Showing posts with label Musings amp; Rantings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musings amp; Rantings. Show all posts
Monday, November 5, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
My Loki
Loki Lyesmith
"In the aftermath of Battle, I went into the Temple,
I found a Baby, Small for a Giant's offspring.
Abandoned.
Suffering.
Left to die."
Thor - Odin recounts how he found Loki among the Frost Giants
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Year of the Kill and Sustainable Food Production
In a recent post on Internet Privacy I mentioned that I had only recently seen The Social Network, the story of Facebook. You have no idea the number of shocked gasps of disbelief I have received from people who know me In Real Life (IRL) that I have only seen the movie in the past 30-60 days.
You see, for any one who has known me since the late 1990’s, it goes without saying that the Internet was my Social Outlet. I started “blogging” before the new terminology caught on, before WordPress, at the dawn of Live Journal. My social network began with the design of my Endometriosis web pages which I seeded all over the Internet on free “homepage” sites. I joined Bulletin Boards, Discussion Forums, and Groups, each one configured with personal signatures containing links to the various sites. By 1999 I had multiple sites with Endometriosis, personal hobbies, and creative writing.
Until MySpace, and then eventually Facebook, emerged, my social network existed in a FrontPage Web Diagram complete with Link Libraries, Graphics pages and external destinations. My email box was categorized by Web Page, Forum or BBS. I managed my network and controlled what was broadcast. One of the key features of my social network was that it was completely separate from my real life (RL). While the size and scope of the internet has not changed, the population has grown. People I only knew IRL were suddenly “on line”. I had to become more and more diligent in my network management. One of the methods I used to manage my network was to limit who was on my social network portals like MySpace and Facebook. I made a rule that only people whom I knew personally IRL would be allowed onto the portals, everyone else remained on their respective BBS, Forum or Group. I had estimated that of my RL friends, only a small percentage would actually find me on the Internet outside of those portals.
Now that Facebook is the preeminent Social Network, the lines have blurred. Facebook especially has been instrumental in teaching the populace how to effectively use the internet. That space which used to be separate from Real Life is all but evaporated in the ether, and the make believe world of the web is no longer the fantasy realm it once was. At the same time, the isolation of just you and the keyboard remains, the interpersonal exchange of real life such as voice inflection and facial expression is still missing. The result has been dialogue without context, a feeling of instant information without any reference to circumstance, or history. Our interpersonal relationships have become Commercial just like our Food Consumption.
Through my Internet connections, I was introduced to people and ideas which I had not considered. One of those ideas was sustainable food production. Since I am a Beach City Girl, this idea was only known to me on the basis of the local Farmer’s Market held every week in the city. This was not sustainable food to me, it was a weekly treat of fresh vegetables, fruits and other “luxury” foods we city folks pay a premium for at the gourmet shops around town. The idea of raising pigs, goats and chickens for food production was something only commercial farms do, right?
In the past 3 years, I have participated in the killing, slaughtering, cooking and eating of an animal. A goat and a pig. Both occasions had families present, and both occasions had multiple conversations about the slaughtered animal, and how this particular animal is just like the one we buy at the grocery store. In the past 3 years, the meat I consume has never tasted better. I have a new appreciation for where my food comes from. But that is not how quite a few of the people I know see it. I have been demonized for the practice, suffered name calling and had righteous opinions hurled at me.
All of these words thrown at me by people who eat meat regularly.
Now that our Friend Mark has designated his 2011 the Year of the Kill, maybe more people will start to think beyond the Styrofoam tray wrapped in cellophane and really digest the source of their food. While taking Mark Zuckerberg’s approach is a bit extreme, it certainly adds much needed attention to a much needed industry. There are so many great local farmers across the country that could use this boost in profile and revenue. There is the education of young people on the source of their food beyond the pocket book of their parents.
Roasting a whole pig or goat is a very large undertaking. Families and Friends get together, work together to buy, slaughter, roast and eat the animal. If every family spent one summer vacation organizing a pig or goat roast, the social interaction, the friendship bonds and the overall impact to the families would be astounding. It would bring a sense of reality back to the society who uses the distance of Facebook to maintain their relationships.
In all honesty, the best thing to have happened to the Sustainable Food Production industry is the mainstream media going on and on about Mark Zuckerberg killing animals to eat.
You see, for any one who has known me since the late 1990’s, it goes without saying that the Internet was my Social Outlet. I started “blogging” before the new terminology caught on, before WordPress, at the dawn of Live Journal. My social network began with the design of my Endometriosis web pages which I seeded all over the Internet on free “homepage” sites. I joined Bulletin Boards, Discussion Forums, and Groups, each one configured with personal signatures containing links to the various sites. By 1999 I had multiple sites with Endometriosis, personal hobbies, and creative writing.
Until MySpace, and then eventually Facebook, emerged, my social network existed in a FrontPage Web Diagram complete with Link Libraries, Graphics pages and external destinations. My email box was categorized by Web Page, Forum or BBS. I managed my network and controlled what was broadcast. One of the key features of my social network was that it was completely separate from my real life (RL). While the size and scope of the internet has not changed, the population has grown. People I only knew IRL were suddenly “on line”. I had to become more and more diligent in my network management. One of the methods I used to manage my network was to limit who was on my social network portals like MySpace and Facebook. I made a rule that only people whom I knew personally IRL would be allowed onto the portals, everyone else remained on their respective BBS, Forum or Group. I had estimated that of my RL friends, only a small percentage would actually find me on the Internet outside of those portals.
Now that Facebook is the preeminent Social Network, the lines have blurred. Facebook especially has been instrumental in teaching the populace how to effectively use the internet. That space which used to be separate from Real Life is all but evaporated in the ether, and the make believe world of the web is no longer the fantasy realm it once was. At the same time, the isolation of just you and the keyboard remains, the interpersonal exchange of real life such as voice inflection and facial expression is still missing. The result has been dialogue without context, a feeling of instant information without any reference to circumstance, or history. Our interpersonal relationships have become Commercial just like our Food Consumption.
Through my Internet connections, I was introduced to people and ideas which I had not considered. One of those ideas was sustainable food production. Since I am a Beach City Girl, this idea was only known to me on the basis of the local Farmer’s Market held every week in the city. This was not sustainable food to me, it was a weekly treat of fresh vegetables, fruits and other “luxury” foods we city folks pay a premium for at the gourmet shops around town. The idea of raising pigs, goats and chickens for food production was something only commercial farms do, right?
In the past 3 years, I have participated in the killing, slaughtering, cooking and eating of an animal. A goat and a pig. Both occasions had families present, and both occasions had multiple conversations about the slaughtered animal, and how this particular animal is just like the one we buy at the grocery store. In the past 3 years, the meat I consume has never tasted better. I have a new appreciation for where my food comes from. But that is not how quite a few of the people I know see it. I have been demonized for the practice, suffered name calling and had righteous opinions hurled at me.
- There is an industry which provides meat for consumption, it is simply unnecessary to slaughter your own food.
- Actual concerns and indignation that children were present and being taught the “ugly truth” about meat consumption.
- Numerous accusations of barbarism, of how disgusting I am, of how irresponsible I am and of course, how cruel I am to participate in the murder of a helpless animal.
All of these words thrown at me by people who eat meat regularly.
Now that our Friend Mark has designated his 2011 the Year of the Kill, maybe more people will start to think beyond the Styrofoam tray wrapped in cellophane and really digest the source of their food. While taking Mark Zuckerberg’s approach is a bit extreme, it certainly adds much needed attention to a much needed industry. There are so many great local farmers across the country that could use this boost in profile and revenue. There is the education of young people on the source of their food beyond the pocket book of their parents.
Roasting a whole pig or goat is a very large undertaking. Families and Friends get together, work together to buy, slaughter, roast and eat the animal. If every family spent one summer vacation organizing a pig or goat roast, the social interaction, the friendship bonds and the overall impact to the families would be astounding. It would bring a sense of reality back to the society who uses the distance of Facebook to maintain their relationships.
In all honesty, the best thing to have happened to the Sustainable Food Production industry is the mainstream media going on and on about Mark Zuckerberg killing animals to eat.
Monday, February 28, 2011
My Main Obsession
My Main Obsession
July 4th weekend 2006
I was invited to Las Vegas for a Jazz & Wine Festival at the Mount Charleston Lodge.
The Jazz was fantastic, the wine was mediocre (Las Vegas was just getting their Wine Tasting’s off the ground), and the afternoon was mild and pleasant. The local vendor’s who were invited up for the afternoon included an emerging Las Vegas artist, Jennifer Main. She had the original oil on canvas Playin’ Footsies on display. I ordered a Matted Print of which she mailed to me. I later had it professionally framed, and it became one of the first pieces of art work that I had discovered on my own and loved in it’s own right. It wasn’t the result of a class or a study, there was no outside influence.
I have had a fascination with Magical Realism in art for as long as I can remember. It has taken many forms over the years, Fairies, Witches, Vampires, Werewolves, Greek Mythology, but one artist has remained with me for the past 20 years. Michael Parkes. His collection is very expensive so I have only two pieces. One is a poster of Creation of Man which I had professionally mounted several years after I had the courage to take it out of it’s preserved state. The second piece is a very small print of Last Flight 1987 which was originally a gift card given to me with a Birthday Present in 1993. I have come across an oil on canvas back in 2003, but it was bought and I have not found anything that I could afford since.
Jennifer Main’s art work gave me the same feel of a magical space occupied by visions and color. No, my discovery of Jennifer Main was purely the result of Life’s Meanderings. When you just let go and wander. I literally Stumbled upon this find and I was very proud of myself for my accomplishment. Little did I know that 4 years later Jennifer Main would take Las Vegas my force and stake her claim as THE artist of the Las Vegas Valley.
January 2007
I moved to Las Vegas for work and in the process of settling in to the new City, I discovered First Friday’s Art Walk in Downtown. I attended my first “First Friday” February 2007. It was small, and seemed to be the “excuse” for the under 21 crowd to have a reason for “going somewhere”. I was in the process of walking out when The Wanderer Whispered to me that the formidable warehouse up ahead might be interesting. As always, employing the Adventure Model to discovering new places, the real find, the secret, to First Friday was at the end of the street, the very crowded and very hard to navigate Arts Factory . To my amazement, after following my nose down this hallway and stumbling down that corridor, I found Jennifer Main in one of the Galleries. I nearly cried with joy when I rounded the corner and saw those vibrant colors and broad strokes splashed large and loud “Hello Friend!”. I bought 2 more Matted Prints that night, The Thinker Series Meant to Be and Story Behind the Couple.
I introduced myself to Jennifer and to my surprise she remembered my order from the Jazz Festival in July. I could tell she was surprised that I found her again literally by chance. Compared to her Gallery at the Arts Factory in Las Vegas, what I saw at her display in July 2006 at Mt Charleston was paltry. She was literally bursting with color, emotion, beauty, and the visual experience. I don’t ask her about her inspirations, I don’t care what they are. I sometimes read about them or over hear at the Gallery, but her work, for me, is intensely personal.
Sounds horrid, no? Not really. Not if you truly understand Magical Realism. The Artist is the Messenger. Their use of visual material to deliver to you, the Audience, that experience of being taken to another place/time/space to experience something so intimate and personal is the only purpose to the Art form. Magical Realism is, at it’s very core, a self centered indulgent journey through one’s own Psyche.
September 2007
I had entered into a silent auction for Never Alone, and surprisingly I won. When her Gallery contacted me, I at first thought it was a joke. The assistant was rather upset that I didn’t believe I had won. It was very exciting to me – picking up the piece on a Saturday afternoon, when no one was around, the Arts Factory rather quiet and surprisingly empty. It was really odd to be in the Gallery with no one but the artists around.
This piece is a perfect example of how personal the interpretation of Magical Realism truly can be. My view of this piece has nothing to do with Jennifer’s official entry on it, and it is again different from another person – all three interpretations completely and vastly different – personal.
I could never, ever afford Jennifer’s originals. I mean, I would have to save for 3-6 months to even begin considering a piece. So the fact I won the Glicee on Canvas, one of only 50 (I think, I’ll edit it later), was huge to me. An artist I discovered all by myself, in the same genre of what I like and what appeals to me, sophisticated….. and I had a real canvas. Serious!!!
Every time I looked at Never Alone, I could not help but look at Creation of Man. In fact I had them hanging on the same wall for a while just so I could look at them both when I walked into the room. The two most important pieces in my collection.
2008,
I picked up 3 more matted prints, Vino Rosso, Mariposa, and Up to Something. I spent sometime looking for these prints because they were bought specifically for my “Craft Room” in the Las Vegas House. My wine collection and the wet bar were both in that room and I wanted the wine theme to continue. I also had these prints professionally mounted.
2009,
I had to put a moratorium on all things Main. It was becoming quite disturbing. I am only grateful someone else bought Dance of Passion before I could.
I have not been able to find any other artist who captures color so vibrantly, and who maintains the essence of Magical Realism – well, other than Michael Parkes.
As of now, 2011, I am contemplating a lift on the moratorium so that I can justify the purchase of an Embellished Glicee Print on Canvas of Dance of Passion. I mean…… I haven’t bought anything except a Calendar since 2010. Seems reasonable, right?
If you are in Las Vegas, make sure you stop by Jennifer’s Gallery.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A Return to the Castle
For as long as I can remember, I have referred to Bunker Hill in Los Angeles as The Castle.
I think it is because, when my Grandfather had retired and was a Tour Bus Driver 3 days a week to curb his endless boredom and to fund the cost of the bricks for the fireplace at the Cottage, he told me that Bunker Hill was the real life version of the Disneyland Castle, also known as Cinderella's Castle.
Keep in mind that this was the story he told me when Disneyland was sitting in the middle of nothing but Orange Groves. The Disneyland of 2011 is nowhere near the look and feel of the Disneyland of 1972. And neither is Bunker Hill.
Over 30 years after he told me that story, the Disney Concert Hall makes the fantasy a reality.
At the moment I am dreaming of a return to the Castle on Bunker Hill. Specifically California Plaza I & II .....
LA Museum of Contemporary Art (*drool*) ....
Disney Concert Hall (yes it's worth it) ....
Dorthy Chandler Pavilion/Mark Taper Auditorium (worth it only if you pay for Valet).
If you are a corporate drone, grinding away at the 9-5, M-F life that is the Project Manager, Bunker Hill is far and away one of the Top Two - yes I said 2. While you are grinding away for the Corporate Beast, you are surrounded in Beauty.
The view from Cal Plaza in every direction above the 10th floor is simply amazing.
I have never been happier than when I spent 60 hours a week on Bunker Hill!
I think it is because, when my Grandfather had retired and was a Tour Bus Driver 3 days a week to curb his endless boredom and to fund the cost of the bricks for the fireplace at the Cottage, he told me that Bunker Hill was the real life version of the Disneyland Castle, also known as Cinderella's Castle.
Keep in mind that this was the story he told me when Disneyland was sitting in the middle of nothing but Orange Groves. The Disneyland of 2011 is nowhere near the look and feel of the Disneyland of 1972. And neither is Bunker Hill.
Over 30 years after he told me that story, the Disney Concert Hall makes the fantasy a reality.
At the moment I am dreaming of a return to the Castle on Bunker Hill. Specifically California Plaza I & II .....
LA Museum of Contemporary Art (*drool*) ....
Disney Concert Hall (yes it's worth it) ....
Dorthy Chandler Pavilion/Mark Taper Auditorium (worth it only if you pay for Valet).
If you are a corporate drone, grinding away at the 9-5, M-F life that is the Project Manager, Bunker Hill is far and away one of the Top Two - yes I said 2. While you are grinding away for the Corporate Beast, you are surrounded in Beauty.The view from Cal Plaza in every direction above the 10th floor is simply amazing.
In addition, the hassle of traffic and commuting is completely removed with the Metro - The Rd/Purple lines connect to every Metro Line in the system, including Rail, making getting to Bunker Hill very easy.
I have never been happier than when I spent 60 hours a week on Bunker Hill!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Reverb10 – Day 2 December 16 – Writing
Writing
What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
My Reverb
What does not contribute to Writing that I can eliminate daily
I took a good look at what eats up the time in my day, and I can honestly say that 10-14 hours a day is dedicated to my Career. Even if I scale it back to 12 hours I am still eating up 6a to 6p with Career oriented, aka Not Writing Activity.
Attributing 8 hours a day to sleep, that leaves 4 hours of free time per day.
One of the things I started doing, granted after the Seasons Ended, was that I scaled back TV. I really have only a handful of shows I watch, and I have them on DVR so it's not like I can't tailor the shows to my schedule.
So you can see with the season at a low, I can legitimately turn the Music on and the TV off and get to writing. There's at least 1 hour accounted for. I found the 2nd hour by really taking a good look at my Facebook, MySpace and Twitter accounts.
Twitter is easy because I can simply stop visiting the site and post from Text on my Cell phone. Facebook… well that's another story. So I have 
made the commitment to Subscribe to BlogHer and OwningPink, joining both. I have a goal in mind to eventually write a 
blog a day for each Website to keep my focus and improve my skill.
#Reverb #Reverb10 #Writing #Blog #TV
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Pastwatch: The Redemption of Christopher Columbus
Pastwatch The Redemtion of Christopher Columbus
Orson Scot Card
I sometimes like to refer to this book as, "How Pagans Saved the World"
Before reading this book, one should have some prerequisites for total enjoyment. First, you should have a fairly firm grasp of World History 1000 to 1810, the below video will demonstrate 200 Countries in 200 years from 1810 to Present. While it is regarding Global Health, by following the Red Countries and their relationships to the Gold Countries, Colonization is already in full swing, and the Colonized are gaining Independance.
If you have to change the World by changing the culture, where do you start? How do you start? Card provides one theory by presenting a story of Pastwatch Scientists and their Mission to Save our Planet in the Future. Food & Water Supply have run out and Technology is the only resource they have left to research a solution to Earth's dwindling life supporting resources.
Time, Time Travel and Timing are the dominating themes of this story. The Future Earth and Past Earth come together within a romantic tale of two Pastwatch Scientists whose passion is Technology & their Dream to work with the Pastwatch Team. The story within the story focuses on the 300 years before Columbus reached America in 1492, the point at which the Scientists determine they can save the World from Destruction by leaving in tact Social Infrastructure of Democracy and Freedom.
There is a very critical look at the impact of Slavery on the World in the Future. In this story, Card, a very conservative and devout Mormon, blames the Catholic Church for Slavery, and in later years, for not condemning it sooner. Pastwatch: The Redemption of Orson Scot Card
It is easy to see you might need an understanding of the History of Slavery..... Global Slavery. Since Slavery is what built Rome, Greece, Egypt, Babylon (Iraq), & Persia, it is difficult to understand what Slavery really means. The video above gives a very small glimpse at the impact of Slavery, and to make a leap in logic, one could say that the Gold Countries are really just a Cartel controlling the World Market.
That is not to say the story is not enjoyable, because it is very engrossing. To understand why I say the story makes me think "How Pagans Saved the World" you have to read the book. When I say "Pagan" I mean the Indigenous People with a Culture before Christianity, Judiaism, or Islam was introduced through "Colonization" or Slavery.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Leaving Las Vegas
After 3 years, nearly to the day, I am Leaving Las Vegas. I have very mixed emotions about this move, but in retrospect, I am positive that I set this course in motion in March 2009. Specifically at Ostara. And in retrospect, for those who had a very fun Summer at the Rochelle House, the events that have unfolded over the past 6 weeks have been nearly pre-ordained.
I keep thinking that going home is a retreat of some sort. A kind of "giving up". And then I shake the glitter off my eyes and the past 3 years have been a fabulous experience for me personally, spiritually and professionally.
On a professional level, I obtained both my masters, and my six sigma green belt while in Las Vegas. I made my way to a fantastic company which I have a significant history with and was the genesis of when/where I fell in love. Little did I know that company would again, 15 years later, play the same role in such a significant way.
There is a part of me that feels somehow I will return. There's something about the desert….
I don't know
What takes hold
Out there in the desert cold
January 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Excuse Me While I Collect Myself - December 2010
Welcome to The Jamaica Inn
After 16 years of “blogging”, from the time when it was called a diary, I have been typing out my thoughts and saving them in a “safe place”. Although I had been around computer hardware and software since a small child, the machines were simply tools used for the job you did to make money to pay the rent. The tool as entertainment did not become a fixture in my world until 1994. Until then, it was something I did at work.
From 1994-1998 there were many incarnations of the blog on sites that have long since bankrupt. In 1999, while recovering from the first of many surgeries, I established Ona’s Library. The host was Yahoo Geocities. I stayed with this blog until Yahoo, as it morphed over the years, shut down 360. I had been double and triple posting on MySpace and WindowsLive Spaces, but it was The Library that remained up to date and “present”. (Facebook was never an option due to their copyright/privacy issues)
In 2005, Tori Amos released her 8th album, The Bee Keeper”. One track became an especially dear song, “The Jamaica Inn”. The lyrics speak strongly to betrayal in Love and in Friendship.
It was the Spring of 2005 that I renamed Ona’s Library “The Jamaica Inn”. I couldn’t really part with the graphics I had invested in for The Library so I left it alone. It had become an integral part of my web…. It was how I followed the Data Back Road and I was careful never to erase.
The betrayal of Friendship had long plagued me. The Issue of Trust has always been central to my relationships. Betrayed trust has been the basis for the melt down of every relationship and friendship throughout my life. A confidence broken, a loyalty betrayed. By this time in 2005, I started asking myself “Are you positive this is a friend?” on a nearly regular basis. I realized how easily I had allowed myself to follow the course of betrayal, allowing others to betray me, betraying others, and worst, betraying myself. I was accustomed to the sense that the Wreckers were near, that the Pirates were close at hand
WordPress is now the official home of The Jamaica Inn. I will be collecting old blogs and entries and adding them to the contents in the coming days & weeks. 16 years is a very large undertaking.
http://thejamaicainn.wordpress.com/
After 16 years of “blogging”, from the time when it was called a diary, I have been typing out my thoughts and saving them in a “safe place”. Although I had been around computer hardware and software since a small child, the machines were simply tools used for the job you did to make money to pay the rent. The tool as entertainment did not become a fixture in my world until 1994. Until then, it was something I did at work.
From 1994-1998 there were many incarnations of the blog on sites that have long since bankrupt. In 1999, while recovering from the first of many surgeries, I established Ona’s Library. The host was Yahoo Geocities. I stayed with this blog until Yahoo, as it morphed over the years, shut down 360. I had been double and triple posting on MySpace and WindowsLive Spaces, but it was The Library that remained up to date and “present”. (Facebook was never an option due to their copyright/privacy issues)
In 2005, Tori Amos released her 8th album, The Bee Keeper”. One track became an especially dear song, “The Jamaica Inn”. The lyrics speak strongly to betrayal in Love and in Friendship.
Can you patch my jeans Peggy Ann
just a little stitch to mend the hole he has torn
if you can
maybe I got too set in my ways
he says she reminds him of me when we first met
in those early days
It was the Spring of 2005 that I renamed Ona’s Library “The Jamaica Inn”. I couldn’t really part with the graphics I had invested in for The Library so I left it alone. It had become an integral part of my web…. It was how I followed the Data Back Road and I was careful never to erase.
the sexiest thing is trust
I wake up to find the pirates have come
The betrayal of Friendship had long plagued me. The Issue of Trust has always been central to my relationships. Betrayed trust has been the basis for the melt down of every relationship and friendship throughout my life. A confidence broken, a loyalty betrayed. By this time in 2005, I started asking myself “Are you positive this is a friend?” on a nearly regular basis. I realized how easily I had allowed myself to follow the course of betrayal, allowing others to betray me, betraying others, and worst, betraying myself. I was accustomed to the sense that the Wreckers were near, that the Pirates were close at hand
tying up along your coast
how was I to know the pirates have come
between Rebecca’s
beneath your firmaments I have worshipped in the Jamaica Inn
WordPress is now the official home of The Jamaica Inn. I will be collecting old blogs and entries and adding them to the contents in the coming days & weeks. 16 years is a very large undertaking.
“Are you positive this is a friend?”
the captain grimaced, “Those are cliffs of rock ahead if I’m not mistaken.”
http://thejamaicainn.wordpress.com/
Monday, July 12, 2010
Favorite Book List
This little blog is in celebration of the discovery of a book I have been looking for since college.
I was raised in the Catholic School System from Grade 1-8. Part of that experience was the Scholastic Book Club. This was a program designed to encourage reading in young kids with access to discounted books designed for the specific age of the target audience. I don't remember any of the books being more than $2-3. I think the most expensive book I ever got was $5.
I remember this so clearly because I was stunned when I went to a commercial bookstore, B Dalton in it's glory days (pre-Barnes&Noble), and discovered the books there cost over $20! I was used to hard cover bound books from my book club. Even the paperbacks were over $5 and that was so surprising to me!
My mom made it a point to order "at least one" book every month. So wether I wanted to read or not, I had to go through the catalogue and pick one book that I might like to read someday.
Sometime between 3rd grade and 6th grade, I read a book about a young girl, my age, who had an Aunt come to visit over the summer. She was weird and odd, and strange. She left a trunk in the attic of the young girl's home and went back on her travels. Later on, the weather is rainy and wet over Thanksgiving weekend and the young girl and her friend get into the trunk. They find Seven LEague Boots, Magic Gloves, and a magic mirror, amongst other items. They have very interesting adventures!
The book really spoke to me. My grandmother or my grandfather gave me the book. I know that for a while, my Grandfather was buying the books. If I refused to buy a book for the month, mom would give him the order form and tell him I didn't want anything. It never ocurred to me that the books he and my grandmother gave me were from that Book Club until much later on in life.
What the Witch Left by Ruth Crew was one of the best books I have ever read. I was at the right age, at the right time. It was a book that imprinted on me the concepts and ideas my Grandfather was trying to show me.
I finally found a diverse enough forum - with people old enough to remember - to post in and I sent out a request for help in the search. A nice lady pointed me toStump the BookselleratLoganBerryBooks.com. It took a few tries with various keywords, but I finally got the right combination and there it was. Here's how crazy this is..... When I finally got to see a picture of the book, I could actually smell the pages. It was crazy. At least from a psychological point, I know I have the right book. LOL!
I am amazed at how that book became the cornerstone of my library over the years. I decided to take a look at the list (it's the end of the year you know....), and make a list of the books I love.
(I am not going to all the work of linking the books. Just copy and paste the title and author into google and you'll get the info on the book - sorry!)
What the Witch Left, Ruth Crew, Scholatic Press
A Wrinkle in Time, Madalein L'Engle
A Wind in the Door, Madeleine L'Engle
A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Madeleine Peyroux
The Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
The Silver Chair
The Horse and His Boy
The Magician's Nephew
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
Dracula, Brahm Stoker
The Talisman, Stephen King & Peter Stroub
The Stand, Stephen King
The Dark Tower, Stephen King (Started in 1985 and I finally finished it in 2003)
I The Gunslinger
II The Drawing of the Three
III The Wastelands
IV Wizard and Glass
V Wolves of the Calla
VI Song of Susannah
VII The Dark Tower
Imajica - Clive Barker
The Great And Secret Show The First Book Of The Art, Clive Barker
Everville The Second Book Of The Art, Clive Barker
The Thief Of Always, A Fable, Clive Barker
The Vampire Chronicles, Anne Rice
Interview with a Vampire
The Vampire Lestat
Queen of the Damned
The Tale of the Body Thief
Memnoch the Devel
Merrick
Blackwood Farm
The Mayfair Witches, Anne Rice
The Witching Hour
Lasher
Taltos
The Feast of All Saints, Anne Rice
Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
The Mummy, Anne Rice
Servant of the Bones, Anne Rice
Avalon Series by Marion Zimmer Bradley
The Mists of Avalon
The Forest House
Lady of Avalon
Priestess of Avalon
Daughter of the Forest, Juliet Marillier
Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan
The Eye of the World
The Great Hunt
Wicked, The Life & Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, Gregory MacGuire
Son of a Witch, Gregory MacGuire
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, Gregory MacGuire
A Lion Among Men, Gregory MacGuire
Keep in mind that this list is not inclusive of other books, such as on religion and spirituality or those books of non fiction which feed my career. This list is just the notable fiction that has driven me over the years.
I was raised in the Catholic School System from Grade 1-8. Part of that experience was the Scholastic Book Club. This was a program designed to encourage reading in young kids with access to discounted books designed for the specific age of the target audience. I don't remember any of the books being more than $2-3. I think the most expensive book I ever got was $5.
I remember this so clearly because I was stunned when I went to a commercial bookstore, B Dalton in it's glory days (pre-Barnes&Noble), and discovered the books there cost over $20! I was used to hard cover bound books from my book club. Even the paperbacks were over $5 and that was so surprising to me!
My mom made it a point to order "at least one" book every month. So wether I wanted to read or not, I had to go through the catalogue and pick one book that I might like to read someday.
Sometime between 3rd grade and 6th grade, I read a book about a young girl, my age, who had an Aunt come to visit over the summer. She was weird and odd, and strange. She left a trunk in the attic of the young girl's home and went back on her travels. Later on, the weather is rainy and wet over Thanksgiving weekend and the young girl and her friend get into the trunk. They find Seven LEague Boots, Magic Gloves, and a magic mirror, amongst other items. They have very interesting adventures!
The book really spoke to me. My grandmother or my grandfather gave me the book. I know that for a while, my Grandfather was buying the books. If I refused to buy a book for the month, mom would give him the order form and tell him I didn't want anything. It never ocurred to me that the books he and my grandmother gave me were from that Book Club until much later on in life.
What the Witch Left by Ruth Crew was one of the best books I have ever read. I was at the right age, at the right time. It was a book that imprinted on me the concepts and ideas my Grandfather was trying to show me.
I finally found a diverse enough forum - with people old enough to remember - to post in and I sent out a request for help in the search. A nice lady pointed me toStump the BookselleratLoganBerryBooks.com. It took a few tries with various keywords, but I finally got the right combination and there it was. Here's how crazy this is..... When I finally got to see a picture of the book, I could actually smell the pages. It was crazy. At least from a psychological point, I know I have the right book. LOL!
I am amazed at how that book became the cornerstone of my library over the years. I decided to take a look at the list (it's the end of the year you know....), and make a list of the books I love.
(I am not going to all the work of linking the books. Just copy and paste the title and author into google and you'll get the info on the book - sorry!)
What the Witch Left, Ruth Crew, Scholatic Press
A Wrinkle in Time, Madalein L'Engle
A Wind in the Door, Madeleine L'Engle
A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Madeleine Peyroux
The Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
The Silver Chair
The Horse and His Boy
The Magician's Nephew
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
Dracula, Brahm Stoker
The Talisman, Stephen King & Peter Stroub
The Stand, Stephen King
The Dark Tower, Stephen King (Started in 1985 and I finally finished it in 2003)
I The Gunslinger
II The Drawing of the Three
III The Wastelands
IV Wizard and Glass
V Wolves of the Calla
VI Song of Susannah
VII The Dark Tower
Imajica - Clive Barker
The Great And Secret Show The First Book Of The Art, Clive Barker
Everville The Second Book Of The Art, Clive Barker
The Thief Of Always, A Fable, Clive Barker
The Vampire Chronicles, Anne Rice
Interview with a Vampire
The Vampire Lestat
Queen of the Damned
The Tale of the Body Thief
Memnoch the Devel
Merrick
Blackwood Farm
The Mayfair Witches, Anne Rice
The Witching Hour
Lasher
Taltos
The Feast of All Saints, Anne Rice
Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
The Mummy, Anne Rice
Servant of the Bones, Anne Rice
Avalon Series by Marion Zimmer Bradley
The Mists of Avalon
The Forest House
Lady of Avalon
Priestess of Avalon
Daughter of the Forest, Juliet Marillier
Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan
The Eye of the World
The Great Hunt
Wicked, The Life & Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, Gregory MacGuire
Son of a Witch, Gregory MacGuire
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, Gregory MacGuire
A Lion Among Men, Gregory MacGuire
Keep in mind that this list is not inclusive of other books, such as on religion and spirituality or those books of non fiction which feed my career. This list is just the notable fiction that has driven me over the years.
A Year & A Day in the Life of a Red
In December of 2006, I threw a tremendous tantrum to show the world just how pissed off I was and how I wasn't going to take it anymore. Actually, the tantrum began sometime in October and reached it's pinnacle right around the middle of December.
In any event, the crowning moment of the tantrum transpired at a strip-mall-hair-franchise and the words "cut it all off" spilling from my angry mouth. The minimum wage stylist added her opinion (in a hybrid language somewhere between Russian, Armenian and English) on how great I would look if I colored my hair, "Copper, I think, yes you look good Copper."
It just so happened the WalMart across the street had a $2.99 box of color with the word "copper" in the description, and away I went.
I dove right into the pit of Red after more than 15 years as a tried and true blonde. In a matter of 3 hours, I disappeared from the world. By the time I left my garden apartment post-color, not a single person noticed me, or looked in my direction. My dog couldn't look at me. Since his birth, his mother had been a pretty blonde lady – he had no idea who this dark haired stranger was. My best friend avoided eye contact when he first saw the newly coppered Onagh. Everyone was amazed.
At first, I was a little stunned – I wandered around in a daze as people simply ignored me. Women looked right through me, men stared right past me. Even young children failed to notice me. I had become invisible.
For the first time in my adult life, I experienced the normalcy of the non-blonde.
I moved to Vegas, and where I could not get past the first interview as a blonde, as a red, I was offered a job at the first meeting. I had forgotten that blonde equates to stupid in the real world. I discovered an entirely new way of living. I was incognito, I was under cover, I was a Copper Fox!
I spent a year and six months as a red. It was strange and different. There was almost an "otherness" to the life I was leading. As if I had left my former life, and been transported into the body of this other person, this non-blonde.
This Red made decisions about my life that I never could have made on my own. When the Audio Thief returned, she rousted him from my psyche like a Dorm Mother on crack. When my old habits returned, she calmly shewed them away like dust bunnies from under the bed.
I found a hair stylist at a fashionable day spa who understood red and all it's complexities, most specifically the dreaded fade! He maintained Red in perfect golden and copper tones required of the Copper Fox.
Eighteen months went by – not a very long time – but long enough to forget the blonde.
And then, at a recent hair appointment, I found myself telling Johnny, "I can't stand the fade, I need serious highlights". Due to my ever creeping grey hairline, it becomes harder and harder to keep the red, red and the grey gone. And so, once again, I release control of my destiny to the person who stands at the ready with color bowl and applicator brush to transform me.
As Johnny was drying my hair, this stripped, blonde-copper-red tapestry hanging from my scalp, he looked in the mirror at me, and had the most perplexed look. "Why does this look so natural on you?"
I didn't know what to say. I was so surprised myself. I stared at the mirror and quietly said to myself "Oh it's you again".
I very calmly turned to Johnny and told him my deepest most California-sun-bleached of secrets. I confessed to my hairstylist that for over 15 years I was a blonde.
His eyes got as big as saucers and then squinted at me as he laughed his wicked little giggle. I could see behind his squint what he was thinking: another blonde hiding out in a red head's life, a dish water trying on the brunette for size.
I didn't see anyone after my transformation back to blonde. It was late in the evening by the time I encountered any of my regular friends. Archie was so glad to see me. He greeted me with an unusual amount of kisses and tail wagging. He stares at me a lot more lately. Most of the people who are seeing me as a blonde for the first time all have the same surprised look – as if they knew I was blonde all along.
So I start a new phase of "Life in Vegas" as a blonde. I have to wonder how much the next eighteen months contrasts the last. Only time, and a constant supply of bleach, will tell.
In any event, the crowning moment of the tantrum transpired at a strip-mall-hair-franchise and the words "cut it all off" spilling from my angry mouth. The minimum wage stylist added her opinion (in a hybrid language somewhere between Russian, Armenian and English) on how great I would look if I colored my hair, "Copper, I think, yes you look good Copper."
It just so happened the WalMart across the street had a $2.99 box of color with the word "copper" in the description, and away I went.
I dove right into the pit of Red after more than 15 years as a tried and true blonde. In a matter of 3 hours, I disappeared from the world. By the time I left my garden apartment post-color, not a single person noticed me, or looked in my direction. My dog couldn't look at me. Since his birth, his mother had been a pretty blonde lady – he had no idea who this dark haired stranger was. My best friend avoided eye contact when he first saw the newly coppered Onagh. Everyone was amazed.
At first, I was a little stunned – I wandered around in a daze as people simply ignored me. Women looked right through me, men stared right past me. Even young children failed to notice me. I had become invisible.
For the first time in my adult life, I experienced the normalcy of the non-blonde.
I moved to Vegas, and where I could not get past the first interview as a blonde, as a red, I was offered a job at the first meeting. I had forgotten that blonde equates to stupid in the real world. I discovered an entirely new way of living. I was incognito, I was under cover, I was a Copper Fox!
I spent a year and six months as a red. It was strange and different. There was almost an "otherness" to the life I was leading. As if I had left my former life, and been transported into the body of this other person, this non-blonde.
This Red made decisions about my life that I never could have made on my own. When the Audio Thief returned, she rousted him from my psyche like a Dorm Mother on crack. When my old habits returned, she calmly shewed them away like dust bunnies from under the bed.
I found a hair stylist at a fashionable day spa who understood red and all it's complexities, most specifically the dreaded fade! He maintained Red in perfect golden and copper tones required of the Copper Fox.
Eighteen months went by – not a very long time – but long enough to forget the blonde.
And then, at a recent hair appointment, I found myself telling Johnny, "I can't stand the fade, I need serious highlights". Due to my ever creeping grey hairline, it becomes harder and harder to keep the red, red and the grey gone. And so, once again, I release control of my destiny to the person who stands at the ready with color bowl and applicator brush to transform me.
As Johnny was drying my hair, this stripped, blonde-copper-red tapestry hanging from my scalp, he looked in the mirror at me, and had the most perplexed look. "Why does this look so natural on you?"
I didn't know what to say. I was so surprised myself. I stared at the mirror and quietly said to myself "Oh it's you again".
I very calmly turned to Johnny and told him my deepest most California-sun-bleached of secrets. I confessed to my hairstylist that for over 15 years I was a blonde.
His eyes got as big as saucers and then squinted at me as he laughed his wicked little giggle. I could see behind his squint what he was thinking: another blonde hiding out in a red head's life, a dish water trying on the brunette for size.
I didn't see anyone after my transformation back to blonde. It was late in the evening by the time I encountered any of my regular friends. Archie was so glad to see me. He greeted me with an unusual amount of kisses and tail wagging. He stares at me a lot more lately. Most of the people who are seeing me as a blonde for the first time all have the same surprised look – as if they knew I was blonde all along.
So I start a new phase of "Life in Vegas" as a blonde. I have to wonder how much the next eighteen months contrasts the last. Only time, and a constant supply of bleach, will tell.
My Sin Eater – March 2008
It is always in the darkest hours of the night that these thoughts take form and I release them into the ether of the internet. Tonight's dark creatures take the form of the Sin Eater. (Look it up onWikkipedia)
This thought train began because my dear sister came to visit. Well, no, that is not entirely true. This thought train began 5 years and 3 months ago, approximately 2 blocks from where I sit, in the shadows, typing these dark thoughts. Because 5 years and 3 months ago, I ran away and hid from the world in the hopes that the cancer would simply eat me, swallow me whole and end my miserable existence.
Instead,the Audio Thiefthrew me out of his house and sent me back to Los Angeles.
So when my dear sister came to visit, I was able to show her my secret hide out for the first time. Suddenly, the story of my demise had form and contextual reference. For the first time, my sister could see that 'behind the waterslide and down the hill where heaven reaches'was a very real and tangible place. She finally understood where I was on the night when'land and time is left to float away'.
As I pondered the information from her point of view, I wondered how I managed to escape that mental and emotional breakdown. The Audio Thief who threw me out of that house and sent me back to Los Angeles for the required surgery, is now lying in a hospital bed himself, at Las Vegas UMC Hospital. He has been in an incapacitated state since November. His dog, who sat with me, lovingly sprawled at my side, be it sofa or bed, died two weeks ago. The cause was cancer to the throat. I, on the other hand, seem to get healthier by the day. In fact, since I have moved to Las Vegas, my health and my life have improved considerably.
So I sit and wonder. And I wonder. Was my illness, like a sin, eaten? Was that festering cancer ingested, swallowed whole and drank down with a six-pack of sale priced American beer? Did the very act of love and companionship given to me by that beautiful Hound result in the absorption of my cancer?
I went to see him. Before this latest turn of events, I went to the hospital on my way home from work one afternoon. I went because I thought he was dying then, and the notion of the sin eater had not yet crossed my mind. He did not know who I was when I walked in the room … or maybe he did. In any case, the impression I was left with was that this was a temporary condition. I was furious as I left the hospital, thinking it was yet another false cry of Wolf. I drove home in disgust.
Then I got the Instant Message late one week night, that he was back in the hospital and this time it was for good. There was no way he was recovering, yadda yadda yadda. I had actually begun to toss the notion of a visit around in my head. Should I? Shouldn't I? Back and forth. Somehow, I think I was hoping that while I tossed the notion, wasting time with each toss, he would either get better and go home or simply slip away in the middle of the night. Then I wouldn't have to worry about going or not going to the hospital.
Now, with the notion of the sin eater bouncing off the walls of my mind and invariably banging up against the Vault door, I fear a visit. I've read the folk-lore and the cultural significance of the sin eater. I have to assume that the disease eater works in much the same manner. There is nothing in the folk lore regarding the deceased miraculously rising from the grave, thereby justifying the Watcher's sixpence, and encountering the sin eater. No one talks about what may or may not happen.
What remains now is that I am free. The sin eater, or the disease eater, ate my disease 5 years and 3 months ago in the house with the waterslide and set me free. And let's face it, this may be Las Vegas where you take a gamble, but there are some risks, some bets, I am just not willing to make. So until I can shake this notion of the sin eater from my psyche, I will remain apart from that hospital bed and the man who threw me out of the house will not receive a visit from me.
Yes, it's selfish, but like I said, this is Vegas, baby.
This thought train began because my dear sister came to visit. Well, no, that is not entirely true. This thought train began 5 years and 3 months ago, approximately 2 blocks from where I sit, in the shadows, typing these dark thoughts. Because 5 years and 3 months ago, I ran away and hid from the world in the hopes that the cancer would simply eat me, swallow me whole and end my miserable existence.
Instead,the Audio Thiefthrew me out of his house and sent me back to Los Angeles.
So when my dear sister came to visit, I was able to show her my secret hide out for the first time. Suddenly, the story of my demise had form and contextual reference. For the first time, my sister could see that 'behind the waterslide and down the hill where heaven reaches'was a very real and tangible place. She finally understood where I was on the night when'land and time is left to float away'.
As I pondered the information from her point of view, I wondered how I managed to escape that mental and emotional breakdown. The Audio Thief who threw me out of that house and sent me back to Los Angeles for the required surgery, is now lying in a hospital bed himself, at Las Vegas UMC Hospital. He has been in an incapacitated state since November. His dog, who sat with me, lovingly sprawled at my side, be it sofa or bed, died two weeks ago. The cause was cancer to the throat. I, on the other hand, seem to get healthier by the day. In fact, since I have moved to Las Vegas, my health and my life have improved considerably.
So I sit and wonder. And I wonder. Was my illness, like a sin, eaten? Was that festering cancer ingested, swallowed whole and drank down with a six-pack of sale priced American beer? Did the very act of love and companionship given to me by that beautiful Hound result in the absorption of my cancer?
I went to see him. Before this latest turn of events, I went to the hospital on my way home from work one afternoon. I went because I thought he was dying then, and the notion of the sin eater had not yet crossed my mind. He did not know who I was when I walked in the room … or maybe he did. In any case, the impression I was left with was that this was a temporary condition. I was furious as I left the hospital, thinking it was yet another false cry of Wolf. I drove home in disgust.
Then I got the Instant Message late one week night, that he was back in the hospital and this time it was for good. There was no way he was recovering, yadda yadda yadda. I had actually begun to toss the notion of a visit around in my head. Should I? Shouldn't I? Back and forth. Somehow, I think I was hoping that while I tossed the notion, wasting time with each toss, he would either get better and go home or simply slip away in the middle of the night. Then I wouldn't have to worry about going or not going to the hospital.
Now, with the notion of the sin eater bouncing off the walls of my mind and invariably banging up against the Vault door, I fear a visit. I've read the folk-lore and the cultural significance of the sin eater. I have to assume that the disease eater works in much the same manner. There is nothing in the folk lore regarding the deceased miraculously rising from the grave, thereby justifying the Watcher's sixpence, and encountering the sin eater. No one talks about what may or may not happen.
What remains now is that I am free. The sin eater, or the disease eater, ate my disease 5 years and 3 months ago in the house with the waterslide and set me free. And let's face it, this may be Las Vegas where you take a gamble, but there are some risks, some bets, I am just not willing to make. So until I can shake this notion of the sin eater from my psyche, I will remain apart from that hospital bed and the man who threw me out of the house will not receive a visit from me.
Yes, it's selfish, but like I said, this is Vegas, baby.
Un-Packing - February 2008
As I unpack yet another box, my hands wrap around another piece of an old lover, long since gone from my life. ..
"You move a lot" My sister's voice echoes through my head.
Yes, I think , I have to move a lot. It's the only way to shake them lose, to pry them out of my life, so that all that is left is a fragment of the "We" that used to be "Us".
Maybe they were only a part of me for a week, a month, a day. But with the unwrapping of paper and bubble wrap, there is another piece of him, or him, or oh yes… I remember him. I realize I only keep the fragments that remind me of happier times. Of times before I got mad, or bored or simply lost interest. The trinkets hold the shiny fascination that they, themselves, can not hold onto over time.
So a new house, a new life, old memories. I look around and see that my chatchkies are simply pieces of them that have lingered. Or maybe it is simply the pieces that I can tolerate. Who really knows the inner workings of a mad-woman's mind.
"You move a lot" My sister's voice echoes through my head.
Yes, I think , I have to move a lot. It's the only way to shake them lose, to pry them out of my life, so that all that is left is a fragment of the "We" that used to be "Us".
Maybe they were only a part of me for a week, a month, a day. But with the unwrapping of paper and bubble wrap, there is another piece of him, or him, or oh yes… I remember him. I realize I only keep the fragments that remind me of happier times. Of times before I got mad, or bored or simply lost interest. The trinkets hold the shiny fascination that they, themselves, can not hold onto over time.
So a new house, a new life, old memories. I look around and see that my chatchkies are simply pieces of them that have lingered. Or maybe it is simply the pieces that I can tolerate. Who really knows the inner workings of a mad-woman's mind.
A Year & A Day - January 2008
January 1, 2008
In seven days, I will have been in this desert for one full year. January 8 will be the poignantly significant "year and a day".
For one full year I have refrained from magick and all things "witchy". Until last night, New Year's Eve, I have not even thrown a tarot spread. No rituals, no spelling, no mixing, no candles. A true hiatus from religion and magick.
As the anniversary comes near, and the hiatus wanes, I am slowly recognizing the return of magick into my life.
On Yule (December 21 for the Muggles or Mundanes), driving home from a Vegas Show with my Heathen Friend, we encountered Coyote at the Crossroads at exactly midnight. The significance is really quite shocking, for a number of reasons. Those who know me understand what I am talking about here. Those who don't, well…..
On December 27, 2006, Coyote ran with me across the desert as I drove back to Long Beach to pack my belongings and prepare for the move to Las Vegas. It was an optical illusion of distance and movement, but the effect was that Coyote appeared to be walking by my side as I drove along the highway. A year later, Coyote is standing at the crossroads just outside my gated community – another message.
When I first got here to the desert, I felt lost and abandoned by my Gods. As if in leaving my beachfront I had left my Deities behind, tied to the tides, as it were. For months there was no sign of life from the other side. The Christian YVHV made several attempts at contact, but His dutiful followers made sure I never entered his Temple. Which is just fine by me…. Really. I guess, in retrospect, even my Deities were intent on enforcing the strict "year and a day" policy.
just tell your
Gods for me
all debts are off this year
they're free to leave
yes they're free
to leave
On January 8, I will have to decide where I want to go. I left Long Beach and Wicca behind. I traveled as far as I could down that path. Going forward, I need to decide how I will practice my Craft, and how I will worship my Deity. Hekate has made her presence felt this past month. It is with both shock and awe that this year, the eve of the new moon falls on January 7 and the New Moon on my one year and one day anniversary, January 8. Clearly, it has been the Queen of the Witches, Hekate, who has been closely watching over me this past year. And in true Hekate fashion, she has done so quietly and at an extreme distance.
In seven days, I will have been in this desert for one full year. January 8 will be the poignantly significant "year and a day".
For one full year I have refrained from magick and all things "witchy". Until last night, New Year's Eve, I have not even thrown a tarot spread. No rituals, no spelling, no mixing, no candles. A true hiatus from religion and magick.
As the anniversary comes near, and the hiatus wanes, I am slowly recognizing the return of magick into my life.
On Yule (December 21 for the Muggles or Mundanes), driving home from a Vegas Show with my Heathen Friend, we encountered Coyote at the Crossroads at exactly midnight. The significance is really quite shocking, for a number of reasons. Those who know me understand what I am talking about here. Those who don't, well…..
On December 27, 2006, Coyote ran with me across the desert as I drove back to Long Beach to pack my belongings and prepare for the move to Las Vegas. It was an optical illusion of distance and movement, but the effect was that Coyote appeared to be walking by my side as I drove along the highway. A year later, Coyote is standing at the crossroads just outside my gated community – another message.
When I first got here to the desert, I felt lost and abandoned by my Gods. As if in leaving my beachfront I had left my Deities behind, tied to the tides, as it were. For months there was no sign of life from the other side. The Christian YVHV made several attempts at contact, but His dutiful followers made sure I never entered his Temple. Which is just fine by me…. Really. I guess, in retrospect, even my Deities were intent on enforcing the strict "year and a day" policy.
just tell your
Gods for me
all debts are off this year
they're free to leave
yes they're free
to leave
On January 8, I will have to decide where I want to go. I left Long Beach and Wicca behind. I traveled as far as I could down that path. Going forward, I need to decide how I will practice my Craft, and how I will worship my Deity. Hekate has made her presence felt this past month. It is with both shock and awe that this year, the eve of the new moon falls on January 7 and the New Moon on my one year and one day anniversary, January 8. Clearly, it has been the Queen of the Witches, Hekate, who has been closely watching over me this past year. And in true Hekate fashion, she has done so quietly and at an extreme distance.
The Commandments of Coyote
The Commandments of Coyote
Originally Posted by Ocean1025 over athttp://deafpagan.com/author/ocean1025/
I. Thou Shalt Have As Many Gods and Spirits and Personal Trainers and Gurus As You Like Before Me, But You Shalt Not Let Them Block the Exits, and More, You Shall Not Permit Them To Take the Last Beer, For That Beer Is Mine. Seriously. Don't.
II. Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife, But Thou Art Totally Welcome To Admire Her Ass When She Walks By, and If It Happens To Come Out That They Are In An Open Relationship, Dude, Tap That Ass As Much As They Are Willing To Allow. Same Goes For the Ladies. Coveting Is Sort Of Stupid, But Sex Is Just Plain Fun, Unless Thou Art Doing It Entirely Wrong.
III. If Thy Neighbor Says 'Hands Off My Wife, Dude', Thou Shalt Listen and Back Off, Because Otherwise, Thy Neighbor Will Be Totally Justified In Hitting You About the Head and Shoulders With Gardening Tools, and Don't Think That I'm Going To Step In There and Stop Him.
IV. Adultery Is Actually Pretty Fun. Commit It All You Like. Just Make Sure Everyone Is Cool With It, Or I Will Not Help You Out Once the Hitting Gets Started.
V. Thou Shalt Not Eat Poisoned Bait. If You Do, Don't Come Whining To Me About It, Because I Am Very Unlikely To Care. Once It Is In Your Mouth, It Is Your Problem, Not Mine.
VI. Of Course Thou Shalt Kill. Carnivores Do That. Also, Swatting Mosquitoes, Sort Of Instinctive. But All Creatures Are Alive Before You Kill Them, and So Thou Shalt Respect Them In Their Lives and In Their Deaths. Thou Shalt Not Kill Without Reason. Thy Neighbor Tapping Thy Wife's Ass? Is Not A Reason. Don't Make Me Set A Plague Upon Thy Ass. Thou Wouldst Not Enjoy It, I Promise.
VII. Thou Shalt Not Hoard. Seriously, Here. If You Have Enough, Share. Only Assholes Would Be Selfish.
VIII. Thou Shalt Not Be A Martyr. If You Have One Beer, Drink It. Do Not Give It To Me and Then Expect Adoration. Dude, That Was Your Beer, I Did Not Break Your Arm To Get It. Give What You Can Give, and Expect Neither Praise Nor Worship. You Are Not Being Morally Superior, You Are Being A Decent Human Being. There Is A Difference.
IX. Assume This Is It. Maybe There Is Reincarnation; Maybe Not. Not Only Am I Not Saying, Please Consider the Fact That I Probably Get A Say In Whether You Come Back, and If You Are the Sort Of Person Who Doesn't Do Anything With One Life, Why Should I Waste My Time Giving You Another One? Live Like You Get No Second Chances. You Will Have More Fun.
X. Are You Going To Eat That?
Originally Posted by Ocean1025 over athttp://deafpagan.com/author/ocean1025/
I. Thou Shalt Have As Many Gods and Spirits and Personal Trainers and Gurus As You Like Before Me, But You Shalt Not Let Them Block the Exits, and More, You Shall Not Permit Them To Take the Last Beer, For That Beer Is Mine. Seriously. Don't.
II. Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife, But Thou Art Totally Welcome To Admire Her Ass When She Walks By, and If It Happens To Come Out That They Are In An Open Relationship, Dude, Tap That Ass As Much As They Are Willing To Allow. Same Goes For the Ladies. Coveting Is Sort Of Stupid, But Sex Is Just Plain Fun, Unless Thou Art Doing It Entirely Wrong.
III. If Thy Neighbor Says 'Hands Off My Wife, Dude', Thou Shalt Listen and Back Off, Because Otherwise, Thy Neighbor Will Be Totally Justified In Hitting You About the Head and Shoulders With Gardening Tools, and Don't Think That I'm Going To Step In There and Stop Him.
IV. Adultery Is Actually Pretty Fun. Commit It All You Like. Just Make Sure Everyone Is Cool With It, Or I Will Not Help You Out Once the Hitting Gets Started.
V. Thou Shalt Not Eat Poisoned Bait. If You Do, Don't Come Whining To Me About It, Because I Am Very Unlikely To Care. Once It Is In Your Mouth, It Is Your Problem, Not Mine.
VI. Of Course Thou Shalt Kill. Carnivores Do That. Also, Swatting Mosquitoes, Sort Of Instinctive. But All Creatures Are Alive Before You Kill Them, and So Thou Shalt Respect Them In Their Lives and In Their Deaths. Thou Shalt Not Kill Without Reason. Thy Neighbor Tapping Thy Wife's Ass? Is Not A Reason. Don't Make Me Set A Plague Upon Thy Ass. Thou Wouldst Not Enjoy It, I Promise.
VII. Thou Shalt Not Hoard. Seriously, Here. If You Have Enough, Share. Only Assholes Would Be Selfish.
VIII. Thou Shalt Not Be A Martyr. If You Have One Beer, Drink It. Do Not Give It To Me and Then Expect Adoration. Dude, That Was Your Beer, I Did Not Break Your Arm To Get It. Give What You Can Give, and Expect Neither Praise Nor Worship. You Are Not Being Morally Superior, You Are Being A Decent Human Being. There Is A Difference.
IX. Assume This Is It. Maybe There Is Reincarnation; Maybe Not. Not Only Am I Not Saying, Please Consider the Fact That I Probably Get A Say In Whether You Come Back, and If You Are the Sort Of Person Who Doesn't Do Anything With One Life, Why Should I Waste My Time Giving You Another One? Live Like You Get No Second Chances. You Will Have More Fun.
X. Are You Going To Eat That?
Trouble is her only friend, and he’s back again – November 2007
So I let Crazy pull me in
Then I let Crazy take his spin
Kicked off my shoes
Shut reason out
He said
"first let's just unzip your religion down
Heard that you were once Temptation's girl"
The ghosts of my dead lovers haunt me. The boys who loved a girl, long since placed in a grave, wander through the laundry basket of my mind, sorting through memories and sifting them out, checking their worth.
My bedroom has become a void. I can't bear to be in that room. And the only thing I keep coming back to is, night I saw you after a 9 month absence. I want to tell you how much I miss you and how deeply I love you, but something is stopping me. Just like something is stopping me from unpacking my bedroom.--> --> --> -->
Significantly, this is the first time we've been together and I haven't been a basket case for 2 weeks after you return home. And then I realize that I haven't slept in 2 days and haven't gotten into my car in 5 days. Let's face it, you make me full on crazy. And my patient little Ims and voice mails drive you crazy. The difference is you are better at it than I am. You are better at closing the Vault door and stashing the key in an old faded pair of jeans that you toss nonchalantly on the bedroom floor.
I guess in the long run, my getting on that plane was the best thing that ever happened to you. Imagine what might not have been had I gotten into your car instead. The fact that we are still here is probably a testament to something. I'd like to think it's something about true love. The sad reality is that it's probably something about a testament to Insanity.
I've been thinking about this for the past day now and I really need to say this.
I just can not fathom how you can focus on something that happened so long ago, between two children, when you have such a charmed life. The fact is, you've seen things and done things other people only dream of. You have a wonderful career and a potential opportunities project, you've flown in Air Force One and met an American President, you've traveled the world, and at the end of the day you are bemoaning the loss of a love 20 years ago.
And despite it all, you refuse to see that had I not gotten on that plane, had I instead stayed with you and married you, none of the fabulous experiences you've had would be a part of your reality.
You sound like a spoiled child. I hate to say such a harsh thing, but maybe you need a stern reminding of how great your life really is.
I think the sad truth here is that you simply aren't interested in knowing who I am as a grown woman. Even now, you are still in love with a girl who died 5 years ago. Who I am now is nothing like the girl I was, and while I think she was spirited, head strong and wild, I also think she was brave, I am no longer that girl.
It makes me sad to realize this truth. I wish you did have an interest in knowing the woman I am today.
******************************
Instead, you disappear for 16 months at a time without a word, and expect me to take you in like a lost and bedraggled animal… or is that Animaul? Either way, it is the sort of behavior that makes me Crazy.
And as soon as you have rearranged
I thought I had gotten over Crazy.
I truly believed thatTHIS TIME, yes this last time, I had finally conquered the Crazy Demon from my past. But, alas, no.
After being told how wretched I am, and how much you want me away from you and out of your life –DING!– another email from your sorry ass, and here I am, fighting off the Crazy Demon with a flimsy pipe cleaner and a used coffee filter.
Full on Crazy.
Angry. Hurt. Sad. Depressed. Furious. Insane.
All the wonderful emotions that run rampant when you come back around.
You look so Sane.
You sound so Well Adjusted.
But we all know how deeply disturbed you really are and how your particular brand of Crazy is as contagious as the Black Plague in Paris.
I loved you once. And I was willing to make room for you in my life under the conditions I gave you in October 2005. So far, you can't seem to leave the drama behind and are unable to act like a mature, 42 year old man. Getting drunk and playing the "You broke my heart you bitch" soundtrack is really not something I want to hear again and again. Your stories are so weak and pitiful, I am embarrassed for you when I hear them. For someone with so much talent, I would expect you to put a little more effort into your lies.
I can only imagine what story you have this time. I bet it's going to be a whopper!
I loved you… but I'm not sure that I love you anymore. You always forgot that I have always loved you. I wonder if this time, you forgot for the both of us.
Then I let Crazy take his spin
Kicked off my shoes
Shut reason out
He said
"first let's just unzip your religion down
Heard that you were once Temptation's girl"
November 2005
The ghosts of my dead lovers haunt me. The boys who loved a girl, long since placed in a grave, wander through the laundry basket of my mind, sorting through memories and sifting them out, checking their worth.
My bedroom has become a void. I can't bear to be in that room. And the only thing I keep coming back to is, night I saw you after a 9 month absence. I want to tell you how much I miss you and how deeply I love you, but something is stopping me. Just like something is stopping me from unpacking my bedroom.--> --> --> -->
Significantly, this is the first time we've been together and I haven't been a basket case for 2 weeks after you return home. And then I realize that I haven't slept in 2 days and haven't gotten into my car in 5 days. Let's face it, you make me full on crazy. And my patient little Ims and voice mails drive you crazy. The difference is you are better at it than I am. You are better at closing the Vault door and stashing the key in an old faded pair of jeans that you toss nonchalantly on the bedroom floor.
I guess in the long run, my getting on that plane was the best thing that ever happened to you. Imagine what might not have been had I gotten into your car instead. The fact that we are still here is probably a testament to something. I'd like to think it's something about true love. The sad reality is that it's probably something about a testament to Insanity.
I've been thinking about this for the past day now and I really need to say this.
I just can not fathom how you can focus on something that happened so long ago, between two children, when you have such a charmed life. The fact is, you've seen things and done things other people only dream of. You have a wonderful career and a potential opportunities project, you've flown in Air Force One and met an American President, you've traveled the world, and at the end of the day you are bemoaning the loss of a love 20 years ago.
And despite it all, you refuse to see that had I not gotten on that plane, had I instead stayed with you and married you, none of the fabulous experiences you've had would be a part of your reality.
You sound like a spoiled child. I hate to say such a harsh thing, but maybe you need a stern reminding of how great your life really is.
I think the sad truth here is that you simply aren't interested in knowing who I am as a grown woman. Even now, you are still in love with a girl who died 5 years ago. Who I am now is nothing like the girl I was, and while I think she was spirited, head strong and wild, I also think she was brave, I am no longer that girl.
It makes me sad to realize this truth. I wish you did have an interest in knowing the woman I am today.
******************************
"Trouble is her only Friend, and he's back again"
November 2007
Instead, you disappear for 16 months at a time without a word, and expect me to take you in like a lost and bedraggled animal… or is that Animaul? Either way, it is the sort of behavior that makes me Crazy.
And as soon as you have rearranged
the mess in your head
He will show up looking sane
perfectly sane
If I know Crazy
I thought I had gotten over Crazy.
I truly believed thatTHIS TIME, yes this last time, I had finally conquered the Crazy Demon from my past. But, alas, no.
After being told how wretched I am, and how much you want me away from you and out of your life –DING!– another email from your sorry ass, and here I am, fighting off the Crazy Demon with a flimsy pipe cleaner and a used coffee filter.
Full on Crazy.
Angry. Hurt. Sad. Depressed. Furious. Insane.
All the wonderful emotions that run rampant when you come back around.
You look so Sane.
You sound so Well Adjusted.
But we all know how deeply disturbed you really are and how your particular brand of Crazy is as contagious as the Black Plague in Paris.
I loved you once. And I was willing to make room for you in my life under the conditions I gave you in October 2005. So far, you can't seem to leave the drama behind and are unable to act like a mature, 42 year old man. Getting drunk and playing the "You broke my heart you bitch" soundtrack is really not something I want to hear again and again. Your stories are so weak and pitiful, I am embarrassed for you when I hear them. For someone with so much talent, I would expect you to put a little more effort into your lies.
I can only imagine what story you have this time. I bet it's going to be a whopper!
I loved you… but I'm not sure that I love you anymore. You always forgot that I have always loved you. I wonder if this time, you forgot for the both of us.
"Trouble is My only Friend, and You're back again"
The Amazing Transformation of Archie Goodwin – April 2007
The Amazing Transformation of Mr. Archie Goodwin
Or… How Vegas has been better to my dog than it has to me!
Eight months ago I packed up my belongings and my dog and traipsed across Death Valley to the City of Sin. At that time, it was a quest for survival as I watched my thriving little consulting business get choked into oblivion.
Mr. Archie Goodwin had been a sheltered, fat little spoiled Chihuahua. He had a nanny to walk him. He had a neighbor Chihuahua to play with him. He was never required to be socialized beyond the limited contact with the outside world than was absolutely necessary.
Archie had acquired a severe large-dog aggression which stemmed from being attacked by a 2 year old Australian Shepherd in late 2004. From that point on, he was viciously fearful of any and all large dogs. After a time, that aggression branched out to all dogs over 20 pounds. Finally, just before the drive across the desert, it had grown to encompass any dog larger than himself.
When we got to Las Vegas, I immediately began a search for a dog sitter. I had become accustomed to indulging Archie's anti-social behavior. He loved the dog sitter and was pretty much a happy camper for the first 3 months we spent here in Las Vegas.
Around month four, there was a change in our financial situation and I could no longer afford the $125/week it was costing for Archie's dog sitter. I was in PetsMart one day and saw the PetsHotel. I found that it was significantly less money than the dog sitter and it was on the way to my office. My hours had changed and I was now able to drop him at the hotel at 7am each morning.
After the requisite round of shots and vet visits, Archie began day care 2 days a week. Hs first week in Day Care, Archie weighed a whopping 18.6 pounds. I slowly worked him up to 3, then 4 and eventually 5 days a week of day care. This option allowed Archie 1 hour of play time in an air conditioned atrium with other small dogs. At first it was very hard on him – he was essentially forced to socialize with other dogs.
At about the one month mark, Archie started to blossom and become a bit of a social butterfly. So I decided to start introducing some day camp days during the week. I started with 2 days a week in day camp and 3 in day care. I noticed a significant change in him immediately. He was happy, alert, well behaved and healthy. Eventually he worked up to daily day camp and the official social butterfly of the PetsHotel. With 3 girls to keep him company he has become quite the lothario of the Hotel! Archie is not allowed to bark at home – I have a strict "No Barking" policy and have worked hard at instilling the command in him. At the Hotel, however, he barks all day, continuously. It seems to be part of his character!! He still doesn't bark at home, so maybe it's good he gets al the barking out at Day Camp!
At the end of July, Archie had been in Day Care/Camp for a full 4 months and he seemed thinner. One evening after check out, I weighed him and was floored. I took him off the scale and reset the computer – weighed him again – and literally cried out in joy. Archie weighed 12.6 pounds! By mid-August, he has weighed in at 11.4 pounds!!!
I am completely aghast at the transformation. The PetsHotel has changed my angry fat little anti-social dog, in a sleek, loving, well adjusted social butterfly. He is well behaved and very snuggly.
Or… How Vegas has been better to my dog than it has to me!
Eight months ago I packed up my belongings and my dog and traipsed across Death Valley to the City of Sin. At that time, it was a quest for survival as I watched my thriving little consulting business get choked into oblivion.
Mr. Archie Goodwin had been a sheltered, fat little spoiled Chihuahua. He had a nanny to walk him. He had a neighbor Chihuahua to play with him. He was never required to be socialized beyond the limited contact with the outside world than was absolutely necessary.
Archie had acquired a severe large-dog aggression which stemmed from being attacked by a 2 year old Australian Shepherd in late 2004. From that point on, he was viciously fearful of any and all large dogs. After a time, that aggression branched out to all dogs over 20 pounds. Finally, just before the drive across the desert, it had grown to encompass any dog larger than himself.
When we got to Las Vegas, I immediately began a search for a dog sitter. I had become accustomed to indulging Archie's anti-social behavior. He loved the dog sitter and was pretty much a happy camper for the first 3 months we spent here in Las Vegas.
Around month four, there was a change in our financial situation and I could no longer afford the $125/week it was costing for Archie's dog sitter. I was in PetsMart one day and saw the PetsHotel. I found that it was significantly less money than the dog sitter and it was on the way to my office. My hours had changed and I was now able to drop him at the hotel at 7am each morning.
After the requisite round of shots and vet visits, Archie began day care 2 days a week. Hs first week in Day Care, Archie weighed a whopping 18.6 pounds. I slowly worked him up to 3, then 4 and eventually 5 days a week of day care. This option allowed Archie 1 hour of play time in an air conditioned atrium with other small dogs. At first it was very hard on him – he was essentially forced to socialize with other dogs.
At about the one month mark, Archie started to blossom and become a bit of a social butterfly. So I decided to start introducing some day camp days during the week. I started with 2 days a week in day camp and 3 in day care. I noticed a significant change in him immediately. He was happy, alert, well behaved and healthy. Eventually he worked up to daily day camp and the official social butterfly of the PetsHotel. With 3 girls to keep him company he has become quite the lothario of the Hotel! Archie is not allowed to bark at home – I have a strict "No Barking" policy and have worked hard at instilling the command in him. At the Hotel, however, he barks all day, continuously. It seems to be part of his character!! He still doesn't bark at home, so maybe it's good he gets al the barking out at Day Camp!
At the end of July, Archie had been in Day Care/Camp for a full 4 months and he seemed thinner. One evening after check out, I weighed him and was floored. I took him off the scale and reset the computer – weighed him again – and literally cried out in joy. Archie weighed 12.6 pounds! By mid-August, he has weighed in at 11.4 pounds!!!
I am completely aghast at the transformation. The PetsHotel has changed my angry fat little anti-social dog, in a sleek, loving, well adjusted social butterfly. He is well behaved and very snuggly.
The Man Who Gave Me a Garden – March 2007
In between the VP of Finance and the Engineer, woven opposite of the Audio Thief, there was the English Teacher.
I met him at a time in my life when I was unsure of my status as an animated being. He convinced me that a glass of water in a public place was no risk and did not constitute a commitment. Being in shock as I was from having woken up from yet another life threatening surgery, the proposition left me without a retort. How could I argue? And so it began.
I placed all these silly boundaries and restrictions upon him.
Me: You can come to my house for coffee, but I won't have sex with you.
Him: But we can make out a little, right?
Me: Oh, of course.
I told myself the boundaries were important because he was so overwhelming. He stood 6' 4" and was broad shouldered. He was the first man in many years who towered over me, and made me feel petite and vulnerable.
It was not long before we fell into a weekend routine of all night sex and fabulously long leisurely breakfasts on the front porch together. I relate cooking and eating to sex – after all, they do hit the same erogenous zones and have historically been linked. I figured the cooking on "the morning after" was simply an extension of the previous night's glorious adventures in pleasure.
He taught me the secret to making strong bold "starbucks" coffee at home. He showed me how a small amount of chopped bacon could transform boring scrambled eggs into a gourmet meal. He educated me in the divinity of seasoned salt. I think I was most surprised by the biscuits.
One morning he declared that he was done with toast. Go take a shower, he commanded, the biscuits need to rise. When I came out, freshly washed and smelling less like sex and more like a girl, there were six freshly baked biscuits on the counter. I can't remember now if my shock was for the actual appearance of home made baked goods in my domicile, or the unholy mess he had made of my kitchen in the process of baking said biscuits.
It was a time in my life when I had no money and lived on a meager allowance at the fringes of the San Pedro ghetto district. We watched TV together, and attended matinees. We went for walks in the park. We drove around the beach city at night with the top down. The spring air and the scent of night blooming jasmine intoxicating us. More often than not we ended up on a deserted side street, alone under the oaks trees, lips locked, arms wrapped and the smell of jasmine wafting around us. The usual passionate kisses inevitably turned steamy as our hands were all over each other. Reaching under and up and down and around, touching and caressing each other.
Our birthdays were very close together. I bought him a heavy zippo lighter. It was a smokey brass large men's lighter engraved with his initials on one side and a favorite line from the poem "Variations" by Frederico Garcia Lorca… "under a thicket of kisses".
The still waters of the air
under the bough of the echo.
The still waters of the water
under a frond of stars.
The still waters of your mouth
under a thicket of kisses.
Two weeks later, for my birthday, he gave me a garden. He had arranged a tour of the Huntington Gardens in Pasadena on the day of my birthday. It just so happened to be the birthday of Jane Goodall, being celebrated at the Gardens. There were "Happy Birthday" banners and balloons all over the Library grounds.
That night we made passionate love in his loft apartment, with the scent of night blooming jasmine floating in through the open windows.
One evening after he had put on a particularly chivalrous display of manliness, we ended up in our usual spot against the tile of my oversized shower. Under the waterfall of the shower head, I accidentally told him that I loved him. I meant it in the endearing, "Oh I just love lemon meringue pie". I understand the mistake, we were naked, in the shower. Behind all that steam a person can become quite misled.
We went along at a frantic pace, having passionate sex, eating fabulous food and lounging in each other's arms on warm spring mornings. It was only a matter of time before the accidental declaration in the shower became a hardened reality.
He gave me a garden and I fell in love with him.
After the passion faded, I was left with his friendship. I moved into the apartment next to his when it became available. I wanted to be in the one place I had truly fell and felt in love. I wanted to be reminded of the late morning love making, with music and strong coffee. It was no longer about the English Teacher, it was about reclaiming that feeling of being in love.
After many long lonely years of not knowing what love felt like, of not having any idea of love, I had finally found my way back to the emotion that had abandoned me.
It was not about love, it was the idea of love. It was about the idea of the Garden.
I met him at a time in my life when I was unsure of my status as an animated being. He convinced me that a glass of water in a public place was no risk and did not constitute a commitment. Being in shock as I was from having woken up from yet another life threatening surgery, the proposition left me without a retort. How could I argue? And so it began.
I placed all these silly boundaries and restrictions upon him.
Me: You can come to my house for coffee, but I won't have sex with you.
Him: But we can make out a little, right?
Me: Oh, of course.
I told myself the boundaries were important because he was so overwhelming. He stood 6' 4" and was broad shouldered. He was the first man in many years who towered over me, and made me feel petite and vulnerable.
It was not long before we fell into a weekend routine of all night sex and fabulously long leisurely breakfasts on the front porch together. I relate cooking and eating to sex – after all, they do hit the same erogenous zones and have historically been linked. I figured the cooking on "the morning after" was simply an extension of the previous night's glorious adventures in pleasure.
He taught me the secret to making strong bold "starbucks" coffee at home. He showed me how a small amount of chopped bacon could transform boring scrambled eggs into a gourmet meal. He educated me in the divinity of seasoned salt. I think I was most surprised by the biscuits.
One morning he declared that he was done with toast. Go take a shower, he commanded, the biscuits need to rise. When I came out, freshly washed and smelling less like sex and more like a girl, there were six freshly baked biscuits on the counter. I can't remember now if my shock was for the actual appearance of home made baked goods in my domicile, or the unholy mess he had made of my kitchen in the process of baking said biscuits.
It was a time in my life when I had no money and lived on a meager allowance at the fringes of the San Pedro ghetto district. We watched TV together, and attended matinees. We went for walks in the park. We drove around the beach city at night with the top down. The spring air and the scent of night blooming jasmine intoxicating us. More often than not we ended up on a deserted side street, alone under the oaks trees, lips locked, arms wrapped and the smell of jasmine wafting around us. The usual passionate kisses inevitably turned steamy as our hands were all over each other. Reaching under and up and down and around, touching and caressing each other.
Our birthdays were very close together. I bought him a heavy zippo lighter. It was a smokey brass large men's lighter engraved with his initials on one side and a favorite line from the poem "Variations" by Frederico Garcia Lorca… "under a thicket of kisses".
The still waters of the air
under the bough of the echo.
The still waters of the water
under a frond of stars.
The still waters of your mouth
under a thicket of kisses.
Two weeks later, for my birthday, he gave me a garden. He had arranged a tour of the Huntington Gardens in Pasadena on the day of my birthday. It just so happened to be the birthday of Jane Goodall, being celebrated at the Gardens. There were "Happy Birthday" banners and balloons all over the Library grounds.
That night we made passionate love in his loft apartment, with the scent of night blooming jasmine floating in through the open windows.
One evening after he had put on a particularly chivalrous display of manliness, we ended up in our usual spot against the tile of my oversized shower. Under the waterfall of the shower head, I accidentally told him that I loved him. I meant it in the endearing, "Oh I just love lemon meringue pie". I understand the mistake, we were naked, in the shower. Behind all that steam a person can become quite misled.
We went along at a frantic pace, having passionate sex, eating fabulous food and lounging in each other's arms on warm spring mornings. It was only a matter of time before the accidental declaration in the shower became a hardened reality.
He gave me a garden and I fell in love with him.
After the passion faded, I was left with his friendship. I moved into the apartment next to his when it became available. I wanted to be in the one place I had truly fell and felt in love. I wanted to be reminded of the late morning love making, with music and strong coffee. It was no longer about the English Teacher, it was about reclaiming that feeling of being in love.
After many long lonely years of not knowing what love felt like, of not having any idea of love, I had finally found my way back to the emotion that had abandoned me.
It was not about love, it was the idea of love. It was about the idea of the Garden.
May 26, 2007
Tell him I still love him.
Remind him that I am still here
Still in love
Still waiting.
Your skin has the same scent as his skin,
But you are not him.
You taste like him,
Your saliva leaves his taste on my lips,
But when I open my eyes,
I see you are not him.
I can close my eyes
When I am in your arms
And pretend I am with him.
For a few moments
When we are together
I can pretend he is still here,
Still loving me.
Remind him that I am still here
Still in love
Still waiting.
Your skin has the same scent as his skin,
But you are not him.
You taste like him,
Your saliva leaves his taste on my lips,
But when I open my eyes,
I see you are not him.
I can close my eyes
When I am in your arms
And pretend I am with him.
For a few moments
When we are together
I can pretend he is still here,
Still loving me.
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