Construction costs.

I just spent two days in the Sierra foothills, in a small town called San Andreas, for a conference on SMARA--- Surface Mining and Reclamation Act. Not nit grit details, just the general gist: If you did a big ol' hole, you are going to have to do something with said hole when you are finished digging. Days were beige. Interesting moments during the conference occurred here and there, but mostly it was long drawn out explanations of regulations where synopsis would have done, and pointless descriptions of how NOT to map. The towns, too, attributed to the visit's non-descript nature; they were slow and rundown and the 'for lease' and empty storefronts were overwhelmingly weighted. The economy has everyone bored and lethargic. Granted, I think I may have been in the meth lab and moonshine capital of the world, so that could also contribute to the... weird vibe of the area (hopeless).

Well. That was an uplifting post. Let me make it even better with some awesome destruction of the environment:

San Rafael Quarry

Red Hill Quarry by Dumbarton Bridge (kapChis on Flickr.com)

Malakoff diggings, ca.

yay team.

Leslies, thy song has come.

raising

Last night, yoga was hot. There were thirty people crammed into a room, staggered so arms and legs would not collide as we half-mooned and triangled. Sweaty and exhausted, we breathed and held our bodies in weird ways and stretched, thinking boy oh boy this is going to be sore tomorrow, but boy oh boy it's almost bathing suit time, oh right I should be breathing and relaxing into it, and om-ing. I stood at the top of my mat and turned...and that's when I saw it.

A tiny raisin. A soft raisin, warm. Sitting in the middle of my mat. It looked like a tiny turd. I pondered the raisin for a brief moment before snatching it up and stowing it near my towel. Om-ing forgotten, I shifted quickly into the newest contortion, wondering how the raisin had arrived there and who could have seen it and omg, did they think it was a tiny turd? I grabbed the arch of my foot and straightened my leg, streeeetch. Wondering.

I had a stowaway raisin, either from the making of rice pudding (with raisins) on Sunday night, or from munching on some trail mix Monday mid-morning. Apparently I carried it with me, tucked somewhere (sleeve? bra?) until it found its way into the middle of my blue yoga mat. A misleading sight.

Oh Om.