Hi all,
I had a piece here that was a work-in-progress, an attempt at explaining what happened the night of the fire and the subsequent days.  I'm going to keep working it (behind the scenes) because it needs shaping.  Please stay tuned.  I appreciate your patience.  The blogging at this point is an excerise to keep my "game-face" on, so you will probably see more blog entries over the coming days than usual. 

A few quick updates:

-I have a temporary place to live.
-The six of us are looking at our possiblities.
-Isa, the dog, has a new home in Aspen for now where she can run free!
-There will be a benefit/show at Saxy's on Sunday the 10th, around closing time.
-I'm having nightmares, but beginning to even out emotionally.
-Today I practiced tai chi at the library and felt the burn in my thighs. 

A few requests:

-If you don't already have it, get rentor's insurance.  People are telling me it's cheap, about 10$ a month.
-If there's someone in your life you love that you haven't said that to lately, let them know.  Everything is in flux.

There is a story about the Buddha. It goes like this.

Once there was a woman named Kisagotami, whose first-born son died. She was so stricken with grief that she roamed the streets carrying the dead body and asking for help to bring her son back to life. A kind and wise man took her to the Buddha.

The Buddha told her, "Fetch me a handful of mustard seeds and I will bring your child back to life." Joyfully Kisagotami started off to get them. Then the Buddha added, "But the seeds must come from a family that has not known death."

Kisagotami went from door to door in the whole village asking for the mustard seeds, but everyone said, "Oh, there have been many deaths here", "I lost my father", I lost my sister". She could not find a single household that had not been visited by death. Finally Kisagotami returned to the Buddha and said, "There is death in every family. Everyone dies. Now I understand your teaching."

The Buddha said, "No one can escape death and unhappiness. If people expect only happiness in life, they will be disappointed."

Last week I started reading The 4-Hour Workweek by Timothy Ferriss.  I read an article and interview feature with him in Transitions Abroad, the magazine.  It's a rare book indeed that reminds me that I'm doing a lot of work in the world that serves a higher purpose and that even though I'm not on the 9-5 corporate ladder career track, I'm following my purpose.  The fire, far from being a paradigm shift for me, has given me the chance to hone my focus even more.  And it's been a jump start to doing a lot of the work I've put off for some time.

Tomorrow I'm flying to Michigan to see my grandparents.  They want to make sure I'm not having a mental breakdown.  When I told them of my plans to fly to Argentina in a week and a half they might have become a tad concerned.

About 48 hours after the fire I started considering my next move.  Whether in Boulder or beyond, and how to create the most mobile lifestyle possible.  The book is helping.  There's a massive yard sale going on this weekend where I'm going to sell off my remaining possessions that aren't mobile. 

And I'm also working on a term I coined about 3 months ago at a GTD meeting:  My EAP!  EAP! stands for Emergency Action Plan!  It boils down to this.  If all systems go down, all collection baskets fail, you fall ill or someone you love dies, for instance, what is the plan?

(EDIT:  The plan has changed, see latest blog entries for details.) Here's the skinny on Argentina.  I started looking for volunteer programs that would allow me to stay plugged in abroad (read:  solid wi-fi connection).  I found Expanish.  In addition to being some of the friendliest people I've ever had the chance to do business with, they have an 8 week program that combines Spanish immersion, homestay, volunteer work with children and an internship component.  I applied and found out more about the program.  They offered a scholarship and I will still be doing fund raising (including the yard sale in the Mapleton District this weekend...please come out if you're in Boulder!).  One idea I had was to put a Chip In widget on my blog.  Please chip in if you'd like to and no pressure if not.  I'm going to Argentina and appreciate any help of any kind.  I need to buy plane tickets, insurance and a single pair of underwear that will last me the whole trip.

Stay tuned for the launch of Expatriette, the lady, the lifestyle, the lemonade out of lemons.

Love,
Gwen

Well, tonight was a night to remember.  The benefit at Saxy's was a sight to behold.  Mannequins and friends, art and destroyed art.  Details to follow, but here's a shot of the scene.  If you missed it, no big deal.  Catch it next time if you can.  (That's a joke, this was, fingers crossed, the last time I'll be participating in a post-fire benefit in my honor.)

Highlights:

The Return of Vince and Emily Horn.  Halleluiah!  Back from the far East.
Ricky holding the mannequin's crotches.
Love One Another's Compilation Fire CD (featuring such classics as Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire") blasting through the cafe and neighborhood.
Waylon's cameo and subsequent trying to feel up my dress.
The Red.
The Smell of Fire.
The Mac (and someone's offer to rescue the hard-drive.  It's already been rescued.  Thanks, y'all).
The wine.
The art.  Found, rescued and created for an evening of classy coming together and loving.

If you'd like to hear more about my experience in the fire in a dialog, check out the most recent Zen is Stupid podcast.  Patrick and I talk fire and impermanence in a sad but not at all demoralizing show.  Zen is Stupid:  Fire!  Tune in here.

(Crossposted from gwenbell.com)

Most of you know I'm now living a mobile lifestyle. (I prefer this terminology to "vagrant" or Capshaw's more euphemistic "nomad.") The plan is emerging, but I know for sure that I don't want to pay another deposit (yesterday's sticker shocker? $975 for a one-room in downtown Boulder) for a house that hasn't gotten a deep clean since the '40s, a landlord that neglects to check her fire extinguishers and looks like it might go up in flames any minute. Yesterday, a tenant that's moving out showed me the fireplace and said, "it really works!" Oh, goody!

So, it's either tent-living (nylon condo), overseas travel or house-sitting for me, for now...which brings me to... The latest from Plunge Artist, a one-page PDF checklist for anyone looking to break their lease to live on the streets, in their car, or in the skies while still being able to work. Click here to download and educate yourself. Because, if you're totally honest, you're sick of making your landlord rich. Get mobile and get rich.*

*This statement not yet proven, tested nor certified. Use at your own risk.

Here's a story worth telling.

Stan, from wanderingstan.com posted a blog about the MacBook that didn't survive the fire.

He then submitted the story to TUAW, The Unofficial Apple Weblog.  The story caught on like a flame.  All this happened as I slept, in Michigan.  I had no idea anyone had submitted it.  Let alone dugg it.  It's been dugg nearly 2,000 times.

So then today I see that this story has spread like wildfire and has made it on to Wired Magazine's news blog.  Any of you that know geek know Wired.  Nothing like a burned up MacBook to get the tech world talking.  This has also been a kick in the pants for me to get my own site, gwenbell.com up and running so that anyone can leave comments and talk to me, not just those within the gated zaadz community.  To read the rest of this story and see a video of the Plunge Artists at their best (karaoke night! and the embarrassment that accompanies it...) read more and laugh.

EDIT:  The Macbook is famous and now you can have a piece of toasted history.  Bid at ebay to get a little piece of the fire and contribute to the healing fund.

Not that you would, but you could...read my mini-autobiography on Twitter.

(Crossposted from )

What now? I wish I could say that I've figured out what the next move is, that I know which direction to go. It's been two weeks since the fire and I'm no longer laying awake wondering what will happen to me as I sleep. I figure if it's going to happen, it just will. The lethargy is peeling away at its own pace as half-formed ideas ripen and begin to take root. At the moment I'm sleeping in the basement of a friend's house. The same basement where I dumped what was left of my possessions after the fire. My friend and tai chi teacher called me homeless three times in a conversation and the scales simply dropped from before my eyes. I went to the Boulder Youth Hostel to find out that their rate is $50/night for a private room. That doesn't sound like too much until you think about living there for a month. 30x50 =$1500. The Nylon Condo living situation fell through when the guy got evicted---as of this week, he no longer has a back yard. It's not that I can't find a place to live. It's that each time I open up a browser window and click my way over to craigslist I lose major heart. The Maxwell House place was $475/month, walking distance from downtown Boulder. I lived with people that I care about. It was a month to month lease. Each day, with temperatures rising, my To Do list grows. Paul said yesterday that he can see why people are driven to drink. If you don't have a permanent address, the post office won't let you get a PO Box. So that means our mail continues to be forwarded to the cafe. Indefinitely. I won't list all the grievances because it will sound like I'm bitching and I don't see what purpose it serves. Since I've gotten back to the States I've run into a lot of bureaucracy and much of it has been highlighted or accentuated by the fire. Do You Deal Drugs or What? Yesterday a woman from the Boulder Fire Dept. called to talk with us about the fire. She does fire prevention. She told us that the number one cause of fires in Boulder is candles. It's been confirmed that that's what started ours. Please, take a second to get educated on fire prevention here. One thing that she said was the cause of fire and age group involved (all of us in our mid-20s to barely-30s) happens most often. We're not educated about smoke detectors, the likelihood of a fire being caused by an open flame and many of us have flaky landlords. (The irony: the day of our fire I got a package from a loved one- four electric, wireless "candles "set the mood on fire, not the house" the same day. Ask Casey for verification.) Here's the question I'm asked most often these days, when I tell people that I'm going to travel again. People ask, "how can you afford to travel so much?" Even though the response I want to give is, "I can't afford not to," I want to come clean with you. I don't deal drugs or do anything illegal. I am a good, honest citizen. Not particularly hard-working, definitely no "work for work's sake" but love to be challenged and challenge others. Here's how it works. I used to work enough to afford to travel and then left the job, having saved up enough to travel for a given period of time. I studied abroad for a year in the UK for the same amount it would have cost me to be at UNC for that year. Exchange programs are an awesome way to see the world. If you're still in school, do it. Dooo it. Diversify Your Travelfolio Now that I'm all grown up, I have multiple income streams. I get crafty and start businesses. Some of them are in America, some of them are abroad, which means that all of my money isn't in USD. That's how I diversify my portfolio. I make investments in people, projects and places rather than a portfolio. I am not at all concerned with 401ks or Social Security. In fact, I got a statement from Social Security this year telling me that by the time I'm 70, there won't be enough money to pay me back for what I've put in over the years. Fine with me, but not cool if you're working for the man 9-5, giving the best years of your life to a company or something you either don't believe in or half believe in. I am also extraordinarily blessed. When my mom died my grandparents took me in without question, at my mom's behest. They've bailed me out of a number of situations. Like when I called from Sevilla to let them know my ATM card had been stolen and they wired me several hundred dollars through Western Union. They helped pay for my time in university. They have been calm and unperturbed when I've called from thousands of miles away to say I'm falling apart from homesickness. But I'm no trust fund kid. When I'm broke, I get crafty. I look for needs and figure out a way to fill it. It really depends on the country I'm in. I'm not afraid to ask for help and am quick to offer it when I can. I'm a teacher and one of the greatest gifts I believe I can offer is through teaching, listening and getting out of people's way to let them grow. Attention & Travel I plan to do a series of posts on the Attention Economy. (That last link is to the wiki, but this is to a blog on the attention economy that may be easier to digest.) Because we're in it and because it will change the way we think about work, leisure and the world. I think it will change how people travel, if it isn't already. The premise is that the overwhelming amount of information in today's society has caused a scarcity of attention to the degree that getting attention has become more important than getting money. Because there's an abundance of material goods and wealth (and we've seen a lot of miserable wealthy people), people's material needs, in the States at least, are more or less met, and people are increasingly spending their time on projects, relationships and websites that draw attention to themselves. Our future will be determined by media that we ourselves create and then consume. I'm still working out how travel fits in to this, but we've seen how status can get you better seats on a plane or room in a "fully booked" hotel. It will come to pass, I believe, that stars of the attention economy like Heather from Dooce who traveled with her husband to Amsterdam, most expenses paid by the Holland Tourist Board, will proliferate. We'll see. I don't plan to be one of those stars. I plan to travel even more widely than I have, start more businesses (including Expatriette, as you know), learn more languages, grow in yet unforeseeable ways. I plan to log it, blog it and grow a number of global micro-brands. The fire was an impetus and I know the journey is well underway.

Sherry greets us at the Boulder Fire Department with a huge smile and hug. She's expecting us. We walk up the stairs to the office and notice the bulletin board with pictures of grimy firefighters involved in some heavy duty work. The training was to teach them how to cut holes in the roofs of burning buildings. Some of them grin up at the camera, showing off their chainsaws and sweat."They did that to your house, too," she tells us, gesturing at a picture of a precariously poised firefighter, angling the chainsaw while gripping his ladder. The temperature inside was so hot that they had to "pop the top" and cut a huge hole out of the roof, communicating with people on the inside through walkie talkies. "Must be terrifying," I say to Sherry. She nods that it's one of the most dangerous parts of the job.

I don't plan to talk about the fire "forever." After my mom died I heard "time to get over it" more than a few times and I now believe that kind of sentiment is bullshit. Talking things out, sharing the story and gathering information about why/when/how (as my journalistic tendency to do so is anyway) is part of the healing.

The six of us that lived together at Maxwell House have gone our separate ways for the most part. One of us went to India. One to New Mexico. Several of us have hung around Boulder but are ready to travel. I've got the itch.

Sherry hands us the 27 page Fire Investigation Report as we pepper the staff and firefighters with questions. I ask where the brass pole is they slide down to go to fires. Everyone laughs except me I guess.

Maxwell House Fire: The (Juicier) Stats

Time of Alarm: 12:20 am

Time of Arrival of First Fire Truck: 12:24 am

Clear Time: 5:16 am

Number of Fire Fighters: 25

Event: Heat from a candle that was placed in plastic candelabra melted the candelabra which eventually ignited the wall covering and spread to other combustible materials.

We talked with David, the fire marshal (and we, the girls of Maxwell House, guessing May's calendar boy) about temperatures (it got up to about 800 degrees in there) and his five minutes of fame. He laughs it off and eats a Hershey's Kiss. I lust.

And digress. So, anyway, here I am in this room with all these guys that are used to being in hot hot heat and Sherry tells us we can go take a look at the 911 call center. We'll have to be quiet, she says. The call center where they took our call at 12:20 on May 30th. Old house on fire.

"They eat constantly," she tells us as we enter a dimly lit room, "it's the nature of the job." A lot of people are eating and watching computer screens. Hands-free headsets and macaroni vegetable salad things. It's still and eerily quiet in the call center. Everyone appears to be calm and level-headed. I notice that calls are coded by the type of call that comes in SU for Suicide and F for Fire.

We wrap up our tour. I leave the photos that I took, mounted and framed in 11x14 frames behind with the crew that helps save lives everyday while you sleep. The incinerated Macbook is now in their possession, too, for training purposes.

I'm full of gratitude for the firefighters that were there that night, the team of well-trained emergency services people that answered our 911 call and the folks, including Sherry, that have dedicated their lives to training people in fire prevention.

(Photo cred: boboblogger.mu.nu.)

Casey Capshaw may be living out of a tent in the mountains right now.  And he might have more hair on his chin than usual.  But he's still as much a gentleman as he ever was.

One time, early on at Maxwell House, we got into a fight.  We were having a house meeting and Paul was the unwitting arbiter of the heated conflict.  I wanted rules and standards.  Casey wanted me to get a grip.  I watched the color arrive at his neck and slowly creep up to his cheeks and then to the very roots of his hair as he got angrier with me (and I with him).  At one point I hurled my worst insult:  I compared him to a misogynist frat boy.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  Or sorrier.

A few weeks later I pull up into the drive to see Casey on his hands and knees sawing at something.  There's fresh wood-chips and planks of wood strewn everywhere.  His jeans are rolled up at the bottom (he's sturdy and has a very low center of gravity, okay).  He tells me he's building a bed.  By the time he's finished building his bed he needs two fully-grown men to get it into his room and to get on it you have to reach up, bounce yourself a little and thrust yourself onto it.  It's four feet tall, with room to comfortably fit a small family of refugees underneath.  In the end, he has to saw a foot off the bottom.

He's passionate about his work, whatever it is he happens to be doing in any given week.  He's taught me about marketing, convincing me at one point to take a green and black pill that supposedly had green tea extract and some sort of "energy" in it.  He can sell anything.  He taught me all I know about SEO.  He works out several times a week even when he's living up in the mountains in a tent.  He worships the feminine without letting it rule him.  When he dances with me he "leaves space for the Lord."  He's a good boy from Oklahoma, but he plays his edge every single day.  And that's why he inspires me.

I know things will start to come together for Casey.  Someone incredible will find out about his incredibilities and the team will be unstoppable. 

Until then, I'm rooting for you, Case.

Oh, they're bragging.  They're putting it in their gmail chat windows:  Available replaced by i have an iphone. 

Before you all start thinking it so, no, I am not jealous.  And that's becase on the very day Apple put out the iPhone, Ratatouille came out.  As I sat in an air conditioned theatre with a hundred or so kids and their parents, you were on the phone with AT&T trying to explain that the *#$^ thing won't activate.

I'm a hardcore Mac fan.  I am part of the Cult of the Mac and proud owner of three, count 'em three, Apple computers.  Bought the second gen iPod. Waited in line in Ginza when the iPod Mini debuted in pink (had to return it 3 times b/c of manufacturing problems and finally gave up when they wanted to give me a fourth one...)  There, now that I've established my cred...

Months ago, I asked some other hardcore Apple fans, as well as folks within the mobile phone industry, whether they thought I should buy it when it came out.  "Puff," they scoffed, "not a chance.  All first-gen stuff is gonna have problems."  And they were right.  But even though the MacBook is "figured out" now, people are still destroying them with sledgehammers.

Moving right along to the Disney/Pixar movie.  The film is a gem.  It does to me what the Harry Potter books and films have done to me.  They make me feel like a kid again.  I'm entranced and leave the theatre in a kind of daze, everything takes on a more vivid color and flavor.  I believe rats are blue and can cook.  That sort of thing.

The iPhone has been hailed by some as the phone that will revolutionize the way we live, eat and drink.  Haven't all our other technologies already done that?  As tech crazed as I am, I've been staying off the computer for longer swathes of time recently.  More emails than ever but my real self-development is happening off-line.  Isn't yours? 

I know, it took technology to let me see that film yesterday.  I guess I'm really just pleased that I wasn't one of those at the front of the line waiting to buy a phone, hang out with customer service and majorly lose my cool yesterday.  You're not a trend-setter if you bought one.   You're a slave to technology.  And if you don't already own stock in the company, you're simply making Steve and Co. very rich.

Now, get out there and watch the film.  It may not be terribly hip but you'll laugh.  (And side note, you're making Steve rich by going to that film too, since he's the largest shareholder at Disney.)

And if you still really, really want an iPhone, not to worry.  Here's a recipe for creating your very own homemade iPhone.  All it takes is a little magic.  *twinkle*


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*All images found in the photo montage above property of Steve Jobs.  As far as I can figure it anyway.  Paul of Plunge Artist added the Photoshop magic.