Mass, Turtles, and Ice Cream, in One Post

We survived the mass. It was...erm...Catholic. Really, really Catholic. And I got a little peeved at the priest, truth be told, because he intimated several times that Aunt D wouldn't make it to heaven without prayers of intercession...and I loved her and considered her a wonderful person who more than answered the criteria for a pass through the gate. I actually thought "How dare he!"

Also, for some reason, when he mentioned that whole "I am the resurrection and the life..." part where Christ said people would never die? Yeah, umm...I thought "epic fail!" and nearly giggled. I managed not to, but it was a close one.

It was even harder when I noticed that the Christ on the crucifix was doing the Nixon peace-fingers thing while hanging up there...good grief...

I got a real workout, all that stand and sit and stand and sing and sit and pray and kneel and stand and sing and stand some more...whew.

We went to Uncle T's house after, met a number of folks, talked about Aunt D and how she could piss off my grandmother like a champ, and hold her own with my grandfather, and her time as a Brannif (sp?) stewardess, and her life and how well she lived it. It was nice.

After a while, I felt like it was time to go...probably because Bird wanted to swim in the pool and I didn't want him in there with no adults, sooo...we hugged and good-byed and promised to keep in touch...and maybe we will. I know I'll e-mail Uncle T, anyway.

We changed into casual things and headed to a turtle rehab center nearby with Aunt A (Mum's sister) and Cousin K (Aunt A's daughter). It was cool - they had a sort of museum room with shells, fossils, and turtle lore, and then outside were tanks with recovering turtles. Some of them were up for adoptions. We adopted one:

His name's Carlisle - isn't he cute? He's freakin' huge - the picture doesn't do him justice...I have a ton of photos of different turtles, but that's a post for another time.

We drove back towards the hotel, but decided to stop for ice cream. When I was a kid and we lived down here, we'd spend the whole day at the beach, out in the sun, in the water...and on the way home we'd get ice cream, and try to eat it before it melted all over us. The car windows were open because we didn't have A/C, and we'd get splattered by the droplets of melt-off as we rode and licked like mad.

This time, we ate inside the shop. It was Bird's first real cone, so of course I took pictures! This one was my favorite:

But I have many more, and...again...it's a post for another time.

Interspersed with all this hilarity are thoughts of my Uncle and cousins, of their loss and sorrow. I wish I could tell them what I know - that she made it through the gate and is raising hell up there, joking with Papa (my grandfather) and grinning like a fiend (she had a marvelous smile). I know she misses my Uncle - you could tell how much they loved each other when you looked at the pictures. Any time she was near him in a photo, she was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. I am worried about how he will miss her...and I hope that he'll look to the people still here, still loving him, when he feels low...

Meanwhile, life goes on, we honor the dead by living, and I intend to figure out what I need to do to smile like Aunt D did, love life like she did, and get on with it.

Mass Panic

Can't talk, going to mass.

Yep.

The witch is going to mass.

I can hear you laughing from here.

I'll let you know if I make it out alive.

Meanwhile...



G'bye, Aunt D...may you come swift 'round the spiral and return to we who loved you in this life and will love you in the next as well.

Music That Speaks

I know you know a song or three that speaks, either to or for you.

Yeah, me too.

I first heard this song on the Batman Forever sound track (by Eddi Reader), and found it lovely and poignant.

What songs give voice to your inner workings?

I'm Beachy

We visited with my Uncle for a bit this morning. We chatted about this and that, met some family we didn't yet know, and Mum and I showed Uncle T our tattoos. Cousin C (Aunt D and Uncle T's daughter) thought they were cool. I'm not sure if uncle T knew what to make of them...but I think...maybe...he was a little pleased. Eventually, we hauled the Evil Genius to the beach. He was keen to play in the sand and waves.

The trouble was, the beaches we remembered swimming and playing on weren't there any more - all condos and waterfront developments, now. We finally found some county beach...

...which looked lovely, and was quite nice...but we couldn't really swim. It seams the hurricanes of the last few years have done a number on the shore, and where one used to be able to walk out on silken sand and swim with ease, it's now quite stony and rough, with a number of break zones to provide chop.

We managed to have a lovely time, anyway - Bird helped Gramlin hunt for shells and played with us in the surf.

It was a beautiful day, windy, enough cloud to keep the sun from cooking us...

...and lots of treasures on the beach. in addition to several coconuts and a few million sea urchins, there were some corals and sponges to be found.

We've only been back in our room for a little while, and are heading out soon - we plan to have dinner before the visitation so we can stay for the whole thing if we want without worrying about the Evil Genius getting hungry.

My Uncle seems to be holding up well...he's surrounded by friends, kids, grandkids, and us weirdos, and I think he had quite a while to get used to the idea of Aunt D's passing...but I think he'll be lonely when we're all gone, and I'm hoping he will find something to sustain him when the house is once again silent.

Today, we spent some time living, and it was good.

What Say You?

A Brief PSA

Or should that be PeeSA? You decide...

Dear Fellow Travelers,

While I can appreciate that you may have concerns about the cleanliness of the toilet seats in the gas station loo;

And while I can appreciate that you may believe you could catch some terrible, life altering, hind-end disfiguring plague from the toilet seats in the State maintained, public, rest area bathroom;

And while I can appreciate the gymnastic abilities and contortive efforts it takes to use said pots without actually touching them to save yourself the an iota of fearful contact with the offending porcelain and press-board items within the WC;

Would you please be so kind, after you've finished your business in the secluded little chamber of horrors, as to wipe off anything you yourself may have left behind in an effort to be sanitary?

Some of us are not afraid of the biological battlefield that is a public restroom and would prefer to sit rather than hover, dance, balance on tip-toes and hope to hit the target. Some of us have arses of cast-iron and would like to rest comfortably on our thrones of choice, but we cannot because you have left your mark, your signature, your "Kilroy was here" in tiny little droplets of "Oh, good grief, why can't people clean up after themselves?" and we may, after all, draw the line at cleaning up after you and your filth.

Thank you, that is all.

Immortal

Sigh...love this song...

We Made It

Have to be quick - we're about to go get some dinner and the Evil Genius is bouncing off the walls...but of course, the first thing I had to do when we checked in was hook up to the Net.

I had to share this:

Now, off to dinner...

Long Haul

This is a pre-written post, because today? Today I'm spending ten hours in a van with my family. More importantly, I am spending ten hours in a van with a bright, active, inquisitive, active, sweet, active six-year-old Evil Genius.

The words "good luck and god speed" don't begin to cover it.

Y'all know that I love my little dude to distraction, would face down a tiger or rhinoceros or IRS agent for him...but this is going to test my endurance.

Luckily, we have books - he reads on his own, although he likes me to read to him because I do voices - and we have art supplies for the car. There's also the Didj, which Leap Frog?? Genius!!! The kid loves his Didj...I just wish the thing had a car adapter so we didn't have to go through so may batteries on the go.

Mum bought a travel DVD player recently and she's bringing it along. Clever Mum.

I may survive, after all.

I'll post tonight if I can - I am hoping the motel had wifi or dial-up or smoke signals or something.

Berry Stains

I was cutting fruit to take along tomorrow, to pack into a cooler so we would have cold, sweet things to sustain as as we drove.

Pineapple first, golden chunks so juicy and inviting, I had to take a morsel into my mouth and taste the sweetness, feel the sharpness.

Grapes next, no cutting but rather plucking them from the stems, seedless red globes like little juicy bullets, firm, near to bursting. One found its way into my mouth, so lovely.

Watermelon followed, dripping chunks cut smaller, bite sized. I like to suck on watermelon chunks, savor them slowly.

Finally, the strawberries. Succulent, scarlet, sweet and a little tart, I hulled them, sliced them in half, dropped the jewels into a container. Oh, how I wish I could transcribe the fragrance of fresh berries into words. My fingers were wet, covered with strawberry stains, and I had to lick them, one by one, inhale the scent as I did.

Food should be sensual, sensory, sacred. It had become habit, chore, something to be got done, of late...but I was reminded of what a wonder is fresh produce, of how fine it is to harvest and devour what nature has made perfect on her own, without processing, refining, or chemicals. How grand to have berry juice to suck from my fingers, sweet simplicity...

Hit the Reset Button

So many electronic devices have reset buttons - that little button one may push to start the whole thing over, turn it off and restart, undo something wrong.

Why can't life? Have a reset button, I mean. Make a mistake, no biggie - one may reset if one wishes, although one will lose everything to date, so it bears careful consideration.

Maybe I'd rather have a refuel button, one which allows me to refill my empty tank.

Next week, I'll be at an even called Rites of Spring, up in Mass. I've never been, but I'm keen to go, to relax and have no concert, no workshops, no obligations, just time to reset my spirit, reload it, refresh it, and maybe spend a little quality time with my Gods in the woods, getting some answers.

How do you reset/ refresh? Or do you need to? Am I alone in this?

When Life Gives You Lemons...

Lemons. A dozen of them. Round, yellow, pungent.

I rolled them between my hands, waxy/rough in my palms, smelling of summer, of summers past, of promise.

I sliced them, watched as droplets of juice rolled down the cuts, hung on the edge of the peel, caught the light from my kitchen window and refracted it, dropped to my finger.

I tasted the drops, sharp, acidic, biting, fragrant, before twisting the halves to and fro on the hand-reamer, pushing as I went, eager to capture every bit of the liquid.

In my mind I chanted the spell, the formula, the brew, over and over as I squoze, a mantra of sorts, a focus, a song in motion.

Two parts lemon juice, one part sugar, twelve parts water. Two parts lemon juice, one part sugar, twelve parts water. Two parts lemon juice, one part sugar, twelve parts water.

Over and again, something to take my mind from weightier matters, a small, simple thing.

Mix, stir, shake, pour over ice.

I inhaled the scent, mellow and sweet, and took a sip. Spring builds into summer, and I taste it in this drink of sunlight in my glass.

God Bless Geekery

75% Geek

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

Bring Out Yer Dead

Erm...or would that be "Undead"? Whatever. I found this in here and had to play because...uh...I had to.

67%

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

:::snort::: I would have done better, but y'all know I don't do guns. Edged weapons, fine, but not firearms. Sigh. Oh, well...guess I'll have to shed some more pounds and get back into cross-country running shape (shut up - I could TOO run long distances...especially if there were doughnuts at the finish line!) to make up for the lack of firepower.

Thoughtfetti

I was watching an ant make its way across the floor yesterday afternoon, and I wondered about the single-mindedness of the creature...and its fellows. Wouldn't it be grand to be possessed of such focus at will? Imagine what we could accomplish.
~~~~~
I am going to Florida on Thursday, for Aunt D's service. The viewing is an oddity, to me - she's not in that husk, any more, so why stare at it? A bit like looking at an apartment after the tenants have gone - it's never pretty. *

Her service is on Saturday. She was Catholic. It's a mass. I'm still pagan. How long do you think it'll take for the roof to fall in?
~~~~~
Yesterday, overwhelmed with sadness about...well...life, the universe, and everything...I uttered softy "Oh, what am I going to do?"

The Evil Genius heard me, and asked what I'd said. I repeated myself. He cocked his head, thought a moment, and replied "I don't know Mommy, because I am not you."

Good grief.
~~~~~
This weekend, while I'm in Florida with my family, the Ren Fest is having Scots in Kilts days. Oh, fate, you are cruel, cruel, cruel...making me miss kilt days...groan...unfair, I say, unfair! I hope K takes lots of pictures for me to ogle.
~~~~~
I have been writing much, of late. There's a bitter laugh in this - I only write this well, this prolifically, when I am deeply unhappy. Medicate the misery, medicate the creativity, and I need to create more than I need to be happy. Today, for the first time in a long while, I told a friend I was proud of some of what I'd written. Now, if only I could get someone else to like it, publish it, pay me millions, and fund the rest of my dreams...
~~~~~
To that ends, I was delighted to find that a woman who like the band sent me several names and resources for publishing, and offered to answer any questions I may have about submitting work. I now have one of the key tools a writer needs - an already established author recommending them to a publisher/agent! Now to get off my forty-three acre ass and do something with my words... I'll keep you posted (because I know you're waiting with bated breath).


*edit - Mum called this morning to inform me that it's not a viewing but rather a visitation, which is something of a relief because I was a wee worried about attending a viewing for someone dead a week - I mean, I know all about the wonders of modern refrigeration, and all....but a week was worrisome.

Juxtaposed*

Yesterday was an odd sort of day.

I was happy to wake to a clean house and plans to walk the faire. The clean house was my Mother's Day gift, and better than flowers (they fade) or breakfast in bed (ugh, crumbs) or a piece of jewelry that isn't my style but I'd have to wear anyway because it was a gift. Walking the faire was something for the family to do as...well...a family.

I enjoyed trying on garb until I found a new outfit, and was delighted with the new, knee-high black boots with blue laces that will match my costuming. I felt like a kid again. I was a kid again, shopping for a costume with my Mum, playing dress-up in a way I never did as a child. We neither of us forgot, though, that sorrow was nibbling around the edges.

I loved seeing my son have fun, play games, win little prizes that are worth nothing and yet are invaluable because he smiled and smiled and laughed and his eyes twinkled and shone with a child's perfect light.

I was sad to think about my Aunt D, whom I loved from a distance. I was sad to think of her children, who (grown though they be, are still her children) losing their mother just before Mother's Day...a day they would be constantly reminded of other's joy and their own loss.

The sorrow and the pleasure were overlapping, juxtaposed, intertwined, inseparable.

How very like all of life, the bitter and the sweet mingling, so well blended that one may not be parted from the other.

*I seem to be thinking/using this word a great deal of late. What are the planets up to??

Walking the Faire

Today I am walking the Faire with my family. I will, for the most part, simply be a witness to the Evil Genius and his delight, consternation, frustration, and joy. He will, for the most part, shape our experience. We will miss shows because he won't want to sit through them. We will pass shops we'd like to enter because he won't want to go in and is bored with shopping. Someone, likely me, will sit on a bench and watch him play in the children's area because that's where he will want to be most of the time.

I will try not to mind, and I will enjoy my Mum's presence during this escapade. It's another memory to place in the hoard for the empty days when Mum is gone and Bird has flown to his own life.

I will somehow manage to present Mum with the gift I made her, perhaps even cleverly.

In the end, I hope to manage some new garb, a few bags of henna powder, and a camera full of photographs, some of which I may even share.

Happy Mother's Day to all who bear the nurturing spirit of a mother or The Mother within them.

Aunt D

Last night my Aunt D slipped through the veil, surrounded by her husband, children, and grandchildren.

The moon was full and beautiful, and I am certain the Lady lit Aunt D's path. We'll miss her.

He said...

"Daddy, when you die can I have your wallet so when I have a little boy I can show him my daddy's wallet?"

"Mommy, I need to get ten-thousand dollars so daddy doesn't have to work and can do whatever he wants."

"There are twenty-eight ants in this house and I will get them with my sword because I am a Knight and I will protect you."

"Mommy, I can't be your date because I can't go on a date because I haven't found anyone I love more than you."

Beneath the Bright Moon

The moon is full and I am empty, but not empty. More, I feel empty in a place that was once full, and I am looking for what is lost, or may never really have been there in the first place.
~~~~~
Standing by the river, I watch it flow, swift, swollen, dark mysteries silver beneath the bright moon. I am silver beneath the bright moon. Alone and silver.

I wonder where you are, beneath this same bright moon. Are you in the deep wood, dancing with shadows? Or do you glide along pathways of light, beside this same river, across the water where I cannot see?

I miss you, Lord of my Desire, Lord of my Dance, of my Song, of my Inner Fire. From one life to the next have we been together, so where are you in this here and now?

I am waiting here, beneath the bright moon, her cool light against my fevered skin a blessing, a promise, but her whisper soft touch is not what I crave.

I crave you, Lord of my Desire, Lord of my Dance, of my Song, of my Inner Fire. I crave your fingers trailing liquid heat along my flesh, your kisses arousing and chilling me outward from my Center, your warmth along my length as we swim in the river, ardor briefly cooled by the silken caress of the sweet water beneath the bright moon. I crave you sliding along me, slick, wet, fitted to me so perfectly, half made whole beneath the bright moon.

I am lost here, beside the river, lost without you, able only to flounder in the shallows without you, alone and lost beneath the bright moon.

Hurry, Lord of my Desire, Lord of my Dance, of my Song, of my Inner Fire...hurry and find me again.

Psst...

...hey...look over there...to the right...a little lower...

Do you see it?

No?

How can you freakin' miss it?? It's bloody huge!

I sold out, and I don't even feel a little bit dirty about it. In fact...I feel kinda good...like I've been let into an exlusive club with just a few thousand other really special people.

BlogHer loves me!

World domnation is next, I just know it.

Closet

I have a closet, under some stairs, around a corner, through the darkling wood, overgrown with vines that sport glistening thorns that drip poison and reaching for poor unwary souls who wander too close...I have this closet where I put things that are true but do not belong here, in this place of shade, flowing wader, this place where I wanted less to voice my plaints and more to offer and find connection in the Blue Nowhere.

Swift, deft, I detach these pooling shades and fling them into the closet, slamming it shut before the moans of these abandoned, cloistered pieces of me can reach my ears, slow me, draw me into their clutches.

I'm in it tonight.

What Say You?

School Daze

Today and tomorrow I'll be schlepping to the Ren Fest for School Days, the only two weekdays the fair is open so that area schools can have field trips there.

Did your school ever have a cool field trip like that? Yeah, neither did mine.

Anyway, for five-and-one-half hours a day, we'll be hawking our wares to several thousand school-aged children and the four chaperones with them. I've been told it's Hell in a corset, and given the knowledge I have of the kids in our local educational system, well...lets just say I'm glad I'll be armed, if only with my teeny cheese knife. Heh...I must remember to photograph my teeny knives...they're the silliest things I ever saw, but they're wicked sharp and legal to carry.

I am going to try and find some new boots or shoes so T can have his back...although, I should just keep his since he lost mine. And they look good on me. Really good. I seldom say that.

So wish me luck as I spend two days dodging future terrorists, spree killers, and politicians while attempting to sell them glass-art jewelry they can't possibly appreciate...except for the home-schoolers, who will, of course, be awesome. Not that I'm biased or anything.

Cinco de Mayo

Happy Cinco de Mayo, y'all.

Umm.

Why are we celebrating five jars of mayonnaise? I mean, isn't that a little excessive? One or two jars, I could see...but five??

Now if it was five jars of garlic stuffed olives I could get happy about it. Or five jars of organic orange marmalade, or five jars of top-notch peanut butter and marshmallow fluff.

But mayonnaise?

Wait, what?

Aww, crap - it's about the fifth of May? And not Mayonnaise? Damn...someone better alert Hellmann's - I think they were planning something big. Also...anyone need some mayo?

OK, so really, it's a celebration of the victory the Spanish had over the French at the battle of Puebla, which didn't win the war but it did become a symbol of Mexican unity. It wasn't quite independence, but it was a start and worth noting.

Yeah, y'all knew I wasn't that fluff-headed, right?

Right??

Hello?

Ink-A-Dink-A-Do and Aunt D

Whew, did I sleep last night! In bed by midnight, up at nine-thirty, nice.

Below are some photographs of the matching tattoos Mum and I got this weekend. We wanted to get a sort of memorial tattoo for Aunt D, who has inoperable pancreatic cancer and has been undergoing treatment for it. Aggressive treatment.

We decided on a design that reflects the things Aunt D loves ( besides her family, I mean). She loves to be out in the sun (something she's been denied for the last year or so because the treatment makes sun worship impossible), and she loves dolphins, so a dolphin leaping in front of the sun seemed a good idea. We decided on a Maori inspired design.

We wanted to have the tattoos done at FPG because the artist there did some work on me before and I like his work. It's also a little deeper than that - Atlanta is crawling with fine tattoo artists...but we wanted them done in a more spiritually energized arena, somewhere that the work was more than just ink...somewhere the artists knew it had deeper meaning and respected that. It's a bit difficult to put into words.

There were several artists available, and we ended up getting a young lady who was at her first FPG instead of the fellow we intended, a lass named Dana. She's relatively new to the tattooing game, which made us a little nervous, but she answered honestly and listened carefully and we decided to go with her work. Good choice. She was slow, meticulous, and keenly interested in getting it right.

We came home to a pile of e-mails, which I ignored until I could post a quick blog when I got home last night. Buried in the in box was an e-mail from Uncle T that Aunt D is done with treatment - not for the happy reasons. It seems old Mr. C has become resistant to the treatment. Aunt D's doctor suggested not subjecting her to the awful side effects of treatment and instead focusing on keeping her as pain free as possible.

Well, shit.

Here's to Aunt D and the hope that she either finds the resources within herself to kick Big C's ass or that she has an easy, painless transition from this life to the next.

Mum's tattoo, right arm.

My tattoo, right arm. Do you know how difficult it is to shoot a pic of your own right arm? In focus? Yeah, neither did I until I tried it.

Home

We began our trip with this:

Then we went here:

And saw these:

And this:

The Friday concert was a blast, although we (as usual) had some errors. Still we had lots of folks up dancing, and most of the crowd sang along - some of them throughout the three-and-a-half hours we performed! The Saturday concert was a "come and sing with us, be part of the music, informal and relaxed" sort of thing, and was awesome. We were delighted by a group of fans who even wrote a spoof of one of my songs that had me in stitches last night. I got the words this morning so I could sing it and giggle at will.

I cannot begin to tell you how odd it is to have actual fans. They sing, too - I expect they'll be on stage one day, themselves.

I'll tell you more about all of it tomorrow. Right now, I need to finish unpacking, love my Evil Genius, and put lotion on my new tattoo.

Oh, but I wanted to tell you...I came home to this:

Nice, huh? I had a fine time, but it's good to be home.

Clouds on the Lake

Clouds reflect in the water
Smooth, smooth surface
A mirror
Showing the sky where to blush
Where to dab
With powder-puff clouds

Clouds

Clouds on the lake

Clouds in the lake

My mind wanders,
sees strange birds swimming
in the blue
lake
sky
sky-lake

I wonder if the fish ever look upward
and find themselves confused
wondering why they can't swim
in the lake above them

Everything scatters
shattered
when the alligator
answers
philosophical questions
with his prosaic teeth.

Beltane

For last year's semi-entry, go here.

This year, I give you...poetry.

Dancers, Part One

Dancer, Woman
~~~~~~~~~~~
She is in the shadows
Swaying hips, swaying skirt
Eyes closed, lips parted, lost in her dance
I watch her from the ground up,
Gaze lingering at the curve of her leg
Where calf meets knee, wondering…

...what it would be like to touch her there…

Rising up the swell of thigh
Seen through fabric
Backlit by fire and moon
Soft, silken, my hands imagine
Gentle touch
The mystery of her shadow, wondering…

…what it would be like, to taste her there…

Hips slow gyration
Body in motion, swaying
Hypnotic
Strong back,
Proud bearing
,In the shadows, dancing, wondering…

…what it would be like to press my hands there…

Belly taut,
Anticipating every motion
I watch the play of muscle
Her breasts glisten
Nipples alert to my wandering eyes
Tracing the curves, wondering…

…what it would be like to caress her there…

The hollow of her jaw
Just behind her ear
Invites scrutiny
I see her lips
Velvet soft
They invite me closer, wondering…

…what it would be like, to kiss her, there…

Dancer, Man
~~~~~~~~~
Bold, powerful,
He leaps the fire
From darkness to darkness
A momentary glimpse

Consider…

Legs, strong,
Imagination wraps them around me

Eyes, smoldering intent
Imagination locks his gaze with mine

Lips full, firm, inviting
Imagination touches them to me

Arms muscular
Imagination holds me in them

Hands, graceful and strong
Imagination caresses me with them

And that which is hidden
But still seen, limned in the glow of fire
And moon

Consider…

The passion of the dance rises in him
Imagination answers his need with mine

He is
We are
In darkness dancing

Concert-ed Effort

Tomorrow's our big concert - nearly three solid hours of singing, drumming, and dancing. I hope the crowd joins in - the more the audience participates, the better we are.

I have a new microphone for this one. It's wireless, but a handheld rather than the headset kind - I keep blowing out the headset ones, and it's a real pain to lose my mic in the middle of a concert. I can still be heard ('cause you know I'm a big ol' loud mouth), but it strains my voice something fierce. This mic should afford me some of the opportunity to mingle with the audience while singing without any of the irritations and foibles of the headset. We'll see.

Today is T and the Evil Genius' second day alone together. It makes me a little nervous, leaving them alone, because T's idea of a vegetable is a potato chip because potatoes are a veg, right?? Also, it's buggin's chance if Bird'll have a bath while I'm gone, or brush his teeth, or even wear different clothing in the four days I'm away. He probably won't be sticky in more than a few places, anyway, and he'll probably have a fine time with his daddy.

Is it wrong that I'm having a fine time without them? Eh, whatever.

Wish us luck - it's very important that we not suck tomorrow night.

We're Off...

...but then, you knew that.

Today, Mum and I are heading down to FPG. We're leaving early so we're not unloading and setting up in the afternoon or i the dark. We're looking forward to a nice time in Florida - the only plans we have are to get (we hope) matching tattoos and the band has two concerts to give over the weekend.

This weekend is Beltane, by the way - pop by on Friday for an entry concerning that holiday.

Meanwhile, I'll be home on Sunday, and I'm pre-posting some things for the days I'm gone, because for some reason they don't have Internet access in the Ocala National Forest. Unreasonable, I say.

Do You Know the Kissing Wench, the Kissing Wench, the Kissing Wench...

...do you know the Kissing Wench, whose lips are scarlet red?

I don't know about your neck of the woods, but at the Georgia Renaissance Festival, we have Kissing Wenches - three of them, actually - who wander the fair planting big, lipstick-y kisses on likely targets, usually at the urging of the person's companions/family. Their lipstick is vivid, to say the least, and liberally applied, and you can spot their victims from a distance, either by the lovely shade of crimson they're still blushing or the nearly indelible lip marks on their...anatomy.


The Wenches will kiss anyone, man, woman, or child, just about anywhere, and they work for tips. They're sweet, bawdy, and hilarious, especially when they have to chase a victim down...which happens quite often. Those Wenches are relentless, and I've never seen anyone outrun them, though the ladies wear full Renny garb.


One of the Wenches at the fair works around the area where our booth is planted, and she's friendly, funny, and smart. She's learning how to say "kiss" in many languages - so far she has Portuguese, Spanish, French, Japanese, Russian, and a few more I can't recall. It's only one word, or maybe a phrase, but it's terrific that she puts so much into it. She has lips all over her - lips for earrings, lips pinned to her bosom, lips on her mug, lips for a pendant...they cover her from head to toe, a sort of lip-y pox.


I read once that the Wenches have a guild. If they do, I am delighted. I am usually anti-union/guild (please don't hate me for that - I was raised in a home full of strong opinions and some of them stuck), but a Kissing Wench Guild? That's something the world needs more of!


If you attend a Ren Fest somewhere and you see a loud, gaily dressed, over-lipsticked woman wandering about and puckering up, cough up a buck and present a cheek - it's all in good fun!

Another Week, Another Mad Scramble to Get Things Done

I spent another weekend at the Ren Fest helping K sell her beautiful glass art.

On Friday evening, she let me play with some of her scraps and make a piece - it was fun, and if my family didn't insist on trifling things like eating regularly and clothing that fits, I could easily get into making fused glass, myself.

As I was playing ineptly with the scraps, looking for pieces that would fit the space I had available, she hovered behind me, watching and sipping her coffee. I remarked "I guess it's a good thing I'm using scraps, huh?" and she nearly choked. Heh. It turned out OK, and I am keeping it in my pocket as a sort of anti-worry stone. I may sneak into her house and play some more when she's not looking.

The weekend was slow. Slow, slow, slow. I had some fun verbal repartee with our across-the-walkway neighbors and some of the strolling players, played my flute and sang a little, and mostly tried not to melt into a blue puddle - it was hot!

Now I am frantically trying to get shirts sewn (I never even started them last week, and I have today to do them), bake, do laundry, make lists, pre-blog for the days I'll be gone, grocery shop, and pack for next weekend. I'm leaving on Wednesday for the Florida Pagan Gathering near Ocala, where my band is performing on Friday night and Saturday afternoon. They're an enthusiastic crowd, and I'm looking forward to the concert...although, it's more than two hours of singing, and I wonder if I'll have any voice left when we're done. Whew! I may get a new tattoo while there, as well. One of these days, I'll post pics of my tattoos...but not today.

I'd love to sit here and type all day, but I have to get my arse in gear...

Sheep! Dogs! Sheep Dogs!

Behind our booth at the Ren Fest is the little grassy space where sheep-dog demonstrations are held three times a day. There are eight or nine sheep, and two fellows, one older, one younger, and they use voice, gesture, and whistle to tell the dogs what they want.

The dogs are border collies, and I adore them. They're so keen to go, they fairly vibrate with suppressed energy, and as soon as they're permitted to work the sheep, they snap into a focused state a Zen Master would envy.

The sheep are...well...sheep. Ruminants. They've eaten some of our silk ivy vines and they smell like...sheep. One of them is kinda cute, though - it's black and white, and I can't help wondering how its wool would spin up...grey? Variegated? I haven't had a chance to ask the shepherds, yet, but I plan to, if only because these are the questions that haunt me!

One of the dogs is fifteen years old. I don't know any human fifteen-year-olds who mind that well, do as they're asked with a grin (and a lolling tongue, but given the way kids these days pierce, maybe that's a good thing), and beg to be let to work more, more, c'mon, there's still some fight left in those sheep! You can tell he's an older dog when he runs - he favors one foot a little, but don't tell him you noticed, because he won't thank you for it - he wants to work! He's an old hand at this sheep business, and he radiates confidence in equal measure with his enthusiasm.

The second dog is, I think, seven or so...although I may be wrong. He's middle-aged, for a dog, anyway. He is still young enough to get up to a few tricks, but mostly he's steady on, intent on the job at hand. He doesn't just grin - I swear, he's laughing, although whether it's at us or the sheep I couldn't say. I suspect a bit of both. He knows what he's about, too, but he looks to his humans a bit more, making certain before he acts.

Then there's the puppy, a two-year-old that has better manners than most adults I know. He is sharp, anxious to please, and desperate to make those sheep mind their manners, sorry they ate your vines, ma'am, I won't let it happen again, mind the droppings there, thank you. He gets a little excited and forgets that there's a human in charge of things, but he's still a treat to watch.

I want to pet them all, frolic with them (but not in the sheep meadow, because I know what those sheep do in the meadow and I don't want to step in it, let alone frolic) and generally play with the beautiful dogs. I never had dogs when I had sheep because the sheep were largely penned and there were only four of them - not enough to qualify as a flock, really. I love dogs, and these fellows remind me of how much fun a canine can be.

Don't get excited, T, we're not getting a dog. Unless I can also have a dozen sheep or so...

The Evil Genius Takes Being Green to a Whole New Place

Yes, it's real.

Yes, it's permanent (well - as permanent as this stuff gets, anyway, which means it'll wash out in six to eight weeks).

Yes, I am insane.

Most important - see how his shirt matches his hair? Awesome!

Oy, oy, oy!

Pele's Burn

I have so much to do today. Most of it's good, but I feel stressed. The twenty-four hours in one day are not enough just now, and I'm beginning to feel pulled in many directions at once.

By the end of the day I'll have driven for two hours for a three hour appointment that includes hauling the Evil Genius along...but he'll get his Mohawk haircut with green (I hope) tips that he wants, so I get to feel delighted and a wee overindulgent, too. Then two hours home. How I suffer for my art. Heh.

Y'all, my hair doesn't get blue on its own!

I will have baked bread, packed clothing for the weekend at the Ren Fest, written a grocery list and shopped. I will, hopeful, have mended my Ren costume where it needs a little love from the needle.

I will have tried, if not succeeded, in cutting and marking more sarongs to turn into shirts, although when I'm actually going tog et the sewing done is beyond me. Maybe Monday night? Tuesday night? I have no idea.

I will have pre-blogged some entries for the weekend and next week, because on the weekend I'm at the Ren Fest and on Wednesday I'm heading to Florida Pagan Gathering to perform and will not have a computer at either event.

Throughout all of this, I will be hauling around a curious sort of simmering anger/resentment/distress that is bubbling along under the surface, waiting for a chance to erupt.

I love Pele - how she flashes, dances, burns so bright, creates even as she destroys. I love her passion, that transforms even as it consumes.

I love that she has taken root in my soul, near Boadicea but not too near, across from Fand and Liban and Oshun - the fire Goddess near the water goddesses, the healing goddess, oddly comforting. Pele is one my family could understand, the burning one. We do fire well, as some of you have read before. But I also do water well. Contradictions abounding.

Love her though I may...I could wish that, just now, she could give the tempering of my life, my inner being, a break. I'm exhausted and blistered by her presence, and I think I need a rest.

Sorry...not much lyrical, today, not much funny or insightful...just me, trying to muddle through...

Beautiful Lady, Beautiful Words

Hey, y'all - while I'm off at the gallery wasting time being artistic, go check out my friend Rachel - we've known each other in the Blue Nowhere for many years, and if we weren't cut from the same cloth, well...we were cut from complementary bolts, at least.

I See

I was driving home from a spate of errand running a few days ago and was struck by the beauty of the day.

I'm often struck by the world around me, and can often be heard mumbling "Oh, my..." and "Thank you for the beauty of this day...", even when it's raining, blowing, or otherwise "rotten" out.

I wondered if anyone else was sharing the moment, the awe, or if they were just driving, just seeing the road ahead and what they had to do at their destination, the radio tuner or the CD player, their phone or iPod or other distraction.

I saw cows in a rolling pasture, black, white, brown, grazing among the anthills that studded the ground, mounds of grains of earth laboriously borne from the heart of the hill to the surface, dark red clay making a measles effect on the bright green grass. Above, the sky was London blue topaz peaking through ragged holes torn in whipped marshmallow clouds, themselves swirling into impossible peaks, whorls of white and grey making great sweeps across the horizon. I saw flower petals driven by the wind, having leaped from their trees to ride the gale before coming to rest and pinking the earth.

Every day, I see an amazing confluence of light, motion, chaos, and color. I see a cloud and know what a wonder it is, how it couldn't exist without the perfect conditions of water, particulate matter, temperature, and atmosphere. How unlikely is that cloud, and what a delight to see it and know it. How awesome is the wind, that blows and blows and is proof that you don't have to see a thing to know it is there. How like gods, is the wind, unseen, but felt nonetheless.

To see a bird in flight is to watch the end result of an eternity of constant change, constant fine-tuning to make each feather fall just so, each muscle function in the perfect way to hold the wing, to know that the song it sings is its own, and that all the other birds have ears to hear and know who calls, and why, while we who should be so much more hear so much less.

To eat an orange is more than just to consume fruit. We eat the wind that caressed it from flower to fruit. We eat the sun that warmed it, soaked into, became an integral part of its sweet-tartness. We eat the moon and stars that dappled it with silver light, fallen as dew on midnight's blue linen wrap. We eat the earth that nourished it from bud to juice-swollen perfection, and we consume the rain that cooled its sun-fevered skin, covered it with light refracting jewels, soaked into the earth, the tree, gave it life in liquid form.

Wherever I go, I see a complex, beautiful place, filled with complex, beautiful beings.

What do you see, when you remember to look?

Ask Not For Whom the Bell Tolls...

...because is isn't tolling at all.

This morning, just as I was getting to the good part of the dream where the handsome, single, lonely Knight Errant was rescuing the fair maiden from fire breathing sheep...

I woke up.

Because my ears thought they heard the doorbell and wanted the rest of me up and running to answer the door, convinced that there would be a stranger with a winning lottery ticket just for me. Or something.

OK, not really, but there very well could have been someone from Terminix, and I can't afford to let them decide no one's home and they'll just reschedule for next year.

Last Friday, as I was bolting from the house, I noticed something - several somethings - several bazillion somethings, it look like - crawling up the wall. I know a termite hatch-out when I see one. I saw one.

We couldn't determine where they were coming from, except that it wasn't from up top of the wall...unless they're rare, magical, teleporting termites (and that would be my kind of luck) that don't need a hole to get through a wall. Down at the base of the wall was most likely, but there's a lot of...erm...stuff there, so we didn't check...it didn't really matter, because wherever they came from, they shouldn't be there.

We have a contract with Terminix to use those bait stations all around the house, so they have to come out and deal with the mess, and, should the little wood-munchers have done any sort of damage, Terminix is supposed to pay for the repairs. Yeah, hopefully there aren't any repairs to be made, but I won't be holding my breath that they'll actually honor that contract. Does anyone honor their contracts any more? My money is on "not bloody likely", but hope springs eternal.

So when I thought I heard the doorbell, I woke up...and wanted to go back to sleep, because up before eight? No, thank you, not when I wasn't in bed until after midnight and didn't sleep well at all. Then I remembered that Terminix is coming around, but not when they are coming around, and what if that was them and I didn't get up so they went away and then termites would eat my house up from the inside out and I'd wake up one day in a pile of wood dust and termite poo?? Eeek!

Of course, there was no one at the door. And of course, I wasn't going back to sleep. Sigh.

This isn't the first time I've woken to the sound of a ringing doorbell that hasn't rung, probab;y wno't be the last. Hurrah for auditory halucinations. I wonder why it happens...and I wish it would stop!

Stupid termites - I bet they did it so next time the bell rings I won't answer. It won't work, you little devils! Your days are numbered...soon, the bell will be tolling for you!

An Artist's Dilemma

Good morrow, good gentles...hack...cough...wheeze...



Pardon me, I seem to have some Renny Gabble stuck in my throat.



Whew, what a weekend!



We woke quite early on Saturday, hoping to arrive at the Fair with time to spare for fluffing the booth. What we didn't count on was the Georgia DOT choosing the opening weekend of the event to close the highway and reroute all traffic through the exit we needed to get to the fair.



An aside - Dear Georgia DOT - what the HELL?????



Ahem.



While we were still early enough to get everything sorted out and slip into our garb..



Another Aside - did y'all know I'm a talented woman? Yep - I can get undressed and re-dressed in public without ever showing more skin than when I'm fully clothed. Mad skillz, yo.



Where was I? Oh, right...so we got dressed, shot a few clandestine photos of the booth setup (cameras and cell phones are forbidden to vendors and players during fair hours), and were ready to go.



Saturday was gorgeous, a perfect day for opening an eight week festival, despite the traffic issues that were the talk of the fair-goers.



Another aside - Really, Georgia DOT, who does that? On the day a long running event opens its gates to the usually enormous crowd and funnels tens of thousands of people through the site, often in one day, who decides it's a good idea to close a four lane highway and force the traffic into two lanes and an exit ramp??



Right, back to the show. So we had literally thousands of people passing by, pausing to look at the shiny, shiny glass.



Without fearing accusations of exaggeration, I believe I can say that K had a good day.

Sunday started out with little rain showers, just enough to moisten the ground and keep fair-goers away in droves. It was...quiet. We still had some good sales, but it wasn't even half what we did on Saturday. Still, I think it was a decent opening weekend, and we managed to come up with a rainy-day setup that would suit if the weather turned really foul. We were a little crowded when the rain was falling, but did alright once it cleared. We're hoping it's the only rainy day at the fair.

We didn't walk the fair much, just visited a few of the vendors nearby and one quick trip to the Pirate's Ship to purchase the cutest wee little knives because I forgot to bring anything with which I could butter bread or cut sausage. D'oh!

The most difficult part of the weekend came around closing time on Saturday. K had a tough choice to make. You see, she's been wearing this piece...

...for several months, ever since she created it. It's one of her favorites. The central image is her own art, the line drawing turned into colorful prints, a t-shirt, one of the images in one of her coloring books, and of course, dichroic glass pendants and earrings. She was quite proud of the CZ she embedded above the goddess.

To say she loves this piece is to understate.

So of course, one of the thousands of people passing through admired it on K's neck and wanted to know if it was for sale, and if so, how much?

Herein lies the artist's dilemma. If one love a piece of one's own art, but one is in the business of selling one's art, what is one to do? In K's case, she named a price that would probably ensure that no one would buy the piece. The woman said she'd think about it and walked away. K was fairly certain the patron wouldn't be back.

Except, she did come back. Now K had to decide - would she really part with her beloved pendant? Was the money worth knowing that her favorite piece was no longer hers? Honestly, I've never seen her think so long or so hard about parting with one of her pieces...but she finally took it off, kissed it goodbye (literally - she kissed it several times), and handed it over. She consoled herself with the thought that she was making a tremendous profit on the materials and she could always go home and make one, if not exactly like it, then at least similar.

Overall, it was a fine weekend, and I'm looking forward to next weekend. Between now and then I need to repair my costume (it suffered a modicum of wear and wants a few well placed stitches), re-lace the bodice/vest so it's smaller (I've shrunk a wee since I first bought it, and it is now too big), and possibly find the funds for some new shoes (the boots are grand, but they slouch and are an effort to get into/out of) and maybe a new shift to wear with my other costume, and maybe a new blouse to wear with my skirt. First, though, I'll have to win the lottery - the way they price their costume pieces, I'm thinking the clothiers suffer from the artist's dilemma, too.

Little Boy Logic

Scene: Three mothers, one toddler, one infant in front of the large house in the evening. Four little boys of varying ages playing 'round back, enjoying the flashlights they've just been provided. Two of the mothers are preparing to pack up and head home after an evening of grilling burgers, chatting, and occasionally telling the rowdy boys to play away from the cars.

There a thud and a cry from the back yard. One little boy commences to wail. His mother runs around the Sanford and Son style parking area that blocks access to the backyard, identifying the cry as coming from her boy.

The hostess follows.

The two mothers find one little boy crying disconsolately on the ground by the slide, one little boy endeavoring to look innocent, and a third little boy anxious to tell all.

Action:

EG: Little Man pushed Noodle off the play house!!
LM: ...
Noodle: Sob, snuffle, whimper, weep, wail...
M (Noodle's Mum): Let's see what's hurt (checking various body [arts for damage from toes to head) Just a bit of dirt...what happened? Did you fall from all the way up there??
Noodle: Yeah...snuffle, cry, weep...
EG: He was up there and he pushed him right off!
LM: He was standing on the railing and he shouldn't do that!
K (EG's Mum): So you pushed him off??
LM: ...
At this point, EG fetches LM's Mum, advising her on the way of what has occurred.
KW (LM's Mum): LM, what were you thinking??
LM: He was up on the railing, and he shouldn't be there!
KW: So you pushed him off?!?!?
LM: ...
KW: You're done - go get in your car seat.

KW and K compare notes and chuckle over how they had the exact same thoughts.

Meanwhile, M is trying very hard not to laugh, because Noodle is fine, just a bit dirty and bewildered and he's being unintentionally hilarious, KW is trying to sort out her son's logic, and K is just relieved that it wasn't her Evil Genius who did the pushing.

End scene.

Little boys...sigh...

Good Morrow or Some Junk

I am spending this weekend, and almost every weekend for the next two months, helping my friend K run her booth at the Ren Fest.

I'll be spouting gibberish like "Good morrow, m'lady, how fare thee today?" and "Zounds!" and "Prithee, my lord, remove thy tallywhacker from out my tankard" in a corny, false British or Irish or indeterminate Not American accent while selling her award-winning products that I don't want to name here in case the Ren Fest costume patrol happens to find this blog.

They are fierce about the costuming. I am worried I won't pass muster, but I am ready to argue my case if I must.

First, the Renaissance Festival is not a reflection of the Renaissance period, but more accurately a mixture of Dark Ages, Middle Ages, and a dash of Elizabethan/Regency Era romance novel thrown in for fun.

Second, the behavior, speech, and dress of participants is, at best, a characterization of the romanticized perception of these historical eras, and not at all an accurate reflection of the society, mores, and norms of the times.

Third, you may rightly argue that my blue hair is not "period" and so must be covered entirely lest some poor fair-goer be traumatized, demoralized, and jolted completely out of the illusion of having travelled back in time, but I will rightly argue right back that there was no such thing as polyester fabric, polyester thread, or most of the materials in your faux-period costume that you're so proud of, and if you want to more correctly reflect the eras of which you purport to be an expert, you might restrict your materials to wood, bone, wool, or linen - sorry, cotton wasn't really an option, back then. You could have silk or satin if you are nobility, but the ration of nobility to peasant at these fairs is already overblown. Also, you'll need more grease in your hair so it doesn't show under your wig, if you're lucky enough to have one, and you probably shouldn't bathe for the next six months or so, if you really want to be correct.

I could go on, but really? It's all in fun, and if they can remember that and keep off my back about the only head scarf I own that remotely matches my costume, and the slashed sleeves on my blouse don't do a very good job of covering my tattoos but I need time to fix that, and the knee-high leather boots that no woman would ever have worn, well...we'll get along fine.

Meanwhile, if you're going to the Georgia Renaissance Festival, come and find me - I'll buy you a fried pickle, because we know those just scream "Renaissance/Dark Ages/Middle Ages/Elizabethan/Regency" era.

Bob Is Dead, Long Live Bob

Bob the Wonder Computer, as some of you may know, suffered some kind of computery stroke a while back - all of a sudden, he froze up, and when I got him unfrozen he was moving as slow as a politician keeping a promise. OK, maybe he wasn't that slow...

Any way, I managed to copy all my Word files (all my stories, songs, poems, stories, letters, documents, and stories) to disk and to a flash drive so I could keep pecking away at things on any computer, which is a good thing because if I'd lost them? You'd still be hearing the screams.

I also got my photographs onto disks, except for October of 2007 which said it copied successfully but then the disk came up blank...after, of course, poor T had begun wiping Bob's memory clean, so...sigh...bye-bye, photos of the spider climbing in the jack-o-lantern's eye, lovely dark silhouette against the orange, glowy light of candle and pumpkin. Bye-bye, photos of family carving the pumpkins that year. Bye-bye, pictures of Evil Genius in his dinosaur costume, trick-or-treating around the neighborhood.

Still, it could have been worse.

I was able to write on Bob, and even play a game or two, if I didn't mind incredible delays in booting up, opening files or moving between active programs. I could not, however, get online. Y'all, I need my Internet. I'm pretty sure there's a minimum daily requirement of vitamin I, without which I will shrivel up and die.

Something had to be don to poor Bob. Something drastic. Something had to be done or I was going to have to sell one of T's kidneys to the highest bidder and go get a new Wonder Computer...but I love Bob and am loathe to part with his geriatric self.

T, possibly fearing for his kidney, possibly because his lizard brain was tingling with that warning that people get when someone close to them is a breath away from running amok through the neighborhood with a sharp object and a crazed gleam in their eye, or possibly because he felt sorry for me and my beloved Bob, hatched a plan.

He wiped Bob clean, effectively killing him from the inside out, and reinstalled Windows.

He reinstalled Word.

He reinstalled AOL (don't start - I've had AOL since practically the beginning, with the same screen name all these years, and no matter how craptastic it can be sometimes, I love it and am not moving on until you pry it from my cold, lifeless hands).

Bob is back!! He's not the Bob I knew and loved, but he is some version of himself - at least for the next month, until Windows will shut itself down because I cannot register it (it's not pirated, bootlegged, or stolen - much like me, it's dysfunctional, cranky, and confused about its existence). Sometime between now and then. I need to find the money and spring for a new copy with a working registration key. Hmm...where's T with that kidney?

Lessons learned? Always back things up. Always check the backed up thing on another computer. Then check them again. Flash drives are easily portable and have as much or more memory to them as my entire Bob - I got an 8 gig one for less than ten bucks, and it's can clip to my key chain. Bob has a 20 gig memory. I'm not telling Bob about the flash drive - I don't want him to feel bad about himself. It's not the size of your hard drive...

Also keep a new version of Windows handy, because selling a kidney is harder than you think - eBay disapproves of that sort of auction.

Bob is dead, long live Bob.

Thanks, T. You done good.

Temporal Muddle

It's early, 'though not early enough - I should have written this last night before I went to bed, because I may be making myself late...but I seem to have gotten up before I went to bed, so perhaps it will be alright.

Have you ever done that?

Gotten up before you went to bed, I mean?

I should have gone to sleep much earlier than I did, knowing full well I'd be up much earlier than I was, but then I had things to do...just things...frittery things, tiny little time-gobblers that alone don't mean much but put together consume a feast of hours.

No gallery today - rather, I am headed for a long ride to a short (I hope) bit of work setting up K's Ren Fest booth. Over the next two months, I'll be spending the bulk of my weekend days there, helping run her booth and generally wreaking havoc in a (hopefully) musical, entertaining, happy sort of way. Or at least, a non-discordant, one shade better than boring, non-grumpy sort of way. It's good to have boundaries.

What time is it? Hmm...I'm still up before I've gone to sleep.

There is caffeine in my future. And a nap. Probably at the same time. Hey, if I can get up before I went to sleep, anything's possible.

It Must Chaff When He Swims

It started out innocently enough.

Before lights-out, I usually read Bird a book, maybe sing him a song or three. One night last week I made T do it - I was busy writing or something, and sometimes I need to enforce the idea that Daddy can do the good-night thing, too.

They read a book called Fish Story, an early reader book.

Next day, Bird wandered up, frowzy headed and still warm from sleep.

Me: G'mornin', my heart, did you sleep well?
Evil Genius: Yup I did. Mommy, guess what?
Me: Chicken butt.
EG: No, not chicken butt! Seriously, guess what?
Me: Seriously, little dude, chicken butt! (it's a game he plays with his father, and sometimes me)
EG: Mo-om-meee! Stop playing around! Guess what?
Me: OK, small-boy-whom-I-love-with-a-big-love...what?
EG: An octopus has eight testicles!
Me: Really? Eight of them? Imagine the athletic supporter...
EG: ...

Hey, it amused the Hell out of me, anyway.

Happy Birthday, Mommylady!

Today is Mum's birthday. She's old enough to know better and young enough not to care. Yes, Mum was born on Tax Day - but since I do my taxes in January, April 15'th is all her. It's easy to remember - it's when procrastinators walk around with a face like a cat's ass all day, but we're grinning.

I could tell you how old she is, but then I'd have to kill you. Also, she might disinherit me...and my whole retirement is depending on those Franklin Mint plates...

She used to be a human swizzle-stick, my Mum - skinny, skinny, skinny! I hear you in the peanut gallery, wondering what happened to me...my father's genes, that's what happened! Thank the gods she's finally got some meat on her bones - I was getting tired of fighting off hungry canines when we went out.

My Mum qualifies as a genuine, accept no substitutions, no artificial flavors, colors or attitudes, crusty old fart. I adore her.

Happy birthday, Mum.

*edit - Mum had officially requested I call her an "old bat" rather than an "old fart". OK, Mum - you're a crusty old bat and I still adore you.

We Live, We Laugh, We Dance, We Are Purple

I am alive. I breathe, I weep, I sing, I hold my son close and rejoice in his aliveness.

I dance. I dance in the rain, in the sun, beneath the moon; I spin, circling, circling, circling, dizzy, joyful, and throw wide my arms to embrace it...what it?...all of it, everything. I am a mote of dust, a mote of light, tossed into the wind, floating on a sunbeam. I open my mouth, and from me pours the music of the Universe, the music of Creation, the one note, the many notes, the Song.

We honor the dead by living. Certainly, there is sorrow to be borne. Certainly there are hard moments, hard days to endure...but we live, you and me, we are ineffably thrumming with our own vitality.

Today, I am wearing purple to honor a bright little light that winked out last week. Does it matter that I never met her, or her parents, or any of the scores of other people doing the same thing? Nope, not a whit.

Today, together, we live, we laugh, we dance, and we wear purple while her family says farewell.

Blessed be, little girl, sweet child, small wonder...I hope your journey around the spiral is swift, and the ones who knew and loved you will know and love you again when you return.
~~~~~

Reposted from last week



I don't know the Spohrs, not even a little...but I have read their blog from time to time, and I read many people who read them, and they were dealt a stunning blow yesterday...and this is all I can think of to show support, compassion, and love to a family that walked off the edge of a cliff without warning. If you have some time and a few bucks to spare, let them know you're out here in the Blue Nowhere, part of their community, part of their web.

Sweet dreams, baby girl.

Update - the Spohrs, like many people in this world today, did not expect to be seeing their daughter through the veil. They could use some help with funeral costs. If you know me you probably don't know them...but don't let that stop you. Even a dollar is a blessing to parents who weren't expecting to lay out a bunch of cash for something that is definitely NOT a first bicycle, summer camp, driving lessons, a prom dress, a wedding gown...so please go to: http://babyonbored.blogspot.com/2009/04/if-youre-asking-yourself-what-can-i-do.html and look on the lower right part of the page for the Paypal link that says "For Maddie" with her darling picture on it, and donate what you can.

Hello, and Welcome to Monday

As waking goes, slowly rising from the benthic depths of swirling, shapeless dreams, bits of them clinging like mist, filmy scarves of imagination, color, imagery trailing behind the psyche, isn't a bad thing. Especially when one didn't sleep well at all - a combination of position, dreams, preoccupation with a number of concerns, promenading cats, and a general inability to get one's mind settled into the calm, unruffled composition of sleep.

I finally went deep shortly before dawn, stilling, relaxing, restless thoughts paused, cats curled around me, tails over noses, drifting.

I woke slowly this morning - the bedroom window is open to let in fresh air, sunlight, and birdsong. This morning, it let in damp air, rainy-grey light, and the desultory plop-plop-plop of a light rain.

It was a slow waking, a reluctant one, and could I have, I would have gone back to sleep, perhaps remained a-bed for the rest of the day. Alas, as my eyes cracked open and noted the time, my mind sprung into action, somehow freed of it's dreamy bonds.

Laundry...need to wash shirts, undies; Evil Genius needs clean clothing folded and put away. Hungry...can't make bacon and eggs for brekky, had that yesterday, what've I got that's healthy? How much do I weigh today? Need to update weight thingy at bottom of blog. Errands...need to buy claves like mine for PJ, pop in to grocery store to pick up dinner fixin's. Work...need to finish the other 28 shirts I'm sewing for PJ, hope none of them are shredded at the edge like that red one was, careless manufacture of sarongs, grrr. Need to write, but have to wait until everyone's in bed or it's too loud out there, and how do I get the character from point "a" to point "b" without boring the reader to sleep. Wish I could go to sleep again...don't want to face the day, the long, boring, pointless day wherein I once again get nothing done and take the whole day to do it.

All in a minute or less, plus a few random thoughts crammed in the corners.

Sigh.

Still. It was a nice way to wake, the hushing of the rain, the scent of it, the plipping and plopping of the trees, occasional bird making itself known because Spring will not be denied, cool air, cozy duvet and cats curled in contentment on their warm human.

One may hope the rest of the day will turn out so lovely.

Happy Easter

Last but not least...

Nope, nothing's sacred.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Catbit, the latest pet from GenSplice labs "Cute 'n' Fluffy" line. Two heads, one litter box - everyone's a winner! All the coolest Easter baskets will feature one of these little darlin's - order yours today!

Still my favorite!

In a more serious vein, if you celebrate this day, I hope you have a blessed one - the gift for which Christians celebrate Easter is worth remembering, and one to which pagans are not strangers, either (the greatest difference being that Pagans had many sacrificial kings where Christians have one sacrificed King).

In the midst of the chocolate, the eggs, the ham or lamb or the wild tofurkey, think on the tremendous love that a heart must bear for a man to give himself over to Jesus' fate. Think on that love as the foundation for what has grown into the church today - whatever I may think of Christianity and its dogma (and oh, boy, have I got some opinions about that), I haven't forgotten that the church is founded on the hope that the life of one man may be given over for the benefit of all men.

I wish you a blessed day, be it sacred to you or no.

Pete...

Eggshell

Blessed Be, Little One

I don't know the Spohrs, not even a little...but I have read their blog from time to time, and I read many people who read them, and they were dealt a stunning blow yesterday...and this is all I can think of to show support, compassion, and love to a family that walked off the edge of a cliff without warning. If you have some time and a few bucks to spare, let them know you're out here in the Blue Nowhere, part of their community, part of their web.

Sweet dreams, baby girl.

Update - the Spohrs, like many people in this world today, did not expect to be seeing their daughter through the veil. They could use some help with funeral costs. If you know me you probably don't know them...but don't let that stop you. Even a dollar is a blessing to parents who weren't expecting to lay out a bunch of cash for something that is definitely NOT a first bicycle, summer camp, driving lessons, a prom dress, a wedding gown...so please go to: http://babyonbored.blogspot.com/2009/04/if-youre-asking-yourself-what-can-i-do.html and look on the lower right part of the page for the Paypal link that says "For Maddie" with her darling picture on it, and donate what you can.

Dye Job

Dying

Idiot

And the winners are...

...going to have to wait until the end of this post!

First, thank you to the four hearty souls who braved my First Ever Blog Contest. I am tickled you decided to play along...I'm no Pioneer Woman, giving away Kitchen Aid mixers and cameras and gift cards with thousands of responses in minutes, and having four people jump on in warmed the cockles of my heart!

So I posed the question "What the hell is that??" regarding this detail of a photo:



Would it help to see the whole thing? Here it is:

Still not certain? Here, maybe this will help:

Yep, Jellyfish. Mine was a dead one, though.

So - I think Rachel came closest with her guess of dead fish flesh (appetizing, Rachel!), so I'm awarding her first prize. Good job, Rachel!

Then it was a toss-up between Kit and Wild Cakes. I decided that Wild Cakes came closer than Kit (sorry, Kit), so once Rachel has finished the laborious process of choosing which piece of crap rare objet d'art she would like and both of you have e-mailed me your shipping addresses, I'll mail off the prizes. Michelle and Kit, I'll cook you a fish dinner as a booby prize, if you like!

Thanks again for playing, y'all - next time, the prize will be something I've made, but first I have to make it!

Mini Eggs

Slippers

When?

I was lifting Bird out of the van earlier this week because the sedative they gave him at the dentist wiped him out. He was limp, soft, and damp like kids are, you know, like fresh flowers or a peach that's been in the mist, not unpleasant, just...you know...a kid.

He leaned into me, murmured, nestled his head against my shoulder, legs dangling down. His hair tickled my nose, his breath was warm on my neck. My arms were full of him, full of my heart, my best good thing.

I wondered. When did he grow so big? When did he reach the size that I couldn't carry anything but him? When did my baby, ten and one-quarter pounds, become this little boy? When did he become to big for me to carry cross-ways, cuddled up to my heart? When did he grow so long that his feet nearly brush the ground when I pick him up, tangling in my legs when he forgets to wrap them around?

He has almost grown to the point I can't carry him, any more. When will that day come? I will have to become stronger, hold it off a little while longer.

You never know what you've got...

A Word From Bird

Mommy's working at the track today. Gramlin is staying with me because I can't go to the track yet, at least not without someone to watch out for me because I'm still a little small to be wandering in the pits by myself, but I really like it there and sometimes the drivers let me sit in their race cars, but this weekend is motorcycles and I'm not supposed to sit on those, but I did sit on one once a few years ago when I was little.

So Mommy won't be blogging much this weekend, except maybe some pictures, because she's in the tower running track communications which makes her tired and her hair gets all frazzly but she still smiles when she comes home and I give her hugs and kisses and she tells me all about the races and if anyone wrecked and how the workers rescued him.

She talks to Daddy about Pit Bunnies, but when I ask her what they are, she just tells me I'm too young. I don't know why a bunny can be in the pits and I can't - they're way smaller than me.

Uh-oh, I have to go - I'm not supposed to be on the computer this early, Mommy and Gramlin say it will rot my brain. Bye!

What Say You?

Don't forget to enter my completely ridiculous First Ever Contest On This Blog!

Small Story

There in the field where houses once stood surrounded by palisades and earthworks and men dressed for war...

Where the tramp of marching feet made a refrain for the verses of clanging, hammering, shouts, laughter, children, and a thousand other tiny notes that made the cacophony of the day...

There in the place where a baker once baked, scent of bread rich and heady in the morning air, mingling with smoke and damp and the slightly sour smell of bodies living close by, unwashed...

Where hope and despair once dwelt hand in hand, where once the promise of a better life in a new land shone bright as a new penny despite hunger, fear, and uncertainty...

There, where people lived, worked, loved, and looked to a better tomorrow...

There, nothing remains...but a tiny flower begs to be noticed, to remind that Nature is, was, and will be in residence, even when the walls have fallen and only ghosts remain to bring a chill to the curious living who traipse through the grid of forgotten streets, wander across once-was boundaries, wonder about they who lived here, before returning to the air conditioning, refrigeration, electric light, modern world...

Never realizing that they are dreaming the same dreams, hoping the same hopes, fearing the same fears, passed from generation to generation like an unseen heirloom...

All while the tiny flowers bloom, and bloom, and bloom, unconcerned save for our careless steps.