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
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Saturday, January 21, 2012
My Loki
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.
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 
#Reverb #Reverb10 #Writing #Blog #TV
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
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.
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?
Garbage in the Parking Lot - December 24, 2006
As I sit here in a very cold Starbuck's leeching off the only wireless hotspot I can find in Vegas (seems odd, no?) the Crows are mobbing a pile of Quizno's trash left behind by an inconsiderate brute (or brutess - equal opportunity and all).
On the one hand it is offensive that someone would toss out so much trash on the parking lot, when a perfectly suitable trash bin is nearby.
On the otherhand, those Crows got a very pleasant Christmas Eve dinner rioting around in the crumpled paper and pecking out the leftover bread.
Would the Gods be pleased by the site of their sacred animals feasting wildly with the Robins? Do they see an offering to their Pets? or do they know Their favored messengers are feasting on scraps?
Does it matter?
On the one hand it is offensive that someone would toss out so much trash on the parking lot, when a perfectly suitable trash bin is nearby.
On the otherhand, those Crows got a very pleasant Christmas Eve dinner rioting around in the crumpled paper and pecking out the leftover bread.
Would the Gods be pleased by the site of their sacred animals feasting wildly with the Robins? Do they see an offering to their Pets? or do they know Their favored messengers are feasting on scraps?
Does it matter?
Cali-fornication - December 2006
Cali Fornication
or
The Rumors of my Crisis are Greatly Exaggerated
I spent 4 days camping in the desert. Since I got back to the city, I can not keep my hands clean. I find myself in the kitchen sink or the bathroom with soap and hot water at least 5-7 times a day.
For the past 7 years, I have sat on the edge and committed to nothing or no one. I spent a lot of time dancing with religion and the sacred union, the divine feminine and the balance with patriarchal archetypes. I dove right into witchcraft – 90 days to be exact – right after Gran died. I remained in a loveless marriage with a man I had grown to hate. I used distance as a shield against life.
The funniest thing about all this is the action – trigger event – which began the beginning. Michael. Crazy huh? When we got married, I tried to do it through the Catholic Church. I went through all the machinations, the required classes, etc and so on, and even had my baptismal, confessional, communion and confirmation certificates collected and documented.
It was only a few years (about 2) after the ironically labeled Father Vatican refused to allow Michael and I to marry in the Catholic Church that I became ill and had the Angel in the Bathroom.
The Angel. That was quite the experience, and I learned very quickly that it is not considered socially acceptable to go around telling people that you talk to angels.
At least if you say you're a witch it's easier to play off as a non-conformist, slightly crazy... the woman who is just a little touched.
Which brings to me the point of this blog. The "crisis of faith" everyone is so concerned about, the move across the desert my close friends are so stunned over.
First, the move. Well there's not much to say. Las Vegas is a booming town and I have a better chance at starting over there than I do anywhere else. I have a group of good friends for support. Yes, salaries are lower in Vegas but so is the cost of living. I have been trying to get out of California since 2001 when I started interviewing in New York and Chicago. It's just time.
The physical move is going to be difficult. Saying goodbye is really hard. Since the return from my stay on the moon…. Very very few of you on my list of friends truly knows what that means and the time period I am referring to. It's pre 2003, so that narrows the list pretty significantly. The bottom line is that the only reason I survived the surgery – that time when you all were called to the hospital to say good bye – was because Michael forced his will and presence for access to the magic of modern medicine. Only Michael could have navigated through the bureaucracy of the Health Insurance business process.
So I have come to the conclusion that he taught me what I needed to learn to manage this damned endometriosis or whatever it has morphed into now. The price we paid was our marriage. I hated him in the end. There are pieces of me that despise him to this day. I can not, however, truly hate him fairly without acknowledging that he saved my life.
In the end, the very reason I despise him led to the introduction into my life the one woman who made sure my diet coke was stored in the fridge and my clothes were hung up. I guess that's the irony of life. If it had not been for Mike finally accepting the recommendation of a cleaning lady, because I steadfastly refused to clean the bathroom, from his mistress, I never would have met Sheila.
The funny part is that Mike had intended for one, maybe max 3 times Sheila would clean the house. No. Sheila and I became friends fast, and she came every week. At the time I had no idea, and it was only years later as I pieced together the bits of information I had, that I realized she had given Mike her cleaning lady's number. Mike, trying to shut me up, gave me the number. Now everyone understands why Mike hated Sheila so very much.
As I look back, when I moved from Palm Ave, in 2000, I should have left California then. I don't remember why I stayed, maybe I believed the job I had would turn around. I don't remember now why I stayed but I did.
When Mike moved back in with me in 2001, we were supposed to move to Chicago. Of course that never happened. Again, I should have just gone by myself. I should have just said done. But again, I stayed.
I keep trying to leave LA and to leave California. Somehow, something always stops me. Now, 7 years since the return from my stay on the moon, it's down to the wire and time for me to go North.
So that brings us to the pool and the waterfall – which is an entirely different blog.
As for the "crisis of faith", well it's not a crisis. It's more of a ….. an awakening I guess you could say. My faith is not in crisis. What I believe and my relationship with the Divine is just fine. (Please refer to above looney bin statements on Angels).
I am walking away from the Pagan and Wiccan "path" specifically. I completely respect the Gardnerians and the Roebucks, and the Seax … as they were 40 years ago. Today it's a bunch of white trash mixed with absolutely nutty nit wits and most of all….. Dumb! (Kris, honey, that was my gift to you, you can stop giggling now.)
Of the few people I have met who are worthy of any respect in the path are much older Elders from back east, and a select handful of people I could honestly call friends who are local. Other than that, every single person I have met who labels themselves Pagan or Wiccan is just fake. I think Hollywood has a close rival for most saccharine community. And there you have it – Hollywood Pagans. Of course, those of you who have known me a very long time (and you know who you are) have spent time laughing about these very subjects.
Someone emailed me recently and made the comment "In this world of liars and dysfunctional people.." and I nearly fell off my chair from laughing. Really? You don't say? The Pagan Community might be filled with liars and dysfunctional people? Get outta here!!
I am done trying to lead anyone anywhere. Let me re-phrase that: Unless I am getting paid to lead a team to a specific goal, I am done leading voluntarily. And from what I've seen, there is no one I am interested in "following".
I have found a group of friends who very impressively follow a motto I picked up at a John Wells camping ritual: "Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend"
I am more interested in walking beside them to see what comes next.
Because as Animaul said 3 years ago: "Youhave to see what comes next"
I am going to miss Sheila and Rachel very much. Mom will come to see me and Kris… well I'm sure we will see each other at special holidays.
Here's the funniest part of all: I was packing up the office and I found a $50 gift card to Outback. Hey Ettie, guess where we are having Christmas dinner?
or
The Rumors of my Crisis are Greatly Exaggerated
I spent 4 days camping in the desert. Since I got back to the city, I can not keep my hands clean. I find myself in the kitchen sink or the bathroom with soap and hot water at least 5-7 times a day.
For the past 7 years, I have sat on the edge and committed to nothing or no one. I spent a lot of time dancing with religion and the sacred union, the divine feminine and the balance with patriarchal archetypes. I dove right into witchcraft – 90 days to be exact – right after Gran died. I remained in a loveless marriage with a man I had grown to hate. I used distance as a shield against life.
The funniest thing about all this is the action – trigger event – which began the beginning. Michael. Crazy huh? When we got married, I tried to do it through the Catholic Church. I went through all the machinations, the required classes, etc and so on, and even had my baptismal, confessional, communion and confirmation certificates collected and documented.
It was only a few years (about 2) after the ironically labeled Father Vatican refused to allow Michael and I to marry in the Catholic Church that I became ill and had the Angel in the Bathroom.
The Angel. That was quite the experience, and I learned very quickly that it is not considered socially acceptable to go around telling people that you talk to angels.
At least if you say you're a witch it's easier to play off as a non-conformist, slightly crazy... the woman who is just a little touched.
Which brings to me the point of this blog. The "crisis of faith" everyone is so concerned about, the move across the desert my close friends are so stunned over.
First, the move. Well there's not much to say. Las Vegas is a booming town and I have a better chance at starting over there than I do anywhere else. I have a group of good friends for support. Yes, salaries are lower in Vegas but so is the cost of living. I have been trying to get out of California since 2001 when I started interviewing in New York and Chicago. It's just time.
The physical move is going to be difficult. Saying goodbye is really hard. Since the return from my stay on the moon…. Very very few of you on my list of friends truly knows what that means and the time period I am referring to. It's pre 2003, so that narrows the list pretty significantly. The bottom line is that the only reason I survived the surgery – that time when you all were called to the hospital to say good bye – was because Michael forced his will and presence for access to the magic of modern medicine. Only Michael could have navigated through the bureaucracy of the Health Insurance business process.
So I have come to the conclusion that he taught me what I needed to learn to manage this damned endometriosis or whatever it has morphed into now. The price we paid was our marriage. I hated him in the end. There are pieces of me that despise him to this day. I can not, however, truly hate him fairly without acknowledging that he saved my life.
In the end, the very reason I despise him led to the introduction into my life the one woman who made sure my diet coke was stored in the fridge and my clothes were hung up. I guess that's the irony of life. If it had not been for Mike finally accepting the recommendation of a cleaning lady, because I steadfastly refused to clean the bathroom, from his mistress, I never would have met Sheila.
The funny part is that Mike had intended for one, maybe max 3 times Sheila would clean the house. No. Sheila and I became friends fast, and she came every week. At the time I had no idea, and it was only years later as I pieced together the bits of information I had, that I realized she had given Mike her cleaning lady's number. Mike, trying to shut me up, gave me the number. Now everyone understands why Mike hated Sheila so very much.
As I look back, when I moved from Palm Ave, in 2000, I should have left California then. I don't remember why I stayed, maybe I believed the job I had would turn around. I don't remember now why I stayed but I did.
When Mike moved back in with me in 2001, we were supposed to move to Chicago. Of course that never happened. Again, I should have just gone by myself. I should have just said done. But again, I stayed.
I keep trying to leave LA and to leave California. Somehow, something always stops me. Now, 7 years since the return from my stay on the moon, it's down to the wire and time for me to go North.
So that brings us to the pool and the waterfall – which is an entirely different blog.
As for the "crisis of faith", well it's not a crisis. It's more of a ….. an awakening I guess you could say. My faith is not in crisis. What I believe and my relationship with the Divine is just fine. (Please refer to above looney bin statements on Angels).
I am walking away from the Pagan and Wiccan "path" specifically. I completely respect the Gardnerians and the Roebucks, and the Seax … as they were 40 years ago. Today it's a bunch of white trash mixed with absolutely nutty nit wits and most of all….. Dumb! (Kris, honey, that was my gift to you, you can stop giggling now.)
Of the few people I have met who are worthy of any respect in the path are much older Elders from back east, and a select handful of people I could honestly call friends who are local. Other than that, every single person I have met who labels themselves Pagan or Wiccan is just fake. I think Hollywood has a close rival for most saccharine community. And there you have it – Hollywood Pagans. Of course, those of you who have known me a very long time (and you know who you are) have spent time laughing about these very subjects.
Someone emailed me recently and made the comment "In this world of liars and dysfunctional people.." and I nearly fell off my chair from laughing. Really? You don't say? The Pagan Community might be filled with liars and dysfunctional people? Get outta here!!
I am done trying to lead anyone anywhere. Let me re-phrase that: Unless I am getting paid to lead a team to a specific goal, I am done leading voluntarily. And from what I've seen, there is no one I am interested in "following".
I have found a group of friends who very impressively follow a motto I picked up at a John Wells camping ritual: "Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend"
I am more interested in walking beside them to see what comes next.
Because as Animaul said 3 years ago: "Youhave to see what comes next"
I am going to miss Sheila and Rachel very much. Mom will come to see me and Kris… well I'm sure we will see each other at special holidays.
Here's the funniest part of all: I was packing up the office and I found a $50 gift card to Outback. Hey Ettie, guess where we are having Christmas dinner?
Sam's Town - December 2006
She said
You don't know me, you don't wear my chains...
She said
I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly em out to Spain...
I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind...
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice...
Boston... where no one knows my name...
OK, so it's not exactly Boston but it is east. North East to be exact, from my present location. It's time to really start over. I've been trying to start over for 3 years now, and I just can't seem to shake the demons of the past. I really think I need to pack up and move to Las Vegas. I've been toying with the idea since Anet started suggesting it two years ago.
I have come to the conclusion that the sadness I feel about leaving has more to do with my breakup with Scott than actually leaving. I have been living in "Scott's Apartment" for nearly 3 years now. Archie and I practically moved in when Scott and I started dating in February 2004. He married the Australian girl this past summer and has been gone longer than we actually dated. I, however, am still living in the same apartment. I do miss him.
I've gone through the list and other than a very small handful of people (like 3) here in Long Beach, I don't have alot of people to say good bye to. I mostly have friends I will say hello to!! That is why I think I am sad, because of Scott - there is no other reason.
There's also the fear of the unknown. The last time I moved away from California was 1987. That's 20 years ago. I was gone for 4 years and came running home to the familiarity of saccharine friendships and postcard sunsets. My most valuable friendships have all been with people outside of California. So, maybe it's time to leave. Afterall, how cliche is it that I fall into the demographic of shallow Californians who have never lived east of the Rockies? What? There's cities and stuff on the other side? Really?
So I will tread as far as Las Vegas. That's about how far East I can venture without getting nervous. North seems friendlier, but I'm not in to the snow and cold so much.
Starting Over. New Year, New Life. I even cut and colored my hair. No more blondie blonde. I'm very close to my natural Auburn again, I forgot how intense my eyes get when my hair is dark. So mote it be - it's all brand new!
More on Love - March 2006
I am not full of virtues and noble qualities.
I Love, that is all.
But I love strongly, exclusively, steadfastly.
-George Sand, Paris 1837
I Love, that is all.
But I love strongly, exclusively, steadfastly.
-George Sand, Paris 1837
Love is not something you feel - March 2006
"Love is not something you feel. Love is something you do. And if you're with someone who doesn't want to do it with you, then save it for someone who does."
Raccoons - January 2005
Last night at about 2am, my dog Archie went ballistic with "securing the perimeter". He dove off the bed and charged the balcony, prudently stopping at the thresh hold to wait for mom to "come get it!" I live in a "tree house" of sorts, upstairs and surrounded on 2 sides by large mature leafy trees. I thought I was chasing off a cat. It came back. I thought it was a possum, so I took the broom to it and chased it down the sidewalk.
Third time at the balcony with Archie going nuts, I look out the patio door and a masked creature stared back at me defiantly. I ran around the house in a panic, closing doors, and windows and realized *that* activity was pointless, little buggers can open doors. I went to the balcony and watched as not one raccoon, but 2, slowly and calmly climbed down the stairs. I decided to reason with them. "I live here," I said, "this is my house. You can go live in the back yard. There are plenty of bushes and trees back there, go make a nice den. But this is my house and you can't live here." Amazingly they went to the back yard.
About 20 minutes later I hear them crashing about in the back yard. They knocked something over and probably scared themselves silly. It got quiet immediately, nevertheless. Within a few minutes, I hear one of them. She parked herself under my bedroom window and chirruped, incessantly. So I got up and went to the balcony. The male, at least 20lbs, very large, very fluffy and a dark grey coat with a perfectly ringed tail and gorgeous black mask is looking up at me from the mid-point of the tree at my balcony. We are literally eye to eye. She is chirruping and scuttling down the side of the apartment and rounds the corner, looks up at me, puts her hands in front of her and chirrups at me! She is about 15lbs, beautiful light grey coat, and the sides of her belly are plump and oddly shaped. This kid is ready to pop! Her tail has perfect rings and her mask is just as gorgeous but it's a bit spottled and striped at the edges. He slowly climbs down to the ground and walks over to sit by her. They mill around on the entry and then he jumps 4 feet straight up, and on to the entry ledge, and looks up at me.
So I say, "fine stay here but you can't come inside." I go back to bed. Within a few minutes the chirruping starts beneath my window. I get up and this time he is sitting on the front steps and she is peaking around the corner. At this point I realize that unless I give them something, this is going to go on all night!
I do the worst thing imaginable and the number one thing against the rules of interacting with Urban Wildlife - I give them a plate of dog kibble. At first I threw a handful down to see if they would even eat it.... I mean why waste perfectly good dog kibble right? Well they scarffed it up. So I went down and put the plate on the steps. By the time I got back up to the balcony to watch them they were sitting around the plate feasting. They ate for about 10 minutes, or half the plate, they milled around.
I heard chirruping from the front sidewalk so I go to the front wall of the patio and look down: She is sitting on one of the rocks in the front garden sitting on her haunches looking up at me. Her hands are in front of her and clasped. She tosses her head this way and that, and the male walked up behind her in the low plants and off they went. I guess they were just "passing through". She knew I'd give her food if she asked clearly, it just took her several tries! Tenacious little devil! I'm sure they will be back at some point. Probably with the entire family! And yes, I will do the dumb thing and feed them. What? I'm going to let a Raccoon go hungry?
Third time at the balcony with Archie going nuts, I look out the patio door and a masked creature stared back at me defiantly. I ran around the house in a panic, closing doors, and windows and realized *that* activity was pointless, little buggers can open doors. I went to the balcony and watched as not one raccoon, but 2, slowly and calmly climbed down the stairs. I decided to reason with them. "I live here," I said, "this is my house. You can go live in the back yard. There are plenty of bushes and trees back there, go make a nice den. But this is my house and you can't live here." Amazingly they went to the back yard.
About 20 minutes later I hear them crashing about in the back yard. They knocked something over and probably scared themselves silly. It got quiet immediately, nevertheless. Within a few minutes, I hear one of them. She parked herself under my bedroom window and chirruped, incessantly. So I got up and went to the balcony. The male, at least 20lbs, very large, very fluffy and a dark grey coat with a perfectly ringed tail and gorgeous black mask is looking up at me from the mid-point of the tree at my balcony. We are literally eye to eye. She is chirruping and scuttling down the side of the apartment and rounds the corner, looks up at me, puts her hands in front of her and chirrups at me! She is about 15lbs, beautiful light grey coat, and the sides of her belly are plump and oddly shaped. This kid is ready to pop! Her tail has perfect rings and her mask is just as gorgeous but it's a bit spottled and striped at the edges. He slowly climbs down to the ground and walks over to sit by her. They mill around on the entry and then he jumps 4 feet straight up, and on to the entry ledge, and looks up at me.
So I say, "fine stay here but you can't come inside." I go back to bed. Within a few minutes the chirruping starts beneath my window. I get up and this time he is sitting on the front steps and she is peaking around the corner. At this point I realize that unless I give them something, this is going to go on all night!
I do the worst thing imaginable and the number one thing against the rules of interacting with Urban Wildlife - I give them a plate of dog kibble. At first I threw a handful down to see if they would even eat it.... I mean why waste perfectly good dog kibble right? Well they scarffed it up. So I went down and put the plate on the steps. By the time I got back up to the balcony to watch them they were sitting around the plate feasting. They ate for about 10 minutes, or half the plate, they milled around.
I heard chirruping from the front sidewalk so I go to the front wall of the patio and look down: She is sitting on one of the rocks in the front garden sitting on her haunches looking up at me. Her hands are in front of her and clasped. She tosses her head this way and that, and the male walked up behind her in the low plants and off they went. I guess they were just "passing through". She knew I'd give her food if she asked clearly, it just took her several tries! Tenacious little devil! I'm sure they will be back at some point. Probably with the entire family! And yes, I will do the dumb thing and feed them. What? I'm going to let a Raccoon go hungry?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Goddess is Alive and Magic is Afoot!
For those of us on the Pagan Path or fans of Marion Zimmer Bradley, the book, Mists of Avalon has a place in our mental library. At the end of Morgain's journey, even amidst the Christian invasion of her country via Catholicism, she sees a very subtle, public celebration of the Goddess.
The lesson is that no matter what the faith, the Goddess finds a way into the world through every portal.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/13/nyregion/13virgin.html?em
How appropriate is this? The timing is absolutely divine! The weekend of the full moon, with the moon closest to Earth in it's journey around the planet. Yule is around the corner and the Goddess is being paraded through Manhattan.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
New Tattoo
The Design 
Fresh Ink 
Blue Gerbera Daisy with Aries Symbol in the Center
24 hours old - the light blue is coming in!
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