Taking The Plunge

We were a colorful group that morning, the five of us; Chris, with her cat glasses and multiple facial piercings; Elijah (aka Lije), looking like the long red haired six foot elf that he is; my new friends - Katie and Rennick, family members of the Smiling Iguana Cafe; and me, you know me... a tattooed, spiky haired dyke who apparently lives under the bookstore counter at Herland. We were off to Skydive Hollister for Chris birthday, a fifteen thousand foot jump with 70 seconds of free fall at 120 miles per hour... It was a good day to die.


Chris, Elijah, Katie and I signed up for tandem jumps while Rennick was going to perform his first solo flight. The training for the four of us was simple: first we watched a half hour video on how & why we had to waive our rights away, as this was still considered an “experimental way” to go parachuting despite tens of thousands of successful jumps over the decade. Second we signed a ten page form to show we understood the risks, and we wouldn’t sue these nice people who make a living by jumping out of air crafts. Then we had to actually write out the sentence “I understand I could be seriously injured or die” and sign it. Lastly, I handed over my credit card (taking charge of my life) and everything became very surreal...

We watched a video made only half an hour before with the guy who had just performed his first jump. His enthusiasm was contagious, and we clustered around the monitor with as nervous excitement. In tandem jumping you are actually buckled to your flight instructor, who wears the chute, pulls the rip cord, and does the landing. Our instructions were simple: Start with your arms crossed and once you are clear of the plane, arch your back, spread your arms, and it’s “1,2,3... kick your own butt!” This puts your legs up between the instructors, who can actually grab you & move you if need be. After 70 seconds of free fall, the instructor opens the chute, and you have about a ten minute glide to the jump, where a van shuttles you back to the airport.

Tension was building and we were cracking jokes at a furious pace, the energy beginning to sparkle. To our dismay, we were not all going to jump together, as was originally planned (apparently the rubber band in the big airplane had snapped). Instead we split up into teams and went to get our gear. I pulled on my black and turquoise flight suit and buckled on my harness, feeling like Devo goes butch. Meanwhile Elijah had brought along his favorite fuzzy friend, Ducky, who was lovingly tucked into his flight suit, with just the head sticking out. We were introduced to our flight masters: Elijah was teamed up with Mike, a white haired grinning lunatic, who was talking a mile a minute. I was teamed up with Doug, who was wearing a red flannel flight suit with little pictures of Mighty Mouse all over it, with blue flight pants spangled with big white stars. I loved Doug in that moment.
 
Mike explained that because you are so high, you no longer have a fear of heights or of falling. It’s not the thrill of the roller coaster, with the ground rushing up at you. Skydiving is the experience of great velocity, a pure adrenaline rush. Doug said, “There are two things you need to do: First, trust me. I am the man who is going to save your life as you plummet to the earth at one hundred and twenty miles per hour. Second, take care of yourself - when you are falling that fast, your body can’t even comprehend what is happening, except it feels like deep, deep sea diving. So some people forget to breathe. Simply breathe. And your ears will clog, and if you don’t unclog them, it will really hurt when you reach the ground, so remember to clear your ears. Other than that, it’s 1,2,3, kick your own butt.”

We walked out to our plane, a small Cessna I think, and began swapping stories. Doug asked me why I was jumping. Good question. I am recently divorced, and my ex-partner and I used to compare our relationship to the metaphor of jumping into the abyss, blind. We use this metaphor each time we took new risks in our relationship. The last time we jumped into the void of uncertainty, my love flew away and I was smashed on the rocks below; my spirit flayed worse than Hypatia - I had taken the leap of faith and lost everything, had felt destroyed. Broken hearted, I began to rebuild my life, beginning with a shift in paradigm: This time, I was jumping into the clear blue sky, my eyes wide open, with a fucking parachute on. I was ready to kick my own butt.
 
We packed into the small plane tuna fish style: Doug and I tucked in the back with Lije and Mike crammed into the front, ready to go first. The batteries in the plane were dead, just to add to the tension, but after some coaxing our trusty pilot lifted us up into the air. We circled over Hollister, and I watched everything shrink before my eyes, like looking down on that toy train set from when I was eight years old. I felt in a state of complete disbelief, the anticipation building in my chest and belly, as I looked at the tiny blue dots of swimming pools, the scurrying of cars.

Doug asked, “What are you thinking?” And being the good lesbian witch from Santa Cruz, of course I tell him about my last tarot reading, and pulling Obatala, whose message is, “just lean on my shoulder and I will take care of you.” I thought of my father, who came and planted roses with me during my healing time. I thought of my mother, whose stomach would turn if she could see me now.


Ok, tensions mounting, we’ve gained altitude, we start strapping this and buckling that, adjusting this, adjusting that, put on our goggles, the door is up, the noise is HUGE. Mike and Lije are in position, they are counting, counting, but Lije is NOT ready! I see Lije’s knuckles fiercely white against the door frame, while Mike is trying to pry them loose. The pilot is punching him in the arm yelling, “You can’t miss the jump! You can’t miss the jump!” And an instant later, they’re gone. Doug and I move into position, and I am basically sitting on his lap in front of the open door, the wind whipping past my face, my feet dangling in front of nothing, the ground far, far below. It was a moment suspended, of complete surrender, there was no turning back. Doug said again, “What are you thinking?” And I said, “On the ground you told me to do two things. Trust You and Take Care of MySelf. That is how I will do every one of my relationships from now on!” He said, “One, Two, Three...”

There is no way to describe the tumbling rush as I flipped and turned, the earth above me, the sky below. I was a ball of confusion hurtling through space, and then I spread my wings. I arched my back and felt my arms grow wide enough to embrace the whole world. My eyes were wide open, my heart was eide open, my mouth was wide open — I could breathe, in fact I was breathing deep lung fulls, my blood pounding, the wind singing in my ears.
 
I heard a little voice at the back of my head, “Isn’t this better than sex?!” It’s Doug! Doug yelling over the deafening roar. I had completely forgotten about Doug, the chute, the plane, Lije, any letting go rituals I had intended to perform. I had let go of it all. I had let go. It was an ecstatic moment. I was touching god. I was Alive...

I heard the little voice say, “I’m going to release the chute now!” and with a gentle tug I was launched into serenity. The chute pulled me up, up and I realized that funny noise was me laughing, laughing hysterically, laughing louder than I ever have before. I am flying, I am gliding, I am completely free. I can see the ocean, I can see the tips of the Sierra’s peeking through the fog, I can see Santa Cruz. I can see the little houses getting bigger. I can see Lije floating below me in a slow spiral towards the jump strip. Everything is extremely peaceful, and we can talk in conversational tones. I am enthralled. Doug moves the controls into my view and I can slip my hands in. Now I can swoop and dip, plunge and dive. I feel a tumbling buoyancy and an overall giddiness as I soar through the air. Too soon, it is over.

Landing was no more than keeping my legs raised until Doug touched down, then taking a few steps forward. We clicked out of the harnesses, then Lije and I were hugging everyone, jumping up and down, in the middle of a great open field. We said goodbye to Doug and Mike, who shuttled back to the airport with our chutes, while we waited for the rest of our tribe to make their jumps. Lije and I watched the full moon rise, as our friends floated in, the hills a pale yellow in that perfect moment when night is falling. We had found a random roll of bright orange tape, the kind used to mark off construction sites, and our exuberance burst forth as we decorated ourselves with headbands and wristlets, ribbons and badges to mark today’s initiation, our passage as warriors who jump out of the sky. We were a colorful group, fierce and proud. We had been prepared to die today, and instead we found ourselves wonderfully, incredibly Alive. we had seized the moment, we had lived with intention, we had kicked our own butts.

(First published in La Gazette, Santa Cruz, September 1997)

8:08

Make a wish!

It's 8:08 on 08/08/08!

Deathaversaries

Today is one of my deathaversaries. Do you have those? They're not anniversaries, where you celebrate another year accomplished. Instead, they're the days where you say, "We would have been together x amount of years today..."

Deathaversaries note of course physical deaths, but also the more intangibles - buy outs, divorces, disappointments. I was always aware that my wedding day was on Hiroshima day, and we dedicated the day to peace by affirming our small act of love in the face of such huge destruction. Later, we broke up on Hong Kong's Independence day - I always thought of it as a time where I too, would no longer feel colonized.

What is my petty problems compared to the bombings of Nagasaki & Hiroshima? I sit and fold a peace crane, creasing the floral paper carefully, concentrating on aligning corners and creating sharp edges. I know in this moment I am doing the best I can, and my only prayer today is, "Let peace begin with me."

It's in Your Hands

In these hands be ceaseless action

Bringing me wealth & satisfaction
-Asterius

Today I received a hand analysis by life coach Denise Diani-Friedman. As an astrologer, it was trippy to me how much it corresponded to not just my natal chart, but my current transits. Quite simply, I am in my Uranus opposition, otherwise known as the mid life crisis. And I have been crying, "Isis! Isis! Queen Mother of all Nurtures, hear my cries!"

I am questioning everything, and feeling tested on all sides. I feel in a fog, and again in the simplest terms lost. "Well, K," I say to my self, since it's only me here anyway, "Get a map. Get a guide. Set your intentions. Find your stride."
Much like any tarot reading, or astrology reading for that matter, Denise didn't tell me anything new - she just affirmed what I already know, but it was so good to hear it from another perspective, another view point. She had a great tree chart, complete with life lesson, life purpose, and transformational path. It was really interesting, and I highly recommend her services.

I discovered I have a peacock in my moon and a star in my Neptune. But what was most interesting to me, was on one hand (literally), out in the world, I am Big Heart - "Let me be the one to care for you", whether I am the master or the student, well, let's just say it fluctuates between nurturer & burn out from giving too much. Life lesson, you know...

On the other hand, in my inner world, I am the Hermit (Heroic/Stoic), summarized by "The commitment/freedom conflict; may put off making a decision because s/he doesn't want to lose freedom of choice and knows when a commitment is made, it will be kept." Sound familiar to anyone else?

So what am I right doing now? Bringing my hands together in prayer, mapping my future & charting my destiny. I know my happiness is in my own two hands.

.

My daughter just got her first period!

Wow!

I remember Nikki Mardigras was the first girl in the sixth grade to get hers, and my first thought was, "Wow, now she could get pregnant." I would watch her from across the room in some unknown terror, as if just thinking about it could somehow knock her up.

I remember mine - not pretty. I had just moved back to America in January of Ninth grade, when I was 15. I bled so hard I left a puddle on the chair in French class. I remember the metallic smell. I had never been so embarrassed in my life. I had the worst cramps, to the point of being prescribed codeine, which I discovered I'm allergic to. Barfing & cramping is not a winning combination.

So now my daughter gets hers, and I think, "Wow, I could be a Grandmother!"

Fresh start

At 7:30 this morning, I walked in to Coffeetopia for my daily cup o' joe. When I got to the counter, the big urn had just run out. "Just a minute" said my favorite barrista, deftly popping on a fresh batch in it's stainless steel container on the hot plate.
I meandered over to the condiments bar - this time the half & half was out. "Wow. Looks like my day to run out." I thought to myself. Immediately I caught my own negative thinking - what a way to sabotage my whole day, starting this early in the morning!

I plopped the pitcher on the counter and smiled over at the staff for a refill. I waited as he pulled the chilled creamer from the fridge. I said, "Looks like my day for a fresh start!"

Remember, don't accept the dregs of life - wait for the freshness instead!

Skunk Medicine

Last night I went downstairs to get a glass of wine after finishing my presentation for this evening. There, on the deck, calmly eating the cat food, was a big black and white skunk. "Hmm," I thought to myself, "In the Medicine Cards, skunk represents attract what you need in order to grow."

My littlest kitten ran out, sniffed noses with my new friend, and promptly was greeted with a ripe behind, tail a twitching. While she didn't get sprayed, the smell has been lingering over the back deck.

I breathe deep, imagining PePe le Pew in all of his romantic conquests, wondering what will happen next...

Beautiful Ugly Advice

Fire on the Mountain

BONNY DOON - The Martin Fire, which erupted not far from the Bonny Doon Fire Station just before 3 p.m. Wednesday, had consumed about 700 acres late Wednesday and is expected to grow to 1,500 acres before it's controlled, Cal Fire officials said. -Santa Cruz Sentinel

Driving home from work yesterday along route one, I noticed the plume of orangy grey clouds in the sky. "Hmm, fog doesn't usually come from the mountains" I thought, "Looks almost like a fire." By the time I reached the intersection with route 9, traffic had stopped to let firetrucks through. I was amazed not to smell any smoke, as we could after the Corralitos fire three weeks ago.

Arriving home I went online to find the story and google map the situation, feeling a rising panic in my chest. My house mate returned home early from her job at UCSC, and we started making evacuation plans. I went and looked at my earthquake kit, and we laughed as I pulled out the world's tiniest fire extinguisher, "We're safe now!"

I walked around the house in a slight daze, wondering what to pack. The cat carriers came down first, a quick travel bag of my essential medications, rustled through all my secret money magic stashes for cash, backed up both computers, and stuffed my briefcase with important papers, ie house insurance!

I had planned on going roller skating, but when my friend called I was too freaked out and canceled. I kept going from room to room watching the smoke in the sky, then sitting at the laptop trying to figure out how fast was it really spreading. I felt sick and shaken to the core, pacing back & forth to the bathroom until I finally threw up.

"Get grip, KayKay, take a chill pill" the voice in my head told me, so I called my friend back to at least have some distraction. We ended up walking to Natural Bridges and back, using up all of my nervous energy. The wind had died down considerably after the sunset, and I began to feel more grounded.

I went to bed late, getting up several times in the night to look out the window & check the internet. At dawn, I could see the cloud of smoke just sitting on the mountain, but could find no updates.

After the Corralitos fire I wrote a prayer for all the bugs & wildlife that died, but I couldn't find it this morning for my blog, so here I am just rambling on instead. It's now 7:13 and I can hear fire engines and dogs barking, not a winning combination for early morning tranquility.

Pray for the bugs, my friends, and all the displaced beings, human & otherwise, who lost their homes in the wildfires this summer.

Blessed be.

Happy Gay Pride Month!

Come out, Come out, whoever you are!

Pantry Hose

Once when my daughter was eight, she comes home and says she has just made up a joke:

A man is walking down the street, and he sees another a man who is wearing panty-hose. The panty hose is stuffed full of food. The man asks, “Excuse me sir, but why do you have food inside your panty hose?” The man looks at him, and says, “Because they’re not panty hose, they’re pantry-hose.”

Gives new meaning to fruit of the loom!

National TSP Day

I came back from my morning walk to find Amber just arousing from bed. "What's up, hon?" I asked, kicking off my shoes & plopping on the couch.

"Not much," she said, "Just texting Jill. She wanted to know why there was no school today, so I wrote: Dunno - must be Teacher Suicide Prevention Day."

The kid cracks me up.

Truly Obscene

Gas hit $4.01 here yesterday!

Being in the moment

It is a sunny Friday morning, sitting at the Windmill Coffee spot, spoiling myself with a hot, buttery croissant and a fatty mug of creamy mocha over my usual frugal breakfast of a small coffee. This week the theme seemed to be “enjoy the moment” - I laugh, because as I was driving Amber to school I kept thinking about being in this cafe blogging, instead of enjoying our car moment together. When my goodies arrived, I wanted to start blogging - “I’m doing this right now”- but was I? I pushed the laptop away, took the time to dip each buttery morsel into the chocolate tinged whipped cream, and contemplated the particular burgundy the walls are painted, the sound of reggae from the kitchen, the quality of the early springtime light out on the dappled deck.

How do we enjoy the moment, stay in the moment? What the hell is “the moment”? This second/minute/hour that I write? Or is it the second/minute/hour that you read this?

I can see a black raven, then it is gone. I have a moment when I question myself - did that really happen? - my mind filters the importance of this fact or fiction, the meaning of a real bird, the personal symbolism I attach to ravens and I chuckle - raven says, don’t over analyze.

The sooner I fall behind
The more time I have to catch up

I was sick with the stomach flu for five days last week. I feel like I lost a chunk of my life, and that I’m playing the “catch up” game. I have to say, I love my lists. Lists help me me efficient & organized, and end up with huge chunks of time doing absolutely nothing. The ability to create a list that allows one to continuously re-prioritize without having projects fall through the cracks is one of the greatest tools I think I have at times. I have a “List of Lists” file is my computer that includes my daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly lists; spreadsheets of schedules for both Amber & myself; Long term goals and vision statements; house rules; and various business plans.

The Tao of Homecaring
Time to dust again
Time to caress my (space)
to stroke all its surfaces

I want to think of it as a kind of lovemaking
...the chance to appreciate by touch
What I live with and cherish.
—Gunilla Norris

Wednesday I spent the day doing chores: trash and recycling, dishes & laundry, cleaned the bathrooms & kitchen, vacuumed out the furnace and went for a gorgeous walk to buy a new filter. It was one of those “being in the moment” moments, or as Dr. Z would say, “being in the puddle of my miracle”. I was so deeply in love in that moment - I was loving Santa Cruz, the color of the flowers in the field by the railroad tracks, the sound of distant traffic on Mission street, the fact that there still was a local hardware store. All day I floated around, loving my house, loving my body, getting things done in a joyous way so I never felt like I worked my chores, just played house instead.

Little bird, little robin
Help me build my nest
Little bird, little robin,
show me your breast
Little bird, little robin
Help me build my nest
Little bird, little robin
You bring out my best

Coyote came a knockin,
Seven years ago
Coyote came a knockin’
Seven times now
Coyote came a knockin,
Seven years ago
Coyote came a knockin’
Seven times now

Little bird, little robin...
(kgr 2005)

In true Santa Cruz fashion, it is now raining. I have that moment of wondering who am I writing for, who is my audience. Do I write for myself, simply spewing out my thoughts in pixels instead of my old journal as part of my own introspection? Do I write for you, the disembodied other, who seems a million miles away and perhaps as fictitious as the raven. Do I write for an imaginary audience of adoring blog fans, who somehow derive comfort or insight from my ramblings, from the quotes of inspiration that have lit my own way so far.

It has been an interesting medium, the blog, as it spirals out like some sort of endless ticker tape, seemingly linear in form. Yet with links, comments, replies.... the ticker tape begins to widen and weave, split from itself and return, more mobius strip or endless double helix folding back on itself . Then there are postings of things I wrote, in the past or music lyrics in particular , how they seem to reflect my current situation.

Language is a virus
Transmitted orally...
-Laurie Anderson

This moment, this right now, this cafe, this is all so reminiscent to my being in my twenties, staying in Berlkeley for a couple of weeks with my best friend Ilana, between jobs, between houses, between lovers. How I relished that between time, spending my mornings browsing the used bookstore for fiction by African American women authors; spending the afternoon in one of the cafes, nursing my latte as I read an entire novel, or scribbled fragments of poetry in my journal, agonizing over all that a twenty year old agonizes over.

Osho writes that we experience bliss in the moments of transcendence, whether during sex or meditation. Our suffering comes from wanting that feeling to last forever...

On Monday we sat at the end of the wharf, watching the sunset, and I knew I was so deeply in love with you, with the moment, with the seals, with the teenagers hanging out at the corner, with my tears because I knew it was not going to last. When I’m with you each moment is so bittersweet, because I want to enjoy every last savory bit of bliss, but the longing to have it last forever overshadows me at times. I thought of every sunset I had watched with every lover, and felt so incredibly blessed to have been so loved in my lifetime, by so many people. And the truth is I much as I wanted each one to last forever, in that moment I could feel how the love is what is eternal, no matter what the form, no matter who I am with, as long as I enjoy the moment for exactly what it is: a moment.

Life can make you bitter,
Life can turn you cold
It seems I’ve spent most of my own
Just trying to crack the code
But if I die tomorrow
May the last words that I know
Be praises,
Praises for the world...
-Jennifer Berezan

Spinning Plates

Mercury seemed to go direct with a bang last week. In Aquarius, so traveling through my seventh house of relationships, and I ask myself, what have I learned and how do I apply what I have learned, as certainly I am feeling tested now.

My 24 year old house mate had a medicinal abortion last weekend. We blessed the pills before she swallowed the tabs, praying for an easy passage and a swift return to health. The day was spent monitoring her bleeding, cramps and nausea. We went for second vaginal ultrasound yesterday, getting the proverbial all clear.

My 32 year old soul sister showed up unexpectedly at the same time, in crisis over her deep urge to have a baby and her partner’s current ambivalence. We drove up and down the cliffs while she sobbed her heart out; I spoke my truths, advocated for her partner and in particular for his child, listened & offered sisterly advice. While some discussion has since ensued between them, it has been a long week of un satisfying phone conversations, and they still have much work ahead of them.

My kid is sick with a stomach bug, and I worry at the dark circles under her eyes. I always wonder what is really going on in her heart and mind. My therapist says she’s too busy growing up right now to process the crisis of the last year, and that later, in her twenties she’ll look back at this time. Sigh. Five more bucks in therapy jar.

I find myself in my usual pattern of running away to work, where I find solace in keeping the post it notes in order, archiving files, and creating more efficient lists. It’s nice to have an area where I feel in control, even if it’s just sorting the tacks from the paper clips. Chaos to order. Chaos to order.

I’m not completely compulsive-obsessive, and actually have been productive in my workaholic binge, mailing out fliers, updating records, doing my taxes, clearing my desk, making way for prosperity. In reviewing my past relationships I have come across a ton of old Herland material, which I’ll continue posting on the herlandbabes blog.

I was diagnosis with depression at fifteen—which runs in my family—a label I try hard not live up to. At this point I feel I have narrowed it down to feeling S.A.D - Seasonal Affective Disorder - and instead of 365 days of the year, I get depressed for 28, 29 on leap years. Yes, I am talking about February. Everyone who really knows me knows that I have a terrible time in February, and do everything I can to wait out the storm.

St. John’s Wort, allowing myself tons of sleep (12-14 hours) and living in sunny California have literally saved me from suicide or prozac. Meditating, masturbating, eating whatever I want to and when I want to, blogging, and processing my feelings with my close friends have all been beneficial to my mental well being. I have been doing acupuncture weekly to combat my left over bronchitis; chiropractic and  massage on a monthly maintenance schedule (Amber too); and quite simply, both self hypnoisis and reiki have changed my world.

And while this has easily been one of my best years ever, I can’t wait for this day to be over. Understand, in Santa Cruz, March 1 means Spring. Which, in California means Summer. Sure, it will rain some more and be blustery here and there, but it will be lighter later in the evenings, the buds will be blooming, and hot days will start outnumber the cold. I’ll want to exercise my body again, work in the garden, be social, and generally emerge from hibernating in my cave. And for next eleven months I’ll be in paradise, with another February behind me for a whole year.

Blessed Be.

Today's random piece of advice

Never sleep with anyone
crazier
than yourself

From the mouths of babes...

I asked my daughter if she thought that in the future, people would get little microchip implants that would transmit your thoughts directly into somebody else's head.

"Nah," she drawled, "People love the sound of their own voice too much!"

Yes, I do need another hole in my head...

I first got my earlobes pierced in 5th grade, when I was living in Luxembourg, of all places. It was 1976, punk was just blooming, mohawks were sprouting, and "splitting a pair" became the new bonding ritual.

By the time I started boarding school in England in the 7th grade, I already had five holes. I moved to America in 9th grade, when my brother got a hold of a piercing gun, and suddenly I had seven.

I pierced my nose (by myself, which I do not recommend) my second day in California, at the ripe age of twenty. Much later, when I owned my bookstore, we provided ear piercing services. Each new employee would need training, and I always had space, so over time I had a few more.

On my daughter's tenth birthday, after a treasure hunt filled with delicious clues & discovered jewels, I pierced both her ears & she pierced one of mine. Mother-daughter bonding at it's best, at least until we get matching tattoos.

Once I put a syringe needle all the way through my finger while giving my boyfriend his testosterone shot. I thought it would make an interesting piercing, albeit impractical.

I now have 12 in my left ear, 4 in the right, my nose pierced twice, and my labia once (that's another story). I let my nipple piercing close up after a year of never healing. I really do recommend going to a professional piercer who uses a needle over a piercing gun for anything other then your tender little lobes...

How many piercings do you have?

DAMN! I hate it when...

 My reality check
BOUNCES!

Been a little tied up lately...

I feel like I've been missing my blogdom. I was pretty gosh darn sick with the flu for quite awhile - but at least in my fevered state the desire for Brie & jello percolated in my frying brain cells and launched my blogging career on another site. Ask me about it over a beer sometime.

I have been busy creating a website for the office, as well as designing both a flyer for our lecture series and a brochure for our collective. Since I am a frustrated graphic designer at heart, many happy hours have been immersed in aligning texts, uploading photo's and scrutinizing punctuation marks. I look forward to mailing out my little creations, as I feel quite proud of my current office geek accomplishments.

Amber decided to make me a treasure hunt to cheer me up. She chose words as clues that led me around the house to discover a trove of antique buttons. Each room had it's own theme, but by far my favorite led right upstairs to my computer, with the single word: "Blog".

What are you doing to keep your spirits up?