. My dream and goal is to reach out to as many people as possible and help them lead happier more satisfying lives. My book, Tripping with Gabrielle, is a story of addiction, PTSD and finally happiness. If I can get there so can you!
Om Shanti Om
Namu myoho renge kyo
This is where I'm going folks. This fall and winter, in addition to helping out with OEC candidates who wish to become ski patrollers, I will be training for crises intervention through Kripalu yoga (hope to cert. Nov 2011) and Breath~Body~Mind© Training for Trauma (cert. Sept 2011).
I am particularly concerned about our growing population of people who suffer from PTSD, enduring overweight bodies, and hurting psyches. My dream and goal is to reach out to as many people as possible and help them lead happier more satisfying lives. My book, Tripping with Gabrielle, is a story of addiction, PTSD and finally happiness. If I can get there so can you!
Om Shanti Om
Namu myoho renge kyo
A Woman's Bike Book
Want to know how to repair a flat? Love to read stories about other people's mishaps? Enjoy color photos of strong smiling women who aren't super model skinny? Check out A Woman's Bike Book, my second bike book for women. I support my local bookstores. If your bookstore doesn't stock A Woman's Bike Book, buy it directly from me here. Om Shanti Om, and happy pedaling!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Tripping With Gabrielle
Yay, she's finally at the printers and I found out why my template wouldn't allow spell check or search and replace....with a 330 page manuscript that has survived multiple edits since 1989 you need search and replace and spell check.
Well, Tripping was written on a Macintosh, I discovered from my expert computer friend Donnie, and Macintosh in 1989 didn't have features. This carried over into Framemaker and that's why I took so long to get this book out.
And now it's ready for you, my dear readers. Take a trip on the wild side.
Here's an excerpt:
Lots of otherwise normal seeming people around Southwestern City College saw little men that year, I was to discover, not just Lura O. Justine. I never saw them myself, being unable to I suppose, but a young nursing student, Mary Ellen, who took me in and rescued me from the lawn of Lura that evening, was a visionary herself. Before I began my transient existence, back in the old days when I was welcome in the dorms, Mary Ellen rushed into my room one night, screaming “They're after me! Let me in the room and lock the door, hurry!” She panted, she heaved big sighs, she collapsed on my bed, barely missing conking her head on the speaker.
I looked up from my book and said, “So like, what's exactly after you, Mary Ellen? Having nightmares about your organic chemistry exams tomorrow?” I was just too smooth and self-controlled, I was buzzing on some great grass and mellow as a tabby cat overdosed on milk. Nothing could faze me out of my dream that night, or so I thought at the time. “Drink a little too much coffee? Popping those uppers again?” I snidely inquired. Hah! I was invincible, I was unafraid, I would protect Mary Ellen from her little fantasy. I droned on like a good doctor, ready to shut the door to subconscious terror, ready to brave the 'elementals.' “You know as well as I do that there are no little men outside my door, I'm going to open it now and show you...”
Sauntering over to the door, I made as if to unlock it to the horrors that awaited us outside, not expecting her reaction, inexperienced in the reality of those little creatures as I was. She freaked! “No, close the door,” she whispered. “Don't let them get me, they followed me here from my house,” she panted. “Please, don't let them get me!”
Out of breath but not out of strength, Mary Ellen bounced off the bed and pleaded with me, pop-eyed with terror. By now, she was sweating and hysterical. I mean, this girl was seriously ill, and had me convinced (almost) that there were really little men outside my door. Then, the mood changed, and things got really weird. Smiling calmly, she wiped the perspiration from her fevered brow, and said, “Gabrielle, you can let me out now,” with a calm, cool exterior. “They're calling me, everything's all right now, and all is forgiven.”
You be too strange, sister.
“You wanna go out now?” I asked.
“Move Gabrielle.”
“But I'm trying to help you, Mary Ellen.”
“Move now, Gabrielle.” Shit, that girl was dead serious! I still didn't quite get the picture, but I would, soon. Mary Ellen gave me an unearthly glare, and moved toward the door, which I blocked. She became disgusted with our banter and said, “I need out, now. Let me out!” Advancing stomach to stomach, she pushed me out of her way, nearly knocking me to the floor. I became a bit unsettled, losing my cool. Was this the practical nursing student we all knew and loved, member Phi Kappa Phi, lady with the straight and narrow life, highly evolved study habits and Catholic upbringing? I couldn't believe my eyes!
“There's nothing out there,” I tried to say, still barring the door to her Great Unknown World. I peeked around the corner down the hall, and didn't see anything, Praise the Lord. “See?”
She said with a slight snarl, “Get away from the door or I'll run right through you to get to my friends.” I believed it by that time, and moved aside, looking one more time for little men outside my door. Mary Ellen spoke to someone, and soon vanished into the night. If I hadn't opened the door to let her out, I would have gotten bulldozed, lambasted, mutilated, so off into the night she went, much like Barnabus Collins in Dark Shadows, much like an Alabama tornado in the spring, much like a vampire out for some blood-sucking—that's the impression she left me.
She was outta there, and I was worried.
This lady was one hefty woman with a mind like a steel trap, good grades, and in good graces with the Dean of Women. If she saw weird stuff, surely there was something amiss in Waterford, Oklahoma, and I thought maybe I was in trouble. Well, the fact of the matter is, I was. Don't forget, I was soon homeless and at the mercy of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who might molest me in the night, and I was damn lucky Mary Ellen liked me. She invited me home to her haunted castle, the little house on the prairie behind the big sorority house, 'studio' living at its most efficient, a one room wonder that left little room for intrusion by outer forces (ah, but the inner forces were hard at work as I would soon discover to my chagrin and dismay).
Yes, it's true, Mary Ellen saw little men.
There was a day when we both were off to do laundry or shop or something mundane like that, and I specifically remember leaving the shoes lined up neatly, with a bucket full of warm, soapy water in the center of the floor which we were using to wash the windows. I distinctly remember all this because the house was so teeny tiny that every aspect of living had to be closely monitored to make room to walk in. The one room servant's quarters was abused beyond description when we returned, though. The shoes were scattered and water was everywhere, all over the walls like it had been thrown. Mary Ellen and I had the only keys. All the windows were locked. She looked at me with a glint in her eye, smiled and said, “They're back...”
Things got bad then. Things got really crazy. I lost my mind entirely and well, that's what the rest of this story is about. Are you surprised that an impressionable young woman who's already sort of heading astray would jump ship, leap into the unknown, and pretty much disappear from the world which she had called home?
I decided to withdraw into my own little microcosm of a world, and quit society. Did I say withdraw and quit society? If that means proceeding to flunk out of biology because of non-attendance, giving up on any semblance of reality or friendship with the farm girls and nursing students in City College, the answer is yes, unequivocally yes!
Chapter One
Where the bee sucks, there suck I,
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on
the bow.
Prospero: “Why that's my dainty Ariel!”
William Shakespeare
Women refuse to accept the fact of being castrated and have the hope of someday obtaining a penis in spite of everything.
Sigmund Freud
*Grounding first*
I am a refugee from the sixties, a leftist with no Marxist leanings, a bleeding liberal, an animal rights activist, a person who cries endlessly over the stupidest things, an athlete who runs to fat at the wink of an eye, a mystic with very Christian leanings, a woman found in Germany as an infant with no home except an orphanage, and a happy soul at heart. Now that that's over with, how do I begin without sounding smarmy and boring you to tears?
I still remember the second time I went to Germany, this time happily ensconced in the home of my adoptive parents, readily available to whatever mischief might lurk nearby. My first acquaintance with the nasty F word occurred soon enough. I wondered about that mysterious scribbling I found upon the sidewalk on the way to school, right up until I spelled it out for Mama at dinner that night, and she nearly choked on her sliced tomatoes. Oh. It's a bad word? What does it mean, Mom? Add that to my growing vocabulary, and you have the beginnings of delinquency.
I was only seven years old at the time, but the roots took hold and the little weed quickly grew enormous and started its slow decline into seed. The playground should have been a good memory, but I hated the playground at our school in Germany. When Mom and Dad threw me out of the car that cold, cloudy day, demanding I stay at school, I sat on the swings in the fog and drizzle and bemoaned my lonely boredom. I felt no joy at returning to my homeland; Europe was a drag. To me, life on the swing set could certainly do with some improvement. So, I soon teamed up with my neighbors, ruffians every one, and we set out one bright sunny day not to school, but to steal vegetables and fruit from a Deutsch farmer. We stole a rabbit, too.
The scent of cherry blossoms wafting on a light breeze led us into gardens blooming with tomatoes, asparagus, spinach, and cucumbers. Our young senses were accosted with vivid colors of bright orange and red, emerald green and purple that were soon converted into the most magnificent bounty we had acquired yet. The only problem was, what to do with our loot? We hid the unripe peaches and still green veggies in an old cellar, and set forth to obtain our heart's desire, that lovely bunny rabbit who lived nearby.
As my cronies climbed into the top of the rabbit hutch via an overhanging tree to grab an overfed but coveted bunny, I became slightly alarmed at the consequences: who would get the bunny? Could I explain its sudden appearance in our family life to Mother? That question and many others weren't answered, because as we trooped en masse along that winding cobblestone road, here came Herr Farmer, pissed as hell and out for blood.
Driving his crusty old tractor toward one little boy with snot running down his nose, who had tripped on his shoe laces, the farmer cried, “Halt! Das ist mein Kaninchen! Ami-Schwein Kinder, du bist Spitzbube! Mensch...” He looked at me, I looked at him, and then I screamed, “Oh fuck, we're caught!”
Looking around furtively for my fellow thieves, not terribly into self-sacrifice or torture, I knew the only course of action was to disappear from the scene and not get caught. Yes, it's true, the others got caught. “I'm getting the hell outta here, guys, gotta go, see ya!” I'd never make a good soldier, especially a German one.
I escaped behind some trees. I was lucky. The old fart slammed on his brakes while his ancient vehicle practically rattled apart; he leapt out the door and grabbed the boy with the bunny, pulled him onto the seat of his rust bucket tractor, and rolled wobbily off into the pastoral sunset. What a bucolic scene it was, cows grazing peacefully nearby with only a faint haze of dust to show the passage of bunny, boy, and angry farmer. My my, was that ever a close call.
Home beckoned. I really wanted to surprise Mom with an armful of fruit and veggies for our dinner, but something told me it might not be wise. Besides, I was very, very late for a seven-year old girl who lived in a foreign country. Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen, her arms submerged in soap suds. I knew I was screwed when she took her hands out of the dishwater, dried them, then gave me her full and undivided attention.
“Gabby, what were you doing stealing rabbits with that Smith boy?” she rhetorically queried, already ascertaining my guilt by her tone. Mom had only a mere touch of grey in her hair at this time, and her back wasn't yet stooped with the age that only a troublesome child can bring. Her bright, sky-blue eyes shone fiercely as she towered over me, all five feet and ten inches of mad Mom. Doomsday had arrived. “You know better than to go seven miles from the yard, you're not even allowed off base!” Was it really that far? I wondered.
“I'm hungry, Ma,” I said, my tummy not wanting to stay for chit chat.
“Don't change the subject,” Mom interrupted. “Well, where were you?”
Yup. She knew something. I fidgeted nervously, while Mom continued her tirade of questions. “And what were you doing out of school?” She wiped her red hands on the green and blue plaid apron she always wore when washing dishes, then began to move toward the hall closet.
The Belt lived in the closet.
“I was out of school?” I asked innocently, already knowing the answer to that one. I tried to console myself, fear gripping my heart. No way, she couldn't know about that, too, could she? Mom wasn't making my supper, and Dad hadn't come out of the living room. Something was amiss, and it wasn't anything friendly, either.
“I'm getting the Belt,” she hissed, getting madder by the minute at my lies. “Come here right this minute and don't back talk me, young lady, I've had just about enough of you today!” Moving over to the closet to get the Belt, Mom's face was thunderous. She wrapped that black serpentine Nazi Belt around her wrist, and I yelled, “Mama I didn't do it honest!”
She didn't look convinced. Rhetorical questioning got me nowhere fast, but I tried. “Why would I steal a rabbit, you know I wouldn't do that.” It wasn't working, so I tried a different tactic. “You taught me better than those Smith boy’s, Mom, you know you can trust me, really Mom, don't hit me please... waaah!” Quite lost that particular argument, but what's a mere battle if you can win the war? A few licks here and there are a small price to pay for adventures.
That night was another typical evening at our house. My brother Gerhart was safe from all harm, because he was such a model child that he was even above suspicion. Watching me grow into a mini-tyrant had taught him that the best way to get what you wanted was to be nice to Mom and Dad. He snickered as I ate my dinner, and pinched my ear.
“Cut it out, asshole,” I said. “Just because you stay such a goody two shoes all the time doesn't mean shit to me.” Gerrie, his short, sandy blond hair and cherubic eyes dazzling every adult he encountered, wasn't even miffed at my poor attitude. After all, I was a delinquent and we knew where delinquents ended up.
“Get over yourself Gabby,” he chortled. “And while you are at it, get a life.” Gerrie left the kitchen after grabbing my cornbread, and went to his room to work on his third grade math. I would have told on him for taking my food, but Mom wouldn't have believed me, and he knew it.
When questioned again about the day's events, I had survived interrogation successfully, and none of my friends told, either. Sure, I got a whipping, but everyone knew I was guilty, so all in all, I considered this little attempt at fun attractive, and bragged about my rabbit-stealing exploits often to my gang of thuglets.
We planned to steal again, and soon.
I used to want to go around without a shirt like all the other heathen German girls. I had this weird scar on my solar plexis, acquired somewhere between birth and adoption, but it didn't disturb my desire for exposing my bare chest. Somehow, the German tradition of nakedness appealed to me, so much in fact that I approached Mom one day to ask permission to run around the yard without my shirt.
Well, Tripping was written on a Macintosh, I discovered from my expert computer friend Donnie, and Macintosh in 1989 didn't have features. This carried over into Framemaker and that's why I took so long to get this book out.
And now it's ready for you, my dear readers. Take a trip on the wild side.
Here's an excerpt:
Lots of otherwise normal seeming people around Southwestern City College saw little men that year, I was to discover, not just Lura O. Justine. I never saw them myself, being unable to I suppose, but a young nursing student, Mary Ellen, who took me in and rescued me from the lawn of Lura that evening, was a visionary herself. Before I began my transient existence, back in the old days when I was welcome in the dorms, Mary Ellen rushed into my room one night, screaming “They're after me! Let me in the room and lock the door, hurry!” She panted, she heaved big sighs, she collapsed on my bed, barely missing conking her head on the speaker.
I looked up from my book and said, “So like, what's exactly after you, Mary Ellen? Having nightmares about your organic chemistry exams tomorrow?” I was just too smooth and self-controlled, I was buzzing on some great grass and mellow as a tabby cat overdosed on milk. Nothing could faze me out of my dream that night, or so I thought at the time. “Drink a little too much coffee? Popping those uppers again?” I snidely inquired. Hah! I was invincible, I was unafraid, I would protect Mary Ellen from her little fantasy. I droned on like a good doctor, ready to shut the door to subconscious terror, ready to brave the 'elementals.' “You know as well as I do that there are no little men outside my door, I'm going to open it now and show you...”
Sauntering over to the door, I made as if to unlock it to the horrors that awaited us outside, not expecting her reaction, inexperienced in the reality of those little creatures as I was. She freaked! “No, close the door,” she whispered. “Don't let them get me, they followed me here from my house,” she panted. “Please, don't let them get me!”
Out of breath but not out of strength, Mary Ellen bounced off the bed and pleaded with me, pop-eyed with terror. By now, she was sweating and hysterical. I mean, this girl was seriously ill, and had me convinced (almost) that there were really little men outside my door. Then, the mood changed, and things got really weird. Smiling calmly, she wiped the perspiration from her fevered brow, and said, “Gabrielle, you can let me out now,” with a calm, cool exterior. “They're calling me, everything's all right now, and all is forgiven.”
You be too strange, sister.
“You wanna go out now?” I asked.
“Move Gabrielle.”
“But I'm trying to help you, Mary Ellen.”
“Move now, Gabrielle.” Shit, that girl was dead serious! I still didn't quite get the picture, but I would, soon. Mary Ellen gave me an unearthly glare, and moved toward the door, which I blocked. She became disgusted with our banter and said, “I need out, now. Let me out!” Advancing stomach to stomach, she pushed me out of her way, nearly knocking me to the floor. I became a bit unsettled, losing my cool. Was this the practical nursing student we all knew and loved, member Phi Kappa Phi, lady with the straight and narrow life, highly evolved study habits and Catholic upbringing? I couldn't believe my eyes!
“There's nothing out there,” I tried to say, still barring the door to her Great Unknown World. I peeked around the corner down the hall, and didn't see anything, Praise the Lord. “See?”
She said with a slight snarl, “Get away from the door or I'll run right through you to get to my friends.” I believed it by that time, and moved aside, looking one more time for little men outside my door. Mary Ellen spoke to someone, and soon vanished into the night. If I hadn't opened the door to let her out, I would have gotten bulldozed, lambasted, mutilated, so off into the night she went, much like Barnabus Collins in Dark Shadows, much like an Alabama tornado in the spring, much like a vampire out for some blood-sucking—that's the impression she left me.
She was outta there, and I was worried.
This lady was one hefty woman with a mind like a steel trap, good grades, and in good graces with the Dean of Women. If she saw weird stuff, surely there was something amiss in Waterford, Oklahoma, and I thought maybe I was in trouble. Well, the fact of the matter is, I was. Don't forget, I was soon homeless and at the mercy of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who might molest me in the night, and I was damn lucky Mary Ellen liked me. She invited me home to her haunted castle, the little house on the prairie behind the big sorority house, 'studio' living at its most efficient, a one room wonder that left little room for intrusion by outer forces (ah, but the inner forces were hard at work as I would soon discover to my chagrin and dismay).
Yes, it's true, Mary Ellen saw little men.
There was a day when we both were off to do laundry or shop or something mundane like that, and I specifically remember leaving the shoes lined up neatly, with a bucket full of warm, soapy water in the center of the floor which we were using to wash the windows. I distinctly remember all this because the house was so teeny tiny that every aspect of living had to be closely monitored to make room to walk in. The one room servant's quarters was abused beyond description when we returned, though. The shoes were scattered and water was everywhere, all over the walls like it had been thrown. Mary Ellen and I had the only keys. All the windows were locked. She looked at me with a glint in her eye, smiled and said, “They're back...”
Things got bad then. Things got really crazy. I lost my mind entirely and well, that's what the rest of this story is about. Are you surprised that an impressionable young woman who's already sort of heading astray would jump ship, leap into the unknown, and pretty much disappear from the world which she had called home?
I decided to withdraw into my own little microcosm of a world, and quit society. Did I say withdraw and quit society? If that means proceeding to flunk out of biology because of non-attendance, giving up on any semblance of reality or friendship with the farm girls and nursing students in City College, the answer is yes, unequivocally yes!
Chapter One
Where the bee sucks, there suck I,
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on
the bow.
Prospero: “Why that's my dainty Ariel!”
William Shakespeare
Women refuse to accept the fact of being castrated and have the hope of someday obtaining a penis in spite of everything.
Sigmund Freud
*Grounding first*
I am a refugee from the sixties, a leftist with no Marxist leanings, a bleeding liberal, an animal rights activist, a person who cries endlessly over the stupidest things, an athlete who runs to fat at the wink of an eye, a mystic with very Christian leanings, a woman found in Germany as an infant with no home except an orphanage, and a happy soul at heart. Now that that's over with, how do I begin without sounding smarmy and boring you to tears?
I still remember the second time I went to Germany, this time happily ensconced in the home of my adoptive parents, readily available to whatever mischief might lurk nearby. My first acquaintance with the nasty F word occurred soon enough. I wondered about that mysterious scribbling I found upon the sidewalk on the way to school, right up until I spelled it out for Mama at dinner that night, and she nearly choked on her sliced tomatoes. Oh. It's a bad word? What does it mean, Mom? Add that to my growing vocabulary, and you have the beginnings of delinquency.
I was only seven years old at the time, but the roots took hold and the little weed quickly grew enormous and started its slow decline into seed. The playground should have been a good memory, but I hated the playground at our school in Germany. When Mom and Dad threw me out of the car that cold, cloudy day, demanding I stay at school, I sat on the swings in the fog and drizzle and bemoaned my lonely boredom. I felt no joy at returning to my homeland; Europe was a drag. To me, life on the swing set could certainly do with some improvement. So, I soon teamed up with my neighbors, ruffians every one, and we set out one bright sunny day not to school, but to steal vegetables and fruit from a Deutsch farmer. We stole a rabbit, too.
The scent of cherry blossoms wafting on a light breeze led us into gardens blooming with tomatoes, asparagus, spinach, and cucumbers. Our young senses were accosted with vivid colors of bright orange and red, emerald green and purple that were soon converted into the most magnificent bounty we had acquired yet. The only problem was, what to do with our loot? We hid the unripe peaches and still green veggies in an old cellar, and set forth to obtain our heart's desire, that lovely bunny rabbit who lived nearby.
As my cronies climbed into the top of the rabbit hutch via an overhanging tree to grab an overfed but coveted bunny, I became slightly alarmed at the consequences: who would get the bunny? Could I explain its sudden appearance in our family life to Mother? That question and many others weren't answered, because as we trooped en masse along that winding cobblestone road, here came Herr Farmer, pissed as hell and out for blood.
Driving his crusty old tractor toward one little boy with snot running down his nose, who had tripped on his shoe laces, the farmer cried, “Halt! Das ist mein Kaninchen! Ami-Schwein Kinder, du bist Spitzbube! Mensch...” He looked at me, I looked at him, and then I screamed, “Oh fuck, we're caught!”
Looking around furtively for my fellow thieves, not terribly into self-sacrifice or torture, I knew the only course of action was to disappear from the scene and not get caught. Yes, it's true, the others got caught. “I'm getting the hell outta here, guys, gotta go, see ya!” I'd never make a good soldier, especially a German one.
I escaped behind some trees. I was lucky. The old fart slammed on his brakes while his ancient vehicle practically rattled apart; he leapt out the door and grabbed the boy with the bunny, pulled him onto the seat of his rust bucket tractor, and rolled wobbily off into the pastoral sunset. What a bucolic scene it was, cows grazing peacefully nearby with only a faint haze of dust to show the passage of bunny, boy, and angry farmer. My my, was that ever a close call.
Home beckoned. I really wanted to surprise Mom with an armful of fruit and veggies for our dinner, but something told me it might not be wise. Besides, I was very, very late for a seven-year old girl who lived in a foreign country. Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen, her arms submerged in soap suds. I knew I was screwed when she took her hands out of the dishwater, dried them, then gave me her full and undivided attention.
“Gabby, what were you doing stealing rabbits with that Smith boy?” she rhetorically queried, already ascertaining my guilt by her tone. Mom had only a mere touch of grey in her hair at this time, and her back wasn't yet stooped with the age that only a troublesome child can bring. Her bright, sky-blue eyes shone fiercely as she towered over me, all five feet and ten inches of mad Mom. Doomsday had arrived. “You know better than to go seven miles from the yard, you're not even allowed off base!” Was it really that far? I wondered.
“I'm hungry, Ma,” I said, my tummy not wanting to stay for chit chat.
“Don't change the subject,” Mom interrupted. “Well, where were you?”
Yup. She knew something. I fidgeted nervously, while Mom continued her tirade of questions. “And what were you doing out of school?” She wiped her red hands on the green and blue plaid apron she always wore when washing dishes, then began to move toward the hall closet.
The Belt lived in the closet.
“I was out of school?” I asked innocently, already knowing the answer to that one. I tried to console myself, fear gripping my heart. No way, she couldn't know about that, too, could she? Mom wasn't making my supper, and Dad hadn't come out of the living room. Something was amiss, and it wasn't anything friendly, either.
“I'm getting the Belt,” she hissed, getting madder by the minute at my lies. “Come here right this minute and don't back talk me, young lady, I've had just about enough of you today!” Moving over to the closet to get the Belt, Mom's face was thunderous. She wrapped that black serpentine Nazi Belt around her wrist, and I yelled, “Mama I didn't do it honest!”
She didn't look convinced. Rhetorical questioning got me nowhere fast, but I tried. “Why would I steal a rabbit, you know I wouldn't do that.” It wasn't working, so I tried a different tactic. “You taught me better than those Smith boy’s, Mom, you know you can trust me, really Mom, don't hit me please... waaah!” Quite lost that particular argument, but what's a mere battle if you can win the war? A few licks here and there are a small price to pay for adventures.
That night was another typical evening at our house. My brother Gerhart was safe from all harm, because he was such a model child that he was even above suspicion. Watching me grow into a mini-tyrant had taught him that the best way to get what you wanted was to be nice to Mom and Dad. He snickered as I ate my dinner, and pinched my ear.
“Cut it out, asshole,” I said. “Just because you stay such a goody two shoes all the time doesn't mean shit to me.” Gerrie, his short, sandy blond hair and cherubic eyes dazzling every adult he encountered, wasn't even miffed at my poor attitude. After all, I was a delinquent and we knew where delinquents ended up.
“Get over yourself Gabby,” he chortled. “And while you are at it, get a life.” Gerrie left the kitchen after grabbing my cornbread, and went to his room to work on his third grade math. I would have told on him for taking my food, but Mom wouldn't have believed me, and he knew it.
When questioned again about the day's events, I had survived interrogation successfully, and none of my friends told, either. Sure, I got a whipping, but everyone knew I was guilty, so all in all, I considered this little attempt at fun attractive, and bragged about my rabbit-stealing exploits often to my gang of thuglets.
We planned to steal again, and soon.
I used to want to go around without a shirt like all the other heathen German girls. I had this weird scar on my solar plexis, acquired somewhere between birth and adoption, but it didn't disturb my desire for exposing my bare chest. Somehow, the German tradition of nakedness appealed to me, so much in fact that I approached Mom one day to ask permission to run around the yard without my shirt.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Honey bees!
We have our brood, two queens, two swarms, three hives...some pheremones...Come on bees, come live with us.
Pics will follow.
Jules
Pics will follow.
Jules
Monday, April 18, 2011
What it's like
What it's like is spring finally. Yes the radiation is leaking all over us, yes, we are missing birds and bees and all wild things, but yesterday we saw a moose! That's right, a moose. And I found some bear poop in the woods near the house so we know he's near. I'm riding my bike, climbing in the Gunks again and today we have blue sky. The patch of snow by the tipi is almost melted LOL. The dogs cats goat llamas are happy. Life goes on...
Jules
Jules
Friday, January 21, 2011
Llama Life and Garlic
Last Tuesday was a momentous day on the farm. Fellow gardeners, feel free to have a laugh on me because I finally planted my garlic. The day started off with serious llama work as Babby, my boy llama who I still can’t help but call a “she” needed her eyelashes trimmed and her eyes cleaned out. This type of work requires more than one set of hands because as you can imagine, llamas do not like having their eyes cleaned out. Well, neither do most humans. I planned ahead for this day, asking a vet friend for some prescription eye medicine, and prepared shots of Ivermectin for all four llamas, and one shot of Duramycin for Babby with the runny eyes. The Ivermectin is for parasites and the Duramycin is an antibiotic. After catching all sorts of hay and stuff in her long luscious lashes, Babby’s eyes really looked infected so I was worried about her. John Conboy of Schoharie Llamas has a chute, and since I really still can’t handle my 400 pound spoiled brat Arpeggio who was going to have his feet trimmed, I called John to assist me. Farmers know that if you call the llama guy you might as well do all the llamas at once.
Meanwhile, my garlic was languishing in a bucket in the basement, waiting to be planted. All my friends and neighbors planted their garlic weeks ago, but me, I put it off for just way too long this time. I had prepared the garlic beds, finally, with lots and lots of llama poop. A month ago, I dug up the peas I had planted, expecting to use them for mulch over the garlic. It was getting so cold that every time I even thought about planting the garlic my hands hurt. I even asked a gardener friend if I could plant my garlic in March but she didn’t think it would be optimal. Of course it’s not optimal, I just put planting off way too long. Today, I promised myself, after the llamas were done I’d get that garlic in the ground.
For those of you who think winter farming is easier than summer farming, you are right in some ways, because there are only a few plants to deal with, but the animals require just as much if not more care. John Conboy came, he set up his chute and we went about gathering and haltering the llamas. I actually think they enjoyed being handled and I really was pleased that not a single one of them spit even after being fully restrained in the chute. One by one, we gave the llamas their shots and they all had their hooves trimmed. Babby, always the smartest and least likely to be caught, was finally lured into the pen not by grain, as were the others, but with broccoli plants that still managed to retain some green. She does love her veggies.
While John soothingly held Babby’s head, we washed out her eyes and cleaned her face. He trimmed her long luscious lashes, somewhat wistfully, saying “Wow, most folks want longer not shorter lashes.” After an hour spent working Babby over, we discussed skin problems in llamas and got out our llama veterinary books and compared notes. Yes, we agreed, Babby needed more zinc in her diet. John was amazed that Babby never spit or cussed or even said one swear word while he held her head and we cleaned her eyes. He said he’d never seen a llama that calm before in such a situation. Babby, being a skittish rescued llama, knows that she’s loved and it shows.
John finally left with a hefty check for his services, much less than a veterinarian visit would have cost though, and I found something to do on the farm other than plant the garlic. By 3pm I knew that I would have to finally either do it or stop talking about it, so I went out to the patch and with freezing cold fingers that nearly turned to bricks, I planted at least 100 cloves of beautiful garlic for the spring, which is about 300 less than I planted last year. I gave the rest of the cloves I’d prepared for planting to the llamas. What is the moral of this story? The early bird with the warmest fingers plants the most garlic. And that, my friends, is life here on the farm in the wintertime.
[Published in this month's Honest Weight Food Coop newsletter]
Thursday, December 16, 2010
We love you Tony Hindes!!!
Our beautiful angel friend man ... you have joined our Creator in Heaven again. Thank you for sharing your life with us, sharing your light and your sweet joy. Oh how we miss you. You danced into our lives and spread your angel wings with love for us. You are in our hearts forever.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Albany Bike Project
Hi bike folks and interested hoodies,
Well it's official. The Albany Police Bike Project has officially launched in its own quiet way. We have received a lot of feedback from people who would like a bike or know someone who needs one. To make it easier for folks who may not be able to attend one single event, it will be an ongoing project. Please contact Janet Parker if you know someone or are interested in a bike and financially cannot afford one. Her cell is: 518-331-1512.
As you may already know, I have been working with the Albany Police Dept Community Outreach Unit (along with Troy Bike Rescue) since the summer to organize bike giveaways of stolen bikes that the APD periodically receives and that they can give away. We finally have reached an agreement about this bike giveaway, who will coordinate it, and how it will work.
After much discussion and reflection it was decided (by the APD) that the bike giveaway would be best served by remaining independent of local bike rescues while still supporting their efforts. Through the generous assistance of Troy Bike Rescue, we've been able to
pull this together so far, and we hope that TBR will continue to remain
a peripheral resource. Albany Bike Rescue is also welcome to join in our efforts and we will support theirs should we have the opportunity to work together in the future.
At this point, we don't have a name for our organization yet. We do have an unofficial storage space in Albany through March. The APD has agreed to deliver the bikes to us, and its up to us to get them repaired, which as you know, requires a lot of hours and usually some parts. Right now I'm on my own and have been fortunate to have several folks come forward from multiple organizations and help work on the bikes we've received so far. Thank you!
Basically, the APD Bike Project (temporary name) works like this: We collect and repair bikes, and identify youth and adults in Albany neighborhoods who are in a financially tight situation and could not otherwise afford a bike. Identifying people is not always easy. Parental sign off is required for minors, and the people who get a bike must show up in person.
The APD will give them a bike, a helmet, register their bike, and share some safety information. They can then remain in contact for future events if the recipients chooses. For example, the APD hosts bike rodeos and rides in the summer to teach kids about safety, plus give them a chance to get their bikes tweaked if a bike mechanic shows up to help. Hopefully some of the kids who have gotten a bike from us will attend a bike rodeo or a bike ride with us in the park.
The goal is of the APD is to share the stolen bikes, and also promote safety in the neighborhoods. The goal is specifically to provide bikes to an underserved population that isn't already working with a bike rescue. Ultimately, I would like to send these same folks who we give bikes to their local bike rescue so that they can help other people who may also be in the same situation, and also learn to repair their own bikes. That would be a really great step forward for the bike community and I hope we can make it happen.
As of yesterday, I have somehow stepped into the role of co-coordinator with Janet Parker and the Community Outreach Unit for this project. Up until now, we were not really clear whether this was to be a long term project and how it would work. We were discussing turning it over to a bike rescue for several months, but ultimately the APD decided that it was not a bike rescue project.
To be clear, the APD Bike Project is governed under the auspices of the APD. It is up to them to decide who gets bikes, and they are making these decisions based on a person's financial situation. We have tried to have set times and places in the past, but it looks like for now we'll be giving away bikes on an as needed, individual basis going forward, rather than all at once. Their hope is that having a bike will improve that person's living situation in some way, by providing needed transportation, or recreation.
I still have about six bikes that need to be repaired, and I expect we'll get another load of 20 or so within a few months. If anyone would like to work with us on this project going forward, please contact Janet Parker (APD) at: 518-331-1512. You can also drop me a line here.
Thank you all who have helped in the past, and will work with us in the future. If you need your own bike repaired, headset adjusted, wheels trued, etc, or you want to learn how to repair bikes, we can help each other. There's lots of work ahead and even if your mechanic skills are not great (yet) they will improve :)
Albany Bike Project
Hi bike folks and interested hoodies,
Well it's official. The Albany Police Bike Project has officially launched in its own quiet way. We have received a lot of feedback from people who would like a bike or know someone who needs one. To make it easier for folks who may not be able to attend one single event, it will be an ongoing project. Please contact Janet Parker if you know someone or are interested in a bike and financially cannot afford one. Her cell is: 518-331-1512.
As you may already know, I have been working with the Albany Police Dept Community Outreach Unit (along with Troy Bike Rescue) since the summer to organize bike giveaways of stolen bikes that the APD periodically receives and that they can give away. We finally have reached an agreement about this bike giveaway, who will coordinate it, and how it will work.
After much discussion and reflection it was decided (by the APD) that the bike giveaway would be best served by remaining independent of local bike rescues while still supporting their efforts. Through the generous assistance of Troy Bike Rescue, we've been able to
pull this together so far, and we hope that TBR will continue to remain
a peripheral resource. Albany Bike Rescue is also welcome to join in our efforts and we will support theirs should we have the opportunity to work together in the future.
At this point, we don't have a name for our organization yet. We do have an unofficial storage space in Albany through March. The APD has agreed to deliver the bikes to us, and its up to us to get them repaired, which as you know, requires a lot of hours and usually some parts. Right now I'm on my own and have been fortunate to have several folks come forward from multiple organizations and help work on the bikes we've received so far. Thank you!
Basically, the APD Bike Project (temporary name) works like this: We collect and repair bikes, and identify youth and adults in Albany neighborhoods who are in a financially tight situation and could not otherwise afford a bike. Identifying people is not always easy. Parental sign off is required for minors, and the people who get a bike must show up in person.
The APD will give them a bike, a helmet, register their bike, and share some safety information. They can then remain in contact for future events if the recipients chooses. For example, the APD hosts bike rodeos and rides in the summer to teach kids about safety, plus give them a chance to get their bikes tweaked if a bike mechanic shows up to help. Hopefully some of the kids who have gotten a bike from us will attend a bike rodeo or a bike ride with us in the park.
The goal is of the APD is to share the stolen bikes, and also promote safety in the neighborhoods. The goal is specifically to provide bikes to an underserved population that isn't already working with a bike rescue. Ultimately, I would like to send these same folks who we give bikes to their local bike rescue so that they can help other people who may also be in the same situation, and also learn to repair their own bikes. That would be a really great step forward for the bike community and I hope we can make it happen.
As of yesterday, I have somehow stepped into the role of co-coordinator with Janet Parker and the Community Outreach Unit for this project. Up until now, we were not really clear whether this was to be a long term project and how it would work. We were discussing turning it over to a bike rescue for several months, but ultimately the APD decided that it was not a bike rescue project.
To be clear, the APD Bike Project is governed under the auspices of the APD. It is up to them to decide who gets bikes, and they are making these decisions based on a person's financial situation. We have tried to have set times and places in the past, but it looks like for now we'll be giving away bikes on an as needed, individual basis going forward, rather than all at once. Their hope is that having a bike will improve that person's living situation in some way, by providing needed transportation, or recreation.
I still have about six bikes that need to be repaired, and I expect we'll get another load of 20 or so within a few months. If anyone would like to work with us on this project going forward, please contact Janet Parker (APD) at: 518-331-1512. You can also drop me a line here.
Thank you all who have helped in the past, and will work with us in the future. If you need your own bike repaired, headset adjusted, wheels trued, etc, or you want to learn how to repair bikes, we can help each other. There's lots of work ahead and even if your mechanic skills are not great (yet) they will improve :)
Monday, November 1, 2010
White Flowers and the Lone Pumpkin
This farm tale starts, like many a modern farm tale, with a phone call. My good friend and sister Wendy called from California with a simple request: Would I be willing to create a small five day altar consisting of an apple, a white candle and fresh white flowers, and continue her angel blessing prayer for three people across the continent? Well, my first reaction was, sure, I’ll do it for my friend. Wendy works hospice, and her elders seemed to live for years once she begins their care. Everytime I went to Wendy’s house in Stinson Beach, I always heard bells from *somewhere* out there. My only real concern was, where in the heck would I ever find the requisite white flowers? It’s officially Fall and O dark thirty here in upstate NY. I kind of figured all the white flowers have faded. I have never bought flowers, preferring to grow them myself (cheaper!). Still, I was committed to somehow finding a way to make this happen without a visit to the flower store. Did I take a really close look at what was growing in my gardens? Of course not.
While I’m waiting for my miraculous white flowers to appear out of thin air so I can do this very special angel blessing for a really old friend, the lone pumpkin in our yard finally turned a beautiful shade of orange. This big mambo pumpkin began life as an unwanted seedling in an otherwise nasturtium, garlic and carrot bed. I saw the little leaf peek out and at first had no idea what plant it was, but decided since it appeared relatively near the cattle panel hoop trellis, I’d go ahead and see what it sprouted. Pretty soon we had lovely flowers that looked kind of squash like, then all of a sudden a beautiful monster green striped pumpkin appeared. This pumpkin got so big that we were all amazed that it managed to stay on the side of the cattle panel hoop trellis. The tenacity was amazing, and made us wonder what was holding it on. Finally, after close inspection, we realized that it was also growing a thick vine to accommodate its, well, hind quarters. The big mambo volunteer pumpkin came into the world on its own volution, almost got weeded, then against all odds, grew its own support system. That’s pretty poetic, and certainly fits into the cooperative model of living.
Meanwhile, I’m still wondering what to do for white flowers. I drove to Ada’s Spiritworks Botanica which moved to way out in Latham near the Toyota dealer so I could get the proper white candles from a sacred store. This is during a big rainstorm so I didn’t go check the garden. On the way back my 50 year old brain is trying to conjure flowers for the angel altar which was to be located inside the tipi if and when this slacker ever made it happen. I go home, go to sleep and dream that a sweet, wonderful, unnamed person gave me white flowers specifically for the angel blessing. I woke up knowing I had white flowers coming to me. Even though three days had gone by since the angel blessing request, it was going to happen soon. While driving (I get my best insights driving evidently) I realize that the other plant volunteers, five beautiful nicotania sylvestrious tobacco plants who appeared this summer in the asparagas beds would provide me with numerous fresh white trumpet flowers. These volunteers started out as two little plants from the Coop Garden Shop years ago. Why I never looked in the garden for these white flowers is beyond my understanding. I assumed the flowers were all gone but in fact, they were waiting to become part of a five day angel blessing for three people.
And the pumpkin stands alone, with its strong support system holding the world steady. Blessings to you all this fall. May we who remain close to the Earth always be fed.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
What a week!
In only one week, my truck was stolen and returned, I tracked a bear to his bed, and we fermented some veggies.
Here's the truck story:
Friday: My truck was stolen today. It was taken right out from under me. I barely stepped away, I locked the doors, left the window barely open, and sure enough, it was stolen. 2009 Toyota Tacoma truck, 4X4 with access cab. Black. In case you see it. Also has a black shell on the back.
I consider this a serious setback as I have to buy another truck if it is not recovered. My insurance company is only willing to pay what I owe on the truck to the lender. I am praying that it returns with all my bike tools and other valuables. First and Federal Street, downtown Pittsfield. Middle of the day, between 1:30 and 3:30pm. Within spitting distance of the police station by City Hall.
Hard to believe. Watch yourself in Pitts. It's getting dangerous evidently.
Sunday:
My truck has been returned to within two blocks of where it was taken.
No damage, everything in it, nothing missing. It was found at 8am this morning by the Pittsfield Police Dept.
The police are confounded. I prayed for the people who stole the truck, sent them good vibes, love and forgiveness. I also talked to them (psychically) telling them I felt bad for them, that their mother loves them, and that I'm a nice person who they shouldn't steal my stuff from because I would be nice to them.
The people who stole it must have gotten my message because everything was in the truck, including two checkbooks, my two best knives, bicycle tools (worth a lot!) and you name it. A beautiful bear necklace, handmade from silver, on African trade beads. CDs. Mail, Netflix. Everything was in it.
I have the keys to my truck as I had locked it. They must have gotten a key because they didn't even jimmy the ignition.
Spirit moved on this one. Wow. Amazing Grace. I feel like Spirit used my truck to teach these people something...
Here's the truck story:
Friday: My truck was stolen today. It was taken right out from under me. I barely stepped away, I locked the doors, left the window barely open, and sure enough, it was stolen. 2009 Toyota Tacoma truck, 4X4 with access cab. Black. In case you see it. Also has a black shell on the back.
I consider this a serious setback as I have to buy another truck if it is not recovered. My insurance company is only willing to pay what I owe on the truck to the lender. I am praying that it returns with all my bike tools and other valuables. First and Federal Street, downtown Pittsfield. Middle of the day, between 1:30 and 3:30pm. Within spitting distance of the police station by City Hall.
Hard to believe. Watch yourself in Pitts. It's getting dangerous evidently.
Sunday:
My truck has been returned to within two blocks of where it was taken.
No damage, everything in it, nothing missing. It was found at 8am this morning by the Pittsfield Police Dept.
The police are confounded. I prayed for the people who stole the truck, sent them good vibes, love and forgiveness. I also talked to them (psychically) telling them I felt bad for them, that their mother loves them, and that I'm a nice person who they shouldn't steal my stuff from because I would be nice to them.
The people who stole it must have gotten my message because everything was in the truck, including two checkbooks, my two best knives, bicycle tools (worth a lot!) and you name it. A beautiful bear necklace, handmade from silver, on African trade beads. CDs. Mail, Netflix. Everything was in it.
I have the keys to my truck as I had locked it. They must have gotten a key because they didn't even jimmy the ignition.
Spirit moved on this one. Wow. Amazing Grace. I feel like Spirit used my truck to teach these people something...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Albany PD, Troy Bike Rescue and a bunch of kids
So tonight in Albany we had a little event in Washington Park. The Albany Police Dept, Troy Bike Rescue and myself gave away some bikes and fixed others for local children who needed bikes. We will be doing this on an ongoing basis. Honest Weight kicked in some snacks and The Downtube gave us water bottles. We had free helmets from the Brain Injury association and Albany PD PAL program. Lots of fun! Living a life of service to others is what it's all about. These cop friends work very hard to bring bikes to inner city Albany communities. They are so happy to see the kids happy. Thanks to Janet, Kelly, Matt and Rick (Muscles). You guys are the best and I really am honored to be part of your work. It was also fun riding down the stairs with you today in Washington Park.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Remember this
http://joanocean.com/whalecrisis.html#anchor90545
©LISA H. DENNING
WHALES IN CRISIS
BY JOAN OCEAN, MSc.
Thousands of hours in the ocean with whales has led me to deep communications about their life on Earth: their roles, their intelligence, their migrations, their attitudes, their sensitivities, their greater purposes on our planet. The whales are deeply spiritual, highly intelligent entities. Their wisdom exceeds ours by thousands of years. We can barely relate to who they are because their understandings of Earth and humanity comes from a vast point of view taking us beyond three dimensional earth time. They know the Big Picture. If you ever doubt this, just spend some time with them in the ocean and you will feel their harmonic sounds and heart-centered transmissions. It is communicated directly into your own heart, your own higher intelligence. Peace settles over you in their presence. Vibration is their expertise and they involve you into it. Since we are also vibrational matter beings, we can receive their frequencies and change our lives due to these advanced frequencies.
One of the messages from the whales is that they value Life. They cherish life and the Earth. What does that mean? It means that they always make decisions in their personal ethics that supports keeping life alive. The life of humans, the life of all sea and land animals and mammals, the life of the Earth including the eco-systems that preserve the Earth such as the plants, birds, reptiles, insects, barnacles, plankton, etc., etc.
Because of this, their behavior when examined closely has a larger plan to assist humanity to also care about all living things. And the whales take action to bring forward these tendencies in humans. Entering our hearts with love, they hope that people will be so appalled by the killing of whales and dolphins, that our race will rise to the challenge of protecting life on earth and prevent these deaths and the subsequent deaths due to all the species that will become extinct if the cetaceans die.
Here is a message from the whales as an example of what they do:
THREE WHALES UNDER THE ICE
In the fall of 1988, the entire world came together, in peace, for a wonderful cooperative experience. Two adult whales and one baby whale were entrapped by approaching ice in the Bering Strait. For a few miraculous days, rescuers from Russia, the United States, Norway and other countries, worked together as sisters and brothers to save these whales.
Representatives from many countries offered ideas about how to keep the whales from suffocating beneath the freezing ice. A hole was cut in the ice so the whales could breath. But how could we tempt the whales away from that one breathing hole to another one and another one so they could again enter open water and be free and safe? Before the whales were freed, the baby whale died from extreme exhaustion.
The whales said that they triggered this event to raise awareness that international unity and cooperation were possible.
We are interested in you. We brought the world together for only a short time but it was worth it. We even gave up a life for it. It was worth it.
Look what you (the human race) did. You did not kill us, but freed us. You all came together for LIFE, not for technology, but for life ----- not for gain, for politics or money, just for life. That was enough.
What you did was wonderful. It was exactly what we hoped for.
The baby (whale) did not mind leaving. The baby whale did not mind flying. The baby will be back. The baby did much. He wanted you to know that we were serious.
The baby was part of our effort to accelerate peace in the world. Every event in time changes irrevocably, countless other events. If that had not occurred exactly as it did, then other things would have changed. The movement towards world peace and unity would have decelerated.
(Note: Glasnost followed that event with the liberation of Eastern Europe in 1989-1990.)
We knew and we were teaching you. You were teaching us, too. It was wonderful. If you can be together for one day, you can be together for many days. And if you can be together for many days, you can be together always. Do you understand what we mean? We wanted to show you it can be done. And you saw that it can be done. It can be done for us.
You can all come together for living things - not for money or ideologies, but for life, for the pure holiness and sweet sacredness of life. For that you can come together. You can be idealists and realists. You can change. You ARE changing. You are being changed. We beam information to you all the time. We influence you. This is our freedom. This cannot be done without your permission. Thank you for your Call. We share this freedom together.
©LISA H. DENNING
WHALES IN CRISIS
BY JOAN OCEAN, MSc.
Thousands of hours in the ocean with whales has led me to deep communications about their life on Earth: their roles, their intelligence, their migrations, their attitudes, their sensitivities, their greater purposes on our planet. The whales are deeply spiritual, highly intelligent entities. Their wisdom exceeds ours by thousands of years. We can barely relate to who they are because their understandings of Earth and humanity comes from a vast point of view taking us beyond three dimensional earth time. They know the Big Picture. If you ever doubt this, just spend some time with them in the ocean and you will feel their harmonic sounds and heart-centered transmissions. It is communicated directly into your own heart, your own higher intelligence. Peace settles over you in their presence. Vibration is their expertise and they involve you into it. Since we are also vibrational matter beings, we can receive their frequencies and change our lives due to these advanced frequencies.
One of the messages from the whales is that they value Life. They cherish life and the Earth. What does that mean? It means that they always make decisions in their personal ethics that supports keeping life alive. The life of humans, the life of all sea and land animals and mammals, the life of the Earth including the eco-systems that preserve the Earth such as the plants, birds, reptiles, insects, barnacles, plankton, etc., etc.
Because of this, their behavior when examined closely has a larger plan to assist humanity to also care about all living things. And the whales take action to bring forward these tendencies in humans. Entering our hearts with love, they hope that people will be so appalled by the killing of whales and dolphins, that our race will rise to the challenge of protecting life on earth and prevent these deaths and the subsequent deaths due to all the species that will become extinct if the cetaceans die.
Here is a message from the whales as an example of what they do:
THREE WHALES UNDER THE ICE
In the fall of 1988, the entire world came together, in peace, for a wonderful cooperative experience. Two adult whales and one baby whale were entrapped by approaching ice in the Bering Strait. For a few miraculous days, rescuers from Russia, the United States, Norway and other countries, worked together as sisters and brothers to save these whales.
Representatives from many countries offered ideas about how to keep the whales from suffocating beneath the freezing ice. A hole was cut in the ice so the whales could breath. But how could we tempt the whales away from that one breathing hole to another one and another one so they could again enter open water and be free and safe? Before the whales were freed, the baby whale died from extreme exhaustion.
The whales said that they triggered this event to raise awareness that international unity and cooperation were possible.
We are interested in you. We brought the world together for only a short time but it was worth it. We even gave up a life for it. It was worth it.
Look what you (the human race) did. You did not kill us, but freed us. You all came together for LIFE, not for technology, but for life ----- not for gain, for politics or money, just for life. That was enough.
What you did was wonderful. It was exactly what we hoped for.
The baby (whale) did not mind leaving. The baby whale did not mind flying. The baby will be back. The baby did much. He wanted you to know that we were serious.
The baby was part of our effort to accelerate peace in the world. Every event in time changes irrevocably, countless other events. If that had not occurred exactly as it did, then other things would have changed. The movement towards world peace and unity would have decelerated.
(Note: Glasnost followed that event with the liberation of Eastern Europe in 1989-1990.)
We knew and we were teaching you. You were teaching us, too. It was wonderful. If you can be together for one day, you can be together for many days. And if you can be together for many days, you can be together always. Do you understand what we mean? We wanted to show you it can be done. And you saw that it can be done. It can be done for us.
You can all come together for living things - not for money or ideologies, but for life, for the pure holiness and sweet sacredness of life. For that you can come together. You can be idealists and realists. You can change. You ARE changing. You are being changed. We beam information to you all the time. We influence you. This is our freedom. This cannot be done without your permission. Thank you for your Call. We share this freedom together.
The Little People of Oklahoma
I wrote about these little people in my book, Tripping with Gabrielle, and can verify that what you are about to read is a common story experienced by many people in Weatherford, OK, near Anadarko, OK where this story is set. I have heard the scary scratching sounds (slept in my car that night), seen the clawmarks (next morning all around the car) experienced the destruction of personal property (my own), and finally left food out every night in desperation.
There you have it, a bit from my past life in Oklahoma during 1978-1979, the same time as this story. A quote from Tripping with Gabrielle about my roommate "Yes it's true, she saw little men..."
The Little People of Oklahoma
BY GALEN PROSE
Not many people have heard of the "Little People" before, because most know them by the names of Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti or Skunk Ape. But where I come from, we call them the Little People. I am from the Caddo tribe, and the governmental headquarters for the Caddo Nation are located at the Binger Y, which is about halfway between Anadarko and Binger, Oklahoma. The encounters with Little People my family and I have had took place there.
The reason Caddos call the Little People little has always puzzled me, because to everybody else they are described as huge. It may be partially out of respect, I think, because I wouldn't like it too much if others identified my most defining trait as my giant feet! But strangely enough, even though in most sightings in the area they are almost always small. I mean, their given name is not irony in the slightest. But why are they so short? My mother and I have collaboratively theorized that the Little People are juvenile Bigfoots.
When my mother was about eight years old, she and her grandma and grandpa had driven all the way from Norman, Oklahoma to camp overnight in a little house my family owned on a hill in a densely wooded area that overlooked the dance grounds at the tribal complex at the Binger Y. They were planning to stay overnight for the dance or pow-wow and leave in the morning. They hadn't had the time to unpack the car and put all of the stuff in the little house before they had to leave to go somewhere.
But when they returned, they climbed the hill and the car doors were open. It was a mess and looked as if the car had been ransacked! My mom's grandparents inspected the damage and found interesting evidence. A bag of Fruit Loops -- my mom's favorite cereal at the time -- had been ripped open and the colorful rings had been scattered about the car like it had burst open. It wasn't torn apart by claws or teeth, but pulled apart... ripped by hands from each end. A trail spilled from the car and led into the forest.
On top of that, the car smelled awful. And the Fruit Loop thief must have been there not too long before for the smell to still be there. My mother asked my great grandma who broke into the car, and she told my mom that the Little People had done it. Who would've known Bigfoot liked Fruit Loops?
That happened in the late 1970s or early '80s. What happened to me occurred in 2007 when I was 11 years old. I was at a summer camp down at the Y that they hold every year for one week in June, where Caddo descendants go to reconnect with their heritage. Campers came from a ton of different states. A thunderstorm rolled in the wee hours of the morning early in the week. Shirley, the head honcho at the camp, moved all of the campers to the roundhouse (also called the community building), even though it wasn't raining that hard, because a bunch of the kids didn't have rain flies on their tents. And the non-Oklahoman campers weren't quite as fearless and accustomed to the tornado alley weather. So we moved all 60-some teenagers to the indoor arena.
Well, it didn't ever stop raining all week. It never calmed down enough for us to move back to the campsite. One night, several campers complained of hearing slow scratching on the metal doors of the roundhouse. Nobody could see anything outside of the small, rectangular glass windows because it was so dark. "It sounded like nails on a chalkboard," my cousin said. "And I tried covering my ears, except it was so loud and the scratching didn't stop."
The next morning, my cousin and some other campers who had heard the scratching checked out the door. There were tiny scratches in the paint near the bottom... like sharp fingernails clawed at the door. It was real. We were all scared, but we didn't know what it was. Shirley feeds the Little People dinner leftovers every night. (I think this is creepy, personally!) But that particular night, she forgot to set out the food for the Little People. They had come out of the woods and begged at the doors for food. (Which I find even creepier!)
But then I started thinking: If the Little People could open a car door, why not a building door? I'm just glad the doors of the roundhouse were locked! It's a rule at the camp to not go into the woods. It doesn't need to be enforced, exactly; the forest around the complex is scary enough without the added bonus of Little People. (Who apparently like Fruit Loops....)
There hasn't been any Little People activity at the Y for the past couple of years, because they are fairly shy folk. But since then, the roundhouse doors have been repainted and Shirley still feeds their youngsters leftovers every night.
Previous story | Next story
There you have it, a bit from my past life in Oklahoma during 1978-1979, the same time as this story. A quote from Tripping with Gabrielle about my roommate "Yes it's true, she saw little men..."
The Little People of Oklahoma
BY GALEN PROSE
Not many people have heard of the "Little People" before, because most know them by the names of Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti or Skunk Ape. But where I come from, we call them the Little People. I am from the Caddo tribe, and the governmental headquarters for the Caddo Nation are located at the Binger Y, which is about halfway between Anadarko and Binger, Oklahoma. The encounters with Little People my family and I have had took place there.
The reason Caddos call the Little People little has always puzzled me, because to everybody else they are described as huge. It may be partially out of respect, I think, because I wouldn't like it too much if others identified my most defining trait as my giant feet! But strangely enough, even though in most sightings in the area they are almost always small. I mean, their given name is not irony in the slightest. But why are they so short? My mother and I have collaboratively theorized that the Little People are juvenile Bigfoots.
When my mother was about eight years old, she and her grandma and grandpa had driven all the way from Norman, Oklahoma to camp overnight in a little house my family owned on a hill in a densely wooded area that overlooked the dance grounds at the tribal complex at the Binger Y. They were planning to stay overnight for the dance or pow-wow and leave in the morning. They hadn't had the time to unpack the car and put all of the stuff in the little house before they had to leave to go somewhere.
But when they returned, they climbed the hill and the car doors were open. It was a mess and looked as if the car had been ransacked! My mom's grandparents inspected the damage and found interesting evidence. A bag of Fruit Loops -- my mom's favorite cereal at the time -- had been ripped open and the colorful rings had been scattered about the car like it had burst open. It wasn't torn apart by claws or teeth, but pulled apart... ripped by hands from each end. A trail spilled from the car and led into the forest.
On top of that, the car smelled awful. And the Fruit Loop thief must have been there not too long before for the smell to still be there. My mother asked my great grandma who broke into the car, and she told my mom that the Little People had done it. Who would've known Bigfoot liked Fruit Loops?
That happened in the late 1970s or early '80s. What happened to me occurred in 2007 when I was 11 years old. I was at a summer camp down at the Y that they hold every year for one week in June, where Caddo descendants go to reconnect with their heritage. Campers came from a ton of different states. A thunderstorm rolled in the wee hours of the morning early in the week. Shirley, the head honcho at the camp, moved all of the campers to the roundhouse (also called the community building), even though it wasn't raining that hard, because a bunch of the kids didn't have rain flies on their tents. And the non-Oklahoman campers weren't quite as fearless and accustomed to the tornado alley weather. So we moved all 60-some teenagers to the indoor arena.
Well, it didn't ever stop raining all week. It never calmed down enough for us to move back to the campsite. One night, several campers complained of hearing slow scratching on the metal doors of the roundhouse. Nobody could see anything outside of the small, rectangular glass windows because it was so dark. "It sounded like nails on a chalkboard," my cousin said. "And I tried covering my ears, except it was so loud and the scratching didn't stop."
The next morning, my cousin and some other campers who had heard the scratching checked out the door. There were tiny scratches in the paint near the bottom... like sharp fingernails clawed at the door. It was real. We were all scared, but we didn't know what it was. Shirley feeds the Little People dinner leftovers every night. (I think this is creepy, personally!) But that particular night, she forgot to set out the food for the Little People. They had come out of the woods and begged at the doors for food. (Which I find even creepier!)
But then I started thinking: If the Little People could open a car door, why not a building door? I'm just glad the doors of the roundhouse were locked! It's a rule at the camp to not go into the woods. It doesn't need to be enforced, exactly; the forest around the complex is scary enough without the added bonus of Little People. (Who apparently like Fruit Loops....)
There hasn't been any Little People activity at the Y for the past couple of years, because they are fairly shy folk. But since then, the roundhouse doors have been repainted and Shirley still feeds their youngsters leftovers every night.
Previous story | Next story
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
We lost our sweet boy cat
As you can see, he's very friendly. We are hoping he's in someone's house eating large. My other thought is that he was eaten.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Book Reviews!
A DIY Bike Book for the Gals: Julie Harrell's "A Woman's Bike Book"
June 09, 2010
Julie Cruiser just came out with a new bike book for women. But it's good for anyone to read. It's an expanded new edition of her earlier bike book. She's published it herself. It's intended as a personal view of one gal's life in bikes and the way that she's learned to share what she knows with other women. She's worked many years in bike shops and knows her way around wrenches. Her attitude is what gives her a great entre' into all the various outdoor sports that she's involved with. She's gungho and willing to make mistakes. She's not afraid to mix it up with the guys. At the same time she's learned that there are definitely helpful things for women to keep in mind out there in the land of dudes and machinery.
It's 6" x 8" and 115 pages of text and 30 pages of color photos. The photos show a wide range of ladies and their bikes in their natural settings and in some dandy shops. Book price is about $15.
Jules is also a snowboarder, ski patroller, EMT/S&R, kayaker, climber -- the works. She writes on these subjects as well, at her blog and elsewhere. Her blog is "Julie Harrell, Adventures in Living" at http://photonicgirl.blogspot.com/
She's into yoga, gardening and metaphysics. She's 50-something, married, has kids. Been around the block. Knows a thing or two.
In this book Julie introduces us to the common range of gungho bikes you're likely to run into and the reasons for each type. She shows you the mindsets behind the styles of riding that they fit in with.
Then she has Diet and Yoga sections to help riders get ready for the experience and to be able to build and keep a lifelong connection to fresh air action like cycling.
She ties her advice and info in with related stories of what she's gone through as well as made-up case profiles of various ladies whose situations help illustrate her points.
The book has a, to me, hilarious lady aspect to it in that *shopping* takes on a bigger role than I've ever seen it in a bike book. !!! But, hey, this is a woman's bike book. Literally, it's *a* woman's view. Julie lets you into her world. We all have our relationships to shopping. She has hers! And I'm betting that more than a few ladies will be able to relate to it.
Stand-out sections include the "how to ride with dudes" chapter. Now, all male riders aren't the gungho types she inclines toward but a lot of them are and if you're high-energy yourself you may gravitate to fast-paced group rides for at least some of your outings. Such rides will tend to be made up mostly of guys. How to handle it?
Julie doesn't get overly introspective but she gives a lot of basically helpful info, such as how their quirks are not personal, it's just the way guys get in hammerhead-type groups. You might get dropped and no one even looks back. You might hear remarks that are in code or show no sympathy. This can provoke you to ditch the group OR there might be a way to figure it out and be prepared in a way that lets you thrive and get your foot on the inside of the scene. She also includes the hot tip to NOT date within the pack, along with a few examples of what she means. Adventure pals are one thing, dates are another. The net result of abstinence is a group where you'll keep your welcome.
I'd like to interject my own two bits along these lines and expand a bit on what Julie brings up. I know it's beyond a review but what the hey. I'd like to note that there are a lot of group rides out there that are NOT hammerhead-ish. They're becoming more popular all the time and they're a great place for moderate riders of any gender to hang out and get exercise along with socializing. Urban outings tend to go along these lines (unless they're Alleycat events). Advocacy rides also are very welcoming and diverse.
The recent push to vintage and Tweed Ride action works, too. Everyone can get tired of hammer-riding and it's good to mix it up. I suppose a truism would be that the slower a ride is the more diverse it is. I note that even a racer needs to ride easy at least once a week. But even in such settings there are likely good things to know about "riding with the guys." But, again, the slower a ride is the more it'll just be like normal socializing. As a group ride becomes more intense the "Mars" aspects come on stronger and need a bolder heads-up attitude to deal with.
Another superstrong point of the book is the way she makes wrenching accessible. Lots of people are afraid of machines, tools and grease. Julie leads the way with an easy-going approach. She covers the basics. And she covers the social side, too. No one can fix everything or know it all, if they're regular folks, so how to relate to the bike shop? To the backroom mechanic? They're people, too. And there's a culture there. Julie shows us how to fit in.
Now, she plays fast'n'loose with a lot of concepts in this book, but that's her style. She's found ways that work for her and she's just sharing them. You might have a different way. The rule book might have yet another way. Right at the start she says this is just her way and to get official manuals if you really want to do things like wrench right. But if you just want to get the feel for it all and get over your fear of flying this book is a great way to do it for anyone.
Jules talks the language of the gungho outdoor ladies. It reads pretty easy to me. But it is a different language! There's code in there, which I don't always get.
It kinda relates to the fact that there can be a ski tour up north with a picnic afterward and 50 guys and 5 gals will show up, but if there's a Ladies Tour with some special food stops along the EXACT SAME trail then, like, 500 women will show up and rock-party the woods. It's like they're out there but they're waiting for an event with the right tone to it to show up. This book has that tone. So join the party. ...But don't forget to invite me! (My rides are no-drop. If yours are, lemme know!)
[Note: If you click this link and buy her book, or anything else on your visit to Amazon, OYB gets a percent. Thanks! --JP]
Check these guys out here: Out Your Backdoor
Here's one from ADK Sports and Fitness:
A Woman’s Bike Book by Julie Harrell
CHERRY PLAIN – A Woman’s Bike Book, written by local author Julie Harrell, is the second edition to the original shorter version, A Woman’s Guide to Bikes and Biking
(1999).
Julie’s goal for this new book, which includes all relevant text from the former book, is to “open our cycling circle to women of all shapes, sizes, ages and personalities who are sitting on the sidelines, wanting to join us.”
She has illustrated A Woman’s Bike Book (Owl Publications) with composite characters of women you may know and love. These women contact each other, ride their bikes together and have picnics.
The stories of their lives entertain as they demonstrate what it’s like to live a biking lifestyle. They have “the racer babies, the big boned ladies, the sporty girls and the busy moms, all squeezing in time on their comfort bikes, mountain bikes, downhill bikes, hybrids and road machines.” A Woman’s Bike Book is “a positive take on sometimes muddy, dirtbag cycling, with pig-out stories, cycling mishap anecdotes, a little bit of yoga, and easy to understand explanations” woven throughout to help women find the bike they want.
The book is barely technical, including the repair section where you can read about what the author did wrong along with how to fix your bike. She has added a section on “riding with the guys – and not riding with the guys you date.” This chapter includes information on internet dating sites that are meant for dating,
and which sites are meant for adventuring. The fit section is quite specific, as fit is what she considers the most important aspect of enjoying a new bike.
This bike book for women is about “ladies out having fun recreating on their bikes.” A Woman’s Bike Book also covers supporting independent bicycle dealers in your community, “because they are our link to that fabulous beast, the bicycle.”
Julie encourages women to email her, because she’s looking forward to hearing your stories. The book is available at area bike shops or online. Visit: photonicgirl.blogspot.com.
And last but certainly not least, Bicycle Retailer Industry News even gave me a little blurb in their May 15 print edition.
Thanks ya'll!!!
June 09, 2010
Julie Cruiser just came out with a new bike book for women. But it's good for anyone to read. It's an expanded new edition of her earlier bike book. She's published it herself. It's intended as a personal view of one gal's life in bikes and the way that she's learned to share what she knows with other women. She's worked many years in bike shops and knows her way around wrenches. Her attitude is what gives her a great entre' into all the various outdoor sports that she's involved with. She's gungho and willing to make mistakes. She's not afraid to mix it up with the guys. At the same time she's learned that there are definitely helpful things for women to keep in mind out there in the land of dudes and machinery.
It's 6" x 8" and 115 pages of text and 30 pages of color photos. The photos show a wide range of ladies and their bikes in their natural settings and in some dandy shops. Book price is about $15.
Jules is also a snowboarder, ski patroller, EMT/S&R, kayaker, climber -- the works. She writes on these subjects as well, at her blog and elsewhere. Her blog is "Julie Harrell, Adventures in Living" at http://photonicgirl.blogspot.com/
She's into yoga, gardening and metaphysics. She's 50-something, married, has kids. Been around the block. Knows a thing or two.
In this book Julie introduces us to the common range of gungho bikes you're likely to run into and the reasons for each type. She shows you the mindsets behind the styles of riding that they fit in with.
Then she has Diet and Yoga sections to help riders get ready for the experience and to be able to build and keep a lifelong connection to fresh air action like cycling.
She ties her advice and info in with related stories of what she's gone through as well as made-up case profiles of various ladies whose situations help illustrate her points.
The book has a, to me, hilarious lady aspect to it in that *shopping* takes on a bigger role than I've ever seen it in a bike book. !!! But, hey, this is a woman's bike book. Literally, it's *a* woman's view. Julie lets you into her world. We all have our relationships to shopping. She has hers! And I'm betting that more than a few ladies will be able to relate to it.
Stand-out sections include the "how to ride with dudes" chapter. Now, all male riders aren't the gungho types she inclines toward but a lot of them are and if you're high-energy yourself you may gravitate to fast-paced group rides for at least some of your outings. Such rides will tend to be made up mostly of guys. How to handle it?
Julie doesn't get overly introspective but she gives a lot of basically helpful info, such as how their quirks are not personal, it's just the way guys get in hammerhead-type groups. You might get dropped and no one even looks back. You might hear remarks that are in code or show no sympathy. This can provoke you to ditch the group OR there might be a way to figure it out and be prepared in a way that lets you thrive and get your foot on the inside of the scene. She also includes the hot tip to NOT date within the pack, along with a few examples of what she means. Adventure pals are one thing, dates are another. The net result of abstinence is a group where you'll keep your welcome.
I'd like to interject my own two bits along these lines and expand a bit on what Julie brings up. I know it's beyond a review but what the hey. I'd like to note that there are a lot of group rides out there that are NOT hammerhead-ish. They're becoming more popular all the time and they're a great place for moderate riders of any gender to hang out and get exercise along with socializing. Urban outings tend to go along these lines (unless they're Alleycat events). Advocacy rides also are very welcoming and diverse.
The recent push to vintage and Tweed Ride action works, too. Everyone can get tired of hammer-riding and it's good to mix it up. I suppose a truism would be that the slower a ride is the more diverse it is. I note that even a racer needs to ride easy at least once a week. But even in such settings there are likely good things to know about "riding with the guys." But, again, the slower a ride is the more it'll just be like normal socializing. As a group ride becomes more intense the "Mars" aspects come on stronger and need a bolder heads-up attitude to deal with.
Another superstrong point of the book is the way she makes wrenching accessible. Lots of people are afraid of machines, tools and grease. Julie leads the way with an easy-going approach. She covers the basics. And she covers the social side, too. No one can fix everything or know it all, if they're regular folks, so how to relate to the bike shop? To the backroom mechanic? They're people, too. And there's a culture there. Julie shows us how to fit in.
Now, she plays fast'n'loose with a lot of concepts in this book, but that's her style. She's found ways that work for her and she's just sharing them. You might have a different way. The rule book might have yet another way. Right at the start she says this is just her way and to get official manuals if you really want to do things like wrench right. But if you just want to get the feel for it all and get over your fear of flying this book is a great way to do it for anyone.
Jules talks the language of the gungho outdoor ladies. It reads pretty easy to me. But it is a different language! There's code in there, which I don't always get.
It kinda relates to the fact that there can be a ski tour up north with a picnic afterward and 50 guys and 5 gals will show up, but if there's a Ladies Tour with some special food stops along the EXACT SAME trail then, like, 500 women will show up and rock-party the woods. It's like they're out there but they're waiting for an event with the right tone to it to show up. This book has that tone. So join the party. ...But don't forget to invite me! (My rides are no-drop. If yours are, lemme know!)
[Note: If you click this link and buy her book, or anything else on your visit to Amazon, OYB gets a percent. Thanks! --JP]
Check these guys out here: Out Your Backdoor
Here's one from ADK Sports and Fitness:
A Woman’s Bike Book by Julie Harrell
CHERRY PLAIN – A Woman’s Bike Book, written by local author Julie Harrell, is the second edition to the original shorter version, A Woman’s Guide to Bikes and Biking
(1999).
Julie’s goal for this new book, which includes all relevant text from the former book, is to “open our cycling circle to women of all shapes, sizes, ages and personalities who are sitting on the sidelines, wanting to join us.”
She has illustrated A Woman’s Bike Book (Owl Publications) with composite characters of women you may know and love. These women contact each other, ride their bikes together and have picnics.
The stories of their lives entertain as they demonstrate what it’s like to live a biking lifestyle. They have “the racer babies, the big boned ladies, the sporty girls and the busy moms, all squeezing in time on their comfort bikes, mountain bikes, downhill bikes, hybrids and road machines.” A Woman’s Bike Book is “a positive take on sometimes muddy, dirtbag cycling, with pig-out stories, cycling mishap anecdotes, a little bit of yoga, and easy to understand explanations” woven throughout to help women find the bike they want.
The book is barely technical, including the repair section where you can read about what the author did wrong along with how to fix your bike. She has added a section on “riding with the guys – and not riding with the guys you date.” This chapter includes information on internet dating sites that are meant for dating,
and which sites are meant for adventuring. The fit section is quite specific, as fit is what she considers the most important aspect of enjoying a new bike.
This bike book for women is about “ladies out having fun recreating on their bikes.” A Woman’s Bike Book also covers supporting independent bicycle dealers in your community, “because they are our link to that fabulous beast, the bicycle.”
Julie encourages women to email her, because she’s looking forward to hearing your stories. The book is available at area bike shops or online. Visit: photonicgirl.blogspot.com.
And last but certainly not least, Bicycle Retailer Industry News even gave me a little blurb in their May 15 print edition.
Thanks ya'll!!!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Message from the Grandmothers
Please send this out as we all can do this without going anywhere or spending money. Bless you, Love Mariam
"You Are Desperately Needed"
Today the Grandmothers woke me with this message and asked me to send it out. Please forward it on so we reach as many people as possible.
"We ask you to cast, anchor, and hold the Net of Light steady for the Gulf of Mexico," the Grandmothers said. "This crisis is affecting the entire world, and humanity is asleep. Wake up!" they cried. "Animals are dying, plants are dying, and your Mother is writhing in agony. If you hold the Net of Light steady at this time you will help stave off further catastrophe.
"You have been lulled into a false sleep," they said, "told that others (B.P.) will take care of this problem. This is not so," they said. "And this is not the time for you to fall into oblivion. Determine now to stay awake, and once you have made that commitment, think of, cast, and hold the Net of Light. Hold it deep and hold it wide. Amplify its reach to penetrate the waters of the Gulf and dive deep beneath the crust of Mother Earth. Anchor it at the earth's core and as you hold it there, ask it to unify with the mineral kingdom of this planet. It will do this and will harmonize with all the solid and liquid mineral states on earth-including oil and gas. The Net of Light will call these minerals back into harmony. Men have wreaked havoc. They have abused the kingdoms of life on earth for many years, but this time their destruction has reached crisis proportions.
"Whatever human beings have damaged, human beings must correct," the Grandmothers said. "This is the law. We repeat: This is the law. You cannot sit back and ask God to fix the mess humanity has created. Each of you must throw your shoulders to the wheel and work. We are asking for your help. Several years ago we gave you the Net of Light so you would be able to help the earth at times like this. Step forward now. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth during the times of change that are upon you," they said.
"First move into your heart and call on us. We will meet you there. The Net of Light is lit by the jewel of your heart," they said, "so move into this lighted place within you and open to the Net of which you are a part. Bask in its calming presence. It holds you at the same time that you hold it.
"Now think of magnifying your union with us. We, the Great Council of the Grandmothers, are with you now, and all those who work with the Net of Light are also with you. There are thousands, even millions now connected in light," they said. "Along with this union, call forth the power of the sacred places on earth. These will amplify the potency of our joint effort. Then call on the sacred beings that have come to prevent the catastrophe that threatens to overwhelm your planet. We will work together," they said, nodding slowly.
"Think of, cast and magnify the presence of the Net of Light in the Gulf of Mexico. See, imagine or think of it holding the waters, holding the land, the plants, the sea life, and the people. Holding them all!" they said. "The Net of Light is holding them steady; it is returning them to balance. Let the love within your lighted heart keep pouring into the Net of Light and hold, hold, hold. Calmly and reverently watch as the light from your heart flows along the strands of the Net. It will follow your command and continuously move forth. As soon as you think of it, it will happen. We ask you to practice this for only a few minutes at a time, but to repeat it throughout the day and night.
"We promise that this work with the Net of Light will do untold good," the Grandmothers said. "We are calling you to service now. You are needed. Do not miss this opportunity. We thank you and bless you."
Sharon's note: To learn more about the Grandmothers and the Net of Light, go to grandmothersspeak.com.
"You Are Desperately Needed"
Today the Grandmothers woke me with this message and asked me to send it out. Please forward it on so we reach as many people as possible.
"We ask you to cast, anchor, and hold the Net of Light steady for the Gulf of Mexico," the Grandmothers said. "This crisis is affecting the entire world, and humanity is asleep. Wake up!" they cried. "Animals are dying, plants are dying, and your Mother is writhing in agony. If you hold the Net of Light steady at this time you will help stave off further catastrophe.
"You have been lulled into a false sleep," they said, "told that others (B.P.) will take care of this problem. This is not so," they said. "And this is not the time for you to fall into oblivion. Determine now to stay awake, and once you have made that commitment, think of, cast, and hold the Net of Light. Hold it deep and hold it wide. Amplify its reach to penetrate the waters of the Gulf and dive deep beneath the crust of Mother Earth. Anchor it at the earth's core and as you hold it there, ask it to unify with the mineral kingdom of this planet. It will do this and will harmonize with all the solid and liquid mineral states on earth-including oil and gas. The Net of Light will call these minerals back into harmony. Men have wreaked havoc. They have abused the kingdoms of life on earth for many years, but this time their destruction has reached crisis proportions.
"Whatever human beings have damaged, human beings must correct," the Grandmothers said. "This is the law. We repeat: This is the law. You cannot sit back and ask God to fix the mess humanity has created. Each of you must throw your shoulders to the wheel and work. We are asking for your help. Several years ago we gave you the Net of Light so you would be able to help the earth at times like this. Step forward now. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth during the times of change that are upon you," they said.
"First move into your heart and call on us. We will meet you there. The Net of Light is lit by the jewel of your heart," they said, "so move into this lighted place within you and open to the Net of which you are a part. Bask in its calming presence. It holds you at the same time that you hold it.
"Now think of magnifying your union with us. We, the Great Council of the Grandmothers, are with you now, and all those who work with the Net of Light are also with you. There are thousands, even millions now connected in light," they said. "Along with this union, call forth the power of the sacred places on earth. These will amplify the potency of our joint effort. Then call on the sacred beings that have come to prevent the catastrophe that threatens to overwhelm your planet. We will work together," they said, nodding slowly.
"Think of, cast and magnify the presence of the Net of Light in the Gulf of Mexico. See, imagine or think of it holding the waters, holding the land, the plants, the sea life, and the people. Holding them all!" they said. "The Net of Light is holding them steady; it is returning them to balance. Let the love within your lighted heart keep pouring into the Net of Light and hold, hold, hold. Calmly and reverently watch as the light from your heart flows along the strands of the Net. It will follow your command and continuously move forth. As soon as you think of it, it will happen. We ask you to practice this for only a few minutes at a time, but to repeat it throughout the day and night.
"We promise that this work with the Net of Light will do untold good," the Grandmothers said. "We are calling you to service now. You are needed. Do not miss this opportunity. We thank you and bless you."
Sharon's note: To learn more about the Grandmothers and the Net of Light, go to grandmothersspeak.com.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
To love an animal child
She's a teenager, 15 years old, love of my life. She's filled with light and beauty and new concepts that are way over my 50-something year old head. I listen to her sing, and talk, and see her smile. Within that world that she inhabits is so much lighter thought than we can imagine.
Can you love an animal child? Mine has dreadlocks, she has henna, she has smiles for all. Her cats protect her at night from the scaries, while during the daytime she spends her time at school, learning about science and history and math. She hosts tipi parties here on our farm where she says, her friends come to bond. Sometimes I am lucky, and she asks to go with me on one of my business ventures. Increasingly she wants to be by my side. Even yesterday, she asked to ride road bikes with me.
On Christmas day, my animal child presented me a song she wrote, and sang it for me on piano. I cried of course. Wouldn't you? This is her song to me, her Mama:
Momma, Makuahine
I was once a little girl, didn't know a thing but you told me I would change the world. Then Momma all I know was Sona, I never thought of hate, maybe I grew up too late. Amma, you certainly changed the way I would ever say Makuahine. And I just wanted you to know our bond will never end Momma. You are my best friend.
Friday, April 30, 2010
A Woman's Guide to Bikes and Biking, and A Woman's Bike Book
For your reading enjoyment, I have provided an update on the former 1999 bike book. I have a new book available now, please see the links to A Woman's Bike Book to your right. The former book is still for sale on amazon and elsewhere.
Here's the case:
Cycling Author’s Case Moves Forward
NEW YORK, NY (BRAIN)—A U.S. district judge ruled on Tuesday that a copyright infringement lawsuit between Cycle Publishing owner Robert Van Der Plas and cycling author Julie Harrell will proceed to a pretrial conference.
Van Der Plas’ attorney had filed a motion to dismiss the case or transfer the case from New York to the Northern District of California. The judge rejected that motion on Tuesday and set a hearing on April 24 to discuss a case management schedule and settlement.
The case was filed last September by Julie Harrell, who claimed Van Der Plas republished and sold an unauthorized copy of Harrell’s book “A Woman’s Guide to Bikes and Biking” over the Internet and in bookstores in the U.S. and internationally.
According to the complaint, Cycle Publishing obtained the rights to publish the book in 1999, but in 2006 relinquished all rights except for the limited right to sell and keep in stock the current version of the book.
In 2008, Harrell allegedly discovered that Cycle Publishing had created and published a revised edition of the book containing new photographs, captions and text, and began selling it through its website, as well as Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.
The selling price was marked up and the quality poor, the lawsuit said.
Van Der Plas countered that 30 percent of the book was his work including maintenance instructions, table of contents, bibliography, captions, bike cleaning, disclaimer and several photographs.
He also argued that the case should be moved to California, where his business is located, as there is no connection to New York.
Harrell is asking Cycle Publishing return all originals and copies of the book, recall all copies of the revised edition from bookstores and pay Harrell for all profits from sales of the book.
—Nicole Formosa
There's more:
Author Wins Attorneys’ Fees in Case
NEW YORK, NY (BRAIN)—A New York judge has awarded cycling author Julie Harrell more than $65,000 in attorneys' fees stemming from a copyright lawsuit she won earlier this year against Cycle Publishing.
On Tuesday, Robert Van der Plas and his company Cycle Publishing were ordered to pay Harrell $65,314 in attorneys’ fees—taking into account a reduction of 15 percent for elementary or clerical tasks—and $624.97 in litigation costs.
Last June, the judge ruled in Harrell’s favor awarding her $7,500 and directing Van der Plas to turn over the remaining copies of the book in question “A Women’s Guide to Bikes and Biking” to Harrell.
Harell said the outcome of the case, and Tuesday’s ruling for attorneys’ fees, was the “best case scenario.”
“I write for a living and I need my name to be clear,” Harrell said.
Harrell sued Van der Plas and Cycle Publishing in September 2008 for reprinting an unauthorized copy of “A Women’s Guide to Bikes and Biking” and selling it online and in bookstores in the U.S. and internationally.
Cycling Publishing originally obtained rights to publish the book in 1999, but in 2006, relinquished all but the limited right to sell and keep in stock current versions of the book.
In 2008, Harrell discovered that Cycle Publishing was selling a lower quality version of the book without her permission. She sued after Van der Plas refused to stop selling the book, Harrell said.
Although Harrell won the case, she said the book remains available online because Van der Plas sold a large order to the distributor Ingram before the judge’s ruling.
“It’s sad. I would like to say to everyone: Do not buy the current book on Amazon. It has crappy text; it’s not the original, which was fairly well done. The 2008 version is not worth buying,” she said.
Van der Plas’ attorney did not return a phone call Wednesday seeking comment on the case.
—Nicole Formosa
Here's the case:
Cycling Author’s Case Moves Forward
NEW YORK, NY (BRAIN)—A U.S. district judge ruled on Tuesday that a copyright infringement lawsuit between Cycle Publishing owner Robert Van Der Plas and cycling author Julie Harrell will proceed to a pretrial conference.
Van Der Plas’ attorney had filed a motion to dismiss the case or transfer the case from New York to the Northern District of California. The judge rejected that motion on Tuesday and set a hearing on April 24 to discuss a case management schedule and settlement.
The case was filed last September by Julie Harrell, who claimed Van Der Plas republished and sold an unauthorized copy of Harrell’s book “A Woman’s Guide to Bikes and Biking” over the Internet and in bookstores in the U.S. and internationally.
According to the complaint, Cycle Publishing obtained the rights to publish the book in 1999, but in 2006 relinquished all rights except for the limited right to sell and keep in stock the current version of the book.
In 2008, Harrell allegedly discovered that Cycle Publishing had created and published a revised edition of the book containing new photographs, captions and text, and began selling it through its website, as well as Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.
The selling price was marked up and the quality poor, the lawsuit said.
Van Der Plas countered that 30 percent of the book was his work including maintenance instructions, table of contents, bibliography, captions, bike cleaning, disclaimer and several photographs.
He also argued that the case should be moved to California, where his business is located, as there is no connection to New York.
Harrell is asking Cycle Publishing return all originals and copies of the book, recall all copies of the revised edition from bookstores and pay Harrell for all profits from sales of the book.
—Nicole Formosa
There's more:
Author Wins Attorneys’ Fees in Case
NEW YORK, NY (BRAIN)—A New York judge has awarded cycling author Julie Harrell more than $65,000 in attorneys' fees stemming from a copyright lawsuit she won earlier this year against Cycle Publishing.
On Tuesday, Robert Van der Plas and his company Cycle Publishing were ordered to pay Harrell $65,314 in attorneys’ fees—taking into account a reduction of 15 percent for elementary or clerical tasks—and $624.97 in litigation costs.
Last June, the judge ruled in Harrell’s favor awarding her $7,500 and directing Van der Plas to turn over the remaining copies of the book in question “A Women’s Guide to Bikes and Biking” to Harrell.
Harell said the outcome of the case, and Tuesday’s ruling for attorneys’ fees, was the “best case scenario.”
“I write for a living and I need my name to be clear,” Harrell said.
Harrell sued Van der Plas and Cycle Publishing in September 2008 for reprinting an unauthorized copy of “A Women’s Guide to Bikes and Biking” and selling it online and in bookstores in the U.S. and internationally.
Cycling Publishing originally obtained rights to publish the book in 1999, but in 2006, relinquished all but the limited right to sell and keep in stock current versions of the book.
In 2008, Harrell discovered that Cycle Publishing was selling a lower quality version of the book without her permission. She sued after Van der Plas refused to stop selling the book, Harrell said.
Although Harrell won the case, she said the book remains available online because Van der Plas sold a large order to the distributor Ingram before the judge’s ruling.
“It’s sad. I would like to say to everyone: Do not buy the current book on Amazon. It has crappy text; it’s not the original, which was fairly well done. The 2008 version is not worth buying,” she said.
Van der Plas’ attorney did not return a phone call Wednesday seeking comment on the case.
—Nicole Formosa
Monday, April 26, 2010
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