Life Chronicles and other Myths

June blooms, Bitch blues....

2008-06-03T21:56:00.000-07:00

Flowers come up, finally, reluctantly, and we have intermittent sun which bravely burns off the fog between days of drizzle. Morning glory sprogs and other seedlings, both fleurs for pleasure and veggies for the garden are valiant as they sprout in their sheltered pots. I worry for them. The big world out there is not what they expect because its too damned cold.....What is this!? It should be hot and dry by now. This is a hot zone. A 'mediterranean-type' climate. Apparently... but these days it is a climate, a world, even, that one can only respond to with... "Huh!?

At least my new attempt at making a lawn where there was a gravel pit, formerly used as a car park is valiantly bursting into a riot of cheerful clover. Forget grass seeds. Clover is the way to go. It is hardy. You can throw anything at it and it likes it and spreads, looking fabulous.

We are reclaiming the gravel and creating green. We are planting dry rock garden loving things which are thriving, despite the rain ... a good time for them to set their roots in preparation for the annually anticipated drought, which right now is a mere laughable memory. And the rain comes down. As it happens, these days, a lot. I'm not complaining about that as such, just the cold. The stupid ('Hello, it's JUNE now in case any one noticed) cold. I wore a scarf today. Retarded.

I hate my job at the moment. There will be no raises this year, (the bastards) although I have taken on a large chunk of responsibility the last months. And I am doing well, working way WAY too hard, and am killing myself for...what!? A company beholden to its shareholders and arbitrary numbers....

A life where I come home exhausted, bitchy and have nothing left to give to my house, which is a disaster; or to my man ( I cant remember the last time we got laid) ; nor even anything to give to the poor dogs. The idea of taking them out for a run, rather than being a pleasure, has become one more duty that renders me tired beyond words. ...with the weight of having one more thing on the proverbial 'list'. Just one more thing... When I come home I am literally stunned, Pole-axed into a state of zombieism with the bombshell of my day, and I am not in my body. Don't know where I am, but I am not here. The stress has 'body-snatched' me away.

I have this sense of urgency, this pressure coming at me: Just one more.....Just one more thing to do. The Control that the infamous 'agenda' has over me which I feel Powerless to deal with when am spent and senseless with being peopled-out and feel the symptoms of 'burn-out' creeping closer every day. The 'just one more thing' factor is sending me screaming to the hills and putting me into a state of obnoxious, defensive negativity, on the one hand, and almost a state of catatonia on the other, as I become paralysed in the face of its relentlessness, which I cant even describe. I succumb to the pressure and go into 'head-in-sand' mode. Very little can get me out of that place once I am entrenched in it.

Its not good. It is just NOT GOOD.

I had a meltdown and lost my temper (for which I am suitably remorseful and ashamed of, but I can live with that.....) on Friday, berating the Paint department head for not taking care of her own freight which I have been doing for 9 months. ( 9 months is the time it takes a human embryo to gestate, the time it takes for one thing to become another,the time it takes for one reality to manifest a miracle and become something else...)

I guess the annoyance built up on top of actual resentment over that time took its toll. One expects a beginning and a middle and an end to things.; and like a birthing event, in all of its realness and raw glory, It's pain and anxiety, excitement and happiness, worry and thrill, and all of its 'Here we GO, this is what's happening', there is no room or time for bullshit here. Believe me, the birthing of anything worthwhile be it a baby, or a house or a piece of art, or the choice to embrace a new life-style, a new way, has a big 'shut up dont get in my way, this is happening NOW, like NOW !' and has a big ' lets get on with it factor' . Moreover, you are either on board or you are not, and if not, fuck off and dont waste the time of those who have WORK to do to facilitate and participate in creation. Be here now and be real and be a contributor, or piss off.

I bided my time and held my piece and was supportive, i.e. doing work which belonged to someone else ... out of KINDNESS, you should know. I'm not feeling so kind now nearly a year later but I'm feeling consequent. And Also I ended up feeling really bitchy. I finally spoke my truth, and truth be told it came out kind of hard, having months of pressure behind it....... I Lost it. It wasn't pretty.

I have my own work to do thank you. Thank you very F*****G much. I offered subtle reminders. Gentle requests to come on board and be a team were met with ambivalence. Clear requests were met with "I'm busy" (Okay, thank you so very much for being in the moment and for being honest with where you are but frankly, that ain't getting the job done. ) You're 'busy'. Right....HUH. Like that is special. Like that is something only you have a relationship with.

EEEEuuwgh!

The job everyone and their dog are doing FOR you which you should in fact be doing because,Hello, it is YOUR FUCKING JOB is not something your co-workers are inclined to do anymore. Never mind the broken leg, or the cataract surgery, or the bad back (its always something isn't it?) Never mind the relationship issues, Sympathy has poured like honey all over you and support has surrounded you for ages, Its enough already. You've milked it and the goodwill has run OUT . You say you are are busy. Yegads, its one of the busiest retail establishments on the island, if not the country being 100 years old and going strong because people CARE! If you don't, then Piss off and go away!

WE, whoop-dee-la-dee-fucking -da!!. We, your colleagues and co-workers have been ( believe it or not) very supportive of you and your issues and meanwhile, we have not BEEN sitting around with our thumbs up our arses for the very delightful thrill of it, we are busy too. We are all busting a gut with being BUSY whist you shirk and delegate, ignore and file your bloody nails, and that doesnt cut it, you RANCID COW!!:)

Directives from managers were repeatedly ignored and then I just snapped.

I don't need this shite. Working for a pittance with a stress level and a responsibility level that is frankly leveling me flat!

I need to be making money, which I am not. B REALLY wants me to help with his business which he is willing to PAY for (more that my shite hourly retail rate) and they don't want to let me cut my hours so I can do this!

I cant rant about it anymore or this will just degenerate into gutter cursing and hysteria.

Things things end are a bit intense and I could do with a few supportive thoughts and encouragement coming my way.

Retail is the Devil. Or one of them.

Meanwhile, to ad insult to injury, the weather sucks. Its cold and wet and Solstice approaches, when days will get shorter, and we haven't had a Spring, or even a taste of Summer so far.

Dolly, once again,has gone on walk about or something and has been missing for days.

Again.

I have an appointment with an ear nose and throat specialist on Thursday to figure out my sinus issue and to determine if my deviated septum will result in a holly-wood nose. Wish me luck. And:

Give me strength.

Bird. xoxox

Oh Baby! :)

2008-05-23T18:35:00.000-07:00

Lola May, 8lbs 5 ounces, Born May 19th, 2008.

My best friend's daughter has given birth to a brand new human being called Lola May. She is gorgeous ( the baby)... and also I mean, it should be said, that she comes from a long line of gorgeous so she comes by it honestly. Paternally, her father is a sweet, gorgeous, sincere and loving young man, and that's all I know about that side of her heritage, but her mother is gorgeous, and her Grandmama is absolutely gorgeous. Also, it should be said that her Great-Grandmama has been famous all along for being a great beauty, as was her mother before her, and they are all, all of them, more and MOST importantly very beautiful inside and out. Which is really what makes them utterly gorgeous. (Okay, I may be biased. But I'm still right.) I'm blown away to think that I have known them all...... From great-great grandmama on down.

SO I'm a proud great Goddess mother. And I'll say it out loud:

THIS IS THE MOST LOVELY AND BONNY BABY THAT EVER WAS BORN!

You should know that my best friend is really my sister, although we share no genetic connection except thorough mutual Teutonic ancestry. But she's been the only sister I've known (and best sister I could have hoped for) since age 5 . That's 38 years and going strong, and she is the sister of my heart and soul. She is my place of safety and of comfort. I dont know what I'd do without her. She's been there with me virtually all of my life. She is the one who knows me like no one else. She and I share a connection that is deeper than either of us can put into words and stronger than any relationship I have ever known. We have fought, and kissed and made up like all siblings. We are excellent at debate, loose patience with one another, make huge room for each other to be 'Us' warts and all, and are sometimes controlling with one another whilst simultaneously making loving, supportive space for each other to be real and honest in the moment, and beyond. We 'see' one another's process whilst we cant see our own even when that process is in parallel, which is usually. We KNOW one another like we know the backs of our own hands. And that is rare and special. I would lay my life down for her. Or for Emma. And now also for Lola May.

Andreya's mother is my other mother and I address her as Mama as often as I address her by name. These days we are not always in touch but when we are we pick up with an 'as I was saying' kind of thing which only happens with very old and real friends. She raised me as much, and sometimes, it must be said, better and with more kindness, appropriate discipline, attention to sharing knowledge, genuine respect and wisdom than my own mother did. She knew me better than my own mother did. That was always true.....She always loved me as one of her own Babies and I always felt that. (What a gift!) I knew that deeply and without censure and she, my other mama, as a result of the nature of her real loving of me, is one of the pillars I stand on, and is therefore, hugely responsible (for all of the good bits) for the woman I am today.

They are family. They are more family to me than the cousins and aunts I have by genetic connection and who I know hardly and care even less about. They, my circle, this collection of female energies and loving women, are closer to me sometimes than my own brother who shared the same womb with me (not at the same time), and whom I also love very very dearly, but who is still more of a stranger to me than this heritage and lineage of women I am blessed to be connected to.

Sometimes one's family, sometimes, and in fact more often than not, one's real family are not related to us through blood. But through the heart. Through the experience of life and through the heart. We learn to love and discover, much more importantly, that we can BE loved by people unlooked-for, who simply show up out of the blue and just love us... because. They see something in us no one else does. They 'see' us. Really 'see' us. They fall in love with us. Even though we've sometimes been taught by our own family dynamics that we are not lovable as we are, not lovable unless we conform to the conditions and requirements they set on us. Unconditional family love is such a crock, isn't it?

These people we are guided to, or they to us, and who through serendipity, mystery and so-called 'coincidence' (which I dont believe in for one nano-second, and never have) or other means, come into our lives, and they teach us that we ARE in fact lovable, believe it or not, which is sometimes if not always an astonishing realization. We are lovable. We are LOVABLE!!! Often and even usually, it takes others outside our blood-family to allow us to learn that. To remind us of that. To give us that gift. But this experience of discovering that we can be loved, teaches us like no other experience, that we CAN LOVE in return. That we have the capacity to love more than we ever knew...... We can love ourselves and others. And that's the point, I think.

We stumble upon friendships which allow us to unfold and become the person we always wanted to be but which our blood-families never allowed us to grow into, because of their own historical/cultural and personal paths and constraints. We are given love and helpers along the way. LIFE gives us these gifts because it knows we need to grow into love in a way that the lessons of our families are lessons that we need deal with and then GROW OUT OF. And then move beyond. And so we are blessed to find kindness unlooked-for and understanding and wisdom in friendships that come into our lives at the exact moment, in the exact way we need them. A Blessing. Some are temporary. Sparking and acting as a catalyst. Some are around for a time and they serve their purpose, as one does likewise for them in mutual growth. Others, the most special ones, we are gifted to have for a lifetime.....This is a great treasure and a gift. These are companions through life, along the path of the 'big picture' and they become those who 'knew us when', and can give and receive more than any one else. I have a few old friends. From grade school. Real friends. I'm lucky to have people who 'knew me when' who let me be who I am now, and they've loved me through that process of becoming. I have one bestest friend who knew me when, and knows me now better than any. I am very lucky that my heart-family is quite big. I am really very very blessed. Andreya is the first and last among them.

There is a term of endearment I learned from a great series of books, and that term is this: Annama Charra. A Gaelic term which describes a friendship of the heart which comes along once in a lifetime. And so I am blessed to know and live what that means in reality.

But I digress....

When we were still children, Andy and her family moved back and forth from England to Canada several times and though both our families were relatively poor, our mutual parents kept our friendship alive, supported and encouraged by love, and by finding the means, somehow, though scrimping and saving (and in the 70's airfare was a very, very big deal, and so was a wee tiny mite traveling across the universe on her own!) to make sure we saw one another and spent time together every year or so. They knew we needed one another and they supported us. I will always honour and be eternally grateful to them for that. I went to England, she, my Andy came to Canada. And then they moved, finally and for good, to England when we were both 16. Neither one of us has ever really fully recovered from that ultimate separation.

We've gone on, had lives (big full and busy) but being apart has always gutted us. And yet, in our amazing relationship, we've kept up an extraordinary and very unique correspondence and connection. In cyberspace now we meet every few days. Before that, we spent a few weeks or a month filling up a school-book of lined paper with daily journals which we sent to one another. For years! We have literally thought of each other almost every single day of our lives since we've known one another. She's my sister. What else can I say?

I visited my 'sister' Andy, in England, when I was 7 - thanks to both our parent's scrimping and saving as aforementioned..... sent to spend a glorious few summer weeks with my friend who had moved back to the UK. And I still remember walking the sea wall with her grandparents. I still remember that house in Colchester, remember playing in the fields and the smell of burnt hay as the fields were turned over, burned and prepared for the next season's crop. A smell which evokes those summer days and probably will for the rest of my life....( Kate Bush sings evocatively of this fragrance and feeling in one of her songs.... "The smell of burning fields, will now mean you and here"....) I remember the both of us tramping through the long dry grasses, taking our tops off and laying bare (and very flat) chested on top of the gargantuan hay bales, soaking up the sun, to suddenly notice some boys coming our way and we scrambled to find our shirts which we lost in the hay. We found them JUST in time! I remember choking with laughter and spewing muesli all over the table out of my full mouth, triggered by something silly and probably unremarkable to an adult, as the three of us, me, Andy and her little brother dissolved in fits of giggles over nothing as only little children can do; we scrambled to clean up the mess before A's parents came in from the garden and managed to do it just in time but erupted in hysterical gales of laughter anyway when they came back into the house. "What's going on here?" The smiling inquiry was met with the typical "Oh nothing" reply which only made us laugh the more (try not-laughing when you've just spewed muesli all over the dining room table and you dont want the adults to know). It all underscores the fact that children have their own world and will always know when an an adult cant possibly understand. We took riding lessons and my love of horses was confirmed. Little Mikey impressed me by holding bumble bees in his bare hands, gentle things, and I still remember seeing my first Ghost in that house too... but that's another story for another blog.

So....back and forth we went and finally at 16 she moves to England, I get on with my own horrible and lamentable adolescence ( they are all horrible arent they? Its a rotten time of life. Adolescence and adolescents, just nasty, all of it.) Meanwhile....Years go by. She got married and had a beautiful baby girl named Emma, got divorced (no fault of hers), and I went through a few relationships, a couple of miscarriages, a marriage -which much later failed- and finally, finally, we met again when Emma was about to have a milestone moment... ten years later.....I made another big leap across the pond to England.

The transition from baby to 'little girl' at the age of 'about-to-turn-three' is very special and hugely important. I hadnt seen Andreya in 10 years. I brought a quilt with me that I had designed and made for her daughter. It was quite stunning .... and I worked on it for many months with so much love and care. It had the phases of the moon appliqueèd (wrong accent but I cant figure out the right one) in a circle around the centre. Then in the next layer outwards, it had horses and flowers appliqeèd too. And stars quilted all over. Lots of pink! Once I get a handle on how to work my scanner I'll post a picture of it. It was all hand stitched. All of it. And it is still, apparently, to this day, very beautiful and in good condition. Almost 17 years later. I made it for my little Em who was so, so very wee at the time. Three years old. Now she's a new mama.....

So for her 3rd birthday, we, Andreya and I, made Em a Lion cake (she, Miss wee Emma, being a fairly large Leo for such a small person, and she still is). We put lots of Smarties on it and I, wanting to get her some pink flowers to wake up to and to decorate her birthday table (Em was then and still is mad about pink!) went for a short walk to look for some. Shops were flowerless . On my way back, leaned over a small wall and grabbed a few pink fleurs from a nearby scraggly yard when no one was looking... (Very bad behaviour, just plain very very bad.) But I thought, 'Just one or two blossoms that no one will miss'......As it happened, they ALL came up with the roots and to my horror, as I looked about to see if anyone had seen my theft, I realized that I had taken them from the local church yard! So Em had stolen pink church flowers, many presents wrapped in pink, and her Lion cake too. Yegads.

Andy and I were both raised Catholic, but with a twist (or an open mind) and neither one of us took to the religion fully. Our parents were products of the 60's. Mine were health yoga freaks, steeped in the nouveau-psychotherapy of the times and natural medicine. Hers were more traditional yet open minded and both of our parents raised us to be likewise.

We are both Pagans at heart and heathens, and witches, in our own way. I wasnt there for Emmy's Christening, so Andy and I contracted together and agreed to a pact. A commitment of the heart. I was to be Emma's 'Goddess Mother' and although there is nothing on paper, that agreement is carved into my Soul as no other. Stronger than any commitment I've ever made. Or will ever make. Stronger than a Marriage vow. I've watched her go from stroppy child to precocious preteen, to monster teen in no time flat. To fully-fledged blossoming wise-woman and now a brand new mother, with, suddenly, all her ducks in a row and a mind which manifests organization and getting things done that leave me and her mother in open-mouthed awe. So much happens in nearly two decades its hard to fathom it all. Who is that poised, compassionate, considerate, creative, confident, intelligent and compelling woman and what has she done with the adolescent brat?!

Lola May is here and she's utterly beautiful.

I feel very very humble. I am leaving the maiden, mother phase and entering the crone era of my life.

I am a great Goddess-mother.

I'm so grateful for the health of my girls, and for the brave birthing journey they have traveled with such strength and Grace. And for the support they have received from everyone. Em's partner did her proud. He's a good young man and he did beautifully, did everything right. And their love is a shining, glorious thing, a beautiful and real gem. Andreya was with them and helped Lola be born. She tells me that Emma didnt cry, she didnt scream. Not once over 30 some hours. She was focused and present and POWERFUL in her birthing process and I am so very very bloody proud of her!

Huh. My Bella, my bestest friend is a granny! Wow.

!

Thank you Goddess/ God/ Great Creator for all the gifts we have and for this new Soul who is so very much loved!

Now What?

2008-05-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking of the recent horrific tragedy in Burma.

It is terrible. I feel helpless. I feel gutted......Not since the Tsunami have I felt so strongly that my heart has been wrenched and battered by the loss of human life...... Not since then have I felt so useless to make a difference . I dont know what to do. So typically, I turn inward and reflective (otherwise known as self absorbed)....

I'm sitting in my little office with the huge long window, as the sun dips below the trees and the shadows get long, while a few children play below in the yard of my downstairs neighbour who is hosting a pot luck dinner. I'm invited. I'm not going though because I am so 'peopled out' by my own job. I love my neighbour. I've known her since I began visiting the Island, before I moved here, and she is the closest friend I have here. Raised in Toronto, from Jamaica originally, she gives me the ethnic juice I need and miss, which is so lacking in this 'white-bread' place.....We have a lot in common. She is lovely and wonderful with an enchanting daughter, whom I love to pieces and would lay my life down for, and who is about to have her 9th birthday. She understands that there is enough on my plate, and doesnt begrudge me that I dont want to spend time with anyone but my own space right now - my time is precious, and B and my animals (all 8 of them... 4 dogs and 4 cats) have been feeling the lack of my attention. I'VE been feeling the lack of my attention . But its nice to hear music and the laughter of children near by. I can live that vicariously for the moment even, and especially, if that moment is in the background. And that's where it needs to be. So I can be glad of a gentle space in which I can rest without any agenda other than writing, and later, maybe flopping out on the couch in front of the tv, or just going, dead tired, to bed. I've been so exhausted lately that I just fall down and sleep like a stone.

At my regular gig, at the 'Home Hardware' store, which is actually a one hundred year old, real and actual old fashioned general store, like in the old days and quite famous for it (we sell everything, and I love it there) life is busy. I've gone from department to department, learning all the different things that make each department tick, ending up (returning to) the paint till for the last 8 months, where I am equipped to help and advise with paint and tiling questions. And whatnot. Having had some experience (huh!) in the last 20 years in commercial painting, tiling and whatnot, not to mention landscaping and horticulture, art conservation, art gallery curating, and custom framing; general construction, stained glass(for 20 years and teaching thereof as well as mosaics) and etcetera. We are all Jacks, or Jaqcuelines of all trades in the adventure of trying to make a living on tis Island. My story is hardly unique. .

At my regular job, I've done something a little bit daring, which is to take on , by choice and unasked for, the responsibility of sorting out 1/2 of the main floor, which includes camping, toys, laundry, storage, paint etc, etc., and now I'm building a crafts and art department. And that's a good thing! I have the support of my managers for it, and they've been really great. Somehow, I got fed up with standing around with my thumb up my arse and decided to DO something, so I just took charge and claimed the space. My managers have been lovely, really supportive. I'm grateful to them for that. They are awesome people.

I make lists of what sells and what doesnt, what we need and what should go in the garbage. I tell them what people are asking for and what we should offer. They seem to appreciate that. I've put a lot into it and its drained me. Its taken the guts out of me..... Because I've given more than I've got back; the pay is shite. Really shamefully SHITE. The benefits are pretty good but benefits dont pay the mortgage, you know?

I do all the window displays, with furniture or whatever is being featured, and turn them into big fantasy stage sets. Currently we have 'dinner in the gazebo' with a wicker wonderland table setting, and mosquito nets, about six of them draping down elegantly, with green jungle foliage strategically placed; green and black patio table ware, delicious and utterly bohemian black and gold elephant candle sticks with lime green candles. Floral Spring things with a splash of daring red. Very yummy. Its a part of the job that I like a lot. The drama queen in me gets free rein. But it hardly pays.

I deserve more.

I DESERVE MORE !!!

Yes I do.

Last Christmas I/ we won the 'most creative window' display. It was a bathroom display..... a collaborative effort in truth, and my managers and I had a lot of fun with it. It must be said that I was merely the 'cake decorator'. But I put a bit into the general concept which the three of us concocted. ( Did I mention this already?) We had a small tree and the usual Christmas decorations and green and red going on. I sculpted a Santa head and feet with plasticine... we put a beard and hat on him, and spectacles, filled the bathtub in which he was lounging after his long Christmas working night with big bubble wrap to indicate bubbles, flung the Santa suit and boots on the floor (and left the toilet seat up!) whilst a martini glass rested, dangerously tilted, in his hands. ..... and got a picture of the display (and me, I was horrified to have to pose) in the local paper.

The nose was beautiful... Just a tiny bit Cherubic and yet Patrician at the same time. Almost Aquiline, but friendly enough to be, well.... friendly. Like you'd assume Santa's nose would be! And the feet were life like, and the toes peeked out endearingly through the 'bubbles of the bath' complete with toe nails carves into the plasticine....It was great for a number of weeks.....until the plasticine dried out and the toes began to fall apart and Santa, it must be said, developed a serious case of leprosy!

Huh.

Meanwhile, back to the here and now, after the long slog: Rest. This is much needed. Its been a long haul. I've been pushing too hard for a long time and have been very ill quite a lot of the past winter as a result of my pushing. I had to go to the hospital at one point for oxygen and an anti-inflammatory/ bronchial dilator/ inhalation. (Two rounds of antibiotics which I dont believe in and loathe. and seriously dont recommend.) It was scary. I couldn't breathe. My lungs went into spasm. Yuk. I thought I was going to die. I'm still coughing.

The dreaded flu which goes and comes back, to go and come back again, and yet again... According to the local Hospital, it's been the worst out-break in 9 years. I think I got every bug in triplicate that was going around.

Not good.

Partly, it has transpired, the deviated septum and past multiple breaks in my nose: Horse back riding... jumps refused, nose meets neck of horse... volley ball meets face, Brick wall meets face, dog doesnt want her claws cut today and throws back her bony head into my schnoggin, I.e Dog head meets face.....etc. might be contributing to the sinus issue, because they arent draining properly. It turns out, after having an ex-ray, that apparently I have some weirdness happening and I have an appointment with an ear nose and throat specialist the first week of June. If I get a 'Hollywood nose' out of the situation.... I wont be sorry:)

I have some time off right now, a week, during which I am doing a small but plumb job of faux finish painting for some long standing and special clients.

A 'working holiday' which could suck, but its actually fun, creative and satisfying and wont take up all of my time off and is a good thing in terms of income when retail drudgery becomes a hopelessness in the face of relentlessness. ( It wont sustain you no matter how much you give.... I tell you three times)

I'll have some time to focus on the things that have been allowed to slide badly, like everything single thing in the house, and some garden time too. I've started my first seeds but have a load still to plant.

Stained glass is leaving me cold and I am itching to get back to my first love which as you know is painting. The studio and I are making friends very slowly.... all things come in their own good time.

B and I are doing well with a few hiccups along the way and a few stark realities that need to be addressed. Its called growing up, I think. We were planning to get married this summer, but I panicked, realizing that I want a number of things to be sorted before I take that plunge again. I dont want to make the same mistakes I made last time.... and have to look at what I perpetuate in terms of negative patterns. ( I waffle. One day I think marriage is a good idea, the next day I think, "I've been there and done that, why do it again? It isnt like we are going to have children'.... ) And then I think of my own reticence when it comes to commitment and intimacy. My walls are big, my attachment to distractions take away from being HERE NOW ...and feel that I need to move through that barrier...... Some days it looks like it should become one thing, and other days it looks like something else. Its all about the process of becoming, isnt it? Becoming a grounded and balanced adult human being. Gods that sounds so serious! And it is such hard work. Cant I just coast along, please and not look at the big stuff?! Cant I go along with your idea and and rely on you to 'take care of things'? Puh-leeze? YOU do it! For me.. OKay ?

Huh. NO .

OBVIOUSLY NOT. ( Grow UP Christie). We have to work at it. (Ugh, work yeughch!) The stuff of life that determines direction, and ultimately, outcome?! We have to make it happen. That requires work. PUTTING OUR SHOULDERS TO THE WHEEL AND FIGURING OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A HUMAN BEING WITH GOALS.....Ugh! YUK. It sounds so disciplined, so European, so militant.... I'm not ready to be a formal and dogmatic adult. With rules and a regimental schedule for life.... (Gag me! ...find me a bridge to leap off of!)

I'm so immature.

Anyway....Next summer is soon enough to be all grown up. I want the foundation we lay to be very solid and clean. Not that things havent been solid ( everyone has their ups and downs and we've had some life-in-general factors which have come at us fast and hard the last few years) , but I want us to be more organized as a couple... be more of a couple which is something I've never learned. I've never had a joint bank account with a partner, for example, or had a house-hold budget or a plan for savings. These are things that need to happen so we can be more of a team and I know we will manage to learn them. I have a lot of faith in us, and so does B. I'm lucky. We are lucky. It isnt everyone who gets a second chance at a genuine and deep love. Twice in a lifetime. I've got that and I feel very blessed. B is a good man. He's amazing. We are both lucky to have one another. And we both know it.

I am/ we are busy with the process of becoming. Trying to be more conscious of the process.

Knowing that is enough.

A call for Solace, and Support...

2008-04-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

My Friend has lost a loved one. I know what that feels like. We all do. It hurts like hell. It hurts like fucking hell. I'm asking for all of you to send loving thoughts of Solace to HM, who has lost a family member this week.

Not a single one of us is an Island. We need each other to get through this journey of life. ...

Please send her thoughts of comfort and solace through the ethers.

We all need each other's support....

Cat Bandits....

2008-03-28T21:30:00.000-07:00

For some time now, a couple of years easily, since Dolly was put on a diet, we have suspected that she has an alternate source of food.

Ollie is what she was originally named, (horrid), which morphed into Dolly, or otherwise known as 'Mau-mau'. She's a Black cat, with an auburn sheen that comes out in the sun like oil on mahogany; very beautiful with a short but very thick, shiny coat. She comes from, as do the kittens, a semi-feral cat colony. There are quite a few on the Island, and if the babies are captured early enough, they can become domesticated but they always retain their wild heritage in one way or another.... She's sexy and Rubinesque. Tough and very independent. In our family she's an alpha-girl, but savvy with her skills of diplomacy. She has a full house of four-legged and two-legged people to manage and does so with both a steely glance and a light touch. I could learn from her. And I do.

Dogs will love you no matter what. Having the love of any animal is an honour. It is a lifetime responsibility when one has an animal as a family member. Having the love of a cat who stays with you even though it has a cat door and can roam unhindered through the local world, is a gift above honour. They come back by choice. Cats CHOOSE to stay with humans. They dont have to. I often feel that humans adopt dogs but cats adopt humans...And we love our cats and dogs and spoil all of them shamelessly. Count 'em. Every one of our cats has a dawg... :) 1 each. times 4. That makes 8 four legged beasties. Yes we are a bit nuts, but that's ok.

Crazy is good.

Our animal meals, which consist of all kinds of good things such as - for the cats : wet cat food, and natural kibble- and for all the beasties: sardines, eggs with rice, my own home-made version of 'haggis' consisting of oatmeal, home made stock made from veggies, lamb and beef bones and a lot of time; some form of protein like canned salmon, ground beef or trout; veggies, seaweed, and whatever strikes my fancy to supplement their wet food and high-end kibble (which is paupering us, but we do love our beasties so sacrifices are made without much complaint). These are given out in exact measurements. Their nourishment and care are a source of pride for me ( pride goeth before a fall ).

I cant give the dogs the exercise they used to get because of my working hours (but they are middle aged now, being 8, 9, 9 and 10 going on 11, so they require less of a physical commitment and I go overboard in compensation with providing them what I can give....) They do get to the beach at least once a week during spring, summer and early Fall months, to swim and play, and several visits to the local ravine a week... mostly. The gentle paramble around the neighbourhood happens now and then, but they have their dog run out back which is a fenced in area approximately 75 feet per side. Frankly they use it as a toilet primarily, play pen only occasionally, as (duh) there arent any couches out there!

Anyway, back to the point, Dolly gets the same lovely food as all the others, only LESS . Because she's.... round. Rotund.

We have suspected that SOMEONE, due to her unaltered girth (which isnt dangerous but is ...'Zaftig') in the neighbourhood has been feeding her. Because she's a generously gifted thing. Stout. I call her plush. Her fur IS plush. Still, I thought it doubtful, due to her mistrust of strangers...And yet, sometimes, the odd occasion, she doesnt come home for dinner and stays out all night. The slut. First time it happened I 'grounded' her for a month, blocking the cat door at night. What would you have done?! It worked for about 6 months. She didnt play truant and came home at meal times like a good Catholic girl......

Huh.

Time went on and she became lazy with the rules, and the times she was absent, gone for hours past her meal time,always arriving late and then announcing her arrival as though she were the Queen, deigning to grace us with her Presence - and demanding a meal AT ONCE- I was grateful she came home. At all. Fat cats DONT miss their food opportunities, as we will soon reveal...

When she was playing truant, I walked the curbs and looked for her dead body, convinced she'd been struck and murdered by a car. Weeping, with a Miner's skull-beam flashlight on my head, I searched the shoulders and ditches, desperate to find her, dead or alive. Those of you who read my old blog under Chupaflor will recall my anxiety, and my ire (highly amusing no doubt in it's hindsight's telling) when she nonchalantly blasted through the cat door on the morning after ( or afternoon, I cant remember, little rat) and yowled for her missed dinner. As though it were MY fault she'd missed a gourmet home-made meal. Manipulative sow.

We got a call the other day from a distant neighbour who said our cat's collar had been found on his land. Kind of him to call. My heart stopped cold. Last time that happened the workers who found the collar of my cat, Tigger ( this was many years ago in Ontario, still married to my ex) were very gentle when they told him Tigger was dead. I was in England at the time and when I called home from a phone box to check-in, I collapsed on the ground when I heard the news and wept uncontrollably for two days.

I love my beasties too much. They are the only children I will ever have. When B told me our distant neighbour had called to tell us that Dolly's collar was at his house, I was sucker-punched, gobsmacked, thrown sideways and numb with sickness- at -heart, blood running cold....

But then I realized she was sleeping peacefully on the bed. On my Pillow.... Naturally.

Before work that day I went to the address, about 1/2 a kilometer away, and discovered that the land belonged to a regular customer and business acquaintance of mine. Apparently, Dolly has become known and has earned herself a reputation as a local pariah. She who is the affectionate and schmoozing cat, who comes home yowling loudly in welcome when she hears my car pull into the driveway and stretches out in my arms with a big purr-fest... She who yammers loudly at me when I go for a walk, scolding me when I leave the land. Like mother, like daughter-cat, she's a control freak... As for two leggeds, she's loving to me and pretty-much no one else including B, who was her first human, and who adopted her and is continuously choked that she has chosen me as her 'primary' human. She's fearless, fierce, a smoosh-ball of cudddles - for me- and loves her dogs with a possessive passion; especially William who she grew up with.

Little rat-bag has been roaming to other regions. Going over the 'big' road, and what's worse, Basil, my baby Baz, being lead down the 'garden path' by her Royal Terribleness, has learned to follow in her footsteps. Whether she actively solicited him is in doubt but clearly he followed her and a feline and unknowable to two-leggeds deal was struck. She showed him the ropes. It transpires that they have become a TEAM, and terrorize the cats from our, and neighbouring communities.

My Cat babies are terrorists.

It isnt funny. Dont laugh. Stop it! IT ISNT FUNNY! Okay, its a tiny wee bitty little bit funny. Well.... Hilarious, almost, if it isnt happening in your own house, and if you dont have to face angry neighbours. (We are a mad and dysfunctional family. Not unlike everyone else.....Although we have more feet than most. We endeavor to put the fun back into dysfunctional.....)

Lately, I've been noticing - strangely enough- that the incidence of cat-fight noises has been totally absent from our neck-of-the-woods since the kittens arrived, last May/June. In the past, a few summers ago, I remember Dolly running down the stairs of the front deck, to confront a stranger-cat. She was a scary thing. Literally a hell-cat. She on hind legs, arms waving wildly in the air, shrieking in that unholy other-wordly way that only irate (or amorous) cats can.... like a Ban-shee from some horror movie. (Yegads, I'D run from her right quick if I didnt know her! She's gorgeous but terrifying!)

What I realized this week is that the truth is that Dolly has seduced my baby Baz into a life of crime. He's not barely a year old! She's taught him street fighting. Taught him to be a con-artist and a bully. It seems it isnt enough to subdue and dominate the local cat population (who dont dare approach or encroach on our land anymore, hence the 'quiet' and lack of cat noises) . No, not good enough, they need to go to the NEXT neighbourhood, expanding their territory (across the 'big road').

Across the Very. Big. Road.

Shitfuckpissdamngoddamsonofabitch.

Meanwhile, poor neighbouring cats. My neighbour H said, when I arrived on his doorstep to get my rotten and criminally delinquent cat's collar, "Now that I know it's you who owns these cats, I feel a little bit better" whatever that means. Maybe it means he wont shoot them because he knows me, for they, according to him and I dont doubt him for a minnit, BEAT UP HIS CATS AND STEAL THEIR FOOD.

My children are criminals. Bandits. Hooligans!

Shit.

Bonnie and Clyde. I have bully cats. They are the local Feline Mafia!

(STOP LAUGHING!)

I cover my head in ashes of shame. I was so embarrassed when I went to retrieve her collar (one of many she's 'lost' and ironically the only one with her SPCA tag.)

IN other news: It is snowing. An unlikely and unseasonal dump of the wet and slushy stuff which threatens to freeze over-night, rendering the roads treacherous. I've got the wood-stove cranked and all the beasties are within. The terrible and unlikely twosome included. Monsters. The local and not-so-local cats and their dinners are, for tonight, at least, safe from marauding, voracious and unreasonably territorial cats who should know better and just stay home and sleep on the couch where it is warm, dry and I AM HERE to love them. Dont you think that should be enough for them?

You know, learning that one isnt enough for one's children, two or four footed, always sucks.

Cats will eat your face off if you die. Its true. They will eat your body whilst dogs will starve themselves (almost) before they desecrate your corpse. I love them. But Gods save me from dying alone in a house full of them. They are incorrigible. And a mystery. And really, my first love of animals. I will never be without them.

Hopefully if I die alone the neighbours will offer a more interesting menu.

I am only a human with a small scope of senses, limited in my understanding of almost everything in this world, and therefore good at having opinions and not-so-good at actually having real and genuine perception.

But I am grateful beyond words to have four-footed love, companionship and wisdom in my life. Thank you Goddess for giving me so much ( so very needed) unconditional love and relationship with the four-footed people and teaching me to be a student of them, and a friend to them.

They are the greatest teachers because they do not lie.

They might steal, drive you mad with worry, beat up and terrorize the neighbours ... and they might eat your face off if you unfortunately die alone, but they do not lie.

And that's something.

That's why I'll take on board, with big open arms, a four legged bandit over a two legged so- called person anytime.

Bird. xoxoxoxo

Control Freakism....

2008-03-07T18:48:00.000-08:00

Hello delurkers, fellow blogsters, Dears and all!

Its been a harried week. I take my piss-ant job too seriously. Probably because I believe that things will fall apart if I am not there to do EVERYTHING by myself, MY way (the right way). I worry about not being able to leave the place in tip-top shape for the weekend shift, and leaving them with a mess, which inevitably I will have to address when I get back to work. I worry that ....oh hell, I worry about silly things for a job which I love but which keeps me in the poor house.

I need a flipping vacation. That's what I need. BIG time. One that requires an airplane to convey me, transport me far away to somewhere ELSE. Somewhere warm, with sand, balmy breezes and palm trees. With nothing at all happening. No agenda, no time-lines, deadlines, places to be or things to see. No intrepid excursions shared with other intrepid adventurers in overly stuffed-full and smelly buses. It would be okay if it included or comprised entirely, and preferably of all of the local colour, I. E: REAL people , with real places to go, with real lives in the here and now who could tell you a real story or two, and invite you to a real place to hang out..... not that tourists dont have real lives. I are one of them , frankly, and I think and hope that I'm real most of the time, but I really loathe the 'Us and Them' thing that happens when one travels to other countries. I dont want it. It stinks.

So, other than making a kind of gentle and budding friendship with our regular driver (who was utterly beautiful with green eyes and skin the colour of rich molasses) who took us - whole famdamily - to 'see the sights etc., and being invited to dinner with his family at his shanty-town home (a HUGE honour) which I have experienced on St. Lucia, and which is something I will never forget, I dont want to engage with anyone. I dont want to see the sights, either famous or historical . NO group events. Maybe yoga in the morning on the beach, I could deal with that.... Kissing the sunrise hello with out-stretched arms. Toes digging in, to be cocooned in still cool sands, sounds of surf gently doing the ebb-and-flow dance with counterpoint of land silently just BEING. Breathing. Matter meeting matter. Breath meeting breath.

ONLY if I felt like it, however, if I didnt, and that would be okay in such a decadent holiday way, just sleeping in until noon would be the thing. The very thing. Freshly squeezed orange juice on a tray waiting for me. Smell of coffee brewing, triggering my reluctant departure from the dreamlands. Room service. No lists. Nothing to do but just Be. Here. Now.

Except horse-back riding. I'd schedule that into my day. With pleasure. THAT I could deal with. I'll give my parents credit there. Whenever they booked holidays they always made sure we went somewhere where there were horses. There were horses when I visited the Dominican Republic a good 20 years ago with my mother. We rode every single afternoon. Just when the daily thunderstorm was about to break. The horses went wild and we'd gallop home. One time, one of the of the tourists freaked out, on a day when I was given one of the Horse Master's own horses to ride. A very HUGE gift, since his own horses werent part of the tourist 'string' and they were, in fact, his babies. He was a real horseman from South America, Argentina or Chile, I forget which, but he was a life-long horseman and loved his animals. A true rider. He urged me to race ahead and stop the horse that had bolted with the screaming tourist on board (who only made the poor beast more frightened... silly woman) I managed to catch up, grab her reins and stop the panicked horse.

Never you mind about all that adventure stuff. The athletic exertion. I'm TIRED, okay, and have no words or energy left in me to do anything. I'm peopled-out. They say a change is as good as a rest.... Picture this: Here's the white woman who has nothing to say and is a lazy self interested, disconnected typical tourist, navel gazing, watching the waves roll gently, in and out, sitting on her towel at the beach, not talking to anyone. A snob, very likely. Ignoring other people and seriously discouraging conversation by her look' if anyone makes the mistake of getting too close. Except for the beach bar-tender . Yay, I'll embrace that! That slogging through the jungle stuff or climbing mountains, or racing down white water rivers, bonding with strangers who need to connect with nature to feel alive because their lives are as exhausting as mine; no. No, I just want a quiet beach and a book or ten, and a few drinks to pass the day....

Have I mentioned that my mother has control issues? Huh, apple falling not far from tree comes to mind.

If wishes were horses...

Actually, if wishes were horses, I'd be in my happiest element!

Happy Birthday to all of you birthday boys and girls today. Hope all you are doing well, or at least ok.

I'll make sole for dinner, with rice and asparagus. Simple. And then I'm taking the night off and am just going to relax with a few loads of laundry that need folding, and sweet domesticity whilst B does dishes.

Been a long time,Been a long Time, Been a long Lonely, Lonely, Loney.....

2008-03-03T20:03:00.002-08:00

...Lonely Time...

This blog is not for the faint of heart or for those who have no time on their hands.... Just so's ye know...

So. Long time no speak, which has become a Plus ca change, plus c'ect le meme chose moment. I've kept a lot in, so I have a lot to say now..... Brace yourselves, this post may take some time to read.... Pour yourself a glass of vinto tinto, or tea, or whatever your pleasure requires. Settle in and prepare yourselves for a long read. Or change the channel right now......

Here's me in this moment, no holds barred:

Lately I've become shy. Partly due to a recent flirt with Facebook in which many of my classmates from high school seem to have converged, rendering me bemused, and a bit horrified. I never wanted to do Facebook but was invited, and now that I've joined, I feel chagrin and regret, a bit of a happy "well met old friend', but also a weird sense of 'Yo, Toto, I dont think we're in Kansas anymore..."

I hated high school. I just plain hated school. Period. I didn't hate my classmates, necessarily, but I hated how they saw me, and I knew how they saw me because of how they treated me ( I hated me then, loathed the me they thought they saw which I believed....which is the salient point, isnt it?) and I feel suddenly put in a box I thought I was out of for the last 20 something (who's counting?!) years. It feels weird, and I am not sure I like it.

How strange is it that I feel more authentic and more genuinely 'safe' with my blog and fellow blogsters on this space?!

Think about this: I've known these people since long before high school, you should know, some of them since third grade, where we studied, among other incongruous things like knitting, J.R.R Tolkien's "The Hobbit". LITERATURE! Which is what sparked in me my life-long love of Fantasy, sci-fi, and the place where myth meets consensus reality; where we shape our reality by what we believe, where the possible meets the impossible, and where alternate realities simply wait a 'hello' to become as real as the so-called here-and-now. ....which as we all know is a very flexible membrane.

Suffice it to say that at the age of eight when I began to read Joan Grant's 'Far memory" books, I was set on my path as a quester. Seeing colours around people was simply part of the usual day (didnt every one see that?). 'Remembering' past lives, or 'dreams about other people' in those strange cultures which a child of that age couldnt possibly know about, was 'normal' to me....Reading about others who understood made me feel like I wasnt absolutely and utterly beyond hope, made me feel like I wasnt a complete freak and strange.

In French, the word strange "Etranger" means stranger. That is how I felt. Always. Still do most of the time....

Its not all bad. But often I felt like the class scape-goat . We sang songs sometimes...a song about a fox and the light of the moon. The last line being 'and the little ones chewed on the bones-oh, bones-oh, bones-oh...' Everyone pointed at me and laughed as they chanted "Bones-Oh" and I laid my head on my desk, buried in my arms, and cried. I was skinny. Very small and thin. This was apparently a source of of humor and a chance to taunt someone smaller and therefore not invited to be part of the collective mob. So I guess I was "bones-oh".... Children can be so cruel. These are things one doesnt forget. Especially, that the teacher did nothing to stop it. I learned that I had no defender. That the small ones were meant to be picked on. It was a long road until I got strong.... I went to a school where adult domination of small children was the norm and child-mob domination of the sensitive and small was not considered something to address. But rather something to observe with amusement.

Can I just say 'yuk' please, and that that is NOT okay!?

What doesnt kill you will make you strong. I'm strong now. I AM STRONG NOW. These things made me a person who defends the weak and fragile, who champions the under-privileged, and the downtrodden, who doesnt forgive bigotry, who has no room for intolerance, and for that I am thankful. I'm strong now, and if I see someone making a small person into a scapegoat, I'll rip their bloody face off, let me tell you!

There are other memories. The good memories with that childhood crowd include climbing up the very tallest, and most impressive of trees in the forest that surrounded our school with one of my favorite people on this earth (then and to this very day, 30 something years later) and reciting Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar' from beginning to end. This was grade six, when we were still small enough, and intrepid enough, and felt immortal enough to climb the tallest cedar in the forest. I prided myself, being the 'bones-oh' little person that I was, to be able to climb to the highest tippy-top of the biggest tree - easily 150 feet high - and put my small hand above the top most branch, as though I had bested the tree, my classmates, and the challenges of Life itself, all in one effortless and graceful moment. I was finally better at something than anyone. I was finally good at something. The tree was my friend. I was one with Nature and could do this. I was 'different' and I was welcomed by the forces of the Forest with whom I could communicate. I knew this. And it gave me strength.

Meanwhile, on that special day, that Shakespeare-in-the-tree-day, a wind storm raged and we, Lisa and I, were tossed back and forth, to and fro like a ship on the high seas. You would have cringed to see two little girls up in the very top of the highest branches on this tree in this fierce and deadly wind. What did we know of danger? All we knew was that we were happily hidden from the powers that be, playing truant where NO one could or would ever find us, and that the tree was our friend...

Our big tree was rooted at the edge of a ravine. Right on the precipice. So that when the wind blew and we sailed from east to west, on the one side we had our 'normal world' of school, and the delight of being 'out of bounds', whilst still feeling relatively safe in being able to see the school and its lands and all that was familiar. It was a thrill that no one could see us, but as the wind blew the tree over the ravine, all became strange. All became unfamiliar and exciting and dangerous. We were suddenly leaning over a drop that was twice as far as the height of the tree when it swung to the other side. It was like black and white. The familiar and the strange. The safe and the dangerous. And all the while we recited Julius Caesar.

We felt alive. The tree-top must have swung thirty feet, back and forth, from one gust to another, bending gracefully, but FAST; bowing to the pressure and swinging back, as only a cedar can do, east to west, wind blowing like stink, and we sailing on her boughs, oblivious to any danger and utterly delighted, enchanted, thrilled even, to realize that we are riding wild wind horses; we are pirates on the high seas; we are riding Gandalf's horse, Shadowfax, lent to us by his grace because we are 'special' and our need for him has brought him to us, and granted us this gift; we are being taken by Poseidon's very own mermaids into the storm; We are riding on the back of the North Wind, being offered views and visions that no one else can see; we are pounding the sand of the Sahara with our camels, miles upon waves upon endless waves of dunes before us; we have been invited by Pegasus himself to join with his herd, to be FRIENDS with mythical beings, and FLY above the clouds... tomorrow we will each wake with a feather from that herd of hypogryphs, those magical beings , those who might even be Gryphons!

Can you imagine! ? Can you even imagine? Can you believe what we had, what we felt, what we were given, what we knew?

It was magick on that day.

I thought about it. A feather. A small thing. I imagined us discovering them , one each, silver grey with a sheen that was almost phosphorescent, that cast a glow even when the lights were out, we'd look at them in the dark when we were supposed to be going to sleep, each in our own homes, our own bedrooms, knowing that we were both thinking the same thing,imagining the same thing....and those feathers, those magical feathers would be casting such a strange light in our respective rooms that we couldnt possibly , could not at all possibly sleep, not at all... because something very special was going to happen as a result of those feathers (if only in our dreams)

These singular feathers which only we had......... we'd discover them under our pillows. Something to remind us of what happened, like a gift from the tooth faerie which no one really believes in, anyway, I mean seriously, nobody does, but this was different. Something real. Something magically manifested to mark our special communion with the worlds 'between' ; the place that 'normal' people could never go. Because they werent invited. Because, most significantly, and crucially, and here's the really important thing: because they didnt BELIEVE.... They didnt believe. That's WHY they werent invited....Unlike like us, of course..... Because we did. Because we really, and really and truly DID.

We were fearless, high spirited, and fierce wee Sweet little girls, exultant and triumphant, vulnerable, susceptible, and tough as nails, ....Kicking hard ( with hobnailed boots) at the the shins of life and the stories that didnt suit us, and sponging up all that did. We wore little china doll shoes and proudly jumped in puddles so often that our shoes became universally (in our universe) known as 'puddle jumpers'. We were the hot shit, I tell you. In those moments we made history (if only for ourselves) and we were immortal. We were cool. And we were invited to special places , if only in our own world, that no one else could venture to. Because we were invited. Because we loved enough, we believed enough, we trusted enough, that there was more to to the world that the naked eye can see.... and we 'Saw' plenty....

Through the windstorm, back and forth as we sailed on our imaginary dreams, we recited Shakespeare, from beginning to end, without one single mistake, ALL the parts, and Julius Caesar said, "Et tu, Brutus!?"

We were 11 years old. 11 years old. So little.... And yet SO big. We were huge.

Some things you dont forget. Such as: The Ides of March are coming ( and they are) . That kind of memory is one of those things.

I went to a weird school. Weird and wonderful and terrible. Probably why I like the Harry Potter stories, why I read J.R.R. Tolkien again and again, and felt that I belonged in those worlds more that I did in my own 'real' life. Why I read C. S. Lewis. And was reminded that I was practically weaned on Heinlein. Those stories, and Narnia. Later, I learned to live in other worlds. The lands of Charles de Lint. And most importantly, even before I met Charles and his worlds, the Keltiad series, (which if you havent read and you have ANY leanings towards sensing that there is more 'out there' you MUST READ!!!) I tell you three times.

Keltia is a place I shall go to in my next life. I am determined about that.

Backtacking again to the age of 8, with 'Stranger in a Strange land', by Heinlein (one of my step-father's books, and an author who became a favorite), I was convinced that there was more to this life than met the eye. More to this Universe, in point of fact, and surely we werent 'alone' here....It wasnt until Shakespeare and I became a friends and I read that 'There is more in Heaven and Earth " etc Horatio, that I realized that there were more 'strangers', or 'Etrangers', on this journey that I thought.

I saw a funny cartoon many (many) years ago which said, "Forget the Ides of March, Beware the march if Ids!" At 16 I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. Funny enough that after 30 something years it still makes me chuckle. ( Almost 40 years now, but who's counting?!) Okay, both my parents are therapists. You do the math.

Changing the topic 180 degrees, I have a yam (which I have always though was a sweet potato, but apparently I am wrong) in the oven, roasting. Fibre. Beta Keratin. Vitamins and minerals, along with the cruciferous darling in the form of a green young organic broccoli, supplemented by one crowning glory of a broc, from my own garden which weathered storms, snow and wind this past winter to stand proud and be counted for tonight's supper (thank you garden); beets steamed to perfection and a side salad from the garden which has over-wintered with such an adamant determination that I honour them by writing about them today. My 'home-made' salad greens ROCK!

Meanwhile, I am out of cigarettes. You might scoff, ( oh yeah, you who live by the adage that "my body is a temple" cling to your perfection, you over-achieving, sodding, over-weaning health- hounds) but I am in the throes of withdrawal which aint pretty. Especially since I have done so well these last months. I'm down to between one and two packs a week. Here me now Gods, I thank you for your help, couldnt have done it without you, but some days we need to just let loose and be BAD. Tonight is one of those nights.

Drinking is also no longer a thing which I engage with on a regular basis. I'm getting too old for it and I dont like it anymore. At least not the way things were. I' m too European still to give it up entirely, however, things are changing. I am changing. Juicing every other day or so, eating only whole grains and multiplying my veg and fruit intake (hey the first 40 years are free and then you gotta work for it) . Am contemplating the correctness of eating mammals (I am still in that place which suggests that if you dont give them a name or make them a friend, it isnt murder. I mean seriously. Take Sir Loin par example. He thought he was a member of the family and was treated as such until he became dinner. I dont think that's fair......) I dont like that my neighbour is making more and more bunny hutches, playing with the rabbits and then selling them as meat. Draw a line. Either they are food or they are friends. Would you eat your cat? Would you make your dog a member of your family and then serve him up for dinner in a stew? Eeugh. No.

I'm a hypocrite, I know it. As far as I'm concerned, meat comes from the supermarket and is wrapped in plastic. Divorced from the process of life and death. I dont believe in hunting and yet I eat beef. I dont eat moose (which B has some cuts in the freezer of from a friend. Yuk! Bambie with a very big head, that's what that is. )

And yet still, on the other hand, conformed, or reformed vegetarian ( for nearly 15 years) that I am, I have been more recently, a punch drunk love-happy carnivore (even voracious. Give me a steak, the bloodier the better! Ugh! The Guilt, the guilt!). I am a hypocrite. And as much as I do not believe in hunting ( in my world, for others, the rule does not apply.... ) And yet, I like fishing. How schitzoid is that? Mostly I do catch and release, BUT, I do remember that we ate a Barracuda once which we caught as a family off the coast of Mexico. It was really good. And really very ugly. Ugh. Hunting.... I'm just one confused person full of contradictions. And hypocrisy. HOW can I have convictions of any kind when I contradict myself all the TIME!?

Give me strength.

So get this: I am eating PORK! I am a pig-eater. I HAVE BECOME A BACON FREAK, after 27 years of abstinence (truly) ... I feel like a priestess who has discovered the joys of the flesh. She abstained until she simply couldn't any longer deny her body's yearnings, and finally gave in to that heavenly and primal satisfaction, that God-given pleasure. Bacon. Yegads. I comfort myself with the rumour, which I am totally on board with, that Bacon isnt actually Pork OR even meat, but is, instead, a preservative, so it doesnt count. Huh. Except that today I bought ORGANIC bacon ( which could never be viewed as a preservative) so I have to get over my denial here. In a big way, since said bacon is slated for tomorrow's breakfast.

These are the things that have been on my mind the last few (many ) months since I havent written. Life just has so many issue it throws at one, and there is so much to deal with. Its a balancing act. Justifying ones convictions with one's actual practice in life. Par example: we all believe in recycling, but do we all recycle?! We all agree that fair trade is vitally important but do we all put that into practice when we buy our coffee beans?! We agree that plastic bags are the devil but do we remember to bring our fabric bags with us to the grocery st0re?! I punish myself by choosing to buy new fabric bags every time I forget to bring the ones I already have to the supermarket. I have about 57 of them kicking around my house. Will I ever get serious and disciplined about it? I try....

Something to think about and it matters to me. It matters to the world. It matters to me to be as minimally hypocritical as I am able to be. I know I am a BIG HUGE hypocrite in a lot of ways. I'm glad that at least I know it and that I dont pretend otherwise.

My car is 25 years old and I am desperately afraid to think about its carbon emissions..... Moreover I am desperately afraid that I cant afford to have the repairs done to it that it needs (its name is' The Shithawk', dont laugh, it is actually famous, I kid you not. I may live in a small community but my vehicle is a big fish in a small pond). It is otherwise known as 'the dog mobile'.... our 4 hounds (each of whom has a feline , and yes they all get along most lovingly) need the Shithawk to get to the local ravine for their runs.

The most recent vehicular crisis is that The SHithawk's muffler fell off, or at least disengaged with the undercarriage ( Dont ask me for details, okay?) It is now too loud for sensitive dog ears. What I know from cars is that it is the long peddle that makes it go and that's about it! We tied up the pipe, and muffler ... Oh, who am I kidding?! B got down onto the swampy ground and made a silk purse out of a sow's ear with my scant contribution, offered in the form of speaker wire, (redundant earphones which had lived in the back of the Shithawk for two years... hey-ho recycling!) which he used to attached the blah blah to the the blah blah blah. Cars are not my strong point. I may be of German descent, which makes me a good driver (despite the qualifications and yet the lack of paperwork to the contrary... this is strictly among friends and hugely confidential. You must swear on your mother's eyes to keep schtum!) Having stated all that, it still doesnt mean I understand (or care) how cars work. I dont, in point of fact. Suffice it to say, the muffler is being held on by virtue of a very precarious situation, defying the laws of physics - and my Life is all about that! - exemplifying the adage that the mother of invention is born out out of necessity. Speaker wire. Seriously. Dont laugh.

I cant afford a hybrid car. Who the hell do you think I am, Julia Roberts?! I cant even afford another OLD car. I love the Shithawk. Despite her flaws. Even though Teddy pulled all the inside door panels off in a fit of separation anxiety-induced pique, and she STINKS - poor thing, its not her fault - like the dogmobile she is. Point is I put the key in and she starts up. Pretty much always. Unless she's sick. That's something. So what if she's a rust-bucket about to be condemned by the very eco-saviour groups I am trying to emulate and join?! They are gonna get me and her one of these days, I know it. At the very least I can say that I am opting out off the consumer- driven mania of buying into commercialism and feeding new oil consumptive vehicles by driving a VINTAGE car. Its almost like recycling, isnt it?

Meanwhile, I do try hard, and I cant afford to do this stuff on a large scale, but I can do ''me wee little bit'. "Bones-oh". That's me. I guess. Little old me. Not so little anymore, decades later, but that's another rant for another day. I'm trying to do my little scrawny bit. If each of us does our little teeny tiny personal bit, it will make a MASSIVE AND HUGE DIFFERENCE. Think about that. ... Please, please, it might be a very small thing, but I want to try. I want you all to try to do one little teeny, tiny, eensy-weeny very little thing, every day . Dont use plastic bags. At least cut down on them.

Doing our best....That may be all I can do... I want to be authentic. I want to be honest with my mother, the Earth. I want to be respectful of the Goddess, Mother of all manifested Life. I want to be in alignment with the Creator who knows the ways of living that honor this planet......and the Universe...

All of this has been on my mind.... I want to do right by the World and by my community, by my man and my beasties, (count em, ) four leggeds in canine and feline form. Four of each. Is that crazy or what?! Full house. We all love each other and have no conflict, which is a lucky state of affairs and I count my fortuitous stars every day.

I want to do right by me, too. I want to start letting the me that wants to animate and direct my life have a voice.

Bringing things back to the here and right NOW....There has been a lot going on, as you now know. Besides the fact that I've been sick. Not deadly sick as in a life threatening thing, but sick for two whole months with a hideous winter lurgy which wouldnt go away. Lodged in the sinus, in the ears, in the throat and in the lungs, making me feel every heart-beat as though the congestion I felt was actually in every beating arterial pulse. Horrible. I was in hospital to get oxygen inhalations and bronchial dilators, anti-inflammatories, steroids and other horrible non-mentionables. Yuk. Two months. High fever, chills, joint pain. My hair bloody hurt and that is ridiculous. I thought I had SARS, bird flu or worse. Two rounds of antibiotics which I totally dont believe in, but which Dr. Wonderful assured me was necessary when things are dire, and he stressed that things were. Dire.

Now that you've been bored by the long drawn-out version, I'll give you the nut-shell:
Incommunicado due to illness, (utterly rancid, horrible and depressing). Better now. Things are looking UP! Studio is clean and waiting for me. Am thinking of paintings to work on (dreaming of painting which I think is a good sign) sculptures to create (mosaic with mirror... figurative work which reflects the environment. Feels very very exciting!) and theories to explore. Glad to be among the living again. Hope all you out there are well. Thanks for dropping by. And I mean that. Hope the long drawn out blah blah blah didnt bore you utterly and completely to tears.

Good news is that kittens, Basil and Jasmin, otherwise known as Baz and Jaz, not quite one year old, are screamingly hilarious, healthy and very smart. Though they came from a wild (feral ) colony, they are very very tame with B and me, but no one (of two legged persuasion) else. Dogs are cool , and so are their other feline housemates. They think that climbing curtains, finally, is what babies do, and therefore restrain themselves most of the time, thank all stars; and they have pretty much moved through the monster stage, being almost one year of age, and so the evil behaviour ( like shitting and pissing in my potted plants) is therefore beneath them. HOWEVER... leaping onto shelves and pitching things onto the floor just for the fun of it, is still an activity which is highly droll to them. An all time special thrill is t0 watch mum, moving from living room into office,or bathroom, to bedroom, whilst she gathers, in her unique and elegant way, stuff' that has been rendered 'floor worthy' and make sure they are 'underfoot' for the entire process. Sweeping is all time top-ten the biggest thrill especially with the Swiffer. Grab at it, play with the enormous dust bunnies made from dog fur which builds up and collects in every corner and sometimes just straight out in the middle of everything, and play, play, play with it. Disburse it evenly throughout the house whilst mum tries in vain to corral the bunnies and put them in a bag! Bless them!

How cute they are. Catchin' little garter snakes (Wait until summer, they get a lot bigger) and putting them in mama's shoes is out (Seasonal availability),but bringing in mice, and 'playing' with them until they are dead of either a heart attack or asphixiation , is in. Charming, no? Pissing in mama's plants (thank all Gods) is out, and bringing in worms as an offering is totally in. Eeugh. But it could be worse. I love them fiercely. They can do no wrong. Especially since they are such voracious and rabid hunters, AND they deal with the R.O.U.S.'S. (What?! You havent seen the princess Bride? Watch it! See it. Better yet, read it. It's good. It is more than good. ) Unfortunately, rodents are found in any, and every community. Even in this idyllic and gentle place. But I have hunters to help with the problem. Serial rodent murderers!

Kill them I say. Get them! Those bastards!

So, Here's me now, having blathered on and on, in not quite a nutshell....

I've missed my fellow blogsters. Didnt mean to abandon you. I'm back now.... I think ..... More or less....

Love and light,
:) Bird. xoxoxox

Been a long time,Been a long Time, Been a long Lonely, Lonely, Loney.....

2008-03-03T20:03:00.001-08:00

Baby Steps....

2008-01-05T18:35:00.000-08:00

Havent written in a while. Dont know where to begin, or what to say so I'll just ramble off the top of my head, and if things end midstream, you'll understand that I am out of practice....

Not into any huge or monumental changes in terms of New Year's resolutions, mainly because I know from experience, and my own nature that trying to turn a leaf from one day to another simply doesnt work. The intent is there but the set-up for failure, when drastic measures are attempted, is huge. I do not want to do that anymore.

And I dont want to stalk the infertility blogs anymore either. I'm done with it. No kids. Okay, that's Life. Have cried most of the tears I think I can cry, have settled into my Life 'as it is', and I have a FABULOUS man, and many things to be so very grateful for, which I am. Moreover, actually, I realize, that I find children sometimes quite annoying. I'm getting too old, obviously, to think of parenthood now. So here I am, and I accept now what is.

Everyone wish me Mazeltov please. This is very large.

So it is about baby-steps, right? (No pun intended) Being present and mindful in the moment. Being aware and gentle with myself, as I am always reminding myself that change and healing never happened in an atmosphere of judgment. Not ever, not once. And I am so good at self- judgment....

Work is good. I am claiming a space for myself and just taking charge where I can and that seems to be going over well. Mostly I just love the hubbub and constant stream of people coming and going. I get to be as goofy and silly as I want. In short, back on the main floor, I can be myself. My job is to take their money and make them smile. A laugh is even better. I like what I do. I am good at what I do and mostly I know what I am talking about. It isn't getting me out of the poor house, but I have a few ideas brewing....

B is away during the week, off island on a big project but comes home weekends. This is a bit stressful, as one might imagine, with 4 dogs, 4 cats and a household to run while holding down a full time job. Who am I to complain? I have a job after all. And I have the beasties and B. But I am tired now, have been for ages, since B's back went out this summer.

I didn't tell you about that, did I? No, of course not because I haven't written in donkey's ages. B ruptured two discs and nearly had to have surgery this past summer, but we were relieved to learn from the neuro-surgeon that his progress was coming along, and that spelled well for his prognosis. He's almost back to normal now, although still has a bit of sluggishness in one leg, but little pain. Which is the main thing. His pain was terrible.

You should know that he didn't sleep for three weeks. Not more that 2 hours a night. I would have been stark raving mad, and would have been committed ( or much more likely would have first committed a very bad act, like homicide, for example) had I been in his shoes, but not him. No. Still, it took a toll on us and we are both recovering from it, emotionally and financially. I lost it a few times, just seeing him go thorough it, and I wasn't the one in excruciating agony.

Meanwhile, I've been laying low. Feeling insular and not wanting to blog. Just wanting to be here and now and quiet. Dealing with things in general. And trying to maintain a semblance of constancy and normalcy. A challenge at the best of times, being the unruly and undisciplined type I am and who the hell is 'normal' anyway?! No one I'd want for a friend, that's probably for sure. I like the eccentric. As I often say, 'I have an elliptical orbit' and I like others who do too!

And, speaking of not-normal, Mum was here for Christmas as usual and, all graces and mercies to be thanked, stayed with my brother for a change (its his bloody turn after 4 years of twice yearly visits, summers lasting four or more weeks at a time, thank you very fucking much) , so things weren't so difficult. Not for me anyway. My brother finally 'gets it'. Huh. Will wonders never cease?

My best friend's girl, my 'Goddess daughter', is expecting her first child. ( Yegads. ) She's going to be a wonderful mother! :) Cultural biases and societal norms aside, I really think that we have a biological mandate to mate and create off-spring early in life. We are physically designed that way. Looking at it from that perspective, I think 19 is actually a very excellent age to have one's first Babby..... :) In the next couple of days her latest ultrasound will tell us the gender of the baby. Once I know I'll begin working on a quilt. 16 years ago I made one for my Goddess daughter's third birthday, with the phases of the moon and horses running round the borders, flowers appliqued all over it, and stars stitched all throughout.. It is gorgeous. I brought it from Canada to England and it is still one of her most beloved possessions. Fitting that her child should have a quilt too now.....I hope it will last, as the first one did, from one generation to the next. Wow. That makes me think....What kind of a monumental, statement is that? I never thought I would have an impact on the connectedness or continuum from one generation to another, but it seems I am doing just that. That's utterly lovely, don't you think?

I have a new computer, which I got for Christmas. It has bells and whistles which wont ring or...well, whistle. ..and it wont speak to my email server neither. It wont recognize it's OWN serial number or Goddamned password, nor let me open applications I need, so other that my hotmail address, I cant receive my regular mail. How annoying is that ? Maddening even (might I say that is the understatement of the decade?! I have been tearing my hair out! However, one of the mac geniuses on the Island has agreed to help me. Really, I thought Macs didn't do this kind of thing.... probably I messed things up in the initial set-up. Technologically challenged person that I am. My old imac has just given up the ghost with alarming timing. As though it knew it was to be put out to pasture just as I tried to set up the new one beside it. I tried to boot the old one up to get at my mail, which was never a problem before, and it went all weird, the colours being strange too, the image trembling and wavery, and I thought, 'Oh my Gawd, it's gonna blow! " Unplugged it right quick!)

All things being equal, I may not have my health entirely, struggling with the usual winter bug, but things is more or less business as 'unusual' I.e: Plus ca change, plus c'est le meme chose. Get use to it Christie. Roll with the punches. Count the numerous blessings: Kittens are wonderful. Cats are fab. Dogs are a joy and hale and hearty. B's well, and I am ultimately just fine.

I hope everyone is well, business as unusual being what it is especially at this time of year, and I wish you all Light, happiness and many Blessings in the coming year.

Love, Bird.

Three Alarm Fire.... Or, 'Drama belongs in Life, Not on the Stage...'

2007-07-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

Nothing like a nice relaxing bath at the end of the day.... Something I could use right now. For hours, but we went to the beach instead, and let the stresses of the last few days wash away. I clung to a small driftwood log, languishing in the water which was warm and felt my muscles unwind, the knots leaving my limbs as the tide came in and gently rocked me back and forth. I thought about the events of the past few days, counting my blessings as my body was embraced by the waters. The dogs swam after the balls we threw, played and ran on the pebbled shore-line and we had some much needed r&r....

On Monday night we evacuated our home, due to a massive fire not more than a mile away from us.

It all started out with us hearing sirens and saying as how they sounded really close. I went out to the front deck, smelled smoke, thought it was my imagination until I looked up and saw a big black cloud. I then flew to the back deck where I saw the size of the cloud: billowing, moving with a seeming volition all its own, gargantuan, and back-lit with what I thought at first was the sunset...

B and I walked down the road encountering a few neighbours. We all stood in amazement at the sight. Directly in front of us, at the end of the road is a bank of trees and the cloud of smoke seemed to loom over it, fanned by a hard hot wind. Coming straight at us. Not good. Definitely not good at all.

"That looks really close" "Shit!" "Oh my God".... "It's coming this way!" "That wind... Jesus..."

Within 20 minutes, we had learned that it was the nearby resort which was on fire. Very close. Way too close for comfort, especially on a heavily treed Island, and adjacent to a residential area. Yegads. By the time those 20 minutes were up, I could HEAR the fire, hear it loud, not crackling, or popping, but roaring and booming, and the wind was driving it right to us. The cloud of smoke was tinged bright orange and red with flames. I was afraid. The whole night sky was lit up with it.

Suddenly, I saw embers in the sky, and thought, those cant be a mile away.... I wouldnt be able to see them. And then they started landing in the road, catching up in the trees beside us. Christ, was the whole Island going to go up in flames?

Cars went by; they all stopped and said, "we're leaving". I said that we should knock on doors and alert the neighbours in case anyone was sleeping or unaware. And so we did, running from house to house.

When we got back to our own house B picked up a message on our voice mail telling us to evacuate, and then everything happened very quickly. A friend showed up with divine timing and we packed up all the beasties into three vehicles, but Pushkin was missing.

"I'm not Bloody leaving without him!"

Looking for him, calling to him over and over, he wouldnt come.... (he'd had his dinner so the incentive to come home was rather unattractive on a hot night when he could be hunting, or resting in the cool woods, after all). Time was going by with the smell of smoke thick in the air I thought to myself that I might have to leave without him. But Jaysus, if the place goes up in flames, he'll be killed, burned alive. I just couldnt do it. No matter the risk. He's been my friend, my family for 14 years for Godsakes.....Finally, the little bugger arrived all nonchalant, like, "Where's the fire, dude?" and I could have throttled him, but chucked him in his crate instead.

Just before we left, there was a massive explosion. Propane tank maybe. The sky lit up bright orange, red and yellow and we though, Fuck, that's it. We're done for, its coming for us.

While I was searching for Pushkin, B had gathered up bowls and animal food and loaded everyone into the cars. We high-tailed it out of there like the proverbial bats out of hell, making a pit-stop at the wine store, which had just closed, but which mercifully let us in so we could fortify ourselves against the crisis, i.e: buy some smokes and wine. I'm thinking to myself all the while about what a fucking hypocrite and arse I am to be buying cigarettes when the bloody Island is going up in flames! Wine was for medicinal purposes... you understand.

We arrived en masse at Kathleen's, B's step mother, and explained the dire situation; deposited the animals (all - count em! - 8 of them at Dad's shack). We drank some beers together, and joked about how pissed Dad would be, who was away at the time, visiting family in Manitoba, about having 8 animals in his shack, but I suggested that if the cats dealt with the mouse problem he'd been having of late - a wily thing far too smart to fall for any trap - then we'll have paid our rent for the night! Trying to make light of the serious situation. You had to be there. It was funny at the time..... And truth be told dad wouldnt have been pissed off with us really. It was a crisis after all.

Kathleen gave us bedding, and the one tenant who was home at the time and traveled with us was put up in style in the 5th wheel trailer , which is rather like a small hotel room on wheels complete with kitchenette and shower ( and air conditioning!), far surpassing our own modest accommodation at the shack. I worried about our other tenant, and her daughter but we'd left a note on the door and what else could we do, at nearly midnight, by this point?!

I prayed that the neighbourhood wouldnt burn to the ground. I kept going to the screen door and sniffing the air, smelling smoke, and wondering how bad the damage was. Miles away, if I could smell it here, how close was it getting?!I prayed that no one would be hurt, or worse, killed.... I hardly slept and watched stupid late late night tv, until, exhausted by the events, I fell into a fitful sleep and didnt even hear B's truck leaving in the morning. Was dead to the world until he woke me with a cup of coffee, and told me the house and community was still standing, apparently unscathed.

"And the cats paid our rent"

"Huh?hmmmgrrmf?"

On the floor was a modest sized and very dead rat.

We came home to charred bits all over what isnt a lawn (due to the septic having been redone, we have a field of dirt which is trying valiantly to grow its seeds, but mostly failing in this heat wave). There are bits of charcoal in the flower and herb beds. It is purely a miracle that this entire end of the Island didnt go up in flames and burn to the ground. We had help from the fire departments of three nearby islands, emergency crews and volunteers from the mainland and the Big Island who stayed to put out small brushfires in the forests.

Bless them. I tell you three times, bless them. There were no injuries, deaths, or damage to homes other than the actual resort. Which burned to the ground and ended as a charred, crisp cinder. A bloody miracle I tell you.

The last two days I've been in a stupor. In shock, probably. I'm blaming it on the heat which is a plausible excuse, as I dont do well with it at the best of times. But frankly, I was shit scared, and havent talked about it much. I fear fire. Love it in a woodstove or bonfire. Or fire place, where it belongs. But big fires, wild fires.....I am phobic. Really, really scared of them.

We could have lost our home. People could have died. The Island could have sustained terrible, horrific damage....Yet it didnt. Despite the heat; the drought. Something like this happens, and it changes you. I kept thinking, 'we're all safe, never mind the STUFF, never mind the house; all of the animals and B and I are together and safe, and that's all that matters.' I didnt even think twice about trying to gather bits and pieces together from the house; no photos, not even my portfolio, or my art, it never occurred to me at all. Not once. I wanted my man, my cats and dogs safe, and that was enough for me, that was a grace in and of itself.....

At the end of the day, we are ok, the house didnt go up in flames, no one panicked, all the animals behaved beautifully, and all's well that ends well....

....and the cats 'paid our rent'.

Dad's home now and got a very good chuckle out of that one.