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<title>Fragments of Kodachrome:  &amp;quot;The Greens of Summer&amp;quot; - environment</title>
<description>A Palimpsest of a Creative Life:  knitting, art, reading, writing, running, gardening, design, sewing, birding...</description>
<link>http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/environment/</link>
<lastBuildDate>Mon, 24 Jul 2006 19:23:58 -0500</lastBuildDate>
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<guid isPermaLink="true">http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/archive/2006/05/23/rage-gratitude-walking-the-fine-line.html</guid>
<title>Rage/Gratitude:  Walking the Fine Line~</title>
<link>http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/archive/2006/05/23/rage-gratitude-walking-the-fine-line.html</link>
<author>noreply@blogspirit.com (Kodachrome Fragments)</author>
<category>Environment</category>
<category>Musings</category>
<category>Poetry</category>
<category>Reading</category>
<pubDate>Tue, 23 May 2006 15:55:00 -0500</pubDate>
<description>
&lt;strong&gt;~Alternative Post Title: &quot;Jesus Was A Pedestrian TOO!&quot;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a walker.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since living in Paris, France for a year when I was eighteen, where I walked daily for hours on end, I have been a walker.  A year later, as an undergraduate, I walked from my first-ever apartment (!) *every single day*, even during many really nasty Canadian-Prairie winter storms, to university.  The walk was a 45-minute one, over a frozen lake, almost literally in the middle of the prairie (to look to the left would be to see a grain farm...).  Most days, I loved it.  I would arrive at campus in the early morning (MacroEconomics at 8:00 am!).  I would hustle to my locker where I could quickly ditch my snow suit and my big-ass black Sorel Boots--you know the ones:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/images/medium_snow_boots.jpg&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/images/medium_snow_boots.2.jpg&quot; alt=&quot;medium_snow_boots.jpg&quot; style=&quot;border-width: 0; margin: 0.7em 0;&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(That's right: big-ASS^ boots.  Not those &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.womens-fashion-boots-shoes.com/discount-uggs.htm&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;embarrassing pink UGG boots &lt;/a&gt;that female college students in Texas (in Texas!?!) break out of their closets when it drops to 34 degrees Farenheit so they can pair them with a cute-ass^ skirt, thereby making their anorexic, orange-tanned legs look even more anorexic and freakish.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh right: gratitude was to be part of this post--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A good decade later, I continue to find myself walking everyday, still to a campus.  This time it's the heat that I must battle as I make my way.  But this time, it's just a 15-minute walk.  I love this time of day: it's the time to gather myself, collect my thoughts, watch the daily bird activity and smirk at the crazy-ass squirrels running about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in the new place of which I have recently become an inhabitant, it's also become the time for me to rage.  Specifically what I want to yell out daily is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;JESUS TOO WAS A PEDESTRIAN!!&quot;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In fact, I'm about ready to carry an immense placard with this written on it.  You see, where I'm living now--the American Southwest*--the vehicle (the monster truck or the immense SUV*) reigns supreme and pedestrians are of the lowest order.  So each day, as I begin to make my peaceful journey to work, I inevitably find myself at some point nearly run down by said truck or SUV.  (Often, I must look something like the character of Fin from &lt;em&gt;The Station Agent &lt;/em&gt;, diving into the bushes to escape near-death from an SUV.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the thing that really gets me (besides the conspicuous consumption and out-right waste of these nasty entities) is that, as the vehicle roars by, kicking dust* up in my face, I notice this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/images/medium_jesus_fish.jpg&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/images/medium_jesus_fish.2.jpg&quot; alt=&quot;medium_jesus_fish.jpg&quot; style=&quot;border-width: 0; margin: 0.7em 0;&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I have nothing against one's right to bear one's religious identity on one's monster-machine* (that is killing mother-earth daily); but, if for no other reason than the plain fact that *JESUS WALKED THIS EARTH TOO*, would you, dear polluting-machine-driving-Christian, please mind not trying to run me off the road each day???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rage/Gratitude: it's walking a fine line each day here.  To reestablish myself today, once sitting down to work, I read some poetry by Robert Sullivan, an Aboriginal writer.  I'll share some with y'all* now, just in case today, you've had to suffer the same fate as I: &lt;img src=&quot;http://kodachrome.blogspirit.com/images/medium_robert_sullivan.3.2.jpg&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; style=&quot;border-width: 0; float: right; margin: 0.2em 0 1.4em 0.7em;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I touch your cloak of cedars here       &lt;br /&gt;stroke your face and body&lt;br /&gt;press feet onto your belly&lt;br /&gt;[...]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earth is still mother here still cools my feet amid wild flowers&lt;br /&gt;heels pressing boardwalk into beaver territory, kilometres of path&lt;br /&gt;                                     for heels to drum&lt;br /&gt;and trees singing green tongued choruses&lt;br /&gt;licking air licking birds licking the singing molecules of creation&lt;br /&gt;[...]&lt;br /&gt;we are earth people with an eye to sky [...]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to sounds of leaves&lt;br /&gt;whose roots draw sound&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;round throats that orbit&lt;br /&gt;green tongues recycled in the ground&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rondo. Rondo earth. Rondo.&lt;br /&gt;Listen. Rhythm. Listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can be a [place]&lt;br /&gt;for ceremonies.&lt;br /&gt;                      -- Robert Sullivan (in &lt;em&gt;Towards a Transcultural Future: Literature and Human Rights&lt;/em&gt;, 223-24)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;EDIT after posting:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*OKAY, it must be sooooo obvious: Texas, to be exact.&lt;br /&gt;^How many times can one use ASS as a descriptor?  I must get my thesaurus down next time--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**&lt;strong&gt;FINAL EDIT&lt;/strong&gt;**:  Many photos were taken this morning of &lt;strong&gt;ORANGINA's progress &lt;/strong&gt;and my participation in &lt;strong&gt;PROJECT SPECTRUM&lt;/strong&gt;; my partner is uploading them this afternoon and so, &lt;strong&gt;FOR SURE, there will be KNITTING CONTENT on this blog either tonight or tomorrow morning&lt;/strong&gt;.  Again, promises...promises...
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