A Letter

Dear politicians,

It's simple, really:

I'd like to know where my food came from and what's in it. 

I'd like to know that those enacting and enforcing our nation's laws are also subject to them, and even respect them to the extent that they seek to hold themselves to a higher standard.

I'd like to know that I can go to a protest or be an activist or attend a lecture or read an article or book and won't end up on a list somewhere as an appropriate target for persecution or that I am somehow considered less than others because I am passionate about a cause.

I'd like to smoke a bowl, or a joint, or eat a medible without wondering if the feds are going to crash through my door and flash-bang my family in order to remove the dangerous criminal from the community that never knew she was a criminal.

I'd like to point out that I do not consume marijuana because I can't legally, but that it would probably be really beneficial to me if I could.

I'd like to know that my fellow citizens and I, regardless of who or how or how many or when or why we love have equal rights and protections under the law.

I'd like to be able to go to school, or a doctor, without fearing the penury that is sure to follow.  

I'd like mental illness to no longer be used as a reason to marginalize people.

I'd like to go out in public without fearing that I, or my family, or anyone else, will be shot by another citizen, the police, or some government agency when we are not a direct threat to anyone or anything and are simply going about our lives.

I'd like you to quit thinking that a group largely made up of older white males has some moral imperative to regulate my (or anyone's) reproductive system - sex work, birth control, reproductive rights, and everything that goes along with them belong to me and whoever I share me with, not you or anyone else.

I'd like not to chew my water or air.

I'd like to know why The Constitution is only applicable when it backs you and yours, but not when it protects me and mine.

I'd like to see laws enforced equitably, not with bias reflecting beauty, wealth, popularity, fame, infamy, social station, sex, or skin color.

I'd like to see fewer laws.

I'd like a fair tax.

I'd like to know what it's like to not live in fear of the government taking or harming my family simply because I don't fit the defined norm.

I'd like to believe that you give the tiniest damn about the people you allegedly serve, but I don't.

I'd like to think we can fix this mess we're in, but hope is a tiny flame flickering against the cold and dark and you seem to be striving mightily to extinguish it.

You make me tired, and sick, and disheartened, and sometimes even afraid, but I'd like to think that those things will never silence me, and that somewhere, somehow, someday, you will hear me and the other voices crying in the wilderness and you will tremble.

Polynesian Inspired Pulled Pork Loin

Sometimes I just have to throw caution to the wind and play in the kitchen.

Today I made a Polynesian inspired shredded pork loin because pork loin was on sale this week and barbecue is passe.*  Two pork loins, really, because there were two nestled snugly in the package and I hated to deprive them of each other's company.

I started making this yesterday but decided to wait until all was cooked and tasted before writing a blog post .  If it turned out edible, I'd post, and if not?  Well, there's always a plethora of cartoons in the Blue Nowhere to yoink and share!

Clearly it turned out at least manageable, as I am posting.  Hurrah!

The players:

 
Pork loin.  I had bout 2 1/2 pounds in a package.
One can of pineapple chunks in pineapple juice.  I know there are two there - I wasn't sure what I'd need.  Turns out, I needed one.
Soy sauce, about 2 Tablespoons
Hoisin sauce, about 4 Tablespoons (I bought mine at the store because I cannot begin to figure out how to make it at home)
Lime juice, about 4 Tablespoons (I used key lime because it's what I had on hand and I didn't feel like squeezing fresh limes and I don't like RealLime because it doesn't taste real to me, so yeah, I used key lime)
Two slices of onion, chopped small but not quite minced
Peeled and grated ginger, about 3 Tablespoons, and two to three more Tablespoons peeled and chopped small
Three to nine cloves of garlic, minced-ish
Red pepper - I prefer to use flaked but I was mysteriously out so had to use ground
Aaaand - action!

In a large measuring cup (I used a 2 cup), pour about half a cup of the pineapple juice and add the rest of the liquid ingredients (Including the hoisin, which is more liquid-ish than actual liquid, but who's counting?) and give it a stir.  Shake a little red pepper flake in (how much depends on how spicy you like it). Reserve the remaining pineapple juice and chunks for later use.

Place the pork in a large Ziploc type bag.  Pour the liquid over it, then dump in the solids.  Get as much air as you can out of the bag and refrigerate over night.  Feel free to turn it, massage it, and read it bedtime stories to help make it happy.  Look:

Sooooo happy...all those chunks of garlic and ginger and excuse me I need to wipe my mouth before the drool hits the keyboard...

In the morning, dump the lot into a slow cooker.  I'll be honest - I wanted an excuse to try my roommate's slow cooker because it's bigger than mine, and it's new to me, and it's Wednesday.  Set the cooker on low and leave it alone to contemplate the nature of The Universe or something.

After a few hours, it'll be driving you wild with the scent of some kind of magical, alchemical cookery.  Embrace the madness.

I wound up adding a tiny bit of water and the rest  pineapple juice later in the day to boost the liquid content.  About an hour before serving, I cut the pineapple chunks in half and dumped them in.  Another hour, and ooohhhh...

Now came a debate for me - to remove the meat, reserve the liquid, and simply shred the meat without returning it to the liquid?  Or leave the liquid and toss the shredded meat back in?  I chose the latter, but I really don't think there's a correct answer, here.

Oh, my.

I served it with coconut sticky rice (for one cup of rice use one can of coconut milk and enough water to total 2 1/4 cups liquid, cook on medium until it bubbles then on low until almost all the liquid is absorbed, then turn it off and let it rest until all of the liquid is absorbed - it's exhausting bubbling up all that deliciousness!) and steamed carrots and broccoli.

The kids weren't really keen on it but my roommates?  Would have given it several thumbs up if they hadn't been busy using their thumbs to operate eating utensils.  Near the end of dinner, I just mixed all the meat up with the rice and ohmuhgodness.

I'll likely make this again, maybe tweaking the recipe a little because why not?

If you try it, tweak it, love it, hate it, let me know, wouldja?

*Not really.  Please don't feel hurt, barbecue, you know I love you!

Something to Look Forward To

I am a writer of songs.  I am a writer of blogs, a writer of Facebook posts, and even occasionally a writer of stories.  Of all these, my songs are most likely to be heard, seen, repeated, to last beyond my years.  I am learning to live with this, even as I am frustrated that I can't seem to give voice to the stories thronging inside my head, clamoring for release.

It sometimes happens that I experience a bleakness that is almost overwhelming in its nature.  I say "almost" because although I'd like to just let the tide swallow me whole, I can't.  It's no easier to endure, but endure I must.

From time to time, in the midst of the bleakness, I can find a spark of hope, something to look forward to - my childrens' birthdays, a visit with my mother, some time with a friend, something of the world that reminds me there is beauty yet to be seen.

And now?  A book.

There are a few, a handful at most, authors whose work I look forward to.  Patrick Rothfus.  Dean Koontz.  Dick Francis (although he's deceased, his son has been endeavoring to keep the family reputation alive and publishing).  Anne McCaffrey.  Starhawk.

The latter has something new in the works, and it brightened my day considerable to learn of it:  A sequel to one of my most favorite of books (The Fifth Sacred Thing, and if you haven't read it, do...it shattered me into motes of light and then coalesced me again, brighter than before) - City of Refuge is now something to look forward to.

Like my daughter waiting for me to scoop ice cream into the bowl, I am impatient for my treat, but I'll keep...for a little while...

Everybody Eats.

Hey, you.  Yes, you.  Are you hungry?  Is it because you're food insecure, trying to make groceries last, skipping meals to stretch the pantry contents a bit farther?  Read on - I post the following on Facebook from time to tie and thought I'd put it here, too.  I mean it.
~~~~~

Wow, the summer's already half gone! I've been away for a minute or two, so it's time to post this again: If you or someone you know could use a little help with groceries, are wondering where your next meal will come from, are suffering from food insecurity, are skipping meals to stretch your groceries out a little more; if you are on TANF, SNAP, or WIC, are employed, underemployed, or unemployed; if you are single, married, divorced, poly, LGBT, asexual or think it's none of my damned business; and if you can get to me or I can get to you, let's raid my preps closet to help feed you. I don't care who you worship, who you love, or who you vote for, I care whether you are hungry. I have dry and canned goods to offer, and occasionally some frozen things, too. If the timing is right, I can even offer some fresh foods. It ain't the fanciest of vittles, but it'll stick to your ribs and maybe help get you through. PM me or comment here and we'll work it out.

If you can't reach me, try looking here for help: Feeding America

Everybody eats.

Mr. D*

Me and Mr. D have been going 'round since I was six.
I offered him a dance but he refused,
Telling me I was too young to follow his steps,
But I heard the music and knew how to move my feet.
When I was ten years older I asked him for a kiss.
He told me I was too young to kiss him
The way he should be kissed
And life had more to teach me
Before he would give me what I asked,
But I knew how our lips should touch
And what sweetness would follow.
Busy as he is,
Mr D follows me everywhere, watching me live
With a tiny smile quirking his lips
And a bemused expression on his face
But he doesn't like it that I see him
So he ducks behind trees and trucks
And tornadoes and blizzards
And wars
And other obstructions, thinking I won't know
That he wants the same damned thing I do
But neither of us can have it.
Not yet.
Sometimes we talk long talks.
He gets lonely, and bored, and usually
Usually when people notice him
They aren't in talking moods.
He says there are some like me, who have known
For a very long time
And we're puzzles to him,
Us fearless souls who look him in the eye unblinking
Unflinching,
Inviting.
Me and Mr. D are old, old friends.
He always sends his love on my birthday
Because irony.
Long before I understood what a lover was,
I knew he would be mine.
And he will be.
Eventually.




*I was at an event last week and Grandmother Elspeth was across from me, vending Nybor prints.  The below was one of them, and as soon as I saw it I knew I had to have it.  We made a trade for it.  I love it.  I'm torn as to where to hang it - likely it will go somewhere near the altar until I either make a memorial altar or decide I want it in my room to look at.  It reminds me to be patient, reminds me of...things...

Independence Day

Yep, this is a repost, but why re-write what already suits??
~~~~~
In writing the Declaration of Independence, in ratifying it, in signing their names to it, the men named at the bottom risked the very things they hoped to secure for themselves and for future generations. They were performing an act of treason, and by putting their names to it they made of themselves targets for the man, for the nation, they accused. They fought for the principles they named, fought for their families, for their lives, and for the burgeoning life of the tender new nation they hoped to nurture into a great place, a free place, a place where anyone could hope to not just survive, but thrive - a place where anyone willing to put their all into it, to do their very best, could find success, no matter what their gods, their nation of origin.

Since that time, people have tried to follow their lead, standing up and making their voices heard to help secure their rights, the rights of future generations. They have added color and sex to the list of things that cannot determine success, cannot be used as an excuse to deny equal opportunity.

You do the same when you vote. You do it when you attend council meetings, board meetings, town hall meetings, and speak your piece; when you ask the hard questions, protest with signs, songs, shouts; when you show people who think they own this nation to the exclusion of others, people who think they have the right to amend your rights to suit them, that you are watching them, that you SEE them, that you know better.

You do it when you tell our armed forces "Thank you for your service" whether you agree with whatever conflicts we're embroiled in or not - because they are standing up for our liberty doing a difficult, dirty, often thankless job - and they are there, ultimately, to preserve our nation and its principles (As an aside - thank you, men and women of the armed forces. Thank you, and blessed be, and come home safe to the families who love you, miss you, and hope only for your swift return.).

You do it when you teach the children in your life what it means to be free - freedom to fly means freedom to fall, and freedom to rise up again; freedom to succeed means freedom to fail, and to try once more; freedom to speak means freedom for dissenting opinions to be heard; freedom is not comfortable - at times, it is downright terrifying...but it is necessary to the human spirit.

Given a choice to be cold, hungry, ragged, poor, weary, worn and free, or to be clothed, fed, housed, succored, safe and bound - I will be free. Do not make the mistake of giving up your freedom for the illusion of safety - you will one day wake to find you have nothing left but the yoke you bound yourself to.

I could go on, but to what purpose? You understand or you don't - and my little rant won't sway anyone, I fear.

Here, then, is a transcript of our most essential document, the one that began it all, the one that first gave shape to our name, to our identity as a nation. Read, if nothing else, the first two paragraphs. They are as stirring, heartfelt, and powerful now as when they were first written.
~~~~~

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

The 56 signatures on the Declaration appear in the positions indicated:
Column 1 - Georgia: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

Column 2 - North Carolina: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn South Carolina: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Column 3 - Massachusetts: John Hancock Maryland: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton Virginia: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

Column 4 - Pennsylvania: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross Delaware: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Column 5 - New York: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris New Jersey: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Column 6 - New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple Massachusetts: Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry Rhode Island: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery Connecticut: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott New Hampshire: Matthew Thornton
~~~
If you've made it this far, thank you. To support out troops, go visit Any Soldier or Troop BeBop (I know this woman - she's a force of nature!). I wish you a safe, joyous, and happy Independence Day.

Catching Planets

Jupiter and Venus are chasing the sun along the dusk horizon
Closer and closer to Earth they draw
Unheeding of their brightness
Their nearness
Pulling each other along and all
They laugh and tug at gravity's inhibiting drag
Reveling in the scorch of summer Sol

I shall take a net
A long handled net
A mighty net
And catch them up in it
When they are not looking
Place them in my largest jar
As we did with fireflies in bygone days
And call the little star cousins to come and see
Come and wonder

But I'll let them loose again before they falter

Because I am not cruel.

Early Return

I was to have been in Illinois at PSG (Pagan Spirit Gathering) until this coming Sunday, home the Monday after, but things did not go according to plan.

When do they ever, really?

It began well enough with our only-slightly-delayed departure on from Casa de Crazy on June 12 - I wanted us to be on the road by 5:00 in the morning but we wound up pulling out closer to 6.  We stopped for water then hit the highway and managed to avoid the worst of the city traffic and get well away before things got hairy.  I do not like towing the trailer in heavy traffic!

My friend A and I, along with the kids, managed to haul ourselves on up to Illinois in good time, stopping in our usual place in Effingham in good order, even managing to take the kids for a swim in the motel pool before dinner.

Saturday we got on the road in good time, but that was the extent of things going right.

First, the AC in the front of the van wasn't working.  Thankfully we had rear AC and the morning was overcast, but it was still not entirely comfortable.  The, we stopped for fuel and had to put air in the shocks because I was experiencing tire rub on the passenger side of the van every time we hit a bump.
On the road again.

Then the passenger side trailer tire blew.  It did not blow as spectacularly as it could have, nowhere near like the last time one blew out a few years ago and we lost a fender AND shorted the entire electrical system, but it blew.

Perhaps I should mention that I had never before changed a tire.  Ever.

I let K2 know what happened, and she and her crew generously turned around and headed back to rescue me.  Meanwhile, I thought it would only be polite to get the jack out, dismount the spare, loosen the lugs on the flat, and generally get everything ready for a change.  Just as I was jacking up the trailer with the marvelous jack that comes with the Astro van (just one more thing to love about them), an Illinois State Trooper named Shad (I asked his name, of course, because one does not simply call one's erstwhile rescuer "Hey, you") stopped, got his four armed lug wrench out, and lent a hand.  With his help, I was able to change the tire, save K2 a few miles on her turn-around, and get back onto the road.

About an hour later, we stopped for fuel and I checked the spare (which was, in fact, a full-sized trailer tire) and looked at the remaining tire.  I was not reassured by the condition of the original and resolved to change it once we were on site and had the trailer emptied.

Meanwhile, we needed to put air in the shocks again, because tire rub.
Putting air in the shocks was largely useless, because as soon as I did, it all hissed out again when the coupling...er...uncoupled.  I did not help it fall to pieces - like me, it did that just fine on its own.

That was A Very Bad Thing, and while I tried to fix it, I lacked the tools and time to get it right...so, no rear shocks, towing a terribly heavy trailer on the infamously horrid Illinois roads.  Okay, we could do that.

Then the driver's side trailer tire blew.  In all fairness, it was a marvel that the thing hadn't gone to bits ages ago.  That's the last time I trust the dealership when they tell me it's good to go - from now on I do as I have always preferred to do and inspect tires VERY carefully myself before I go anywhere.

This time, I was working on the traffic side of the trailer.  It was hot, relentlessly sunny now, and I was already sore and tired from the last tire change.  People were NOT moving over a lane, even when it was clear and they could do so easily and safely.  Cars and trucks blew past alarmingly close at high speeds.  Luckily, I have spent a few minutes working turns at the track and was...mostly...unflapped.

I got to work - first we had to unload part of the trailer to get the second spare (and I will always, ALWAYS, travel with two trailer spares because THIS!!!), then A watched traffic while I loosened nuts and got to jacking.

A kindly fellow named Benji stopped to lend aid, and I was not even the tiniest bit annoyed at his blatant sexism, because hello?  One does not lecture one's kind rescuer on feminism and the use of sexist language while he's sweatily, gamely, changing one's rather blighted tire.

And when he was finished (he INSISTED that I let him do the job, and who am I to argue in the face of heat exhaustion and the desire to bawl???), he plied us all with Gatorade because he was concerned about our well being.  How awfully sweet!

I didn't tell him I loathe Gatorade.  I think I made a weak excuse about waiting until I cooled off a bit to drink it as I was worried about the deleterious effect of an icy beverage on a hot body.

On our way again, we winced, clenched our various body parts, and prayed every prayer we knew to pray that the constant tire rub at every bump or change in pavement surface would not land us with another flat, this one considerably more difficult to change given the location of the van's spare underneath the fully loaded van.

AC struggling, shocks failing, van tires making a horrid sort of screeching, whooshing, dissonant noise every time there was a bump, and with no spares to spare for the trailer, we limped in to Stonehouse Farm.

We got signed in, pulled into our spot, and commenced to unloading and setting up what would eventually be a 10' x 40' vending/camping site, our home for the next ten days.

It rained a little.  We set up anyway.  Sprout shucked her clothes and frolicked in the rain and mud.  The Evil Genius spent the day alternately barfing and sleeping anywhere he could lie down (including in the emptied trailer on the hard wooden floor).

We continued setting up.

I rubbed the bottom of one of the toes on my left foot raw before remembering that wet feet and wet Crocs while setting up are not a happy combination.  Then I dropped a 6' grid panel on my right foot, on the middle toes, which broke one toe and cut me a little.  Ouch.

We ate something, I can't recall what because I was so tired but I know it wasn't health food, and went to bed.

Next morning, more rain.  I got the vending area and our camping area set up, working slowly and steadily all day.  A helped by keeping the kids out from under foot (don't underestimate the value of that!).  The camp and vendor's row grew up around us and it began feeling more like the event we know and love.

The food vendor across from us (Brandon, Big Guy's Sausage Stand) was  nice fellow and let me run a tab because I had no cash, and we had a lemonade and a few snacks and the kids found old friends and played and we endured the wet with hopes of a drier tomorrow.  He remembered my kids, and asked how Mum was doing.  He seemed sorry she wasn't there.

The constant rain in the area had saturated the ground, so instead of simply running off or draining, the rain formed puddles, rivulets, bogs, huge expanses of mud and muck.  Everyone on site took it in stride and accepted that there would be a lot of wet shirts, dirty clothing, and muddy feet, a lot of cleaning up to do.

Monday is didn't rain.  It monsooned.  It poured.  So much water everywhere.  Campers had to be relocated.  Cars had to be moved.  It flooded.  A lot.  Redundant?  Nope, not in this case.  We were in our usual spot, on slightly higher ground so we were fine, but so many people lost their gear, had cars totaled, had to rely on the community for which the event is known for places to sleep, food to eat.  So many more people pushed cars out of parking, out of the danger zone, and offered to help move camps, do what they could to get everyone to safety.

Half of the campground was submerged under many inches and sometimes feet of water.

On Tuesday morning, they announced that, for the first time ever, the event was shutting down early.  I believe it was the right choice - the water would be rising when the next wave of storms came through and it was already compromised by the contents of flooded port-a-potties, trash, runoff from other places.  It was absolutely the right thing to do, but it hurt.

They asked the vendors to stay open so people could distract themselves with shopping.  We had that one day of open business, and that was it.  So many vendors and musicians lost their butts on the week.

I admit, I cried a little - our beloved event was closing, and while I wasn't so worried about my business or family, what about my friends?  How would they pay bills, get home?

I had to ask Mum for help.  She came through like a champ, like she always does, like a mother would.

My band was there to perform, but with the cancellation we lost our concert dates.

We decided to perform anyway.

The other musicians at the event decided they would, too.

We joined forces and put on a four hour show that was almost entirely wall to wall music.  The two exceptions were the community meeting that took the shape of a few announcements and updates, and a story-telling by Janet Farrar.  Each musician/group performed two songs and acted as additional backup for the others.  We ended it with a tremendous jam session, just as we'd begun it.

It was quite possibly the best musical experience I have ever had, to date.  For me, anyway, it made all the prior hell worth the trip.

The next morning, we packed.  And packed. And packed.  My friend A did yeoman's duty because I didn't have a lot left in me.  Seriously, she saved my bacon - I'd still be packing if not for her.  

Phil's Grill made soup and gave it way to anyone who wanted it.  We wanted some.  It was delicious.  Everyone helped everyone and it was amazing.

By Wednesday evening A and I were exhausted in every way, but we were ready to go.  We decided to leave our other friends behind and head on to the hotel where we all hoped to stay for the night, perhaps letting the kids swim in the pool and certainly washing off a few of the many layers of mud we'd acquired over the last few days.

Our friends didn't make it to the hotel - they were far longer than we'd anticipated in their own packing, and didn't get as far as we did.

We decided to take an extra day to get home, take it easy on ourselves.  We started late and drove at reasonable speeds (yes, Mum, really).  Maybe our friends could join us that night.

They needed to get home, though, and pushed through, so while A and I played tag with the kids in the hotel pool, they kept driving.

Late in the night (or early in the morning, according to perspective), one of our friends had a trailer tire blow out.

I wish I was kidding.

They managed to deal with it and start home again today, but then their truck overheated from sitting in 100+ degree weather and Friday traffic in Atlanta and another friend valiantly drove out to rescue them, despite his own exhaustion from this trip.

Finally, finally, everyone is home.  Finally, finally, laundry is being done, feet are clean, clothing is dry, and we can look back with awe and wonder at what we experienced, what we did.  Finally, finally, we can begin the long process of cleaning, of assessing damage, of recovery.

All in all, I'm better of than many - while the loss of a week of business pains me, I won't lose my house over it (thanks, Mum) and we won't starve or even go hungry (I have almost all the food we brought to eat while camping).  I can turn my eye towards the next (and last) event for the year and make ready for that.  I hope I may be forgiven if I ask the weather gods to refrain from wetting us down quite so enthusiastically at THAT event!

I need to have the AC and the shocks fixed on the van.  I need to get two new spare tires for the trailer.  I need to tend to my infected toe (really, who knew that slogging around in muddy fields for days on end could cause an open wound to get infected?  Hush...)  I need to figure out how the hell I will pay the bills between now and then, and buy groceries for the trip, and wash the mud off of everything, and get all the sewing done.

But for now, for tonight, I need to rest, to sleep, to take tomorrow and use it as a day to simply breathe and find my composure again.

Blessings on those who acted as wardens for our collective safety at PSG.  Blessings on those who ignored their own flooding camps and helped rescue others.  Blessings on those who offered places to stay as we all made our weary ways home.  Blessings on those who lost much and on those who are even now trying to mitigate the loss.  Blessings on the people who pulled together and became the embodiment of what community is.

Just...blessings.

This Day...

...is almost over, and while I wish I had more hours to do what needs doing, I can't say I'm sorry.

I woke earlier than I wanted, got a call from one of the roomies that they found some dogs on the side of the road, wandering about and nearly getting killed in traffic, so of course I said it was okay to bring the dogs to Casa de Crazy because we try to always take the opportunity to be kind to other living beings, and how heartless would I have to be to tell them to leave the dogs, anyway, so they brought the dogs home and I did a little sewing while waiting, then met the dogs who were...

...seemingly pure bred Anatolian Shepherds, big, big, big, huge dogs and so terribly thin and tired and worn and wanting love and rest and food, by golly, FOOD!!!, and so sweet, so very sweet, they didn't chase the cats or kittens, didn't bark or growl or brindle at any of us, just seemed relieved and bemused to be here, and we fed them and gave them water and found a place that would check to see if they were chipped for no charge - Petsmart for the win!!! - and we fed them some more, sorry about the cat food but it's all we have, and anyway here's some cut up leftover steak in pot roast juice/fat maybe that will help, and we tied the female to the tree (it seems a shame to call her a bitch when she is so sweet natured) and the male is so devoted to her he simply plopped down on the ground nearby and was content to let the children pet him and enjoy the shade and not walking alongside the road, and then the roomies took the dogs...

...to Petsmart while I did a little more sewing, where the technician checked for a chip and found one!, but it wasn't registered anywhere and maybe it's an international chip and only the male had one so I stopped sewing and made a few dozen phone calls while the roomies came home and I couldn't find the chip registered anywhere so I wrote a plea on Facebook and a friend said she could take them, would like to take them, and we arranged for her to come by and I did a little more sewing and the roomies tied the female out back and the male flopped down beside her and the kids went out to play and...

...the male stood at the bottom of the slide and kept watch while Sprout slid and pet him and slid, and when I came into the yard from the house, he barked a warning that he was there and I should know he would brook no shenanigans but when he saw it was me he woofed and wagged his tail and let me know all was well and I wanted to keep them, I did, but that can't happen right now so I pet him a little and went to the grocery store where I shopped and shopped for things for our upcoming trip to Illinois, and halfway through I felt really overwhelmed and just wanted to be home but I finished up and came home just in time for my friend to come and meet the dogs and fall in love with them because who wouldn't, they're big sweet marvelous babies, and she...

...sat on the ground beside the male and pet him and he flopped over and let her love on him and showed her he is gentle and tired and good, and she brought new collars for both dogs, and leashes, and they consented to go home with her and let her put the collars on, attach the leashes, and finagle them into her car and the human denizens of Casa de Crazy were a little sad but it's okay because she lives close enough by that we can go visit and pet and love and come home to the other four-legged residents who were just as happy to see the canines off, and once they were gone...

...I went back into the sewing room and after a while the roomies had to run an errand so I said I'd watch her son a bit so they could run errands in peace because we do that for each other, and never underestimate how amazing that is, and they went on out and the two little kids played together and were really good, and I sewed and cut and marked and eventually decided I should start cooking dinner so I went into the garage to get something from the freezer, and in three minutes...

...the two little ones managed to get into the roomies' room where I had JUST told them NOT to go and found the bottle of sparkly blue nail polish and got it open and painted themselves or each other or both, and they looked like they had some kind of blue-spot fever and I had to get Sprout in the bath and sent young H to wait for his mother in her room and disciplined Sprout and roomies came home and H's mom was so upset and she had to bathe H and get the polish off of him, and I cooked dinner and hoped the kids hadn't done too much damage and decided that we NEED cookies so...

...I got the frozen cookie pucks I've been saving out  and got some in the oven and kept on cooking dinner and decided to make a key lime glaze for the cookies so I did, and we ate dinner and I kept thinking about all the sewing still to do and I am so tired and feeling very stressed about time and money and kids and everything but it all will get done but I am also lonely which doesn't help, and I know I need to go down and finish sewing tonight because I will not have any more time this week but Sprout was on the potty and asked for help wiping but when I went into the bathroom...

...she had poop all over her hands, arms, legs, and feet, all over the toilet, even on the tub so I had to shower her, clean the tub, clean the toilet, and try very hard not to spank and spank and spank her because I am so angry and hurt and tired of it all, so I sent her back to her room and told her she can't come out, and now I wonder if I could just leave her in there forever or at least until it's time for us to head out of town next week because I love her but right now it's just too much, and meanwhile...

...there is still the sewing to be done, and I am going down now to do it, but oh, I am so ready for this day to be over.

Kids

I love the way she holds my hand and tugs me along to see whatever new thing she wants me to see.  I love the way she crawls onto my lap and leans into me with a sigh.  I love her kisses, the way she puckers up and smacks me and then asks for nose kisses, finger kisses, cheek kisses, even occasional ear kisses.  I love the way she clambers onto my bed in the wee hours and nestles into me, sighing and settling into sleep as only a child can.

I love the way he randomly hugs me.  I love the way he says, almost shy, that he loves me.  I love the way he wraps his arms around me and drops his head on me and tells me he could just sleep there like that, standing next to me, leaning on me.

I love the way they challenge me every day, and I love the way they absorb my fear, hurt, anger, frustration and turn it into love.  I love the way they listen, and the way the don't listen.  I love to hear them play together, despite the difference in age.  I love to hear them laugh, giggle, fuss, negotiate, and go a little crazy.

Every day is an opportunity to fuck them up completely or to be transcendent, and I love the way they love me just the same however the day went.
They're my kids.  Lucky, me.

Memorial Day

Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.

Many of my family have served their country in the various branches. I learned a couple of years ago (thanks to my aunt) that my father served in Germany, although I do not yet know in what branch or when.  His father was in the Navy, in the Pacific.  My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather (Mum's father) was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin retired from the Air Force. I believe he flew Airforce somethingorother from time to time (I'm being intentionally obtuse so as not to make it easy to find him and cause shenanigans). I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are. Someone's family is jam-packed with folks who've served - mostly Navy, I believe - and deserve some respect and thanks. So...thanks.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I don't believe that wars are fought for ideals, but rather for political and/or financial gains. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.


In Flanders Fields by John McCrea

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.  Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from flailing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

What Gun Control Means at Casa de Crazy*

*Update below.

On Thursday afternoon, T was shot.

By a gun.

Not a water gun.

A .45, with a hollow point bullet.

He was in the car with his best friend, J.  J buys and trades firearms.  He is reasonably intelligent and safe, but on Thursday something went wrong.  While he was inspecting this particular firearm that (as I understand it) he'd just bought, checking the slide, the firearm...well...fired.  That was unexpected.  It should have been empty.  Who sells a loaded weapon?  And then doesn't tell the buyer it's loaded?

The bullet was one of the particularly horrid sort, a hollow point, designed to do as much damage as it can while it tears through flesh.

In T's case, it went into his abdomen, in one side and out the other.  Because of the very close range, it didn't have a chance to blossom into the little nugget of destruction it was designed to be.  Because it rocketed through soft tissue, it did relatively little damage, all things considered.

T took a helicopter ride to a level 1 trauma center and had some surgery performed on him.

There may be some long term repercussions - he lost some...er...to put it delicately...innards...and there's a concern of infection, but overall things are nowhere near as devastating as they could have been, and for that we are grateful.

So this happened on Thursday, as I was at Mum's sort of keeping her company and cooking dinner - she broke her leg on Monday and has been subsisting on soup and yoghurt, a home cooked meal was in order.  I received the call as I was slathering butter on the chickens I planned to roast.  My hands were all buttery and I almost didn't answer my phone, but a call from my sister-out-law is unusual so I picked up, butter and all.

I didn't immediately drive down - to what purpose?  He would be out cold for a while, and there were already people there with him, people who love him and would let me know if there really was a need to go NOW.  I didn't tell The Evil Genius about his father, because why let him worry all night?   We would go the next day, Friday, and I would let him know what happened while we were driving.  Had things gone bad, I would have told him what was up and driven us down to the trauma center, but they didn't.

With luck, T will be out of the SICU today, and perhaps out of the hospital next week.  The Evil Genius and I went to see him yesterday and will try to go again tomorrow if I can find a sitter for Sprout.

I wouldn't be me if I didn't turn this into a teachable moment.

So, on the way to see T, the Evil Genius and I talked about our "Rules of Guns".  These are OUR rules and may not mesh with other peoples' rules, but hopefully they will stick with him and save him experiencing what T and his friend J are experiencing now.

Guns are not toys.
Always maintain your gun.
The gun is always loaded, even when it isn't.
Never point a gun unless you intend to shoot.*
Never shoot unless you shoot to kill.*
Never take a life unless it is to feed your family or in defense of yourself or another.
Always honor the life you take.

My idea of gun control is to be in control of your firearm.  I don't like them.  I won't use them.  I'll cut a bitch, but shoot?  No.  I won't own one because at best it would gather dust and at worst it would arm an assailant because I wouldn't use it.  That said, I don't have anything against anyone else having one if they are safe and sensible with it.  I don't blame the hammer for smashing my thumb, I blame my use of it.  I feel the same way about firearms - I don't blame the object for the results of its use.

Speaking of blame - I don't blame J for this.  Perhaps neither of them were as cautious as they could have been.  Certainly the man who handed J a loaded firearm had an obligation to TELL him!  Everyone involved will very likely exercise more caution in the future, and life will go on as life does.  I am as worried about J as I am T - they'll both have scars after this.

If you'e the praying kind, the blessing kind, then sparing a bit of love, compassion, and healing energy for T would be much appreciated - I'm a damn good witch but I can only do so much.

*Update the first - T is out of the ICU and in a regular room.  He is in good spirits.  He should recover fully.  Tomorrow he may be given his first semi-solid food, mashed potatoes!  I'm bringing him some home made chicken broth and some chicken soup, with doctor's permission, later this week.

Update the second - T was rousted by the PT folks yesterday and marched up and down the hall in his terribly fashionable open-backed hospital gown.  Alas, I was not there to take photographs with which to blackmail him later.

Update the third - T is out of the hospital and heading home for the remainder of his recovery, woot!!!

*I was recently mocked for this because what about cleaning or target shooting?  "Oh, well, I guess I have to kill someone every time I pick up my gun!"  You know what?  Laugh.  That kind of foolery is what gets people killed, because it makes it easy to dismiss safety and responsibility.  As far as I'm concerned, guns aren't funny.  If you can't follow a few simple safety guidelines, I'm not sure I want you in my home or if I want to be in yours.  Fuck me for NOT wanting me or my children to be part of a horrid statistic.  

Low

Dear Goddess, I am low tonight, very low.  I miss my Someone, and my body aches, and my spirits are flagging, and my psyche is weak and trembling, and yes, I am low tonight, very low.

I yelled at my daughter today and she was wide eyed and frightened and even though I told her and told her not to do that thing and she did it, I didn't have to yell but I am low, very low.

My mother is hurting and I want to protect her but she WILL be spry and active and insist on doing the many things that want done and I want to make her all better but I can't kiss it away and I worry about her and I am low, Goddess, very low.

Someone I know was shot, it was an accident, the person who shot them is devastated, and to respect their privacy I am not talking about it or naming names but still they are hurt and teetering on an uncertain outcome and I believe they will pull through but there's nothing I can do but look to you, Goddess, and ask for compassion, for love, for mercy, for healing, for comfort for the people watching and waiting, and I am quiet and worry you won't hear me because I am low, so very, very low.

Tomorrow I know I will get up, get moving, get on with it because life doesn't stop, life doesn't hesitate, life goes one and on and even the low, the very low, the terribly low must continue on, too, or be rolled over and left behind, but for tonight, Goddess, give me sleep and dreams of sweetness and take away the anger and hurt and fear and let me wake, if not raised up, then at least not so low, Goddess, so very low.

Mother's Day

Thanks for never taking a sick day from possibly the most difficult job a body can have, Mum.  I love ya!

Rambling

Last weekend, Sprout and I went to visit her Papa in prison.  I know I haven't much talked about his arrest and the experiences following it.  There's not a lot to say - he was arrested, he had to use a public defender who was more interested in getting rid of the case than actually defending, who lied to Someone about what he would ask for regarding leniency, sentencing, and where Someone would serve his time if Someone would just plead guilty instead of taking it to trial.  Someone pleaded guilty and the defender said NOTHING to the judge, simply accepted the full sentence from the prosecutor.  He didn't ask for any of the things he said he would.

I am, perhaps, a little bitter about that.

Someone was finally sent to his "permanent" facility, where he will be until next April.  Sprout and I hadn't seen him since last December, and we hadn't had physical contact since October.

All this time we have been waiting to be told we may visit.  I filled out 14 pages of paper work - that's 7 pages two time, since they said they never got the forms the first time.  Someone hounded every officer and official he could find inside the facility, begging to see his family.
Last week, on Friday, we finally found out we could go see him.  At the last minute, on a shoestring budget largely funded by my mother, we drove four hours, checked into a motel, and went to see Someone.  Contact visit!

Sprout launched herself across the room and clung to him, hugging him close and fierce.  She kissed him.  Throughout the two visit periods (up to 5 hours Saturday afternoon, and again on Sunday morning), she patted his face, held his hand, kissed him, hugged him, stared at him, smiled at him, leaned on him, played with his shorn head and his cold hands, shared cookies and chips from the vending machine with him, and generally orbited him like a sweet little moon.

I got to kiss him, and hug him, and occasionally, surreptitiously, hold his hand.  We're not supposed to have that much contact, but it seems the guards are marvelously near-sighted as long as folks don't get too out of hand.  They also seem to be especially understanding of children wanting to love on their family members.  I appreciate the leniency - we are touchy folk, tactile.

I didn't realize how fully I missed Someone until I was there, looking into his eyes, touching him.  I felt shy, awkward, as if we were meeting for the first time all over again.  There was a place in me that was empty, a place that is only filled when we can touch, share light and air and space.  I think he felt the same way.  The place in me where he should be was dark, and I had been having difficulty seeing him in my mind.  That part of me is a little renewed, a little refreshed.  My gauge isn't on empty any more.

Leaving my home and going all that way, going through what we have to go through to see him, wasn't easy.  My psyche doesn't like it one little bit.  I told Someone that I will do things for him and for the kids that I would never do for myself - they make me brave in a way I don't think I would be if it was just me.  Left to my own devices, I'd stay in bed most of the time and never hit a lick at a snake.  I'd hide from the world, hide from the light, try to hide from myself.

I've never been as good at doing for myself as I am at doing for others.

Despite having been out in the world every day this week, I'm taking Sprout back down to see Someone this weekend.  We'll go whenever we can, when we have the time and finances.  It will help us speed the time until he finally comes home.

Until then, I'll be worried about him, about his safety, his well-being.  I'll be lonely.  I'll struggle with everything and want to give up, but I will keep on keeping on because he needs a home to come home to.

Happy Beltane (a re-post)

Happy Beltane, for those who celebrate.

If you'd like to know a bit about the holiday, go here. Or here. Or here. Or Google search Beltane and duck before your computer spits out a load of links. When you're done reading, come back and giggle because I said "load of links". I won't tell.

Meanwhile, perhaps I will find something to burn and roast marshmallows over this evening, the closest thing to a Beltane celebration I'll have this year. Sigh.

Let me...

Every morning, before I even get out of bed, I say what I guess passes for a prayer - "Goddess, let me do good today."

That's it.  Simple, but heartfelt.

Goddess, let me do good today.

There is so much unhappiness, so much pain, so much suffering.  I know that those things serve a purpose, that pain teaches, suffering teaches, unhappiness shows us the way to a joyful life, but it seems so unnecessary.  It seems like we cling to our misery, even knowing we are miserable and seeing another way to be.

Why are we so afraid to be happy?

Why am I so afraid to be happy?

I can't do anything about my wiring, about my chemistry.  Depression isn't a matter of choice.  Even so, even deeply, darkly, indelibly, severely depressed, I see the beauty in the world, I see the beauty in my fellow humans, I see the worth and the nobility and the struggle and the vast potential for joy, and it pains me that we hold ourselves back, hold each other back, from that joy, from that beauty.

Goddess, let me do good today.

Let me feed someone who is hungry.  Let me give a steadying arm to someone who has stumbled.  Let me give a hand up to someone who has fallen.  Let me give comfort.  Let me bring a smile.  Let me raise up one who feels brought low.  Let me give fellowship, let me give someone the knowledge that they are not alone on their journey.  Let me give of myself, and by giving, receive.

Goddess, let me do good today.

A Letter to A Certain Part of My Anatomy

Dear Back (especially Lower),

I know, I know, I have not been very kind to you.  There was all the horseback riding (and falling off), the swimming, the sailing, the skiing (and more falling).  There was the tree climbing (and, did I mention falling?) and the occasional ass-over-teakettle down the stairs.  There was that car accident.  And the hot-air-ballooning incident.  And all that slouching, all those extra pounds.

Really, it's a marvel you've been as good as you have.

I tried to take care of you - occasional soaks in a hot tub, sporadic visits to a chiropractor, every now and then a massage.  I lost a few pounds (not enough, I know), and tried to remember to stretch every day and keep up with my posture.

We've been together a long time, and I hope we can continue to have a healthy relationship.

But you're going to have to step up to the plate, back.  Some parts of you are just not up to snuff  (I'm looking at YOU, lower back!) and it's really hampering my ability to do anything useful.

What happened to the days of lifting and toting boxes about like they didn't weigh a thing?  Of moving tables and bins and relocating huge pieces of wood in the garage?  Of bending down and standing up without a care?

Seriously, back, I can fell my spine.  FEEL it, every inch of it.  What's up with that?  And the muscles in your lower bit?  Stiffer than the giant board I had to struggle with today because you were all "Ah!  Heavy!!!" on me!

Good grief, I can't even roll over in bed without you twinging and reminding me you're in a snit.

This has to stop, back.  Things have to change.  We can't go on like this.

How about if I get some nice liniment?  Maybe start doing some slow, easy stretches?  Help a girl out, wouldja???

Sincerely,
Feeling Old and Crippled

Cabs

Apparent;y it's Siblings Day?  What does one gift for that?  Noogies?  

I should miss my brother's presence in my life.  No, he's not dead or anything, we're just not terribly close.  I don't miss him, really...difficult to miss what was never really there, isn't it?  I adore him no less, and sometimes wistfully wonder if we couldn't be closer.  He is older and for a while when I was young I thought he was the best person in the whole world.

Our history is complex, and I suspect I have put far more thought into it than he has, our natures being what they are.

For all that our lives had the same beginnings, we certainly went different ways.  He was in the military, got out when gophers ate his ankles (long story), and now, lots of years and a few kids later, he's got his own business, his own house, travels with his family, keeps busy.

Me?  Er...well...ahem.

Our mother loves us both as we are, bless her.  Strange how very different we can be, and yet have a sameness to us that makes folks say we look like twins despite years between us.

I love my bro, unconditionally.  If he called and told me he needed me, I wouldn't hesitate to help him.  Even if it meant burying a body.  I like to think he may feel somewhat the same about me.

Isabelle

I am trying to live a creative, honest, compassionate life.  It is no easy thing to struggle against myself and all the years of lies that I thought were my story.  It is no easy thing to be open, always open, so that I may pierce myself to the core, or allow others to pierce, because being open is the only way I can be honest, because closing off, hiding, protecting, defending, these only cut me off from myself and from whatever it is that lends me creativity and lets me see beauty.

I'm not the story you told me, but I am not the story I've been writing, either.  I'm changing the plot an inch at a time, a painful, slow, impossible inch at a time and I wonder how many more inches until I am living the life I seek instead of the life I let you shape out of stone and bars and thorns and shit.

I am trying to see more than what is commonly seen of this world, to look beyond the flat, hard, ugly surface to the rippling, effervescent, ever changing maelstrom that is the heart of the speck of the great big bang that rushes out into a Universe before it curls up into itself and re-imagines its creation, poor old Micheal Finnegan, begin again.

I am trying to see that the angry people are tender and sore and fierce about their soreness and the bitter people are frightened and lost and angry about their lostness, and that we're all of us feeling out of control and cut off and cut loose and like we missed out on something better, some vague something better that we keep hearing about everyone else having but can't quite grasp ourselves.

Because despite what you tried to make me over into, I AM a compassionate being, an angry and scared and hurt and scarred and lost and beautiful and damaged being, so much more than you could have ever imagined me to be and so much less than I may once have been when I was sound and whole, but that's not the me I am any more, you tore her to pieces so you could remake her into the image you thought she should be, into what you imagined she ought to be, all the while telling her how imperfect she was without also mentioning that it is our very imperfections that make us so mighty good and powerful and wonderful and godlike.

I wasn't my one cousin, blonde and perfect and pretty and smart and graceful and stylish,  I wanted to sail boats and climb trees and ride horses, but not how she rode horses with precision and poise in a top hat and the Olympics wanted me, no, I wanted to ride horses in the woods and along winding roads and into the dining room and without saddles or bits or anything but the agreement that we were going together in some direction, both half-wild and completely free to chase the wind if we pleased.

I wasn't my other cousin, well behaved, demure, slender, elfish.  I was an amazon, wide and tall and strong and you convinced me I was fat and ungainly and couldn't dance because I had no grace and couldn't wear those pretty dresses because I was too round in the middle and my shoulders, my world-holding, good-for-crying-on shoulders, were too wide to be feminine and I should hide, hide in closets and under tables and behind big, fake smiles so no one would see how ugly I was, such a shame, what an embarrassment to you, a let-down.

So I am trying to shed these stones you piled into my basket, but I have to be careful because some of them became part of my foundation and prying them loose could shake me to pieces, and some of them I want to keep and hold and love, yes, love, because they are precious and opened my eyes in a heavy, hurtful, roundabout, transformative way.  They showed me something you never wanted me to see, would never had accepted, which is that I am, as I am, all of me, brilliant and I am not bound by the ropes you wrapped me in, I can slip free of them, make them into a hammock and take my ease in the breeze under the trees and forget your face set in disapproving lines and imagine you happy.

If you still want to shape someone into your paragon of feminine humanity, it is never too late to look in the mirror and see what you can see.  As for me, I do not look into mirrors because I don't know what I am seeing - who I am or who you convinced me I was, and it's all too confusing and I'd rather look into the sky and ride the wind on a hawk blessing or lose myself in the heart of a flower where the color becomes something beyond sight and turns the world on its ear, or watch my daughter play in ways I never could with a freedom you would never allow, and perversely take pleasure in knowing you would hate the dirt and noise and realness of my force-of-nature children, and I am, after all, human, and I can forgive and still enjoy the idea of your discomfiture and it's only dirt or paint or marker and will come off eventually but the happiness that stains their souls is forever and it stains mine too and that's worth more than your approbation ever was.

And because I AM a creative, honest, compassionate being I can know what you did, look you and your monsters right in the eye and tell you that I wish you well, that I love you, and that I am and will only ever be myself, and not your piece of clay.