scrumptious monkey

First Day Jitters

2006-03-16T01:34:00.000-06:00

I should be asleep. Really.

But I've laid down and gotten up three times already.
My mind won't unwind...

First day, new job -- and I have to be there bright eyed and bushy tailed at 6am.
for the next four days in a row.
(I just heard Rob shudder and groan. oh yeah -- Ms. "I am SO Not A Morning Person.")
Anything can be conquered in small enough increments.
It's a day at a time.

I'll feel better after the first day is over.
The training session went well... the worst part was the drive home (still took be a freeking HOUR to navigate from I-35 to Anderson. Like it isn't confusing enough in the daylight! Sheesh.

I really need to fall asleep and get some rest, it's a 6am to 2:30pm shift.

Nice Cake, huh? Simple royal icing violets, smooth base with elegant dots.
Nothing like what I'll be doing, but what the hell.
Let's have a slice...

Getting Around

2006-03-12T22:00:00.000-06:00

My favorite computer game ever is MapQuest.

See, you enter an address you want to go to, and the address you're starting from. Directions and an actual map pop up on the screen. Then -- and here's the fun part -- you get to play out the game in real time, by actually following the directions to get to your destination.

It's exciting, ever stimulating, and has that edge of reality people crave nowadays.

Today, I got in the truck and headed out in the opposite direction of what I am somewhat familiar with -- this time down to Spicewood Springs Road, which turns into Anderson Lane East, hooking a slight right onto I-35 North.. and ending up at 6*** NI H 35.

according to MapQuest, it was a 4.98 mile trip, one direction.
Guess how lost I got.

Ok Ok I am getting better at figuring out the one way traffic web, and with practice I am slightly bolder in deciding to carefully turn around and retrace my route.

Heck, it only took me a half hour and one phone call to find what I set out to find...
and er... an hour to get back.

all that one way traffic stuff... geez.
Still, I found a lot of good things I didn't know were so close to my area.
Look for, the silver lining...
I am such a driving dweeb.

Complicated Relations

2006-03-11T17:00:00.000-06:00

There's a joke.

Guy's away in Europe, and he leaves his beloved cat with his brother, who's sort of a cut and dried, no nonsense type. When the Guy calls home and asks how his cat is, the brother says, "It's dead." Understandably the Guy is stunned.

"You can't just tell a person something like that! Jeez, you have no tact at all, do you? Couldn't you have broken it to me in stages? What happened, how'd she die?.." The brother apologises rather absently, and tells the Guy the cat had been up on the roof, fell off and that was the end of the cat. Still shaken, the Guy reproaches his brother with, "See, you could have told me she was on the roof, and had a bad fall, and then, that there was nothing that could be done, and she was gone. Have a little sensitivity, why dontcha." Taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh, the Guy asks, "How's Mom?"

The brother says quietly, "She's up on the roof..."

It's hard to break the news of a family member's passing. There's no GOOD way to do it, and it's a bitch of a thing to get stuck being the bearer of possibly emotionally volatile news to another family member 2,000 miles away. Not only do you have to suffer the news again, you have to be braced for that person's emotional storm... or the lack of a reaction.

My Mother passed away Saturday morning in St Vincent's Hospital (Bridgeport CT). She'd been very ill; was suffering from a system wide massive infection, and had (over the months leading up to the end) lost practically all physical capacity to exist as a human being... except for lucidity. That was the one element that came and went -- she had a relatively clear visit with my younger sister Thursday night, there were family members with her on Friday... and then this morning she passed: peacefully, quietly.

Mother and I had a complicated relationship. My Mother was a complex personality. I am not a ho-hum person either.

I stopped caring about her opinion and general view of things when I was in High school. I moved out shortly afterward; then a few years later moved back in to take care of her after her first hip replacement surgery.

You know the Miranda Rights? "Anything you say can and will be used against you.." If she'd had any personal ambition other than managing her children's lives, she'd have made a ruthless prosecuting attorney.

People would have begged for the mercy of a bullet in the brain rather than endure the cold merciless prosecution of Lucille. Not that she was Evil. Noooo; she was cold, sarcastic, contrary, and delighted in the miseries of others, but she didn't take an active role in making lives miserable... Except by talking to you about things in a way engineered to make you feel as small, stupid, and insignificant as possible.

The only way to deal with someone like that is to tell them nothing, and mask your emotions. I would be pleasantly unattached to the flow of conversation when I had to be In The Presence: Fully suited up in emotional Kevlar armor when dealing with her.

She drove other family members with her controlling minutae: I dismissed it all as inconsequential. This she considered a challenge; and in a twisted way she respected me for not caving from her incessant emotional tortures.

She was different with each of us, fine tuned to the others weaknesses and fears; and she pushed the buttons she could find just to get reactions and watch how people jumped when she did so.

And yes, I still maintain she was not evil for doing so. She was a product of the horrible woman who raised her; and compaired to Grandma, Mom was Snow White.

Mom counted coup at family gatherings on Holidays (which were really obligatory examinations of the over view of everyone's lives; exact measurements were made based on who came, how long they stayed, how much they did...) all the while looking for chinks in the armor.

It must sound as if I hated her. I'm afraid it's worse than that -- I felt nothing for her, and even now -- I feel nothing. I'm happy to be in Austin, and I have no intention of going back to Connecticut if I can help it. And I plan to work hard at avoiding Connecticut and the Northeast just on principle.

She was my Mother: Fairly larger than life, unhappy with everything she surveyed, fearful of what other people thought of her... because she herself had nothing nice to say about anyone. She was my Mother -- and I strive every day of my life not to be like her in dealing with others.

I hope she's finally happy.
RIP.

I am a tower of jello...

2006-03-10T19:30:00.000-06:00

Today, I burst into tears when I finally got a human being on the phone after chasing my local branch office bank voice mail around for 15 minutes (including getting hung up on twice). All I wanted to know was what I needed to bring with me to open an individual checking account in Austin. I had no idea the concept and the implementation was so emotionally volatile.

It has been a day.

A friend of mine is outright furious with me and "going off" on me for having the bad form to tell him he's over-reacting. I knew I'd draw his scorn and ire, but this really seemed... well, frightening. Things have settled down a bit, but good grief I don't like the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to kick me in the behind. I had enough of living on that edge for 44 years, and I thought I could give it up, down here.

The good news is, as far as I know he doesn't have my address or phone number.

S.M. left for his trip overseas to Israel and Germany yesterday... and I miss him. I'm getting around Austin (as I need to) and taking care of myself -- but I just miss him. He's a Good Person. He's kind, encouraging, has a sense of humor, listens well, and doesn't shock at all. Best of all -- he's trustworthy, in a true blue, what-you-see-is-what-you-get presentation of personal ethics and integrity.
He is, simply "A Mensch".

I wish I was the sort of girl he's looking for, to hold up the other end of the 2 x 4.
Sadly, I don't think that's going to happen.
But I do want him to find happiness with his better half, whoever she is.

Enough feeling sorry for myself. I should get some supper, take my meds, and plan my Saturday.

Let Them Eat Cake.

2006-03-08T12:02:00.000-06:00

No, I'm not going to give up on a bookstore job -- or a library gig, for that matter. I don't mind volunteering for the library... as soon as I find one of 'em! I can be mild mannered cake decorating Lilly by day, and Smarty-Pants-Know-It-All Librarian Lilly ... on alternating days.

I would like a bookstore gig. Maybe I should bring over some goodies for the BookPeople folks. Like a cake with the Cat in the Hat on it:

hmmm might seem too threatening. I want to get hired, not arrested.

I'm thinking about Dr Seuss because it was his birthday recently (March 2) and I used to make 3 Cat In The Hat Cakes every year (special order for a grade school teacher) to celebrate the day. I think she had a cake for the morning session, a cake for the afternoon session -- and a cake for the teacher's lounge. Now there's an educator.

On the subject of getting the gig with this grocery chain -- they have a mandatory pre-hire drug test, and criminal background search. Now... the most illegal thing I've ever done is cheat on my diet, and the only drugs in my system (at a-certain-time-of-the-month) are Excedrin or Midol.

I have nothing to hide, and I had no problem complying.
Does that make me a tool?
Probably.

I'd rather be an employed tool than "worrying about what I'm going to write on my cardboard sign". hmmmm..

Speaking of EJ -- I missed his appearance as part of The Barbwire Project at the Chris Whitley tribute this past Saturday. Much as I would have liked to go -- I just crashed from Saturday 6pm to Sunday afternoon.
I was beginning to stress mightly, and I needed to recover.
I'm so dull and boring -- Stressing over the "small thing" of employment. That's not even a blink of interest on the Jerry Springer scale.

off to find the nearest branch of the Austin Public Library.
Ye, I say verily, Yeeha.

Got some Interviews today...

2006-03-04T10:25:00.000-06:00

it's a good sign that they're willing to meet with me on a Saturday, right? lol.

I'll take it as a good sign.
I'm asking for Good Vibes sent my way -- Generally and specifically!

And I am soooo getting a cup of coffee. Right now.
Just one. (muahahahaha... it always starts with "just one taste.")

Busy busy busy...

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

well, whaddya know... I've been hired.

Ok, so it's cake decorating, not retail books: but it's a 40 hour work week, at a decent starting wage. (10 bucks an hour.)
I'm so relieved, I believe I am going to try to get some sleep, now.

later...

Job Application..

2006-03-04T00:43:00.000-06:00

hmmmm think I could get away with being this funny?..

This is an actual job application that a 17-year-old boy submitted to McDonald's in Florida and they hired him because he was so honest and funny!

Name: Greg Bulmash.

Sex: Not yet. Still waiting for the right person.

Desired Position: Company's President or Vice President. But seriously, whatever's available. If I was in a position to be picky, I wouldn't be applying here in the first place.

Desired Salary: $185,000 a year, plus stock options and a Michael Ovitz style severance package. If that's not possible, make an offer and we can haggle.

Education: Yes.

Last position held: Target for middle management hostility.

Salary: Less than I'm worth.

Most Notable Achievement: My incredible collection of stolen pens and post-it notes.

Reason for Leaving: It sucked.

Hours Available to Work: Any.

Preferred Hours: 1:30-3:30 p.m. on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.

Do You Have Any Special Skills? Yes, but they're better suited to a more intimate environment.

May We Contact Your Current Employer? If I had one, would I be here?

Do You Have Any Physical Conditions That Would Prohibit You From Lifting Up To 50 lbs? Of what?

Do You Have a Car? I think the more appropriate question here would be "Do you have a car that runs"?

Have You Received Any Special Awards Or Recognition? I may already be a winner of the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.

What Would You Like To Be Doing In Five Years? Living in the Bahamas with a fabulously wealthy blonde super model who thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. Actually, I'd like to be doing that now.

Do You Certify That the Above is True and Complete to the Best of Your Knowledge? Yes. Absolutely.

Sign Here: Aries.

no Internet... until now.

2006-03-03T22:49:00.000-06:00

I'm in Austin... and it sort of struck me that it's the daily life of somebody *just living* in Mecca?
It isn't all guitar gods and nightclubs, in other words.

it's like that Zen saying:

Before Enlightenment:
chop wood, carry water.

After Enlightenment:
chop wood, carry water.

The rat race is everywhere, but you can choose where you put it aside and what you pick up when you aren't being a rat.
On your wheel. In your cube farm cage.
For which I envy you all right now.

Right now I'm filling out those online applications, and finding out where to pick up applications for places that aren't online.
I put off driving without a guide for a week... ye gods, it's a big city.

I'm an observer -- this interactive / proactive stuff is not my thing.

I'm also off line for a few days unless I can get a hook up at the library...
Still have that out-of-state license, though.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It's been over 24 hours without an Internet connection, and I have been a very good girl. I've been coping.

I just hope it gets hooked up in the morning and I don't have to get through another day WITHOUT!

I'm in my apartment, and getting adjusted to being able to talk out loud to myself all the time. I have always used "a talking cure" for myself (talking out loud and working things out) but usually, I did it when no one's around to wonder.."hmmmm maybe that's certifiable".

I'm a writer. I can create several characters to have discussions; I run dialog through my mind constantly. And it's with people who exist, whether wholly fabricated or existing in their own reality somewhere else.

Not so crazy, the idea that it could come across as certifiably cra-zee.

It's rather.. weird: I've recently begun to think of myself "As A Writer". I suppose that's a "duuuuh-UH!" thing for folks who read this blog.
There are a lot of things I'm getting from Being in Austin; this is one of them. Self-image.

I had my hair cut Thursday -- the two-tone brown ends silver roots look is gone. Now... I'm just "going blond gradually" hehehe.
I thought of dying it ketchup red or ... and where that MIGHT work to get a job at BookPeople ("I pierced my nose for you! And other places -- am I chic enough to work here yet?!" -- I was told if I sent a video tape AUDITION / mini-movie I'd have a better than average chance at getting my application looked at. Hullo, wait -- do you want to employ filmmakers, or people who love books? sheesh. Seems they have to turn away wanna-bes in droves. Narf.) I kinda like getting silver haired. I've earned it, and by yimminy -- I'm gonna enjoy it!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I had a dream I was playing cosmic bocce ball and my last ball went... ummm... really off; it held me between the dream and waking trying to track where it went.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

FINALLY...
Yes I'm back online -- I was offline for a few days. Hellish. I can get along without TV, but I need the Internet.

So now I'm in my apartment, which is small, but wonderful. Evidently the guy who lived here previously was half wild boar and half party animal -- everything was repainted, new carpet was rolled in, new countertops were applied -- there are some ... "interesting" dents on the frige but nothing serious. All the appliances work. The one weird thing is the shower pipe was installed at 5 feet. This is wonderful for taking a shower and not washing my hair, if a little awkward for shampooing. But hey -- I bend!

I just had the first of "knocks on the door" from someone looking for the previous tenant. I was a little concerned that the sort of lifeform that would come looking for the critter who used to live here would be... um.. frightening. Fortunately -- quelle surprise! -- it looked and sounded like a college student, was very apologetic; and from the shocked expression on his face, he was thinking his Mom was suddenly in residence where one of the pack animals used to be.

The hunt for employment continues...

Bee Caves Road -- or, I'm in hell...

2006-02-28T00:01:00.000-06:00

I do NOT like to drive. I generally prefer to leave the driving to people who LOVE to drive. They tend to have the gift of a sense of direction, which makes driving.. you know... rather FUN, I should imagine.

Bee Caves Road. This is the name of a fairly extensive road the goes through the southern part of Austin. There is also an "Old Bee Caves Road".
And, I do believe, other Bee Caves Road(s) in other towns outside of Austin.
Or, that's my perception from the black hole pocket of hell I found myself in early Yesterday afternoon.

Having managed to get myself to, and back from, Church on Sunday; I decided I could -- with directions -- go the 3/4's of a mile to the HEB in this neck of the woods and pick up an application.

I missed the turn off road, ended up at the terminus of Far West which fires you onto MoPac -- and two hours later, having driven down AND THEN AROUND Austin, got myself back to the house shaken and slightly nauseous.

during the first quarter of my adventure, mucking around the Industrial Park-ville and otherwise dusty lonesome Bee Caves Road (with the David Byrne spoken lines from "Once in a lifetime" ringing in my head) I think I nearly escaped quicksand and Rattlesnakes. Had I literally been captured by "The Bees" and entombed in their caves as food supplement for larve, I wouldn't have been surprised at all.

If it had been possible to track my movements via GPS, the folks in the front office would have saved my adventure for the year end blooper reel.

I learned some interesting things about myself today.
1. -- I have an unnatural sense of direction. I will inevitably pick THE WRONG WAY and it's only by counter-action of inclination I make any semblance of transverse correction.

2. -- I can turn my truck around in places I wouldn't want to have to swing a bicycle. Good little truck. May it continue to compensate for my erroneous ways.

3. -- No matter how bad things are, or seem to be getting -- in the midst of it all -- Life Is Sweet.

Just pack a water bottle and toilet paper....
A compass and a map will be added to the arsenal, as well.

I'm sooooo five...

2006-02-25T20:44:00.000-06:00

found this quiz over on Blueberry's Texas Oasis blog...

It was a bit of a fretful thing: only two questions with three choices each! -- but OMG have I been nailed.

your Enneagram type is FIVE.

"I need to understand the world"

Observers have a need for knowledge and are introverted, curious, analytical, and insightful.

I have friends who would claim I'm not analytical and I'm much too emotional... however it should be noted I am much, much less accessible emotionally to acquaintances than I am to the handful of people I consider friends.

How to Get Along with Me

• Be independent, not clingy.
• Speak in a straightforward and brief manner.
• I need time alone to process my feelings and thoughts.
• Remember that If I seem aloof, distant, or arrogant, it may be that I am feeling uncomfortable.
• Make me feel welcome, but not too intensely, or I might doubt your sincerity.
• If I become irritated when I have to repeat things, it may be because it was such an effort to get my thoughts out in the first place.
• Don't come on like a bulldozer.
• Help me to avoid my pet peeves: big parties, other people's loud music, overdone emotions, and intrusions on my privacy.

yep. reading this, all I can think of is my Val Serrie Award for "Being Impossible".
And if I'm irritated when I repeat things, it's because I know the person I'm dealing with is not able to hold things in their head due to their own demons and habits.
I hate having to waste my time with people who don't cherish and protect their brain cells, I just HATE it.

What I Like About Being a Five

• standing back and viewing life objectively
• coming to a thorough understanding; perceiving causes and effects
• my sense of integrity: doing what I think is right and not being influenced by social pressure
• not being caught up in material possessions and status
• being calm in a crisis

yes, all too true.

What's Hard About Being a Five

• being slow to put my knowledge and insights out in the world
• feeling bad when I act defensive or like a know-it-all
• being pressured to be with people when I don't want to be
• watching others with better social skills, but less intelligence or technical skill, do better professionally

lol. again, all too true.

Fives as Children Often

• spend a lot of time alone reading, making collections, and so on
• have a few special friends rather than many
• are very bright and curious and do well in school
• have independent minds and often question their parents and teachers
• watch events from a detached point of view, gathering information
• assume a poker face in order not to look afraid
• are sensitive; avoid interpersonal conflict
• feel intruded upon and controlled and/or ignored and neglected

oh my. Do tell. And who was following me around with a notebook all those wretched years??

Not that parenthood is an option -- and to tell the truth, I wouldn't want a parent like me, anyway...

Fives as Parents

• are often kind, perceptive, and devoted
• are sometimes authoritarian and demanding
• may expect more intellectual achievement than is developmentally appropriate
• may be intolerant of their children expressing strong emotions

hmmm in other words -- get a cat, Lilly. *-)

Austin, Rain, and a Dictionary of Republicanisms....

2006-02-25T13:15:00.000-06:00

I was dreaming of rain and laundry last night. I blame Diz -- he put those Aimee Mann cliches in my head on the forum.

It's Saturday, and it rained all morning. I have been filling applications on line -- a disheartening thing, to be sure.

I suppose what I should do is go out and make a nuisance of myself until I'm either hired or arrested.

I still feel utterly lost as far as navigating the city, though.

cute email:

Have you been as confused as I have, about what exactly is being said in Washington? Now, finally, we get the help we need...
A Dictionary for Republicanisms

alternative energy sources n. New locations to drill for gas and oil.
[Peter Scholz, Fort Collins, CO]

bankruptcy n. A punishable crime when committed by poor people but not corporations.
[Beth Thielen, Studio City, Calif.]

"burning bush" n. A biblical allusion to the response of the President of the United States when asked a question by a journalist who has not been paid to inquire.
[Bill Moyers, New York, NY]

Cheney, Dick n. The greater of two evils.
[Jacob McCullar, Austin, Tex.]

class warfare n. Any attempt to raise the minimum wage.
[Don Zweir, Grayslake, Ill.]

climate change n. The blessed day when the blue states are swallowed by the oceans.
[Ann Klopp, Princeton, NJ]

compassionate conservatism n. Poignant concern for the very wealthy
(Lawrence Sandek, Twin Peaks, Calif.]

creationism n. Pseudoscience that claims George W. Bush's resemblance to a chimpanzee is totally coincidental
[Brian Sweeney, Providence, RI].

DeLay, Tom n. 1. Past tense of De Lie
[Rick Rodstrom, Los Angeles, Calif.].
2. Patronage saint
[Andrew Magni, Nonatum, Mass.].

extraordinary rendition n.! Outsourcing torture
[Milton Feldon, Laguna Woods, Calif.].

faith n. The stubborn belief that God approves of Republican moral values despite the preponderance of textual evidence to the contrary
[Matthew Polly, Topeka, Kans.].

free markets n. Halliburton no-bid contracts at taxpayer expense
[Sean O'Brian, Chicago, Ill.].

girly men n. Males who do not grope women inappropriately
[Nick Gill, Newton, Mass.].

God n. Senior presidential adviser
[Martin Richard, Belgrade, Mont.].

growth n. 1. The justification for tax cuts for the rich.
2. What happens to the national debt when Republicans cut taxes on the rich
(Matthew Polly, Topeka, Kans.].

healthy forest n. No tree left behind
[Dan McWilliams, Santa Barbara, Calif.].

honesty n. Lies told in simple declarative sentences--e.g., "Freedom is on the march"
[Katrina vanden Heuvel, New York, NY].

House of Representatives n. Exclusive club; entry fee $1 million to $5 million (See Senate)
[Adam Hochschild, San Francisco, Calif.].

laziness n. When the poor are not working
[Justin Rezzonico, Keene, Ohio].

leisure time n. When the wealthy are not working
[Justin Rezzonico, Keene, Ohio].

liberal(s) n. Followers of the Antichrist
[Ann Wegher, Montello, Wisc.].

No Child Left Behind riff. 1. v. There are always jobs in the military
[Ann Klopp, Princeton, NJ].
2. n. The rapture
[Samantha Hess, Cottonwood, Ariz.]
This is true because we have had recruiters mail, phone and even, believe it or not, stop by the house to see my 18 year old son. When I asked them to stop they said it was due to "The No Child Left Behind" bill passed by "W".

ownership society n. A civilization where 1 percent of the population controls 90 percent of the wealth
[Michael Albert, Piscataway, NJ].

Patriot Act n. 1. The pre-emptive strike on American freedoms to prevent the terrorists from destroying them first.
2. The elimination of one of the reasons why they hate us
[Michael Thomas, Socorro, NM].

pro-life adj. Valuing human life up until birth
[Kevin Weaver, San Francisco, Calif.].

Senate n. Exclusive club; entry fee $10 million to $30 million
[Adam Hochschild, San Francisco, Calif.].

simplify v. To cut the taxes of Republican donors
[Katrina vanden Heuvel, New York, NY].

staying the course interj. Slang. Saying and doing the same stupid thing over and over, regardless of the result
[Suzanne Smith, Ann Arbor, Mich.].

stuff happens interj. Slang. Donald Rumsfeld as master historian
[Sheila and Chalmers Johnson, San Diego, Calif.].

voter fraud n. A significant minority turnout
[Sue Bazy, Philadelphia, Pa.].

woman n. 1. Person who can be trusted to bear a child but can't be trusted to decide whether or not she wishes to have the child.
2. Person who must have all decisions regarding her reproductive functions made by men with whom she wouldn't want to have sex in the first place
[Denise Clay, Philadelphia, Pa.].

WA -- Anthony Burgess...

2006-02-25T13:10:00.000-06:00

And what would you do with this diagnosis?...

It's the birthday of novelist and critic Anthony Burgess, born John Anthony Burgess Wilson in Manchester, England (1917). He had written several novels, none of which was particularly successful, when, in 1959, he began to suffer from severe headaches. He went to see a doctor and he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The doctor told him he only had one year to live.

Burgess wrote five novels in that following year, the year he believed to be his last. The diagnosis turned out to be incorrect.

He's best known for his novel A Clockwork Orange (1962). It begins: "There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, Dim being really dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter."

Pink

2006-02-24T12:10:00.000-06:00

Can everyone see this?

The lap top I'm using washes out most colors so that I have bright colors.. I've tried making resolution adjustments, and it's beyond my limited know-how. All hues of blue are either cyan or navy. *sigh* I couldn't read my own dang blog.
I just hate when that happens.

so now I'm pink. I loathe pink, but at least it's legible.

suggestions...?

Click your Heels, Dorothy....

2006-02-23T16:28:00.000-06:00

The question has been asked --
"How did you get from Connecticut to Austin, all-of-a-sudden-like?"

As much as I've always wanted to be in Austin I could never have done it on my own.

Explaining how it ramped up to getting onto a plane and saying goodbye to Connecticut... well, if you read through the whole blog you'll get the atmosphere of how someone could perhaps feel so disenfranchised and out of sync with their environs a change would be welcome: but the actual mechanics of moving the mountain...

One writer acquaintance said, "Of course there's a man, isn't there?"
ummm yes. and well... no.

The 20 year old neighbor kid smirked, "So you're living with S. now?"
No. I'm staying with him. You know, like a visiting cousin.

I have to blame people's lack of propriety and respect for integrity on the media slicking down a greasy trail of sex under every story, every motivation. There are people in the world who can do things from kindness.
Simple largess.

Not everyone who is better off is a greed-pig looking after his own trough and body slamming other pigs from theirs.

This happened fast. Much too fast to think about.

It started a few days before... Someone from the forum found my Aunt Aggie blog and read it -- and decided to write to me about it.
We exchanged a hail-load of emails, and I enjoyed writing to him: He's got a poetic quality to his thought forms and forced me to think in that metered form when I responded. I love poetry because in my writing of it I am able to access truths that are otherwise hidden from me. The correspondence was stretching my mental muscles in another direction; which is exhilarating -- my favorite sort of exercise: and I guess impressive to read?! lol.
A day or two after we started exchanging email, the poet said, "Hey, you have to meet my friend, he lives in Austin."
Well. "Austin" is a magic word. I like saying it, I like thinking about it.

Having said things and thought about things with the first guy that coalesced realizations in my mind, my natural scepticism about opening up to new people was on vacation. I said, "yeah, ok. introduce us."

Which was how I met S. M.

We'd literally exchanged 3 emails and spoke on the phone once, before he offered to pull me back into the world of the living.

"If you want a change, come down to Austin. I have plenty of room, and I can help you get on your feet."

"But... I don't have any money. I mean -- I have nothing."

"No problem. I'll get you a ticket. What's the closest airport to you?"

Not exactly getting whapped in the head with a magic wand, but pretty dang close.

Friends have commented on The Good Karma S. has coming his way for doing this: I was nearly a complete stranger, and there was no good reason to decide to help me; other than he could -- and I needed to be helped, if I would accept that help.

I've been in Texas a little over 3 weeks, and it's like stepping into a childhood I never had. Texas -- Austin -- is physically similar to where I'd spent my whole life -- except for palm trees and cacti in front yards that have seen little or no snow, ever. This is Winter in Central Texas: greener than New England, and warmer in every conceivable means from the winter I've always known.

photo courtesy Park Street, Antone's 1.31.06
Do I love it here?
Yes, I do.

Do I want to stay here?
without question, absolutely yes.

Can I pull it together?..

well I heard from the bookstore I interviewed with -- and she hired someone else.
I haven't had calls from other applications I've dropped off. (and I've politely checked on them. Maybe too politely? ugh. but like Harlan Ellison says, "When you need a job and hunger for one openly you never get hired because they smell desperation on you like panther sweat." Believe me -- I am acting as cool and nonchalant as my stomach acids will allow -- without actually leaping up and running out of my nose in a constant flesh eating terrified drip.)

I move into my apartment March 1st.
I have a Ford Ranger to drive myself around in for the next 6 months...
and I NEED to get a job.

Other than that -- things are better than they've been in...
well, any other time of my life. [see archives for details].

Time...and vision improvement.

2006-02-20T11:14:00.000-06:00

Going to see EJ and Double Trouble was the highlight of the week.
Well it's the highlight of any week, isn't it?

I'm getting acid reflux straight into my sinuses over the job situation. Yeaaah, I'm trying to keep out of the bad reality (El Mundo Malo) and think happy thoughts, but I can't seem to let the bad stuff dissipate.

I've never really ever been alone.
Being alone is different for everyone. There are degrees of aloneless that do not enter into the feelings of loneliness that make people go and do things they detest with people they hate rather than have to face themselves alone.

That's never been my problem.
In fact, I enjoy my own company too much.

I remember reading Anne Morrow Lindberg's passages on shutting out the daily noise to hear yourself think; I know Virginia Woolf's creedo of having a room of your own to write in. I genuinely embrace being alone; even as I know it's a hiding reaction, a retreat from the demands of the world..

I'm just not good at being in the flow of things. It's overwhelming and horrible. Give me a rut, huh? Predictable parameters of variables.

That's more my thing...

I feel like I'm walking a beach; with no destination, no sunrise or sunset; just an endless beach between the mother ocean and a barren shore. Part of me says, "Stop walking. there's nothing here for you -- go back and be what you are where you were."

and the Contrary perpertual adolescent inside of me says, "keep walking, at least it's exercise."

I'm walking...

••••••••• ••••••••• ••••••••• •••••••••

New glasses...

so I haven't been driving for a while. I didn't need to notice my distance vision was deteriorating at the rate of popsicles in the desert.... Well, all I needed it for was to see if the leftovers were still edible from the back of the frige.

but driving? [cough] erm, no.

Saturday I sat down with a very nice eye doctor who told me the condition of my eyes.
After I regained consciousness, she suggested I get an optiscan, just for her sake -- wanted to try to see how much hemorrhaging was going on behind my dirty windows -- cataracts, dears.

well come on people -- I've been living like a cave wight for 5 years! Y' think "Light baaad, dark gooood" is a studied habit from the Zombie handbook? Heck no -- like all good Zombies (is that an oxymoron?) things just deteriorate to help with the process.

I mean -- who's gonna be scared of a brand new cave wight?
A Revenant that still thinks it's a normal human type creature?
More likely you'll pity them...

Me and Marvin the People Personality Robot -- we need some torque. Ugh.

posted on the forum...

2006-02-19T00:01:00.000-06:00

for those who check here more often than there....

EJ at Antone's 2.17.06 w/ Ant B and Double Trouble

I've been hopping all day doing stuff away from the computer (not to mention the show finished up just slightly before one am!) BUT for those of you too far from Austin to make it to the show last night...

got to the doors at the tail end of EJ's sound check; He, Chris, and the Unknown Drummer were playing through "World of Trouble"... it sounded g-o-o-d even through the walls.

The doors opened at 8-ish (Antone's time). EJ was scheduled to play for an hour, 9:30pm to 10:30 pm, to be followed by Double Trouble with Malford Milligan, Mike Keller, Riley Osbourn, and EJ from 11pm to 1am. I assumed (rightly so) it would be a 45 minute set with the quintet, a short break and then a 45 minute set of the first five guys joined by EJ.

Eric came out with Chris Maresh and drummer Kyle Thompson at the appointed hour, smiled kindly at the crowd and after introducing Chris and Kyle, self effacingly announced, "We're just gonna jam a bit."...

I'd love to give you the full set list for this stuff, but the titles that Eric mentioned were mostly said to the '61 fiesta red strat he was playing -- they were communicating very VERY well, lemme tell you.

Except for the Bluesy "World of Trouble" most of the hour was pure Rock-Fusion; dynamic, expansive fusion jams that were clean, FAST, jaw dropping excursions up into the stratosphere. It was GREAT. I'd gone to see Holdsworth earlier in the week, but this was sooo much... MORE. Melodic, loose, different textures, and incredibly lyrical passages I could listen to over and over.

Chris was digging IN, next to Malford (who to be honest is in a class by himself) that boy was the hardest working sweat factory on stage that night.

The new guy....

O-M-G. Remember that name, Kyle Thompson. Holy Moley. His playing is like a melodic avalanche. If he were an engine, he'd be a V8.

oh. I should probably mention -- I got a lift to the show with Paula and Rob (that would be Paula of-the-front-of-the-line fame!) and staked out the front of the stage directly in front of Chris's pedal board. In fact -- if I was any closer, I'd have had to move back to get out the way or bump heads with him as he reached to adjust a knob.

wait -- it gets better...

so there's a break, and then at 11pm-ish, up comes Malford -- raring to git rowdy. I love Malford so much, and I'm standing right in front of him and I'm sure I was glowing if not throwing a beacon like a struck-dumb silly Lighthouse.

the first Double Trouble set list:

1. Medicine Man
2. Burnin Angel (written by Riley Osbourn)
3. Say One Thing (dedicated to Doyle II)
4. Blow Wind Blow
5. Ain't No Fun To Me
6. Change Is Gonna Come
7. Talk to Your Daughter
8. Palace Of The King
9. Everything I Do Gonna Be Funky
10. Shape I'm In (Not EJ's -- this one was *classic* R&B)

I'm telling you -- catching Malford Milligan, Mike Keller, and Riley Osbourn with Chris Layton and Tommy Shannon is worth the price of admission. If Eric Johnson is my "Favorite Artist" -- this line up with Double Trouble is becoming my favorite band.

Mike Keller is just -- superb. He looks like a 15 year old kid, and he plays like a 60 year old blues pro. He just shuts his eyes and the music flows out of his will.

Riley O is a consummate, commanding pro. I'd say that goes for all of them, but Mr. Osbourn comes across as the combat Unit "Sarge" if that makes any sense.

And Malford... what can you say about someone with the ability to raise his voice and channel every soul in the room...
I'll tell you -- everyone's concept of Heaven is highly personal: as to what might merit entry into it: I don't want to open up a theosophical brouhaha; but I'm pretty sure I get points towards passing through the pearly gates because I've been in the same room with M.M. and he made me feel better 'n half way there already -- if I see a few more gigs; I'm positive I will learn the whole route.

And the Double Trouble fellas themselves?...
They don't miss SRV a quarter of what he must miss them, I do believe.

so the band took a break, and I turned my back to the stage and sat on it; Paula's dear mate Rob brought me back a water (thank you Rob) and I sat and chatted with the folks around me... and realized I was sort of hemmed into sitting there. hmmmm....

Guys -- I'm a Big Person. I stand 5'10", and let's just say I DO NOT disappear when I turn sideways. The ladies standing directly in front of me as I sat on the stage were 5'6" tops. I was roughly 5'6" sitting.
so I sat there for the following set, with EJ and Double Trouble et all.

yeaaaah, 18 days in Austin and my considerable behind is sitting on the stage about four feet from Eric Johnson's Cowboy boots and red 335.
and it was cool. Not so much as a dirty look from security, crew, or a band member -- and the audience pressing against the stage seemed happy I'd gotten shorter, lol.

Double Trouble with friends and special guest EJ set list:

1. E Shuffle (an instrumental leading into)
2. How Many More Times
3. All Your Love I Miss Loving (EJ penned)
4. Once A Part of Me
5. For You Blue (also EJ penned, but I could be wrong)
6. Crossroads
7. Spanish Castle Magic
• encore •
Dontcha Know

this set list was scrawled on the back of the first Double Trouble set list: and the tape used to affix the first list to the floor was facing up -- so that Malford got it stuck to his shoe accidentally (and oblivious) -- and between Tommy Shannon gesturing, and ME grabbing it and smoothing it into place where it wouldn't be picked up by a passing shoe, the set list was around to be referred to by the performers.
hey -- I live to serve. =)

The first time I saw Eric "sit in" with Double Trouble was terrific, make no mistake: but you know -- this was better. Not just from my strategic viewing point: this time Mike "got dragged up" into sharing lead work on nearly every piece with EJ (the first time he'd more or less stuck to a solid rhythm-second guitar filling)
Yes -- this Mike Keller guy -- he's THAT GOOD he can go toe-to-toe trading riffs with E, the two of them grinning at each other for the sheer joy of making music together *At This Level*.

What a Night, What a Show.
Thank you Gentlemen!

from the Big Kid with the (Transcended) Happy Face staring up...

Mostly Harmless... sure...

2006-02-17T11:01:00.000-06:00

EJ at Antone's tonight...

Ok. As I was drifting off to sleep last night my alpha floating mind fixed on a ridiculous, Through-The-Looking-Glass Fantasy.

What's to stop me from getting into my pickup truck, driving down to Antone's, walking up to Eric and the guys and saying, "Hi I'm from the forum; can I watch you all load in and do the sound check, and write about it for the forum? You can read it over and have final editing say before I post it. I know I'm curious as heck, and I bet the forum folks would find it interesting, too."

well actually my own inhibitions, for one. Because I'm really so great at just walking on up to people and insinuating myself into their situation -- and, oh yeah -- EXPRESSLY to write about it.

and of course -- there's 15 minutes of Eric's time confounded by having to politely say what amounts to, "Are you out of your mind, Lady?! okay -- who had the 3:30 Friday afternoon slot in the betting pool on when we'd have to scrap this nutcase into a box and ship her back to Connecticut?..."

Sure would be cool, though.
Not the outright rejection, I'm not a masochist and I don't REALLY look for painful situations to squirm in -- but taking notes; writing down my observations...

THAT would be cool.

DeskDrawer Exercise # 147...

2006-02-16T22:47:00.002-06:00

many thanks Michelle Hakala for allowing the exercise to appear here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Exercise #147: Self Knowledge

This quote caught my attention:
"We seldom see ourselves as celebrities, but we are, all of us - only our degree of exposure varies. You are admired and looked up to by someone." - Don Aslett, Clutter's Last Stand

Assuming this is true, think about it and answer this question. Who looks up to you and why? Show us an example.Word limit: 1200

Please use the subject line:
SUB: Exercise #147/yourname

This exercise, if looked at seriously, will make us take stock of who might admire us, and what they might admire us for. We all have skills and talents, but so often we dismiss them as unimportant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

augh! This one's going to be impossible. The first response was so great...
You all know what I think of what other people think of me, and the idea of someone actually admiring me -- looking up to me?! leaves me dumb-bunny-blinking-in-the-headlights stunned and blank.
My initial response:

I could tell you
Who my heroes are:
But me?

I'm nobody's hero.
Most of my life
I've been in

Hiding. Which
Suited my needs
At the time.

Not for me
Recognition and
Achievement.

Why would anyone
Chose to expose...
And so be opened

To misunderstanding?
I was turned inside
Out before I ever

Stood up; putting it
Into words that
Others can grasp

Without judgement;
being so exact with
Language to create

Myself in a reader's
Mind; without
Pity -- Just

Be there and under
Stood. Be there
And be

Real.
Then perhaps
I'll admire myself. But

Me?
I'm nobody's
Hero.

and then there was that great first entry from S.F., which used a forwarded email to build on:

Quote Susan Frank:
This is the e- mail I received the other day:
Subject: One Word

ONE WORD

Describe me in ONE WORD... just one word! Send it to me only, then send this message to your friends and see how many strange things people say about you! This could be fun! Just hit reply and send me my one word back. Then forward this message on to your friends (including me) Game On!

I found that a heck of a lot easier to write on!

Understanding
Loony
Inquisitive
Spoony

Excitable
Quidgy
Emotional
Dizzy

Obstreperous
Bombastic
Hysterical
Fantastic

Not-quite-there
sharp-as-a-tack
funny-as-hell
from-there-and-back

now if you'll excuse me
I'm calling the guy,
who thinks I'm fantastic;
to enumerate "why".

I love these DeskDrawer exercises; but I guess I'll only write comments / CRITS for this one...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I did end up working out a reasonable submission -- Yay me.

word count:1052
________________

I figured out a long time ago we all assess and use each other as building blocks for our self esteem. Human beings are social animals; we need to interact with each other (for better or worse); more to the point we crave connections with others who are similar sparks of light and love that we aspire to tend.

"I am Jo's Mother."
"I am Harry's Grandson."
"I am in love with David."
"I belong to Scoots and Moo; I am warm furniture to them."

It's the nature of the beasts that we are.

The hard thing to get over in this assignment is the self effacing,"aw shucks ah ain't nuffin special"; as has been mentioned by others,we are programmed to be modest and not brag about our accomplishments: and it is an accomplishment, to be looked up to by others.

Parenthood is a step into heroism I wll never know. A friend of mine left a comment on my blog about this:

"A friend with older children, all three at least ten years older than mine, said that parenting requires coming to terms with the fact that you are the hero in someone's life."

so scratch that easy out. (um hmmm spoken with the casual ignorance of a non-parent.)

Ive been thinking about this for a bit, and reading the other submissions; putting aside my first reaction:

I could tell you
Who my heroes are:
But me?

I'm nobody's hero.
Most of my life
I've been in

Hiding. Which
Suited my needs
At the time.

Not for me
Recognition and
Achievement.

Why would anyone
Choose to expose...
And so be opened

To misunderstanding?
I was turned inside
Out before I ever

Stood up; putting it
Into words that
Others can grasp

Without judgement;
Bing so exact with
Language to create

Myself in a reader's
Mind; without
Pity -- Just

Be there and under
Stood. Be there
And be

Real.
Then perhaps
I'll admire myself. But

Me?
I'm nobody's
Hero.
~

After giving the exercise considerable thought, it turns out I'm admired and looked up to by so many people it's dizzying to contemplate.

First -- my family.

Although for most of my life I have wondered if I'm the cuckoo in the nest, or the lone surviving legitimate bird that's been run-over by cuckoos; my family unanimously considers me the brainiac of the lot. Though they'd rather attend a tractor pull than a poetry slam they have never belittled my tendency to read and write, and when they read what I've written ... well, I get a "that's really good" and a quick change of the subject.

What's funny (I hadn't thought of this for a while); when my elder sisters went back to school and enrolled in requisite composition courses at their local community colleges, I was the one who explained the assignments and drew them into getting their own words on paper. For a while I didn't feel like such a mutant; I felt useful and understood. Ok, ok the understood part might be stretching it a bit,but the useful part felt great.

Aside from being literate, I am also the funny one, and the Diffuser-of-Extreme-Reactions. My philosophy is, "There is nothing so dire or awful you cannot find the banana peel moment in it." I've been told by the hardest and the sweetest of the bunch that "things go smoother when you're around." Further, I was told, "You make the others less grating" -- although if that is by comparison...

It pays to not probe too deeply when it comes to family: Blood Is Blood, and much too easy to draw when sharp perceptions are raised in close quarters.
Speaking of which -- we aren't going to mention the gaping hole in my side where my husband used to be grafted; but if asked he'd speak well of me... Even now.

In all of my relationships I tend to keep contact with those who "Get The Joke". Not just the jokes I crack, but the Cosmic Comedy In Perpetuity. I have dozens of contacts through the web that (much to my surprise) have turned into great friendships in real life.

In fact -- life changing, relocating, astonishing opportunities have arisen from these web-based friendships that must have something to do with an observation recently shared with me that is the most stunning complement I've even gotten:

"The power of your pen has brought you love, and I expect it's done that all your life."

Thinking on that, I realized a number of people I'll never meet look up to me and enjoy my company when I'm nothing but words on the screen.

And then there's the other side of notoriety...

As a forum Moderator and part of management in MSN groups I've found that for every one person who admires and looks up to you for whatever reason or need they have that you seem to fulfill, there are two people who despise you and wish you ill -- not that it's personal, just that for a certain type of person it is easier to be negative towards someone who rubs you the wrong way than apply the brain power toward understanding what-it-is that rubs *you* the wrong way.

I don't take it personally, as I laugh at myself a lot: you know the saying:
"Blessed are we who can laugh at ourselves, for we shall never cease to be amused."
My personal amusement level is is set on scintillating simmer. [she chuckles splendiferously to herself.]

My friends admire my way with words, my agreeable disposition, thoughtfulness, and good sense of humor -- But it's easy to do things for the people you care about and want to share pleasant times with.
What works for me is being open to new things, honest with myself, and loving people "as is". I believe the more we love, the more we are loved: it's as sure as the tides, as easy to observe as the movement of the wind.

I guess I'm mostly admired for reminding people of stuff like that.

Healing Negativity

2006-02-16T22:47:00.000-06:00

I have this groovy little thumb safe that I loaded with plain text files and brought with me on the diaspora. I was looking through it earlier today, and found this bit of sagacious advice I'd squirreled away...

makes a good blog entry, y'think?

Date:2004-04-29
Subject:AYAW2 response to question

"Please help me figure out how to get positive thoughts instead of these really annoying negative ones."

I don't know the nature of your personal problems, but I do know negativity is a soul clogging and joy stomping mortal mutation.

I met a Healer yesterday. We were both part of a book discussion group, and he and I ended up talking in a corner of the library after the group ended (for over 3 hours): and we would probably have closed the place -- having the librarians throw us the keys and tell us to lock up -- if commitments to other places to be hadn't been pressing. Now -- when I say we talked, I mean WE TALKED. This was not like meeting someone for the first time and getting to know them. This was like reuniting with a colleague you had done great things with; and just picking up where you left off.

I tell you this, because one of the things we discussed at length was the inhibiting nature of the emotion, Hate.

Hate is the root that poisons the soil. It is the well from which negativity, insecurity, inferiority, bigotry, fear, anger, cruelty... draw from. Hate is where depression arises. Seems surprising, because depression is a sort of slate blue-gray stillness, right? I used to think that hate drew from fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being insufficient to the task of understanding. Fear of rejection. After considering fear though, I have to say it is both easier and more difficult to rationalize around fear and dismiss it -- deal with it in a coddling sort of way until you are ready to confront it. Fear is an individual, personal pain to heal. Almost makes it sound like a Chronic Disease, huh?

Hate, on the other hand, is an emotion with a solid form that you need to deal with. It is a thing that is right in your face and most of the people I know tend to be startled by the thought that they, mild mannered, calm, reasonable people that they are, are carrying a back breaking load of hate, weighing them down and shaping their subtle and physical bodies into boogeyman monsters only fit to inhabit a closet.

However, the good news is, Hate is a tangible block. You can get your hands on it and examine it. There are offshoots and roots sprouting out of this tumorous block that your mind and soul can work to sugically excise from your body. Hate is something that the VERY PROCESS OF UNDERSTANDING IT will start to kill it. Like sunlight bleaching mold away, the light of a thinking mind will explore Hate and dissolve it.

But it requires courage to look for the hate in yourself. It requires action, as opposed to experiencing another person's blatant display of hate and easily RE-acting to that: your own personal lump o'hate is completely your responsibility to deal with.

And it is THERE. Feeding on your soul. Making you small and mean and harsh and evil.

I wish I could help you work through this in person. Not that I have any magic, other than being a pretty good listener with an ability to bounce back a person's thought with a spin that promotes and propels the thought ball back into play.

write down these questions, and think about them. You don't need to have a concrete answer -- it fact, to do it correctly, the answers should be changable. It isn't a test and there are no competitions for the best answer.

Actually, there is a huge challenge here: You need to be ruthlessly truthful.

The answers you come up with, you never have to share with ANYONE else. You may be fortunate enough to find a healer or therapist (all healers are therapists, but not all therapists are healers) in your area who you might want to discuss this with: but it is far more important, and I hope worthwhile for you to discuss it with yourself.

What do you love? (easy one)
break it into People, Places, and Things.

What would cause your feelings to change about any of the things you love?

What do you see in other people that makes you angry?

What do you see in other people (around you) as a problem they are not dealing with?

Why is it you can see the problem so clearly; and the other person(s) seems oblivious to it?

Consider that the problem you see in another is actually a reflection back of yourself. Now, if it doesn't seem to hold an obvious connection or you feel it is not relatable at all to you, that is also valid. In exploring how it doesn't relate, follow the tendril of it into your own being.
Why and how is it that you know something and feel strongly about something that doesn't in someway live inside you?

What is the Hate that lives off of you?

Like I said, it can be pretty shocking to discover what is holding you back from being the person you love and know you can be.

This is just one way to deal with ridding yourself of negativity.
I hope it helps.
Love and Light
)0(

• SATSANG: EJ, Malford, and Double Trouble -- THIS Friday!!!

2006-02-14T21:15:00.000-06:00

Am I suddenly uplifted and joy filled and dancing in my seat?!

oh yeah Baybee. Antone's, 2/17/06.

_________________________________________

• Satsang is a Sanskrit word combining "satya" meaning "truth" and "sangha" meaning "group. " It describes a gathering of people for the purpose of spiritual truth. Satsang is often used when referring to a meeting with a guru or a spiritual mentor. During Satsang, participants read inspiring words, discuss its teachings, meditate, and find ways to bring this awareness into daily life.

While attending services or spiritual study groups can be thought of as participating in Satsangs, this practice can also apply to any group of people that are gathered to inspire one another and express the truth free from judgment. A Satsang can be a group of people that are gathered to sing, play, or listen to music. All that needs to be there is the intention to inspire one another and tell the truth. A Satsang can also be a support group, book club, yoga class, or meeting between friends for coffee or conversation. We don't need to be in a place of worship or supervised by appointed leaders to experience the truth. The truth can be found in every moment and it can be experienced with anyone. Spending time with someone who enlightens us can be as simple as visiting with a grandmother or talking to a best friend.

There is wisdom to be gleaned from being with people even when the gatherings are not specifically intended for personal improvement or spiritual transformation. Any occasion we are gathered with people who understand and support us can be a spiritual experience. While gatherings with the intention of communing with spirit are undoubtedly powerful and inspiring, getting together with people that uplift us by their presence alone is also vital to our well-being. When we recognize all the people we know that support and enrich us, our lives can become an extended Satsang.

I Corinthians 13

2006-02-14T20:06:00.000-06:00

So on the blog entry just below this one, Dr. Howdy left a New American Greeting Card Version (NAGV) of the Bible verse -- which ticked me off on several levels.

1. -- The Language. Paul was a poet; and I dinna care if it was filtered through centuries of re-writes, the original is succinct and beautiful; hummingbird nectar for the soul. The "update" is plain dumbing down the lyrical spiritual.
I think it was Jung who said, "Blast the Fast Foodification of Life!"
Phred Jung, not Carl.

2. -- I'm a poet at heart. Something happened to me in the womb that put poetic nature RIGHT UP FRONT, where most other people have self esteem, ambition, rivalry, practicality, and worker bee hummmm. This ties into the first one, but stands alone; although I know the "judge" of what is good poetry and what is bad poetry is highly individualistic with dozens of variables for people (if they even bother to study poetry) to create their determinations: I would sooner have my flesh devoured by bacteria and my liver picked at by an eagle than seen a beautiful work of the mind rendered "Bleah" -- and THE ORIGINAL NOT GIVEN SO MUCH AS A NOD OF RECOGNITION.

3. -- what the blue bombazzoink did it have to do with my post?!

anyway, I was so miffed I located the better work derived from the original.
Point of fact -- this is one of my favorite written works of all time.

I left Dr. Howdy where he is -- you can click HERE to see the piece of dreck.

But Henry deserves a place on the front page -- so I've arranged my original comments here.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Hi Doc.

first -- that's a wretched greeting card version of I Corinthians 13. You should be taken out back and slapped with a copy of Henry Drummond's "The Greatest Thing in the World."

ok -- I'll do it myself.

first -- bear with me -- the KJV of the text:

THOUGH I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as a sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not LOVE I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not Love, it profiteth me nothing.

Love suffereth long, and is kind;

Love envieth not;

Love vaunteth not itself is not puffed up,

Doth not behave itself unseemly,

Seeketh not her own,

Is not easily provoked,

Thinketh no evil;

Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;

Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, Love, these three; but the greatest of these is Love.--I COR xiii.

THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD
THE CONTRAST
THE ANALYSIS
THE DEFENCE

THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD

EVERY one has asked himself the great question of antiquity as of the modern world: What is the summum bonum -- the supreme good? You have life before you. Once only you can live it. What is the noblest object of desire, the supreme gift to covet?

We have been accustomed to be told that the greatest thing in the religious world is Faith. That great word has been the key-note for centuries of the popular religion; and we have easily learned to look upon it as the greatest thing in the world. Well, we are wrong. If we have been told that, we may miss the mark. I have taken you, in the chapter which I have just read, to Christianity at its source; and there we have seen, "The greatest of these is love." It is not an oversight. Paul was speaking of faith just a moment before. He says, "If I have all faith, so that I can remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. "So far from forgetting, he deliberately contrasts them, "Now abideth Faith, Hope, Love," and without a moment's hesitation, the decision falls, "The greatest of these is Love."

And it is not prejudice. A man is apt to recommend to others his own strong point. Love was not Paul's strong point. The observing student can detect a beautiful tenderness growing and ripening all through his character as Paul gets old; but the hand that wrote, "The greatest of these is love," when we meet it first, is stained with blood.

Nor is this letter to the Corinthians peculiar in singling out love as the summum bonum. The masterpieces of Christianity are agreed about it. Peter says, "Above all things have fervent love among yourselves." Above all things. And John goes farther, "God is love." And you remember the profound remark which Paul makes elsewhere, "Love is the fulfilling of the law." Did you ever think what he meant by that? In those days men were working their passage to Heaven by keeping the Ten Commandments, and the hundred and ten other commandments which they had manufactured out of them. Christ said, I will show you a more simple way. If you do one thing, you will do these hundred and ten things, without ever thinking about them. If you love, you will unconsciously fulfil the whole law. And you can readily see for yourselves how that must be so. Take any of the commandments. "Thou shalt have no other gods before Me." If a man love God, you will not require to tell him that. Love is the fulfilling of that law. "Take not His name in vain." Would he ever dream of taking His name in vain if he loved Him? "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." Would he not be too glad to have one day in seven to dedicate more exclusively to the object of his affection? Love would fulfil all these laws regarding God. And so, if he loved Man, you would never think of telling him to honour his father and mother. He could not do anything else. It would be preposterous to tell him not to kill. You could only insult him if you suggested that he should not steal -.how could he steal from those he loved? It would be superfluous to beg him not to bear false witness against his neighbour. If he loved him it would be the last thing he would do. And you would never dream of urging him not to covet what his neighbours had. He would rather they possessed it than himself. In this way "Love is the fulfilling of the law." It is the rule for fulfilling all rules, the new commandment for keeping all the old commandments, Christ's one secret of the Christian life.

Now Paul had learned that; and in this noble eulogy he has given us the most wonderful and original account extant of the summum bonum. We may divide it into three parts. In the beginning of the short chapter, we have Love contrasted; in the heart of it, we have Love analysed; towards the end we have Love defended as the supreme gift.

THE CONTRAST

PAUL begins by contrasting Love with other things that men in those days thought much of. I shall not attempt to go over those things in detail. Their inferiority is already obvious.

He contrasts it with eloquence. And what a noble gift it is, the power of playing upon the souls and wills of men, and rousing them to lofty purposes and holy deeds. Paul says, "If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal." And we all know why. We have all felt the brazenness of words without emotion, the hollowness, the unaccountable unpersuasiveness, of eloquence behind which lies no Love.

He contrasts it with prophecy. He contrasts it with mysteries. He contrasts it with faith. He contrasts it with charity. Why is Love greater than faith? Because the end is greater than the means. And why is it greater than charity? Because the whole is greater than the part. Love is greater than faith, because the end is greater than the means. What is the use of having faith? It is to connect the soul with God. And what is the object of connecting man with God? That he may become like God. But God is Love. Hence Faith, the means, is in order to Love, the end. Love, therefore, obviously is greater than faith. It is greater than charity, again, because the whole is greater than a part. Charity is only a little bit of Love, one of the innumerable avenues of Love, and there may even be, and there is, a great deal of charity without Love. It is a very easy thing to toss a copper to a beggar on the street; it is generally an easier thing than not to do it. Yet Love is just as often in the withholding. We purchase relief from the sympathetic feelings roused by the spectacle of misery, at the copper's cost. It is too cheap--too cheap for us, and often too dear for the beggar. If we really loved him we would either do more for him, or less.

Then Paul contrasts it with sacrifice and martyrdom. And I beg the little band of would-be missionaries and I have the honour to call some of you by this name for the first time--to remember that though you give your bodies to be burned, and have not Love, it profits nothing--nothing! You can take nothing greater to the heathen world than the impress and reflection of the Love of God upon your own character. That is the universal language. It will take you years to speak in Chinese, or in the dialects of India. From the day you land, that language of Love, understood by all, will be pouring forth its unconscious eloquence. It is the man who is the missionary, it is not his words. His character is his message. In the heart of Africa, among the great Lakes, I have come across black men and women who remembered the only white man they ever saw before--David Livingstone; and as you cross his footsteps in that dark continent, men's faces light up as they speak of the kind Doctor who passed there years ago. They could not understand him; but they felt the Love that beat in his heart. Take into your new sphere of labour, where you also mean to lay down your life, that simple charm, and your lifework must succeed. You can take nothing greater, you need take nothing less. It is-not worth while going if you take anything less. You may take every accomplishment; you may be braced for every sacrifice; but if you give your body to be burned, and have not Love, it will profit you and the cause of Christ nothing.

THE ANALYSIS

AFTER contrasting Love with these things, Paul, in three verses, very short, gives us an amazing analysis of what this supreme thing is. I ask you to look at it. It is a compound thing, he tells us. It is like light. As you have seen a man of science take a beam of light and pass it through a crystal prism, as you have seen it come out on the other side of the prism broken up into its component colours--red, and blue, and yellow, and violet, and orange, and all the colours of the rainbow--so Paul passes this thing, Love, through the magnificent prism of his inspired intellect, and it comes out on the other side broken up into its elements. And in these few words we have what one might call the Spectrum of Love, the analysis of Love. Will you observe what its elements are? Will you notice that they have common names; that they are virtues which we hear about every day; that they are things which can be practised by every man in every place in life; and how, by a multitude of small things and ordinary virtues, the supreme thing, the summum bonum, is made up?

The Spectrum of Love has nine ingredients:--
Patience . . . . . . "Love suffereth long."
Kindness . . . . . . "And is kind."
Generosity . . . . "Love envieth not."
Humility . . . . . . "Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up."
Courtesy . . . . . . "Doth not behave itself unseemly."
Unselfishness . . "Seeketh not her own."
Good Temper . . "Is not easily provoked."
Guilelessness . . "Thinketh no evil."
Sincerity . . . . . . "Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth."

Patience; kindness; generosity; humility; courtesy; unselfishness; good temper; guilelessness; sincerity--these make up the supreme gift, the stature of the perfect man. You will observe that all are in relation to men, in relation to life, in relation to the known to-day and the near to-morrow, and not to the unknown eternity. We hear much of love to God; Christ spoke much of love to man. We make a great deal of peace with heaven; Christ made much of peace on earth. Religion is not a strange or added thing, but the inspiration of the secular life, the breathing of an eternal spirit through this temporal world. The supreme thing, in short, is not a thing at all, but the giving of a further finish to the multitudinous words and acts which make up the sum of every common day.

There is no time to do more than make a passing note upon each of these ingredients. Love is Patience. This is the normal attitude of Love; Love passive, Love waiting to begin; not in a hurry; calm; ready to do its work when the summons comes, but meantime wearing the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit. Love suffers long; beareth all things; believeth all things; hopeth all things. For Love understands, and therefore waits.

Kindness. Love active. Have you ever noticed how much of Christ's life was spent in doing kind things--in merely doing kind things? Run over it with that in view and you will find that He spent a great proportion of His time simply in making people happy, in doing good turns to people. There is only one thing greater than happiness in the world, and that is holiness; and it is not in our keeping; but what God has put in our power is the happiness of those about us, and that is largely to be secured by our being kind to them.

"The greatest thing," says some one, "a man can do for his Heavenly Father is to be kind to some of His other children." I wonder why it is that we are not all kinder than we are? How much the world needs it. How easily it is done. How instantaneously it acts. How infallibly it is remembered. How superabundantly it pays itself back--for there is no debtor in the world so honourable, so superbly honourable, as Love. "Love never faileth". Love is success, Love is happiness, Love is life. "Love, I say, "with Browning, "is energy of Life."

"For life, with all it yields of joy and woe
And hope and fear,
Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love--
How love might be, hath been indeed, and is."

Where Love is, God is. He that dwelleth in Love dwelleth in God. God is love. Therefore love. Without distinction, without calculation, without procrastination, love. Lavish it upon the poor, where it is very easy; especially upon the rich, who often need it most; most of all upon our equals, where it is very difficult, and for whom perhaps we each do least of all. There is a difference between trying to please and giving pleasure Give pleasure. Lose no chance of giving pleasure. For that is the ceaseless and anonymous triumph of a truly loving spirit.

"I shall pass through this world but once. Any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer it or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."

Generosity. "Love envieth not" This is Love in competition with others. Whenever you attempt a good work you will find other men doing the same kind of work, and probably doing it better. Envy them not. Envy is a feeling of ill-will to those who are in the same line as ourselves, a spirit of covetousness and detraction. How little Christian work even is a protection against un-Christian feeling. That most despicable of all the unworthy moods which cloud a Christian's soul assuredly waits for us on the threshold of every work, unless we are fortified with this grace of magnanimity. Only one thing truly need the Christian envy, the large, rich, generous soul which "envieth not."

And then, after having learned all that, you have to learn this further thing, Humility-- to put a seal upon your lips and forget what you have done. After you have been kind, after Love has stolen forth into the world and done its beautiful work, go back into the shade again and say nothing about it Love hides even from itself. Love waives even self-satisfaction. "Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up."

The fifth ingredient is a somewhat strange one to find in this summum bonum: Courtesy. This is Love in society, Love in relation to etiquette. "Love doth not behave itself unseemly." Politeness has been defined as love in trifles. Courtesy is said to be love in little things. And the one secret of politeness is to love. Love cannot behave itself unseemly. You can put the most untutored person into the highest society, and if they have a reservoir of love in their heart, they will not behave themselves unseemly. They simply cannot do it. Carlyle said of Robert Burns that there was no truer gentleman in Europe than the ploughman-poet. It was because he loved everything--the mouse, and the daisy, and all the things, great and small, that God had made. So with this simple passport he could mingle with any society, and enter courts and palaces from his little cottage on the banks of the Ayr. You know the meaning of the word "gentleman." It means a gentle man--a man who does things gently, with love. And that is the whole art and mystery of it. The gentleman cannot in the nature of things do an ungentle, an ungentlemanly thing. The un-gentle soul, the inconsiderate, unsympathetic nature cannot do anything else. "Love doth not behave itself unseemly."

Unselfishness. "Love seeketh not her own." Observe: Seeketh not even that which is her own. In Britain the Englishman is devoted, and rightly, to his rights. But there come times when a man may exercise even the higher right of giving up his rights. Yet Paul does not summon us to give up our rights. Love strikes much deeper. It would have us not seek them at all, ignore them, eliminate the personal element altogether from our calculations. It is not hard to give up our rights. They are often external. The difficult thing is to give up ourselves. The more difficult thing still is not to seek things for ourselves at all. After we have sought them, bought them, won them, deserved them, we have taken the cream off them for ourselves already. Little cross then, perhaps, to give them up. But not to seek them, to look every man not on his own things, but on the things of others--id opus est. "Seekest thou great things for thyself? "said the prophet; "seek them not." Why? Because there is no greatness in things. Things cannot be great. The only greatness is unselfish love. Even self-denial in itself is nothing, is almost a mistake. Only a great purpose or a mightier love can justify the waste. It is more difficult, I have said, not to seek our own at all, than, having sought it, to give it up. I must take that back. It is only true of a partly selfish heart. Nothing is a hardship to Love, and nothing is hard. I believe that Christ's yoke is easy. Christ's "yoke" is just His way of taking life. And I believe it is an easier way than any other. I believe it is a happier way than any other. The most obvious lesson in Christ's teaching is that there is no happiness in having and getting anything, but only in giving. I repeat, there is no happiness in having or in getting, but only in giving. And half the world is on the wrong scent in the pursuit of happiness. They think it consists in having and getting, and in being served by others. It consists in giving, and in serving others. He that would be great among you, said Christ, let him serve. He that would be happy, let him remember that there is but one way--it is more blessed, it is more happy, to give than to receive.

The next ingredient is a very remarkable one: Good Temper. "Love is not easily provoked." Nothing could be more striking than to find this here. We are inclined to look upon bad temper as a very harmless weakness. We speak of it as a mere infirmity of nature, a family failing, a matter of temperament, not a thing to take into very serious account in estimating a man's character. And yet here, right in the heart of this analysis of love, it finds a place; and the Bible again and again returns to condemn it as one of the most destructive elements in human nature.

The peculiarity of ill temper is that it is the vice of the virtuous. It is often the one blot on an otherwise noble character. You know men who are all but perfect, and women who would be entirely perfect, but for an easily ruffled, quick-tempered, or "touchy" disposition. This compatibility of ill temper with high moral character is one of the strangest and saddest problems of ethics. The truth is there are two great classes of sins--sins of the Body, and sins of the Disposition. The Prodigal Son may be taken as a type of the first, the Elder Brother of the second. Now society has no doubt whatever as to which of these is the worse. Its brand falls, without a challenge, upon the Prodigal. But are we right? We have no balance to weigh one another's sins, and coarser and finer are but human words; but faults in the higher nature may be less venial than those in the lower, and to the eye of Him who is Love, a sin against Love may seem a hundred times more base. No form of vice, not worldliness, not greed of gold, not drunkenness itself, does more to un-Christianise society than evil temper. For embittering life, for breaking up communities, for destroying the most sacred relationships, for devastating homes, for withering up men and women, for taking the bloom off childhood; in short, for sheer gratuitous misery-producing power, this influence stands alone. Look at the Elder Brother, moral, hard-working, patient, dutiful--let him get all credit for his virtues--look at this man, this baby, sulking outside his own father's door. "He was angry," we read, "and would not go in." Look at the effect upon the father, upon the servants, upon the happiness of the guests. Judge of the effect upon the Prodigal--and how many prodigals are kept out of the Kingdom of God by the unlovely characters of those who profess to be inside? Analyse, as a study in Temper, the thunder-cloud itself as it gathers upon the Elder Brother's brow. What is it made of? Jealousy, anger, pride, uncharity, cruelty, self-righteousness, touchiness, doggedness, sullenness--these are the ingredients of this dark and loveless soul. In varying proportions, also, these are the ingredients of all ill temper. Judge if such sins of the disposition are not worse to live in, and for others to live with, than sins of the body. Did Christ indeed not answer the question Himself when He said, "I say unto you, that the publicans and the harlots go into the Kingdom of Heaven before you." There is really no place in Heaven for a disposition like this. A man with such a mood could only make Heaven miserable for all the people in it. Except, therefore, such a man be born again, he cannot, he simply cannot, enter the Kingdom of Heaven. For it is perfectly certain-- and you will not misunderstand me--that to enter Heaven a man must take it with him.

You will see then why Temper is significant. It is not in what it is alone, but in what it reveals. This is why I take the liberty now of speaking of it with such unusual plainness. It is a test for love, a symptom, a revelation of an unloving nature at bottom. It is the intermittent fever which bespeaks unintermittent disease within; the occasional bubble escaping to the surface which betrays some rottenness underneath; a sample of the most hidden products of the soul dropped involuntarily when off one's guard; in a word, the lightning form of a hundred hideous and un-Christian sins. For a want of patience, a want of kindness, a want of generosity, a want of courtesy, a want of unselfishness, are all instantaneously symbolised in one flash of Temper.

Hence it is not enough to deal with the temper. We must go to the source, and change the inmost nature, and the angry humours will die away of themselves. Souls are made sweet not by taking the acid fluids out, but by putting something in--a great Love, a new Spirit, the Spirit of Christ. Christ, the Spirit of Christ, interpenetrating ours, sweetens, purifies, transforms all. This only can eradicate what is wrong, work a chemical change, renovate and regenerate, and rehabilitate the inner man. Will-power does not change men. Time does not change men. Christ does. Therefore "Let that mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus." Some of us have not much time to lose. Remember, once more, that this is a matter of life or death. I cannot help speaking urgently, for myself, for yourselves. "Whoso shall offend one of these little ones, which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea." That is to say, it is the deliberate verdict of the Lord Jesus that it is better not to live than not to love. It is better not to live than not to love.

Guilelessness and Sincerity may be dismissed almost with a word. Guilelessness is the grace for suspicious people. And the possession of it is the great secret of personal influence. You will find, if you think for a moment, that the people who influence you are people who believe in you. In an atmosphere of suspicion men shrivel up; but in that atmosphere they expand, and find encouragement and educative fellowship. It is a wonderful thing that here and there in this hard, uncharitable world there should still be left a few rare souls who think no evil. This is the great unworldliness. Love "thinketh no evil," imputes no motive, sees the bright side, puts the best construction on every action. What a delightful state of mind to live in! What a stimulus and benediction even to meet with it for a day! To be trusted is to be saved. And if we try to influence or elevate others, we shall soon see that success is in proportion to their belief of our belief in them. For the respect of another is the first restoration of the self-respect a man has lost; our ideal of what he is becomes to him the hope and pattern of what he may become.

"Love rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth." I have called this Sincerity from the words rendered in the Authorised Version by "rejoiceth in the truth." And, certainly, were this the real translation, nothing could be more just. For he who loves will love Truth not less than men. He will rejoice in the Truth--rejoice not in what he has been taught to believe; not in this Church's doctrine or in that; not in this ism or in that ism; but "in the Truth." He will accept only what is real; he will strive to get at facts; he will search for Truth with a humble and unbiased mind, and cherish whatever he finds at any sacrifice. But the more literal translation of the Revised Version calls for just such a sacrifice for truth's sake here. For what Paul really meant is, as we there read, "Rejoiceth not in unrighteousness, but rejoiceth with the truth," a quality which probably no one English word--and certainly not Sincerity--adequately defines. It includes, perhaps more strictly, the self-restraint which refuses to make capital out of others' faults; the charity which delights not in exposing the weakness of others, but "covereth all things"; the sincerity of purpose which endeavours to see things as they are, and rejoices to find them better than suspicion feared or calumny denounced.

So much for the analysis of Love. Now the business of our lives is to have these things fitted into our characters. That is the supreme work to which we need to address ourselves in this world, to learn Love. Is life not full of opportunities for learning Love? Every man and woman every day has a thousand of them. The world is not a play-ground; it is a schoolroom. Life is not a holiday, but an education. And the one eternal lesson for us all is how better we can love What makes a man a good cricketer? Practice. What makes a man a good artist, a good sculptor, a good musician? Practice. What makes a man a good linguist, a good stenographer? Practice. What makes a man a good man? Practice. Nothing else. There is nothing capricious about religion. We do not get the soul in different ways, under different laws, from those in which we get the body and the mind. If a man does not exercise his arm he develops no biceps muscle; and if a man does not exercise his soul, he acquires no muscle in his soul, no strength of character, no vigour of moral fibre, nor beauty of spiritual growth. Love is not a thing of enthusiastic emotion. It is a rich, strong, manly, vigorous expression of the whole round Christian character--the Christlike nature in its fullest development. And the constituents of this great character are only to be built up by ceaseless practice.

What was Christ doing in the carpenter's shop? Practising. Though perfect, we read that He learned obedience, He increased in wisdom and in favour with God and man. Do not quarrel therefore with your lot in life. Do not complain of its never-ceasing cares, its petty environment, the vexations you have to stand, the small and sordid souls you have to live and work with. Above all, do not resent temptation; do not be perplexed because it seems to thicken round you more and more, and ceases neither for effort nor for agony nor prayer. That is the practice which God appoints you; and it is having its work in making you patient, and humble, and generous, and unselfish, and kind, and courteous. Do not grudge the hand that is moulding the still too shapeless image within you. It is growing more beautiful though you see it not, and every touch of temptation may add to its perfection. Therefore keep in the midst of life. Do not isolate yourself. Be among men, and among things, and among troubles, and difficulties, and obstacles. You remember Goethe's words: Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille, Doch ein Character in dem Strom der Welt. "Talent develops itself in solitude; character in the stream of life." Talent develops itself in solitude--the talent of prayer, of faith, of meditation, of seeing the unseen; Character grows in the stream of the world's life. That chiefly is where men are to learn love.

How? Now, how? To make it easier, I have named a few of the elements of love. But these are only elements. Love itself can never be defined. Light is a something more than the sum of its ingredients--a glowing, dazzling, tremulous ether. And love is something more than all its elements-- a palpitating, quivering, sensitive, living thing. By synthesis of all the colours, men can make whiteness, they cannot make light. By synthesis of all the virtues, men can make virtue, they cannot make love. How then are we to have this transcendent living whole conveyed into our souls? We brace our wills to secure it. We try to copy those who have it. We lay down rules about it. We watch. We pray. But these things alone will not bring Love into our nature. Love is an effect. And only as we fulfil the right condition can we have the effect produced. Shall I tell you what the cause is?

If you turn to the Revised Version of the First Epistle of John you will find these words: "We love, because He first loved us." "We love," not "We love Him" That is the way the old Version has it, and it is quite wrong. "We love--because He first loved us." Look at that word "because." It is the cause of which I have spoken. "Because He first loved us," the effect follows that we love, we love Him, we love all men. We cannot help it. Because He loved us, we love, we love everybody. Our heart is slowly changed. Contemplate the love of Christ, and you will love. Stand before that mirror, reflect Christ's character, and you will be changed into the same image from tenderness to tenderness. There is no other way. You cannot love to order. You can only look at the lovely object, and fall in love with it, and grow into likeness to it And so look at this Perfect Character, this Perfect Life. Look at the great Sacrifice as He laid down Himself, all through life, and upon the Cross of Calvary; and you must love Him. And loving Him, you must become like Him. Love begets love. It is a process of induction. Put a piece of iron in the presence of a magnetised body, and that piece of iron for a time becomes magnetised. It is charged with an attractive force in the mere presence of the original force, and as long as you leave the two side by side, they are both magnets alike. Remain side by side with Him who loved us, and gave Himself for us, and you too will become a centre of power, a permanently attractive force; and like Him you will draw all men unto you, like Him you will be drawn unto all men. That is the inevitable effect of Love. Any man who fulfils that cause must have that effect produced in him. Try to give up the idea that religion comes to us by chance, or by mystery, or by caprice. It comes to us by natural law, or by supernatural law, for all law is Divine. Edward Irving went to see a dying boy once, and when he entered the room he just put his hand on the sufferer's head, and said, "My boy, God loves you," and went away. And the boy started from his bed, and called out to the people in the house, "God loves me! God loves me!" It changed that boy. The sense that God loved him overpowered him, melted him down, and began the creating of a new heart in him. And that is how the love of God melts down the unlovely heart in man, and begets in him the new creature, who is patient and humble and gentle and unselfish. And there is no other way to get it. There is no mystery about it We love others, we love everybody, we love our enemies, because He first loved us.

THE DEFENCE

Now I have a closing sentence or two to add about Paul's reason for singling out love as the supreme possession. It is a very remarkable reason. In a single word it is this: it lasts. "Love," urges Paul, "never faileth." Then he begins again one of his marvellous lists of the great things of the day, and exposes them one by one. He runs over the things that men thought were going to last, and shows that they are all fleeting, temporary, passing away.

"Whether there be prophecies, they shall fail" It was the mother's ambition for her boy in those days that he should become a prophet. For hundreds of years God had never spoken by means of any prophet, and at that time the prophet was greater than the king. Men waited wistfully for another messenger to come, and hung upon his lips when he appeared as upon the very voice of God. Paul says, "Whether there be prophecies, they shall fail" This Book is full of prophecies. One by one they have "failed"; that is, having been fulfilled their work is finished; they have nothing more to do now in the world except to feed a devout man's faith.

Then Paul talks about tongues. That was another thing that was greatly coveted. "Whether there be tongues, they shall cease." As we all know, many, many centuries have passed since tongues have been known in this world. They have ceased. Take it in any sense you like. Take it, for illustration merely, as languages in general--a sense which was not in Paul's mind at all, and which though it cannot give us the specific lesson will point the general truth. Consider the words in which these chapters were written--Greek. It has gone. Take the Latin--the other great tongue of those days. It ceased long ago. Look at the Indian language. It is ceasing. The language of Wales, of Ireland, of the Scottish Highlands is dying before our eyes. The most popular book in the English tongue at the present time, except the Bible, is one of Dickens's works, his Pickwick Papers. It is largely written in the language of London streetlife; and experts assure us that in fifty years it will be unintelligible to the average English reader.

Then Paul goes farther, and with even greater boldness adds, "Whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away." The wisdom of the ancients, where is it? It is wholly gone. A schoolboy to-day knows more than Sir Isaac Newton knew. His knowledge has vanished away. You put yesterday's newspaper in the fire. Its knowledge has vanished away. You buy the old editions of the great encyclopaedias for a few pence. Their knowledge has vanished away. Look how the coach has been superseded by the use of steam. Look how electricity has superseded that, and swept a hundred almost new inventions into oblivion. One of the greatest living authorities, Sir William Thomson, said the other day, "The steam-engine is passing away." "Whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away." At every workshop you will see, in the back yard, a heap of old iron, a few wheels, a few levers, a few cranks, broken and eaten with rust. Twenty years ago that was the pride of the city Men flocked in from the country to see the great invention; now it is superseded, its day is done. And all the boasted science and philosophy of this day will soon be old. But yesterday, in the University of Edinburgh, the greatest figure in the faculty was Sir James Simpson, the discoverer of chloroform. The other day his successor and nephew, Professor Simpson, was asked by the librarian of the University to go to the library and pick out the books on his subject that were no longer needed. And his reply to the librarian was this: "Take every text-book that is more than ten years old, and put it down in the cellar."Sir James Simpson was a great authority only a few years ago: men came from all parts of the earth to consult him; and almost the whole teaching of that time is consigned by the science of to-day to oblivion. And in every branch of science it is the same. "Now we know in part. We see through a glass darkly."

Can you tell me anything that is going to last? Many things Paul did not condescend to name. He did not mention money, fortune, fame; but he picked out the great things of his time, the things the best men thought had something in them, and brushed them peremptorily aside. Paul had no charge against these things in themselves. All he said about them was that they would not last They were great things, but not supreme things. There were things beyond them. What we are stretches past what we do, beyond what we possess. Many things that men denounce as sins are not sins; but they are temporary. And that is a favourite argument of the New Testament. John says of the world, not that it is wrong, but simply that it "passeth away." There is a great deal in the world that is delightful and beautiful; there is a great deal in it that is great and engrossing; but it will not last. All that is in the world, the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life, are but for a little while. Love not the world therefore. Nothing that it contains is worth the life and consecration of an immortal soul. The immortal soul must give itself to something that is immortal. And the only immortal things are these: "Now abideth faith, hope, love, but the greatest of these is love."

Some think the time may come when two of these three things will also pass away --faith into sight, hope into fruition. Paul does not say so. We know but little now about the conditions of the life that is to come. But what is certain is that Love must last. God, the Eternal God, is Love. Covet therefore that everlasting gift, that one thing which it is certain is going to stand, that one coinage which will be current in the Universe when all the other coinages of all the nations of the world shall be useless and unhonoured. You will give yourselves to many things, give yourselves first to Love. Hold things in their proportion. Hold things in their proportion. Let at least the first great object of our lives be to achieve the character defended in these words, the character,--and it is the character of Christ--which is built around Love.

I have said this thing is eternal. Did you ever notice how continually John associates love and faith with eternal life? I was not told when I was a boy that "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should have everlasting life." What I was told, I remember, was, that God so loved the world that, if I trusted in Him, I was to have a thing called peace, or I was to have rest, or I was to have joy, or I was to have safety. But I had to find out for myself that whosoever trusteth in Him--that is, whosoever loveth Him, for trust is only the avenue to Love--hath everlasting life The Gospel offers a man life. Never offer men a thimbleful of Gospel. Do not offer them merely joy, or merely peace, or merely rest, or merely safety; tell them how Christ came to give men a more abundant life than they have, a life abundant in love, and therefore abundant in salvation for themselves, and large in enterprise for the alleviation and redemption of the world. Then only can the Gospel take hold of the whole of a man, body, soul, and spirit, and give to each part of his nature its exercise and reward. Many of the current Gospels are addressed only to a part of man's nature. They offer peace, not life; faith, not Love; justification, not regeneration. And men slip back again from such religion because it has never really held them. Their nature was not all in it. It offered no deeper and gladder life-current than the life that was lived before. Surely it stands to reason that only a fuller love can compete with the love of the world.

To love abundantly is to live abundantly, and to love for ever is to live for ever. Hence, eternal life is inextricably bound up with love We want to live for ever for the same reason that we want to live tomorrow. Why do you want to live tomorrow? It is because there is some one who loves you, and whom you want to see tomorrow, and be with, and love back. There is no other reason why we should live on than that we love and are beloved. It is when a man has no one to love him that he commits suicide. So long as he has friends, those who love him and whom he loves, he will live; because to live is to love. Be it but the love of a dog, it will keep him in life; but let that go and he has no contact with life, no reason to live. The "energy of life" has failed. Eternal life also is to know God, and God is love. This is Christ's own definition. Ponder it. "This is life eternal, that they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent." Love must be eternal. It is what God is. On the last analysis, then, love is life. Love never faileth, and life never faileth, so long as there is love. That is the philosophy of what Paul is showing us; the reason why in the nature of things Love should be the supreme thing--because it is going to last; because in the nature of things it is an Eternal Life. That Life is a thing that we are living now, not that we get when we die; that we shall have a poor chance of getting when we die unless we are living now. No worse fate can befall a man in this world than to live and grow old alone, unloving, and unloved. To be lost is to live in an unregenerate condition, loveless and unloved; and to be saved is to love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth already in God. For God is love.

Now I have all but finished. How many of you will join me in reading this chapter once a week for the next three months? A man did that once and it changed his whole life. Will you do it? It is for the greatest thing in the world. You might begin by reading it every day, especially the verses which describe the perfect character. "Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself." Get these ingredients into your life. Then everything that you do is eternal. It is worth doing. It is worth giving time to. No man can become a saint in his sleep; and to fulfil the condition required demands a certain amount of prayer and meditation and time, just as improvement in any direction, bodily or mental, requires preparation and care. Address yourselves to that one thing; at any cost have this transcendent character exchanged for yours. You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments that stand out, the moments when you have really lived, are the moments when you have done things in a spirit of love. As memory scans the past, above and beyond all the transitory pleasures of life, there leap forward those supreme hours when you have been enabled to do unnoticed kindnesses to those round about you, things too trifling to speak about, but which you feel have entered into your eternal life. I have seen almost all the beautiful things God has made; I have enjoyed almost every pleasure that He has planned for man; and yet as I look back I see standing out above all the life that has gone four or five short experiences when the love of God reflected itself in some poor imitation, some small act of love of mine, and these seem to be the things which alone of all one's life abide. Everything else in all our lives is transitory. Every other good is visionary. But the acts of love which no man knows about, or can ever know about--they never fail.

In the Book of Matthew, where the Judgment Day is depicted for us in the imagery of One seated upon a throne and dividing the sheep from the goats, the test of a man then is not, "How have I believed?" but "How have I loved?" The test of religion, the final test of religion, is not religiousness, but Love. I say the final test of religion at that great Day is not religiousness, but Love; not what I have done, not what I have believed, not what I have achieved, but how I have discharged the common charities of life. Sins of commission in that awful indictment are not even referred to. By what we have not done, by sins of omission, we are judged. It could not be otherwise. For the withholding of love is the negation of the spirit of Christ, the proof that we never knew Him, that for us He lived in vain. It means that He suggested nothing in all our thoughts, that He inspired nothing in all our lives, that we were not once near enough to Him to be seized with the spell of His compassion for the world. It means that:--

"I lived for myself, I thought for myself,
For myself, and none beside--
Just as if Jesus had never lived,
As if He had never died."

It is the Son of Man before whom the nations of the world shall be gathered. It is in the presence of Humanity that we shall be charged. And the spectacle itself, the mere sight of it, will silently judge each one. Those will be there whom we have met and helped: or there, the unpitied multitude whom we neglected or despised. No other Witness need be summoned. No other charge than lovelessness shall be preferred. Be not deceived. The words which all of us shall one Day hear, sound not of theology but of life, not of churches and saints but of the hungry and the poor, not of creeds and doctrines but of shelter and clothing, not of Bibles and prayer-books but of cups of cold water in the name of Christ. Thank God the Christianity of to-day is coming nearer the world's need. Live to help that on. Thank God men know better, by a hairsbreadth, what religion is, what God is, who Christ is, where Christ is. Who is Christ? He who fed the hungry, clothed the naked, visited the sick. And where is Christ? Where?--whoso shall receive a little child in My name receiveth Me. And who are Christ's? Every one that loveth is born of God.

THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD
by Henry Drummond

First Published c1880

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now -- there's eloquence and versimilitude. Drummond by all accounts practiced his words, not just arranging them and dropping them on someone's blog for the warm fuzzy feeling he might get.

BTW -- I'm a Pagan.
If you're wondering how I can cope with all the Jesus shout out's in Drummond's text, I just substitute "Goddess", "Love" or "The Oneness".

If more Christians lived by Drummond's definition of the supreme good... *deepest sigh*

Go away kid -- and woodshed your writing skills, M'kay?

~ Lilly

••• My dear friend Ms. B left this as part of the comments:

Well, the comments can certainly take the original subject matter to a different place, huh?

I was just thinking about Corinthians 13, it seems to surface on Valentine's Day, weddings and funerals. I hate it. I hate it because my mother used to use it against me, as rock-solid proof that I didn't love her. There it was, in black and white, the definition of love from God Hisself, and my behavior was not up to snuff and that settles it. The ultimate guilt trip, especially for a young believer living in the Fear of God.

Of course, someone read it at her funeral. It comforts lots of people. Not sure why. To me it's like a boot in the face.

Oh yeah, and also hope the job search is going alright. :-)

# posted by Blueberry : 2/14/2006 12:47 PM

•••to which I replied:

Yes -- why the heck did that guy drop off Happy Camper Biblical re-write in the first place?

Did he read any blog entries?
of course not.

It's one of the few bible verses I have strong feelings about -- because it's so darn Pagan.
And what IS supposed to be at the heart of EVERY religion, IMO.

Your mother's major accomplishment as I see it, was having you.

You do realize that to use this passage perversely, the person turning it inside out is the primary example of lack of love? If she'd had the sensitivity to feel the smallest amount of anything outside of her own neuroses (and I AM being kind) she'd have been ashamed of herself.

What ever drove her to emotionally tormenting and twisting you like a balloon animal had to be worse than the stuff that leaked out onto you -- and I'm grateful I never had to be part of her calculating misery.

That you survived to adulthood and Mensch-ism: You deserve the love of just and decent good people around you, always.

oh, wait -- you're in Austin, you have that. =)

I do take special pleasure in the Drummond Address. The words are perfectly selected -- the logic and emotion ring with truth; I'm still a bit awed it was written over 225 years ago. I love this book -- it's been a big part of my life for 25 years at least.

It seems very few people even try to apply the words to their own lives... and when you do come across someone who Lives the Love, why is it those "parental voices" that SHOULD be cherishing and enthusiastic spit out derision and venom like a baby spewing pureed peas?

Love is not about guilt -- guilt is the antithesis of Love. Guilt comes from self hate -- and we're taught that by example.

Back in May of last year I pulled this book (and that's the whole text btw) for my reading group at the Library -- figuring they'd enjoy it's gentle message and poetic voice. I thought other READERS would enjoy it as much as I always had.

Anyway -- the reading group read it -- and hated it. I was stunned.
The reasons where:
several just "couldn't get into it"
two others said, "But the world doesn't work that way!"
another said, "Don't you think that's a simplistic view / rose colored glasses?"
and still another one wanted to focus on Drummond, not the book.

I thought -- 'Oh my gods -- nobody here will take the time to feel the book.'

Yet another example of being an odd duck, I guess.

Quack.

# posted by Jeen Lilly : 2/14/2006 4:19 PM

Applications....

2006-02-13T19:33:00.000-06:00

Look. I am perfect for a job in a bookstore. All my regular readers here at SM know this. I can't help myself -- I seem to have some overriding protocol chip in my head that strikes up conversations with people who look like they need help finding a book, an author, or a clue.

I've picked up and filled out the Barnes and Noble application ... and I went on line to fill out the Borders application. They ONLY do online applications.

for those interested
www.bordersgroupinc.com/jobs

holy moly -- their application has a second level psych screening that runs on for 37 pages. I can't imagine they have more than a handful of rational people who make it all the way through their gauntlet. And after all that -- you're only on file for 90 days.

Time to check out Half Price Books...

Today and the coming week...

2006-02-12T22:43:00.000-06:00

Went to my first U.U. Church service...
The CUUPS group info needed to be updated on the church website, but it worked out that I talked with a few Unitarians, and it lead into a surprisingly enjoyable service: very surprising. I'm intrigued enough to go back next Sunday.
Good Grief, that might be a sign of impending Rapture.. check your floation devices and lock into your moonboots, folks!

Sat with the delightful Blueberry and her Significant Rob.
That's it -- I've decided I'm trading in all my relatives and adopting Ms. B. as a full sister.
ok, ok -- I'll keep the other sisters and just add Blueberry into the fold.

In other progress...

Got accepted in an apartment that will be reasonable to take over -- Once i get that pesky means of self support happening.
I will find a job: at this point just getting a job is THE thing.

Tuesday is the vile and cruel February Holiday.
Where the heck is "Happy To Be Free From The Ball And Chain Day"?!!

however -- Wednesday I'm going to see Alan Holdsworth, so that will take some of the misery from the dread anti-alone spotlight.
I have an awful feeling that Holdsworth is over my head and might possibly cause blood to well from various and normally not bloody orifices; but what the heck a night out is a night out. *-)

I've finally gotten around to cooking again: S.M. likes to eat out (which is nice) but home cooked food doesn't suck either. Nothing Cordon Bleu: I'm working out of a couple cookbooks picked up at Whole Foods: first is "The Whole Foods Cookbook" lots of Vegetarian and Vegan recipes as well as a few healthier looking meat dishes (which can be revamped if I want with ground turkey or chicken); "Yoga Kitchen" another Vegetarian cookbook, and The Everything Vegetarian Cookbook. hmmm is there a theme here? S.M. eats veggies and doesn't eat red meat or pork, so I'm enjoying looking up and cooking up different foods than I'm used to -- and I feel better doing it.

And it must be said -- Austin is a great place to embrace this. The ingredients are everywhere, and there are Veggie-centric menu items even in BBQ joints.
Amazing.

Uh-oh -- Backsliding...

2006-02-12T22:26:00.000-06:00

a liiittle taste of caffeine today, from an unexpected source.

Suddenly that headache I've had for days lifted.
And I WANTED COFFEE!!!

Thank the gods I've never gone in for illicit pharmaceuticals.

From Doug's Dynamic Drivel

The Caffeine Psalm

Caffeine is my shepherd;
I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures;
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my buzz;
It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for its name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no Equal;
For thou art with me;
Thy cream and thy sugar they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of Juan Valdez;
Thou anointest my day with pep;
My mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the House of Maxwell for ever.
Amen!

Do You Miss Me

2006-02-09T11:29:00.000-06:00

The Moon woke me up last night
and reminded me that I was alone.

It wasn't a personal dig;
I wouldn't have the space
in this bed for you anyway
but there's something
to be said for a presence
that's missing.

If only to acknowledge that much.

A friend said I must
be writing love poems --
I assume her reasoning was
now that the world
is full of promise
and hope toward
better things.

This startled me:
as I've left all
that I knew
and taken up
with Fait Chance
who is a bit of
a whore (and I don't
have the means to
roll her over or
even to get her
to laugh with me).

There's no tougher
customer than someone
who expects wholesale.

Except maybe

when they

expect a gift.

I'm trying to be
better than I was
in order to be
who I'd like to be.

I've come to the

realization:
Being miserable is
easier than letting go.

Anyway, I was wondering
if anything's changed
for you -- if you miss
me more now, than when
I was there and invisible.

Sans Caffeine

2006-02-08T21:30:00.000-06:00

No Coffee.

what the heck. I'm eating better, S. doesn't eat beef or pork (I'm more than happy to not have that stuff around, believe me!) nor does he drink coffee or tea.

that's right -- I haven't made a cup of tea in over a week.
I've even given up iced tea.

Frankly, there isn't time for a cup of tea.
When I think of all the tea I drank, all the late nights til 6am... lol.

I've been ordering Vegetarian more and more -- it's AMAZING how commonplace Veggie stuff is in Austin. and IT'S GOOD!!!
This I can get used to.
hmmmm maybe I should look into finding my own hangout / Veggie restaurant I can steal recipes from...

So now, I'll drink a fruit or herbal tonic concoction in the morning with my meds (yes it's measured and noted as a complex carb in my glucose journal) and the rest of the day it's water.

No wonder it's 9:30pm and I'm going to go to sleep...
and sleep straight through to 7:30am!

Wednesday and Reality hits me...

2006-02-08T10:14:00.000-06:00

Feeling a little hormonal, a lot overwhelmed, and nowhere to release it.

Let it be said, life is good. Things are being taken care of from the goodness of a good heart. BUT I am going to have to strike out on my own: AND THAT is, shall we say -- a tad daunting.

With the help of S.'s dear Lady ex(with whom he is better friends than spouse) my resume has been pulled together. Granted, a good deal of what I know and my experiences defy description or enumeration... (ok ok a suitable cause for treatment; but let's not go there) but EEEGADS!!! The rents here are terrifying.
And yes -- the jump from resume to rent is not a huge leap in hysteria.

It's a bitter chomp of reality.

Think GOOD Thoughts, Lilly...

Yesterday I drove a Ford F350 210 miles to Mills County, Texas (if it isn't the middle of nowhere, it is right next door) to my Host's ranch..

I can't believe I got behind the wheel of such an urban assault vehicle, but at least it's the automatic -- S. had found me a purple (no lie!) Ford Ranger truck for everyday running around -- but I have to learn to drive a stick.

I'm surprised they let me in the state without testing that skill.

Sooo let's learn to clutch.
Always wondered how it got that name. Now, I know.
Yesterday at the ranch I started driving a manual transmission, V6 Jeep. Very forgiving automobile. I'm thinking a few months from now, I might actually get the hang of a stick -- but for driving in Austin traffic?...
On AUSTIN HILLS?? ermmm... Anyone got a plan B..?

Really -- I thought Austin was flatter than this.

One thing that continues to shock me is how similar Texas is to the Connecticut rural areas I know. There are farms, run down orchards, sporadic sightings of cows and horses, depressed abandoned factory buildings, desolation and obligations failed -- telling stories all over the less urban areas of Connecticut. I've often said Connecticut is NOT the J. Crew Catalog.

But that's the face people want to see and dismiss (wealthy so-and-so J Crew-ites! Go back to your Yatch!) Connecticut has wealthy playgrounds set up like exclusive oasis in demiliterized zones the working classes of CT actually live, work, and die in.

Oh gods I feel weepy and empty and disconnected from everything.

I'm thinking I am not going to be able to get it together to live here.
It seems Austin has plently of ME types already... and one more just wont fit in.

I'm really missing the music, aren't I?
yeah. I thought there'd be more down here...

Sonnet
by Elizabeth Bishop

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

BabySteps. Lets go pick up some applications for bookstores...

Sunday -- back in Austin...

2006-02-05T22:00:00.000-06:00

Got in from Rockport around 6:15pm -- I was exhausted and needed to lie down. Who knew 210 miles of bland scenery and 4 hours riding in the passenger seat of a Ford Truck could be so -- wearying?

Anyway, S. threw together some spaghetti, I straggled downstairs, ate, medicated -- came back upstairs to get the cell phone (I'm borrowing) to bring downstairs and recharge... and crashed on the bed mid-step.

I was out cold for the better part of an hour. S. knocked politely and asked if I was on the computer, could he have the phone to recharge.
[groan] It's VERY hard to get the hang of being alive after being dead for so long.

Rockport was even more of a vacation from any sort of reality I've experienced. I went for some calorie burning walks in Rockport (87°, and WINDY! -- it is February after all) ate at places like Charlotte Plummers; we rented a couple movies ("Flight Plan" starring Jodie Foster, and "Half Light" with Demi Moore. ...Ohh brudder, cliched and bleah, both of them.) Spent Saturday in Corpus Christi... ummm because it was there. Interesting contrast to Austin.

Austin really is a Texas Oasis.

In Rockport, I slept in a bedroom with direct access to the backyard canal / dock: loved the decor of the room, too -- a "John Wayne" theme -- in protest of his Mom's decorating tastes toward Louis the Numerated -- Hollywood Cowboy with overstuffed furniture and a California Kingsized bed. Vellly Nice, as Darrin might say.

Tomorrow -- I start finding my way around Austin on my own.
I expect to get hopelessly lost and my Knight will probably have to talk me back to the house on the currently recharging cell phone.

On the one hand -- really exciting.
on the other hand -- really terrifying. I don't enjoy driving: I do it, but my great thrill is getting to the destination in one piece, not the actual driving part of it -- I'm a much better passenger than I am a driver.
(um-hmm, Contrarian in everything.)

all right -- I'm tired again. Think I'll lay down and dream of Happy Trails.

AUSTIN. and Texas, too =)

2006-02-03T01:42:00.000-06:00

Holy Goddess; who knew two weeks ago I'd be sitting in the guest room of a lovely island retreat on the Gulf Coast of Texas, making this entry to SM.

Or that I'd arrive in Austin the day Eric Johnson would be playing as a guest with Double Trouble at Antones.

Real life is bending reality in some wonderful ways.

First -- Flying is boring.

I looked down on clouds that seemed like an endless coastline with a blue water horizon, or a snow field in the Artic. Interesting for about ten minutes... then when the clouds broke up: the terrain looked like one of the playmats little boys drive their Matchbox cars on -- That is to say, it looked like a silkscreened, flat landscape -- from 2 stories up.

The Blueridge Mountains actually have blue ridges. That struck me with a pleasant sense of recognition.

Otherwheres, the terrain looked like sandbars with little bits of broken shells in the tide's footprints. I listened to "Bloom" and Ted Greene, and my favorite collection of Brandenburgs -- all the while thinking, "ARE WE THERE YET!?"

You know, the day before I had a near hysterical icy gripping of fear about flying. I'd NEVER flown. Ever. Then around 4:00, Park posted Eric was "sitting in" with Double Trouble at Antone's Tuesday Night. (But I actually got 6 friends through the forum emailing me on top of Darrin's Admin email announcement of the gig.)

Fear of flying!? Jeezu, strap me to the wing upside down for 2,000 miles, let's get this party started!

I arrived and met S.M. (I just realized his intials are the same as the blog's. hmmm.) We hopped into his Sidetracker Jeep (the car I'm going to be borrowing as I get adjusted to Austin...which is damn intimidating, the traffic's terrible!)and buzzed up into the Northwest of Austin. His house is up a flight on uneven cement steps, and then "deck steps" -- and my bedroom is up another flight of stairs! I nearly collapsed making the climb the first day.
It's a VERY groovy home, built into a hillside, practically.

Who knew Austin was so Suburban Residential? =)

We talked about Austin, EJ, music life, the neighborhood, food, and well -- you name it. He suggested we grab some lunch and stop by Antone's to get tickets. (and I'd see some more of the city.) El Arroyo for fish tacos (my first taste of fish tacos -- not an East Coast menu item, to put it mildly.) and got to Antone's about 3-ish. Furgettaboutit for tickets pre-gig -- Antone's reminds me of a New Haven dive I found myself in 27 years ago (the name escapes me) that had been a haven for the off-beat, forlorn and / or funky. More about it when we get to the evening's entertainment part.

Went back to S.'s house -- and set up My Computer.
Brand new, out of-the-box Dell laptop with ALL the bells and whistles. XPS M170. I just now looked it up on the web. Yowza! [disbelief] I am ruined for life for a desktop model. Good freeking grief, this thing does everything you can possibly imagine a PC can do, and I am getting used to the compact keys... BUT I also have an external, wireless mouse. The scratch mouse is a pain in the patoot.
Spoiled, ain't I?

I got caught up and emailed some friends -- you know, the basics.

Hello. =)

getting used to a laptop (with a scratch mouse -- oy vey.) but I arrived safe and uneventfully in Austin.

Haven't slept since Yesterday morning -- but I figure I've just climbed out of a personal hibernation.. =)

wow the traffic's crazy!

But it's so beautiful down here you wouldn't believe it unless you saw it for yourself.

soooo, any cool shows to catch tonight? hehehe.

S. is fighting a Cedar allergy and napped while I was getting acquainted with .. hmmm, I guess I should give this thing a name.
Then -- out we went to Antones.

arriving on time, we were 5th and 6th in line at the door...
And yes indeedy -- who should be first on line but the delightful Blueberry Herself, with Husband. =)

So of course I babbled away: loudly and much hand gesturing. Introduced S., who was gracious and found the whole thing mildly bemusing, I'm sure.
Please do keep in mind; I had last slept Sunday evening: and it was Tuesday 7pm-ish.
Ms. Blueberry is great. Mr. Blueberry is a man of charm and darn good looking, to boot. the time passed amiably... the doors opened On-Antone's-Time -- which is late.

In we stumbled.

Ms. B. had staked out a table to the left of the stage (stage right from the stage facing the audience). We sat, talked, more of Ms. B's friends arrived, much chatting, much laughing.

I nearly choked on my own tongue when Malford Milligan walked past us.
EJ...AND Malford?!!!
OMG OMG OMG.

I swear to you, I was half convinced I'd died and Heaven was in front of me.
Yes in my pantheon -- Malford is a god.

Shortly before the show began, Blueberry and the Regulars moved to the front of the stage in the prime viewing position. I -- stupidly may I add -- hung back at the table.
Like I said -- I was moving through my 39th hour sans sleep: not thinking clearly.

the first set was hellacious; worth the price of admission by its own self.
By the time of the last tune of that set, I was standing and looking like some blissed out dolt with a huge grin on my face.

between the sets, B. passed near me and said, "Park's here and he's asking about you."
Well, ok. That stirred the brain and sloshed it around in the cranium a tad.Response time was Dinosaur slow, tho -- before I thought to follow her to that side of the stage, the second set was about to start.
oh, well -- Park will have to wait to throw a net over me -- let's see some Eric Johnson NOW!!

Sooo I have now seen EJ on his home turf.
If you Love this guy's music, you have to make the trip to Austin. it's like a sixth dimension experience.
(When the Magnets shows get rescheduled, I genuinely pity the poor souls who'll miss out, I really really do.)

After the set, with the set lists shared around (someone got smart and printed out a bunch for both sets) Blueberry said something nice, and.."Come on, let me take you to meet Eric." I was so far gone from my inhibitions with sleep deprivation, exhaustion and sheer bliss I just waddled along after her, like a hopeful little duckling in the wake of a swan.

Oh, golly wow.
it was a fairly "normal" fan encounter.
until I opened my mouth.
Graceful guy that he is, he said something self effacing -- and I ACTUALLY ROLLED MY EYES AND CHORTLED AT HIM.

and a few minutes later, I dumped my attention from Eric to greet Park Street, whom I'd been looking for in the crowd since I'd heard he was at the show.

Oh Park is SO cool.

Chatted with him for a little bit; got his cell # and address so I can pick up my Alan Holdsworth ticket for the 15th. (psyched!) but wow... what a delightful, soft spoken, super NICE man he is!
I love TEXANS.

Shortly after that, S. and I left the club, walked the blocks back to the Jeep... drove back to Northwest Austin... climbed the heights...

I was so tired I barely loosened my clothes to crawl onto the bed -- and slept straight through, dreamless, to 7:30am. I was asleep before S. finished walking his hyper-hates-strangers-little-dog.

and THAT was Day one is Austin.

Day two included new Reebok walking shoes that actually are comfortable (i.e. wide enough) right out of the box, a visit to "The Smaller" Whole Foods Market, the first rain Austin has had in a looong time (I said I'd bring the rain, didn't I? lol) and a visit to the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema to see "King Kong" and have the Veggie pie for supper.

Day 3, as I said at the beginning of this gush-fest post finds me in Rockport, Texas -- which is a vacation destination for those who fancy the water. We arrived, set down our stuff, went out again for a drive to stand on the beach and see the sunset lit sky over the Gulf of Mexico tonight. Just thinking about it makes me cry: a perfect ice cream pastel rainbow of color, with gently rolling waves beneathe it bringing the tide in.

I've been so busy learning, MOVING, and smiling I haven't been writing much of anything -- since writing is reflection, and... living is doing.

ugh... and sleep would REALLY be great right now...
Happy Landings, y'all ~
Lilly.

Exit Too Easy..?

2006-01-29T15:00:00.000-06:00

Got two bags packed -- still putting together the backpack.

Being that I am fat -- but wah-hoo, losing girth steadily over the past few weeks -- I've packed some decent button down blouses that will serve right up til my shoulders fall out of the neck, goddess willing.
Future Smocks! lol.

it's so quiet here. I've been watching a documentary on John and Abigail Adams; Our house is going through a typical Sunday afternoon...

but it's the last Sunday Afternoon Rob and I will share. Shouldn't there be more to it than the same patterns...

and well -- I guess that's the point of why I'm leaving, right there.
What a contrast.

"Real love isn't just looking into one another's eyes -- it's looking out together, in the same direction." ~ said about John and Abigail Adams, "The American Experience".

Enough mourning what never was...

I'm going to pack a box to be sent tomorrow: sharp objects, beloved stuffies, CDs, the rest of my teas; some tea mugs. canvas bags. I'll be fretful until they arrive (they -- not it!) but I cannot bring them with me. If ever a cardboard box was packed with Tender Loving Care, it's this one.

There's just no room in the bags for anything but needful things...
well -- almost...

The two "frivolous" items packed into the nauga tote are framed pictures of my parents.
I remember the year Dee gave the pair as Christmas gifts to all of us (kids): pictures taken of each one; just before they met, I imagine -- 18 year olds.
I've never displayed them; to be brutally honest I thought, what the heck will I ever do with these things? I'm not a family album kind of person.
Clearing the bookcase I'd tucked the pictures into, I was forced to look at them for the first time in years.

My mom looks like a sassy film noir Babe; just before that sauciness gets her in trouble...
My dad looks like a wide eyed kid who wants to go on adventures with Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan... maybe Johnny Appleseed. No wonder his nickname was "Babe".
They are both so very, very young.
I was never that young.
I think in the past -- I resented that.
I had to grow up to let it go.

is it fitting or ironic that of everything in this house; what goes with me from the past are pictures of my parents taken before they ever knew they'd be coupled forever in my DNA?..

lol. Since it's moi -- both.

FLY* Lady

2006-01-29T04:35:00.000-06:00

I've been on a rampage of ruthless de-packratting. I have heard clutter and the timesink can be managed. Without a domestic staff.
I signed up 3 days ago and it seems to be keeping me from losing my mind -- and you KNOW what I'm doing right now!

every email from the group starts with a cyber-hug:
"You are not behind! I don't want you to try to catch up; I just want you to jump in where we are. O.K.?"

This was the info that made me decide to check it out. (Part of an email newsletter I've gotten for months that delivers PC tips; the FLY Lady site was "Amanda's Cool Site" for 1/26/06)

Do you have a lot of clutter in your house? Did your home just sort of get away from you? Well I know mine has. There is almost no useable storage. The closets are all tiny and there is nowhere to really put anything.

By joining Fly Lady – which is free – you'll start on a step by step journey to reclaim your house from the clutter within it, as well as, keep a really shiny sink! To join, head over to the Flying Lessons link were you will see "Join FlyLady."

This site is all about teaching you baby steps to get your life organized. It teaches us to stop listening to the perfectionist side of ourselves that wants everything done now and done right. It didn't take just one day for your house to get away from you, even though it may feel like it happened overnight.

Some of my favorite sections are Kelly's Mission, which you will find in the FLY zones section. This is where you can find, what I would describe as, a weekly mission. When I was there, it was to work on the bedroom. The Table of Contents is also a great section. It really helped me navigate around this site and stay on track.

Food for Thought is an awesome section filled with ideas on menu planning and it even has recipes for you to try. It also has some for your slow cooker.

The FLY FAQ – this is a good section to take a look at. I love checking out the frequently asked questions, because this is where you can access information about what people are generally confused about. Who knows, they might be confused about the same things you are, so it's an easy way to get info quick!

Now, I'll leave it up to you to decide if you think Fly Lady's method to declutter your life will work for you or not. But, you know, even if this way is too much for you, you can definitely pick up little tips. A shiny sink really does make you feel proud!

••••••••••••••••••••••

Alright, I admit it seems like indoctrination for a Stepford transplant... then again -- I am darn happy (and FLYing) at the moment -- even with a gadzillion things I should be doing.
I wonder how long the euphoria will last..?
hmmm... Maybe when I get to ****** -- I'll change my name to Euphoria! =)
_____________________
*FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself.

All That You Leave Behind

2006-01-28T22:44:00.000-06:00

I'm at the packing stage, now.

Since I'm changing planes in New Jersey, I'd like to keep most everything I'm going to need with me in either a carry on or a backpack.

Backpack
• first and foremost -- medications and glucose testing kit; a couple protein bars in with it.
I am anticipating stress -- and when I'm stressed, my sugar drops and I get woozy.
I plan on checking my blood sugar a few times; and taking steps to keep it in the safety range of 85-130.

• Music. I have a CD walkman, and I'm planning on bringing a few CDs with me. EJ of course. How could I possibly go to live somewhere new without EJ. Even if it does seem like carrying coal to Newcastle.
It's so hard to decide which of the other ones will have to be sent separately.

• Something to read and a journal to write in. I'm bringing my Karen Elizabeth Gordon writing handbooks (I have the first two -- didn't know there were two more! Life is SOO Good!); and I found my Jean Giraudoux four plays: Ondine, The Enchanted, The Madwoman of Chaillot, and The Apollo of Bellac.
I've packed up bibles, grimories, dictionaries, cookbooks, novels, and there is a stack of 342 essentials I have to either box up or pare down to just two more. This is agonizing. Even donated about 500 books so far.
Interesting pickings to be had now at the second hand shop, "My Sisters Place", to be sure.

• Albert Milo Bhaer. Out of all the toys I've collected over the years, this jointed teddy bear has been with me the longest (replacing the disintegrated "yellow dog" of toddler hood).

My sister Dee made A.M.B. from a kit -- and he is unique. (I believe he was the first and last bear she turned her crafty hands to...) Albert has a sweet face. I've often thought I'd take him apart to tighten up the five joints that hold him together -- he seems fragile; as if too tight a squeeze and he'd pop apart. He hasn't yet: and OPENING HIM FOR(unnecessary)REPAIRS would be like performing surgery on a loved one for cosmetic purposes. (Re: Hawthorn. Shudder.)

There are other, special rag doll style bears I have boxed up -- taking the soft blue bear and soft green bear from their shelves I realized I'd never named the pair -- and promptly dubbed them "Blueberry" and "Ptelea". Annelise Bhaer, who has sat beside Albert since she arrived in my life (wearing her maroon wool dress and plaid brown shawl) has gone into the box, as well. Bears are not the only anthropomorphized "stuffies" -- there's also a cowboy Santa. No, really! Complete with candy cane side irons, gingerbread vest, and holly on his cowboy hat.

I have yet to deal with the pile of Raccoons on the end table in the living room; they will require a box to themselves.

I may just squish my beloved TY 18 inch bean bag teddy Thomas (from sister Kee) into the carry-on...

What these toys represent in my life chokes me up and dissolves words into tears.
Some things provide roots for the disenfranchised, wherever they set for the moment -- and I know that's what these toys have done for me.
I'd like to personally give them away to children who need them.

• In a plastic bag... jewelry. Weird, that I wont be wearing these things; but it's just the flight.

• a plastic bag -- of tea bags. so I'm a tea snob. I live with it.

CARRY-ON
• Four big t-shirts. some trousers.

• Underthings for a few days.

• Slippers, and socks...

• Toiletry items

Seriously, I wonder how guys pack for "The Road".

I may end up with another bag to check in, with my "dress" blouses.
and I'm going a little nutty over the fact my only pair of shoes really need to be replaced. I haven't found another pair!
How hard are canvas oxford deck shoes in men's 10-1/2 to find?!..
evidently -- very.

bedtime.
My sink is shiny(see above post); my laundry is drying, and tomorrow means one day closer to Tuesday.

(little bird) Lilly.

Tuesday Morning Never Looked So Good*

2006-01-26T02:41:00.000-06:00

I think I am going to give myself permission to take tomorrow off.
Not that I will -- but I'm going to be a complete mess by Tuesday Morning if I don't get some rest and stop this crazy whirl of emotional swings.

So many "firsts" to consider..

• I've never flown on a plane... and Tuesday morning I have to take two of them.
• Never been further than New Jersey from the place I was born.
• Never ended a marriage before.
• Never thought I'd ever get to where I'll be going...

Overwhelmed... but HAPPY.
Lilly
____________________
*first line from the Freddy Jones Band song, "Daydream".

Busy Busy Busy...

2006-01-21T00:15:00.000-06:00

I'm not going to be making many posts here for a bit.

You see --
ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

I'm in a transitional phase, physically.
I'll say where and when when I get there.

Some of you -- my friends -- have been told.
If I didn't delete your dang addy when I closed my earthlink box! sheesh.

anyway.

I've recently pointed out the blog to some people who are new to reading blogs.
You start in the archives.
click February 2005 -- and read them by scrolling to the bottom for the first entry, and scrolling up, from there.

don't forget to click and read the comments -- they can be the best part!

love you all.
Lilly

[The Desk Drawer] MISC...

2006-01-15T22:11:00.000-06:00

Sorry I haven't been around: I've been immersed in a different sort of writer's group [click post title for link].

I've also not-quite-enjoyed an aborted love affair; got my mental fanny spanked for being "too emotional" (again; and the first and second items are not related except through my being on the receiving end); written a ream of poetry formed emails that have changed my perception on ... everything.

on top of everything else...
I've picked up a new addiction: her name is A.A., she's an Editor-goddess. This is her cat, Mousette. Magnificent: her cattitude here reminds me of Maneater.

been doing a clean up on The Cat Story: I'll have to finish the re-write and post it again. I'm going to let the original stand -- just to remind anyone who cares to compare both 2,000+ word essays what a DIFFERENCE an editor can make!

I feel like I've been reprieved from prison.
(lighthearted, laughing) Lilly
•••••••••••••••••••••••••
Here's the full piece, edited. I've put a line where the submission begins -- and colored the lines that were excised (tying the piece together with the first half)
You can compare it to the original, HERE

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

I had a dream about cats last night.

A few weeks ago I was in a pet supply mega-store and they were having a cat adoption program-drive: a bunch of lovely, shy, resigned felines in cages looking at the humans looking at them.

I don't allow myself to look in eyes like that -- I am too much a cat myself these days to bow in service to the Supreme Lifeform of the Earth. I still resent being born this time around sans tail, but I'd thought I'd gotten over the need of ownership. Not to be a Cat Owner (as if any human ever "owned" a cat!) but to be Kept by one...

In my dream last night I was back in the pet store -- and all the cats I'd ever known but one were in the cages...

Growing up in a near rural area, we had cats as a necessity: the house was between two creeks with a swampy back lot and an ancient barn my father used as a garage shop. There were lots of critters one would not want to become too friendly with or be surprised by in the dark, and so the succession of patrol felines.

I use the term "near rural" because the one road going past the house was a major route from deep boonies into the more populated city, and it was located approximately three feet from the front door. (You would be surprised at the sort of noise you can be right on top of and sleep straight through!)

This did make our home a final destination for Humane Society cats. On the right, land and swamp-jungle and wildflower tangle meadows as far as a cat may ramble. On the left -- the IMMEDIATE left! -- sudden death screaming down on you at about 70 mph in the form of interstate tractor trailers and beer-pumped teenagers in too much car for that little share of brains.

We went through a bunch of cats -- some lasting a year, more than a few a matter of weeks, and a memorable handful that I can only describe as --"Free At Last!! YAY!!" -- SPLAT!! (awful, but reminiscent of the Monty Python film "Life of Brian", in which a Roman Centurion questions the nonchalant attitude of an old codger toward the possibility of his impending death by crucifixion by exclaiming, "But that's a horrible death!" The old man says "Yes, but at least you're out in the open air...")

I didn't really get attached to any of the cats until I was old enough to start having a hand in naming them. "Inky" was a black and white Asian mixed kitten my sister Carol found at the back of the convenience store a mile up the road. Inky lived to be 14 and eventually died of the dread Meatloaf Disease so well chronicled by B. Kilban in his cat drawings (where the cat as she ages gradually turns into a (barely animated) meatloaf-shaped entity.)

In Inky's twilight months we brought home a kitten to stimulate her, as is recommended by certain animal "experts"; and the only stimulus effect I could see was that Inky would stop cold in the doorway of the room where Guinevere was frolicking in high cuteness kitty mode, give the cattish glare of "What Fresh Hell Is This?" feline disdain towards all bipeds present, and do the slink and inversion reverse cat exit from the doorway.

I interpreted this to mean Inky did not care for the energetic charms of the kitten; and I had my suspicions further confirmed by the dear old girl departing this world shortly after Guinevere's arrival, Inky having attained full meatloaf form: an inert island on a flood of bladder release, dead center between my wheelchair dependent younger sister's ankles -- perhaps Inky had knotted onto her mortal skein, holding out for one of Susan's rare visits home from College? I'd like to think so: Who wouldn't want to take the option of leaving this Earth surrounded by the comfortingly familiar?..

But I didn't want to talk about Inky and Gwen -- I wanted to talk about MY cats: Maneater and Godzilla.

They arrived as kittens at the same time, though I don't remember if they were litter mates. Zilla was the definition of a Kipling cat. She was a sinewy spar gray,with the hint of tiger striping in charcoal from her shoulders back to her tail, which was plain gray and held in a perpetual question mark "?" bend and curl, whatever her mood or occasion.

Godzilla was a backyard ghost. She was a house ghost. I tried to bond with her over the years, but she was not the sort to approve of human-feline fraternization; all I saw of her was, fittingly, a shadow (what "Zilla" means, in Hebrew) and two emerald green eyes peering-into-the-unseen from the haunts of kitty corners. When I moved out of the house at nineteen, Zilla took The Road Out in beginner "FROGGER" fashion within the first two weeks of my leaving. Did she miss me? Had I mattered to her? Was it just her name getting read out from the karma kitty-callup? I got the cleanup call, as ever, and thought about what makes a self-contained proper cat do the splat, as I tried to give her burial in frost-hardened winter ground.

•••••••••••• exercise starts ••••••••••••

Maneater started out as my sister's cat: When I moved back home two years later to take care of my mom after surgery, Mannie and Inky lived in a state of detente; and the once aloof, conceited-and-proud-of-it Maneater attached herself to me in doglike fashion. I'm sure she was simply bored and missed Susan, who had started college that year.

Maneater...was a big cat made house cat size. Amongst feline definitions of beauty she excelled all conventional notions -- a Siberian with tortoiseshell brushstrokes of vibrant autumn displayed like treasure on a graduated mink coat with an asymmetrical, broken blaze of honey, amber, and gold echoing the Halloween perfection of pumpkin orange eyes; smooth sable shoulders with the left forepaw gauntleted in a swirl of color; and her back end and tail as full and bushy as if she were dressed in cossack trousers. Breathtaking in a "Oh, what IS that?!!" glimpse of something that should have been feral and predatory as well as Queen of All She Surveyed.

This cat became my companion and gave me the privilege of her direct, Cattitude Attentions. My desk is an old 1930's oak teacher's desk, the surface top of which measures 60"x34". "Manita" would sit like a Bastet statue on the desk just to the left of my left hand and watch me read or write in my journal. I, of course, had to start our conversations, but once she had my attention things rolled along as you might expect between a so called "dumb" animal and a lonely human -- which is to say she played me like a piano and I thought she was a Clever Puss!

We were a team. From the moment the alarm clock went off and she started her kitty yoga alongside my shoulder, taking care of my mom throughout the day, she was always ready to offer suggestions on what "Baby Jane" enhancements we could torture the old lady with -- devious little minx of a mind! At the end of the day, I'd put the reading and writing aside and say, "You ready for bed, Miss Thing?" We'd get up from the desk together and hop into bed, and that swirled left paw would always tap my chin or an ear as if to wish me pleasant dreams before we curled into separate fetal knots for sleep.

She was as content to look upon me as I was pleased to look upon her, and there were times I'd KNOW with absolute certainty she not only understood what I was saying to her (not towards her, but TO her) but agreed with me on that level where words of reply are superfluous; an incline of that head, a perfectly timed blink -- the twitch of a nose as if to say, go on...

She never suggested she was bored and I had to play with her. None of this head butting, "how can you look at that silly book while I am sitting here in all my splendorous beauty"; no attempts to chase the pen scratching along on the paper like some ersatz mouse. She sat. She watched. When invited, she provided feedback -- for my sake, I am sure; all she really ever needed from me in the mix of our friendship was my big bipedal presence. Maybe she liked the sound of my voice? I don't know. What makes a dumb beast dumb, but our own lack of understanding?...

My mom eventually regained mobility and went back to work, and I stayed and got a job working at the kennel down the road.

Maneater at first was quite appalled at the smells I brought back with me at the end of the day and the disruption to our daily routine, but she adjusted -- and gave me the space to get stripped down and showered before she'd pop up and we'd chat over the day we had: Her end of the conversation mostly being a blink for yes; a yawn for, _"You've got to be kidding me, O Two-Legger-No-Tail."_

Mannie had her job to do too: She was the chief patrol cat during the day shift, and she had been neglecting her rounds to care for the caregiver during those first two months of my return home. (Mom had gone into the hospital for a replacement hip and been infected with staph, and then she slipped on a wet floor in the hospital corridor and fractured the good hip! Being that I was the only member of the family who did not have -- a) a husband/family of my own to care for, or b) a career to advance in, or c) an education to be furthering -- I got volunteered to assist at home. Sealing my fate was the fact I was temporarily homeless since the Drug Factory in the third floor apartment had gone up in flames, and all my worldly possessions on the first floor were waterlogged. It was deemed a fortuitous chain of events -- for my other five siblings who would not have to deal with Mother on a daily basis.
BTW it was around this time I stopped believing in a merciful Christian God.)

About four months into the kennel gig, we had a freak summer storm blow through our area -- quite the biblical overkill, with day becoming night and hail the size of golf balls doing major property damage. The dogs in the kennel went berserk. I got home and my sister's boyfriend was sitting in the kitchen. Susan wheeled out of the bathroom and looked at him then looked at me and looked at him again. Mom was still at work.

I don't remember who told me Mannie was dead, though I seem to remember the boyfriend did most of the talking.

Maneater was found in front of the house, on the side of the road:killed by a vehicle in that storm. I was gently led to understand (as gently as a graphic horror can be dissembled) that she'd been turned inside out. My sister's boyfriend had already buried the remains; a small blessing to have it "taken care of" before I would be given the grisly task by Mom.

As I type this, the pain and frustration of that bereavement roars up from the past and bleeds -- hemorrhages -- as if it has just happened... and I need to stop typing and mop up the tears and snot before I fry the keyboard.

This happen 23 years ago, and my consolation is I got over it, and I'll get over it again.
Time heals -- but memory is a knife.

In my family, I have the reputation as the Strong One. The Smart One.
She's got a stainless steel spine and she doesn't take shit from anyone, not her Husband, not Mom, not God -- nobody!

My Mother and I have come to a detente of our own -- but that's a story for another time, as are my love-hate love relationships with male figures throughout my life. That cat was one of the most important relationships of my life.

A cat.

I've had dogs since... but today... I just ... miss my cat.

Rolling Stones Age Ban Revoked

2006-01-10T16:27:00.000-06:00

Organizers of the Rolling Stones' upcoming performance at the Super Bowl in Detroit have been forced to lift a controversial ban against audience members over the age of 45.

Initially aging fans were told they would be refused entry to the field and dance area during the concert because the National Football Team deemed the show too strenuous for older attendees.

But when critics insisted the decision meant the rockers were too old for their own show, officials were forced to revoke the ban.

The area immediately before the stage is reserved for 2,000 rock volunteers, who will be asked to sing and boogie for the TV cameras.

NFL spokesman Brian McCarthy says, "We wanted to open it up."

wow -- I say we bring in the Boogie-Bingo-Bluehairs to show them some hip-replaced jitterbugging.
Boo-Gah!

what a silly thing to get stuffed on.
it doesn't strike anyone as icky -- the chicks screaming for Mick are old enough to be his Granddaughter?! eeeewwwww Chinatown flashbacks, ewwwwww.

Our Darkside...(a discussion)

2006-01-10T00:58:00.000-06:00

ok ok. Found a Yahoo Witch group In Austin (!) and just hadta join -- these are my kinda peeps.
This was recently posed on the list:

Pilarr Azure wrote:
Some various Pagan religions involve the concept of understanding and facing one's Shadow ... seeking one's inner self, and integrating that self into our daily lives.

What does integrating that self mean to you? If it's the darker part of our nature, does that mean we would then act in a meaner way, or more understand that darker part of ourselves and accept it, while not acting on it?

How can we, societally, use the concept of integrating our Shadow-self to improve the world around us? Is that possible? Is it necessary?

Make any sense at all?

No "right" or "wrong" answers --- all opinions welcome.

Azure

My answer:

It's been a radical concept for a while, but whenever this discussion comes up I think of Spinoza.
He went against the Descartes "duality" by writing about "Oneness". His ideas didn't catch on because he was a bit of an ascetic, a dutch jew who's example of "living sainthood" -- chaffed the heck on everybody, lol.

When DID humanity accept that the soul is divided into "light" and "dark"?
This is introduced in Judeo-Christian thought in the book of Genesis.
To me, that's when things fell apart -- and to quote a smart man, "A house divided against itself cannot stand."
Neither can the soul.

I wonder about this a lot.
First there is innocence -- and that is a wholeness. Innocence doesn't know "good" and "evil" as concepts. There is only "the self".
Unfortunately, society today doesn't value something that cannot be bought and sold -- it hurts but it's true: if it ain't a commodity, the trend is to belittle, invoke envy, inflame desire -- turn the intangible gold into some kind of coin; and so shatter our wholeness.
and the bastards take the sweepings of that shattered perfection, grind it up, add filler, repackage it and sell it back to us -- as if anyone *could buy* wholeness / innocence.

The Shadow self is not less, and it is not more. It is who we are:but it has become a separate entity because we are taught to shroud it in fear, and to distance ourselves from it, by people who were taught to do the same thing by people who were taught the same thing.

Do you know the story of the five monkeys?..

five monkeys were put in a room: they were given adequate food and care, but a bunch of bananas hung from the ceiling out of reach, and in the room with them were various sized boxes that one smart monkey stacked to get to the bananas...
but when she reached for the bunch of bananas, their observers turned fire hoses on all the monkeys -- punishing the whole group for the actions of the one, with (obviously) no explanation given. this was repeated every time one of the monkeys went for the out of reach food source.
after a bit, the other monkeys didn't allow any monkey to stack boxes to go for the bananas -- policing themselves.
Then one monkey was removed and replaced with a different monkey.
The new monkey got the bright idea to stack boxes to get to the bananas -- and without any prompting, the other four monkeys restrained the new one from doing so. Violently -- and without reason (as we know it) because they knew the consequences of the action: getting unpleasantly hosed whenever any monkey tried to get to the bananas.
gradually, one by one all of the original test group were replaced with new monkeys -- and the hose-down was never repeated...
Even though NONE of the monkeys who experienced the punishment for box stacking was still in the group, the LAW of not stacking boxes to get to the bananas was strictly enforced by all the monkeys when a new monkey appeared with a "new" idea to get to the bananas.
welcome to how morality is shaped.

I suppose we need to define just what Innocence / Wholeness is.
Societally it's viewed as a deficiency (because of reasons stated above) seen as a limited state. We try to protect it in children (and other creatures we love) even as we acknowledge that "growing as a person" means an eventual loss of innocence.

excuse me?
Fellow monkeys -- when was the last time YOU were hosed?!
And if you were -- did you understand the WHY of it?

I believe the handicap to overcome is the *reasoning* of this duality.
If you seek enlightenment -- and let's be honest, a LOT of people do not; can't be bothered, and would be mightily offended by the offer -- you are going to have to deal with integrating your whole Being -- and the big surprise to be had is that -- it IS and always has been -- whole.

but overcoming the duality concept and embracing your whole self means being MORE responsible for yourself. Pilarr wrote:

If it's the darker part of our nature, does that mean we would then act in a meaner way, or more understand that darker part of ourselves and accept it, while not acting on it?

by embracing our wholeness, we lose nothing but fear, want, and ignorance -- and we gain understanding, compassion, and acceptance. First for ourselves: and it's true, whatever system you work in -- to truly love others, you have to love yourself first: and by that I do mean accept and love all of who you are. Unconditionally.

but enough from me -- I usually open my yap and kill these threads stone cold dead. (lol.)
BB
Lilly

The Wyrd of Words

2006-01-07T16:03:00.000-06:00

The Wyrd of Words

You said you loved me
And I believed you
Words are powerful

When you invoke
The ancients, O man.
But you are a modern

Man -- and I am not
Of your time. Words
Are nothing to you;

You use them like
Tools -- a means to
An end.

Your word means
Nothing, and so you
Are weighed; think --

You cheat the scale?
There is a reason The
Goddess is blindfolded as

She Lifts the Balances:
I am blind to your
Show of pretty,

Empty words; and you
O man --
Are lacking.

© Jeen Lilly

take a few minutes...

2006-01-07T15:42:00.000-06:00

yes, the music is "New Age".
The sentiments are too.
wish this WAS our New Age...

maybe if enuff people share it...
click title or copy and paste this:
http://www.lightmovie.com/

btw: when I sign an email / post / letter with
"Love and Light" --
this is what I mean.

)0(

A Hug

2006-01-07T15:39:00.000-06:00

A Hug*

Hugging is good medicine. It transfers energy,
and gives the person hugged an emotional boost.

You need four hugs a day for survival,
eight for maintenance,
and twelve for growth.

A hug makes you feel good.

The skin is the largest organ we have and it needs a great deal of care.
A hug can cover a lot of skin and gives the message that you care.
It is also a form of communication.
It can say things you don't have words for.

The nicest thing about a hug is that you usually can't give one without getting one.

~•~•~ ~•~•~ ~•~•~ ~•~•~

many hugs to you from me
even if they're "only" Cyber-etically.
Love and Light,
Lilly.

_________________________
* from the footer of GrannyMoon's Morning Feast

Group Therapy / On Robin's Song of Hiding

2006-01-07T04:27:00.000-06:00

•••It started with this poem from Beth...

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER!

If I could, I would run,
Run and run without stopping
Until I came to a place
That felt safe, felt very safe;

Then I would hide there
Until I was sure
That you had passed on by
And could never see me.

I would hide behind the doorways,
I would hide behind the stairways;
I would hide behind the trees
And I would burrow under shrubs.

And if you never find me
I would be ever so happy;
I never want to see you again
I never want you to see me.

I would hide behind the mailbox
I would crawl inside a tunnel
Even hide in the chimney
To get away from you.

Running away isn’t enough
And can never be far enough
Never, never, never
Do I want to see you!

I would hide underwater
And breathe through reeds
I would wear a police uniform
Or dress up like a monk

I would spend a million dollars
I would spend all my allowance;
I would do anything at ALL
To never see you!

© Copyright 12/26/05
Beth Johnson
(Mystic Amazon)

•••which brought this from Robin:

I am so sorry you have had to go through this. I really CAN understand. I am not sure if I told you this or not, but I have a poem, "Hidden" and it is sort of like this poem you wrote. I used to get in BAD trouble if I cried, so if there was ever a time when I could not help but cry, I would go in the bathroom, turn on the shower, and sit on the pot and cry. We had these shelves that we kept our folded towels and wash cloths in, and I would fantasize about being so small, that I would be able to burrow down into the towels and be safe and warm and so small nobody could ever find me.

To all those who retreated the only way they could, from the hurtful
touch of one who was supposed to love but didn't know how.

Hidden

I'm much too small for you to see
I'm hidden here inside of me
I ran far away, and now I'm lost
You didn't know what your action's cost

The words, they hurt me the most of all
You never even saw my tears fall
Shrinking back in fear and shame
You told me I was the one to blame

For all the times you hurt or hit
I went away, lost bit by bit
Wandering inside my mind, all broken
Where no more hurtful words are spoken

No matter how you try to reach me
You have no lessons left to teach me
The lights are on, but I'm not here
I'm hidden, safe, from all I fear

Robin Stansbury

•••and I wrote this:

I was that poem. When we hide, we enable the abuser.
hiding seems like the only choice to survive, since society is just as likely to punish the abused person as the abuser: more so, because we are labelled "victim". We are both scorned and pitied -- to distance what happened to us from the people who "hear" about it.
And fixing a label on a victim makes it easier to forget about the survivor.

I will never "get over" what was done to me. But I have been able to get past it enough to talk about it. There is NOTHING for me to gain in seeking vengeance against the sociopath who used me: there is everything in my breathing free in fresh air ... and talking about it.

On Robin's Song of Hiding

When I was small I was nothing.
It took me forever to feel something.
A ghost of a child who wished to
disappear -- but found herself bound

and used -- by anyone who spoke
a kind word; cold manipulation:
I didn't know I was rare.
All I knew was no one cared.

My talent is to see inside
and ohh the ugliness; I wept;
cried myself silently to sleep
one eye open; no rest for me.

Everything I learned was twisted
like learning music from a tone
deaf tutor -- I would sooner have
not existed. Do you know how old

I was, when I made my first break
for Heaven?.. That's right: suicidal
thoughts at seven. When abusers
chose, they are sooo selective

Convince the abused that we're
Defective! We ask for it, you
didn't know? We're the bad ones
and we can't tell...so we deserve

This private hell; created by ones
we are told to trust -- no wonder
we feel God gave up on us.
No punishment for a monster

could ever be enough, no
healing for what was ripped
before my mind could grasp it.
I moved from hate and hurt

into hurt and hate... Happiness?
drifted past it. I was the
walking wounded -- shell shocked
and hidden so deep inside

but never safe. There is no
safe when you know everything
is a lie. The semblance of
conformity, just what people

Want to see. I was bent and
molded by a warped artist
who got his kicks from the
forbidden -- and sneered at any

and all women who thought
they were too good for him;
so he stole what was not offered.
Oh they knew he was bad

and they were sure he'd be
hung -- but no one knew just
HOW bad or... what he'd done.
but now -- you do...

Sign me No Name. Sign
me Every Name: look into
the eyes -- of the disenfranchised.
Tom Joad's got nothing on me.

© Jeen Lilly

•••from Robin:

I am so sorry, Lilly, but yes, talking about it is the key. Letting people know that not just ignorant, uneducated weak women are abused. Children are abused, and women from all walks of life are too.

Just call it Group Therapy...

Groups... why'd it have to be groups...

2006-01-05T23:47:00.000-06:00

I am a loner by nature. I recognize my weirdness and I celebrate it -- off in the corner, chuckling at my own little translation of the world; it's a bittersweet thing.

So...

it's kind of funny to be the moderator in a group when you really don't fit into a group mentality -- but the group itself isn't a group mentality anyway.

rather like herding cats.

I was given a board to host with the tongue-in-cheek title of "Philosophy and Other BS" in an MSN group. It started as a joke...

I think.

But it's turned into the one place [in the group] where serious discussion happens -- with a good deal of snarky and goofy humor lightening the dark roast -- and it has attracted it's "regulars."

I remember an English teacher I had who confided in me that there was nothing more loathsome on earth to him that High School Love Poetry. Necessary for the angst riddled soul; but jaysus couldja do it in private and wash your hands afterwards?! I joined a couple Yahoo writing groups -- completely the opposite of poetry X (where everything is given a rewrite and the joy of the words are drained to a monochrome, minimalist grey -- manly MAN poetry, man!) the Yahoo groups are all about saying "I love you and your writing." They are Support Groups for broken hearts who write gawd awful unreadable angst wrung poems... AND house a few actual poets who can write: prolifically, consistently GOOD.
Everyone throws a clunker once in a while, but a handful of these people "got it".

I've been wrestling with my creative spark. Use it or lose it: and I'm not using it nearly enough to give me that warm glow of accomplishment...
More words, more work; more happiness.
or at least something to show for taking up this space...

The Little Daisy Monsters On the Beach
i luv u so

There are some threads and
some boards that just whoosh
on past -- and I'll toss a bon mot
(or not) if it happens to tickle
my funny.

I get VERY boo-boo kitty
when my creative work
i.e. the eff-ort-ing stuff
gets passed on.
feels like pissed on.

finding the serious corner
is like drawing up to a
warm driftwood bonfire
on a beach: the figures
drawn around, to it

partially visible; pseudo
fantastiques: could be
faeries, demons. Or just
folks -- all together and
separate: catching sparks

and blowing smoke; with
one common thought
one hope traveled toward
one gift to take and give:
enchantez-moi!

~ Lilly

Have a Safe New Year's Eve...

2005-12-31T01:00:00.000-06:00

Single girls especially; here's a REAL party dress.
(click pic to enlarge)

Loses some impact unless you give it a goood look...

oddly, I think it's rather charming -- and cleaning
(assuming you'd wear it again)
would be a simple hose down and drip dry.
Salute!

Movies...Moo-o-o-vies...

2005-12-30T14:30:00.000-06:00

Not only have I not been inside a movie theatre in...um... 4 years?
I have only started to catch up on DVDs since... well.. YOU know.

lol.
so far we've picked up a 5 buck copy of True Stories, and a previously viewed copy of A Mighty Wind.

We've rented
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
The Kid Stays In the Picture
Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy
The Triplets of Belleville (MUST get the soundtrack to this one)
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Spirited Away (another soundtrack that's been haunting me)
Sideways (ugh -- I heard such raves about this -- I wouldn't want to spend 5 minutes with anyone in this film (well that's the self absorbed calling the Narcissists fuchsia, innit?), I can't believe I watched the whole thing)
Yellow Submarine (wow -- added scenes and really nice job on the digital transfer)
Ray
Festival Train

I always knew I'd get happily sucked into the DVD "bonus features" (still getting the hang of the remote and it's many-many function buttons. sheesh. My favorite? the Zoom so I can read the bloody credits / cast listings!) because I genuinely enjoy "Making of" and Interviews and being furnished with the filmmaker's comment track while watching for the second time.

Soo many DVDs -- so little "worth" seeing...
but that won't stop me from watching =)

Gotta Resolution!

2005-12-29T14:34:00.000-06:00

Your Horoscope New Year’s Resolutions

‘Tis the season to make New Year resolutions--and to break them just as quickly, at least partly because the very language of most resolutions (“I will lose weight! I will stop smoking!”) is punitive and belittling to the soul. But our horoscope sun-sign can point the way to a life-affirming resolution your spirit can really get behind.

These resolutions speak a powerful, positive language that our spiritual selves respond to, in accordance with what is best in us, and working hand in hand with our deeper purpose in life. Find out the affirming resolution for your sun-sign, here:

Aries, March 21-April 19: I will allow my courage to blaze new trails in my life.

Taurus, April 20-May 21: I will focus on my inner garden, growing what I truly need.

Gemini, May 22-June 20: I will share my ideas with ease, finding playmates of the spirit with every word I speak.

Cancer, June 21-July 22: I will trust that my sensitive heart is continually nourished by pleasant memories and creativity.

Leo, July 23- Aug 22: I will know that my vital imagination is the fiery force that can change my life for the better.

Virgo, Aug 23-Sept 22: I will give thought to the messages of healing my body is sending me, and the ways I can give my body what it needs.

Libra, Sept 23-Oct 22: I will create something beautiful today out of my deep love for Beauty.

Scorpio, Oct 23-Nov 21: I will rise up again and again, filled with the power of renewal.

Sagittarius, Nov 22-Dec 21: I will speak the ideals of my heart clearly and with compassion for my self and others.

Capricorn, Dec 22-Jan 19: I will begin behaving as if my most important responsibility is to express my true nature.

Aquarius, Jan 20-Feb 18: I will be open to fresh new ideas that help me strengthen the bonds of community.

Pisces, Feb 19-March 20: I will believe that my deep intuition is a benefit to all my relations.

pick pick pick SHOVEL...

2005-12-28T21:39:00.000-06:00

I am so uncivilized at times.
Robin wrote a poem:

Love's Ebb and Tide

by

Robin

Where is it that love goes when it dies,

Does it just fall apart, left where it lies?

Does it, waiting to be rekindled, remain,

A force nothing on earth could restrain?

I have seen and felt Love's ebb and tide.

Seen ressurected, what I thought had died.

Is a love you have given, yours to take back,

A piece of yourself that you'll forever lack?

In the giving Love, is it the giver that gains,

If naught but ashes, forever there remains?

(c)Stansbury 2005

which itched at me til I wrote this as an answer.

Love does not grow nor does it die
Though when forgotten it will reside
In memory until we die:
Then rolls away, like the tide
To wash ashore and climb inside
Another soul where it may abide.

Better to pity the lonely who
Have called to Love but never knew
Love was always there in view
But when no duet ensued
All other efforts were refused:
So they sigh, and wait in gloom.

You who have loved and know the cost
Do not fear that love is lost
For like the fruit that has a season
You know the taste of what's good eatin.
Love longs to dance with us again
So play the music and whirl, my friends!

© Jeen Lilly

Now -- Robin politely praised my poem, but she added this:

One thing...just a double take on your poem. I respectfully say that love DOES grow. Sometimes it appears out of thin air, and blossoms, sometimes a tiny little thing, like a sprig of honeysuckle, grows like wildfire, until the whole fence is overtaken, and sometimes love grows from ashes long since grown cold. But grow? I think so!

to which I countered:

I respectfully say it is our Awareness of Love that grows -- just as it is our (with the help of "the other" of course) perception of love diminishing or even ending.
We change.
We embrace love and glorify in it's wash of emotion,
even as we also suffer for it.
We fail love.
Because we are only human --
and Love is the true food, the breath, the existence of the Divine.
How can that possibly change?

And how can we...not?

Lilly

Robin followed that, with this:

I think the difference in opinion here, is really a misunderstanding. I was writing about romantic love, you speak of the kind of universal love that we all come pre-hard wired for, and remains constant. Now, I understand. Thank you for taking time to help me understand.

Which wasn't what I meant. So I wrote a longer reply -- and I thought hard before I sent it. The whole experience has turned out adversarial -- NOT my intention.
But I guess by countering her poem with my own, that constituted a throw down challenge. Was I challenging her?
again. NOT my intention -- but if that's how it comes across, that IS the effect.
ugh. I am losing my mind, my footing, and all hope that I can actually communicate what I think so it is palatable to other people.

Anyone of us could be open to Love -- be it romantic love; Karuna (Universal-Compassionate "Mother Love" i.e. as embodied by Kwan Yin); Sisterhood; the love for a child... (and of course it goes without saying I mean the nobler, beneficent love for children!)

But romantic love -- the concept of what "Romantic Love" is; the sort of irresistible force that you are helpless to stand against (if you are familiar with the story of Tristan and Isolde; they "accidentally" consume a love potion (meant for Isolde to bond with her future husband) and suffer their joy in each other as a persecution of their values that makes hypocrites of both. But what else can they do? they have no choice! )

Romantic Love is seen as a bolt of lightning, a maelstrom, -- some force of nature... and I submit that it is the individual lover who is at a particular crossroads of understanding and "gets the doors blown off" his or her perceptions. It may seem to be a random act of attraction. The object of affection may just be the idee fixe of the Lover.

It's called falling in love
but love does not grow --
People do.
We grow into it
We grow away from it.

I suppose it could be argued that if love is truly a constant, then shouldn't the one I love, love me?
If s/he were you, with your understanding and experiences and perceptions, or if s/he felt drawn to the sort of traits you projected -- well yes -- the Other's awareness of you would be as acute and would quicken at the thought of you.

But we are all so individual. We are all growing and changing, every minute of our lives.
We may dream of a love potion or spell to bind us forever to the Other: as if this moment, and this feeling could last forever. As if we would always act as One.

But each of us -- Chooses to love.
And most will never come close to understanding "love" beyond the physical realm that bites back with the onset of puberty. This is why men chase young, physically attractive women and leave "old reliables". They are simply looking for the buzz of conquest and discovery.
Some women are like that too.
One can say there is no growth of any kind for them -- and they will attempt to defy their chronological growth as well.

But what do I know? I'm so disillusioned by being rejected by a man who says he loves me -- and won't LOVE me. (I'd insert a wisecrack here -- but that would be the height of irony.
brump bump.)

Lonely and Horny
Lilly

David Sedaris...

2005-12-26T01:38:00.000-06:00

It is the birthday of humorist David Sedaris, born near Binghamton, New York (1956). He is best known for his collections of personal essays Naked (1997) and Me Talk Pretty One Day (2000). Sedaris is one of six children and he spent most of his childhood in Raleigh, North Carolina. His father, Lou, worked for IBM and his mother, Sharon, was a homemaker. Sedaris had Tourette's syndrome as a child but it was never formally diagnosed.

Sedaris worked many odd jobs, including a dishwasher, an apple-picker, and a writing instructor. While living in Chicago he made a living by painting apartments and squirrel-proofing houses. The job he liked most was being a housekeeper because it allowed him to keep up with his favorite soap operas.

For most of his life Sedaris had kept a diary in which he documented at least one incident from every day of his life. When he moved to Chicago to attend the Art Institute, he began reading from his diary in front of audiences. His readings became so popular that he caught the attention of National Public Radio, and in 1991 he gave his first reading on the air, "The Santaland Diaries," a true story about his job as an elf at a Macy's department store one Christmas season.

Sedaris soon signed a contract with a major publisher and his collections of essays Barrel Fever (1994) and Me Talk Pretty One Day (2000) became best-sellers. But even after he had become a successful writer Sedaris kept his job cleaning apartments for a long time. He said, "I can only write when it's dark, so basically, my whole day is spent waiting for it to get dark. Cleaning apartments gives me something to do when I get up. Otherwise, I'd feel like a bum."

His most recent book is Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (2004).

~ from the Writer's Almanac.

Christmas Cookies...

2005-12-25T14:16:00.000-06:00

These are the cookies I remember making every Christmas when I was growing up. I found the address for the reproductions (15+ years ago?!) -- and bought several sets: for my Mom, elder sisters, and one for myself.

Two years ago I gave my set to a friend on the Internet who had never heard of them. I'm pleased to see there is a website (click title of post for link) and they have all the Aunt Chick cutters and little extras for sale.. as well as a feedback area that will make you cry.

The Santa face cookie is one of those simple-but-impressive, delightful sugar cookies to create and give away. Our family used a smooth royal icing of confectioners sugar and eggwhite (and a drop of vanilla) to frost Santa's fur hat, eyebrows and beard; red sugar for the hat and rosy features; halved raisins for the eyes (the raisins are baked into the cookie). Using the smooth icing rather than a decorators bag with textured icing allows the details of the cookie mold to show.

oddly enough -- I never made the cookies after I'd gotten decorator training... figured I wouldn't want to make a batch of those cookies again and gave the cutters away with that decision fixed; happy to help make a tradition for another family.

Christmas cookies... the stocking, the tree, the star, and Santa. My sister Gypsy (ummm not a title, that's the name she uses online, “GypsySoul”) made them this year with her four year old, eleven year old, and husband all helping to decorate them. I'd been reminiscing on another site about them (funny -- the most contact I have with G.S. these days is through the various groups we belong to on MSN) and she pulled out the set I'd gotten Mom (G.S. inherited them fair and square) and tackled the project full steam ahead...

Which reminded me so strongly of the major production of Santa faces we would do for the Children's Hospital Gypsy spent a good chunk of her childhood in. There had to be boxes and boxes of those Santas: so that every child got a Santa, as well as the Nursing Staff; and extras for the waiting room.
We made them by the gross. Santa was always a hit, with everyone.

We wore the original cutters out: they were made of a brittle red plastic typical in the 1940's -- even with careful handing the cutters cracked and disintergrated by the mid 70's. (Miraculous -- the actual cookies never broke, though I suspect it might have been the hard shell of royal frosting that kept them intact.)

Decorated sugar cookies -- a simple homey thing.
A touchstone of memory.

I just ordered another set.
A gift to myself, really. =)
sorely tempted to get all of them...

From the Writer's Almanac:

2005-12-25T13:50:00.000-06:00

Today is Christmas Day, celebrated by Christians since the 4th century AD. Early Christians believed that the only important holiday of the year was Easter, but in the 4th century, a heretical Christian sect started claiming that Jesus had only been a spirit, and had never had a body. The Church decided to emphasize Jesus' bodily humanity by celebrating his birth.

Most Christian theologians believe that Jesus was actually born in the spring, because the scripture mentions shepherds letting their animals roam in the fields at night. The Christian church probably chose December 25th as the official birth date because of competition with pagan cults, who celebrated the winter solstice on that date.

The problem with combining Christian and pagan traditions was that the winter solstice had traditionally been a time of drunken feasting and revelry, and many Christmas celebrations became similarly festive. Many preachers began to speak out against the celebration of Christmas, and after the Protestant Reformation, Puritans outlawed Christmas altogether.

It was only in the mid 19th century that Christmas became a domestic holiday associated with family. The transformation was due in part to government crackdowns on wild street parties. In 1828, New York City organized its first professional police force in response to a violent Christmas riot. Eventually it became more fashionable to stay at home with family than to go out to big parties.

One practice that endures from pagan traditions is the singing of carols. The word "carol" comes from the Greek "choros," which is a circular dance accompanied by singing, usually to celebrate fertility. After most Europeans became Christians, they began to write and perform folk songs at Christmas time to express their joy at baby Jesus' birth.

But the church often discouraged the singing of carols because they were considered too secular, and the practice of caroling almost died out under church pressure. When Christmas became a more domestic holiday in the mid-1800s, there was a carol renaissance, and many of the most popular carols were written in that period, including, "Away in a Manger," "O Little Town of Bethlehem", and "Silent Night" written in Austria in 1818.

God rest you merry, Innocents...

2005-12-25T13:21:00.000-06:00

best known for light verse and wicked wit, these verses were a surprise gift -- and the last verses are sadly fresh sounding and particularly appropriate for Christmas, 2005:

God rest you merry, Innocents,
Let nothing you dismay,
Let nothing wound an eager heart
Upon this Christmas day.

Yours be the genial holly wreaths,
The stockings and the tree;
An aged world to you bequeths
Its own forgotten glee.

Soon, soon enough come crueller gifts,
The anger and the tears;
Between you now there sparsely drifts
A handful yet of years.

Oh, dimly, dimly glows the star
Through the electric throng;
The bidding in temple and bazaar
Drowns out the silver song.

The ancient altars smoke afresh,
The ancient idols stir;
Faint in the reek of burning flesh
Sink frankincense and myrrh.

Gaspar, Balthazar, Melchior!
Where are your offerings now?
What greetings to the Prince of War,
His darkly branded brow?

Two ultimate laws alone we know,
The ledger and the sword --
So far away, so long ago,
We lost the infant Lord.

Only the children clasp His hand;
His voice speaks low to them,
And still for them the shining band
Wings over Bethlehem.

God rest you merry, Innocents,
While innocence endures,
A sweeter Christmas than we to ours
May you bequeath to yours.

~ Ogden Nash

"Her name was McGill, she called herself Lil..

2005-12-25T01:30:00.000-06:00

..but everyone knew her as Nancy"

As a poet-of-sorts, I've always been just a little tweaked that my given name is so fusty and unrhymable. I recently joined a poetry group (good grief those Yahoo groups are like popcorn..) and sent this as my intro

I am 27 years past my 18th birthday.
Not as much covering my age of consent as digging it out and brushing the dust off it.
[achoo].

I write a lot. I have a blog I should write MORE into, but I seem to do my most inspired work in comments on other blogs! (and websites, and emails, and chatrooms; Oh My!)

I started writing poetry before I could write.
blame the Cat In The Hat, for that. =)

Jeen Lilly is a talismanic name, with the "family name" first, and the personal name after.
well... several billion Asians can't be wrong, right?
Not that I am physically Asian (although perhaps -- in dreams -- I am mostly Animé).

riiiight... so what's so talisman-ic about it?
The Jeen part is wholly fabricated from pieces of people I admire. Several Jeans -- both male and female, e.e. cummings, Nash (Ogden, that is), and the obvious, of course. Muahahahaha

The Lilly is "the personal element".

If I had to pick one flower I identify with, it's Lillies. There are so many types, in several colors as well.. Stargazers, callalillies, daylillies, lily of the valley; all Lillies are symbolically feminine. The most famous Lillies are Elaine the Lily Maid (a/k/a the Lady of Shalott), several actresses, singers, and writers come to mind...even a Leslie Caron movie! while in Christian symbolism the Lily is Mary -- and a major symbol of rebirth.
These are attributes I need in my life.

What's curious is that my subconscious answered to it a long time before my mundane awareness picked it up.
So what the heck.
I've decided I can be one thing inside and out. Without apologies.
and look -- a capitalization of the first letters!
progress.

(brave) Lilly.

Happy Thoughts...

2005-12-24T11:15:00.000-06:00

I was thinking -- what is it that really REALLY makes me happy?
I like having the idea surrounding my thoughts (like a cozy wooly-bear sweater) that EJ (truly a "good-vibe-emanating" artist) is probably making music right now, somewhere in the world.
Yeah -- in Austin. [lol.]
It would be nice to be there -- but strangely enough... I'm just happy Austin exists. Physically ~ and the emotional / spiritual real estate.
Kinda like *the North Pole* (go Santa! go Santa! Yee-ha!)
or Narnia.

it's all interconnectedness, isn't it?

We are all wrapped up together in this life experience.

The more we realize it the happier we are.

It's a subtle and very deep thing though.

If we look at the surface we may see only the differences and forget that there is even a soul center, much less that we all share it, inextricably linked at the very core of our being.

The first thing is finding the peace of our own being, our connection with the wind, the trees, the sun, the moon, the stars.

Then the inescapable conclusion comes that we are all connected to those things. The richness of our world, the universe, brings us together. The peace I feel beneath the night sky or the majesty of a great oak is a shared thing. Our awe for the mystery is ultimately the same no matter what words we place upon it.

And when we deeply feel our own connection, the universality of it comes rushing through with a sense of oneness that births love, compassion, caring, connection with all living things.

Awareness of the connection may come and go, irritate, fulfill, but ultimately, the deeper we go the more beautiful it becomes.

Emanations
Copyright © 2005 by John MacEnulty

May all our days be scored with beautiful music, happy grooves, joyful noise.

Love you all,
Lilly.

The Twelve Cats of Christmas..

2005-12-24T11:00:00.000-06:00

I just wanted an excuse to use this cute graphic...

On the first day of Christmas
when I brought home my tree
My 12 cats were laughing at me

On the second day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the third day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the fourth day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the fifth day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the sixth day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the seventh day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the eighth day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the ninth day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
9 chewed-through light strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the tenth day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
10 tinsel hairballs
9 chewed-through light strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the eleventh day of Christmas
I saw beneath my tree
11 broken branches
10 tinsel hairballs
9 chewed-through light strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the twelfth day of Christmas
I looked at my poor tree
12 cats a-climbing
11 broken branches
10 tinsel hairballs
9 chewed-througlight strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands
and my 12 cats laughing at me

Yule And J.C. ...

2005-12-22T13:17:00.000-06:00

I did feel something when I recited this and lit a new candle (and I'm thinking I need a Yule log next year!):

Farewell, Darkness, you've served us well
You've brought peace and calmness with your spell
You've helped us regroup and regenerate, too
And for those reasons we honor you
The time has come, though, to say goodbye
Farewell, Darkness! Go now! Fly!

Goodbye, Old King----- hail, New
With this log we honor You
the old reign's gone--- the new has begun
We welcome now the newborn Sun

From Yule by Dorothy Morrison

I had a nice solstice celebration. =)

I have to admit I came up with a "new name" for what I collectively call what-I-believe-in:
"Campbellian Witch".
I hope Joseph Campbell would have seen the humor in that.

from Myriam's Muse for yesterday:

Today I feature one my my mental mentors: Joseph Campbell who finally taught me that God is to big for any one religion.

“When you follow your bliss... doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors; and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else.”

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.”

“Every religion is true one way or another. It is true when understood metaphorically. But when it gets stuck in its own metaphors, interpreting them as facts, then you are in trouble.”

“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.”

“Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.”

“Life is without meaning. You bring the meaning to it. The meaning of life is Whatever you ascribe it to be. Being alive is the meaning.”

“God is a metaphor for that which transcends all levels of intellectual thought. It's as simple as that.”

“Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths.”

The influence of Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth is most powerfully shown in modern cinema culture in the works of George Lucas and his introduction of Star Wars. Lucas had already written two drafts of Star Wars when he rediscovered Joseph Campbell's The Hero With a Thousand Faces in 1975 (having read it years before in college). This blueprint for "The Hero's Journey" gave Lucas the focus he needed to draw his sprawling imaginary universe into a single story.

Until tomorrow may the force be with you and pass a low-carb donut to dunk in that Java.

I was happy to see this.
This time of year when the Unawake think dreams are what's advertised and money can buy them, I wish I could grab hold of both ears and open a few minds to the writings of Campbell... unfortunately, it does require a few brain cells to bang together to throw sparks -- catch those ideas and start a fire...
The good kind. =)

Minders...

2005-12-21T12:11:00.000-06:00

This is one of "those" lists. I'm nailing it here because I need to remind myself...

No matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.

True friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.

You can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.

It's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.

You should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.

You can keep going long after you can't.

We are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.

Either you control your attitude or it controls you.

Regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.

Money is a lousy way of keeping score.

My best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.

Sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down, will be the ones to help you get back up.

Sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.

Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.

Maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.

It isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.

No matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.

Our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.

Just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.

You shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.

Two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.

Your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.

Even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.

Credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.

People you care about most in life are taken from you too soon. (so don't take them for granted while you're both here!)

Loving Thoughts
Lonesome Lil.

The Shortest Day

2005-12-21T01:05:00.000-06:00

The Shortest Day
By Susan Cooper

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!

)O(

"If it looks like a duck..."

2005-12-20T11:49:00.000-06:00

"If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family anatidae on our hands." -- Douglas Adams

I had noticed that even my wimpy MS dominated browser didn't like the blue template as much.

I went looking for the first template I'd used (now that I know how to add my sidebar stuff and a little more about code)...
and it's the ONE template the Blogger site cut!? [dismay].

so I Googled "Blog Templates" and found this basic orange-purple combo -- same general format as the discontinued "Bluebird" -- After supper and the few away-from-the-keyboard bits I needed to do, I started poking-it-with-my-pointy-stick™ ( I love to tinker with Html -- I am a Geekess, I guess).

The only colors I kept from the original were the orange header splash (that is one of my all time favorite colors #FF9900) and the white text. The original purple was a less juicy #996699, and I don't even remember the light-light purple of the body -- the color I went with is "RosyBrown" which to me, looks mauve [mauve-ellous! *snert* yeah, puns are the lowest form of humor, so glad to have company in the gutter, Sister Blueberry *-)] went through 30 font faces before settling for Verdana.

the title font, though, is "CluffHmkBold" -- which since you don't have it in your computers; defaults to Verdana, I believe.
I think I should be able to PSP a header for this, so it's only temporary anyway. =)

you think it's a little manic depressive?! just a tad.
Muahahahahaha haha ha.

~ (Nilly) Lilly

···edit··· ~ update as of 12.24.05 ~ ···edit···
the orange purple was too basic and I'm just not capable at this point of writing my own template from scratch. So this is a rounders template with the edges filed smooth and the colors customized. Not bad -- and it should be view-able on a Mac...
)0(

YES!!!! yes-Yes-yEs-YESSSSSS....

2005-12-19T13:29:00.000-06:00

oh, what else?
Can I even begin to say how wonderful this DVD is? FINALLY, a really really GOOD clean copy of EJ doing his thing.

the sound is superb.
The performances of the pieces exactly what you would hope to see in a live setting i.e. -- yes, true to the recording... but MORE so =)
oh SchweeEeet!

If I want to be nitpicky, I can bitch that there's no evidence of the man's wit and charm -- it's *just* a display of virtuoso playing across the various genres he's mastered.

That's VERY nitpicky.
gotta Respect the Mastery, here.

since I've been playing this, I've noticed everything around here is soooo much more pleasant.
Including me.

Can't wait for the new one...
*deepest sigh*
Good gawds -- it's 17 years later -- and he's only gotten better with age!

Not exactly a Hallmark card...

2005-12-17T21:35:00.000-06:00

...but the card I send to you, dear ones. (and you oughta know who you are!)

picture stolen from Ptelea; essay from GrannyMoon and panhala..

written on Christmas Eve, 1513

I salute you. I am your friend, and my love for you goes deep.
There is nothing I can give you which you have not. But there is much, very much, that, while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take heaven!
No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. Take peace!
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in darkness, could we but see. And to see, we have only to look. I beseech you to look!

Life is so generous a giver. But we, judging its gifts by their covering, cast them away as ugly or heavy or hard. Remove the covering, and you will find beneath it a living splendor, woven of love by wisdom, with power. Welcome it, grasp it, and you touch the angel's hand that brings it to you. Everything we call a trial, a sorrow or a duty, believe me, that angel's hand is there.
The gift is there and the wonder of an overshadowing presence.
Your joys, too, be not content with them as joys. They, too, conceal diviner gifts.

Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty beneath its covering, that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven. Courage then to claim it; that is all! But courage you have, and the knowledge that we are pilgrims together, wending through unknown country home.

And so, at this time, I greet you, not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and shadows flee away.

~ Fra Giovanni

Live From Austin Texas...eventually.

2005-12-16T14:59:00.000-06:00

Well now. As I wrote on December 10th in the forum...

I don't actually have it at the moment -- Yesterday I received notification my copy has shipped: I DID order it late (had a small matter of [cough] joining the 21st century and buying a DVD player to attend to) so as additional punishment I got two previous emails that my selection was backordered. And -- no one in my area had it in stock, either. It's in stock again at the Borders one of my Bud's works at -- but the dang thing shipped YESTERDAY.

I did go looking for it back in November, settled for ordering it online.
*****sigh*****

on the one hand, I'm ok... I'm familiar with half the show thanks to PBS.
on the other hand -- [insert tantrum here.]

This perditionous waiting has had a bright spot, however: I've noticed if I don't get a daily intake of EJ, I get fiercely irritable. Deciding -- what the heck, die happy -- I loaded the CD changer in the livingroom with Merry Axemas, Tones, AVM, Venus Isle, and Bloom -- and hit repeat. I've been running around cleaning things and repairing stuff and actually throwing out pack ratty junk since "The First Nowell" gave me a hug Yesterday. Aha! So that's what's been missing!

The CD changer is from Borders -- one of the units they use to set up their listening stations in the CD department; it's a great little do-hicky, because all it does is play 5 discs. At least -- that's all I've ever asked it to do. Rob's ex-roommate and good friend works at Borders and took the working units home (rather than tossing them out!) when the systems were upgraded. Free is nice. Free and actually working is even better.

I think I've finally broken Rob of the habit of investing in spaceage audio/video equipment: this is a man with a decent thinking block on his shoulders, but I swear to god he worships gadgetry in an unclean and gluttonous way. Is this typical of all penii weighted brainiacs? I fear I regularly drain him of testosterone when I quickly grasp a bit of technology and explain it to him. Yeah -- I am the one who programs the remotes, sets up the answering machine with the correct date; day and time; and I have lost track of the computer tricks I've shown him. What's more horrific than Venus with arms?... A Tech-Chick. No wonder I drive him to hissy fits. I've never claimed to KNOW EVERYTHING, I just pick up and retain an indecent amount.. of bits of information.

speaking of bits of information --

I use Google's Gmail as my primary email address, and they recently added an RSS feed on top of the letter frame. (me speak no tech, just putter around with it.)
These Google gods are sooo my denomination: there are links to spam recipes when you empty the SPAM folder, recycling tips when you throw out the trash. I have never felt freaked out that the column of ads collates according to keywords in the body of my email -- quite a few times I've found the ad a lagnaippe of sorts: gimmie more info about what I'm aready interested in! yeeha!

besides, Google's corporate motto is, "Don't Be Evil".
Gotta love that. Perhaps it's an ideal... but it's nice to hear about a corporation that has one.

darn dang daaamn that Eric Johnson kid. I'm feeling so perky, I even feel like sending out Christmas cards this weekend.

Vetch and Vetch... a good name for a Yiddish Law Firm.

2005-12-14T22:55:00.000-06:00

Now that I have Uncle Joe's address -- I don't know what to say.
I suppose I can wish him Happy Holidays... lame lame lame.

You know.. I'm a Curmudgeon. I am. I revel in it. I want to be an old raisin shell with my same (ageless) unseasonable fruity brain... part of me feels there's no time left at all on my corporeal parking meter, and the other part of me is convinced I'm already dead and in hell.

come to think of it -- that's pretty much how I've felt my whole life.
Except for those glorious floating moments immersed in a sea of music.

It is now the season of horrible despair and awful circumstance.
Winter of Discontent?
You Betcher Ass.

keeping in mind the adage, "The More You Complain, The Longer God Lets You Live" here's a list of 10 random vetches of the moment.

1. It's pathetic that if I actually compile this list -- I'll have a feeling of accomplishment.

2. It's cold. Single digit Fahrenheit cold.

3. I haven't been out of the house since November 27th. (Out to the porch to get the mail does not count as "out".)

4. I still haven't gotten the Live from Austin DVD.

5. My insane husband has decided he LOVES DVDs and wants to replace all his video tapes. Right Now.

6. There is SNOW all over the ground. I hate snow. Individual flakes are fine, but when they all gang up like this, it's thuggery.

7. Everything Christmas makes me cry. I seem to have an Immunity deficiency this year -- the opening credits to Christmas movies have me sobbing. Christmas music on the radio starts up major water works. Please -- no Christmas greetings. No presents and no decorations. My eyes will flood right out of my head.

8. I have just now gotten into Rob's bourbon. This won't be good.

9. I made the most amazing pot of Rhode Island Clam Chowder -- a work of art fit to grace a Yankee Magazine cover. Rob devoured it -- and continued to binge eat for the rest of the evening until he took himself to bed. I was fully expecting to have to clean up exploded Rob.

10. I'm not that bad off. Yes -- that pisses me off. My abusive husband is self centered and neglectful and drinks too much -- but that's it. My life is ok. It lacks excitement, sex, affection, exercise, and stimulation of any exterior sort, but it could be much much worse and I am thankful that it isn't, believe me: but doesn't it seem fucking weird to tread water all one's life? Never hitting bottom, never getting pulled up into a lifeboat, never sighting dry land -- but when the water is calm enough -- just lying back and floating. That is my life.

Two slugs of bourbon is my limit: the first one for the burn, the second because even a burn shouldn't be this lonely. lol.
and 10 pissant complaints are more than enough to inflict on the four people who read this blog.

(droopy) Lilly.

In memory of George Lewis, Great Jazzman

2005-12-14T01:35:00.000-06:00

What a terrific, amazing poem this is.
the link in the title takes you to the whole week of WA newsletters

In memory of George Lewis, Great Jazzman

1

Man is the animal that knows
the clarinet

makes his living
on the docks, a stevedore,
110 lbs., carrying what loads
he can

the Depression comes along,
his teeth rot, no money, and
he has to accept silence

2

Thirteen years
later
they put the instrument
back together
with rubber bands
bought him
new teeth
and then he began

----------I----C----E
------E-------------------I
----C----------------------C
---I-------------------------E
----C---------------------C
------E------------------I
----------I----C----E
--C------------------------C

-----R------------------R

--------E------------E

-----------A------A

-------------M-M

--------------E-----R----------------------------------A-----V
--------V------------------T--------------------W------------------E
-O--------------------------------H-----E-----------------------------------S

--M---------------------------------------T
---Y-------------------------------------I
-----B---------------------------------N
-------U-------------------------------I
---------C---------------------------E
-----------K------------------------L
-------------E---------------------O
---------------T'-----------------H
-----------------S-G-O-T----A

One song they say

was pure
uninhibited joy
words
cannot tell you

survived so long
in those empty jaws

3

He lived and died
there.
Had a New Orleans funeral.

Leading the mourners
his old friends' band
trudged
to the cemetery, heads
down, trombones scraping
the ground, slow tones of
"Just a Closer Walk..."
helping to carry
the solemn mud
of their steps.

Graveside,
words said, tears fallen,
they turned
to walk back;
a few beats on the big
drum, then soft plucking
of a banjo string—
in another block
the clarinet wailed
and then suddenly they were
playing
"The Saints..." full blast
and people jumped
and shouted and danced
just as he'd known they would.

4

Alright. There is a frailness
in all our music.
Sometimes we're broken
and it's lost.
Sometimes we forget
for years it's even in us, heads
filled with burdens and smoke.
And sometimes we've held
to it and it's there,
waiting to break out
walking back from the end.

poem: revenge is a dish best served with a light cream sauce

2005-12-12T23:11:00.000-06:00

"I was so miserable without you
it was just like having you around..."

Yes you're obnoxious and rough
and I've had enough
of being treated mean and so cruel
instead of turning the other cheek
I've quit being so weak
the expressway of pain ends here, fool.

While you've been out
I didn't just pout
and wonder who was scratching your itch
I had me a notion
to mix up a potion...

You really shouldn't piss off a witch.

how's the soup? Care for more wine?
oh there's plenty of time;
relax and get comfortable dear
are you sweating? Then I'm betting
you'll find this upsetting
you'll soon have a new form to wear.

No, I haven't eaten yet, I'm waiting a bit
and sharpening more than my hunger
are those feathers you're sprouting?
and --quelle surprise! -- squawking, not shouting
now your eyes have gone wide -- no wonder!

The law doesn't care, hates "domestic disputes"
decries the paperwork; seems there's no absolutes.

So who needs a lawyer, the sheriff or witness
when it's just between us, this unfinished business.

Now excuse me dear, while I put on this apron ~
Here's poetic justice -- I'll be dining on Capon.

mmmm tastes just like chicken.

© Jeen Lilly

Or...

2005-12-12T08:58:00.000-06:00

or maybe my diet has just been lacking in tree bark...

Cinnamon Girl...

2005-12-11T01:40:00.000-06:00

Eat Cinnamon.
It's good for you.

Cinnamon is a sweet spice, a non-carbohydrate, with a mess of medicinal properties.
Mixed with small doses of raw honey it's a natural fix for everything from weight loss to arthritis. hmmmmm. Anyway -- I figured the cinnamon part couldn't hurt, and started adding half a teaspoon to each mug of tea I made.

well -- I like cinnamon to begin with, I always have.

Fresh cinnamon IS sweet, and refreshing.

and suddenly... Well over a few days, I noticed I had more energy, my aches and pains were much less, my digestion processes were staying where they belonged, my cough cleared.

and this is rather weird...

Rob actually made a pass at me.
But that could be the effect of Freya'a spell, too...
Muahahahaha...

The First Song

2005-12-08T10:30:00.000-06:00

Now this... this one gets me. gee -- I wonder why...

THE FIRST SONG
A tale of how Yule got its name

This is the story of the very first song;
it is a true story, as all stories are,
if you believe in them. This story begins
a long, long time ago, when the Earth and
Sun gave birth to the first beings --
the very first plants, and animals, and people.

It was springtime, and the Sun shone warm
and bright from his high perch above,
and Earth, proud mother that she was,
held and fed her newborns and
relished them with tenderness and love.
It was a time of joy,
it was a time of great delight.

The Moon waxed and waned
timeand again in the night sky,
and the children of the Earth grew
well and strong through summertime.
They played and danced,
and Earth and Sun watched over them.

Then autumn came, and the Earth began
to sleep much longer every day.
She grew tired and pale,
she could no longer feed her children,
and had no strength to grow new life.

High above, the Sun grew distant,
and took longer to return each morn.
The nights grew longer, and cold winds
blew where none had blown before.

And then, one day, Earth went to sleep
and never did wake up. She wrapped herself
in a blanket of snow, and rested her tired
head on pillows of dried leaves,
and she did not wake up; Her children
could do nothing to rouse her from her slumber.

They prodded her, they called to her,
but she would not awaken. In the sky,
the Sun was nowhere to be seen,
and the children of the Earth felt fear,
and also felt despair. This was the longest
night that they had ever known.

"What shall become of us?", they pondered.
"Earth Mother sleeps, and Father Sun is
oh so far away that we can barely see him
in the sky. He is much too far to hear
our call. What shall we do?"

So they brought their questions
and their fears to the Moon,
the sister of the Sun,
for they knew not where else to turn.
She closed her eyes, and took a slow,
deep breath, and looked within herself,
and awoke thoughts that had never
been awakened until then.

She opened her soft eyes,
then said, "When hope is lost,
the best way to get it back is with a song.
Climb you the tallest trees,
the biggest hills, the highest mountains,
and yule a song to reach the Sun".
(yule is a word from one of the most ancient tongues.
It is related to words like yell or yodel,
and it means to call out in a song).

But the first beings had never heard a song,
so once again they sought the Moon's advice.
"How shall we yule?", they asked.
"How shall we sing a song?"

"Take the best of what you have", she said,
"the best of what you are. Take what you love,
take what you cherish most. Take your joys,
your dreams, your fondest hopes, and weave them
all together in a sound."

And so they did.

They climbed atop the tallest trees,
the mountains and the hills.
They stood on all the places that
would bring them closest to the Sun.
They shut their eyes, and thought and felt
the best of thoughts and feelings, and dreamt
the finest dreams. And, as they did, their voices
rang and made a bridge of song across the sky,
to reach the distant Sun.

He heard, and turned, and smiled,
and wrapped himself in all his light and warmth,
and sped to where the yuling voices called.
As he drew near, the sleeping Earth did stir,
and dreamed a dream of spring.
The wheel of life made its first round,
and hope and joy prevailed.
And ever since,
that time of year has been called Yule,
in honor of the song.

But the first song did not end.
It had such power, such eldritch allure,
that the first beings kept singing it throughout.
And then the second beings born of the Earth
took up the song, as did the third.
And so it ever since has gone,
through seasons and through years,
until this very day.

At times the song is very soft,
and scarcely can be heard above
the din and clatter of our lives.
But when Yule comes, it rises
and it swells in memory of that night
when the Sun heard,
and light and life were spared.

And so do we, upon this longest night,
gather with those we love and who love us,
and stand upon the body of slumbering Earth,
and light the log with last year's coal,
and lift our voices soaring to the Sun,
and join the song that first was sung
so very long ago.

We sing our thanks to those who went before,
and sing our fondest wish to those who come behind.
We bask in the returning light of reawakened hope,
and welcome Yule.

(c) 1994, Andras Corban Arthen, The EarthSpirit Community

Fiddling Aboot...

2005-12-06T00:21:00.000-06:00

Messing around with the template, added a moon phase calendar and the birthdays link (from the brain site Blueberry found) to the sidebar.

I love that my friends collect such cool stuff. hehehe.

Next Monday is my quarterly check up with the Doc -- oh, joy. healthwise I seem to be treading water: just maintaining, not improving.

One thing I have noticed that's beginning to freak me out is how thin my hair is getting. I've always had baby-fine hair, but for the past few months I can't run a comb through it without pulling a significant amount of hair from said comb. I don't know if this is a complication of medication, body chemistry... but I'd like to not lose my hair like this.

bald men are beautiful -- balding women... not so much.

Like I need another thing in my life to dent my self esteem.

Musings from Future Fossil Fuel

2005-12-05T11:33:00.000-06:00

Mystical_Musings seems to be full of convalescing-from-bad-relationships females.
hmmm... are there any other kinds of relationships?..
I posted a few of my Rob railings which just added my voice to the articulate stream of thought from some very talented women who write. This one bubbled up to the surface this morning:

Kathi(from MM)wrote:
"If this is "till death do us part"
I feel like I have died already…"

Musings from
Future Fossil Fuel

She looks at me
and sees only
the handsome man

in his best manners
that he doesn't bother
to wear for me

A perfect dish; served up
presentable, sociable
standing by my side...

Some men are like tar pits:
The surface is smooth
and appears substantial

until you step into them
and they suck you down --
and just before you've

dissolved, with your life
flashing before your eyes --
you see the next victim

being lured by the surface;
and you'd scream a warning
if only the tar wasn't nose level.

(c) 12/05/05 Jeen Lilly

stolen from a snag at Blueberry's..

2005-12-04T14:44:00.000-06:00

NOOOoooooo -- oh jeez this is one guy I just can't stand...
oh the irony.
somebody medicate me.
Please.

Captain Beefheart... you are one of the first
modern fucked-up geniuses. When it comes to
creating, you rank right up there with the
likes of James Mangan, John Wilmot and Edvard
Munch.

Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

from the Pajama Library...

2005-12-04T13:40:00.000-06:00

snagged this picture from Ptelea...

how snow transforms our worlds...

I mused:
If only a blanket of
thought could effect
such a change..
But it does.
My good intentions
so pure, fresh;
laying a unified theme
a purpose to my life...
and
so easily melted and
run off by the heat of
indifferent footprints
turning the perfect --
into slush.

© 12/4/05 Jeen Lilly

Fwd::Apples and Wine

2005-12-04T07:59:00.000-06:00

Women are like apples on trees.
The best ones are at the top of the tree.

Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt.
Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy.
The apples at the top think something is wrong with them; when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Now Men.... Men are like a fine wine.
They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

got this from a woman's group this morning... quelle surprise, eh?

Rose Ink for a BOS...

2005-12-04T07:23:00.000-06:00

ok -- this ink would have to be reserved for spells, I think. wow -- what some witches will do...
This is pretty involved (!!) but makes a great ink for your BOS.

Rose Ink
By Aelwah Lodar

This recipe is simply a tincture derived from rose petals: it is completely non-toxic, and eco-safe, although I wouldn't drink it (I doubt it tastes very good) and don't spill it on clothing, it *will* stain.
As an ink, it will retain it's rose scent for about 2 days after drying when used independently, though if used in a BOS continuously, it will have a lingering scent.
This ink is a purpley-red on paper, although it dries relatively slowly, so give it some time.
After a while, it may turn brown on paper, depending on the acid preparation of the paper.

Ingredients:

Petals from 2 red rose blossoms.
Ground Cinnamon.
White Vinegar.
Water (preferably distilled).
Ground Clove.
Vanilla extract.

Equipment:

Mortar & Pestle.
Small paring knife.
Small Funnel.
3 large test tubes.
2 Tablespoons.
Medium sized candle.
Filter paper. (or a coffee filter)
Test tube rack.
Test tube grabbers.
Glass stirring rod.
Cork (large enough to seal test tube).
Paraffin wax.

Procedures:

Heating: When heating the test tubes over the candle flame, hold the tube (with test tube grabbers) diagonally about a half inch over the flame to get the greatest heating area possible without spilling the contents or allowing it to boil over. It is also suggested that the tube should be moved diagonally up and down, with the flame passing only over the area that contains liquid, so that the liquid will be heated evenly, and scorching will be prevented. If the test tube grabbers being used are short, wearing a glove is advisable.

Filtering:

When filtering, paper should be folded in half, then in half again, unfolded, and formed into a cone to fit your particular funnel.
After filtering, paper should be twisted until the mush is an inverted tear-drop shape at the end of the paper, and then squeezed over the funnel to remove all liquid without breaking the paper. Filter paper should only be used once, then discarded.

Labeling:

Before beginning, label the test tubes; 1, 2, & 3.

Directions:

Start by washing and removing all the petals from the two rose blossoms.

Take a few (about 6-10) petals and roll together into a small bundle, then with paring knife, cut the bundle into thin slices and put them into the mortar.

When all the petals have been cut in this manner, add two tablespoons of distilled water into the mortar, and reduce the petal slices into a paste using pestle.

Scrape the petal mush into the test tube labeled "1", be sure to get all the liquid as well.

Into tube 1, add enough white vinegar to cover the mush plus about an eighth of an inch, then add a pinch of cinnamon (be slightly conservative, too much here will ruin it, and you can always add more later) and a *very* small pinch of ground clove.

Mix well using glass rod.

Light the candle and begin heating tube 1.

Periodically stir the tube.

Continue heating tube 1 until it bubbles, allow it to continue bubbling while stirring for about 10 to 15 minutes, being careful not to let it boil over or scorch.

At the end of this time, the mixture will have darkened *slightly*.

Using funnel and filter paper, filter the contents of tube 1 into the tube labeled "2".
Be sure to squeeze all the liquid out of the filter paper, as this is what we want.

Put the mush from the filter paper back into tube 1.

Set aside tube 2 and allow to cool.

Add equal parts of vinegar and distilled water to tube 1, just barely covering the mush.

If the contents of tube 2 is very red, you may choose to add a small pinch of cinnamon to tube 1 now.

Repeat heating and stirring procedure on tube 1 for 5 to 10 minutes, then filter the liquid into tube 2, making sure to squeeze out the filter paper.

Discard mush.

Add 1-2 drops of vanilla extract to tube 2 depending on the volume of liquid; 1 drop for every 1 1/4 inches of rose solution.

Heat tube 2 for 10 to 15 minutes or until solution thickens and re-darkens slightly.

Filter the contents of tube 2 into the tube labeled "3" and allow to cool completely.

There should be no sediment left in tube 3, if there is, re-filter.

Cork tube 3 and set aside.

Cut a small piece of paraffin and liquefy it in the second spoon over candle flame.

Use the wax to seal around the cork of tube 3.

Lay tube 3 in a cool dark place to age for about two weeks, every couple days you should shake it to keep it reacting equally.

Total preparation time is about and hour and 15 minutes, plus two weeks aging

If refrigerated, the ink will keep for about a year.
If it ever turns brown, or starts smelling funny, it has gone bad.
The yield of this recipe is about 2 ounces.

Abortion and Minors

2005-12-03T14:34:00.000-06:00

oh for fricking good grief -- and I thought it sucked to be a teenager in the 70s.

the question was asked:

Do you think a pregnant teenager should have parental consent for an abortion?

and that link (click title of post) was provided.

my response:

and why not have a corresponding law for boys? Obviously, there should be an alarm that blares from every teen aged boy's prostate when he has an ejaculation. PARENTS SHOULD KNOW. that semen MUST be properly contained so it does not willy-nilly crawl to an orifice of some hapless girl-child and spontaneously combust with lifeforce!

yes, that's sarcasm.

In the best of all possible worlds, every child conceived would be a wanted one, and guaranteed the love and support of two parents. At the very least.

But we do not live in the best of all possible worlds.

This is not a question of a child.
Once a female is viable for fertilization, she is no longer a child -- and anyone deluding themselves with dreams of a sweet innocent i.e. "untouched" little girl is just asking for being presented with this exact scenario. Any parent(s) who doesn't deal with their daughter's sexuality is going to get bitch slapped with it.

I would think that if you have raised a girl with genuine self esteem and she knows her worth as a person should never be determined by how willing she is to please ANYONE by putting aside her good sense to fulfill the "needs" of another person and therefore fit in with the standards of someone else: then you should get some kind of award and graduate to Asian Land War management.

The facts are -- it is much too late to be allowed to take an interest in your daughter's private life when the legal system has to officially notify you Little Precious Angel is preggers and looking to get an abortion.

If you genuinely care about her, and she knows she can trust you to help her "No Matter What" -- this sort of LAW would be ridiculous.
Superfluous.

But -- most teenagers are as willing to talk about sex with their parents as parents are willing to discuss sex with their offspring: it makes all parties uncomfortable, it's "icky", and COME ON -- parents could not possibly, ever know what it's like to have free radical hormones and wanna get-somma-somma urges. Sheesh.

There ought to be a law that enforces parental responsiblity before your daughter has to become one. End of Argument.

Christmoose Romance in the air...

2005-12-02T13:21:00.000-06:00

some things conspire to wrap their cute quotient around my bah-humbuggery and make me do the Ho Ho Ho.
or at least, tee-hee-hee.
gotta love it...

adding graphics to posts

2005-12-01T12:54:00.000-06:00

I've been fooling around with blogging for over a year now, and while there's only so much progress to be made by the poke-it-with-a-stick (and try to jump clear of it biting you back) method -- I have the time to crack rocks with a spoon.
lemme saw some BBs in half for ya! (ok -- there's my obligatory EJ content!)

when you open your create-a-post window, use the "Edit Html" option. then, holding down your ctrl key, click on the last icon on top of the "frame" -- it looks like a picture of a mountain.

a pop up screen will open that will allow you to either add an image from a file in your computer*, or add an image from a hosted URL** (like photobucket). you can also select a layout, and the size of the image -- which, even if you go with small / thumbnail size, can be clicked on (in your published post) to see the full sized image.

I have learned from experience that either a medium sized or small sized graphic works best if you want to have text wrapped on the right or left of the image.

remember, the preview screen is your friend -- it will give you an approximation of how your post will look. I generally work on my posts in the "edit Html" frame and if I need to make changes more readily accessible in the "Compose" frame -- I've gotten brave enough to switch back and forth.

it's much easier, once you get the hang of it, to deal with Html directly. I know it took me months before I realized I was capable of this kind of "meatball surgery".
Formatting at the source will save you hair pulling galore.

one last thing: there is a funny habit of this blogger tool to put in two of the first image I load, so -- just delete the duplicate. a minor hiccup.

________________________
*loading the picture from your computer, rather than the host site is usually the better option -- only because I tend to move around / delete things from my online albums for ease of access -- and in contrast -- once the image is loaded from your computer to blogger -- it's permanent for the life of the blog, whether it's still on your puter or not!

** gotta use URL / offsite hosting for animated .gif's!

Make-A-Flake!

2005-11-30T14:35:00.000-06:00

here's a link to what has to be the coolest alternative to greeting cards I have yet to come across.

Creat a Flake
that will take you to mine -- but I know you're going to want to make your own =)
much much better than a snowball fight...

cheers!
~ Lilly

excuse me while I go stick my head in the oven...

2005-11-28T13:57:00.000-06:00

No, of course I'm not about to do that; but it was the self-pitifying thought I had when I read the announcement Park just made on the forum about the Electromagnets getting back together for 3 shows in February.

Much as I would love to see any one of those shows (who am I kidding, I want to see all three!) the chance I will be going to Austin in February 2006 is even odds at... miniscule?
Which sounds slightly more optimistic than --
BAWAHAHAHAHAHahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!
[gasp, choke, wheeze.]

But -- I will look on the bright side. I now have something more meaningful to be depressed about than the general Holiday malaise that sets in around Thanksgiving and lifts around... Eastertime.

yeah, I'm having an Eeyore sort of week.
Now -- that's funny! =)

I was speaking to Jean (my Mother-in-Law) yesterday for the first time since Dad's funeral. She has been kept hopping by family members (more local than Rob and I) and things are "generally" good for her at the moment. Obviously, besides the loss of her Life Companion.

Love or hate mobile phones, they do make it easier to be in touch wherever you are. Our conversation was in the middle of the local supermarket from my end. We had a pleasant natter about this and that -- and then she mentioned how Uncle Joseph had enjoyed meeting me and ...

I've been meaning to write a little bit about Rob's Uncle Joe.
You know -- it's practically a law there has to be an Uncle Joe in everyone's life.

He's the younger brother of my Great Guy father-in-law John.
Joseph reminds me (strongly) of Fred Astaire: if Fred had been a University Professor of Philosophy. Oh yeah. he's a 70-ish cutiepie with a sharp intellect, wicked sense of humor, and an appreciation for the well turned phrase.

John's funeral was the first opportunity I'd had to meet Uncle J; since he's been living in Texas for 20 something years.
First Austin, now San Antonio.
You can imagine his surprise when I (a mere New Englander i.e. Texas Foreigner) finished his Austin motto with him. (“Keep Austin Weird” -- how GREAT is that for a motto?)
and talked about Book People.
And the Whole Foods vs. Central Market experience.
Jo's Coffee...
and... [ahem] the live music capitol of the world more specifically 6th street, the clubs no longer existing, and well.. so on and so forth.
Then we started discussing far ranging subjects I'm familiar with outside of Texas.

Terrible to say, but I really enjoyed the Uncle Joe experience -- in contrast to the sadness of Dad's passing -- we were all appropriately somber and quiet when required, but I could have spent a week just talking with Uncle Joseph. He is the sort of fascinating character who can make anything turn out to be a good time.

As Oscar Wilde said, “It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.” Uncle Joe is a Bright Spark, a Grand Groovy Good Guy -- and yet another damn good reason to yearn for Texas.

I need to get his email address.
and put off the oven for a while longer.

Art Lessons

2005-11-25T22:11:00.000-06:00

This one was inspired by Beth's struggles with her adult children.
Beth is a poet and co-founder of Mystical_Musings, a Yahoo writing group for women.

Art Lessons

Most people have an empty
Coloring book about their parents
Tucked into their memories

Serving as an unacknowledged
Template for their lives.
If the early pages are scribbled

With memories; that's dismissed:
It's the stark drawn lines that
COULD be filled with color,

That were not messed up;
Defining the presence of our parents;
Not their qualities as people.

Give your children sketchbooks;
Plant ideas that will grow with
Possibilities as they do.

Give them more than form from DNA --
Give them crayons and paints
From your soul.

Children only truly know you
When you color with them.
Ha -- and there's no guarantee

Le petit ingrates won't chuck
You out when they've used you up.
Still -- how much happier as people

We all are -- when we get it's the
Color -- not the lines -- that paint
Our memories.

(c) Jeen Lilly

To All My Friends...

2005-11-24T17:00:00.000-06:00

May your stuffing be tasty,
May your turkey be plump,
May your potatoes 'n gravy,
Have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious,
May your pies take the prize,
May your Thanksgiving dinner,
Stay off of your thighs.

~Anon.

A Rose Without Thorns ~ B.J. (MA)

2005-11-23T09:30:00.000-06:00

This woman writes the most incredible things, prolifically -- I know when I read most of her work, I'm left with a happy bemused feeling, “why do I bother, damn she's better than me.” and then I buckle down and write more.
I love this poem.

A ROSE WITHOUT THORNS

A rose without thorns is still as sweet,
And perhaps the beauty is more intense;
But how vulnerable without sharpness
Or temperament, to protect itself from life.

It may be easily plucked and thrown aside,
Left to languish on the cold and barren
Ground. Beautiful, but sweetly helpless
Against the shifting weather or the wearing
Tides of Time.

Not so different from a small-sized animal
Bereft of his horns by his owners, that do
Not understand. How easily hurt by packs of
Hounds...more gentle he, yes; but more
Easily savaged.

Your beauty and your innocence will not
Protect you; unless you allow your thorns
To be watered by your tears, and grow.
No backbone means no armor; and without
That, love, you will not survive.

Oh, how beautiful to look at,
Sweet fragile rose...
But buckle your dagger at your waistline,
And watch your back.

© Copyright 11/23/05
Beth Johnson
(Mystic Amazon)

first you write...

2005-11-22T13:45:00.000-06:00

Writing Challenge:What's in your heart today?
Write it.
Share it if you wish.

lol. "There are no bad experiences for writers -- just more material." ~ G.K.

*So you don't like Thanksgiving? ...
I wonder what you are doing and why it is your least favorite.*

Ballpoint, Not Bullets
~or~
I feel better now (and nobody's dead. Yet.)

Thanksgiving is
supposed to be
something
I have never felt.
Oh -- I've felt gratitude
for things; done for me,
things that I have
done for others and
been happy to do.

But this legislated
shared day of National
Thanksgiving is
utter nonsense
an excuse to pig out --
even an obligation
to stuff yourself into
a near coma from
over eating.

And who gets stuck
putting the meal on
the table?..
I only enjoy cooking
for people I WANT to feed.

ohhh let's not even
Go There.

I am not suffering
anything but myself.
Things could be
so much worse.
Conversely -- well...

I need to do
something different.
Go Vegan --
roast a tofurky.
At the other end of the
spectrum make an
authentic Indian meal
of thanksgiving: corn,
tubers, and bear rump
[yikes!].

Let me break out of
this Jello mold I've
set up in -- let me feel
connected to someone.
Doesn't anyone understand
gluttony is a selfish thing
even when you share it?
Shouldn't there be more
at the table than food?..

For years I've offered up
my heart on a platter
and had to scrape it into
a pitted old Tupperware
container -- where good
food goes to die. I know
spiritually it only matters
that the offering be made:
Giving is always about
the giver; the gift is an
addendum.

But "Thank You" would
be nice. I remember it's
warm arms and moist
efforts. I remember it's
smile. I remember it's
cascade effect, when
Thankfulness truly
couldn't be contained.
I remember reciprocation.
Yeah. That's what is
missing. That's why
it hurts.

*sigh*. Guess I'll get
some cheese
to go with this
whine...
~

And Goddess Made Dogs & Cats

2005-11-22T10:30:00.000-06:00

Ahhh a modern day Kipling...

And Goddess Made Dogs & Cats
~EagleStar

Man said, "Goddess, when I was in the garden, you walked with me every day. Now I do not see you anymore. I am lonesome here, and it is difficult for me to remember how much you love me."

And the Goddess said, "No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever, who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be at times, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourself."

And the Goddess created a new animal to be a companion for Man.
And it was a good animal.
And the Goddess was pleased.
And the new animal was pleased to be with Man, and he wagged his tail a lot.

And Man said, "Goddess, I have already named all the animals on your Earth. I cannot think of a name for this new animal."

And the Goddess said, "No problem! Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a partial reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG."

And DOG lived with Man, was a companion to him, and loved him.
And DOG was beside Man, all the day long.
And Man was comforted.
And the Goddess was pleased.
And DOG was content and wagged his tail.

After a while, it came to pass that Man's spirit guide came to the Goddess and said, "Mother, Man has become filled with pride. He struts and preens like a peacock, and he believes he is worthy of adoration. DOG has indeed taught him that he is loved, but perhaps too well."

And the Goddess said, "No problem! I will create for him a companion who will be with him forever, who will see him as he is. The companion will remind him of his limitations, so he will know that he is not always worthy of adoration."

And the Goddess created CAT to be a companion to Man.

And CAT would not obey Man.
And CAT would love Man when CAT chose to love Man, and not when Man chose CAT to share affection.

And when Man gazed into CAT's eyes, he was reminded that he was not the supreme being.
And Man learned humility.

And the Goddess was pleased.
And Man was greatly improved.
And DOG was happy, and wagged his tail.

The Kitchen Goddess Manifesto

2005-11-21T13:03:00.000-06:00

Do not cook if you are in a bad mood, lack the desire, or feel pressure from nagging obligation to another. Wise woman Brenda Ueland once said, "Do not do anything you don't want to do." Frame this mantra and hang it where you'll read it everyday. And remember -- you can always go out, take out, or entice someone else to "put out."

Keep your life full of the freshest ingredients and at least once a week explore something completely new: A new recipe...a new book...an unfamiliar song...a new quote for your journal...dance outdoors...take a walk somewhere you have never been before...kiss a baby...write to someone you admire and include a favourite recipe...talk to someone who doesn't speak your language...

Delighten up and play with your cooking! Read the recipe--close the book--then have fun! The more you play, the more you do what you love to do, the more you reconnect with your talents and power.

Always sit down when you eat; share most of your meals if you can.

Customize your creations and spice them with your own unique hallmark of delicious mystery. As the saying goes, "Don't be the best at what you do; be the only one who does what you do."

Take a deep breath and bless your kitchen before you cook; clean up all rampant clutter, light a candle, open a window, turn on music. When in the mood, pour your favourite drink, be it wine, water, whiskey, or an ice-cold root beer in a frosted mug.

When recipes are given to you, save the original in the handwriting of the person who shared the recipe; their energy and intent will be immortalized every time you see their writing. Create a beautiful binder of recipes in sheet protectors. If you want to frolic and improvise, rewrite your new recipe on a page next to the original.

Never, ever think that food will make you fat! Delete the words "fat-free" and "sugar-free" from your culinary vocabulary and replace them with "fear-free," "guilt-free," and "feel free! "

Always carry a nicely printed, personal best trademark trading recipe with you wherever you go. Whenever you taste something that sparks your spirit and your taste buds, ask for the recipe. Trade, beg, or borrow--but get it.

Trust yourself. Add your own ingredients to this list.
___________________________

Armed with the Kitchen Goddess Manifesto, let your kitchen be a playground where culinary magick is shared and enjoyed, evolving with time and tastes. A goddess in the kitchen feels free to alter and enhance recipes and simply frolic while cooking; she knows that it is often the serendipitous approach that creates a masterpiece.

Now step into your kitchen and cook with a confident, inspired élan vital. If you sprinkle illuminated thoughts, wishes, and desires into your mixing bowl, you'll provide fertile nutrition for the spirit and mind as well as for the body and taste buds. As you begin to radiate a refreshing presence of enthusiasm, energy, and joy between the counter and the stove, the light will pour out into the world around you. Kids, friends, and mates will all want to join you in your domain.

Don't be afraid to create your own traditions--through the power of suggestion, your specialties will become legendary. You'll smile knowingly when you hear that people are still talking about that Garden of Eden Apple Pie or Casablanca Cheesecake you brought to the party!

Kitchen play can serve as a lively springboard for exploring a multitude of talents and other goddess-given gifts...you have the opportunity to stir up your own brand of culinary magick. The Goddess is in every kitchen!

Source
Adapted from Margie Lapanja, Goddess in the Kitchen: 201 Heavenly Recipes, Spirited Stories & Saucy Secrets

Oh Little Birds...

2005-11-21T11:15:00.000-06:00

"Stop being a metaphor." ~ Dream David.

I had a night like a visit into Faerieland.
THEN, I woke up -- and this was in my email:

THE FAERIE LOVER

Look into my eyes Love, and let me take your hand...
I will lead you away from the sorrows and anguish
Of your past; into a kingdom where there is
No age, no sickness, no sorrow.

I will take you to the faerie Otherworld, and you will
Wear jewels and drink from a golden cup.
I will be with you, and will be at your command;
Always seeking to please you and answering
Your every whim.

Would you rather not be a queen in Elvenland, than
A bereft mother in this one? Children you have,
But where are they? They do not come and seek
Your company. Come with me, and forget them.
Not many children are born in Elfland, but

Perhaps we may have one, if it pleases you.
The leaves do not wither and die there, and fall off
The trees; cold winds do not cut through the warm
Elven fabrics, or ache the bones.

Come with me, Love, come with me...
Don't you hear the music and the laughter?
Dances and merriment, mummeries and masques;
You will sit with me at the High Table, and wear
A crown.

Why do you linger? What use are your human
Friends and family, when they will so soon die and
Leave you by yourself? Bring the little dog that you
Love, and he will never become ill or die. He too,
May eat of the enchanted food of Elfland.

See, we are at the border...just a little further,
And you will be away from your world forever...
Rejoice! And be mine. Here, just put your foot
In my hand, and I will help lift you onto my horse.
Faerie steeds are faster and more beautiful, than
Those in your land.

No, do not cry for your children;
They do not cry for you, and surely they have
Forgotten. They are fostered by your sister
And her royal husband, since you were widowed.
They had no children of their own; now they
Have taken yours.

No, do not throw yourself from the horse; it is
Too late. You are mine now,
And I will not let you change your mind.
Our faerie wine will cause forgetfulness within you.
You will laugh and dance with us forever
In Tir Na Nog, the Land Of The Young.

© Copyright 11/21/05
Beth Johnson
(Mystic Amazon)

Holy Heck.
Then... I read Blueberry's entry for this morning.
Ever think, "Cowboy take me away..."

I had this all night long discussion with David last night.

there's a story:

During a visit to the mental asylum, a visitor asked the Director what the criterion was which defined whether or not a patient should be institutionalized.

"Well," said the Director, "we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," said the visitor. "A normal person would use the bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or the teacup."

"No." said the Director, "A normal person would pull the plug."

Do you want a room with or without a view?

Well I passed that one. Yay me!
But sometimes my brain likes to complicate the issue.
"Where do you want the water to go? Am I supposed to water your plants with it, drink it, or dump it on the floor?.."
Ow. My brain hurts. Caffeine withdrawl, I think.
I hope.

For those of you wondering who David is, that's the name I gave the hero in my head to distinguish him from the guy walking around living his life blissfully unaware he's the object of my fancy.
I started writing about David when I was 13 or so... But before that, I'd have to say he was my imaginary friend -- and for the most part, he still is.

So you can imagine the head banging against the walls of my in-sane asylum that took place when I found out You-Know-Who is in-actuality that name. I made a point to try to seperate the two concepts -- but I give up. I'm just going to go with it.

Have some tea Miss Haversham? certainly. Would you like cake with that?

I'm sure it's the combination of my most loathed Holiday hitting this week, the melancholy music I've listened to this weekend (Michael Hedges; and Buckethead's "Electric Tears"); That I won't be cooking "A Dead Bird" this year, and only seeing another person (Rob) for a grand total of 2 hours over the last... 6 days?... brrrr.

Sparrow,
it's time to fly away south
and leave the winter to those
who can hibernate through it.

I need to get out of my head for a while.
I've got a list of books I want to look for at the library: I think I'll take a walk over there. Right now...

yah -- switch the metaphors off for a while.
Grab someone else's thoughts
and hermit crab inside of them...

The Good Wife's Guide

2005-11-18T22:17:00.000-06:00

Now -- This is COMEDY.
on the other hand -- women really were doormats until the 60s, weren't they?..

as originally published in Housekeeping Monthly, 13 May 1955

The Good Wife's Guide

· Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

· Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh looking. He has just been with a lot of work weary people.

· Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

· Clear away clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.

· Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper etc and then run a dust cloth over the tables.

· Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

· Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimise all noises. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

· Be happy to see him.

· Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

· Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first -- remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

· Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.

· Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

· Don't greet him with complaints and problems.

· Don't complain if he's late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.

· Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

· Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

· Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgement or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

· A good wife always knows her place.

If it's Friday, it must be Cat-Wolf day.

2005-11-18T13:44:00.000-06:00

This is Scoots, the 9-lb "Cat-Wolf."
He's actually a Toy American Eskimo, and lives to fill-the-space -- whether that space is a window seat, a shaft of sunlight across the floor, a basket of clean laundry -- and best of all from his perspective, indeed the reason for human existence: a lap.

I think it was Gary Larson who drew a cartoon showing how small dogs start their mornings with a secret pot of expresso -- I joke we should have named him "Skeeter" -- because if he is not doing his job of filling a space, he is buzzing and skittering underfoot with a slightly condemning intermitted yap; insinuating what ever it is that anyone is doing can wait -- it is lap time.

He is an adopted fur baby: the neighbors inherited him when a family member moved out of the country and couldn't bring her 1 year old lap dog with her. Unfortunately, Scoots can be a cantankerous handful -- and the four year old little girl he was suddenly thrown in with didn't understand the definition of "toy" in his name. He came to the land of No Children and Couch Permission with several happy tail flicks from all concerned.

It's funny -- both he and I are good with children if it's for short periods of time, but don't ask us to do a whole day!

Hard to believe we've had him for 5 years now. As you can see by the smile -- he's got us right where he wants us. "I am cute, and you will do my bidding." yeah, well -- we're bigger than you and we have opposable thumbs, so nyah-nyah-nyah. oh yeah. I'm a big bad biped, alright. He walks all over us -- literally -- and he is a bedcover burrower, too: between the top quilt and the blankets... ahhhhh: wish I had a picture of him in his "den" curled like a cat with that fluff of a tail covering his nose -- all you can see in the cloud of white are two button eyes. "shut off that light and go back to sleep, Lady, sheesh!"

Like all the varieties of Spitz, he doesn't bark so much as yodel / sing... and he's a fan of interspecies duets. or maybe he's hoping to drown out my singing. hmm.

Scoots' funniest characteristic is what a bird dog he can be -- he's fascinated by birds, tracking them through the sky and on telephone wires -- Rob often thinks the little guy is going to take off and fly after them: the kid has serious pull for such a little Cat-Wolf.

must be the remnant of sled dog in his breeding.

wasn't I sort of just having this discussion...

2005-11-18T10:23:00.000-06:00

eman8tions · Daily meditations based on TS Eliot' still point, the Tao te Ching, and the poetry of Rumi
(click on title to access site)

How many levels of secrets are built into the depths of my psyche, things I conceal from others, conceal from myself in so many delicious and devious ways, romanticizing, exaggerating, hiding, coloring, fearing, condemning?

When I discover myself, do I take responsibility, confess, share, open my heart and let my truth flow forth?

Rationalize is a wonderful word. It means to make sense of something, to make it rational. That's the denotative meaning, what it means literally and exactly.

But there's a connotation that it has fallen before. Rationalizing connotes justifying our mistakes, trying make them make sense when they don't.

I rationalize not confronting people with my truth because it may make me appear to be picky, argumentative, a trouble maker, worse yet, vulnerable. Then the line that I draw for telling my truth begins to be compromised.

At what point am I being a considerate fellow human being and at what point am I beginning to hide who I really am?

The mind is a wonderful thing and thinking is one of the most important things we do. However, there is a time to let go, stop thinking, and allow the mind to do its automatic self cleaning.

That's a big part of what happens in meditation, the discovery of the loving hidden truth.

Finding my center makes it possible to begin to unravel the conscious deceptions that have crept into my life.

How many people know who I really am? How many should know? How many should I spare the burden of too much information?

The ultimate answers are probably; a few, everyone, and no one.

I may not be quite ready for that. But I will keep meditating and see how close I can get.

The more love I find the safer and more beautiful my truth becomes.

Emanations
Copyright © 2005 by John MacEnulty
11/18/05, St. Louis, MO

Margaret Atwood

2005-11-18T09:17:00.000-06:00

from The Writer's Almanac:

It's the birthday of novelist and poet Margaret Atwood, (books by this author) born in Ottawa, Ontario (1939). Her father was an entomologist who spent every year from April to November studying insects at a forestry research station in Northern Quebec. Atwood said, "At the age of six months, I was carried into the woods in a packsack, and this landscape became my hometown." She had no access to television or movies, and few children to play with. So she spent all her time exploring the woods and reading.

She only began to attend full-time school in Toronto when she was 11 years old. She wrote, "I was now faced with real life, in the form of other little girls—their prudery and snobbery, their Byzantine social life based on whispering and vicious gossip, and an inability to pick up earthworms without wriggling all over and making mewing noises like a kitten."

Atwood decided she wanted to be a writer at a time when there was almost no such thing as Canadian literature. There was actually a year in the early 1960's when a total of only five Canadian novels were published in the whole country.

Atwood's first novel The Edible Woman came out in 1969. It's about a woman who finds that she can no longer eat after her boyfriend proposes marriage. It would have been published three years earlier, but the publisher had lost the manuscript. Atwood published several more novels, becoming a cult figure in Canada and among feminists. Then, in 1978, she took a trip to Iran, where women were being forced to wear veils and to take subservient positions in all areas of society. That experience got her to thinking about what would happen in America if there were a similar cultural revolution. And that gave her an idea for her novel The Handmaid's Tale (1985), which became an international best-seller.

Margaret Atwood said, "Women see me as living proof that you don't have to come to a sticky end—put your head in an oven, stay silent for 30 years, not have children—to be a good and serious writer."

Christian Witch(?)

2005-11-16T12:22:00.000-06:00

Oy. Vey. Y'all.
(click on title for the article)

I wrote a note to my goddess group (over on Yahoo) that seemed to generate some flack.

··· Thank you all for your thoughts and condolences both in the group and privately.

I went. I'm very glad I did. My husband's family are loving and lovely people; I was able to be supportive and put my own troubles aside: and Rob was on his best behavior.

It was one of those step-outside-and-ground-and-center a few times: all in all a surprising LACK of emotional vampires but ... strangely, by the end my knees and hips felt like they were driving into the floor. I've slept like a rock for 3 nights running. Unbelievable.

I did have to deal with a Catholic Death Mass, though: and a second, slightly easier one at the cemetery chapel (since it was so close to Veteran's day -- no graveside service, thank goddess for small mercies).

Fortunately -- I had some Jewish relations to stand near and be quiet with.

MP and BB
~ Lilly ···

and this follow up --

··· MM,

Ameo'e asked,
*Can I ask a ? What is a Catholic Death Mass?*

Well that's the full-on Mass along with the rituals of spritzing (holy water), spreading the Pall, sanctifying the casket with incense, some readings from the bible particular to Death and Resurrection and begging *Our Glorious God* to accept our dearly departed dead. Repeatedly. Involves lots of Catholic Calethesetics, too: Stand. Sit. Stand. Kneel. Sit. Stand. Kneel. Sit.... which I suppose is better than sitting through the whole thing and getting caught snoring in Church.

If this religion genuinely gives comfort to people (and I don't see how it does, except that it's traditional and *what everyone does*) alright -- I will be quietly respectful.

Then again I've never been accepting of Catholic rewrites on any of the natural, seasonal wheel-of-the-year / circle of life events. I even have a problem with the whining bits in Communion.

But that's just me.

You know -- it's astonishing. Here I am -- a Pagan, a Witch: and "in the broom-closet" to these people... who probably think any Witch would burst into flames crossing the doorway of their sacred space... and all I got was a headache from biting my tongue and not serving up *Rational Espresso*.

Yes, I can be tactful. And yes -- even though my "gifts" are not understood by Catholics -- I can still use my Empathy to comfort anyone in tangible ways they can feel. *sigh*. And if a catholic priest ever found out I'm an Empathic witch, they'd try to "fix" me.
argh.

BB
~ Lilly ···

I read the entire post in the link. The author seems to be secure in her own identity and this works for her -- so cool.

I am not a Christian Witch, not a Pagan Christian. In my Militant Warrior Phase of becoming a Witch / Pagan I was very anti-Catholic: it seemed to me I felt 800 years of being on the wrong end of manifest destiny, and the suffering of "the gifted" who were mostly women (as I am woman) under the boot heel / sword of patriarchal oppression.
I was one pissed off witch, lemme tell you. Especially since I caught a great deal of BS for being Gifted with Empathy.

You see -- I knew how empty this Catholic religion was for the people I came in contact with who practiced by rote because "It's just what we do."
No Questions.
No thinking for Oneself.
And certainly absolutely none of this heretical Comparing Mythologies between the relatively new and cobbled together Catholic religion and ancient practices, festivals, beliefs, archetypes of Non-Christians.

I'm sorry, is my brightness
bothering you? Should I
get a frontal lobotomy and
dim it down, so this Light
of Reason and Thought
doesn't hurt your eyes?

Bite Me, Padre. keep your
Morality, your Misogyny,
your usurping agenda to
make the world one
huge perfectly manicured
lawn of... astro turf.

I'm a weed, Baby.
(You know the definition of
a weed, don't you?
The perfect plant
a Gardener doesn't want.)
I am a perfect plant,

with strong roots and
magics; and I can grow
with nothing but the sun
and earth and air
and rain,
thanks very much.

oh yah. I was Militant for a while.
I calmed down because I realized...
No one needs to believe what I believe to help me believe it -- I just do: it works for me.
And as long as what works for you works for you -- oh, and you don't mind that I do my own thing -- let's be Infinitely Diverse in Our Infinite Combinations.
hey! Live Long, and Prosper, too! =)
Radical concept there.

We all at some point gravitate to a religion for our connection to the Spiritual aspect of life.
You Gotta Start Somewhere.
I realized that Faith is the constant. "Religion" is a container you pour your Faith into, that gives it shape --
breaking the container frees Faith to be everything you individually require it to be.

Nowadays (to me) Christianity is just another Sun Cult -- albeit with zealous and dangerous cult members; since the majority are sleep walking through it and tend to freak when they are jostled out of their complacency by the World of Ideas.
It still has the power to irritate me, especially when I am forced to put on the mask of a sheep.
Baaaaaa Humbug.

But I ground, center, breathe through it: and lift my heart to the goddess.
She Knows Me. I Know Her.
With her; I understand, accept, and keep moving...
And learning.
And growing... beautiful, strong -- and more....Me.
The grooviest Dandelion on the lawn, lol.

Dissolve into light

2005-11-12T00:49:00.000-06:00

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.
C.S. Lewis

Rob's Dad passed away last night. The wake is Sunday, the burial Monday.
He had emphysema; had lived with it for years but recently he... was deteriorating faster.

I loved the guy. In fact, I married Rob because I saw so much of his father in him.
Gentle, quick witted, capable in conversation and physical dexterity; A History Buff; adventurous in appetites; generous, kind nature; animal loving; demonstratively affectionate towards Jean, his one and only wife of 55+ years.

He was tall, trim; silver haired when I met him for the first time in 1987; with a warm sparkle in his very blue eyes... the first pair of blue eyes I'd ever met in person that were WARM. Unlike my father, who was 7 different types of chauvinism before he left the house in the morning; Rob's Dad wasn't dismissive towards women -- he truly held his wife in the highest esteem as a person and as a woman, and he marveled at both of his daughter's intelligence and capacity to dig into whatever needed to be done. His two sons inherited his sense of humor, good looks, casual elegance, intelligent curiosity.

wish the whole package was installed into Rob.
*sigh*.

I'm torn about going down for both days. I'm sure we'd be gone 36 hours tops: but I have a few glitches in the practicality of paying my respects.

1.) Rob and I are civil to one another, but it is detente. We have an all but written out accord of terms for getting along under our shared roof. I loathe having to be anywhere in public with him -- and I'm sure his family will pick up on the lack of affection radiating out of me for Rob. Sad but true -- I really don't want to avoid the question, and I'm sure it will be raised: which means I'll be forced to lie and direct the grief back to it's proper parameters.

2.) I'm an Empath. Funerals and / or Weddings are unbelievably stress filled for me, because most people are not able to function at normal, controlled emotional levels. Here's the analogy: imagine your TV being controlled by remote satellites and your own controller about as useful as a solid block of Plexiglas. The channels jump all over the place with every magnetic disturbance, every alignment of satellite hook up. Now -- imagine you ARE the TV set. Shielding, grounding and centering helps, but since I've been dealing with being diabetic I've noticed my psychic seawalls against regular folks emotional tides deplete much too fast.

3.) This entails Rob driving us to Long Island. Rob's natural state of turgid passive aggressiveness gets considerably more aggressive behind the wheel. It's a two and a half hour drive, 2/3's of which is in New York (Long Island) traffic. The last time I made the trip with him I needed to throw up and have a lie down when we got to his parents house.

Call it nerves.

If Rob is in a cooperative mood, he won't play the radio and I can put myself in an alpha state: but considering the destination is funerary: not a great idea.

Don't suggest I should drive. I prefer driving alone; and I'd only drive in New York for a life or death situation. New York drivers are INSANE.

of course if I want to -- I can be a grown up and deal with the minor discomforts and inconveniences and suck it up and GO.

but this is like walking into a steel trap...

An Emblem of Two Foxes
~ Barry Spacks

Simply to breathe
can make him bleed,
the fox whose leg
is trapped, whose will
awaits the kill.
Why should he flail?
Moving hurts,
so he lies still.

Around him walks
a prouder fox,
his severed leg
a homily
on going free,
as if to say
it hurts, it hurts
either way.
~

I need to go meditate. Or something.

2005-11-09T13:18:00.000-06:00

Soooo. About people on the Internet who don't know much about writing...
sorry. I have had a day of answering message board posts from illiterate whining dramaQs. Gods, hurt them, take away their computer privileges until they learn a littttle punctuation!! Yeah. while you're at it, O Powers Yhat Be -- could you grant me a diversion so I don't care so damn much?...

One of the things you can do, and this may seem like a small, picky thing: but one of the things you can do is stop writing in solid blocks.

Yes, you have a lot on your plate -- and it sounds like I am being bitchy about... written grammar / page form?!! sheesh, thanks a whole freeking bunch, Lilly!

But consider this --

Words are the manifestations of who we are. They are what we send out into the universe. One solid block of words, without the breaks of paragraphic thought to distinguish DIRECTION and PURPOSE sends into the world that life is a hopeless knot of confusion and despair Oh -- right. wait-a-minute: that is your life..

Breaking your post up into paragraphs of complete thoughts will give YOU a better look at what is going on in your life -- sucky as things are, being able to read your own thoughts clearly will help you get control... in fact, it's one of the best reasons to keep a journal or blog...

Conscious direction when you write is a subtle means for getting control over the bigger stuff. Of course -- NOW what you're probably feeling is self conscious!

So much of what's really being said via communication is lost in the fast forward text messaging barrage of words and abbreviations and lack of punctuation. Yes -- I do know that not everyone has spent as much of their life as I have *just* writing. But here on the web, on message boards the whole of our communication with one another are the words that pour out of our souls.

There's no body language to add nuances. Unless I tell you that I am slumped in my chair from concern and helplessness over your situation, you won't know that.

-=-=-=-=-=- actual advice given -=-=-=-=-=-

The only person anyone can change is her / himself. You can try and help someone to see where to go -- but be expected to be told where to go yourself! (I always am.) People change when their hearts are opened.

Love opens from inside the heart. You can pour yourself onto someone in love and concern, but if that person doesn't feel his / her own love moving them forward into your embrace -- and gods know so few people are open and aware to love -- then you might as well have empty arms.

Some people cling to bad habits because fear is more comfortable than love.

The modern world has conditioned people to respond to fear.
Fear that we wont fit in, unless....
fear that things are beyond our control...
fear that nothing one person can do will effect a change ...
fear that we may end up alone.
Fear of hurt.

I'm sorry for where you are in your life right now.
I hope you feel more love, and less isolation.
Open your heart and embrace yourself, and let the Universe see you are a source of love. You are a goddess.
What Else Can You Be?

Love and light,
~ Lilly

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go

let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear

so comes love

~ e.e. cummings ~

I hope that's raspberry jam...

2005-11-09T10:00:00.000-06:00

I just wrote a post-it note to clean this keyboard when the 'puter shuts down: there is something red and seedy and sticky on the function keys.
The seedy part is literal -- I'm guessing it's raspberry jam from Rob's late night snack and news-outlet surfing.

I'm the only wife in the world who would be relieved if her husband surfed the net for porn. But noooo, I have a news junkie... He enjoys reading the People's Daily, Moscow Times, just about any on line paper with "Times" in the title, I think -- plus he'll get the actual papers when he can find them on the news stands.
I don't know why. It's not as if conversation was fueled by any of it.

anyway...

The reason we have raspberry jam in the house is because my favorite thing to do with raspberry jam is combine it with dark chocolate.. in a chocolate decadence fudgecake -- which we don't have in the house. Thank goddess. I can ignore it as long as there's no chocolate siren singing to get together and make an Anthem for Today...

Seems an odd way to control gluttony, but it works for me. Literally I can't have strawberry jam around because I turn inside out with pleasure over good strawberry jam. Or any of the high end preserves and jams -- oh who am I kidding, I even like the Welch's strawberry jelly. Limit access to the goodies, that's the thing.

Fuck. What a horrible way to die. I'm not going to live any longer -- it'll just feel that way!

Hey bloggers on Blogger.com -- have you noticed they've added a "comment moderation" feature to the program? This means the comments posted by anyone other than administrators for your blog are held off site until Admin (i.e. you, the chief blogger / owner of your blog) okay them for publication. I would think if you are a mudrucking stick-poking provocateur this would be a fun feature to have... For myself (since I am hardly the bullseye ground zero for flaming retorts) I thought -- hmmm well then do I need the word verification thingie; I can just use the CM feature to screen comments so the spam doesn't get in, and make it more inviting for comment-writers to just whip off a reply to a post...

ohh no. No, no-no-no. I switched off the word verification and got hit with a dozen spam blurbs. (inside of 15 minutes!) I haven't had this much spam since I used my own name for an email address last year.

I think if I had a problem with comments from PITAs just spewing garbage for the hell of it, I'd use the comment moderation. As it is -- the few people who do leave comments are usually thoughtful and interesting.

although I was kinda weirded out by an "anonymous" comment that only left a website address http://www.panexa.com for what turns out to be -- a parody panacea. Probably dropped off by one of the ghostly guys who read the blog.
They wouldn't wanna get girl cooties by association, I reckon.

Masculine Pulchritude: yep.

2005-11-08T13:50:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I needed something to cheer me up. ugh. what a day.

(four legged critters work too... not nearly as well, but there's cats and there's Cats.)

It's funny. I catch a lot of flack for being relatively upfront about finding EJ handsome. I say relatively because I'm not standing outside his front door making cat-in-heat noises... but nevertheless there are people who feel that any amount of acknowledgement in the direction of his male pulchritude somehow lessens his creative oveure...

I seem to get dragged back into discussing / defending EJ's looks just because I'm one of the few folks who mentions them at all. Evidently it's a good thing Eric makes beautiful noise, because physically -- he's an abomination.
lol. riiight. tell that to my endocrine system.

I've had jealous natured BFs play up Eric's fragility. Oh, like THAT is a deterrent! I truly feel what we are attracted to isn't anything a human being has control over -- but can we ditch the delusion that women are only attracted to testosterone reeking monolithic monosyllabic life support systems for a paycheck and a penis? Ewwwwwww.

I like men who can talk.
Most of the men who can talk like other men who are ... uh... testosterone reeking monolithic monosyllabic life support systems for a paycheck and a penis. I guess. I'm not a homosexual male, I just have a taste for men who look like classic sissy boys. I'm cool with it. Like I wrote on the forum:

··· “you don't go for gangly, angular very-Anglo-Euro-guys. ok. Some women do. To tell you honestly, I've always found "that EJ type" supremely attractive. Oh the list of tall lean boyish beaky men who have taken pieces of my heart and indifferently fed it to their cat. *sigh*.
I have tried to change my preference, but I am just wired that way. I admit that now. It's liberating. I admire other bits of the masculine anatomy (some of this, a little of that...) but for the whole package -- yeah. That works. For Me.” ···

so yeah. I'd like one of these. Please.

A non-imbibing, non-self-medicating with recreational pharmacueticals male;
who is creative, intelligent, humorous, kind, and just this darn handsome.
yeow.

Doo Wop Horsies

2005-11-07T20:35:00.000-06:00

I didn't create it, but playing with it I had more fun than an adult should be reasonably allowed -- and I'm wondering if that's just a sad commentary on the simple things I find amusing or indicative of deeper psychosis. hmmmmmm.

Doo Wop Horsies

turn your speakers up. click on the individual horsies.
Get 'em all going "in the groove."
hypnotic, huh?..

West Wing Live Debate

2005-11-07T20:00:00.000-06:00

The only network television series I watch weekly is The West Wing. Last night there was a Live Debate between Senator Arnold Vinnick, Republican Candidate for President (played authoratively by Alan Alda) and Congressman Matthew Santos, Democratic Candidate for President (played with beefcake vulnerability by Jimmy Smits)

All day the question has been asked -- "Who won the debate last night?"

It's easy to say Matt Santos won the debate -- based on his leadership energy, willingness to put forward ideas; his plans, his heroic stature... and face it, he's a leading man (actor and character) in the full powers of Alpha Maleness blowing on all cylinders.

hey -- if that character were really running for office, he'd get my vote.

But -- on the other hand -- the better characterization -- the better actor in a difficult role is Alda. The Vinnick character is (near as I can figure) a ...Progressive..? Dare I say Libertarian..? Republican.

It's hard for me to dislike this Republican: he's got an independent streak, he loathes the Religious Right, he's a realist, and he seems just enough of a Conservative for people who don't like to think.

Well -- at least he's a Grandfatherly White Guy, not a hot blooded bed breaking Latino Calendar Stud. Oohhh, as they say, Ley.

So who do you think won the debate?

They started this season with CJ Craig (and it looks like Danny Concannon finally got lucky!) Toby Ziegler, and Charlie Young meeting with President Bartlett at the dedication of the Bartlett Library -- they are met by Josh Lymon, who seems to be the current President's Chief of Staff... hmmmmmmmmm?

Stress Management Prescription

2005-11-07T19:06:00.000-06:00

I wrote this for an MSN board a while back.
ok ok -- I admit -- I'm my own biggest fan....

There are times when I am sure horrible things could be circumvented and stress reduced at least marginally if we could write each other prescriptions for cookies.

Cookie abuse can be a problem.

I know for myself the ecstasy of opening up a fresh package of Mystic Mints or Peak Freens Ginger Crisp Biscuits (OOoohh, CANADA!!), with the inherent temptation to follow instructions literally (it says "open here": doesn't that mean I have to eat the whole package in one sitting RIGHT here?!) and we really can't begin to address the shades of moral turpitude dancing on the edge of gluttony where home baked cookies are involved (if you are brave or stupid enough to glom a chocolate chip cookie mere seconds from the oven, and you get a frisson of R rated pleasure not just from the texture, aroma, TASTE (molten chocolate chips, silky still-lubricious butter fat, and teeth melting nuclear nut pieces aaaggggghhhh...) -- if you LIVE for that special thrill of taste bud scalding temperatures ... you may need an intervention from the Pillsbury Dough Boy. )

But cookies can be a force for good in the world, if you give them the proper respect and gravity they deserve.

therefore...

I am going to pursue a degree in the medicinal applications of the sometimes humble, ofttimes sublime cookie. There is no problem so awful, so devastating, so annoying that can not be given pause and a reduction of unbearableness by this sincere diagnosis:

“You need a cookie.”

I realize the horrendous personal risks of being a supplier and dispenser of such volatile substances -- but for the betterment of society, for the good of hu-wo-manity I must answer this vocational call.

I will carry a prescription pad AND a special prepack of Mrs. Fields for emergency administration.
This to go on my business cards that state my occupation as: Personal Consumer Advocate (P.C.A .) and Curmudgeonly Conversationalist (C.C.):
Certified Cookie Dispenser (C.C.D.) ....B.Y.O.M. (bring your own milk).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ok. I had to get that out. Life is too wonderful to be serious ALL the time, and it seems to me we get caught up in the hamster on the wheel constant hurry to maintain the status quo woes, with infrequent bright spots of planned and regulated FUN! ( i.e. I'm on VACATION and I MUST HAVE FUN!)

But silliness only costs a slight ding in your dignity -- and SUBLIME silliness can even enhance the terms of endearment and esteem others will regard you in.

prescription cookies.
the time is now.

A Meditation.

2005-11-05T10:00:00.000-06:00

Take 10 minutes. Find a totally quiet, private place. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Relax. Empty your mind of all thoughts.

There’s a special feeling of a vastly deep Love, an awareness of something bigger and more powerful, deep inside you. It flows from inside to the outside, from the outside to the inside. It is in you, a part of you, it is you, you are it, it is also in others, and in everything. You may have missed it, because it’s so totally huge it’s hard to pinpoint! Yet it's there. Sit quietly, focus on your breathing, and let your mind and heart open to this Love.

It's very quiet and easily disguised by a bunch of thoughts and feelings. It takes developing a completely new set of spiritual senses to pick it up, but if you seek it, it becomes easy to feel it. Some people call it a “sixth sense.” It takes being very, very still, and very open.

If you don’t immediately experience this for yourself, don’t worry. Don’t feel bad about it. Just give yourself a little more love, and time. Try it again later, or tomorrow.

Try it at a time when you can be truly relaxed, with plenty of time to just be quiet and reflective.

Copyright by Norris J. Chumley, all rights reserved.

Free Will Astrology!

2005-11-02T14:00:00.000-06:00

got this forwarded through a Yahoo group...

Week beginning November 3
Grammar key: Asterisks equal *italics*

ARIES (March 21-April 19): I myself have not played the fantasy role-playing game Nox. From the review of it in *Fortean Times,* though, I surmise you might want to check it out. It could prepare you well for the coming week--maybe teach you a few tricks that would come in handy. The reviewer of Nox says that in the game you have to weave your way through booby-trapped mazes and haunted libraries as you try to foil the schemes of an evil necromancer. An army of magic spiders may be at your command, but it won't necessarily be of assistance as you wade through a swamp rife with lethal stinking cabbages. Sound familiar?

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): "In the animal kingdom, the rule is, eat or be eaten; in the human kingdom, define or be defined," wrote psychiatrist Thomas Szasz. This is always true, but it's especially apropos for you Tauruses right now. You have arrived at a three-way fork in the road, and which way you go will have a big impact on your future capacity to exercise your free will. To make the best choice, you've got to have maximum power to define yourself. Don't let anyone, whether it's an enemy or a loved one or a so-called expert, take charge of determining the contours of your identity.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): In the 1670s a British naturalist named Robert Plot discovered what we now recognize to be the first dinosaur fossil ever found by a scientist. It was the femur of a Megalosaurus, though back then no one knew what it was. Taxonomist Richard Brookes, a contemporary of Plot, made an educated guess. He believed it was the petrified scrotum of Adam, the first man. I believe a comparable scenario will soon unfold in your life, Gemini. Through ignorance or inexperience, a potentially rich discovery may initially be misidentified. It will be your job to reject premature conclusions, keep everyone's mind open, and organize a quest for the unpredictable truth.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): The ancient Greek mythic hero Orpheus possessed an abundance of what we today call emotional intelligence. His feelings were profound, well-wrought, and lyrical, and he had a virtuoso talent for rousing sublime passions in others. The music he played on his lyre inspired warring soldiers to stop fighting. Wild animals listened raptly. Workaholics ceased their compulsive toil. When he gave concerts in the underworld, even the cold-hearted rulers of that infernal realm were charmed. None of us will ever soar to the same heights of emotional intelligence as Orpheus, of course, but this week you Cancerians can get closer than ever before.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): Woolly mammoths, relatives of the elephant, have been extinct for 10,000 years. But several fully intact specimens have been discovered in Alaska and Siberia, well-preserved in ice. A few daring men have cooked and eaten the meat. They claim that it has a decent taste. I bring this to your attention, Leo, because it provides an apt metaphor for your imminent future. I believe you'll be offered an ancient meal, in a manner of speaking--an exotic form of nourishment that originated long before you were born. It'll be more than food for thought--it'll be ambrosia for the soul.

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): Members of your tribe are even more likely than usual not to be given their proper credit or just due--which is exactly why you should fight with wild intensity to get it. If people try to claim your work as their own, protest loudly. If your strenuous efforts aren't rewarded as they should, give yourself the reward. If your ideas are plagiarized, your style ripped off, or your product copied without your permission, fight back with tactful ferocity.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): In one of his books, the Dalai Lama challenges readers to go just ten minutes without having a negative thought about another person. When I told this to my acquaintance Arthur, he said, "What a simplistic, overrated fraud that Dalai Lama dude is. It's totally easy to go ten minutes without dissing someone." Your assignment, Libra, is to submit to a marathon version of the challenge: See if you can go seven whole days without having a negative thought about anyone. His Holiness implies there's a good selfish reason for doing so: It helps you cultivate a state of mind in which peaceful contentment is a natural condition.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Charles Darwin developed the theory of evolution 20 years before he finally published a book about it. Why did he wait? Here's one theory: In contrast to his radical ideas, Darwin was a conservative Victorian squire who cared deeply about his reputation. According to Professor John Carey, he was afraid that "the blow to Christianity and to the dignity of man inherent in [his] theory would encourage atheistic agitators and socialist revolutionaries." I believe you're facing a dilemma comparable to Darwin's. The changes you're going through will definitely mess with the status quo when you start openly expressing them. So will you postpone your coming out party, hoping that time will somehow make the New You more palatable? I'm not sure that approach would do anyone much good.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): "Dear Dream Doctor: Last night I dreamed I was taking care of a suicidal priest. Part of my job was to keep him occupied in order to make sure he didn't kill himself. As we played the child's card game called War, I noticed that the clothes I was wearing were moldy rags. Suddenly I was startled by a bright light. The door to the room was open, and floating out in the hall was a giant exclamation mark that seemed to be a living creature. What does it all mean? -- Spooked Sagittarius." Dear Spooked: When you stop clinging to the tattered, worn-out delusion that has functioned as your faith all these years, you will find a far more vibrant faith that is based on reality and that truly nurtures your soul.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Actress Sarah Jessica Parker recently told the *San Francisco Chronicle* about her new perfume, Lovely. It's "a fragrance that has social skills," she said. "It doesn't dominate a room. It doesn't cling to a person who hugs you. It's sexy, but not 'of-the-moment.' It's a timeless thing." This is a perfect description of your assignment in the coming days, Capricorn. Be like a memorable but subtle fragrance that has social skills. Work every room you're in, but do it with understated grace. Give every person you encounter a strong impression of your uniqueness, but without hitting them over the head with it.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Isaac Newton was one of the most influential scientists who ever lived. He developed the theory of gravity, and made many other revolutionary contributions to physics and mathematics. And yet his consuming interest for the last 20 years of his life was alchemy; he wrote thousands of pages on the subject, most of which hasn't been published. Similarly, Arthur Conan Doyle is renowned for his stories about Sherlock Holmes, but in his own mind his most important gift to the world was his research into the paranormal and his ideas about spirituality. What about you, Aquarius? Is there a gap between the way the world perceives you and how you see yourself? This is a perfect moment to do something about it.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): "Dear Rob: It's my goal to become a Texas Congressman by 2016 and a senator by 2028. I have a lot of original ideas about how to make the world a better place, and I've decided that the best way to make them happen is by becoming a force in national politics. Do you have any advice on how to proceed? -Pisces Who Doesn't Need to Marry a Blond, Blue-Eyed Cheerleader with Six-Pack Abs." Dear Pisces: It's funny you should ask, because it's an ideal time for you Fish to go on a vision quest that will reveal glimpses of the best ways to spend your life in the next 20 years.

*********************************************

Contents of the Free Will Astrology Newsletter are Copyright
2005 Rob Brezsny

Domestic Bliss... (musings)

2005-11-01T09:30:00.000-06:00

Marriage works in one of two ways (just my opinion here):

1.) You are happy to be with the Other Person, and feel an exchange of energies between the two of you -- physical love (of course), intellectual stimulation, spiritual unity -- any one of those wave lengths or all of them. There is a flow.

It doesn't matter if you have the piece of paper or not: Marriage has indeed already been formalized and the *event* changes nothing. (If the event changes attitudes: you were seduced and lied to... which seems to be something women are classically accused of as if they train for this in home economics class! I digress...)

2.) The Marriage eats the individual identities of both people and reforms them into a somewhat generic "Mr.& Mrs.".

Suddenly no decision can be made without a consultation with The Other. This is not a joyful, "I gotta share this with you, this is sooo amazing!" exaltation of abundant pleasure that doubles in the sharing... It's negotiations; competitions about holding onto power, taking more -- and score keeping.

A Generalization:

Women hold the power of sexual fulfillment over men.

Men hold the power of economic survival over women.

These are, for better or worse THE traditional roles. These are our parents. Dad shuts the hell up 'cause he wants Mom ripping his back in the throes of the Wild Thang. Better not piss her off. i.e. if a guy wants to get laid, he'd better not be insensitive to her moods and out-of-bedroom desires. (good luck there buddy.)

Mom rolls her eyes at Dad's awful jokes (when he gets relaxed into feeling he can tell them -- and he goes with the standard material: told for the 89th time) because she has the bigger picture of the Domestic Holdings to keep running smoothly; i.e. if a woman wants to keep the guy's paycheck coming in, she better give him some -- oh yeah -- and maintain the domicile: which can be anything from running a household staff (lol, most women play all those roles themselves) to cooking, cleaning, tending the children, shopping & stocking the pantry, animal care; and probably holding down a job outside of the home as well... Oh yes. And being a hot sexual goddess for her husband on demand, which was how she got him involved in this domestic deal in the first place.

Nowadays -- most guys I know do "help out" with the household stuff and "Dad" is not a complete stranger to the workings of a kitchen or laundry room. "Mom" for that matter is not a complete stranger to the satisfaction to be gleaned in DIY home repairs -- she may even have her own tool belt. Even better -- grouting, toilet snaking, or landscaping work can be perceived as foreplay in the partnership. (it's NOT fun if a woman's capacity in a traditional male role has the opposite effect of -- well -- castrating the male. Men do have have a lot of ego / self esteem tied up and trussed in testosterone: an unstable substance at best.)

It is far more desirable to be in the first sort of marriage, and indeed rather like patriotic glossy Army recruitment propaganda, that's the ideal that's sold.

But most of the Marriages I've observed lock into the latter form.
Inevitably, the main difference and tragedy of the second form is the lack of genuine communication. The generic form is not questioned: there are no exchanges freely given because THAT can only lead to giving up power of some kind. The individuals are subsumed by the roles they fill... BUT they are not the roles they play.

The unique person of either gender is thwarted from expression of true self.
From fear.
Dig through the layers -- fear is the bedrock of where things diverged.
And it's only a matter of time before one or the other gets a wake up call (the ring of truth): something that possibly sounds like -- "this is not who I am."

The unhappiness in all marital relationships is rooted in fear.
and paradoxically -- the fear that ends up eating us alive is what drives us to believe the propaganda of Domestic Bliss. A small, gnawing, tiny voice that compares everything we are to the American Dream / Standard -- and finds the individual sorely lacking.
Doesn't matter how successful you are in any other area.
This tiny voice is programmed into our DNA.
It knows we are inadequate. It knows how ugly we really are, deep down inside -- it KNOWS we should be grateful for any crumb of affection, attention, care shown to us by ANYONE.

Listen. You can hear it. Chances are you have heard it, but never realized how it controls your life.
just listen....

“I don't want to be alone.”

Welcome to the negotiation table...
God help you if you expect more than that.
~ Lilly

insane awake at 5am...

2005-10-29T04:04:00.000-05:00

Suffice to say the stress is choking the crap out of me, and i am coping by drinking massive amounts of tea and eating too much toast.
well at least it's whole wheat toast.

Are all marriages maintained on the premise of being content with your discontentment?.. Is there such a thing as a happy marriage? My domestic arrangement can best be described by the relationship of the sisters in "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" If the screen play had been written by Tennessee Williams.

Dear Rob,

You never read this blog and I can't blame you. You have earned the right to surreptitiously ignore me. I guess. You don't want my help, you hate when I attempt to give you advice, and our physical relationship amounts to a kiss on the cheek before you run out the door in the morning -- preferably dispensed while I am barely awake.

When you wake up you will be hang dogged and penitent... and it will last 3 days. If we're lucky.
I'm sorry things haven't worked out. I loved you and it was either too much for you to handle -- or it wasn't enough of what you needed it to be.
I want you to know falling out of love with you didn't break my heart. I don't know what it will take to break my heart. Over the years I've adjusted a little more each day to being held at a distance from your emotional involvement ... now, we're strangers by your choice.

and my heart feels dull and heavy in my chest, as if the mass weighed so much more than the size would indicate. Call it the alchemy of disenchantment: congratulations; we've turned gold into lead.

We reflect one another: We are one another. Leaving you will draw and quarter me.
Staying with you is a slow poisoning....

Better the sickness we know.
-------------------------------
mmmmm. more tea...
and i'm still hungry...