Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

"...besides love, independence of thought is the greatest gift an adult can give a child." - Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One

For old quotes, look here.

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Important PSA - No, Really, You Should Watch This

Got this via Mum's Facebook page.  Oh, my.  It turns out I can drool and laugh at the same time!
Source: youtube.com via Megan on Pinterest

Thursday, March 28, 2013


All of a sudden, my April is jam-packed with days that do not involve curling up on the lounge with the kids, watching movies, and not going out into the world.  May is beginning to look the same way.  I am trying not to look at the calendar because it's making me itch.
My band did it...we managed to garner $10,000 in pledges on Kickstarter, so we can make out new CD.  Recording begins next week.  Whew.
Sprout is enamored of Yo Gaba Gaba.  If I don't pay too much attention, it is bearable.  She got ahold of the remote one day and found Barney.  I wasn't home, so Someone had to bear the brunt of it for two minutes before she got bored with it and he could change the channel.  We both allow as how Gaba is preferable, if only just...
Shaun the sheep, however, is not only bearable but a favorite among children and adults alike in Casa de Crazy.  The felines have not voiced an opinion.
The man on Yo Gaba Gaba who does the drawings?  I want to punch him repeatedly in the face.  I'm sure he's perfectly nice when he isn't on the show...
After my band is done recording, I will be going to Tennessee to guest-record for another band that I adore...I can't decide which of us is more excited...
I was extravagant and bought myself a little speaker for my phone, so I can listen to music.  It lights up, and the light changes colors.  It delights me.  Small things...
I wonder about this whole marriage equality thing.  Principally, I wonder why it is such a big deal in the legal world.  Marriage is a religious institution.  If a church doesn't want to permit it to certain people, it's that church's right.  For the record, I think such a church is being an ass.  The government has nothing to do with it.  Laws should not be made about it.  No one should benefit from or be punished for marriage or not-marriage.  If the government is going to make laws about marriage or any kind of coupling, then those laws must apply to everyone.  No exceptions.  You can't just go making laws for SOME of the populace and not ALL of the populace.  Also, hello, separation of church and state, anyone?
I am an ordained minister.  Stop laughing, you'll hurt yourself.  I have performed several gay marriages.  The world did not end.
I find it odd that the Jehovah's Witnesses invited me to a celebration of Jesus's death.  Morbid and weird.  They won't celebrate his alleged birth, but his death?  Party on!!!
Sprout is fearless and likes to climb things.  This does not bode well for her early years...
What's on your mind?

Monday, March 25, 2013

Which Way Did She Go, George?

Sometimes I get the feeling that I was supposed to turn out differently, and the me I was supposed to be is wandering around trying to find the me that I am so she can get her life back.

Sometimes I am struck with the feeling that I am living other lives concurrent with this one, and they are aware of me in the moments I'm aware of them, and maybe during one of those aware moments we accidentally switched places and now we're trying to figure out how we got HERE when we should be THERE.

Often I feel that, whatever else the case may be, part of me is lost out there in the great Beyond, and if I could only find that piece of me, I could figure out what I am supposed to be doing, because I am not myself, I am not as I should be, I am not where I should be...but I have no idea how to get to that place...

What happened?

Monday, March 18, 2013

Who Wants Music On Monday?

Because I am tired, it's late, and I'm feeling a little...I dunno...  And because today (I was going to say "tomorrow" but "tomorrow" turned into "today" while I was typing, and does anyone else ever get a little dizzy when dealing with time and tense like that?) I am spending the day with Mum since I have double rehearsals and recording, and weekend work to boot, for the next few weeks so I won't be able to go up and spend they day with her again for almost a month (gah!)...  Here's a piece of music that I enjoyed from a movie that I still enjoy when I can watch it...

What are some of your favorite movie soundtrack gems?

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Four, Like a Clover

Fourth time I'm posting this, but why mess with perfection, eh? Why do I hear crickets...?
 I'll be cooking corned beef and cabbage on Sunday, much to my family's delight - a double lot of the beef will ensure we all have a surfeit and hash the next day. I'll try to remember to take some up to Mum next time I see her...if there's any left... Bird likes the meat fine, but not the cabbage, and he doesn't want the potatoes, which leads me to wonder if any of the scant Irish in my veins made it to him. I get not liking cabbage, but potatoes? Something's not right with the child. Someone will happily scarf the lot, because he's a good Irish lad.

I'm planning on baking soda bread, too, because we like it and any leftovers can be used to make a nice doorstop or stone axe.

Seeing as I'm Pagan, you wouldn't think I'd celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Better than most, I know what St. Patrick did to get famous and earn his sainthood. However, I'm also part Irish, and I happen to love corned beef and cabbage. Also, I consider it a reclaiming of the day for Pagans, or some junk.

A bit of slightly bent history (that has, I'll grant you, been mangled in my head over the years and is rather truncated because I'm not writing a book, here)(I'm writing a book somewhere else). When I was a child, we were told that St. Patrick's day was to celebrate his chasing all the snakes out of Ireland. It is an historically serpent-free bit of earth, and the church attributed this to Paddy and his efforts...kind of overlooking that there weren't any of the slithery things on the island to begin with, if you ask me. Which they didn't, because I was a kid and most grown-ups weren't prepared for my staggering logic and keen grasp of history but rather appalling lack of respect for theology.

 Many years later, people were saying St. Patrick's Day was a celebration of all things Irish, like green beer (wait, isn't beer German??) and green clothes, and green hair, and green mashed potatoes (which I won't eat on a dare because, really...green potatoes???), and rivers dyed green (I'm sure the fish are all so very thankful to be included...like Fridays and Lent weren't enough for them!)(that might only be funny if you're Catholic)(or not) and exclusionary parades, and funny little men waving their shillelaghs about (look it up you pervs!!) and that sort of thing.

 In none of the many different explanations for this seemingly random holiday did anyone mention pagans. A most curious oversight of you know what St. Patrick, who was just Patrick at the time (not really, I have no idea what his real name was. For all I know, it was Fred), was actually doing on the Emerald Isle.

He was born and lived sometime between 490 and 461 AD, give or take. Around age sixteen, he was either sent or stolen and taken to Ireland where he spent some time hanging out with sheep and being lonely. He talked to God a lot. You may notice that lots of shepherds do that. You would too if all you had for company all day was a bunch of mutton-heads. I'm sure the Pope understands...

Christianity was rolling along like a snowball in those days, spreading out all over the dang place. Good grief, it was getting so that a simple Pagan/Heathen (there's a difference between the two, not that the church cared much) couldn't get any peace any more. Everywhere they turned, there was a church being built where a sacred grove used to be, from the trees that used to be the sacred grove, or a church going up on a sacred hill, or someone bathing their dirty feet in a sacred stream. To be fair, there was a lot of real estate lumped under that "sacred" heading in the pagan world. We're like that - we just love our planet so. Plus, you know, all those gods needed housing, and they don't do the roommate thing very well. So the pagans were running out of places to have sex on the ground, in the woods, up a tree - they were big on the sex, those little devils - and to read entrails in their spare time.

I digressed. Sorry.

So there was this lonely kid, Patrick Whatsisname, hanging out with sheep and pondering life, the Universe, and everything. He got the idea, somewhere along the way, that maybe other folks should share his God. He got out of his contract (OK, probably slavery) and went around telling folks how terrific his God was, and how he reckoned they should convert. It seems that polite conversation wasn't doing it for the pagans, who tended to stare at him, or point and laugh. Rude beggars, huh? Now young Patrick (or middle aged Patrick, or old Patrick, I have no idea) decided he needed to be a bit more...persuasive. He had noticed something common among the pagan big-wigs. The guys at the top of the food-chain, magic/spirituality wise speaking tended to have a symbol on them somewhere...usually around their wrist. On the wrist that indicated their "hand of power", or the hand which they believed their "magic" flowed from. If it wasn't a tattoo, it was a torque. Guess what the tattoo/torque was? A critter called the oroborus. For them as what doesn't ken what that critter is, it's a snake eating its tail, and often represents eternity.
Pat realized that if he took away this "power", he took away their mystique and leadership ability. So he removed the snakes - often with something edged and unpleasant. Yes, he whacked off their hands. Or branded their skin. Or took their trinkets. Converting Heathens is such messy work!! It was for their own good, of course.

Some pagans today go on "snake crawls", a sort of pub crawl where they wear snakes and proclaim their paganism. I'm not quite that...er...proactive. I also don't necessarily think old Pat went around mauling everyone he met in an effort to build church membership and win a nifty prize. But it's the bloody aspect of what he did that earned his name in Christendom and for which his holiday is celebrated.

So again, why would I celebrate the day? Well, I'm all for a day when families get together and discuss history, theology, spirituality, and the like. Traditions are important - they give us a foundation on which to build our lives. People should discuss their history so they don't repeat it - whatever side of the issue they're on. Also, as I mentioned, I am part Irish. I can celebrate that heritage even as I acknowledge its imperfection. And I am Pagan - and I am celebrating the fact that I can be pagan today without (much) fear of having my (largely not visible when I'm clothed) tattoos painfully removed and other unpleasantness (except for the odd zealot who thinks I'm fair game, but I'm used to that. I live in the Bible belt, after all). Precisely because we didn't get wiped out, I celebrate. And have you ever had a really nice corned beef and cabbage dinner? I mean, yum! Oh, but I won't be wearing green. I wear blue. Don't even think about pinching me.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Clouds In My Coffee, Clouds In My Coffee

I was at this concert with my Dad.  On of my few memories of time we spent together.  I love this song.

Bonus points if you know who this song is about...

Saturday, March 9, 2013

And Then She Laughs

Unselfconscious, yet so very aware of her pull, aware that somehow, mysteriously, her presence shifts the tides, she hurtles through space, flings herself into the air, and knows without doubt that arms will stretch to catch her before flight turns to fall.

She caroms from place to place, wee juggernaut with a maniacal giggle and feral grin, she knows without knowing that tears are not supposed to fall so often, and with a tenderness belying her scant years, she reaches to wipe them away before whirling back into her dance-of-the-rooms.

Irresistible, she pulls her brother into her pattern, making him her landing zone, her tormentor, her plaything, her conspirator.

In the midst of it all, in the chaos and confusion, in the place of the lost, it can seem like too much.

And then...she laughs...

Thursday, March 7, 2013





That about sums up what I feel defining me, lately.

Sad.  Sorrowful.  Full of sorrow.  Yeah.  Wearing thin, this depression thing.  Looking back at the years I can remember of my life (does anyone recall their first year?  their second?  third?), I am sometimes stunned at how long I've carried this particular stone.  Looking forward, wondering how many years I have remaining  to my span, I wonder if I will simply carry it to the veil.  Surely not beyond...death is supposed to be an end, a respite, isn't it?  I certainly hope so.  This stone gets so heavy, I get so tired, I just want to rest, to sleep for days on end.  Of course, I can't - there are cats and kids and laundry and dishes and life in general to contend with, and none of those things really allow for the self-indulgent lay-up I sometimes yearn for.  Napping with Sprout will have to suffice.  Already, I miss so much, am so behind in cleaning and nurturing and just getting things done...sigh...  I'm tired of crying.

Lonely.  How on earth do I manage that, with two kids, four cats, Someone, and scads of friends?  Maybe lost would be a better word...but no...I am not lost.  I know right where I am, know just how I got here.  I am lonely.  I feel empty, devoid of some basic, soul-nurturing thing that seems abundant in people around me but absent from my own life.  It's not the lack of God - one of the most reassuring, bracing things in my life is my connection to the divine that I call "Goddess".  There's not as much music, and I miss that...and not as much art, which I also miss.  There is almost no laughter or joy, and what there is comes strained, with furtive glances to be sure it's not too intrusive.  I often feel silenced, as if my voice, my expression of Self, is just not welcome.  I get scoffed at a lot, and chastised, and downright yelled at, and it is difficult to feel as though I am heard, or wanted, when it seems everything I do is just...wrong.  As if everything I was and am are...wrong.  If only I could do or be something different, learnt to do or be another way...  If only I could transform into what Someone thinks I should be rather than remaining so very wrong that disapprobation overwhelms me...

Angry.  Oh, my, so very angry.  I have absorbed and absorbed and absorbed so much anger, I cannot filter it all.  I am steeped in it, and it oozes out of me and taints everything I touch.  Small things madden me, so that I want to scream and rage and say and do ugly things to make it all reflect the ugliness within me.  I breathe in, breathe out, try to ground, try to center, but the ground is gone in a whirling, hateful mess and wherever I am, it is so far from center that I can't see center from here.  I need...I don't know what I need...but I need...something..and I can't seem to have it.  Whatever the elusive balm is, it slips away with the flutter of moth's wings just as I reach for it.  The harder I look for balance, the less I seem to find.  Frustrated, I swallow it all, because there is no room in my world for my feelings...not where anyone else has to face them or deal with them.

Mom.  I am a mother.  That is sacred.  It is enormous.  It is marvelous and awesome and terrifying.  It is exhausting.  There is no manual.  We can't even know how to do it right, but there are plenty of people who will tell us we're doing it wrong.  Seems anyone with an opinion feels entitled to tell us how wrong we are, how we should be doing it.  I am supposed to put my kids' need before my own, but I haven't been and I know it.  I am being selfish, and it's damaging them, and I know just how horrible I am for doing it, and I know that any damage that may be done to them is my fault and no one else's.  Guilt eats at me, and doubt, and I wonder every day when I will do the right thing, but I shrink away from it every day because I am weak, I am a coward.  Being Mother is perhaps the biggest thing I have been or ever will be...and I hate that sometimes I simply want to go be alone somewhere quiet and let someone else take care of these amazing children in my absence.  I am convinced anyone else can do it neater, sweeter, kinder and more compassionate than I am capable of...that maybe these children would be better off without my ineptitude fumbling their childhood into the muck and mire that surrounds me.

So, yeah, slammed...shaken and shattered and just damned tired...but life goes on...and on...and on...

Monday, March 4, 2013


I'm going to the dentists tomorrow.  I haven't been in...umm...maybe not quite a decade?  Yeah, this'll be fun...
My children are trying to kill each other in the living room.  I hope they put the cushions back when they're done.
I hand-fed Gimpy the ring-neck snake today.  It is both gross and cool - gross because I have to chop earthworm into tiny bits that he can manage, and cool because, well...just cool.  Also, I put a few drops of water on my finger and he drank, which is just too nifty.  I think the other two snakes are jealous...they keep gliding along the glass of their shared tank, staring at me...but they can hunt on their own, so I don't feel too bad about it.
I am surfing waves of depression right now - it comes over me in a rush, a sense of futility, uselessness, sorrow, and frustration, and I grab my board and ride.  So far, no wipe out.  After 25 years of it, I can hang ten, but I still wonder why I bother.  Sigh.
I am tired of anger.  Mine.  Other people's.  There is so much anger in the world, these days.  It is a heavy stone to carry, but every time I try to put it down, I am handed a new one, and I still haven't learned not to accept the load.  Double sigh.
My band is trying to raise the money to record another CD, in a more formal studio setting.  We are looking for folks to pledge/sponsor/fund our project.  Would you check us out, please?  Feel free to share...
A swept floor attracts dirt faster than a dirty one.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it...and the floor...
What's on your mind?

Friday, March 1, 2013


If I could fly like that
cutting across the face of the wind
If I could fly like that
wheeling, climbing, diving
as if gravity was for those more
If I could fly like that
flinging myself earthward
until with a
I stop the mad rush
If I could fly like that

Would I wonder what it was to walk?

Or...would I be so caught in the screeching freedom of the skies,
that I would simply soar oblivious
to the dreamers below?