tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83683903436921147092024-03-17T16:03:31.711-04:00Shade and SweetwaterKyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.comBlogger1951125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-9247764565141546602024-03-17T16:02:00.001-04:002024-03-17T16:02:49.992-04:00Sadly Still Apropos<p>Wrote this on this date in 2020. I wish it wasn’t still relevant.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p> Ok...I’m taking as deep a breath as I can manage at the moment, girding up my loins, and setting aside my distaste for confrontation and unpleasantry.</p><p>My rant:</p><p>Hurrah for you if you’re among the 80% who are young, healthy, asymptomatic, lucky, or who made a fantastic and timely deal with the devil. You feel fine. Maybe you don’t have it or won’t get it. Maybe it’s super mild and you recover quickly. Fanfreakingtastic.</p><p>Whoopdedo .</p><p>Who are you go spouting off about how this COVID-19 isn’t so bad, and people really shouldn’t be so panicked, so worried about it, and we can all just sit back and relax because you had it and it went just fine? Perhaps you might consider the other 20%. </p><p>You know, that other 20% of people who are older, immune compromised, or who happened to draw the short straw in the genetic lottery, and will get hit by this hard and fast?</p><p>All this quarantining?</p><p>All the social distancing?</p><p>It isn’t about the 80% who will be ok.</p><p>It’s about that other 20%, the old, the injured, the chronically ill, the people who have high risk factors. It’s about keeping them out of hospitals. It’s about not inundating our scarce resources with more patients than they can handle. </p><p>I get it, you don’t like that you’re being told you can’t go to the bar, the restaurant, the movie theater, the concert, the dance party, dying the river green, the beer fest, or whatever it is that you find so terribly important.</p><p>It’s a real bummer that you have to interrupt your life.</p><p>Much as with vaccines, this is about protecting those who are most vulnerable, and the least able to get the care they will need to survive. Social distancing is the same thing as herd immunity. No, I generally don’t need a flu vaccine. You better bet, though, that I will be getting one every year from now on because I know people who can’t and whom the flu would kill. If I bring the flu to them whether I have it or not, if I simply have it on my hand and touch them in some way, I endanger their lives. That’s not ok.</p><p>If not endangering the lives of the vulnerable is such a huge inconvenience that you feel you should be exempt from it? Fuck. You.</p><p>Yes, that’s right I said fuck. You.</p><p>I realize that it seems like much ado about nothing. A tempest in a teapot. Foolishness on our part. If everything goes as it should, then almost nothing will happen. Then we will hear the voices crying out “See? I told you we didn’t have to do this!”</p><p>If nothing much happens, then all of this quarantine and social distancing worked.</p><p>The whole purpose of this is so that nothing much will happen.</p><p>I would far rather sit at home, missing out on income, performances, interacting with the people whom I love, knowing that I will be able to do these things in the future, than do them now, help spread this nasty disease, and risk murdering any of those people whom I love because of my selfishness.</p><p>In the beginning, I was one of those who said oh, it’s no worse than the flu. What’s all the fuss about? Then I started reading.</p><p>Having access to the World Wide Web means I also have access to worldwide news. I have access to people who are living in the middle of this hell, people who are able to write about their experience and share it with those of us who aren’t yet experiencing it.</p><p>I am glad that 80% will be just fine.</p><p>I am terrified for the 20% who won’t be just fine. I am terrified because of scant resources, because of a lack of global response, because those who imagine themselves to be our leaders are pooh-poohing the need for care and action now, not later, and I am terrified of the attitude of those who think that just because they won’t be hit hard doesn’t mean anyone will be. That laissez-faire attitude is horrifying to me.</p><p>It’s like we’re saying that the 20% don’t matter, they’re disposable.</p><p>For the sake of full disclosure, I should tell you that I am vulnerable myself. I have a number of factors that put me in the high risk category. If I get this thing, it could hospitalize me or worse.</p><p>My son is also among the vulnerable, despite his youth.</p><p>I have friends and family who are among those considered most vulnerable.</p><p>You’re upset, and want to mock me because I’m choosing to stay home? You are trying to minimize the seriousness of this, so that you can go out and do the things that you feel you ought to be able to do? Thank you so much for telling me and those whom I love that our lives mean nothing to you, that we’re less important than that concert you want to attend or going out to eat.</p><p>No, no, no backpedaling now! Do you think this is all foolishness and that life should go on as usual? You think that you shouldn’t have to give up anything just because some of the rest of us might be more vulnerable than you are? OK, fine. You feel that way, and there’s nothing I can do to change that...but if you are going to go out and live life as usual, carry on as if nothing is happening, then you get to take ownership for your actions.</p><p>You, yes you, going on out into the world and doing whatever you want and laughing at the rest of us. You are murdering us. It is murder. You are knowingly spreading a virus without any care for the impact it will have on others. All you care about is you. Fine. We’ve raised several generations in this nation to be quite selfish. Heck, I remember when children of the 80s were called “The ‘Me’ Generation” because they were among the first of us to be clearly, solidly, openly all about themselves, and only themselves to the exclusion of anyone else.</p><p>I lived through it. I’ve watched it happen generation after generation since I was old enough to understand human behavior. That was a really long time ago, by the way. You want to be all about yourselves, fine. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend that everything is hunky-dory, and that you are not absolutely in the wrong. You are.</p><p>Doctors in other nations face having to make the choice of who lives and who dies because they are running out of equipment and medication to treat patients. Do you have any understanding of how horrifying that is? Can you even begin to imagine what it must be like to be in that position? Would you even bother imagining? </p><p>Stay home. Wash your hands. Avoid large gatherings. Inconvenience the fuck out of yourself. It’s not about you. It’s about the people around you. I can guarantee oyou that if your behavior endangers and ultimately kills someone in your family or one of your friends, you will look for someone to blame. I would suggest that you have no further to look than the closest reflective surface.</p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-41005972473983007762023-12-27T14:11:00.000-05:002023-12-27T14:11:26.973-05:00Oh, Good Grief<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvNLk6dWU3IQAmJJSncn-gzHMef6TSsKYoC738e6dXiX6siSY-4DSfmT_u1D011YgP2Xh8Tcx2rK7xQHoWjZSJi3TZlD3PAfb5TEVbyHJdyiBGcKD35KBs5Ymn99kTHmQafCVyCzL0aC880_165KkFpGIqGjyAhUieA3innlGauU8kRjuxi5UTL_ztdM/s800/IMG_3424.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvNLk6dWU3IQAmJJSncn-gzHMef6TSsKYoC738e6dXiX6siSY-4DSfmT_u1D011YgP2Xh8Tcx2rK7xQHoWjZSJi3TZlD3PAfb5TEVbyHJdyiBGcKD35KBs5Ymn99kTHmQafCVyCzL0aC880_165KkFpGIqGjyAhUieA3innlGauU8kRjuxi5UTL_ztdM/s320/IMG_3424.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>IYKYK</p><p>I don’t want a gold toilet. Are you kidding me? Can you imagine sitting on a solid gold seat in the middle of winter? I don’t care how warm you keep your house, that sucker is gonna be cold! Can we say hemorrhoids, boys and girls? </p><p>I don’t want a hoard or material goods just for the sake of having them.</p><p>I DO aspire to have wealth, one day…so I can help feed, clothe, house, educate, and provide medical and psychiatric care to people who need those things but can’t afford them.</p><p>I’m not usually terribly aware of think pieces, opinion pieces, or any pieces, really, allegedly addressing paganism. I’m rather whatever about ‘em because I’m busy existing and walking my talk, and often times those trash piles of misused words are written by non-pagan, human dumpster fires who haven’t bothered to look beyond their own ignorance, fear, anger, hatred, or confirmation bias.</p><p>I’m only marginally aware of the latest kerfuffle because a friend basically flung it at me like a large handful of bovine excrement…which it is. </p><p>No, I’m not posting anything specific about the piece - like I opened this list with, IYKYK, and if you don’t, I’m not feeding the dumb motherfucker’s page count and you’re welcome.</p><p>If anyone can point me to the pagan golden toilet distribution center, though, I’d take it as a mitzvah - I could sell one of those bad boys and fund some serious food/medical/housing needs for a few folks I know.</p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-57540523934429117952023-11-23T00:00:00.001-05:002023-11-23T00:00:00.164-05:00Happy ThanksgivingHere followeth a Casa de Crazy Thanksgiving Day Tradicion:<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/W5_8U4j51lI" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JIdILoAxa4k" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />And a new (old) addition to our warped holiday hilarity:<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BGFtV6-ALoQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><br />We hope you have a pleasant, tasty, mellow, comfortable, healthy, not-at-all-contentious Thanksgiving day if you are in the USA and an all around good one if not in the USA or not celebr</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ating</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here are the links if you want to view on YouTube: </span> <a href="https://youtu.be/W5_8U4j51lI" target="_blank">Alice's Restaurant</a> , <span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/BtREMlFQ850" target="_blank">Th</a></span><a href="https://youtu.be/BtREMlFQ850" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">a</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">nkful</span></a> and <a href="https://youtu.be/BGFtV6-ALoQ">Turkey Drop</a>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-53712734541777618912023-11-22T00:00:00.008-05:002023-11-22T00:00:00.144-05:00Thankful<p> <span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">I have a few traditions on Thanksgiving. Not many - the menu; Mom recording the Macy's parade so we can watch it together at Yule and fast-forward through all the crappy pop music, commercials, and talking heads to see the twenty minutes of balloons, floats and high school bands we’re actually interested in hidden among all that junk; and my day-before-Thanksgiving list of some things for which I am thankful, in no particular order and in no way complete:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What remains of my left foot, Nubbly, which perseveres and does its best not to pain me even when I deserve it</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The doctors, nurses, and techs who probably saved my life and helped me get back to living it</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The care that family and friends gave me while I return to upright living (or what now passes for it, which is pretty darned good) once more</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Evil Genius<br />Blossom (who was Sprout but reminded me that she's a bit grown, now and isn't a sprout any more, and I'm not weeping over that, you can't prove anything)<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Mom<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">The house in which I live (beloved Casa de Crazy)</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The vehicle which takes me where I need/want to be<br />Gypsy<br />Kerri<br />T, who may be my ex-husband but remains a staunch friend<br />Mr. Grey<br />Mizz A<br />Kit<br />Sam-I-Am<br />PJ, who is gone from this world but always with me<br />Mizz Beth<br />Martha 'n' Milo (who lives always in our hearts)<br />Avalon<br />My band mates<br />Dica<br />Donna<br />All of my friends who put up with me when I am most myself and therefor least likable. They are the net beneath me when I fly and fall<br />Kira, Jon, and Ric, with whom I am privileged to make music<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Bread<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The scent of leaf loam and woodsmoke in the crisp autumn air<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Apple cider<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Books, music, and art<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean, plentiful water<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean air<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean clothes<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Freedom<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Nature and the ways she finds to show me something new of herself every day<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Words<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Song<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Dance<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Adversity, that joy is all the sweeter (Okay, okay, the joy is sweet enough, so basta with the adversity for a minute, please)<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every creature and plant that I consume to sustain myself, because without the life I take, I w</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">ould have no life to live<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Love - that it exists at all is a wonder, and I feel blessed to know it in many forms<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Chocolate, gift from the Gods (yes, even the perversion called "candy bar") (Mmm...candy bar...)<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">The cats by whom I am kept<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Honeycrisp Apples<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong hands<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong spirit<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong will<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Laughter<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Cussed determination not to curl up and die just because life can sometimes be a succession of truly awful, bleak, and desolate days...but sometimes it isn't<br />My couselor, Jessica<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The Internet<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">You</span></p><div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hope you have a blessed day, and that the things for which you're thankful outweigh the things for which you're not.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Happy Thanksgiving, y'all, from us at Casa de Crazy to you out in the Blue Nowhere and beyond.</span></div>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-39160530745169568562023-11-21T00:00:00.009-05:002023-11-21T00:00:00.141-05:00Counting Down<p> I<span style="font-family: georgia;">t is Thanksgiving</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> week and there is much happening here at Casa de Crazy.</span></p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We’re celebrating at Mom’s this year unless she doesn’t feel up for it so the kids and I are terrorizing the cats...er...tidying up a bit. Poor house is a right mess as a result of some serious depression, chaos, and stress (so wh</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">at's new?)</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">, and it WILL BE CLEAN for Thanksgiving. Or, at least, the parts our guests will see will be clean. Probably. Maybe. I hope.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is a somewhat traditional post for me - every year I write a little something about this week, as it is the lead-off to The Silly Season (</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ak</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">a Christm</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ah</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">annukw</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">az</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">akyule) </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">and often one of my busiest here at the Casa.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, here we go.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Tuesday (today) - Baking a keylime pie, mashing turnips and carrots, cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning. Wash all of the good* dishes and serving dishes, clean off the dining room table, dig out Thanksgiving table linens, pull out the "formal"* flatware. Panic over the cream supply - will half a gallon suffice? Is two pounds of butter sufficient?</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wednesday - More housework. Lort, the housework. Then there's the l</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aundry. Oh, lort, the l</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aundry. Moving the trailer so it's not in the way of guest parking, and also so it's in its winter home. Prepping the dressing. </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> Still panicking about the butter…</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Thursday - Turkey goes in to bake. Dressing goes in to bake. Green beans are steamed. Finishing up any last minute cleaning. Children are shooed outside to frolic. Friends and family trickle in. Set the table. Fill the water pitcher. Watch TV and baste the turkey. Make food, food, more food. St</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">art Dutch </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">apple pie b</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aking </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">and start</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> chocol</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ate silk pie th</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">awing (bec</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ause M</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">arie C</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">allender does pie so well, I'm h</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">appy to let her). </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Serve. Eat. Coma. Dessert and coffee/tea. More coma. Play games. Pack leftovers to go for guests. Pack baked goods for mom to take to the bake sale. Eat more. Sleep well.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Friday - More food coma and take the kids to visit/frolic with friends, or stay home and collectively hermit.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday - Start baking holiday goodies for shipping to family and friends.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sunday - Rest. Possibly interspersed with n</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">apping and more baking.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />How is your week shaping up?</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">*These are dishes that Mum and I bought one piece at a time from a grocery store a long, long, looooong time ago. Service for fourteen including serving dishes, either free or bargain priced with purchase of a certain amount of groceries. I love them. Not fancy, but pretty and simple and I like them.<br /><br />**Not sterling, but some rather lovely and solid stainless steel flatware from the Oneida Company, back when there was a Betty Crocker catalog and we clipped Betty Crocker points from boxes and saved them in a tin on top of the refrigerator. Service for twelve, and some day I hope to expand it and add more serving pieces and other cutlery, but that'll have to wait a bit because it's a discontinued pattern and getting the pieces I'd like to have will cost a small fortune. I adore my pattern, bought a few pieces at a time through the mail with little bits o</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">f cardboard and postage paid.</span></span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-5794138731574736792023-10-20T14:31:00.000-04:002023-10-20T14:31:39.499-04:00The Maass<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Long ago, when monsters could gather in numbers without fear of persecution, they would join their fellows once a year on their most sacred day and they would dance their most sacred dance.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bedecked in their finest regalia, they moved in patterns traced into the earth by monster feet for millennia.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Called The Maass, it was both a celebration and invocation of community, of togetherness, of connection. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>During the exuberant dance, each monster made contact with all of the others, renewing their unity through touch. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Humans would keep to their homes, shivering with fear and ignorance at the terrible ruckus they heard in the dark hours. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They whispered of fearsome creatures creeping about in the night and left offerings, treats to appease the ravenous beasts and keep them from devouring tender human flesh. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>On the night of The Maass, humans began disguising themselves, sometimes creeping forth to find and watch the gatherings of the monstabulary, hoping to learn more.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Human ears cannot comprehend the monstrous tongue. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The humans listened and heard “The Mash” and wrote of it in secret journals.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Eventually humans lost their fear, and their respect, and the monsters learned to hide, to stop gathering in easily targeted groups. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The monsters hid, but they kept dancing. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Alone or in numbers small enough to be overlooked, they danced, even as they were hunted to near extinction.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One day, one of the secret journals left by past humans was unearthed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Written by a somewhat mad man who had given haven to many types of monsters in a bid to preserve them and keep their heritage from slipping into oblivion, it detailed the monsters’ daily lives and sacred days. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The Maass was written of in the holiest of forms - as poetry.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The young man who found the journal recognized the importance of his discovery. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He knew that the world must know of the beauty and stately grace of the dance, but he also knew that humans are full of fear, and that fear leads to anger, to blocked ears and closed hearts and minds, to torches and brandished pitchforks. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Secretly, quietly, he worked to find monsters who would teach him this dance, to help bridge the gap between misunderstood monstrerkind and ignorant humanity, but there were none to be found. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Gone? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Or still in hiding?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In a bid to bring them out of isolation, he turned the poem about The Maass into a song, performing it in venues all across the land and sending it through the air in waves. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No monsters came, but he never gave up.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">His descendants still play his invitation to the monsters on their most sacred night, still hoping for an answer, still hoping that the rustling shadows will resolve themselves into the beautiful milieu of the monsters spinning their magic out into the world and weaving it back together.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The world needs their magic.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Perhaps if enough humans raise their voices, one day the monsters will once more come and do The Mash. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The Monster Mash.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now you know.</span></span></p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-68947221129177869462023-09-17T11:00:00.004-04:002023-09-17T11:00:00.139-04:00Walkin' With Joshua<p> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Another dream about my favourite not-my-savior.</span></p><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">There's a lot for him to worry about here on the Earthly plane, and he likes to have someone to hash things out with from time to time. You know, he never gets snarky - and if </span><i style="font-family: georgia;">anyone</i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> has the right to a little snark, I would think he does!</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">So we had another little get-together, he and I, a few nights ago, and I figured I'd share it because I'm a little shy of blog-fodder right now, and why not put my delusions up in The Blue Nowhere for everyone else to laugh at?</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Hey, J, how's it hangin'?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Now, K, do you really think that's appropriate to ask me, of all people?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why not? You got 'em. And I bet no one pays much attention to 'em. Good grief, most of the people who claim they're your adherents refuse to acknowledge that you're a man in every sense of the word. That must make weekends a bummer."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Yes, well, I have other concerns."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I know you do. But I don't think it hurts to remind you that you may embody your father, but you are also human, the link between mortal and divine."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He gives me the look, you know, the one that says a body's getting a little sassy but making a good point? Yeah, that look.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I offer him a cinnamon roll.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Thanks. Can we take these to-go? I feel restless."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes he can't sit still. I think when he has a lot on his mind, he needs to move around, work the thoughts out physically. We go for a walk.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"K, why are you Pagan?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You really have to ask?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't mind that you don't worship me or anything, I'm just wondering."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"It seems like so many people say they follow me and worship my father because that's what they're told to do."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Uh-huh."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Well...you were told the same things growing up, right?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Yup."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"So why didn't you listen?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I have this annoying need to think and make decisions for myself."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Bothersome."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You have no idea. Oh, wait...maybe you do. Although it seems to me that ultimately you were deprived of the very thing the rest of us have in spades - free will."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I can see where you'd think that, but I had a choice."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"If you say so."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I do. So you decided that my father's house wasn't for you?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Pretty much. Many of the things done in your name? Not okay. The abuses sanctioned by the church, or covered up by the church? Not cool. I'm not into judgement or anger or hate, and those things seem to be rampant in the places people say they worship you."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I wish we had more people who came to my father's house because they chose to. I like knowing someone follows me because they want to and not because they think they have to."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Well...you know...that's the trouble with dogma, JC. No room for thought with all that rote."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I wish your Karma would run over my dogma."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Lame."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Sorry."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"So why don't you speak up about some of these things going on down here? You know...gay marriage? Health care? Oooh...or a really hot one, reproductive rights?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What am I, crazy? You think anyone's listening?"</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have to stop a minute and give him a hug, because he's damn near tears and I feel sorry for him. All he wants is for people to be kind and to live decent lives, maybe help each other out once in a while, even love one another without judging. It can't be easy. Imagine if you had all those people asking you to smite, punish, hurt others because they think that's what you do, when really you're just kind of a Buddhist-Hippy-Free-Spirit who wants to drink a little wine, eat a nice non-fish dinner, and maybe sit by a fire and talk about everything and nothing with people who have no expectations beyond the next drink.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"J, I don't think you're going to find any resolution on this Earth. I think too many people have abused your name and spirit for there to be an easy answer. I think you're going to have to come back, roll up your robes, and start smacking people upside the head with the figurative mallet (or, you know, the real one if you prefer) to get your point across, and that's kind of contrary to the message, dontcha think? If they'd even believe that you were you in the first place."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He sighs and sits down on a swing hanging from the branch of a tree that isn't there. I go behind and give him a push, then another, and one more, sending him arching high up over the nothing in which we dwell.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He give a whoop and a "Whee!" and we're both laughing because how can we not?</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I love this boy so much. As with my own children, I want him to be happy, to not have to carry his burdens, to make sure he knows that I am a safe person, a safe space...because, as with my own kids, I cannot protect him from his choices, from himself, from the demands of Life, the Universe, and Everything. I can only give him these tiny moments and the compassionate honesty he so craves, and maybe the tools to help him navigate rough waters - the ones he can't just calm himself, I mean.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You're not wrong." He says when he climb off the swing. He offers it to me but I'm not really into it at the moment. I'm more interested in not getting sticky fingers from carrying an imaginary plate of cinnamon rolls. "I should go, let you get back to whatever you were doing before I interrupted."</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't even remember. Dreams, such ephemeral things. Go on, then, and take the rest of these with you. I just know I'm going to wake up and feel the need to wash my hands." I shove the plate of cinnamon rolls at him. The frosting has gotten everywhere, including my hands.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Another sweet smile, another joint-popping hug, and he's gone. He'll be back. Maybe next time I'll make cardamom thumbprint cookies with orange marmalade and vanilla/clove drizzle...and make him carry the dang plate.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Also, I was right - as soon as I woke up I just had to wash my hands.</span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-40184782479484630862023-09-15T15:20:00.000-04:002023-09-15T15:20:12.234-04:00Pro Life<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Pro-life.<br /></span><br />Pro, meaning "in favor of".<br /><br />Life, meaning...erm..."life".<br /><br />Pro-life. In favor of life.<br /><br />I am, in fact, in favor of life. But what does that mean, really?<br /><br />You see it in the news rather a lot, these days: pro-life versus pro-choice, centering around abortion laws protecting or denying the right to safe, legal access to reproductive health services.<br /><br />The way "pro-life" is being used by pro-lifers, what they mean is "anti abortion" because, it seems, they don't want to own that they are against that aforementioned reproductive health stuff and want to curtail or eliminate its availability. Calling it "anti-abortion", though, makes it sound so...ugly. "Pro-life" sounds more caring, more compassionate, more about life than controlling a person's access to healthcare because one religion/spirituality/philosophy should <i>clearly</i> be the foundation for <i>all people's </i>rights and privileges under the law.<br /><br />Sort of a "My god says I shouldn't do xyz, so you aren't allowed to."<br /><br />So, what does it mean to be really, truly, deeply pro-life?<br /><br />I have some thoughts, because of course I do.<br /><br />How can anyone claim to be pro-life when all they care about is forcing the birth of that life and then denying everything that would nurture it and help it thrive?<br /><br />Pro-life (in human terms) means:<br /><br />Gestating the life.<br />Birthing the life.<br />Feeding the life.<br />Clothing the life.<br />Providing a safe, accessible home for the life.<br />Providing medical care for the life.<br />Educating the life.<br />Protecting the life from the actions and choices of others towards it.<br />Protecting the rights of the life equally under the law regardless of privilege, income, monetary worth, station, sex, gender, identity, skin color, religion, spirituality, philosophy, or any other factor that may set it apart from any part of society or mark it "different" or "other" and thus, by the definition of some, "less than".<br />Caring for the life from start to finish.<br /><br />So, yeah, in the sense that I believe that a society should provide for its members equally, make and enforce laws equally, and protect its member equally, all in ways that are in favor of all lives being viewed as important and even necessary for the health of the society and worthy of compassion and a basic level of dignity and care...I'm pro-life.<br /><br />I'm just not anti-abortion. When it comes to reproduction, I am pro-choice. I didn't need the option when I was in my baby birthin' years, but I was thankful that it was there if I did. I think it should be there, a choice to be made individually and with the gravity and consideration which is due to all choices regarding life, for everyone. The right to dictate how others live based upon one's individual feelings or religion is one of the very few rights I'm firmly against. <br /><br />If a person isn't wholly in support of meeting the needs of life outside of the womb then they're pro-fetus, pro-birth, anti-abortion, pro-control...but not pro-life.</p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-29210125516923555872023-09-12T19:43:00.000-04:002023-09-12T19:43:03.962-04:00Ghosts<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ghosts of the traditional sort don't tend to be where I am.<br /><br />The lingering dead? When I'm about, they just don't linger.<br /><br />I grew up in a haunted house that was never haunted when I was there. Stories of other people experiencing the furniture being moved, the sound of stomping feet upstairs, the eerie whispering of their name into their ear when no one else was about, the opening or closing of windows, the occasional ethereal glow? Not when I was in the house.<br /><br />Plenty going on as soon as I was out the door, but when I was in?<br /><br />Nope, nada.<br /><br />I was, and honestly still am, a wee bitter about this. <br /><br />There's another type of ghost that, until recently, I had heard of but not experienced.<br /><br />Well, not a ghost...rather, ghosting.<br /><br />Oh, I've lost friends and had relationships end, but that was usually because of some specific incident or reason. It was unpleasant, always, but I knew it had happened and why.<br /><br />Ghosting, on the other hand? Nope, nada.<br /><br />I'm not sure what happened, which I suppose is at the very heart of being ghosted. One never really knows why, does one?<br /><br />What I do know is that I had a friend whom I love rather suddenly stop communicating with me. There were often long gaps between calls or chats, so at first I didn't notice. He was busy with family, work, writing, life. Nothing unusual to go a few days or even weeks between sending him a message to his response.<br /><br />Then I noticed - I sent him a birthday greeting, which he never looked at. Hmm. Later I sent him a funny picture. Again, no view, no response. Almost a year later, I sent another amusing photo, and again...nothing. Not just an absence of response, not even a look. The messenger service through which we'd chat tells you when your message has been seen. It's not something that can be turned off. I never initiated calls and didn't text (there are reasons, they are valid), but he would call me from time to time and we'd chat for an hour or more, and never did he mention any reason to cut off communications, but the calls stopped, too. <br /><br />I let almost another year go by and sent him a birthday greeting.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />Now the thing about ghosting is, the ghostee asking the ghoster why is rather pointless. I'm here. He knows I'm here. I'm easy enough to reach, my e-mail and phone number haven't changed. He is active on social media. He could TELL ME to fuck off rather than let the silence stretch on this way, but then it wouldn't be a ghosting, would it?<br /><br />I feel as though asking what went wrong, what I said, or did, or didn't say, or didn't do, to make him simply leave me hanging in liminal space, would be fruitless.<br /><br />I've known for most of my life that I am forgettable, easy to leave behind, easy to leave in the shadows, easy to just move away from. At least, that's what the me inside my head tells me. It's not a surprise that he could find someone more engaging to talk to, but...it would have been nice if he'd told me our friendship was done. It would help to know why. This dwelling in mystery shit isn't nice, nor is it kind to just leave a person hanging. <br /><br />Could I ask him? Maybe. If I thought he'd look at a message. I have to wonder, though, if he wouldn't think to himself that I should get a clue, that his silence should be enough of a reason, wonder why I can't take a hint and leave him alone.<br /><br />I mean, he hasn't said that he's done, has he? Maybe life has just been super busy. For two years. Maybe he's seen my messages and thought he would respond but then didn't for so long that he felt awkward and then didn't respond and it got more awkward and... <br /><br />Except I really don't think that happened. Silence speaks volumes. So I stopped messaging. I don't think he's even noticed. I'm trying to be ok with it, but it pains me. I don't think it bothers him in the slightest. These things happen. People grow bored or tired or offended or hurt or any number of things happen and friendships fade away. It's just that usually, everyone involved knows why. <br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">The thing is, it doesn't take more than a moment to send a smiley face, a thumbs up, a "Please leave me alone". Seconds. It could be done in less time than it takes to go to the bathroom. I'd like to think I'm worth at least that minimal effort. Clearly I'm not.</span><br style="font-family: georgia;" /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />Ghosts don't just happen. There's a reason for them.<br /><br />I only wish I knew.</span></p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-50404278702787979702023-03-17T08:39:00.000-04:002023-03-17T08:39:04.449-04:00St Patrick’s Day<p> <span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: 15.84px;">Another year, another repost.</span></p><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">~~~~~</span></span><br /><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">No corned beef tonight - I’m putting it off until tomorrow so I can go to a Tuatha Dea concert!</span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">Seeing as I'm Pagan, you wouldn't think I'd celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Better than most, I am supposed 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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"> In none of the many different explanations for this seemingly random holiday did anyone mention pagans. A most curious oversight if 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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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... </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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 all 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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">I digressed. Sorry.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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...often 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 ouroboros. For them as what doesn't ken what that critter is, it's a snake eating its tail, and often represents eternity.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 18px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178692512928153042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6Md9oLqWGogMiNRIZEB8lO2DKnNSOc38nzT81GJSVZenyzl26m8YAa_083EQLCm443M2x5tlk2fwDNcSanQxoBOiiNzhcgqGjSs6b8R4vzg7UEB1jFtGjsFLjWA1lR8U34wawBK1WaBy/s320/oroboros.png" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.098) 1px 1px 5px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; max-width: 100%; padding: 5px; text-align: center;" /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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. Serpents in Ireland? Not on his watch!</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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 supposedly did that earned his name in Christendom and for which his holiday is celebrated.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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.</span></span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-77163721025452242472023-02-15T08:39:00.001-05:002023-09-15T16:15:31.374-04:00Joshua Is Bleeding<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-size-adjust: auto;">On a night when many celebrate love, he comes.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Into my dreams he slips. I see him just as I am swinging a sledgehammer at a copy of the Liberty Bell in order to crack it.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-size-adjust: auto;">He waits for me to clear the room, until it’s </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-size-adjust: auto;">only the two of us.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">He <i>is</i> love, the depth of which cannot be measured. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He is compassion, kindness, and hope, given freely and on an unimaginable scale.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">He is bloody, this time. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Holes right through him. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He trembles and sobs, and goddess help me, I. Am. Enraged.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Please, he says. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Please help me. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It hurts.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Not the bullet holes. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He doesn’t even notice them, really, not physically. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">But his heart? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His heart is shattered. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Please stop killing my children.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And I feel…murderous. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So we breathe.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So we are still.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So we find the center.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So I hold him until he is mended in body, if not soul. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>What else can I do? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>For as long as more people are afraid of losing their guns than they are of these shootings;</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As long as more people scream about how their right to bear arms is greater than another’s right to exist;</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As long as anyone thinks that the solution to their problem is to use violence on others;</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As long as hatred is armed and free to act as it pleases; </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As long as mental health care is un/under funded and mental health is a joke, an excuse to marginalize, and then used as an excuse for why someone should not be held accountable for the horror of their choices;</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As long as all these reasons and more hold sway?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">He will come to me in dreams, torn asunder and wretched, and I will find anger blooming in my heart even as I seek to make his heart whole.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">My dear boy, I cannot make them stop. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Their fear is greater than my paltry love, greater even than yours, and they will not listen.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Poor Joshua. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This time…this time I can offer only my arms to hold him, a song to soothe him, and whatever peace he can find with me in this world apart from worlds.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Time after time his own children will wound themselves and each other using his name as an excuse. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Time after time he will visit me, in tatters, and I will pour heart and soul into him, as any mother would her child because that’s how I love him, the way he loves them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Time after time I will give him a place of respite. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Time after time, he will bleed.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">He clings tonight, a desperate embrace. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We inhale, hold, exhale together, synchronized. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Slowly, he stops shaking, relaxes, falls asleep as I rock him gently. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Eventually he rises. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There is no sweet smile, this time, only a look of brave determination as he slowly fades from this dreaming into the world.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I wake still hearing him whisper…</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Please. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Please stop killing my children…</span></p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-42678191918078201022022-11-24T00:00:00.005-05:002022-11-24T00:00:00.197-05:00Happy Thanksgiving!Here followeth a Casa de Crazy Thanksgiving Day Tradicion:<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/W5_8U4j51lI" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JIdILoAxa4k" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />And a new (old) addition to our warped holiday hilarity:<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BGFtV6-ALoQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><br />We hope you have a pleasant, tasty, mellow, comfortable, healthy, not-at-all-contentious Thanksgiving day if you are in the USA and an all around good one if not in the USA or not celebr</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ating</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here are the links if you want to view on YouTube: </span> <a href="https://youtu.be/W5_8U4j51lI" target="_blank">Alice's Restaurant</a> , <span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/BtREMlFQ850" target="_blank">Th</a></span><a href="https://youtu.be/BtREMlFQ850" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">a</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">nkful</span></a> and <a href="https://youtu.be/BGFtV6-ALoQ">Turkey Drop</a>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-83065881134988132972022-11-23T00:00:00.001-05:002022-11-23T00:00:00.199-05:00Thankful<p> <span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">I have a few traditions on Thanksgiving. Not many - the menu; Mom recording the Macy's parade so we can watch it together at Yule and fast-forward through all the crappy pop music, commercials, and talking heads to see the twenty minutes of balloons, floats and high school bands we’re actually interested in hidden among all that junk; and my day-before-Thanksgiving list of some things for which I am thankful, in no particular order and in no way complete:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What remains of my left foot, Nubbly, which perseveres and does its best not to pain me even when I deserve it</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The doctors, nurses, and techs who probably saved my life and helped me get back to living it</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The care that family and friends gave me while I return to upright living (or what now passes for it, which is pretty darned good) once more</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Evil Genius<br />Blossom (who was Sprout but reminded me that she's a bit grown, now and isn't a sprout any more, and I'm not weeping over that, you can't prove anything)<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Mom<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">The house in which I live (beloved Casa de Crazy)</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The vehicle which takes me where I need/want to be<br />Gypsy<br />Kerri<br />T, who may be my ex-husband but remains a staunch friend<br />Mr. Grey<br />Mizz A<br />Kit<br />Sam-I-Am<br />PJ, who is gone from this world but always with me<br />Mizz Beth<br />Martha 'n' Milo (who lives always in our hearts)<br />Avalon<br />My band mates<br />Dica<br />Donna<br />All of my friends who put up with me when I am most myself and therefor least likable. They are the net beneath me when I fly and fall<br />Kira, Jon, and Ric, with whom I am privileged to make music<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Bread<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The scent of leaf loam and woodsmoke in the crisp autumn air<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Apple cider<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Books, music, and art<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean, plentiful water<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean air<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean clothes<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Freedom<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Nature and the ways she finds to show me something new of herself every day<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Words<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Song<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Dance<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Adversity, that joy is all the sweeter (Okay, okay, the joy is sweet enough, so basta with the adversity for a minute, please)<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every creature and plant that I consume to sustain myself, because without the life I take, I w</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">ould have no life to live<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Love - that it exists at all is a wonder, and I feel blessed to know it in many forms<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Chocolate, gift from the Gods (yes, even the perversion called "candy bar") (Mmm...candy bar...)<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">The cats by whom I am kept<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Honeycrisp Apples<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong hands<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong spirit<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong will<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Laughter<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Cussed determination not to curl up and die just because life can sometimes be a succession of truly awful, bleak, and desolate days...but sometimes it isn't<br />My couselor, Jessica<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The Internet<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">You</span></p><div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hope you have a blessed day, and that the things for which you're thankful outweigh the things for which you're not.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Happy Thanksgiving, y'all, from us at Casa de Crazy to you out in the Blue Nowhere and beyond.</span></div>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-79500879219631051302022-11-22T14:10:00.002-05:002022-11-22T14:10:20.110-05:00Counting Down<p>I<span style="font-family: georgia;">t is Thanksgiving</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> week and there is much happening here at Casa de Crazy.</span></p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The kids and I are terrorizing the cats...er...tidying up a bit. Poor house is a right mess as a result of some serious depression, chaos, and stress (so wh</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">at's new?)</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">, and it WILL BE CLEAN for Thanksgiving. Or, at least, the parts our guests will see will be clean. Probably. Maybe. I hope.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is a somewhat traditional post for me - every year I write a little something about this week, as it is the lead-off to The Silly Season (</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ak</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">a Christm</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ah</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">annukw</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">az</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">akyule) </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">and often one of my busiest here at the Casa.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, here we go.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Tuesday (today) - Baking a keylime pie, mashing turnips and carrots, cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning. Wash all of the good* dishes and serving dishes, clean off the dining room table, dig out Thanksgiving table linens, pull out the "formal"* flatware. Bake banana bread, because banana bread. Panic over the cream supply - will half a gallon suffice?</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wednesday - More housework. Lort, the housework. Then there's the l</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aundry. Oh, lort, the l</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aundry. Moving the trailer so it's not in the way of guest parking, and also so it's in its winter home. Prepping the dressing. </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> Panicking about the butter - is two pounds enough for the day? Gah!</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Thursday - Turkey goes in to bake. Dressing goes in to bake. Green beans are steamed. Finishing up any last minute cleaning. Children are shooed outside to frolic. Friends and family trickle in. Set the table. Fill the water pitcher. Watch TV and baste the turkey. Make food, food, more food. St</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">art Dutch </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">apple pie b</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aking </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">and start</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> chocol</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ate silk pie th</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">awing (bec</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ause M</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">arie C</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">allender does pie so well, I'm h</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">appy to let her). </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Serve. Eat. Coma. Dessert and coffee/tea. More coma. Play games. Pack leftovers to go for guests. Pack baked goods for mom to take to the bake sale. Eat more. Sleep well.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Friday - More food coma and take the kids to visit/frolic with friends.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday - Start baking holiday goodies for shipping to family and friends.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sunday - Rest. Possibly interspersed with n</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">apping and more baking.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />How is your week shaping up?</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">*These are dishes that Mum and I bought one piece at a time from a grocery store a long, long, looooong time ago. Service for fourteen including serving dishes, either free or bargain priced with purchase of a certain amount of groceries. I love them. Not fancy, but pretty and simple and I like them.<br /><br />**Not sterling, but some rather lovely and solid stainless steel flatware from the Oneida Company, back when there was a Betty Crocker catalog and we clipped Betty Crocker points from boxes and saved them in a tin on top of the refrigerator. Service for twelve, and some day I hope to expand it and add more serving pieces and other cutlery, but that'll have to wait a bit because it's a discontinued pattern and getting the pieces I'd like to have will cost a small fortune. I adore my pattern, bought a few pieces at a time through the mail with little bits o</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">f cardboard and postage paid.</span></span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-61116708987366920722022-07-04T14:00:00.001-04:002022-07-04T14:00:08.529-04:00Show Up<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">It's Independence Day. Every year, I read the declaration with the kids and then we discuss it.<br /><br />I'm not feeling awfully independent, right now. Right now, I have fewer rights than a corpse. That's not hyperbole. My body isn't my choice, any more, and things don't look to be improving any time soon. Rights our grandmothers and mothers fought for and that we took for granted ("It's established law, don't worry, they won't overturn it...") our children will now have to fight to reestablish. Lawmakers are gleefully seeking to curtail freedom of speech, freedom of movement, and bodily autonomy.<br /><br /> Midterm elections are looming.<br /><br />Midterms traditionally see the lowest voter turnouts. <br /><br />Why bother, who cares, so what?<br /><br />Welp.<br /><br />Because I HAVE FEWER RIGHTS THAN A DEAD BODY!!! Your mothers, sisters, daughters, friends, cousins, lovers, neighbors, and women you haven't even met, yet, HAVE FEWER RIGHTS THAN A CORPSE! </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maybe that could be a reason to get off your ass and vote? </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Or maybe because we're being pillaged by our own government? <br /><br />Or maybe because corporations pay fewer taxes and have more rights than individuals?<br /><br />Or maybe because the wealthiest few pay the least in taxes but have the most influence on government? <br /><br />Here's the deal - show up or shut up.<br /><br />Right now I'm on a long, slow, simmering burn of anger and outrage, and I don't have patience for excuses.<br /><br />Get fucking woke. Yes, woke. Wake the fuck up. Your complacency is robbing us all of fundamental human rights.<br /><br />I'm tired of playing nicely, of hand holding, of kindness and yes, even compassion, when it comes to this. I'm tired of softening my words so as not to offend. I'm fucking offended that you can't be bothered.<br /><br />So show up or shut up. If you don't vote, you don't have a voice. Silence equals assent. Get off your ass, get your family off their asses, get your friends off their asses, get your community off their asses, get the whole motherloving country off its ass and VOTE!<br /><br />Show up or shut up.<br /><br />I'm done being nice about it.<br /><br />Once more for those in the back, SHOW UP OR SHUT UP.<br /><br />See you at the polls. </span></p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-1047715350002912632022-05-03T20:58:00.000-04:002023-09-15T16:15:56.603-04:00A Visit From Joshua<div class="AOLWebSuite AOLWebSuiteM1" data-dojo-attach-point="bodyCont" style="margin: 10px 20px 4px;"><div id="yiv5103567782"><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">I’m between dreams, mind processing in bits and pieces my recent experiences. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>It is the liminal space. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>I hear him, sandal scraping lightly on stone that isn’t there.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“Hello, Joshua.” <br /><br /></span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“Is it ok to be here?”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">I turn from the dough I’m suddenly kneading.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“You’ve never asked, before.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“I’ve never been so uncertain of being welcome”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Dear boy, I will always keep a place for you, here.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">I open my arms and he walks into the embrace like coming home. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>We’re like that. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>The love I have for this benighted man is deep and abiding. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>I may not worship him, but I weep for him all the same.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“I was worried. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>You’re angry, and hurt…”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Dearheart, I don’t blame you for what those fools do in your name. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>I know you too well. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>Come and have a cup of tea and some toast with honey.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“I can’t stay long - there’s so much to do, so much to make right, so much wrong done in my name…”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">He falters, distressed.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“Joshua, there’s no time, here. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>There’s only now.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Is that Irish butter?”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Of course. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>And honey from a friend’s hives.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">He sits next to me on the padded window seat that just became, and I pour him tea and give him toast with butter and honey. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>He leans on me with a sigh.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“Why won’t my people listen to me? <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>How did they stray so far from my message?“</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Oh, honey…” I wrap an arm around him - it never hurts or is frozen when he’s near - and give a squeeze “I don’t think they ever heard you in the first place.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Cynic.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><br />“Look at how they behave and tell me I’m wrong.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">He can’t meet my eyes. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>He knows. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>They’ve taken the beautiful gifts he’s given them and twisted everything around until it is thorny and slicing, and they’re trying to wrap the world in this perversion of his grace and call it love.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">“I think maybe it’s going to get ugly out there in the world, Joshua. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>You come here whenever you want. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>Never fear - this Witch will always welcome you.”</span></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv5103567782p3" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv5103567782s2"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia;">Eventually we stand up. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>One more hug, and I kiss his brow just like a mama kisses her child, offering comfort and benediction. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>He gives me that sweet smile and fades away with a sigh. <span class="yiv5103567782Apple-converted-space"> </span>I notice he took the rest of the toast with honey and grin as I slip into my next dream.</span></span></p></div></div>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-47226926352456034572022-03-17T10:54:00.001-04:002022-03-17T10:54:13.366-04:00Kyd’s Twisted History, St. Patrick’s Day<p> <span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: 15.84px;">Another year, another repost.</span></p><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">~~~~~</span></span><br /><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">No corned beef tonight - I’m putting it off until tomorrow so I can go to a Tuatha Dea concert!</span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">Seeing as I'm Pagan, you wouldn't think I'd celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Better than most, I am supposed 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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"> In none of the many different explanations for this seemingly random holiday did anyone mention pagans. A most curious oversight if 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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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... </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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 all 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.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">I digressed. Sorry.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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...often 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 ouroboros. For them as what doesn't ken what that critter is, it's a snake eating its tail, and often represents eternity.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 18px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178692512928153042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6Md9oLqWGogMiNRIZEB8lO2DKnNSOc38nzT81GJSVZenyzl26m8YAa_083EQLCm443M2x5tlk2fwDNcSanQxoBOiiNzhcgqGjSs6b8R4vzg7UEB1jFtGjsFLjWA1lR8U34wawBK1WaBy/s320/oroboros.png" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.098) 1px 1px 5px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; max-width: 100%; padding: 5px; text-align: center;" /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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. Serpents in Ireland? Not on his watch!</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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 supposedly did that earned his name in Christendom and for which his holiday is celebrated.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;" /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 15.84px;">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.</span></span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-1370668382655689452022-03-12T09:45:00.002-05:002022-03-12T09:45:52.689-05:00Perchance to Dream<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 28px; font-weight: bold;">Dreams</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Dreams and dreams and dreams, last night.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">~~~~~</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">First was a concert. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Spiral Rhythm as we are now, on a high stage, thousands in the audience. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Last song, a round, we each take a section and urge the people to sing with us as we move the song in circles. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It’s a new song made up of old songs. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Thousands singing with us. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Glorious. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We are connected, we are powerful, we are one. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The crowd roars. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Tomorrow looms, dark and threatening, but tonight we sing.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I wake and say thank-you for that dream.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">~~~~~</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Second dream, battle. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Scenery, animals, and people drawn from fantasy and sci-fi worlds. Violent, bloody. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Lies, betrayal, we refuse to give up. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some of the enemy discover they’ve been lied to and stand with us. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not many, but it turns the tide. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We don’t win so much as survive, but it is enough.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I wake and lay a curse, whisper it out my window three times for the wind to bear to its target. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I am a Witch. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It isn’t all sweetness and light. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Sometimes a curse is called called for.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">~~~~~</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Third dream. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Same sorts of people and creatures as before. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>First part in a medical facility, overrun with wounded, doing battle of a different sort. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Fighting blood, fighting infection, fighting scarcity. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ours or theirs, it does not matter - we empty ourselves into them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Standing between patients and Death. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Exhausted, empty, ever vigilant. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not today, beloved, this one is mine, you shall not collect them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He will take no one unless he first takes me. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I tell him where our enemies lie dead, go there and do your sacred task. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Second part, a feast of remembering. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Tables in rows upon rows. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Crowded. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No one is unmarked - we are all scarred, exhausted, knowing it isn’t over, it’s never over, we have paid and will continue to pay freedom’s price. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We don’t want to be here when tyranny prowls outside the gates, but here we are. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It will help those who could not or would not fight feel better to fete the battle worn. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They cannot begin to understand what we have known. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Easier to let them have their way than to explain. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We speak quietly to each other. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Where were you? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was there, and there. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Did you see this person, did you know that one. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Family, friend, tribe-in-arms. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Where did they fall. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Did they make a good end? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We do not weep. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Stone faced, dry-eyed, we listen. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We bore witness and now we tell. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Who is remembered, lives. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We will not stop speaking our memories until even the unclaimed are shared, remembered, carried by all.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">At the end, we stand beside a massive memorial for the animals that served as soldiers. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Dogs. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Cats. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Creatures I cannot begin to describe. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They were intelligent. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They spoke. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They knew, as we did, the cost, and they paid willingly. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It is an enormous play structure where other animals may frolic, built to stand for millennia, shining metal, looking like a cat tree mated with a skyscraper and bore this progeny. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The names of the animals cover the walls and columns. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We find the names we know, and in silence we remember, and now our tears course freely.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I wake weeping. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">~~~~~</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">After the third dream, I did not go back to sleep. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Instead, I watched the darkness until the sun came up and gave shape back to the waking world. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No mystery where these dreams came from, only a painful, helpless-feeling, useless-feeling sorrow and a simmering combination of rage and resentment.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Threefold. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Threefold. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Threefold.</span></p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-66716818887425367702022-02-24T19:36:00.000-05:002022-02-24T19:36:07.153-05:00Perception<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Today, John Scalzi (terrific author and Twitterer extraordinaire) posted this:</span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8HIvIIakT6LZV1WaR9mX0egsHoevkckCIdoPFKcWd4CcgYbGM85JBC9NB-s6IewB4Z3EbofZaYtiQmofuTPBO4xLzKiRYVJmEmzDsZrTrpxF7CbOjUSODTtqHwIVsoIKk8107dbeqLZjpOLcEPyvi1MOcDroZUF4VRTefkrQJQDKK838jN85Ed7_p=s1242" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="1242" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8HIvIIakT6LZV1WaR9mX0egsHoevkckCIdoPFKcWd4CcgYbGM85JBC9NB-s6IewB4Z3EbofZaYtiQmofuTPBO4xLzKiRYVJmEmzDsZrTrpxF7CbOjUSODTtqHwIVsoIKk8107dbeqLZjpOLcEPyvi1MOcDroZUF4VRTefkrQJQDKK838jN85Ed7_p=s320" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It got me to thinking, which led to pondering, which led to a rather impromptu and not-very-well-thought-ought experiment after a jaunt to the grocery store, so I logged on to The Tome of Visage and posted this photo I shot while shopping, with the question "What happened here?":</span></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxDvUP3OxsB5qExXlA2oLn-eAnRK5SshNJjOb-svukjBIqnutmrI-GZ-J76j1c7cmWog0ajyz_4r-tgP-EnTglLrq17F59cT34jz5YTd2vHDfqXrulCTB86oLe1y-7FXiYyGU8ukG2AwesJIMWEwqFgUXWluW5Een_4o3OeHpqQibMJAgnrBAggMqW=s701" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxDvUP3OxsB5qExXlA2oLn-eAnRK5SshNJjOb-svukjBIqnutmrI-GZ-J76j1c7cmWog0ajyz_4r-tgP-EnTglLrq17F59cT34jz5YTd2vHDfqXrulCTB86oLe1y-7FXiYyGU8ukG2AwesJIMWEwqFgUXWluW5Een_4o3OeHpqQibMJAgnrBAggMqW=s320" width="240" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Within about hours, I had 9 replies. None of them were correct in this instance, but they rather proved a point brought to mind by Mr. Scalzi: perception and presentation can shape opinion without basis in fact, and an image/story taken out of context might be spun any which way. If I missed his point, my apologies to Mr. Scalzi, but I'm slogging on with this blog, anyway. Go big or go home.<br /><br />Wait. I <i>am</i> home. Onward!<br /><br />As time passes, btw, there may be more replies to my original ToV post, but I wanted to write this <i>now</i>, so here we are. Also, those first folks? Are people I know and love, not strangers, mostly not nutjobs, not trolls. They represent a rather satisfying array of personalities, ages, social strata, political and spiritual beliefs, educational levels, modes of employ, and car ownership. Some are dog people, some cat people, some are horse people, some like reptiles, some have many critters, and some eschew pets entirely. They're readers, writers, thinkers, yarn harlots, artists, mechanics, gardeners, painters, ex-lawyers, white collar, blue collar, male, female, and many other varied and wonderful things. They were polite, informative, and some even linked to informative articles in support of their thoughts.<br /><br />The responses ranged from Putin ordering Russian troops to invade Ukrain to supply chain issues to corporate shenanigans to controlling the populace through food to end stage capitalism to the impending Mardi Gras, and each response was likely rooted in what is foremost on the responders mind. Boy, do I grok! Lately, my response to stimuli has been rather more cross than not because I? Am rather more cross than usual. Because my brain is feeling somewhat mean-ish, it interprets every little thing as an affront, and I've been snappish when perhaps I needn't have been. But enough about my misfiring neurons!<br /><br />Each response could have been the right one, and frankly they could be spot on in the near future, but then this would be a moot post, wouldn't it?<br /><br />So, what <i>did</i> happen, here?<br /><br />I mean, you'd want to know, right? You'd want to know the truth, right? Not just how someone maybe carefully crafted their presentation to poke you in the feelz, rile you up, get you on their side of whatever the "issue" is and share, R/T, forward, or whatever? Right?<br /><br />Oh, lort, please say "Right!".<br /><br />That photo I took at the market?<br /><br />That's where frozen, ready to heat-and-eat foods usually dwell. Meatballs, chicken wings, nuggets, strips, and patties. Country fried steak. Stuffed chicken breasts. Corn dogs. You know the stuff. A second case nearby would normally have frozen turkeys, burger patties, brats, and whatnot. It was also empty.<br /><br />Why?<br /><br />A simple failure of the refrigeration/freezing doodads.<br /><br />Yup.<br /><br />They broke.<br /><br />That's it. That's all.<br /><br />I know because I asked at the meat department, and the fella there who usually stops to chat with me for a moment was happy to confirm that the cases had, indeed, fizzled and that anything I'd normally get from them I could ask for and he'd fetch it hither from the behind-the-scenes of the department. <br /><br />Boring, yeah? I could probably have told whatever narrative I wanted and let it fly, and probably no one would have gainsaid me. Probably it could even have been copied or shared and used to support someone else's narrative without regard to what was/is really going on. That could still happen.<br /><br />It's happening with all kinds of other images/stories. Happens every day. Sometimes there's just enough truth to make it seem really real, and sometimes it's all horsefeathers. Sometimes people know they're spreading misinformation and/or hyperbole, and they're doing it with the intent to manipulate people into responding without thought, with high emotions. Nothing like a conspiracy to speed misinformation along, root it deeply enough that truth no longer matters. <br /><br />So yes, please, think twice and look into things before you pass them along in a frenzy of like-and-share-if-you-agree, polarizing posts. Does the agita really need feeding?<br /><br />And to my beloved kin/tribe who saw the original post and answered - I love y'all more than salt and in no way wished to cause unhappiness. I hope you'll always respond with your honest thoughts and know that I am a special kind of asshole but would never knowingly aim my assholery at any of you with intent to do harm (or, really, at all - I usually save my assholery for yelling at strangers in traffic when they can neither hear me nor see into my car and read my lips because I am a considerate asshole and don't want to cause angst in others).</span></div></div><p></p>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-40449627930217893752022-01-28T13:36:00.004-05:002022-01-28T13:43:16.993-05:00My First Scar<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m
seven.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is summertime.</span></p></span></span><p></p><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mom and dad have been divorced for most of my life. We spend a lot of time at my maternal
grandparents’ house.<br />
<br />
On this day, Mom, Papa and Mimi, and the Bessenroth family are all visiting. The grownups are off on Papa’s boat and us
kids are at the house under the watchful eye of Louise. <br />
<br />
Louise. How to explain her? Sort of a housekeeper, babysitter,
grandmotherly woman who worked for my grandparents. I loved her.
She’s the one who taught me how to make a bed with proper hospital corners,
how to use the laundry machines, how to fold towels, and how to hang laundry on
a line so it dried without those weird bunchy spots that clothespins can leave
behind. <br />
<br />
So my brother and the Bessenroth son, Andreas, are off playing together, and I am wandering around the yard just kind of drifting in and out of my own little
world. I meander too close for their
liking to where the boys are playing, and they chase me away. Andreas thinks it would be fun to claim he is a
ghost, some kind of vengeful spirit, and run after me with a tomato stake. This is before those wire cages, when people
tie their tomato plants to long wooden stakes so they stay up. He’s found one lying about and is using it
like a spear, menacing me.<br />
<br />
He gets me backed up against a curving wall of trees lining the driveway across
from the front of the house, and is sort of thrusting his spear at me. As I recall, I wasn’t much scared, because
even then, ghosts weren’t an issue, and he was a friend of the family and we’d
always gotten along well, and really, I thought then and think now that he was
just being a little boy.<br />
<br />
The spear slips. <br />
<br />
Thud.<br />
<br />
My next memory is of moments later. I’m
in the house, somehow through the front door.
My hands are cupped beneath my chin and I cannot see where I am going but somehow I’m through the sitting
room, the dining room, the pantry, into the kitchen. There sits Louise, having a rare quiet
moment, and in I slowly walk, bleeding from the face. <br />
<br />
My brother must have followed me in, because she shouts at him to go get a
washcloth. He complies. She tells him not that one, it’s one of the
good ones for guests, go get an older one.
I agreed – I really don’t want to upset my grandmother by spoiling any
of the good linens. I worry that I dripped blood on the floor as I came in, but as I recall, I hadn’t. I caught it all in my hands.<br />
<br />
A bit of a blank spot, and then I’m in an ambulance. I am sitting on someone’s lap up front? They are nice fellows, friendly, and they allow
as how we can have the sirens on if I’d like, which of course!<br />
<br />
Jump through a blank space again, and I’m in the hospital, lying on a cold table
with a terribly bright light shining in my eyes. Several people are leaning over me, dark silhouettes against the brightness, assessing
the damage. I am not frightened but they keep reassuring me, anyway. Louise sternly tells me not
to let ANYONE do ANYTHING to me until my family gets there. I guess someone managed to get ahold of them,
out on the boat? Louise doesn’t want an
intern mucking about with me. She wants
a full-on, experienced, got-some-sleep-this-week doctor to deal with my face.<br />
<br />
Eventually permissions must have been given, because a person in scrubs comes
along and carefully begins picking splinters out, then sewing stitches in. Tiny band-aids are applied. I am proud of my stitches – seven of them –
and want to show them off but am told I have to leave the bandages on for a
while.<br />
<br />
All the grownups are there. <br />
<br />
Blurred memory of leaving and going to the T&C for clams, Shirley Temples, pinball,
maybe dancing with Papa, and clear memory of me continually pleading with any
adult who will listen not to punish Andreas for this, he didn’t mean to, please don’t
spank him. Spanking, in my mind, is the
height of horrible fates for a child, which is odd because I don’t recall ever having
been spanked.<br />
<br />
Eventually, they acquiesce, and as far as I know he got a good ticking off but
was never spanked.<br />
<br />
After a few days, I get to show off my stitches, and when they come out there
is hardly a scar. You can still see it
if you look hard, on the bridge of my nose just between my eyes. It was a lucky shot, really – left or right
and you could call me Winky. Any harder
and maybe I’d have had a brain injury or maybe been killed. I do have the best kind of bad luck.<br />
<br />
Tweny-ish years later, after a long time apart, we see Andreas at Papa’s memorial. We laugh, chat,
catch up with our somewhat more grown up selves, and I remind him of this
incident. He has completely forgotten!<br />
<br />
He thinks I am maybe misremembering, but I have witnesses. He is horrified and apologetic, which I
think is funny and I reassure him it’s fine, all was forgiven way back when and
now it’s just a story.<br />
<br />
Funny thing, though.<br />
<br />
He’s afraid of blood. Can’t bear the
sight of it. Now he thinks maybe he knows why. I guess I wasn't the only one scarred, that day.<br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCh7bPctYhy0fjOA3QXnCLIUCf7sGPpFqqJ5RmZgPHrjKCkLxgX56CPJs0sOL97HPg5oXj4ISqkAEhFgJQxnzLpe9p8e2lSDKYj1FGkbYVGOBqGsGQ0ZE0aOuEnHvrSPdG2g-x46JdFHzjBfq6yAxn-l4riGfzw0nZzx1sstJzllW7OBsR3RkL05ES=s1629" style="font-size: 12pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="1629" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCh7bPctYhy0fjOA3QXnCLIUCf7sGPpFqqJ5RmZgPHrjKCkLxgX56CPJs0sOL97HPg5oXj4ISqkAEhFgJQxnzLpe9p8e2lSDKYj1FGkbYVGOBqGsGQ0ZE0aOuEnHvrSPdG2g-x46JdFHzjBfq6yAxn-l4riGfzw0nZzx1sstJzllW7OBsR3RkL05ES=s320" width="320" /></a></div></span></span></span><br />Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-54106134349615511962021-11-25T00:00:00.017-05:002021-11-25T00:00:00.187-05:00Happy ThanksgivingHere followeth a Casa de Crazy Thanksgiving Day Tradicion:<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/W5_8U4j51lI" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JIdILoAxa4k" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />And a new (old) addition to our warped holiday hilarity:<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BGFtV6-ALoQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><br />We hope you have a pleasant, tasty, mellow, comfortable, healthy, not-at-all-contentious Thanksgiving day if you are in the USA and an all around good one if not in the USA or not celebr</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ating</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here are the links if you want to view on YouTube: </span> <a href="https://youtu.be/W5_8U4j51lI" target="_blank">Alice's Restaurant</a> , <span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/BtREMlFQ850" target="_blank">Th</a></span><a href="https://youtu.be/BtREMlFQ850" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">a</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">nkful</span></a> and <a href="https://youtu.be/BGFtV6-ALoQ">Turkey Drop</a>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-30446065745805155552021-11-24T00:00:00.002-05:002021-11-24T00:00:00.200-05:00Thankful<p><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">I have a few traditions on Thanksgiving. Not many - the menu, Mom recording the Macy's parade so we can watch it together at Yule and fast-forward through all the crappy pop music, commercials, and talking heads to see the twenty minutes of balloons, floats and high school bands we’re actually interested in hidden among all that junk, and my day-before-Thanksgiving list of some things for which I am thankful, in no particular order and in no way complete:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What remains of my left foot, Nubbly, which perseveres and does its best not to pain me even when I deserve it</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The doctors, nurses, and techs who probably saved my life and helped me get back to living it</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The care that family and friends have given me while I return to upright living (or what now passes for it, which is pretty darned good) once more</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Evil Genius<br />Sprout<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Mom<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">The house in which I live (beloved Casa de Crazy)</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Gypsy<br />Kerri<br />T, who may be my ex-husband but remains a staunch friend<br />Mr. Grey<br />Mizz A<br />Kit<br />Sam-I-Am<br />PJ<br />Mizz Beth<br />Martha 'n' Milo (who lives always in our hearts)<br />Avalon<br />My band mates<br />Dica<br />Donna <br />And all of my friends who put up with me when I am most myself and therefor least likable. They are the net beneath me when I fly and fall<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Bread<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The scent of leaf loam and woodsmoke in the crisp autumn air<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Apple cider<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Books, music, and art<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean, plentiful water<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean air<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Clean clothes<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Freedom<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Nature and the ways she finds to show me something new of herself every day<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Words<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Song<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Dance<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Adversity, that joy is all the sweeter (Okay, okay, the joy is sweet enough, so basta with the adversity for a minute, please)<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every creature and plant that I consume to sustain myself, because without the life I take, I w</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>ould have no life to live<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Love - that it exists at all is a wonder, and I feel blessed to know it in many forms<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Chocolate, gift from the Gods (yes, even the perversion called "candy bar") (Mmm...candy bar...)<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">The cats by whom I am kept<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Honeycrisp Apples<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong hands<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong spirit<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Strong will<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Laughter<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Cussed determination not to curl up and die just because life can sometimes be a succession of truly awful, bleak, and desolate days...but sometimes it isn't<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">The Internet<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">You</span></p><div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hope you have a blessed day, and that the things for which you're thankful outweigh the things for which you're not.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Happy Thanksgiving, y'all, from us at Casa de Crazy to you out in the Blue Nowhere and beyond.</span></div>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-52741363964300268282021-11-17T09:50:00.005-05:002021-11-21T13:06:34.039-05:00Counting Down<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is the week before Thanksgiving</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> and there is much happening here at Casa de Crazy.</span></p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The kids and I are terrorizing the cats...er...tidying up a bit. Poor house is a right mess as a result of some serious depression, chaos, and stress (so wh</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">at's new?)</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">, and it WILL BE CLEAN for Thanksgiving. Or, at least, the parts our guests will see will be clean. Probably. Maybe. I hope.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is a somewhat traditional post for me - every year I write a little something about this week, as it is the lead-off to The Silly Season (</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ak</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">a Christm</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ah</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">annukw</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">az</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">akyule) </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">and often one of my busiest here at the Casa.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, here we go.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Wednesday (today) - Band practice, because really, who doesn't band practice right before a holiday?</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thursday - More housework. Lort, the housework. Then there's the l</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aundry. Oh, lort, the l</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aundry. Hopefully we will also finish shuffling the garage so I can park in there before it gets really, actually cold outside (nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but I'd be thankful if it got done). </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Grocery shopping, because there's nothing like looking for obscure ingredients at the last minute. Panicking about the butter - is two pounds enough for the day? Gah!</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Friday - cleaning, cleaning, more cleaning (I move slowly, the Casa is enormous, and I am not a good housekeeper so when we DO clean, it's a job). Making sure the table linens are washed and ready to use and pulling out the "good" flatware**. Also going up to the HAHC to shoot pics and make FB posts and maybe apply to offer a class this winter.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday - Thawing and then cutting up bread for the dressing. I bought it ahead of time and froze it because supplies have been unreliable, and T might just cry if there's no dressing. Can't have that!</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Sunday - Washing the "good"* dishes and serving bowls/platters.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Monday - Making a list of ingredients for baking so I can make some donations for the Friday HAHC bake sale, because I don't have enough to do this week.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Tuesday - Remove turkey stock from the freezer so I can make dressing and gravy with home made stock. Cut vegetables for the dressing. Do a little dance. Probably more housework, which may include mopping, so maybe say a little prayer for me. Gather ingredients for bake sale shenanigans.<br /><br />Wednesday - Prep the dressing for baking. Make keylime pie (including shortbread crust since I cannot buy them ready-made any more, waaaah). Make the mashed turnips and carrots. Bake cookies, miniature keylime pies, and banana bread for the bake sale. Sit down for a moment and ponder my life choices. Probably last-minute cleaning, mopping, and table setting.<br /><br />Turkey goes in to bake. Dressing goes in to bake. Green beans are steamed. Finishing up any last minute cleaning. Children are shooed outside to frolic. Friends and family trickle in. Set the table. Fill the water pitcher. Watch TV and baste the turkey. Make food, food, more food. St</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">art Dutch </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">apple pie b</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">aking </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">and start</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> chocol</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ate silk pie th</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">awing (bec</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">ause M</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">arie C</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">allender does pie so well, I'm h</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">appy to let her). </span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Serve. Eat. Coma. Dessert and coffee/tea. More coma. Play games. Pack leftovers to go for guests. Pack baked goods for mom to take to the bake sale. Eat more. Sleep well.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Friday - More food coma and maybe go up to the HAHC to shoot more pics so I can write FB posts for 'em. Or maybe just continue the food coma from Thursday.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday - Start baking holiday goodies for shipping to family and friends.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sunday - Rest. Possibly interspersed with n</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">apping and more baking.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />How is your week shaping up?</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">*These are dishes that Mum and I bought one piece at a time from a grocery store a long, long, looooong time ago. Service for fourteen including serving dishes, either free or bargain priced with purchase of a certain amount of groceries. I love them. Not fancy, but pretty and simple and I like them.<br /><br />**Not sterling, but some rather lovely and solid stainless steel flatware from the Oneida Company, back when there was a Betty Crocker catalog and we clipped Betty Crocker points from boxes and saved them in a tin on top of the refrigerator. Service for twelve, and some day I hope to expand it and add more serving pieces and other cutlery, but that'll have to wait a bit because it's a discontinued pattern and getting the pieces I'd like to have will cost a small fortune. I adore my pattern, bought a few pieces at a time through the mail with little bits o</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;">f cardboard and postage paid.<br /></span></span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-7154014294488213502021-05-31T03:53:00.000-04:002021-05-31T03:53:52.643-04:00Memorial Day<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJmlgtqioWMIfKJv8ZWD3o4ZUSmI3rbGWD6IIbILnEVNjFFexKtKFJewFJrFNySkqPetfPmlClCpoUDRxvcrt6ZcBJ9Or9T0W4zgraJBuJQdXXnzUOXz01sP7oHqrues0jyBvNHxaYqN3/s1600-h/poppies.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204702573415325746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJmlgtqioWMIfKJv8ZWD3o4ZUSmI3rbGWD6IIbILnEVNjFFexKtKFJewFJrFNySkqPetfPmlClCpoUDRxvcrt6ZcBJ9Or9T0W4zgraJBuJQdXXnzUOXz01sP7oHqrues0jyBvNHxaYqN3/s400/poppies.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><em><span style="font-size: 78%;"> Photo found <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/7847083@N06/2497041029/in/pool-nature_gallery">here</a> and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.</span></em></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For a history of this day, go </span><a href="http://www1.va.gov/opa/speceven/memday/history.asp" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Or </span><a href="http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Or </span><a href="http://www.history.com/minisite.do?content_type=Minisite_Generic&content_type_id=758&display_order=1&mini_id=1079" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~~~~~<br />In Flanders Fields by John McCrea<br /><br />In Flanders fields the poppies blow<br />Between the crosses, row on row,<br />That mark our place; and in the sky<br />The larks, still bravely singing, fly<br />Scarce heard amid the guns below.<br /><br />We are the Dead. Short days ago<br />We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<br />Loved and were loved, and now we lie<br />In Flanders fields.<br /><br />Take up our quarrel with the foe:<br />To you from flailing hands we throw<br />The torch; be yours to hold it high.<br />If ye break faith with us who die</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We shall not sleep, though poppies grow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Flanders fields</span></div>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8368390343692114709.post-49481668506869209182021-04-26T12:30:00.004-04:002021-04-26T12:30:50.175-04:00Ripples<span style="font-family: georgia;">A while back (a couple of years, anyway), we had what the kids have dubbed "The Home Invasion". <br /><br />Sit back, relax, and I shall relate.<br /><br />I had a gig with the band in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. I opted to let the kids stay home because it wasn't going to be a long trip - literally drive up from Redneck Central one day, perform the next day, head home the third day. A grind. I don't mind long drives and quick turn-arounds, but it's a bit much for the kids to endure, so I asked my friend A to come hang with 'em while I was gone, and when the time came, I hauled out. A was coming after work, the Evil Genius was more than old/capable enough to look out for Sprout for the few hours' gap, and they were excited about having Casa de Crazy to themselves for a few hours. <br /><br />This was the same weekend when, on the way home, the van's engine threw a rod and irrevocably died on the side of the road, but that's another tale.<br /><br />The day before I needed to leave, Cygnus wanted to come over and pick up some of his things, including some of his tools. I let him know when I was leaving and that he'd have to come before then or wait until I was home. He didn't come the evening before or that morning, and I locked up the house and left. <br /><br />A couple of hours in to my 11 hour drive, the phone calls started, interspersed with him hanging up on me when I didn't give answers that satisfied him. Where was I? Why wasn't I home? Didn't I know he was coming for his things? Why was the house locked? Why didn't his garage door opener work? Why was I trying to ruin his life? Didn't I know how important it was for him to have his tools? Why did I hate him? Why didn't I wait for him before I left? I was ruining his chances to get this job. I was doing it on purpose. I didn't care about him, had never cared about him. Everything was all my fault.<br /><br />You get the drift.<br /><br />When he let me speak, and sometimes when he wouldn't, I would answer him, reminding him of my trip, the gig, and that I'd told him when I had to go, when I'd be back, and when he had to be at the house if he didn't want to wait until I was home to collect his things.<br /><br />Eventually, he called and told me he'd gotten in, his garage door opener worked, after all, and where were all the things he needed right that moment or else everything was pointless and bleak and I was a horrible human being who wanted to destroy him (in a nutshell).<br /><br />As I was already hours on the road and had no idea where any specific items were, only a vague sense of garageness, I couldn't answer. This was. not. ok. More screaming, swearing, and epithets. <br /><br />I asked if I needed to cancel the gig and come home, not quite a threat since I meant it - had he made the demand, I would have done - but he yelled some more about how he wasn't going to ask me to do that since then I'd blame him for all the bad things, and on and on, so I kept going, fielding angry calls as he yelled and hung up, only to dial me up again.<br /><br />Because the kids were home, I kept answering - I didn't want him unleashing his rage on them. He absolutely would have, verbally. After all, he had done it before, until I put myself between him and them, directed his words and actions towards myself so he would change focus.<br /><br />The kids. They were playing quietly in the house when he got there, and when they saw him drive up...they hid.<br /><br />My children, in their own home, hid from this person who was once part of our lives. <br /><br />At some point after he'd hung up on me yet again, he entered the house, which he shouldn't have done - nothing he'd asked for was inside, and he had no right to enter when I wasn't home, when he thought no one was home because he didn't listen when I told him that A was watching the kids while I was gone. <br /><br />Let me just drive that point a little more home - after not showing up when he knew I would be there, after coming to the house knowing I was gone, thinking that no one would be there and that he could get into the garage at will, he came into the house without invitation, without permission, and without any real reason.<br /><br />Still thinking he was alone except for the cats, he wandered around and rummaged for some things, then tried to enter the Evil Genius's room. EG had locked his door when Cygnus drove up and made no sound, no answer, when Cygnus pounded on the locked door, so...<br /><br />Cygnus broke in the door.<br /><br />Yes, you read that right. He broke in the door to my son's bedroom, a space he had not permission, reason, nor right to enter. When he saw my son there, sitting on the bed, he froze. Then he exploded. He called me back with accusations of lying to him, that I'd said the kids were with me, then that I'd said that kids would be at A's house, that I should have ordered them to let him in, then all kinds of hatred spewed forth.<br /><br />I was angry that he'd gone into the house. He claimed he wanted the coffee maker - <i>my</i> coffee maker, since he'd lost or damaged his, I can't recall - so he'd come inside.<br /><br />All this time, he never looked for our daughter, never asked where she was. She'd gone and hidden under the covers of my bed. He never noticed her, nor her absence, never called out to her.<br /><br />Shortly after he burst in on my son, he stomped around a little more then went back outside. A pulled up soon after, and he left in a hurry.<br /><br />I'll spare you a few details here and jump to the point where EG and A discovered how Cygnus got in. Remember back when I mentioned that his garage door opener wouldn't work? It was one that was hard-wired to his vehicle, not a remote unit. Late the year before, A had reprogrammed the main unit and the remotes to a new frequency, for the same reason I started locking doors when I left the house (something I wasn't in the habit of doing for decades) - by this time, I didn't trust Cygnus to respect my home, because I fully believed that he would try to sneak in while I/we were out and take what he wanted. How many times had he snuck into my son's room and stolen his money and then lied about it? How many times had he emptied my change banks, taken my toll money stash, stolen and sold things or pawned his tools then accused me of stealing them or hiding them from him?<br /><br />Too many.<br /><br />So I wasn't taking any chances that he'd come in unless I was there to observe.<br /><br />If his opener didn't work, how did he get in?<br /><br />He kicked out a panel of the garage door, crawled in, and then opened it. He forced his way into the house. He went looking for things, thinking he was alone and could take what he liked. He broke into my son's room for what? Likely to steal any money he could find, possibly to take other things to sell.<br /><br />I absolutely believe he was an active addict at the time, his protestations notwithstanding. His behavior and language were addict behavior and language. He in no way acted reasonably, and when confrontation seemed imminent, he fled.<br /><br />The kids were frightened but rallied quickly. A and I pieced al of the above together into one timeline, and I asked if I should come home. Gigs are a big deal, but family is bigger. Kids and A said go perform, they would be fine. My ex-husband came by and fixed the garage door panel as best as he could. The sheriff was called and informed of what happened but in the end no charges were filed.<br /><br />I called Cygnus.<br /><br />I was white hot. If I'd known where he was living at the time, I would likely have turned back home and sought to do him grievous harm.<br /><br />As hunting him down wasn't an option, I instead told him that he was never. ever. under any circumstances. to come to my house again. Not even to the driveway. Never. Not even if it means his life. Not even a pinkie toe over the property line. He will never again be welcome or even tolerated at our home.<br /><br />That stands. If the neighbors see him, they will call law enforcement. If the kids see him, they will call law enforcement. If I see him, I will call law enforcement. <br /><br />I'm still storing his things, although that has to change before the end of the summer. If he wants anything, he must message me and ask for it. When I am able, I will bring it to him.<br /><br />This house is home, is haven, for me and the kids. I will never again knowingly compromise that for the sake of kindness, compassion, or convenience. My son will not ever again be in the same room as Cygnus. He will never again speak to the man. Given a choice, he will never again see Cygnus nor hear his. His loathing for Cygnus runs deep, burns bright, and is enduring.<br /><br />Sprout is torn between love for her Papa, lingering fear, and dislike. I try to nurture the love, gentle the fear, and temper the dislike, but I won't make her feel bad for feeling these things. When she wants to see him, if he is able, I will take her to a park where they can visit. She doesn't want to be alone with him, though. She wants me there, somewhere, where she can look and see me and know I've got her back. This is not a supposition - she has said as much.<br /><br />Why bring this up now, after so much time has passed?<br /><br />Because healing takes time. Because events don't just happen and then slip into the past, they ripple outward. Sometimes they ripple for years, decades, lifetimes. <br /><br />Last night the kids and I were chatting about this and that, and memories became the topic. The memory of the home invasion came to Sprout's fore, and we rehashed that whole weekend - who was where and had done what, when. How we would deal with such an event, today. How the feelings are still there, among our roots, feeding our inner life. How we can deal with both feelings and memories so they don't keep doing damage.<br /><br />I would like to say that such conversations, centered around such events, are rare, but I cannot make that claim. I <i>can</i> say that we don't shy away from them, that we talk and work and talk and work until we've temporarily exhausted the matter, then revisit as needed. None of the three of us shies away from doing the work, and we will ride these waves, we won't let them drag us under. We are strong swimmers in the tides of life. <br /><br />Ripples come, and ripples pass, and on we go.</span>Kyddrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07668797984157146798noreply@blogger.com0