I watched Avatar today at the theater in 3D. What a show! This is a movie that no fan of sci-fi or fantasy should miss.

Humans are hoping to mine a rare and extremely valuable ore from the moon Pandora, which is inhabited by a species called Na’vi who are 12 feet tall, blue skinned, and who can interface with nature using tentacles growing from their braided hair.

The humans failed to create a relationship with the Na’vi despite creating schools and teaching them English. So the scientists grew cloned Na’vi bodies–avatars–using Na’vi and human DNA from a few highly trained scientists. These scientists can then enter a closed chamber and connect their minds to the avatar and “live” in their bodies. Perhaps the Na’vi will listen to humans when they look like Na’vi.

But one of the scientists died before his time came to connect with the avatar, so his brother Jake was given the opportunity. This is exhilarating for Jake, a marine who lost the use of his legs. Jake’s assignment was to learn the secrets of the Na’vi so the military could oust the natives from their settlement on a rich area of ore. But Jake falls in love with the people and their moon.

It’s the same story of the Europeans destroying the habitat of the Native Americans and plundering its wealth. And that part is predictable but still infuriating. It’s basically Dances with Wolves with a little Last Samurai and McCaffrey’s Pern thrown in.

But I’ll tell you, this moon and its inhabitants that James Cameron created are absolutely breathtaking. The colors delight the eyes, the flora and fauna are rich and diverse, and the Na’vi are frankly beautiful and sexy. And they are above all things deeply spiritual and attuned to their moon which, as it turns out, is a living entity where all things are connected.

My two friends and I (and I imagine the entire audience) sat spellbound watching this feast of entertainment. Don’t miss this. Don’t wait for the DVD. Go see it. I’m going to go see it again.

On a Personal Note

I cried several times during this movie (which is pretty usual for me, being a softy and all), and when I left the movie I felt like my life was completely meaningless.

Here were these beautiful creatures completely connected to their land, their world. They were all slim and fit and belonged to a community that included not only their own kind but the creatures around them. They respected their world and cared for it like a mother cares for her children.

And what do we have? We have people living in boxes who hardly speak to their neighbors. Most of us couldn’t live off the land if we had to. I won’t even bother fishing in Lake Erie because the water’s so polluted there’s a limit to how many fish you can eat per month.

Me, I’ve got a body wrecked from years of poor diet, lack of movement, and stress, and I’m just trying to figure out what food is. I’m trying to heal my body and my mind and my soul. And I’ve got 20 pounds of fat that still needs to go.

We went to dinner afterwards. I had an overcooked beef filet made from feedlot beef, mashed potatoes, and tasteless, rubbery broccoli. These three foods would never exist in the natural world.

I look at the people around me, and they’re sick and fat and mostly unhappy. What happened to sitting around the campfire laughing and loving and beating drums and dancing? Do neighbors even borrow sugar or eggs from each other anymore? Why are we all holed up in our locked fortresses?

What happened to reaching for our dreams? Why am I not acting or collaborating on creative projects? Why am I writing a friggin’ blog? What happened to the life I imagined when I was 12 years old? And the wonder and joy and energy to pull it off?

Why have we all SETTLED?

I read about farmers getting arrested for selling raw milk while the pharmaceutical companies legally continue to crank out drugs that kill people. I read about Monsanto gobbling up the seed market and the USDA trying to regulate small farms out of business. I read about the Bilderberg group and their quest for domination of the planet. I read the fraud that is H1N1 and the corrupt WHO and the CDC. I watch my civil liberties picked off one at a time by the rich and powerful.

There’s so much corruption and our nation’s citizens can’t even join together to overcome it. Did we run out of energy in 1776?

Our world is facing a mass die off of many species because of loss of habitat and poaching and global warming. And people still wear furs and still bulldoze rain forests and still buy too much crap that they don’t need.

We breed too often and create children who are weak and sick. The most natural of events–breastfeeding–is an inconvenience, and sometimes it’s just harmful to infants because of the toxins passed in the milk. Then the children enter an educational system that doesn’t believe in critical thinking. Then they get a job working for someone else while the dream they had when they were 12 slowly dies inside them.

We are a sick species, and unfortunately we’re the dominant species on our world. And we keep taking.

If only I were an optimist.

Sorry this post is such a bummer.

The Long Drive to Warwick

I went to Warwick, New York, to spend Thanksgiving with my niece, Reagan, and her family. I haven’t seen her in 11 years. She was 21 when I last saw her, and now she’s a grown woman with a husband and two young girls.

The drive took about 6-1/2 hours. Much of the highway in Pennsylvania was in such poor condition that it was patched all over. The constant hammering of bumps began to give me a headache. I took a cup of coffee for the trip, and passed the first rest stop; next rest stop 19 miles. I can wait. Next rest stop: No facilities. (Maybe they should have mentioned that back at the last rest stop.) So park, trot and squat in the bushes.

When I crossed the border into New York, the signs said, “State Speed Limit 55 Miles per hour.” At least I think it was New York. I was on a four lane highway with a fenced median (two lanes on either side). The car ahead of me continued to speed along at 75 miles per hour, and I slowed somewhat. As I crested a hill at about 67 mph, there in the median was a highway patrol SUV. After I passed I looked in my rearview mirror and saw red and blue lights flashing. Busted!

Damn! No! No! No ticket! My adrenals seem to be in working order, because my entire body was flooded with adrenaline. I could feel it in my skin, my chest, my legs. The lights receded as traffic prevented the SUV from entering the lane. I cast about for an exit, some way to escape this monster bearing down on me. Then the lights were gone. Maybe I was safe.

The lights reappeared in the mirror. Damn! I can’t believe I’m going to get a ticket. But the radar god was gracious that day. The SUV pulled someone else over. Now, what to do with all this adrenaline?

New York is really anal about their seatbelt laws. Solar-powered signs littered the highway with “Click It or Ticket. It’s the Law.” Why is this so important that you need all this hardware every 30 miles? Fines double in work zones. Two tickets for work zone violation result in suspension of license. Cell phones verboten.

A Trip Down Musical Memory Lane

My back was hurting and I was tired as I got close to Warwick. (I was listening to Eckhart Tolle on CD, which is probably not wise on a long trip. I switched to the radio.) I saw a sign saying, “Welcome to Florida.” My reptilian brain panicked! How could I have gotten to Florida??? Then my evolved brain intervened and read the sign again, “Village of Florida.”

This reminded me of a trip I took to Italy, intending to go to Rome. Instead of driving south through Austria and down the west coast of Italy, I took a wrong turn and drove east through Austria. When my boyfriend Dennis woke up, he discovered my error. Whoops. We ended up in Lido di Jesolo and pitched a tent. We went sidewalk shopping and kept seeing T-Shirts and posters with the word Venezia on them. What is Venezia? Oooooh, it’s Venice! the place of $6 cokes and dirty waterways. Not a bad outcome after all.

I was listening to Seventies on Seven and John Denver was singing Rocky Mountain High. An avalanche of memories fell on me. From when I bought John Denver albums as a teen. A girlfriend who was in love with John. Memories of my grandfather’s house in Chico, California, and hearing the feather bed song, hunting the creek for crawdads. I began to cry, deeply touched by the beauty of the John’s voice. For a lost childhood, a lost innocence, a whole life ahead of me. A time when mortality was never considered.

The next song was by KC and the Sunshine Band. Now I was back at Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri, in the summer for Army basic training and AIT. Time off was celebrated in hot, stifling bars dancing to 70s disco, and getting ripped on cheap beer, dripping with sweat, meeting lots of boys, falling in love with a drill sergeant (or two).

Then Mr. Bojangles played. My memory of this song was painfully jumbled with memories of other depressing songs of loss that my mother played after my father left us for another woman, a woman we all knew because our family was friends with her family, and she worked for my father. But then her husband died, and my dad took his place. Sammy Davis Jr.’s version of Bojangles was my mother’s favorite.

Bette Midler singing Breaking Up Somebody’s Home and Skylark. Barbra Streisand, Peggy Lee, Neil Diamond, a rotating playlist about broken love to intensify the effects of her drinking and pain. My favorite heartbreak song was John Denver’s Please, Daddy, Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas.

I finally arrived at my niece’s. Here, another piece of my past, held in my arms. The only family I’ve seen in a couple years. Perhaps the only family I care to see.

The last time I saw her was when I visited my sister (her mother) right after her husband left for another woman. It was a visit to hell punctuated by the crying and screaming of yet another drunk woman suffering another crushing loss. And my niece, a young woman, trapped in the same home.

I chose not to have children. Didn’t want to pass on this legacy, and didn’t feel strong enough to overcome it. Will my niece embrace the tradition if her husband leaves her, and pass the legacy to her girls? I hope it never comes to that.

On November 11 I gave up refined sugar. I indulged in gobs of ice cream and daily mochas the few weeks prior to the big day, and practically made myself sick with sugar. I’ve been sugar-free a whole week. Woo hoo!

For several days I’ve had headaches and aches in the back of my legs, mostly behind my knees. I’ve also had odd aches and pains in my knee joints and hips. The knee pain is reminiscent of when I had arthritis. Mostly I’m just tired. I’ve read that it can take several weeks for the body to switch from a sugar-burning metabolism to a fat-burning metabolism. I am happy to report that I’ve lost three pounds.

Sugar cravings lasted only a couple days, and now I’m pretty comfortable and steady. But at night after dinner I like to watch TV and eat a couple pomegranates. We’re just now starting the pomegranate season and my local Wegmans sells huge beauties at two dollars each. So I am getting some sugar, but all refined sugars are off the table.

On another note, since giving up sugar my salt cravings have diminished. Or maybe it’s just because of the supplements I’m taking now.

I got my side of beef last week. Last night I roasted and ate a chuck roast and steamed asparagus. The night before I roasted a pasture-raised chicken with root vegetables. It’s fun learning how to cook. In a couple weeks my side of pork will be ready for pickup.

My friend Pete and I went to see 2012 on Friday. If you like special effects, then you need to see this show in the theater, not on DVD. The story wasn’t so great (typical Hollywood serendipity with heroes escaping destruction at the last minute), but the action never stopped. WOW! Watching the world blow up is pretty entertaining. Are the Mayans and Hopis right? Will our planet’s poles shift 2012?

I bought us popcorn and when the cashier asked if I wanted butter, of course I said yes. I love buttery popcorn. Then I asked if it was real butter or soybean oil? He let me look at the container: partially hydrogenated soybean oil and butter flavor. Disgusting. Yeah, I ate it, because I had my heart set on it, but that’s the last time I eat popcorn from a theater. How could anyone in their right mind think that concoction is healthier than real butter? We’ve been hoodwinked!

I’ve spent most of the past few weeks learning my Mac and the video editing software Final Cut Express, I’ve published my first interview on Joanne Unleashed. It was originally going to be a Skype interview over the Internet, but I ended up doing it in my home. I used two cameras to record the interview, and I spent probably eight hours editing the two videos into one. I learned a lot, and I really enjoyed it. Check it out and let me know what you think.

I’ve not posted much this past month because I’ve been learning. I borrowed some money from my parents and bought a Macbook Pro, a Flip HD digital camera, and Final Cut Express software to edit videos. I’ve never owned a Mac before, so I had to learn how to maneuver around the desktop. I’ve also never used editing software. I joined Lynda.com and their course on Final Cut Express gave me enough information to produce the two videos I’ve uploaded this month.

I’m going to be starting a new blog devoted to health and nutrition that will launch November 11. Why November 11? Let me tell you an interesting story.

A few years ago while I was living in my motor home, I contacted a psychic who had been recommended to me by a book customer. It was an incredible experience. She knew things that she shouldn’t have known, which built trust in me, but then she lost the trust when she said things that were vague or just not true. (I believe half the time she was truly psychic and the other half she was just stroking my ego.) We ended on a sour note, sadly, with my expressing doubt and her ripping me a new you know what. But for a short while I had been lifted to a new vibration, a new awareness, that was incredibly empowering.

It’s amazing how high one can rise in thought and spirit when they are affirmed as valuable and powerful. These aren’t typical messages we receive from our parents, our educators, our peers or our society. These forces seem instead to be intent on bringing us down and taking our personal power away. I envy those children whose parents believed in them and encouraged them to live their dreams. My mother believed in me, to a point, but she was kind of a nut job. My dad’s constant message was that I wasn’t good enough.

I think we all doubt ourselves, think too little of ourselves and each other. We keep track of our failures and judge ourselves, subconsciously compare ourselves to others. There’s that constant voice when we dream big that says, “You can’t do it.”

Anyhoo, during my high vibrational state, I was surfing through real estate listings because I was looking to buy a house. I came across this beautiful property and when I wrote the six-digit MSL number down I said to myself, “That equals 11.” That meant nothing to me, and I had no idea why I said it. I never added numbers up before (I suck at math).

But I added up the numbers and, you guessed it, they equaled 11. I told the psychic, thinking that it might be “a sign” that this was the house for me (a holdover from my years as a Christian seeking signs of God’s direction). She replied, “No, that’s not what it means. It means you’re a master number 11.” Apparently in numerology there are master numbers: 11, 22, and 33.

The following are some typical characteristics of the master number 11:

The 11 is also known as the psychics number, it’s the most intuitive of all numbers and it represents illumination and deep insight. The 11 is also very sensitive, charismatic and inspirational.

It acts as a channel for information between the higher and the lower. In order to find fulfillment and happiness, 11′s have to focus on a bigger goal beyond themselves.

11′s seem to develop slowly, but they simply need more time to mature and prepare themselves for the bigger goals and challenges they need to face. At times, 11′s might get intimidated by the vastness of their goals and they might even loose confidence in themselves.

One of the major challenges of 11′s is to develop confidence in their abilities and that’s also the key to unlock their enormous potential.

Here are some of the ideal career choices and vocations of 11′s:

Inventor, artist, teacher, healer, spiritual leader and mystic. –Spiritual Numerology

Now I don’t know anything about numerology, and I won’t discount it outright without investigation. But I don’t need to understand or believe in it to grab hold of the idea offered to me. What I do believe in is that thought creates reality. We become what we believe.

Better the illusions that exalt us than ten thousand truths. –Alexander Pushkin

Since then I’ve been drawn to the number 11. My birthday this year was February 18, 2009. Now, added together it comes to 22, which is another master number. But February 19 equals 11 and so does 2009. So I decided this would be my year to find my purpose. And I think I found it!

November 11, 2009, adds up to 6, but I choose to see it as 11/11/11. So on November 11 I will be publishing my new blog. I’ll provide you with the URL on that day. I’m very excited about it, and I hope to offer really helpful, educational content to encourage others eat well, get well, and stay well.

Thank you for sharing my journey with me.

I decided it was time to get my hair colored and cut. In this video you’ll meet my stylist, Autumn, and hear about what can go wrong when you stop eating animals but still eat typical American foods.

Please let me know if you have any trouble viewing the video. This is my first video shot with an HD camera and edited in Final Express 4.

I just checked my Amazon affiliate account, and someone ordered almost $300 worth of books, earning me almost $20 in affiliate commissions. Happily, one of the books is a title I had wanted a few years ago but didn’t order and then lost track of. What a happy coincidence.

Last month several people placed orders through this site earning me over $10 in commissions.

An additional benefit to me is I learn about other interesting books by the choices people make, liked Your Inner Fish: A Journey into the 3.5-Billion-Year History of the Human Body. I’ve been adding several of these titles to my wish list.

I just wanted to say thank you for ordering through here. Those orders have paid the hosting fees for the next four months.

THANK YOU!
THANK YOU!
THANK YOU!

Thanks to a poster on a message board, I just bought $150 worth of restaurant gift certificates for $15 at Restaurant.com (I got 70 percent off).

The site brings restaurant owners and diners together by offering restaurant searches via zip code, state, or popular city. The listings include hours of operation, menus, wine list, available restaurant websites, accommodations, a map, etc.

You can now get an additional 60 percent off your coupon price by using the discount code GIFT in your shopping cart. Enjoy!

In December 2008 I wrote a long post saying I was changing my focus from health education to manifesting. It didn’t last long. I’m too invested in health education. I love it too much. I love helping people unhook from a flawed system.

People want to know how to be healthy, what to eat, how to cure chronic disease, and the information they’re getting is pretty lame and industry-driven. There’s a lot of money to be made off of sick people (and unhappy people), and a lot of people willing to lie to get it.

Common sense is your greatest ally. I will continue to write about health and nutrition as well as manifesting and spirituality. I’ve decided that I’m not going to have a particular niche. I’m just going to be me, as scary as that sounds.

Erie is warming up. The past week we had several days of sunshine, one night of snow, and now we’re having some rain. I find I miss the sound of rain, which brings me back to sweet memories of evergreen Oregon.

Winter in Erie is a long, gray, cold affair. All the trees have lost their leaves. Storm winds often howl all night, swinging branches rubbing and beating against each other, a roar of sound like angry gods. It sounds like an airport. These Pennsylvania trees are hardy and stand up against the beating. The moisture-rotted maples of Oregon would never survive here.

Snow on the ground and cloud cover overhead reflect the city lights. It’s soothing on a still night to watch snowflakes float down to blanket the ground, but it seldom gets dark. I miss the dark, dark nights in Oregon and the canopy of brilliant stars that reminded me of my insignificance and my uniqueness.

I wake to a variety of birdsong I’ve never heard before. The Robins have returned, bright-breasted and hungry.

The first leaf buds are beginning to open. Bulbs give up their substances sending up leaves to consume the light from our beautiful sun, the ball of fire that gives us light and life and warmth. I yearn to lie naked beneath him. Come, warm sunshine. Bring this dull town back to life.

A masterful packing job

Continued from Part I.

Tom and Mike needed to fit ten cat carriers, a litter box, three boxes of litter, four cases of canned cat food, two suitcases, one valise, two pillows, a bathrobe, two bags, two boxes, a gun case, a few odds and ends and three people in an SUV. They did it somehow.

I left my beautiful home for good and led the way in my Mazda Speed 6 to WalMart to get some disposable paper bowls to feed the cats. Then we went to the credit union where I parked my car and handed the keys to an employee, telling her I could no longer make payments. Then I climbed into the SUV and off to Pennsylvania we went.

Goodbye Veneta home

The first rule was “No one opens a door unless all cat are enclosed in their carriers.” We started letting cats out within hours and they found their way to our laps. Toby (first cat, black cat) was her typical charming self, hissing, chuffing, lashing out at others, just “carrying on cranky,” to quote a famous Minbari. I quickly abandoned rule number one as unworkable.

When we arrived at Motel 6, Tom asked if they allowed pets. When they replied that they did, Tom did not inquire as to how many. So we boxed up the kitties and I snuck them into my room two at a time. I nearly panicked when several started meowing loudly for dinner, fearing that the people in the room next to me would be alerted to my crime. I fed the cats as fast as possible and then let them out of their carriers.

Of all God’s creatures there is only one that cannot be made the slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with a cat it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat. –Mark Twain

Six of the cats had urinated and two had defecated on the towels in their carriers. After dinner they loaded up the litter box with an unimaginable volume of waste. In the morning the box was again full of loathsome smelling canned food feces.

The more inquisitive cats inspected every bit of the room while the shy ones hid underneath the beds. About six cats tried to sleep with me, four of them vying for coveted positions under the covers. Lyla snuggled against my head. Halfway through the night I awoke to Puddy digging through the garbage for the lids to the canned cat food. After I put that away he discovered the cat food cans in another bag. I bundled that up and put it on a high shelf. I slept poorly that night.

Can you see six cats?

The next morning Mike suggested we break down a few boxes and let the cats roam. This worked really well, and he eventually perfected the system. We broke down all but three carriers and provided a clear path to the litter box and the water bowl. My two black cats, Toby and TipToe, monopolized my lap and became aggressive when challenged or forced to share. Agnes spent one full day in the litter box and the other two days in a carrier with Arthur and Pinegar.

Four cats up front and Chester at my feet

A pillow was placed on top of belongings behind my seat and another on the middle console. The cat occupying the middle console became the gatekeeper to the lap, so cats had to sneak to my lap via my right shoulder. The front of the car eventually filled with cats: two on the middle console pillow, two on my lap, and one tucked into my shirt front. Chester was fascinated by the floorspace with the pedals at Tom’s feet and made repeated dashes but was redirected to my floorspace.

So that’s how we traveled four days from Oregon to Pennsylvania. We stayed at Motel 6′s for three nights, and the rooms were almost identical, so this reduced cat inspection time significantly. It’s amazing how resilient and adaptable cats can be.