Sunday, September 06, 2009

Family Update, Jungle Thinking

Well, Sunday night. Chepa and the babies just left, with Madeleina, 12 going on 40 and when did that happen?, in tow. Italo and Sarah, who's beginning to show with my grandbaby, left a little earlier to go Chepa's as well. Sarah has rented a large room at Chepa's house and outfitted it into a lovely nest. I'm a little sad about it because it means that Italo, even when back from school, spends most of his time there, and nearly all his nights. Heck, if they had their own apartment I'd be sad too. I mean I'm glad, but it gets lonely around here sometimes. Marco is still hanging out but he's had the door to his room closed since he was about 12, so it's not like he's great company most of the time. He just likes being alone, puttering around with electronics and such. Someday he'll probably come up with something fantastic, so I'm all for it, but again, the selfish part of me likes to see and hear and smell my kids around, not just see their laundry and dishes they've hidden for days and weeks.
On the animal count, we lost one of the dogs to a truck Friday. Kairy had somehow gotten out of the fenced in back yard and into the side yard, then got through that fence as well into the unfenced front yard. She was playing with Boots, the blind wonder dog when I went off to Chepa's to get Madeleina for school. By the time I got back, maybe 20 minutes, there she was, middle of the road, neck broken. Dumb dog. We tried to teach her, but she, like 10 or so others over the years, just never learned. The only ones who understood it were Spike--who simply walked off a couple of years ago while I was away in Peru--Spike's daughter Roxy, who'd been hit but survived and learned her lesson; and Boots, who had his hips broken, recovered and has stayed out of the road since.
Marco buried Kairy, and Boots has dug her up a couple of times already. So we'll rebury her and keep putting more clorox in there till he finally gives up.
The cats are doing well though, as are the birds and goats. And the chickens and ducks are doing great. Haven't lost one of those in nearly two weeks. I will say I had no idea how much they could eat: They're nearly through their second 50 pound bag of food, and lately we've been giving them a cantaloupe--it's not expensive here now--some bread and a pot of cooked rice most days. They went through a pot of rice that weighed about 7 pounds today in maybe 10 minutes. They're going to make nice eggs one of these days. I am surprised the hawks haven't gone after them: Maybe they're too big for hawks now or maybe the fence is not attractive to them. But I'm glad they have not.
So kids are good, animals are good--with a tip of the hat to Kairy--and I'm working my butt off. I could use some more tourists for January so that I can make a trip, but I'm figuring they might come along after Labor Day. If they don't, well, maybe it's time I do one of my explorations down there in the deep green of the Amazon. There are a few I've put off for lack of funds for years, but these days I'm feeling strong and feeling like if I've got to put a few grand of my own money into one of them, well, somehow I'll get it back. Maybe sell a story about it, maybe wind up with a grant for further exploration, who knows. But I've been feeling that sort of inner strength that let's you do things with confidence and I don't think one of those trips would be hard at all. It's been a while, so maybe it's time to push myself in that direction again, rather than wait for someone to back me. In truth, no one has ever backed me much. I always got nice letters from the American Museum of Natural History but the funds were always mine and the pieces I've got in their permanent collection of South American Ethnology were given freely. Shaman Pharmaceuticals backed me for part of the two trips I made for them but I always wound up spending a few thousand of my own on top of what I got. Same with the Fidia Research Institute of the University of Rome: They gave me money for the frog/frog sweat I brought out, but it was less than a dime on the dollar to what I spent. Trip to the pyramid shaped hills I want to do? Probably a minimum of $12,000 to actually be able to get enough scientific research out of it to interest people in more extensive expeditions. And that's more than my life savings. But I could probably do something for half of that, about $6,000, that might produce enough pot shards, earth and stone samples, pressed plants, gps readings and so forth to generate at least a little interest. So that's what I'm thinking about doing.
Sorry to have you all just reading my musing, but I needed someone to talk with and you're it right now.
Thanks for listening.
I will say that it feels good to be over, or nearly over, all the physical junk of the last few years. The ankle I broke in January still hurts sometimes; the flesh eating spiderbite still itches like mad occasionally; the stomach still cramps now and then in an uncontrollable way, but those things are pretty minor compared to how things were there for a while. So now might just be the exact right time to head out to the jungle for a deep exploration. Or in January if a trip with guests doesn't materialize. It'd be fun fun fun after all the physical difficulty. Ah, hell, it's just hiking, really. And probably just what I need to go do.

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Nice Saturday Morning

Well, it's about 2 pm, so morning is wrong, but it still feels like morning. Sun shining, not too hot, Italo home from school for the weekend, his girl Sarah here with him; Marco off and so Carly's here as well, and so are Madeleina, Sierra and Alexa. During the week it gets quiet sometimes during the school year, what with Italo gone, and hence Sarah not here; Marco at work and so Carly not here, the babies with Chepa and sometimes Madeleina too. Still find myself making dinner for 6 or 8 most nights, and then mornings like today, when they all show up, it's breakfast for all of them. Just nice. Frantic when Madeleina's coffee kicked in and she was buzzing around like a crazy lady for half an hour, and wild when the babies first arrived.
I think we'll head out to the lake later.
Just a wonderful sort of day. Stories I'm working on are coming along just right, I think, couple of people inquired about January's Amazon trip, I've got a great book called Play---How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination and Invigorates the Soul by Stuart Brown, MD.
So not much to report in terms of zaniness, just a beatiful morning here in Joshua.
Hope you're all having nice days too.
We'll get back to the real world later, eh?

Friday, September 04, 2009

Obama's School Talk Brouhaha

President Obama is going to be giving school kids across the country a talk next week via television. It’s going to be about staying in school, working hard and achieving your dreams. Sounds good and inspirational, right?
Not everybody is seeing it that way. An awful lot of wingnut radio and television personalities are calling it a politically motivated propaganda move. Some are calling it something out of the Third Reich. Blogs are ablaze with parents, particularly here in Texas, saying they’ll be keeping their children out of school that day, or writing petitions asking that schools not show the speech. Personally, I can’t imagine anything wrong with a sitting president giving a “strive and achieve your dreams” speech to kids when our dropout rate is so high. After all, other presidents have done it and nobody seems to have suffered for it.
But that’s not how an awful lot of people are seeing it with this president. And I’m thinking that those people who are going to keep their kids from school are probably people who cannot bear the thought that their kids are going to be inspired by a black president, by a true African-American. They probably cannot stomach the idea that their kids might come home from school and blurt out something like “I want to be just like Obama!”
Because he is going to inspire some kids to stay in school. And he is going to make them feel special by directing a speech at them.
And I hope my daughter is one of the inspired ones, though just this morning, in discussing the issue she said she hated Obama. I asked her why. “Because he’s going to tell us to work hard and I hate to work hard!”
At least she’s got a legit reason to not want to hear it.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

The Disgusting Truth: Toenails and Sebaceous Cysts

Okay, so if you had a wife/ex-wife--which means someone you married but didn't divorce after she had two kids with another guy because you didn't want to go to court and have to toss dirty laundry to get parental control of your kids--and she was short about $500 a month, what would her jobs be. I know. Sex would be great because I still think she's about the most beautiful woman/flower/anything I've ever seen, but that ain't gonna happen. Repaying the money would be great, but that ain't gonna happen. Ignoring her when her water is about to be turned off--not because boyfriend, who lives in another state, doesn't want to pay it, but he's already got alimony and child support and is doing the best he can but comes up short--is not an option because when I married her I promised for better or worse, and if this is worse, so what? I still promised to take care of her, regardless of circumstances. Add to that that her new babies, Sierra and Alexa, are my children's sisters, and you know I will come up with that water/electric/house payment money. Every month till I die. And I won't resent it.
Still, there has to be some sort of quid pro quo. Someone has to scratch your back a little if you keep being asked to scratch theirs.
So here is the disgusting truth. Chepa has a job or two she has to do now and then. And they're rotten jobs and she does them laughing out loud, almost. The first is to cut my toenails. Sounds like something I ought to do but after I got a wierd toenail infection in the Amazon years ago, the two big townails grow very very thick and I have never found anything I can cut them with from the "bending-over" angle. Worse, they've become ingrown, so if they're not cut about every month, I pretend I can walk and walk fast but I am in pain immensely.
Her second job is to clean a sebaceous cyst I've got on my back that I can feel with my hand but not clean out. Now that is a disgusting job. She does it with relish, sticking a knife straight into the thing right next to my spine that I can stand up and walk around with a steak knife (used only for this, not for eating) sticking out of my back, to the ever delightful glee of the kids, who run around screaming, "Mom, you stabbed dad in the back again! How could you?" and such, while at the same time screaming, "Get the air freshener! This stinks!"
And, of course it does. It's a fatty deposit that's rotting.
Now I don't know that I couldn't get those two jobs done once a month for less than the $500 she always needs, but then I have to get at least something in return for the work it takes to make that $500. And those jobs allow her to remind me how disgusting a human I am while delighting in doing them, her indigenous instincts coming to the fore as if she were burning off a live monkey's hair before cooking him or her.
Today, both jobs were done. I'm always clean, but today I'm super super clean and delicious. And Chepa got to stab me in the back and watch me scream as she took poisoned toenails out of my toes, leaving me bleeding. And Marco and Madeleina got to laugh for an hour at the disgusting and painful scene.
Funny how if you look at things just a bit wide-sided, you can enjoy the life and laughter they provide.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sapo and Italo

My son Italo is on all fours behind me. He's throwing up into a plastic bucket and has been for 5 or so minutes. He came in to my office a little while ago and asked me for some sapo, the Matses Indian medicine called frog sweat. I gave him four in the leg--it's administered subcutaneously after burning the epidermis with the flaming end of a jungle vine called tamishi--because he doesn't want visible scars, even small ones. Like all things from the jungle, and particluarly jungle medicines, it's harsh medicine.
Before he asked I'd started breakfast for Marco. So here is Italo puking pretty violently and feeling he's about to explode with the medicine while I'm cooking breakfast at the same time I'm watching him. Something sort of ridiculous in that, though it's something that could easily happen in the jungle since medicines are taken when needed, not when there is necessarily a lull in life.
It's a good medicine, the most bioactive substance found on the planet thus far and its use by the Matses, and my bringing it out to the Western world 25 years ago, has sparked a new avenue of pharmaceutical research into peptides from amphibian skins.
It will clean Italo out, and I don't just mean puking or pooping, I mean clean him out in every artery and clean out anything hidden in the kidneys or liver or pancreas, even fix his heart if it's suffering a little arrythmia--though the way he works out and how well he eats and the fact that he doesn't smoke or drink doesn't give him a lot to clean up. Still, it will make him stronger, make his vision clearer for a few days, make his hearing sharper, make him have extra oomph when he needs it for a few days: Just make him all around sharper.
Watching guests of mine in the jungle as they suffer the very very intense 15 acute minutes of medicinal action, I sometimes feel badly for them. Watching Italo go through it, or Marco last week, I almost want to die. I know it will help them, I know how good a medicine it is, but at the same time to see them so utterly utterly helpless and knowing that inside they're praying to their god to stop the feeling of their body being blown apart, of their heart beating like it will burst, of being so hot they think their brain will melt, well, that's the part that's difficult for me.
They probably feel the same when I ask them to administer it to me. It's just a harsh medicine.
The 15 minutes have now passed and Italo has gone to his room to rest and recuperate for a little while. In half-an-hour he'll feel brand new. I just heard Marco's dish being put into the kitchen sink. You feed all your children. You just feed them different things sometimes.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Long Time, Sorry for the Silence

Well, it's been a long time, more than two weeks, and I haven't visited with you. I'm sorry. I got stuck in a lot of work and while I had a lot to share I was just too darned tired. I still am, but what the heck.
Right after my last post sometime in mid-August, Chepa returned from Indiana and her boyfriend with my Madeleina and her Sierra and Alexa. I was in cat heaven, dancing for so much joy I burned meals, overbought foot to the point my fridge was too full and generally had a fantastic few early days with them.
But then, having painted the fence and cleaned the chicken coop, it was time to buy birds: Birds we bought: 6 ducks and 15 chickens. Two ducks and two chickens disappeared in the first four nights, so we needed to refence the coop. And add two feet to the top. But at the same time, I had a cover story for the FW Weekly due, a news feature for the Weekly due, my column due at Skunk magazine and I'd invited 50 people to a weekend at my house for jungle medicines and free food, 24 of whom promised to show.
Which meant I started looking at my house like they would, which meant I had to tear the house down and rebuild it into an acceptable manse or suffer the emotional crisis of not measuring up. Well, I scrubbed, cleaned, mowed, raked, went over the garage with a fine tooth comb. I enlisted Madeleina and Italo, couldn't budge Marco and had a week-long battle with him that was furious and not pretty over his refusal to help, even with his own dishes (settled amicably, somehow, after I gave up trying. He simply hates being told what to do and will only work when he initiates the process, unless he's being paid. I love him but it's frustrating in a family where people are not being paid to work).
Did not get to rebuild my house but did get it looking reasonable and then filled the fridge with an additional $400 in food that no one was going to eat because the jungle medicines need to be taken on empty stomachs. Then the guests arrived and we had a great time--two of them finished the chicken coup fence heightening for me, thank you a million times--and then I led ceremony. What the heck am I doing leading ceremony? I mean, I had the most experience but really, I'm such a rotten, flawed human being I should never lead a parade to the garbage dump, much less a sort of holy evening when people put their hearts/souls and physical bodies in my command. Nonetheless I did it and most people survived and thrived, by sheer luck.
But it was also the time to get Madeleina, recently returned from 10 weeks in Indiana with Chepa's amor, ready for school. And to get Italo off to college again for the soccer season. He's captain of the team this year and while he's away his girl, pregnant Sarah, is going to live at Chepa's. She's rented a room there and made a nice nest with furniture I could never afford. Very nice, but leaves a hole in this house and means Italo won't even be visiting on weekends much. Hmmm....that's not a hole, that's a freaking void.
And it also means that feeding the birds, dogs, cats, goats, ducks and chickens falls to me, even though I'm only the guy who accepted them being here, rather than the inspiration.
So I've been sort of crazy, trying to catch up with my life and have not been here. And if I had 3 hours I'd write 50 pages on the fantastic laughter and love and sadness--due to the deaths of friends--in the last couple of weeks.
But I won't cause I don't have the time. I've just come from the Fort Worth Zoo, which I'm going to use as the opener for a cover story for a business magazine that is due this Wednesday. I thought the contract read Sept 12, and just today discovered it read Sept 2. Yikes! That is cutting it damned short. Worse, it's about loving work, loving what you do, and the advantages of working from fun rather than desperation. Oy, Vey! Ha! Like I even know what fun is anymore now that I'm racked between this and that space! And I have a cover story of 6,000 words due on friday for someone else! Can you imagine? Even I, with an ability to bs endlessly am sort of at a loss of how I'm to come up with 10,000 words that make sense in the next 6 days.
So that's it. That's why I have not written. I apologize again. There were about 20 great stories I would have loved to tell but they're history now. I'll try to be more on the ball as we move forward.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Ayahuasca Dosages

A friend recently asked me what the typical ayahuasca dose would be, and whether it was determined in part by a person's weight: a petite old woman, for instance, versus a hulking athlete. My answer below:

Depends on the curandero and the medicine. Julio's medicine was generally given in maximum 6 gulp doses--about 3 ounces, I think. He'd give less for someone who had no experience, but size was not important.
At Sachamama, Francisco gives about 2 gulps--he either adds something to the medicine or simply cooks it down so much that two gulps is effective.
At other places, sometimes I've been given 4 or 5 ounces and then a second cup after an hour or so, making it an 8-10 ounce event.
In truth, once someone is very attuned to it, they don't need to drink the medicine to have a full experience. I've had them just on smelling it while cooking (vapors) and some of my most amazing experiences occurred on nights when the spirits said they had something to teach me--before the experience--and in an effort to avoid learning I took just three or four drops. In those cases the spirits just laughed when I did and said they were going to teach me regardless of my being afraid.
So dose can range from vapors to half a pint, depending on the medicine and the person taking it.

PS: In cases like Italo's cleansing of me: He probably should not have done it as he didn't "see" what he was taking from me, despite being able to do it. In cases where you can see what's coming off or out of someone, Bertha Grove, a great medicine woman from the Southern Ute tribe, explained that all things, all energy, has a life and will of its own, and that removing an illness from someone and tossing it on the ground, or worse, taking it into yourself, would result in you or someone else winding up with that illness. That would apply to whatever was taken. Because you are dealing with spirit here, and everything has spirit. She recommended that whatever was removed, and she was speaking primarily of removing illnesses or other negative things from people, be wrapped up in a sort of invisible gauze and put on some far away planet where no other living things would ever encounter it.
In my own case, I've been taught to put those things in a place where the doctors, spirits who work with negative energy, can transform that negative energy into positive energy.
However a person does it, it's important to remember that in cleansing someone, to be sure that what is removed from them does not wind up in you, or worse, simply on the ground, where it will affix to the next passerby.
In the extreme, a person can have a full blown experience just by being in contact with someone else who has taken it. My son Italo, called into service to "clean" me one time a couple of years ago after I returned from Peru feeling very heavy with spirit, used a chacapa (leaf rattle) and Florida water to do the psychic cleansing. Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking straight and didn't tell him how to eliminate whatever he cleaned from me. Two days later, while leaving the house to run an errand with Chepa and the kids he doubled over, began to vomit--an ayahuasca vomit, not a normal vomit--then said he was going to need some help as he'd begin an ayahuasca experience. Chepa and I moved him to a calm area in the very back yard and sang to him for the full two hour experience until he came back to his normal senses.
So dose matters more in the early stages of one's relationship with the medicine--or more properly, one's relationship to the vibrant spirit of the medicine--and less once that connection with a person and that vibrant spirit has been established.
The key thing to remember is that the ayahuasca experience has little to do with chemistry and everything to do with the shift of a person's spirit which allows them to communicate with other spirits not normally visible or apparent to humans. The chemicals in the medicine allow that shift to happen, but once that shift has been made, the chemicals are of less and less use as the door, once opened, never closes.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Hey, You Mutts, I Love You All...

Hey, you mutts! Yeah, you! I love you all but want a little response. Yes, this is the needy Peter G. I write, you read, you respond. You can laugh, cry, yell, scream, punch me in the arm--HA!That's reserved for people who come on my trips--but you have to occasionally respond. Hannie? Where are you. Paul DB? Lost in Argentina? Dr. G? Cat got your tongue? Bill G? Out on the river?
Let's do this New York style: Yo! What's up? I'm working here and I'm in a freaking vacuum! Nobody there? You're all out dancing and forgot to invite Mr. G? What the heck?
Get with it, willya? Won't killya to make the effort to jump into the mix, eh?
That said, have yourselves a great freakin night...

Saturday, August 08, 2009

Biology--101

Most of you remember biology in the old days, I'll bet. That was when you were in 7th, 8th or 9th grade and one day the biology teacher came in and started handing out frogs, then explained that if you put a little knife like thing at the top of their neck, right beneath their head, you could kill them. And you were supposed to. After that began dissection. It was always good for a laugh when one of the class tough guys feinted at the sight of the blood spurting.
How many frogs did we aggregately kill? Tens of millions? Why? For the joy of seeing a football player fall on the ground, unconscious? Or just to keep someone's brother in law, who bred frogs, in business.
I am not sure which but I do know that the lesson had little to do with learning and a lot to do with our getting our collective rocks off, legally. Like pulling the wings off Japanese beetles just to see them suffer, or the legs off mosquitos just to watch them waddle around, without enough legs to support them. But the frogs, that was a state supported action, so that was okay. HAH!
In my high school, we had Brother X as our biology teacher. He had a couple of Master's in science and was going for a Phd in biology and he was one smart son of a bitch. He was also a son of a bitch who loved coming up behind you and jamming your kidneys with a hard bound book or a closed fist, just to watch you drop. "You're an experiment, boy. Now get up and let's see if you fall as fast if you know it's coming..." He was that sort of guy.
Well, for one experiment we had to dissect an animal at home. I picked an aligator, since I'd always wanted one, and my experiment was going to show that the books had it right, that alligators had a two-sectioned brain and a four (???) sectioned heart, something that people didn't have.
So I bought my alligator and had him as a pet for a couple of weeks, then went to Brother X and got some formaldehyde and a couple of syringes to apply it. On the way home from school, on the public bus, the formaldehyde opened and we had to stop for an hour or so because people were getting sick. I still made it home with nearly a gallon.
Thing was, I had no idea how to apply it. So I just took my pet alligator and put him in a pot, then poured a gallon of formaldehyde over him and thought he'd get stiff. He didn't. In fact, he fought. Fought like hell to get out of that pot. Fought so hard I had to find a lid, then put a brick, then two bricks, then a cinderblock on it to keep him from jumping/pushing his way out to save himself.
I finally couldn't take the dying and went across the street and got Jamie McGurran, younger brother of my friend Dan, and called him in to witness what I was doing. He came, witnessed, and said I was committing a sin and would go to hell for drowning an alligator in formaldehyde. I protested that it had been given to me by a Brother, a man of the cloth, a near freaking priest.
Jamie was unmoved but loved the slow death at my expense.
And when the little animal, probably 1/2 pound and 15 inches long, died, we took him out and tried to cut him open to prove my scientific points. But his skin was hard, his bones harder, so we finaly took a 1" chisel and a 3 pound sledge and smashed him open, ruining all internal organs beyond recognition.
I still wrote my report based on the smashed tissue I had, and I passed the assignment.
But I smashed a dying alligator to death to satisfy a Phd student. And I was given a passing grade.
I've never liked that. And I've never needlessly hurt an animal again. I've hurt some. I've killed some. I am not your average saint. But I've never done it without a lot of thought and imagining the repercussions.
And this year, my Madeleina is entering the 7th grade and she might be asked to kill a frog for the fun of her teacher's insanity. I'm gonna tell her not to do it unless she wants to.
I'm not a fan of killing anything unless you're gonna eat it. And if you kill it to eat it it always makes you sick.
Anyway, Saturday afternoon and that's what this boy is thinking about after he bought a new chainsaw to cut overgrown--but lively--trees, a new grill to cook roast dead animal flesh, and nearly ran over a turtle on the highway.
Confusing world to say the least.

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Vaklempt! Manly Work Continues Apace!

Oy Vey! Yard work is so hard I ought to be rich so I could hire professionals to do it.
Like the fence got finished but then the goats got out. Somehow. And then the police came to tell me my goats were eating my neighbors' flowers. And so we got them but the neighbors, people we've never even seen since they live on another street, were slightly pissed off. Appears the goats ate about 10 pots worth of flowers before they were stopped. So I have to replace them. Right. Probably weeds and I'm supposed to supply rare African plants....
Then the goats got out the next day and this time they ate someone's garden. YIKES!!! I've had gardens. For a nice one, say a quarter acre, which this one was, it takes two to three hours daily for 5 months. And my stupid goats ate everything. Everything!!! So now I'm responsible for a garden worth $1,500. Oh, my. Now you know why this Irish kid is using a Yiddish word like Vaklempt! Beside myself. Upside down myself. Why didn't the garden owner stop them mid-feast? I'll tell you why...because he had nothing growing there at all, and if there was proof that he had a stinking sun-dried garden I wouldn't have been responsible for a grand and a half. But I am.
So I locked the goats up--since the guy wouldn't take them in lieu of payment--in the interior back yard, the one where we just painted the fence, and today bought new fencing that I'm about to put up. I feel like a cowboy, where's my horse??????
And Today I spent two hours in 105 degree temperatures dragging tree limbs knocked down by lightning across the yard. Put them in a corner according to size: Good firewood; medium firewood; kindling. I'll cut it later this week. But that was hot, hard work.
Then I decided to cut the back lawn, just half an acre, with the regular electric mower. More manly work, particularly since every 60 feet required a 100 yard walk with the bag of cuttings as it hasn't been cut since I left for Peru in June.
So I'm here, ready to work, being manly, complaining like a not-very-manly-man. The kids tell me helping is beneath them and ask when dinner (lime chicken; basmati rice, string beans with red pepper and garlic plus fresh papaya juice and ice cold cantaloupe) will be ready.
HA!
When I finish the fence, finish the lawn or finish the jim beam, whichever comes first!
That's the way I'm feeling. Hope you're all feeling just as juicy and wild.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Ayahuasca Tourism: Ground Zero

Ayahuasca Tourism: Ground Zero

By Peter Gorman


I am ground zero on Ayahuasca Tourism. That’s the type of tour that people take to the Peruvian or Ecuadorian or Brazilian Amazon during which they drink the legendary visionary medicine ayahuasca. It’s often the primary reason for people going to the Amazon, particularly the Iquitos, Peru area, where more than two dozen camps exist exclusively for the purpose of serving the medicine.
Ayahuasca tourism is a dirty word in a lot of circles. It carries the negative implication of Westerners going into the Amazon to steal a vital and traditional medicine from the curanderos and shaman who work with it. And indeed, a lot of curanderos—who are generally the doctors on the rivers on which they live—have been lured away from taking care of their community for lengths of time by the opportunity of serving tourists for relatively big bucks. On the other hand, those who run the camps defend their work by noting that 15 years ago interest in the medicine was waning on the rivers and few curanderos even had apprentices. With the boom in ayahuasca tourism, that has changed dramatically. In fact, it wouldn’t be unfair to say there are an awful lot of people serving ayahuasca who shouldn’t be, just because of the need for curanderos and the price people are willing to pay for it. Beyond that, many curanderos now do have very legitimate apprentices, the result of locals seeing the respect shown the curanderos by outsiders.
So it’s a mixed equation as to whether ayahuasca tourism is good or bad for the people in the Amazon. Either way, the phenomenon exists and has been growing for several years.
It had to start somewhere, and that was with me.
In 1986, after two trips to the Peruvian Amazon, during each of which I had the opportunity to travel deep into the jungle and drink ayahuasca, I wrote an account of my experiences that was published in High Times magazine as a cover story. Other pieces had been written about ayahuasca—early Amazon explorers had discussed it, Marlene Dobkin de Rios had written books about it, and Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs had written The Yaje Letters, for example—prior to my story, but most of that material was either scientific in nature or obscure. And in the pre-internet days, discovering something obscure meant hours and hours at a library; even then it’s doubtful that most town libraries would have carried material on a subject as little known as a jungle medicine.
But a story in High Times magazine, with the cover line, Ayahuasca—Mindbending Drug of the Amazon, as awful as it was, got peoples’ attention. And it was, I later discovered, the first cover story in a national magazine on the topic.
As a result of that story, the two big Amazon tour companies operating out of Iquitos at the time began to get requests from their clients to provide this experience to their guests. One of them even sent someone down to talk with one of the curandero’s I’d written about—Julio, who became my great friend and teacher—and asked him if he would come to the Iquitos area once a week and hold an ayahuasca ceremony for tourists. Julio, quite old and a river person who was shy around outsiders, said no. But Julio’s young apprentice, Salis Navarro, said he would do it. And he did. And that was the beginning of ayahuasca tourism. The medicine had always been available to people like me who found ourselves deep in the jungle, but from that point on tour companies found it necessary to offer the medicine as part of their package.

What's Up Here

Morning, everybody. Back two weeks now and things coming together. The manly work continues apace, the fence is gorgeous, the bridges repaired, the big lawn mowed, the fences done, the house reasonably spotless, and on and on. It's quiet because Chepa is still away with Madeleina, Sierra and Alexa, but that should change in about a week, and we're all looking forward to having the house full and full of laughter and joy again. About time!
Been thinking about former clients recently. I've been getting a lot of mail from people who were on the recent trip, but even more I've probably heard from 25 people who have been on trips as long as 10 years ago. That one always surprises me but makes me feel as if the trip and the medicine and the Amazon had a profound effect on them and that's what I'm hoping for when I do them. I sometimes sit back and think it really is a life changing event. I know it is for me; it's trying to share that and have others see it as I do that's the trick. And when they do, when someone writes to tell me they had an ayahuasca dream or a jungle dream three, four years after their time with me, that's very very rewarding. This week alone, for instance, a couple of former clients wrote to ask for nu-nu and sapo, the Matses' medicines--the former a snuff, the latter frog-sweat. Then one showed up at my doorstep just Saturday night, needing a good dose of sapo to keep her clear. She did puke all over the living room and kitchen, but that was nothing. Medicines from the jungle are always earthy. And it was great to see her.
And I'm thinking of having a weekend for former clients on August 21-22-23, so if any of you reading are former clients who feel a bit upended or need some more magic in your blood, or are simply in the neighborhood--which means you can fly in from England, for instance--well, let me know and I'll set the meeting in stone.
And then I did a radio show the other day. Two hours and I hope I didn't put everybody to sleep. If you want to check it out, here's the link:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/Awake/2009/08/02/Meet-Peter-Gorman-Journalist-Amazon-Explorer
My computer doesn't have sound anymore so I can't promise it will work, and if you read this blog occasionally you've already heard it all.
Marco just came in and wrestled with me. I started breakfast for him in return for the exercise and while at it did all of last night's dishes. Now out to the lawn for raking before it gets too hot to move here in bucolic Joshua.
Oh, and former clients Andrew and Petra just had a baby girl. Congrats, guys!

Saturday, August 01, 2009

Ayahuasca Healing

I recently spoke at the 5th Conference on Shamanism in Peru. The conference topic had something to do with healing and so I decided for once to actually tackle the topic rather than just ranting on whatever I wanted to rant on.
I thought it might be important, because while many many thousands of people have now had the opportunity to drink ayahuasca in Peru and elsewhere, few have had the chance to drink it in its traditional river setting, and so probably have not had the chance to see how locals utilize the medicine for healing, or the variety of ways that healing is accomplished.
These notes are being made subsequent to that talk.
Ayahuasca Healing
There are several types of healing done with ayahuasca, the medicinal and visionary vine of the Amazon. To understand them you need to understand that in much of Peru and particularly in the Amazon, illness is thought of as a disturbance on another level of reality that creates symptoms on this level. Fix that disturbance and the symptom will disappear. Accessing that other level of reality to identify that disturbance is the job of the ayahuasquero or curandero.
Now for most riverinos, river people, even those who currently live in Iquitos or other cities and towns, ayahuasca is not a medicine to take regularly. They may, like my mother-and-father-in-law, attend ayahuasca ceremonies most Tuesdays and Fridays--the traditional nights for ayahuasca--but they didn't necessarily drink. In fact, I don't think my folks-in-law drank the medicine more than a handful of times in their lives. That's something we Westerners have dreamed up. Traditionally you go to the ayahusaquero or curandero and tell him or her your problem. Several other people might as well, and then the curandero drinks and goes to seek the answers to the various problems.
At it's simplest, this story explains that type of curing. I was with my teacher and friend Julio some years ago. With us on the hut floor was a man who swore that someone had given him the evil eye because of envidio, envy. He felt cursed and wanted Julio to drink ayahuasca and go see who was doing it to him. Julio asked specifics and the man explained that every time he sold his chickens and made some money he fell and hurt his leg or ankle--sometimes breaking it--so that he couldn't work for weeks. Julio said he'd take a look. Shortly afterward he drank the ayahuasca he'd made and began singing his songs and shaking his shacapa, leaf rattle.
Two hours later he came out of his trance and told the man he had good news and bad news. The good news, he said, was that no one was giving the man the evil eye. The bad news, he said, was that he saw that every time the man sold his chickens and had money in his pocket he went to drink at a place that had two rickety steps, got drunk, and then fell when leaving. "Ahhh so," Julio said in his river Spanish. "You have two choices: Either stop getting drunk the minute you have money from selling your chickens or fix the steps so that you won't fall."
Perfect. That's genuine ayahuasca healing. As simple as that.
A second type of healing with ayahuasca involves both the client and the ayahuasquero drinking, with an eye toward seeing the same visions. A good example of that happened nearly 20 years ago, with my friend the curandero Juan Tangoa. Airport Juan as he's called, because his home is just outside the Iquitos airport, had a client who was distraught beyond words. He was a middle-aged man and he was certain his wife was cheating on him and that she was going to leave him. There were several other people at that ceremony, all locals beside myself, but when it came time to drink Juan offered the medicine only to me, the man and himself. "Let's go see your wife," he said, then blew out the kerosene lamps and began to chant.
To my surprise, there was a point in the experience where I found myself looking down on the Plaza 28, one of the primary plazas in Iquitos, a plaza that at that time was surrounded by more than a dozen Chinese restaurants, several pool halls and a couple of government buildings. When I looked at the Plaza I found myself zeroing in on a woman walking with a man. I couldn't see them clearly, and even if I could they had their backs to me as they strolled. There was some urgency about the woman but that's all I could note.
When the session ended, Juan asked the man if he'd seen anything. "Yes! Yes! I knew it! I saw my wife walking with a man on the Plaza Vente-Ocho! I knew she was cheating!"
Juan smiled. "Are you sure? Go back into your dream and look more closely."
The man closed his eyes. In a few minutes he opened them. "Oh my god! She's cheating with a priest! He's a priest! I can't believe it!"
Juan nearly laughed out loud. "You are not seeing things right. Go back into your dream and this time listen to what they are saying."
The man did as told. In a few moments his demeanor changed and he began to breathe heavily, then choke up, and finally tears began running down his face. He opened his eyes.
"That's right," said Juan. "Your wife is leaving you. But she's not cheating and she's not leaving you for another man."
"I know. I saw. I heard," said the man.
"She talks with the priest because you get drunk and beat her and she has to leave you for her safety and the safety of your children. But she still loves you and that's what's making it difficult. If you don't want her to leave, you have to stop drinking and certainly stop beating her. If you don't, she will go."
Again, a simple but perfect ayahuasca healing. The illness--in this case the pain of losing his wife--caused by the disturbance on some level with the man that caused him to drink and be a bully and a beater. If he could fix that, the symptom--his wife leaving--would fix itself.
Which doesn't mean the man was capable. I don't know if he managed to change or not. I never saw him again. But the medicine, the ayahuasca, had shown the way if he wanted to fix things.
Another type of healing requires the ayahuasquero or curandero to find a physical medicine for a patient. Some years ago I was contacted by a woman who wanted to come on a jungle jaunt with me. She was dying, she said. She'd gone through a couple of bouts of cancer and done all the possible treatments to no avail. The cancer was ravaging her and only had a couple of weeks to live and wanted to die in the jungle. I told her not to come. She insisted. I insisted back. She eventually talked me into it. She showed up in Iquitos, a beautiful woman who was very weak, with her boyfriend, a very nice fellow. She asked me to have her cured. I told her Julio was a marvelous healer but that I wasn't going to promise anything like a cure. I did tell her that we should try to work toward giving her one more Christmas with her daughter--whom she spoke of constantly--that that would be something to realistically aim for.
I took them to see Julio and explained that the woman was dying of cancer and asked if he could help. He said no, because ayahuasca was hot and cancer was cold. "You don't cure cancer with ayahuasca," he said. (Note: Others disagree and many people say they've been cured or put into remission by ayahuasca use.) Nonetheless, he agreed to drink with her and try to find something that might help.
All of us drank that night. The woman, if I remember right, had a difficult physical time, with a lot of uncontrollable shitting on herself. Her boyfriend vomited violently for a long time. When the session was over, the woman--who'd been looked after and changed several times by one of Julio's daughters--hated me. She demanded to know how I could have given her something so vile. I tried to remind her that she was the one who insisted. She didn't calm down.
Julio simply said he'd think on things.
In the morning, Julio called to his son Jairo--now a curandero in his own right--and told him to collect some plants from the jungle. When he had, Julio spent several hours cooking them down from about 10 gallons to maybe two liters. "Tell your friend she has to drink this three times a day," he instructed. "Just a little." He indicated about an ounce or so with his fingers. "Drink it until it's finished. And then she'll be fine. But if she wants to keep the cancer away she has to stop holding on to things. To anger. She has to learn to let go or the cancer will come back."
"Is this really going to heal her?" I asked.
"I think it will help."
In fairness, the woman also saw a doctor in Iquitos who is notable for curing incurable conditions. But she took Julio seriously and drank the medicine as instructed.
A week later, still hating me, she left Peru.
I thought she'd probably die and was happy she had not died on my watch.
Six months or so later she wrote an email to tell me she still hated me and the trip, but that she was driving around Italy on a motorscooter. Six months after that she wrote from somewhere else. That went on for years. I have not heard from her in some time and hope she's still alive somewhere, having a ball. If she's passed on, well, I'm glad she got a few extra Christmases with her girl.
That type of healing, where a curandero accesses a spiritual world where medicine concoctions are available is fairly common. Curanderos will explain it as having helping spirits who guide them to the plants they'll need to effect a cure. I've no doubt that's true, but most curanderos already have a wealth of natural medicine knowledge at their fingertips.
While the woman didn't like pooping uncontrollably, and her boyfriend had a difficult time with the vomiting, both are integral to ayahuasca healing. So much so that ayahuasca is also called 'la purga.' Nearly everyone who drinks it vomits or excrete ferociously not long afterward. While it might not be ladylike or gentlemanly, it's a great healing tool of the medicine. For locals and Westerners alike, there is great healing in the elimination: On the one hand, for locals the purge has the physical benefit of eliminating bacteria and parasites from their stomachs, conditions that are common in a place where fish is often sun-dried (and then gets wet when it starts to rain, then gets dried again and so forth) or where game is often eaten nearly crude in an effort to save firewood.
On the other hand, the purge goes beyond physical, way beyond. It's also a purge of the bile of our lives, the useless weight we carry around from pain we've suffered, from wrongs committed against us or which we've committed against others. It's a chance to eliminate garbage we don't really need, an often don't know we're carring like rocks on our spirit. The plainest example I can use is the memory most of us have, though have long buried, of when our mothers stopped breast feeding us. How traumatic that must have been for most of us. One moment there is that tenderness; the next we're not permitted it. Or the time you cheated on your girlfriend/boyfriend or wife. Or stole the fish out of your neighbors net. These are things we carry around with us like weights on our soul, but not things we necessarily need. And the medicine allows us to eliminate them. She might make us see what we've done a thousand times in slow motion before it's eliminated--which means it's sometimes an emotional wreaking ball--but still, it's an opportunity to cleanse parts of ourselves that we probably otherwise wouldn't.
Another type of healing done with ayahuasca is psychic surgery. A good curandero, like any doctor, has a number of tools at his disposal. And sometimes he or she simply have to operate. They might see--with ayahuasca vision--that a client has holes in their spirit where their energy is seeping out that need closing; they might see that a person has a physical ailment that has reached the stage where physical intervention--or psychic intervention through doctoring on a mirror self of the client--simply has to be done. The first time I heard of this I didn't believe you could effect physical change by operating on some spiritual level. I was at Julio's, maybe in 1985 or '86. There were several men there. One of them told me that Julio had recently operated on his stomach. I asked to see the scar. The man lifted his shirt and pointed to the spot where he said Julio operated but there was no scar. "Julio's a very good doctor," the man said. "The scars heal very quickly."
The story I later found out was that the man had some sort of tumor. Julio saw it after drinking ayahuasca and realized the man was in danger of death. So he accessed the spirit of the man and cut the tumor out of that body image, which left the physical tumor lifeless, and so it simply disappeared. In other words, he accessed the life force of the tumor, eliminated that, leaving no life force in the actual tumor.
I still didn't believe in that sort of healing until I saw my friend Victor, the great San Pedro healer, perform such a surgery on a client years later. It was a small ceremony performed for a husband and wife. The intent was that the wife be healed of a major problem--she was actually just trying to stay ahead of a crippling disease that was already in remission--but that night Victor chose to work primarily on the husband. And he chose to allow me to see the work.
What I saw was Victor approach the man and tell him to lie down. Then he pulled a rock from one of his pockets and knelt next to the man. In moments the rock had turned into a scalpel and he began cutting the man open. Blood flowed onto the cement of the driveway where they were. Victor began removing and cleaning out the man's organs one by one, then replacing them. He opened the man's face as well, did some work I couldn't really see, then sealed him back up. He looked at his patient. Satisfied, the scalpel was turned back into a stone that he pocketed.
In this reality, the stone was a stone, of course, and no one was cut anywhere. But on some other level, the man's energy had been worked on in the form of his body being cut and cleaned. I was amazed to have witnessed it.
The next day the man said he'd had a condition for his whole life which was now gone. I didn't ask what it was. But months and years later, he confirmed that the condition had never returned.
It wouldn't be fair to discuss the types of healing done by curanderos and the medicines without discussing a healing of my own. This type of healing is a sort of direct-action healing, where the medicine takes it into her own hands to heal someone.
Some years ago, when I first began taking people out to the jungle to visit Julio, my clients all seemed to be getting fantastic healing. Some physical, some emotional, some spiritual. At the time my marriage was breaking up and I was a wreck. One day after a great trip, I was in my bar in Iquitos, bartending, when a customer asked how the trip had gone. I told him great, then sort of blurted out that all my clients were getting healed but that I was the one who really needed the healing.
The medicine listened and the next time I drank, perhaps a few weeks later, as I began to fall into the ayahuasca dream, there was a great rushing, like wind through tall grass, all around me and suddenly I was surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of little creatures. I couldn't see them, but knew they were there. "We heard you," one of them said. "It's your turn."
"My turn? For what?"
"To get healed. We heard you. It's your turn."
I was immediately terrified and asked what they were going to do. "We'll have to cut you open and take out your heart. Then we're going to have to cut some of the bad part out. You'll die but then we'll put you back together."
More terrified, I tried to explain that I didn't need that but they insisted and began to work. They just started cutting me open like I'd seen Victor cut the man open. I resisted as much as possible and they let me know I was making things harder than they needed to be. I didn't care. I wasn't ready to let little creatures from another reality kill me and then bring be back, different but better.
All evening I struggled, and when the ceremony was over I was joyeus that I wasn't dead. Unfortunately, they made it clear they'd have to come back and finish the work.
I've told this story in full form in other work, so I'll keep it short here. The gist of it was that over the course of the next three years or so, every time I drank ayahuasca the doctors would appear with the rush of wind through grass and work on me. I would resist. They'd be disappointed in me. But there were some breakthroughs: at some point early on I asked what I could do to make my estranged wife love me again. I was told there was nothing I could do. She simply would or wouldn't. During another session I asked what I could do to make her and our baby happy. They told me that was a better question than the first, but only if I didn't think that making her happy would lead to loving me again. I did, of course.
That question came up a hundred times during those years, and almost always during a break from the doctors tearing me to pieces and trying to get rid of the bad spots in my heart. During one session it was made clear to me that the reason I couldn't make Chepa and Madeleina, my estranged wife and daughter, happy was because I kept doing things I thought would make them happy, rather than things that would actually make them happy. I asked how I could do that? I was told the only way to do it was to be them and see what they needed to make them happy. I had no idea how to do that. "How on earth can I be them? I'm me."
"Then you'll never have an answer to your question."
And then one very extraordinary night, not long after the doctors had finished their work--which they said could have been much better if I'd have simply let them work rather than constantly being in fear and resisting them--a different spirit asked if I'd finally like to know the answer to the question I'd asked so often. I said I would. He had me follow him and what happened next--also written elsewhere--was one of the most terrifying nights of my life, a night when I was attacked from the regular reality in my ayahuasca reality. Crazy at it sounds, I knew that if I didn't fend off the attack my physical body would suffer. It was an hours-long battle, with Julio urging me to stay strong, to sing, to win.
I eventually did, sending the negative energy I'd been attacked with back to those I thought delivered it. And when the battle was over, one by one my sisters, my brother, parents, my wife and kids all appeared and congratulated me. More than that, they gave me a kind of love I'd never felt before. Maybe it was just because I was too tired to refuse it--as I sometimes do--but this love was overwhelming and without a hint of self-serving in it. It was unconditional.
And in that moment, I was everyone, I was pure spirit, or as close to it as I've ever been. I forgot being me and my spirit simply soared. And in that same moment I became Chepa and Madeleina and knew, instantly knew, what they needed to make them happy. Their spirits needed the same absolutely unconditional love. I was overwhelmed.
Now translating a moment of unconditional love into action on this level of reality is not easy. It took years of work to get over being angry with Chepa, and then years more to forgive her. But ayahuasca is an amazing healer. And the doctors really did some good work with me. Now, though I occasionally lapse, I can hand out that unconditional love without expecting anything in return. My job is simply to love them whether they notice it or not.
And that work has brought me to a place where I can freely love Chepa's two new babies from another man as well. I love them joyfully, and still know that one day when they move away I'll never see them again. That will be sad but it doesn't matter. What matters is that when they are with me they feel love and more love with no strings.
That is ayahuasca healing.
And those are a few of the different types of healing that can occur with that medicine.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Peru Trips, Jan 2010

Well, this one is a bit unusual for me, as I'm here to sell you something. The company that puts together two trips to Peru for me annually--they get most of the clients--feels they've tapped out their market at this point. But I am having too good a time taking people out to the deep Amazon green to toss in my jungle boots. So I'm going to have to get some people on my own to make my two January trips materialize.
Now I've already got a couple for the first trip, which begins on Saturday, Jan 9. That trip will run 12 1/2 days in Iquitos and the Jungle, then another 8 1/2 days in Cuzco/Machu Picchu, with one day of decompression from the jungle in Lima. I do the Iquitos/Jungle portion, then my friend Alan Shoemaker or Carolyn Melnyck take over for the mountains.Overall, the trip runs Jan 9, through Friday, Jan. 29.
The second trip will begin on Saturday, Jan 23 and run through Thursday, Feb 4. It's 12 1/2 days in Iquitos and the jungle, without the highland end of things.
What are the trips like? Magic, mystery, beauty, medicine, deep cleansing, changing. THey're about dirt under your fingernails, walks in the deep jungle, night canoing, swamp hiking, magic mushrooms, riverboats, fishing towns, jungle lakes, ayahuasca, the Matses' medicines sapo and nu-nu. They're about opening up spaces in your soul and letting go of nonsense you needn't carry around any longer. They're about spending time with the best team of associates I've ever been around. They're about pushing your limits and surpassing your capabilities. They're about fun, laughter, joy and occasional emotional terror when the medicines ask you to confront things you've long buried.
They're not physically difficult trips, though my staff and I can make them as difficult or easy as anyone wants. Want to haul through the jungle? One of my team will haul with you. Want to walk slower than the rest? One of my team will stay back with you. We will, in fact, outnumber you, so there will always be someone to do what you want to do, whether that's medicinal plant collecting, wild food foraging, painting jungle flowers...you name it,and if you let me know ahead of time, we'll figure out how to get it done for you.
So that's the pitch. 21 day trip costs $3600. If you only want to do the jungle, that's $2000; if you only want to do the mountains, that's $1800. The 12 1/2 day trip is $2000. We'll pick you up at the airport in Iquitos (airfare not included), and all hotels, ground transport, river transport, ceremonies, some food (all food in the jungle; some food in Iquitos/Lima/Cuzco) and jungle gear is included. You don't need much but an open heart and some walking around/food money for this trip.
A deposit of $400 will hold a space. Any questions you can email me at peterg9@yahoo.com
Oh, one more thing: there will be dirt under your fingernails and there will be mosquitoes some times. We'll have mats and mosquito nets to sleep on, and the best damned after-bite (Gorman's Jungle Juice) in the world, but there is no complaining on this trip. No bitching, no moaning, no whining. If I put you into a hotel with cold water, there is a reason for it (it's the only hotel with river views, for example). If I take you to a swamp, there's going to be something so spectacular there that the difficult walking will pale in comparison to the payoff.
So sorry to use this space as a billboard, but I'm itching to get back to the thick thick green and my team, so sign up and sign up quickly. Get it? Good. This trip is worth the money and more.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Kids, Damned Kids...

Well, one day I'm crying for joy about my kids; next day I want to hang them from the nearest oak tree if I could find one big enough here in Texas the land of the dwarf oaks...
This morning, all was go for dinner. Marco, his girl, Italo, Sarah, Me, maybe DRay and even Renzo would be eating. So I went through the lump crab meat, couple of pounds I bought yesterday at the best store around here, then went out and got some organic parsley. I chopped and cooked the parsley down with olive oil, fresh roasted and skinned red pepper, scallions and celery. Put three eggs in a bowl, some mayo, seasoning and the things I'd cooked. Mixed it up. Added some bread crumbs--top quality--for binder, then mixed in the crab. Tossed in the juice from three very very juicy limes, some salt and pepper, a little mustard, a touch of Worstershire...and voila: Fantastic crabmeat for crab cakes.
Then made a home made cole slaw.
Then I made a sauce of vinegar, egg yolk, left over red pepper (skinned), horseradish, parsley and lime, plus seasoning (including cracked black pepper, salt, very fresh paprika and achote from Peru). Great sauce.
Now I also bought 2 pounds of shrimp for cocktail and made a cocktail sauce that's been in the fridge since 11 this morning. Then I cooked the shrimp and they're cooling.
Then I started the rice and vegetables--a medley of several.
And now Marco says he's going to Carly's because her parents are going to Mexico tomorrow. And Italo just called to say Sarah is staying with her folks tonight and he is staying at Cowboys' stadium, practicing with a British soccer club so he won't be home till midnight or so...and Renzo is taking Italo's times and photos, so he won't be coming either. And DRay ain't gonna come if his pals ain't here...
So I've got a $50-$60 buck meal of lump crab cakes and shrimp cocktail, done in a way your best restaurant wouldn't know (though I didn't make the asparagus with fresh corn in garlicked-Balsamic vinegar since that's the last thing that would have gotten done. Still. It's a pretty fancy feast for no one but me to eat).
So I want to wring my kids' necks. I asked them if they'd be here. I guess life intervened.
But know what? I'm going out to paint for an hour. I'm gonna finish the interior of the fence and then attack the exterior. And when I've gone through more than half a gallon I'm coming inside. I'm gonna shower then make a very very cold drink out of red wine and grapefruit juice and pour it over ice. Maybe a quart. And I'm gonna start drinking that while I cook up some of those cakes. AND THEN I'm gonna sit down and find a movie (somehow, since I'm never sure I know how) to watch and eat crab cakes and shrimp cocktail with spinach, coleslaw and a vegetable medley. I'll skip the rice.
And I'm gonna have myself a time.
The kids lose out here. I ain't crying. I might have three crab cakes. Ha! The heck with them.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Here's Karma For You...

Well, here's karma for you. If anyone has strong opinions about abortion, please stop reading now, okay. Cause I'm gonna talk about it.
I was raised quite catholic, as in catholic alter boy, Legion of Mary kid who went to old people's homes to make them food and talk with them, all of that. It was only my father, who was Lutheran--at best--who pursueded me not to join a monastery to become a priest.
I didn't get laid till I was 19. I didn't jerk off till I was 20 because I didn't know you could. It just never occurred to me.
Now I know I was born in 1951, but even for the mid-sixties I was pretty reserved.
Then I did have sex. And the first girl I had sex with, using a condom, I broke it and she got pregnant and had an abortion. Then I lived with and Loved CL for 15 years and she had maybe 6 or 7 abortions. I just wasn't ready for kids. She got pregnant on the pill, using the diaphram, while menstruating, using condoms....hell, I was Irish and so was she and between us we were the most fertile ground God ever paved. And then I was with X and Y and Z and I had another 5 or 6 abortions. And then in Peru, as an adult of over 35 I probably had another 5 or 6. I never left a baby anywhere on this planet except for Madeleina. I know Italo and Marco are mine by blood now, but that's after 17 years of being together. In terms of sperm, it's just Madeleina.
And I never took a single abortion lightly. I prayed for those angels to understand that I would not do them right and that they were better off finding other parents. I felt awfully each time, though I still back a woman's right to have an abortion.
But just the last couple of days I've been shaking my head at myself. Know why? Because I'd give anything to have 15 or 20 kids. I love kids. I want Italo's Sarah to have her baby soon, and I want Marco's Carly to get pregnant, and I love Chepa's new babies as if they were mine. I could live for raising kids. And then here I am, the man who sent maybe 15 of those angels back home without ever having a moment here on earth because I didn't think I was ready. And now I miss them all.
That's karma. No, that's Karma with a capital Karma.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself, and I don't think I did anything wrong telling those angels to find a better dad. It's just that now I realize I would have been a good dad. I would have been okay if I wasn't so scared. And now that I'm not, nobody in the world wants to have a baby with me. Ain't that something?
Just thinking, that's all. And a little bit sad.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

More Manly Things

Well, continuing to try to do manly things--despite my ingrown townail slowing me down to a painful, and I mean painful, gait, Italo and I painted the second bridge and started on the Fence. Now the fence doesn't sound like a lot when you call it "the fence", but actually it's a yard contained in our larger yard. The fence is 8' high and covers over 200 feet, with 3 posts for every foot. So painting the fence means painting 600 posts on four sides, plus all of the connecting 2 X 4"s and posts. Which means digging up 400- feet of overgrown weeds at fence bottom. Which means we used two gallons of paint today and got one side of 1/4 of the fence done. And that took three hours. And that was after taking out the garbage to the dump, which really stunk since Marco and Italo had not taken it out since I left on June 1 or 2. There were also about a million mice and half-a-dozen rats living in the garbage and those of you who know me know me and rats don't get along, so I was jumping like a schoolgirl (no offence to schoolgirls). Anyway, painting the fence I felt like Tom Sawyer but nobody came along to pay me to do my work. Nuts. Sam Clemens, you're a lyin' sack of sawdust....
Still, I'm getting strong. The work cleans me out. Tonight me and the boys are going to do frog sweat to clean our organs and skin. I told them we ought to do it once a month. Those of you who have done it know that's hard because it hurts so much. On the other hand, those of you who have done it know there is nothing as cleansing as frogsweat, including the lemon water cleanser I've just started.
So nothing great to report. If you come by, be prepared to work. It's Spring cleaning time here and everybody chips in if they want some of the roast chicken and rice with vegetables we're having tonight, or the country style ribs with homemade barbeque we're having tomorrow. Or the steak a la pizzaola we had yesterday. Just warning you: I'd love to see you but we got work to do.
And that's it from here. Hope you're all having a great day.
Me

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Things Get Thicker All the Time

Well, yup, Italo's Sarah is pregnant and Marco is definitely getting married to Carly. I know Sarah's pregnant because she puked breakfast two days in a row and didn't want to hear how cool that was or how it was just a natural hormonal thing....And the cat had kittens last night so there are now a whole swath of new blind babies running around--or crying for milk, anyway. And the goats are out again, meaning I've got to go fix a fence. But that's okay because today is a manly day. Manly in that I got up at 5 AM, had fantastic coffee, answered letters for two hours, read newspapers for two hours, did laundry the whole time and after 5 loads have the house nearly cleared of dirty sox and underwear. Then Italo and I took two couches from the garage (playroom, with weights, heavy bag, speed bag, ping-pong, foosball, pool, the freezer full of freshly killed pig meat and what was three couches in a lounging area) and brought them to the dump. Seems while I was away Marco left the garage door open for a couple of days and the goats got inside and peed on them. Man, they stunk! So off they went. Then we went to the stone dealer and bought 310 pounds of red flagstones to add to those in the front yard flood area. Then I went back and bought another 400 pounds alone and just finished putting them in place. In between I went to Home Depot and bought new railing wood for one of the bridges over our creek and paint and galvanized nails and am about to go change the railing and paint the little bridge.
Is this a manly day or what???? And when that's done I think I'll take the hatchet and trim some trees. Then drink a little Jim Beam and make some chicken breasts with garlic, onion, tomato and cilantro and a bit of chicken stock.
I will say that we ate the first of the pig yesterday. Excellent bacon and sausage, and maybe the best chops I ever had, even in the restaurants I worked over the years. I had them cut an inch thick with just a bit of fat around the edge. Sliced them along the back and stuffed them with spinach sauteed with garlic and thin sliced red pepper and then added diced swiss cheese when things cooled off. Dredged them in seasoned flour and eggs then covered them in fresh-parsley'd bread crumbs. Sauteed them till brown then baked at 325 for about 40 minutes, took them out and dressed them in pork gravy infused with fresh squeezed oranges. Man, when you cut into those and that cheeze and spinach came oozing out, well, heaven was thisclose to your tastebuds. I wish some of you had been here just to verify I ain't lying.....
Out to the bridge. The manly day won't be over till that's done and the lawn's been cut and raked....
PS: Now just after 5 PM, fixed the bridge with Italo, painted it barn red, fixed the fence, got the goats, and now fixing dinner while I enjoy a Beam. Manly day. Manly. Almost makes me wish I were one....

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Home Again

Well, hello y'all. Hope a few of you are still with me. Walked into the house after a 19 hour trip from Iquitos about an hour ago, went through the mail, collected a couple of checks, and now, after a hot shower--something I have not had for 6 weeks--I am going to Walmart to buy a small freezer and then driving over to Rendon Meats to pick up my beautiful pig. 140 pounds they tell me, is what she produced, and that ought to be enough pork to kill me--a nice payback for having killed her.
While I was away the Houston Press Club gave me second place in Journalist of the Year for Texas and first place for best Investigative Feature--which is nice.
When I returned home I discovered that the house is a mess, the lawn needs mowing, the dogs and goats and birds and cats need food, the garbage needs bringing to the dump and the cars all need gas. Madeleina and Sierra and Alexa are out in Indiana visiting Chepa's boyfriend--not good as I miss my Madeleina and the babies as well. But I came back unhurt, didn't drink too much (most days) on the trip, gave a good talk at the Shamanism Conference, had two fantastic trips into the woods, made a few bucks, finally got a check from the gas company, am awaiting the delivery of my two lost bags, and then Italo's Sarah is pregnant and Marco proposed to his girl Carly.
Yes, that's a lot of information but I got it in the same amount of time with the same deadpan delivery.
Gee it's great to be back home....home is where I want to be, Man, I've been on the road so long.....(apologies to P Simon, of course).
Glad to be back. Hope you're all having a wonderful summer. I'll talk soon.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Gone Fishin'--In the Amazon

Everybody: Well, I'm off again in the morning. Heading to Iquitos and then up the Amazon to the Aucayacu, my home away from home and a place several of you know. So I'll be out of touch for six weeks or so. No offence. I would love to be in touch but I am in a different world when there and only at an internet 2 or 3 times in the next 3 weeks. If something exceptional happens I'll try to get to you all, but otherwise know that I look forward to writing to you all again when I return in mid-July.
Until then, have a great summer. Make love a lot, laugh a ton, forgive everything, forget the bad parts and love as hard as you can.
If you and I both do that, the worod will be better in no time.
Thanks for reading, you guys/gals.
Yours,
Peter G

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Pig's Gone

Well, this morning was the morning. Nearly nine months to the day since Marco found a little 12 pounder running in the road and came home with a beautiful little pig asking: "Dad, do you know how hard it is to catch a pig that's running around in the street?" we put her down. I didn't want to, but she'd grown to over 300 lbs and I'm leaving town for Peru on Monday and my kids, god bless them, would not do what I have done for the last nine months. And they didn't do it for January and half of February while I was in Peru, so I know they wouldn't do it now. What I did was feed her half a head of celery, half a large cabbage, two or three apples, a few bananas, some oranges, a full loaf of bread, half a pot of rice, a pound or two of carrots, and all the ends of whatever we ate: Broccoli, spinach, cheese, leftover toast, corn cobs, tomato ends or whole tomatoes when they went soft...plus two scoops, about 10 pounds, of corn, daily.
Unfortunately, today was her day. My friend Lynn came over. He brought his .22 pistol. We had garbage bags for her entrails, a hunting knife...and lots of prayers that it would be painless.
Lynn smoked a cigar; I smoked a cigarette. We fed the pig good food, then branches of her favorite tree. And then Lynn took out his .22 and shot her between the eyes. She dropped like a cayman in the Amazon when you hit them right with a shotgun. Straight down.
"Want to do it?" he asked.
No, I didn't but I took the knife and cut her throat from ear to ear to bleed her. If you don't do that while the animal's heart is pumping you can ruin the meat.
SHe flopped for a few seconds till I got the throat cut. SHe stopped moving except for involuntary muscle movements in her legs.
Blood was coming out. We put her on an angle and I gut her from neck to tail. I didn't even nick the intestines, so there was no smell at all.
I turned the knife over to Lynn when I was getting frustrated and knew I was about to cut the intestines to get them out.
Lynn was marvelous: With Italo's help we got her cleaned and all her insides into a black garbage bag, then hauled her 300 Lb carcass to my truck, then brought it to the processing place.
They tell us we'll get 120 pounds of meat off her.
I know we did the right thing since I could not find anyone nearby who wanted her as a pet. She died pretty painlessly. I hope I die as painlessly, with a bullet through my head that drops me.
It was still very viceral, very in the moment, with steam coming out of the stomach cavity as I cut it open....
I think the pig will taste good. She was fed good food with lots of love. Killing her was not fun, not joyeus, not satisfying. I wish god set up a different system.
But today it was clean.
I hope whomever finally kills me is as clean.
Send me on to the next life.
Then go grab 120 lbs of bacon, ribs, roasts and sausage.
I guess that's the way to go.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Babies Coming Back

I've got to tell you all, I'm pretty excited. I leave for Peru in one week and am hoping that one fence-sitting woman who's applied for a scholarship rate of $900 for the normal $1,200 trip, as well as one fence-sitting guy who's not applied for the scholarship rate, actually materialize. If they do I might earn a grand from the jungle intensive course in July. Fantastic course: People will learn more about the Amazon basin, her peoples, river living, medicines, magic, swamps and bugs than they could in 10 college courses. But it would be fantastic to actually earn a couple of bucks.
But that's not what I'm excited about. What I'm excited about is that Chepa just returned and with her brought Sierra and Alexa. And while I might not see them tonight,
I will get to see them this week before I leave. And so my skin is jumping so much I'm having a sneezing fit. This is what life is about. This is glory. This is seeing the kids who are not mine but whom I've been helping to raise a little. I'm crazy about seeing them. I'm insane for that.
Yeah, God! I'm gonna see the girls before I go to Peru. Fantastic.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Just Loving My Kids Again

Friday morning. My new feature, to be published next week, due at the office yesterday and still not done. Worse, I'm taking a moment to celebrate my kids. I told you last week about Italo's alternator and my great mechanic upping the price from $400 to near $500, in which case I bowed out and told Italo to handle it himself. Well, he did. Ordered a rebuilt for $165 and while I was out yesterday it arrived. By the time I returned from shopping, about two hours, bingo! he'd had it replaced. Excellent. No whining, no moaning, just put the thing in.
Of course, two hours later his car overheated while he was who knows where, and I'm hoping he didn't drive it and throw a rod or do any damage. But it was Marco whom he called and without hesitation, Marco, exhausted from some very long and very wierd hours at his job--a couple of 4AMs to 2AMs followed the same evenings with 10 PMs to 4 AM--jumped in his car and drove off to help Italo. They hadn't arrived by the time dinner was ready and in fact hadn't arrived before I went to bed. So I guess they worked a long time on it. Much longer than adding antifreeze would have required.
So good for the boys becoming men.
And I also told you about Madeleina and her Phantom of the Opera book project. Well, it's due today and she's been tweaking it all week from when she got it done last Saturday at my insistence.
Well, she also had a costume she had to come up with to go with the report, and while we'd normally make it somehow (with Sarah or Chepa doing the helping), neither of them were around and so it fell to me. And I cheated: I went out and rented her an opera cape and a black fedora with two beautiful feathers in it, then bought her a white face mask she could cut to make the Phantom's mask. She had only asked me for material--plain black--to make the cape, and I'd bought that before deciding to rent the cape.
So I asked her to help me with the groceries and when she went to the truck and saw the hat she nearly feinted. "Dad! You got me a costume!!! That's cheating but I'll take it, baby!!!" and on for quite some time.
To make it less like cheating--I always thought that of kids in school whose parents did what I had done--Madeleina blew my mind and used the black material to cover her blue jeans. Held in place with gaffer tape she turned the jeans into black dress pants, and her sneakers into black evening shoes. Good for her.
And then this morning I was to go over her report and make some corrections. I got to it about 6 AM. It turned out not to be a report at all, but a retelling of the 1910 book from the Phantom's point of view. I read it and howled, cried, and sort of jumped for joy. That is one pretty smart cookie, and that was one heck of a report. There were regular kid mistakes, but I didn't change a word.
So I'm just sitting here thinking how happy I am that these wonderful beings are willing to associate with me. I'm just flat thrilled to be part of their family.
Go, kids, you rule.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Pure Joy Products

A friend of mine wrote a private response to my Banana Bread entry. It seems he's gone vegan and sent me what looks to be an excellent vegan banana bread recipe, with soy milk and some other vegan thing substituted for eggs and butter. Now in my book all food is good if prepared with attention, good products, and a dollop of love and joy. But his recipe reminded me of a story. I hope he doesn't mind that after I wrote him back I copied what I wrote and put it here. Here goes:

M:
Vegan's good. And I will make this recipe at some point. I'm not a big fan of soy milk, though, but I'll do it anyway. If they just wouldn't call it milk my tastebuds wouldn't object so much. Soy juice would be better.
I remember when I lived in LA for a while in 1980-81, I went to this pizza parlor and grabbed Clare and I a pie. It was and still is pretty rare for me to eat something like pizza but neither of us felt like cooking.
So I got it home, and we dug in: it not only wasn't very good, it was truly awful....so bad that I brought it back and got another.
That one was equally bad and I called the joint asking them how on earth they could muck up something as clearcut as pizza?
The manager on the phone was at a loss. "Everybody loves our pizza. I don't know why you don't..."
"Because even the tomato sauce doesn't taste like it has any tomatoes in it!"
"Well, of course it doesn't."
"What are you talking about? What do you mean it doesn't have tomatoes?"
"Because we're a soy based restaurant."
"A what?"
"All of our ingredients are made from soy: The crust is made from soy, the tomato sauce is soy, the cheese is soy, the oregano is soy....You didn't know that?"
"Of course not! The restaurant calls itself a Pizza Parlor!"
"We are a pizza parlor. Just very strictly vegan without vegetables. It says so right on our sign: Pure soy products!"
Well, that's what happened there. Why on earth anyone would try to live on a diet of pure soy--which I guarantee we will one day discover will kill you faster than raw red meat--is still beyond me. And the pizza was so bad I still remember it. And of course I still laugh at myself when I think of looking at that neon sign in the window that read "Pizza Parlor. Pure Soy Products," and remember reading it as "Pure Joy Products."

Monday, May 18, 2009

Well, Here You Go...

After weeks, and I mean five or six weeks of working three or four hours a day, I finally have all the hotels for the guests on the two upcoming Peru trips. That's 3 hotels for each in Iquitos, Riverboat cabins, Spaces at Sachamama for ceremony, my team in place, restaurants scheduled, Airline tickets (Saved everybody doing the whole tour more than $450 each but man was that a lot of work), and then airport transport paid for Lima, and a hotel in Lima, then in Cuzco, then a bus to the Sacred Valley, then a hotel in Ollantaytambo, then a train to Aguas Calientes, at the foot of Machu Picchu, then a curandero who will make a magic ceremony for my guests in that holy ground, then more trains, and private buses and then another hotel in Cuzco, and arranged horseback riding, and box lunches, and BOY AM I TIRED!!!! This is not like calling your travel agent! This is maybe 400 hours of work, at 2 AM, AT 5 AM, AT 10 AM, AT 3 PM, AT 6 PM, AT 11 PM....IT IS endless, these lousy details that exist. But if I don't do them, no one can or will. I pay people to take care of it and they're the best but it still takes 15-20 emails to get a single plane reservation done. I finally made all the hotel reservations, train reservations, several ceremonial reservations by myself and the agent is still looking for their cut on it all. NEWS: There is no cut if I do the work.
Still, as of tonight, I think I've taken care of every detail possible from up here. I've sent down the river water, kerosene, gasoline, new sponge mats for guests to sleep on, toilet paper, oil for the boat motors and cartridges for the shotgun. I've ordered breakfasts at 9 hotels, gotten permission to put chocolate and fruit and water into all the rooms the day before the guests arrive; I've made sure the plane tickets in Peru match the international tickets for arrival and departure, have written more than 5,000 words in three long missives explaining the trip to the guests....And now? Now I'm gonna call it a day. I Have only one plane ticket not accounted for--for a guest who joined yesterday--and then it's done. Done as much as can be done before I arrive in Peru on June 2 and begin paying my staff their thousands of aggregate dollars for doing the next 100 things that need to be done.
And when the guests arrive they'll think it is all so smooth. HAHAHAHA! It's like putting on a Broadway show: Nobody saw the out of town tryouts or the 4 weeks of intense rehearsals that make it look smooth.
So now I rest and enjoy a nice glass of wine.
Cheers everybody. Workday's done for me. Hope it's done for you as well.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Banana Bread

Well, been raining all day today and everyone is a bit on edge. Texas needs the rain but we've had an awful lot in the last few weeks. Maybe 5 nice days and 14 rainy days, or at least that's what it feels like.
So tonight, what with having had about 6 or 7 tough meals to cook this week, meals that included shrimp, marinated meats, caseroles with 10 ingredients, sausage pasta in white sauce with a slew of veggies, and then sides that ranged from spagetti squash to fresh corn to potatoes au gratin to rice to a light spinach/basil pasta and then more; and veggies that ran from spinach, garlic, corn nibs off the cobb, diced red pepper and fresh cut culantro to a melange of broccoli, cauliflower, baby carrots, bok choy in garlic, fresh ginger and rice vinegar, to sliced tomatoes sauteed thick and doused with fresh-grated parmesan cheese.....well, we needed something simple tonight.
So we're having roasted chicken thighs marinated in a gorman secret (Touch of oil, sesame oil, teriyaki sauce, garlic, onion, cilantro and achote, with salt and coarse ground pepper), beans from a can with a touch of garlic and some fresh diced tomatoes and onions to get the pan ready; fresh spinach and diced asparagus with yellow squash in garlic olive oil that's been sitting a couple of days, and then basmati rice with garlic that we'll let a touch of that chicken fat make moise.....
Well, what can I say. I broke down and made some banana bread as well. It's in the oven now. The bananas were hidden from the kids for a week while they rotted full black and super sugary. And then add a bit of genuine vanilla, some flour, couple of eggs, a little butter, good brown cane sugar, walnuts and pecans....and all the rest, and you know we've got a sweet sweet coming after dinner.
Now I've promised myself to lose five pounds for my June guests. And I am exercising and have started eating a healthy breakfast and am catching goats daily and running a bit with Boots the Blind Wonderdog and have even wrestled, and lost, with Meat, the pig--as well as having caught the birds who chewed through their beautiful wooden cage pegs two nights ago--but I'm going for the banana bread tonight. I won't put extra butter on it when it's still hot, okay? And I won't put a bit of rich cream with strawberries on it, and I refused Madeleina and Italo's request to put chocolate bits into it, but I'm still going for the bread.
I guess I'm gonna have to hope the goats escape three more times tomorrow to take that little indulgence off. Ah, well, You'd think if God was nice he'd just give me little liposuction while I'm sleeping. But no...He/She never does that...Leaves it up to me. Putting the fox in charge of the hen house if you know what I mean.
Still, while I anticipate hating myself tomorrow, that bread is starting to smell real real good from where I'm sitting.
Hope your lives are as filled with challenges as mine is.

Madeleina in the Morning

Saturday morning and Madeleina just woke up. Comes into my office living room and announces that the day sucks and it's my fault. "What's wrong with it?" I ask her.
"It's raining and that means no tie-dyeing with Sarah and that's your fault."
"Why can't you tie-die?"
"Because it's raining and you do tie-dye outside, that's why."
"Sorry, didn't know that. Never did tie-dyeing."
"Yes and it's your fault because you know how to make it stop raining and you're not going to do it. Just like when it's hot and your father knew the rain dance and could make it rain and you won't do that for me either."
"Darling, the rain is good. You don't just ask the clouds for favors because you want to tie-dye. That would be pretty selfish, wouldn't it? I mean, what about the land that needs the rain?"
She plunked herself down on the couch where I sleep and pulled my blanked up to her neck. "And I can't watch Saturday morning cartoons, either."
"Why not?"
"Because you won't let me."
"Baby, what on earth are you talking about?"
"You know. I have to work on my report..."
She's got a report due in a few days on The Phantom of the Opera, her last school project of the year and I told her I wanted it done last weekend, then put my foot down that it was to be done this weekend.
"Honey, I told you you couldn't go to the new Sam Moon with Sarah tomorrow if the report wasn't done. I never said anything about Saturday morning cartoons, or jumping on the trampoline or having a nice breakfast. I never said you couldn't come out of your room till the report was done. I never said you couldn't eat till the report was done, or that I was going to smash guitars over your head and make you glue them back together. I just said I want the report done before you go to Sam Moon and buy a new wig and stuff to freak the teachers out at school. And I said that because I know you will promise to do the report after Sam Moon, but I know that will never happen. So sometime today, spend 20 minutes writing the 300 word report on the book you've read about 11 times and then relax."
"Sure dad, like you'll let me enjoy myself."
"You bet, baby."
"And I had a dream you were spanking me, except you were hitting me with nunchuckas. Jerk."
"In your whole life have you ever been spanked?"
"No."
"I ever whack you with nunchuckas?"
"That's not the point. In my dream you did so that counts."
"I'm so glad we're having this little chat, darling. I really am."
"And you wouldn't even let me stay up to watch The Nanny last night."
"Madeleina, it was after midnight! You were exhausted. It would have been criminal to let you stay up."
"I just don't get why you can't be like my friends' dads. They spank their kids all the time and then let them do what they want. You have to have rules. Like I said, you're a jerk. And this conversation is over."
And then she walked off to go watch the Saturday morning cartoons. And Bob Dylan started running through my head: "They stone you when you try to be so good....They stone you just like they said they would...But I would not be so all alone...Every daddy must get stoned.."
Have a wonderful Saturday morning, everybody.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I'm Getting Creamed Today

Hoo boy! I'm getting creamed today. I mean murdalized, slaughtered, squashed like road kill. Woke up this morning at 4:45. Head too full of buying plane tickets and arranging hotel rooms and making sure it all goes right for my upcoming Amazon/Lima/Machu Picchu guests that I decided to stay up. Read the NY Times, the NY Post, the NY Daily News and the Ft. Worth Star-Telegram and there was very little worth reading. Was done in an hour. Got a laundry going, woke Madeleina--who wanted to wake up early--and she screamed at me. No big deal. Finished that load, did another, started the actual writing on a story that's due in a few days. I've been doing homework forever, so getting down to the writing and thinking I've got a good lede led me to believe I was in for a good day. HA!
On the way to Madeleina's school she reminded me that we had to buy 50lb bags of goat food and corn for the pig. No big deal, just $20 bucks.
Came back to find Italo awake and explaining that the mechanic said his alternator was shot--despite the light not being on--and that he'd need $400 to have them fix it or $320 and he could do it himself. He's currently out of work, so it falls on me--unless I want him using my little truck forever. I went for the $400 and the guarantee.
Then Marco came home and announced he couldn't possibly pay his car insurance this month. "You know how it is, dad...I took Carly to Six Flags."
"I know. I gave you $20 towards your food, remember...?"
"Yeah. So keep it going with that generous thing, old man. Give your kid a break. I'm really broke after buying that new phone."
Then I took a look at my four tiny stocks. Having made good dough on the first two, these seem like no brainers to me. Heck, one of them cost under half-a-penny a share so I bought 50,000 shares for a couple of hundred bucks. Every penny it goes up will get me $500. Problem was today it's down to about $0.10 a share.
And my others are bleeding too. I'm still even or ahead on all of them but last week I was up $700 and today I'm up like $30.
And then I went to send a Western Union to pay a hotel in Lima for my next group and the woman who made the reservations turned out to have given me the one day cost, not the two day cost...there goes another $400.
That's a lot of karmic body shots for someone who's barely hanging on.
But you know what? I got to talk to Sierra on the phone a few minutes ago, and then I get to take a drive to fix the Western Union with Madeleina in half an hour, and then Marco will at some point wrestle with me and Italo will do something really cool, so I'm gonna keep thinking it's a pretty good day, despite some bumps, if that's alright with everybody.

Saturday, May 09, 2009

Happy Mother's Day

Hello All: To all of you who have borne children, or wanted to, or cared for other people's children, Happy Mother's Day! I hope you find a moment to celebrate yourselves for the work, the intention, the love, the perspiration, the times you sublimated your anger, the joy, the whole damned pickle. And I hope that others around you recognize your work, your effort, your giving up so many things, your determination to make those babies, whether yours or your nephews and nieces or those you babysat for or whatever, be better people because of your contact with them. This is your day to celebrate and you ought to take it. If you have a man or a partner or a grown child, ask to be treated like a Queen for a Day (though I'm giving up my age with a reference to that TV show, ain't I?). And expect it. You've done the work, you've earned it. Enjoy it. And let yourselves enjoy it.
And for the rest of you, you mutha fukkas, well, I guess it's your day too. So I hope you also enjoy it.
Me? I've got an acre and a half of lawn to cut, reservations to complete for a trip to Peru that's coming up soon, friends I'm missing, people I'm loving and my kids whom are crazy, difficult and still the most wonderful light beings in the world, even when I can't see it.
Happy Mother's day all!

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

Heres and Theres

Wednesday, early afternoon. We've just sent the septic tank cleaning guy away with a $165 check and learned that we've got a crack in the pipe that runs into the tank. So I'm paying Italo--who is doing his college work and soccer but has no job at the moment--to dig it up and let's find out what's what. So he'll make money, I'll save no a plumber, have the fun of going to buy and then install a new pipe. So I guess everybody's happy.
But I'll tell you, I'm getting tired of these plumbing problems: I paid to have every pipe in the house but that one changed out in December, along with a septic cleaning and here we're doing it again. But with all water in the house turned off, it's still coming into the tank--which means a tree root or large gopher cracked a hole in it and with the rain we've had, a lot lot lot of rain, well, I guess it's too much for our little tank to deal with. I'll be happy when it's done.
Last years pipe leaks, the ones that pushed me to get a new hot water heater and change all the pipes, were so bad they shifted the cinderblocks under the house and sort of make the floor tilt a bit on either side of the upheaval. Ah well, it's only a house and not meant to be perfect.
Then lately, because some people who owe me can't pay me, I took a gamble in the stock market, something I've only done once before at the urging of a friend who promptly lost me nearly all of my small investment. That was 7 years ago. This time I decided to go with Ford and bought it at $2.12 then sold it at $4.35. I looked into Pier One, a store I buy Christmas gifts from, and then bought that for $0.45 cents a share and sold it at $2.12. So I got lucky and earned a very quick $4 grand and shouldn't have sold when I did (I would be up another $2gs if I held on another week, till today, but needed the mortgage and couldn't risk losing anything.
Now I've got 20,000 shares of stock in a company that makes industrial strength cleaning products that are environmentally positive and quickly biodegradable. At least that's what they tout. I paid $0.0045 each, so the 20,000 only cost $90. If it goes up one penny I make $200 and I'm hoping it takes off and goes to a buck a share. That would be completely unfair of me to make that much money but the fantasy has that $20grand going to a fine expedition in Peru. And I've got two auto parts makers (guys who do those interior lights and switches that last for years) that cost six and 17 cents a share. I mean, having taken out the two stocks I actually bet the mortgage on, I'm not selling these babies that cost a total of less than $300.
So I got very lucky. Thank you, universe. I appreciate it a lot.
And you know what else? I finally know what those guys who buy and sell stocks do. I mean, I've spent a lot of time since I bought the Ford and Pier One stocks three weeks ago looking at how this is done and realize that for people who play the market, a lot is based on hunch and then a lot is based on being willing to watch the stock go up and down and picking a spot on either side that you're going to quit at. Like I bought the ford for $2.12. I said I'd sell it if it went below $2 and wouldn't sell it till it hit $5. Of course I panicked when it went over $4 and then sold it, but still more than doubled my investment.
Anyway, it's been one heck of a learning experience and hopefully has broadened my understanding of economics, at least on that level. But now that the bills are paid it's time to get back to a couple of writing contracts, so I don't think I'll do this anymore. Except for those penny stocks....wouldn't that be nice to watch a 1/2 cent investment in an environmentally positive product zoom to a buck or two...20,000 times.
Now, back to the backed up (pardon me) shit hole we call a septic system.

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Well, There You Have It

Well, Marco's lovely girlfriend, Carly, was raised in a house where the words "yes, sir" and "yes, mam" followed anything addressed to an adult. My friend Lynn's kids also were taught that. It's nice, but maybe old-timey in my book, so I never asked my kids to go that route. Nonetheless, Madeleina has begun answering me with that "sir" word to nearly everything in the last couple of days, along with starting most sentences with "Father,..."
But it was bound to happen, given my openness to having the kids punch me in the arm between the elbow and shoulder whenever they think I've done something to wrong them. It was a solution to them needing to vent--and my Irish upbringing in which physical fighting was not a bad thing so long as didn't actually try to hurt anyone badly. And I think it worked: Both Marco and Italo gave me my share of shots over the years, and they generally got my attention so that I'd listen to what I'd done that they were sore about and then try to avoid doing it again.
Madeleina, as those who read this blog will know, has taken advantage of the rule and often uses my arms as simple punching bags. When she's excited, it's Whack! Whack! Whack! When she's angry it's Whack! Whack! Whack! When she's just in the mood, the Whacking can go on for three or four dozen shots. And she's getting pretty good at focusing so the Whacks are starting to take their toll and leave purple bruises.
This morning's session took the cake. "Father," she began, "I'm not happy that you yelled at me to go to bed at midnight last night, sir. I think it was really mean, sir. And so, father, this is for you sir..." Whack! "And this, sir." Whack! "And I've only just begun, father, sir." Whack! Whack! Whack!
It's a kind of respect that I suspect doesn't really carry a lot of sincerity. I'll muse on it while my arms heal.