Tsunami. A cat stuck in perpetual kitten hood with many qualities of man's best friend. To me he is hopelessly devoted, he follows at my heels, obeys me, comes when I call him, both sees me off at the door and comes running to greet me when I come home. He is insatiably curious, forever playful, and has amazing jumping abilities, not to mention he swims on hardwood floors. I find his personality adorable and for a girl who loves cats but also grew up with dogs, it's the perfect combination. Adam remains completely annoyed by Tsunami's devotion.

Tsunami began to follow me out onto the front porch last winter. It started out as an error on his part, not really understanding that his penchant for following me everywhere would eventually lead him into the wilds of the unknown outdoors, where loud monsters lurk and apparently humans run the earth. But it did and much to his surprise (and with some soothing and slow introductions from me) he eventually came to ... love it! And so the summer has been full of Tsunami and me on the porch together, listening to the loud and rumbling monsters, catching glimpses of a fluttering bird or flittering fly, and exploring the boundaries of the porch and all of the smells it has to offer. He has not yet made any brave attempts at escape and in fact retreats to me if I call to him in a stern voice. If I open the front door and go inside, he generally follows me in. So the other day when Adam and I were at the pet store buying food and he spots a cat leash and harness and points it out to me in jest, it was suddenly my favorite idea ever.

Read the rest »

The following was an email I sent to Adam yesterday toward the end of a very dumb day. This morning he urged me to post it as a blog because he apparently thought it was all very funny. I still fail to see humor in any of it but that's because people who step in shit generally don't laugh at the fact, it's the people across the street watching them hop on one foot looking at their shoe and the twisted grimace on their face that find the whole thing hilarious. That said, below is my suffering for your amusement, because I live to serve you all.

This day seems endless and the people, crazy. A man rode his bicycle into one of our planters outside, spilling soil everywhere on the sidewalk and partially inside the store. Then he proceeded to hit on me as I was cleaning up the mess that his carelessness created. A homeless man came in earlier begging me for money. I felt bad for him but refused his request and this angered him. He proceeded to roam the store threatening to spit on everything. I had to call the Brewery Block security and have him escorted away. An Indian man stopped in to ask if he could hang posters for the upcoming seminar with Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, after I told him that he could not, he launched into a five minute speech about "his holiness". Four people were in here browsing, seemingly harmless. One of the men spots the 11 foot tall wooden giraffe in the corner and is struck with the idea that it would be a great item for his cat to climb. He then decides to test this idea out for himself and jokingly tries to climb the thing. I did not find this amusing and proceeded to call him out on his ignorance. It has been one of those days where everyone who comes in here thinks I am an expert in African culture, politics, and art. Though I am learning many things I find it aggravating that people presume that I am the one going to Africa and designing this merchandise. If we have a comic book store will people presume that we know every artist or are perhaps the actual artist themselves? And to appropriately end the day, a man was just in here talking to me about masks. He was looking at some of the masks that are adorned with what he thought was gold but is actually hammered brass, and he's saying, "this here is an Americanized version of an African mask, in Africa they wouldn't put gold on their masks, I mean we see black people here wearing bling and we get all whacked out but over there they just pave their roads with it".

Come again?

sigh

It is the end of June and summer is just now coming to Portland. Its late arrival seems cruel and unfair to a girl like me whose wardrobe consists of 60% skirts and dresses and strappy sandals. But what's more is that it seems the late coming of summer is causing the birds to, all at once, go insane. There's a tree outback that I believe to be the Council of the Crows Headquarters. They gather in droves and spend long hours squawking and cawing over what no doubt are probably very important crow issues, like maybe they're all sick of the color black. With my kitchen window open the room fills with their arguments and I stand there and wonder why can't we all just get along, and Commodore sits in the sill and wonders just how many crows can he eat before he might explode.

But the most distressing bird disputes come in the early morning hours of 6:00AM, just outside our bedroom window, in a nest of bushes that are probably six feet away. I believe them to be scrub jays, because besides the crows they are the only other type of bird I see regularly, but sometimes as I lay there in the wee hours and listen to what sounds like a scrub jay auditioning for the part of a duck, I wonder just how Donald came to live next door to me in Portland, Oregon. This new ordeal isn't without its humor, and on most mornings Adam or I will stir, half awake, and make a crack about what method of torture is being inflicted upon the bird in order for it to produce such a sound. And so as a result I've been having quick dreams in the early mornings of bloody bird deaths and Disney characters gone awry. I just might be tempted to buy one of those plastic guns with the flimsy orange rubber darts if this keeps up for very much longer. Or water balloons. Or a flame thrower. Mmmmm ... rocket launcher.

The last month has been a blur of hurried commuting and retail wisdom. Though I wasn't fully seeking out a new job, it seems as though it may have been seeking me, and at just the right time in life. Freshly thirty and discontent with work, I had been desiring something more, a place that had purpose, a place where I was valued and heard. And so the universe dipped its bulging fingers into its earthen pot, stirred things up a bit, and pulled out Swahili to place upon my lap. A retail business with the goal of raising awareness in how we do business with Africa. A member of the Fair Trade Federation, our products are all handmade with sustainable materials, a part of our profits go toward our Partners in African Prosperity programs, and the owner of Swahili actually takes part in the design process, working closely with the artisans in Africa to develop fresh contemporary home decor. So in short, our business takes part in supporting prosperity in multiple countries all over Africa.

And in other news... actually no, there is no other news. I've been living breathing eating work day after day with only time enough in between to drink copious amounts of wine with fun new friends. All in all it's not been too terrible, just unremitting.

Read the rest »