"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience."
- Emily Dickinson
"The world is composed of rival gangs of hypnotists, each competing for your entranced attention." --graffiti on the wall of a public restroom at Northgate Mall, San Rafael, California
*****************
That's it. Wish I had more for you, but the daily grind has sucked dry my brain like a grape left on the dashboard of a car in a Southern Summer. *sigh* I finished Eat, Pray, Love and now find myself in that same void that one feels when one returns from a blissful vacation, only to plunk back into the morass that is everyday routine.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Trancendance, Table for One- Part 2
Friday afternoon is light, and I've decided to let myself off the leash again for a lunch moment. I cross the street to a little eatery where the salads are lovely and corners are dark. Here, I can disappear for an hour, and yet never feel any panic about being far from the office.
Over a goat cheese appetizer and tuna salad nicoise, I read about Elizabeth's further adventures in the Indian Ashram. I envy her meditation caves and her silent turets. I wonder how anyone can get close to the divine in this busy madcap world.
That's when a few distinct noises break through my reading focus (a difficult thing to do, for when I read... I block out the world)
The first is a conversation between a waiter trainee and the day manager of the restaurant. They are speaking of "sunday school", of verses and psalms, of religion and teachings and things that ease their hearts.
The second is a line from the song playing on the restaurant's overhead speakers. It is the 70's hit "Rock the Boat".... the line that is instantly absorbed by my consciousness is "love and devoooootion!"
I throw my head back and laugh out loud, aware for a moment that the "all-encompassing divine" is in fact in full force around me. It always is, whether I am in an Indian meditation cave or a North Hollywood restaurant. I just need to be reminded once in while.
In a state of bliss, I finish my lunch.... chuckling and feeling loved.
I'm DEFINATELY making lunch a more regular event.
Over a goat cheese appetizer and tuna salad nicoise, I read about Elizabeth's further adventures in the Indian Ashram. I envy her meditation caves and her silent turets. I wonder how anyone can get close to the divine in this busy madcap world.
That's when a few distinct noises break through my reading focus (a difficult thing to do, for when I read... I block out the world)
The first is a conversation between a waiter trainee and the day manager of the restaurant. They are speaking of "sunday school", of verses and psalms, of religion and teachings and things that ease their hearts.
The second is a line from the song playing on the restaurant's overhead speakers. It is the 70's hit "Rock the Boat".... the line that is instantly absorbed by my consciousness is "love and devoooootion!"
I throw my head back and laugh out loud, aware for a moment that the "all-encompassing divine" is in fact in full force around me. It always is, whether I am in an Indian meditation cave or a North Hollywood restaurant. I just need to be reminded once in while.
In a state of bliss, I finish my lunch.... chuckling and feeling loved.
I'm DEFINATELY making lunch a more regular event.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Imagini-art
Saw this on Mardougrrl's page, and just couldn't resist all those yummy images.
If you'd like your visualDNA, go here.
If you'd like your visualDNA, go here.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Trancendance, Table for One
Lunch. It’s an infrequent luxury in my world, and as I walked away from the office today, I actually heard the “Rocky” theme music in my head…. As if unchaining myself from the desk for 60 min were a feat of Herculean proportion.
My intention was to pick up some Taco Bell and drive to a near-by park, where I would read my current obsession, Eat, Pray, Love. I believe that this book was an Oprah recommendation or something similar, and I admit that did not really fill me with confidence that I would find it either inspirational or motivational. However, my dance studio offered it up as the book for discussion one month, and I wanted to have some idea of what people were talking about.
I couldn’t be more pleased that I did. What an amazing discovery!! This book fills me with hope and drive and all things that feel bubble-bath good in one’s soul. It has been a long time since I repeatedly laughed OUT LOUD at a book’s passages, much less chased someone down (usually poor Tag) saying, “Wait… you have to hear this. It’s hysterical.”
Elizabeth Gilbert’s telling of her year long adventures in Italy, India and Indonesia rousts parts of my soul that had settled into the numbness of neglect, giving it both wings, and the urge to fly. It has lightened my heart and filled it with giggly madness and joy. This is the kind of book that poets weep for and established governments should fear, because it cajoles me to be bigger, to be more courageous, to be more alive, to be inspired, invigorated, & ignited into a sacred flame.
As such, I found myself driving past the Taco Bell, and instead to a restaurant (one of my favorites) where I had not been in a long time. There I settled into a table by a sun-heated window, ordered some white wine and a salad, and allowed myself to be indulgent, reading at the table, drinking mid-day, and not keeping any sort of strict eye on the “lunchtime clock”.
While I ate my organic turkey burger and sipped my chardonnay, I found myself entranced by the words on the page. Gilbert’s description of the daily routine of the Ashram is reminiscent of the fantasy I’ve often had about life in a convent, or other spiritual temple. (And yes, I am aware how conflicting that desire is with my inherent inclinations to take long, wine-filled lunch breaks.... bear with me. )
Still, it was all a fairly innocous until I got to the conversation on soul mates:
“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, a person who brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too Painful.”
When I finished reading the passage, I had to turn my head towards the window, and stare into the bright California sun, blinking back tears and the gasp that was caught in my throat. It’s not that the words were foreign or some epiphany exploding inside of me. The words were much identical to a conversation I had with a dear friend when I lost my first “soul mate”. But perhaps, because so much time had past, and my heart was miles from hurt, I was able to take those words inside of me as I never had before. There was a sigh of relief from within my soul, and I felt both validated and set free.
There have been a few loves in my life, that when they appeared, I was swept off my feet by the disorienting power they had over me. The signs of the Universe blinked in neon, telling me in no uncertain terms “PAY ATTENTION! This one is VERY important to you.” Those loves were passionate whirlpools of intensity, swirling wildly from indescribable joy to unbearable fury and pain. Those loves were also, oddly enough, the shortest in my history. They swept in, broke through walls, ripped open scabs, spilt their iodine and left without so much as a band-aid in thanks.
And here was a book, years later, confirming that it just might be a part of the bigger plan. *sigh* It was an amazing relief.
I turned from the window, back to the room full of diners and felt… just a little different. The couple at the table next to me received from the waitress two plates of pancakes, and I laughed while crying at the beauty and freedom of that. (I can’t explain what I found particularly moving about it…. Just that I did). There was a brief moment of wondering if I was being watched; if anyone noticed the tears glistening in my eyes, or the smile I couldn’t seem to erase. Just as quickly as that thought appeared, I realized that I couldn’t possibly care. I was in that moment perfect and pure and enjoying a state of amazing bliss.
I finished my glass of wine, paid my bill, and returned to my car. A moment of transcendence, disguised as an everyday meal.
I really should make a point of taking lunch more often.
My intention was to pick up some Taco Bell and drive to a near-by park, where I would read my current obsession, Eat, Pray, Love. I believe that this book was an Oprah recommendation or something similar, and I admit that did not really fill me with confidence that I would find it either inspirational or motivational. However, my dance studio offered it up as the book for discussion one month, and I wanted to have some idea of what people were talking about.
I couldn’t be more pleased that I did. What an amazing discovery!! This book fills me with hope and drive and all things that feel bubble-bath good in one’s soul. It has been a long time since I repeatedly laughed OUT LOUD at a book’s passages, much less chased someone down (usually poor Tag) saying, “Wait… you have to hear this. It’s hysterical.”
Elizabeth Gilbert’s telling of her year long adventures in Italy, India and Indonesia rousts parts of my soul that had settled into the numbness of neglect, giving it both wings, and the urge to fly. It has lightened my heart and filled it with giggly madness and joy. This is the kind of book that poets weep for and established governments should fear, because it cajoles me to be bigger, to be more courageous, to be more alive, to be inspired, invigorated, & ignited into a sacred flame.
As such, I found myself driving past the Taco Bell, and instead to a restaurant (one of my favorites) where I had not been in a long time. There I settled into a table by a sun-heated window, ordered some white wine and a salad, and allowed myself to be indulgent, reading at the table, drinking mid-day, and not keeping any sort of strict eye on the “lunchtime clock”.
While I ate my organic turkey burger and sipped my chardonnay, I found myself entranced by the words on the page. Gilbert’s description of the daily routine of the Ashram is reminiscent of the fantasy I’ve often had about life in a convent, or other spiritual temple. (And yes, I am aware how conflicting that desire is with my inherent inclinations to take long, wine-filled lunch breaks.... bear with me. )
Still, it was all a fairly innocous until I got to the conversation on soul mates:
“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, a person who brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too Painful.”
When I finished reading the passage, I had to turn my head towards the window, and stare into the bright California sun, blinking back tears and the gasp that was caught in my throat. It’s not that the words were foreign or some epiphany exploding inside of me. The words were much identical to a conversation I had with a dear friend when I lost my first “soul mate”. But perhaps, because so much time had past, and my heart was miles from hurt, I was able to take those words inside of me as I never had before. There was a sigh of relief from within my soul, and I felt both validated and set free.
There have been a few loves in my life, that when they appeared, I was swept off my feet by the disorienting power they had over me. The signs of the Universe blinked in neon, telling me in no uncertain terms “PAY ATTENTION! This one is VERY important to you.” Those loves were passionate whirlpools of intensity, swirling wildly from indescribable joy to unbearable fury and pain. Those loves were also, oddly enough, the shortest in my history. They swept in, broke through walls, ripped open scabs, spilt their iodine and left without so much as a band-aid in thanks.
And here was a book, years later, confirming that it just might be a part of the bigger plan. *sigh* It was an amazing relief.
I turned from the window, back to the room full of diners and felt… just a little different. The couple at the table next to me received from the waitress two plates of pancakes, and I laughed while crying at the beauty and freedom of that. (I can’t explain what I found particularly moving about it…. Just that I did). There was a brief moment of wondering if I was being watched; if anyone noticed the tears glistening in my eyes, or the smile I couldn’t seem to erase. Just as quickly as that thought appeared, I realized that I couldn’t possibly care. I was in that moment perfect and pure and enjoying a state of amazing bliss.
I finished my glass of wine, paid my bill, and returned to my car. A moment of transcendence, disguised as an everyday meal.
I really should make a point of taking lunch more often.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Under Ice
News reports that two mammoth ice shelves in the Weddell Sea have collapsed into the sea. While the event is a sad & tragic example of global warming at work, it has opened up a portal into which marine biologists can peep, and see some of the glorious and mysterious creatures of the cold deep.
and this remarkably magic octopus.
I will forever love and be in awe by the unexplored portions of our watery world.
Among the findings was this new species of epimeria, sampled near Elephant Island, Antarctic Peninsula.
However, my favorites have to be this brilliantly colored shrimp-like creature
and this remarkably magic octopus.
I will forever love and be in awe by the unexplored portions of our watery world.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Open Water (with a twist)
In a sea of flannel sheets, the couple clung to one another, desparately trying to hold on to sleep that was slipping away with the growing light.
It was in that silence of early dawn that the first attack hit. A nudge, a whisker in the ear, and then a void that was as startling as the tickle.
Next, one sandpaper tongue began to wash the woman's eyelid. Over and over its unforgiving texture lapped at her unprotected flesh. She flailed and twisted away from the pain. Her pursuer slipped back into the abyss.... leaving a false sense of security and hope.
Suddenly in mass they swarmed..... One head pounce, one eyelid wash, and from one below, one paw of razor-tipped claws sank into his unsuspecting butt-cheek. He yelped in unspeakable pain, the noise of which pierced her ear. She ducked, seeking santuary in the endless tangled wrappings of the sheets, but her actions only caught the eye of the ever watchful predator, who mistook the gesture as the beginning of a game. Sharp talons of death came out for real as the near-slaughter continued..... all was lost for our heroic couple.
...
...
And just as the pain was subsiding from his mangled hiney, the alarm sounded, and poor Tag had to get up and feed the beasties before heading off to the office.
yeah.... like this...
only our sleeping bodies in the same perilous position
as that poor catnip plant.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Dear Duchess of "Rap"*
Read It, Live It, Learn It.
Spelling does not count as song writing.
I first noticed it during “Pump It” when you felt the need to remind us that we were listening to the “B-L-A-C-K-E-Y-E-D” Peas. The spelling was quick the beat was danceable and I let it slip by.
Then you went solo, and took your one trick pony with you. Not only did you repeatedly point out that you are “D, to the E, to the L-I-C-I-O-U-S” and “T, to the A, to the S-T-E-Y”, but you also offended the literate by not even spelling the last word correctly. *headdesk*
The final straw came this weekend, when I was subjected to a larger than life big screen, with your image prancing across it, declaring for all who would listen that you won't change for the “G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS”
I know I sound like a crotchety old person who can’t stand that music that “the kids are listening to these days”, but let me assure you… that is not the case. I like to be open to a wide variety of different tunes and beats. Given my mood, I can be found listening to anything from Punk to Classical, from Rap to Rock, from tribal drumming to full orchestra Musical Theatre.
But I haven’t gotten into a spelling song since Sesame Street had me humming along with “C is for Cookie”
So please, for the sake of us all… Get some W, to the R, to the I, to the T-I-N-G skills.
Kplsthx!
*note that rap is in quotes because I use that term really loosely when it comes to your music.
Spelling does not count as song writing.
I first noticed it during “Pump It” when you felt the need to remind us that we were listening to the “B-L-A-C-K-E-Y-E-D” Peas. The spelling was quick the beat was danceable and I let it slip by.
Then you went solo, and took your one trick pony with you. Not only did you repeatedly point out that you are “D, to the E, to the L-I-C-I-O-U-S” and “T, to the A, to the S-T-E-Y”, but you also offended the literate by not even spelling the last word correctly. *headdesk*
The final straw came this weekend, when I was subjected to a larger than life big screen, with your image prancing across it, declaring for all who would listen that you won't change for the “G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS”
I know I sound like a crotchety old person who can’t stand that music that “the kids are listening to these days”, but let me assure you… that is not the case. I like to be open to a wide variety of different tunes and beats. Given my mood, I can be found listening to anything from Punk to Classical, from Rap to Rock, from tribal drumming to full orchestra Musical Theatre.
But I haven’t gotten into a spelling song since Sesame Street had me humming along with “C is for Cookie”
So please, for the sake of us all… Get some W, to the R, to the I, to the T-I-N-G skills.
Kplsthx!
*note that rap is in quotes because I use that term really loosely when it comes to your music.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Being & Becoming
From "Words of Wisdom for Women" by Rachel Snyder
Be
Remember that life is in the being, not the doing. Be every bit of everything that you are. Be tough, be soft, be dramatic, be subdued. Be a little bit of this and a little bit of tha. Be the one who always shows up on time or be th eone who lives according to her own inner clock. Be the one who never forgets a detail or be th eone who never remembers. Be happy when you feel like it and be sad when you are down.
Be who you are-- not who they told you you should be. Be able to cry in front of someone you hardly know, if it's time to cry. Be willing to be real. Be talkative if you are; be quiet if you are not. Be ready to drop your masks and your protective armor and be genuine. Be in the moment. Be in the light.
.... And just when they think they know exactly who you are, be prepapred to be something altogether different.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Class was good today. Stirred my soul, moved my aching body (damn the migraines... damn them all to hell), and allowed me for a moment to slip the surly bonds of the everyday, and just Be. I wish the same bliss for you today.
Be
Remember that life is in the being, not the doing. Be every bit of everything that you are. Be tough, be soft, be dramatic, be subdued. Be a little bit of this and a little bit of tha. Be the one who always shows up on time or be th eone who lives according to her own inner clock. Be the one who never forgets a detail or be th eone who never remembers. Be happy when you feel like it and be sad when you are down.
Be who you are-- not who they told you you should be. Be able to cry in front of someone you hardly know, if it's time to cry. Be willing to be real. Be talkative if you are; be quiet if you are not. Be ready to drop your masks and your protective armor and be genuine. Be in the moment. Be in the light.
.... And just when they think they know exactly who you are, be prepapred to be something altogether different.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Class was good today. Stirred my soul, moved my aching body (damn the migraines... damn them all to hell), and allowed me for a moment to slip the surly bonds of the everyday, and just Be. I wish the same bliss for you today.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Sunday Scribblings: Yummy
WOW.. what an easy prompt for me.
For years now, my alias has been YummyTeece. It came as a combination of my then boyfriend's nickname for me (Teece), and my favorite word, Yummy.
To me, Yummy is about so much more than taste. Yummy is the epitome of all things good. Sunshine after a rainstorm is yummy. The smell of newly-mown grass, which stirs memories of childhood's carefree summers... That's yummy. The warm glow of a first date gone wonderfully right... you know, that cloud you walk on for week after? That's the essence of being embraced by a big pink bubble of Yummy. It's the feeling of being loved, the feeling of self-confidence, the feeling of entering a room and stopping all the traffic in it.
Maya Angelou captured it when she said:
For years now, my alias has been YummyTeece. It came as a combination of my then boyfriend's nickname for me (Teece), and my favorite word, Yummy.
To me, Yummy is about so much more than taste. Yummy is the epitome of all things good. Sunshine after a rainstorm is yummy. The smell of newly-mown grass, which stirs memories of childhood's carefree summers... That's yummy. The warm glow of a first date gone wonderfully right... you know, that cloud you walk on for week after? That's the essence of being embraced by a big pink bubble of Yummy. It's the feeling of being loved, the feeling of self-confidence, the feeling of entering a room and stopping all the traffic in it.
Maya Angelou captured it when she said:
"The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me."
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me."
Phenomenal women are Yummy!
Therfore when I embraced "YummyTeece", it was my way of speaking into the Universe the idea of me, to my highest power. Me at my most invincible. Me at my most self-loving. Me at my most courageous. Me- unfiltered, undiluted and unfraid.
I put Yummy out there to others when I meet them and have this conversation. I challenge them to find the Yummy in themselves, to embrace the Yummy in others. Paint the whole town Pink, a warm yummy bubble-gum pink of sugar sweet honesty and love.
Yummy....
I'm in such a better mood now. THANKS SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS!!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Pouncing Anxiety
For more than half my life, my winters (specifically January and February) have been plagued with a diagnosed bout of depression. It hangs on, unwelcome, like the cloying scent of decay, and is terribly annoying to boot. My physical body aches and spasms, my sleep & eating patterns go out the window. I become irritable and moody.
Knowing that this is a biological cycle, I do what I can to fight it. Try to watch what I eat and drink, keep an eye on whether or not my response to any stimulator is ‘overly dramatic’ or otherwise unwarranted. I don’t like to think of myself as a depression “sufferer” but more one who trudges through the slime and muck and arrives eventually on the other side.
However, in the last few years, my winter visitor has come hand in hand with a new friend, Paranoia. I find myself questioning motivation for each comment addressed to me, as well as constantly checking myself in the mirror for what may have gone horribly wrong since last look. (and yes, I'm speaking of something more than just fresh zits or spinach in my teeth.) Each car behind me is either ‘undercover police’ or ‘intentionally harassing me’. Hang ups on the phone are stalkers trying to find me. Each ache and pain is sign and symptom of some incurable malady. My emails are being monitored; my bank account is being secretly hacked. It’s hell on my nerves, and even more of a drain on the folks around me.
*sigh*
BUT… even in the darkness, there are moments of light and joy. Just last weekend, Tag and I decided to celebrate his birthday with a visit to our local zoo. It was rainy and cold, and thus there were few folks meandering about. We headed to the snow leopard cage, hoping that the darkened winter weather would have aroused them from their usual mid-day slumber. Sure
enough, they were not only alert and out in the open, they were in the mood to play. Upon hearing us approach, one of the young males climbed to a vantage point in his habitat and readied a pounce. Seeing him, I dove behind a bush and rustled the dry leaves on the ground. Intrigued, we watched each other for a moment before I sprang out and ran down the path. Inside his enclosure, he ran the corresponding length of his cage. I doubled back and so did he, and when we reached our starting point, I flopped slightly sideways in submission, and he did similarly, with a big cat “chuff”, clearly proud of himself.
The moment lightened my spirit and reminded me that this life I’m currently living…. 9 – 5 at a desk 5 days a week, is not one that I’m truly meant for. I need outside time and interaction with animals. I want to attend school again, and move forward in a way that feels so fitting. I want to talk with the animals, walk with the animals… play hard and live big. Perhaps when I finally fully inhabit the life I’m intended for, these winter doldrums will ease their hold on me.
Living is achieved in the same way that depression is conquered- one day at a time. Moving ever forward, not sitting and waiting it out. Fighting and winning small battles each day. Getting up and getting dressed, when you really just want to pull the covers over your head. *sigh* WOW… this little pep talk is nauseating even me.
What can I say? It’s January, almost February… and I’ve never really liked that time of year. I’m grouchy and nasty-tempered, in pain and in a lousy mood. However, I remain ever thankful for a love that stands beside me, and pouncy moments at the zoo.
Peace out my lovlies.... go do something fun with your day!
Knowing that this is a biological cycle, I do what I can to fight it. Try to watch what I eat and drink, keep an eye on whether or not my response to any stimulator is ‘overly dramatic’ or otherwise unwarranted. I don’t like to think of myself as a depression “sufferer” but more one who trudges through the slime and muck and arrives eventually on the other side.
However, in the last few years, my winter visitor has come hand in hand with a new friend, Paranoia. I find myself questioning motivation for each comment addressed to me, as well as constantly checking myself in the mirror for what may have gone horribly wrong since last look. (and yes, I'm speaking of something more than just fresh zits or spinach in my teeth.) Each car behind me is either ‘undercover police’ or ‘intentionally harassing me’. Hang ups on the phone are stalkers trying to find me. Each ache and pain is sign and symptom of some incurable malady. My emails are being monitored; my bank account is being secretly hacked. It’s hell on my nerves, and even more of a drain on the folks around me.
*sigh*
BUT… even in the darkness, there are moments of light and joy. Just last weekend, Tag and I decided to celebrate his birthday with a visit to our local zoo. It was rainy and cold, and thus there were few folks meandering about. We headed to the snow leopard cage, hoping that the darkened winter weather would have aroused them from their usual mid-day slumber. Sure
enough, they were not only alert and out in the open, they were in the mood to play. Upon hearing us approach, one of the young males climbed to a vantage point in his habitat and readied a pounce. Seeing him, I dove behind a bush and rustled the dry leaves on the ground. Intrigued, we watched each other for a moment before I sprang out and ran down the path. Inside his enclosure, he ran the corresponding length of his cage. I doubled back and so did he, and when we reached our starting point, I flopped slightly sideways in submission, and he did similarly, with a big cat “chuff”, clearly proud of himself.The moment lightened my spirit and reminded me that this life I’m currently living…. 9 – 5 at a desk 5 days a week, is not one that I’m truly meant for. I need outside time and interaction with animals. I want to attend school again, and move forward in a way that feels so fitting. I want to talk with the animals, walk with the animals… play hard and live big. Perhaps when I finally fully inhabit the life I’m intended for, these winter doldrums will ease their hold on me.
Living is achieved in the same way that depression is conquered- one day at a time. Moving ever forward, not sitting and waiting it out. Fighting and winning small battles each day. Getting up and getting dressed, when you really just want to pull the covers over your head. *sigh* WOW… this little pep talk is nauseating even me.
What can I say? It’s January, almost February… and I’ve never really liked that time of year. I’m grouchy and nasty-tempered, in pain and in a lousy mood. However, I remain ever thankful for a love that stands beside me, and pouncy moments at the zoo.
Peace out my lovlies.... go do something fun with your day!
Friday, January 05, 2007
Riding The Wind
“Wild nights are my glory”
- Mrs. Whatsit, A Wrinkle in Time
That quote struck a chord in me as a child, and stays with me still to this day. If you don’t know the book, first let me say, “Go read it!” Mrs. Whatsit is an entertaining creature that Meg (the book’s protagonist) mistakes for some sort of homeless tramp. I often envisioned her as a nearly vomitous burst of colors and smells that is both alluring and off-putting at the same time. By today's adults, women fitting that description are often passed by, dismissed or overlooked. But like a child full of wonder, I would like to think that if I discovered her today, I would have the insight to find her as fascinating and enticing as Meg and her younger brother Charles Wallace do.
There are three such magical women who aid the children in their travels, Mrs. Whatsit being the you
ngest and most verbal. Perhaps I connected with her for that reason alone, although I think more that it had more to do with her transformation. Mid-book (and I don’t mean to be a spoiler, but hey…it’s my blog) Mrs. Whatsit turns into a beautiful centaur-like creature. Now being Sagittarius, I felt some sort of bond with her equine form, and dreamt of shimmering into such a shape. The cover art showed iridescent rainbow wings spreading out where arms might be, and in that corporeal body, she rides the children up, out of the atmosphere, for a “bigger picture” of the Universe & the endless battle of Dark vs. Light.
Last night, as the unusually strong winds whipped past windows and shook the apartment, I did what I often do in windstorms. I closed my eyes and pictured the great Mrs W spreading those glowing wings, facing a fierce headwind, then with a leap, sending herself bucking and blowing across a star-filled sky. I imagine her laughing loudly and robustly, reveling in the whirling torrent. I dream of her riding unharnessed wind and rejoicing in the wildness of night. And I wish, once again, that I was her.
- Mrs. Whatsit, A Wrinkle in Time
That quote struck a chord in me as a child, and stays with me still to this day. If you don’t know the book, first let me say, “Go read it!” Mrs. Whatsit is an entertaining creature that Meg (the book’s protagonist) mistakes for some sort of homeless tramp. I often envisioned her as a nearly vomitous burst of colors and smells that is both alluring and off-putting at the same time. By today's adults, women fitting that description are often passed by, dismissed or overlooked. But like a child full of wonder, I would like to think that if I discovered her today, I would have the insight to find her as fascinating and enticing as Meg and her younger brother Charles Wallace do.
There are three such magical women who aid the children in their travels, Mrs. Whatsit being the you
ngest and most verbal. Perhaps I connected with her for that reason alone, although I think more that it had more to do with her transformation. Mid-book (and I don’t mean to be a spoiler, but hey…it’s my blog) Mrs. Whatsit turns into a beautiful centaur-like creature. Now being Sagittarius, I felt some sort of bond with her equine form, and dreamt of shimmering into such a shape. The cover art showed iridescent rainbow wings spreading out where arms might be, and in that corporeal body, she rides the children up, out of the atmosphere, for a “bigger picture” of the Universe & the endless battle of Dark vs. Light.Last night, as the unusually strong winds whipped past windows and shook the apartment, I did what I often do in windstorms. I closed my eyes and pictured the great Mrs W spreading those glowing wings, facing a fierce headwind, then with a leap, sending herself bucking and blowing across a star-filled sky. I imagine her laughing loudly and robustly, reveling in the whirling torrent. I dream of her riding unharnessed wind and rejoicing in the wildness of night. And I wish, once again, that I was her.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Wrapping up 2006
Oh my dears.... so much time passed. I guess that when I'm happy, I'm a less prolific writer. Therefore pardon my absence, but know that by and large, it's due to a busy and blissful life.
December was a rush. I helped plan the Company Holiday party, which also just happened to be on my 35th birthday. 900+ people at a plush Hollywood hotspot..... quite the way to ring out 34. And as you can see... I looked quite sassy doing so.
The Night begins with a little Champagne and a whole lot of Silliness.
Midnight Snugglies ring in 2007.
Oopsie..... turns out Champagne and Bombay Sapphire don't mix well.
I hope that you and yours were able to celebrate as happily and as safely, and that 2007 opens doors that mystify your sense of wonder and elate your heart.
After the holiday party, I decided to further celebrate my refusal to get old by coloring my hair a fun and unusual color. My colorist called it "Electric Cranberry".... but usually people tell me it's either Pink or Bright Red.
Winter Solstice brought an early gift for my beloved Tag.... in the form of an ever-curious kitten named "Cash" (as in "the Cat in Black"), seen here giving my schnoz a nibble...
Lastly, we rang in the New Year at an intimate gathering hosted by the SlackMistress , where fun was had by all. Even those who didn't quite make it through the whole party (but I won't name names.... *wink*)
Instead, I'll post pics. *grin*
The Night begins with a little Champagne and a whole lot of Silliness.
Midnight Snugglies ring in 2007. 
Oopsie..... turns out Champagne and Bombay Sapphire don't mix well. I hope that you and yours were able to celebrate as happily and as safely, and that 2007 opens doors that mystify your sense of wonder and elate your heart.
Friday, December 08, 2006
She's Got the Look
The holiday/pre-birthday blues have a bit of a hold on me this week, affecting my dreams and making me a bit paranoid. So needless to say, I was not quite in the mind frame to hear the “compliment” that was given to me today as complimentary.
She said “Oh, you’re a big girl. But you’re surprisingly toned for a big girl.”
A Big girl? I wear a size 8, sometimes a 10.
I am not the “anorexic chic” so popular in Hollywood these days, and certainly no one has ever accused me of having an eating disorder. But seriously folks…
Some of the most beautiful women I know are lush and round and curvy, the way women are supposed to be. We are designed to have layers, which keep our innards warm, so that we can create and sustain life within us. (Subsequently, we are more likely to survive hypothermia as well. Go Girls!)
The whole contemplation of today’s notion of beautiful women reminded me of yesterday’s encounter in Starbucks. I was waiting for my Gingerbread Latte, when a woman came in. Her 6 inch heels were a bit over the top for the 10am coffee run. Her rhinestone bejeweled jogging suit was the best in Juicy Couture (and will never see a moment of actual jogging.) Her breasts were melons of saline so ripe I thought they might pop if someone brushed against her. But most outstanding in her appearance was her face. Modern cosmetic science had so enhanced her facial features that I doubt she will ever be able to “unpucker” again. Additionally, when she approached the counter from behind me, I noted that she mumbled incomprehensibly. I can only assume it was some version of “excuse me”, but who knows!? Between her collagen swollen lips and her overly botoxed nasal folds, she couldn’t move her mouth enough to articulate the English language. This is “beautiful”??!?!?
What happened to Marilyn Monroe and Mae West? Where are the screen goddesses who were naturally bodacious? Kudos to Kate Winslet and Scarlett Johansson for being proud to be curvy and real, while still managing to pull off being beautiful.
Because if our only two choices are “12-yr-old-boy-thin” and “so-enhanced-you-can’t-talk”, then today's women are in a world of hurt.
editorial note: while researching the topic on line, I came aross this post which I found both fascinating and a bit terrifying
She said “Oh, you’re a big girl. But you’re surprisingly toned for a big girl.”
A Big girl? I wear a size 8, sometimes a 10.
I am not the “anorexic chic” so popular in Hollywood these days, and certainly no one has ever accused me of having an eating disorder. But seriously folks…
Some of the most beautiful women I know are lush and round and curvy, the way women are supposed to be. We are designed to have layers, which keep our innards warm, so that we can create and sustain life within us. (Subsequently, we are more likely to survive hypothermia as well. Go Girls!)
The whole contemplation of today’s notion of beautiful women reminded me of yesterday’s encounter in Starbucks. I was waiting for my Gingerbread Latte, when a woman came in. Her 6 inch heels were a bit over the top for the 10am coffee run. Her rhinestone bejeweled jogging suit was the best in Juicy Couture (and will never see a moment of actual jogging.) Her breasts were melons of saline so ripe I thought they might pop if someone brushed against her. But most outstanding in her appearance was her face. Modern cosmetic science had so enhanced her facial features that I doubt she will ever be able to “unpucker” again. Additionally, when she approached the counter from behind me, I noted that she mumbled incomprehensibly. I can only assume it was some version of “excuse me”, but who knows!? Between her collagen swollen lips and her overly botoxed nasal folds, she couldn’t move her mouth enough to articulate the English language. This is “beautiful”??!?!?
What happened to Marilyn Monroe and Mae West? Where are the screen goddesses who were naturally bodacious? Kudos to Kate Winslet and Scarlett Johansson for being proud to be curvy and real, while still managing to pull off being beautiful.
Because if our only two choices are “12-yr-old-boy-thin” and “so-enhanced-you-can’t-talk”, then today's women are in a world of hurt.
editorial note: while researching the topic on line, I came aross this post which I found both fascinating and a bit terrifying
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Sunday Scribblings: In the last hour
In the last hour of the night, before sleep overtook her active mind and dragged her beneath, she made a list of all the things yet undone. She wrote from her heart, pouring out beliefs and goals, evacuating the small crevices where hope still festered in a largely bitter existence. She dredged up the very crispy bits at the bottom of the cauldron of her being, and she penned each half-burned dream onto cream paper, in a flowery round script aided by the easy flow of her purple gel uni-ball with the chewed up cap.
The last one stood out most harshly, mocking her with its incompleteness: "Fall in love"
In that last hour of dark dim lighting and deep heart stirrings, she mourned her many abortive attempts to lose herself in connection with another. To allow her walls to sink completely and leave herself, not defenseless...but open, to the experience of sharing. Instead of a history full of Hallmarkian tenderness, she looked back on a catalogue of grossly co-dependant relationships, thick with abuse and irony. The 'been there, done that" list of her heart's attacks read like a baby name book, only one where "David" didn't mean "beloved", but more "raving jackass" and "Tony*" was less "priceless" and more "psycho."*
A throaty humorless laugh escaped as she admitted defeat in all games important to her. Her family, broken as it was had left her behind long ago, and her friends had disappeared into a sea of unfortunate excuses. The only element of her life with harmony and humor had passed one week ago today, at an unforgettably sad moment in the vet's office, and now she sat in a lifeless room, in the silence of a falling night, wishing to blot out any memory of her existence at all.
She took the pages where she'd written all her failures and carried them to the bathroom, setting fire to them with a thin yellow plastic lighter someone had left on her desk at work. The low flames blacked the edges of the paper as they consumed their way across the written words, leaving ash and embers in their place. She discarded the remnants into the open toilet and chuckled once again as she realized how quickly and easily it could all be flushed away.
Turning to the counter, she saw collected there a bevy of medicinal remedies for a hundred imagined ailments, and like mixed jellybellys, popped any variety of color and shape into her mouth. Lowering her head to the spout of the rusty faucet, she drank only as much water as she needed to swallow the caplets and tablets that held escape in their grainy pharmaceutical hands. And then she returned to her room, and her bed.
In the last hour of her life, she rested her head on her pillow and wept until the pain faded away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* it's a work of fiction. No offense meant to any Davids or Tonys. Well, ok, no offense meant to any Davids, and to 99.9% of Tonys. That .1% knows who he is.
The last one stood out most harshly, mocking her with its incompleteness: "Fall in love"
In that last hour of dark dim lighting and deep heart stirrings, she mourned her many abortive attempts to lose herself in connection with another. To allow her walls to sink completely and leave herself, not defenseless...but open, to the experience of sharing. Instead of a history full of Hallmarkian tenderness, she looked back on a catalogue of grossly co-dependant relationships, thick with abuse and irony. The 'been there, done that" list of her heart's attacks read like a baby name book, only one where "David" didn't mean "beloved", but more "raving jackass" and "Tony*" was less "priceless" and more "psycho."*
A throaty humorless laugh escaped as she admitted defeat in all games important to her. Her family, broken as it was had left her behind long ago, and her friends had disappeared into a sea of unfortunate excuses. The only element of her life with harmony and humor had passed one week ago today, at an unforgettably sad moment in the vet's office, and now she sat in a lifeless room, in the silence of a falling night, wishing to blot out any memory of her existence at all.
She took the pages where she'd written all her failures and carried them to the bathroom, setting fire to them with a thin yellow plastic lighter someone had left on her desk at work. The low flames blacked the edges of the paper as they consumed their way across the written words, leaving ash and embers in their place. She discarded the remnants into the open toilet and chuckled once again as she realized how quickly and easily it could all be flushed away.
Turning to the counter, she saw collected there a bevy of medicinal remedies for a hundred imagined ailments, and like mixed jellybellys, popped any variety of color and shape into her mouth. Lowering her head to the spout of the rusty faucet, she drank only as much water as she needed to swallow the caplets and tablets that held escape in their grainy pharmaceutical hands. And then she returned to her room, and her bed.
In the last hour of her life, she rested her head on her pillow and wept until the pain faded away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* it's a work of fiction. No offense meant to any Davids or Tonys. Well, ok, no offense meant to any Davids, and to 99.9% of Tonys. That .1% knows who he is.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Sunday Scribblings: Hero
What does it take to be a hero? Daily courage, or just an extraordinary moment? Firemen are certainly heros, as are police officers, and our troops overeseas. Is it about risking life and limb? OR just going beyond what normal life would ask of you?
This weekend, I saw "Stranger than Fiction," an interesting film wherein Will Ferrell plays an ordinary man who seems mysteriously to be the central character in a book which will end with his death. An unlikely hero, Harold Chik is an IRS auditor, living a rather humdrum experience, ruled by numbers. However, when he overhears the Narrarator's voice in his head mention his untimely and impending doom, he leaps into action to find the hows and whys of his death, and see if it can be stopped (or at least postponed.)
I went to the movie seeking an entertaining story that would allow me escape from my own daily routine, but found instead a film that wouldn't let me stop thinking about it afterwards. Would I, like Harold, seek out the cause of my demise and fight it? Would I live those last few days as if I were "truly alive", fullfilling the wishes of myself and others? Could I dedicate myself for that time to eat a juicy and succulent life, and so at the end, feel that death, however untimely was neccessary and not in vain?
and if I could do that under those circumstances, why do I not do it now? Why am I not living each day fully and vibrantly? Why do I find myself forever postponing and timing things out..... "well, in two years, i'll be mostly out of debt. I can do what i love then..." How many years have I, have any of us, wasted in that process?
Hmmm, hold on.... There have been moments. I've not spent it ALL looking ahead or behind. I have had a dabbling here and there of being completely and totally present. Where I've been as alive as alive gets, and enjoyed the view. In 2003, I participated in APLA's Marathon Training program. For 7 months of my life, I ran and fundraised to help people in the Los Angeles area who are afflicted with HIV and/or AIDS. And in the end, I did something I'd long wanted to do. I finished a marathon.
Right now, my friend Amandarin is participating in that same project. And while I do not envy her "runner's knee", her aching hips, her heat exhaustion, her recent shoe-blow out, or her constant struggle to fundraise..... I do know that there's not a feeling in the world like running that marathon. Oh, not just the crossing of the finish line (which admittedly is pretty spectacular). No, I'm speaking of another moment, one unlike any I'd ever known.
December 14th, 2003- I was running mile late-teens/early twenties, huffing and pained and wondering if I'd make it when I passed a group on the sidelines. It was a large bunch of yellow-shirt wearing APLA supporters, cheering and hooting and beliving in me. They held signs of all natures. "You can do", and "You're a hero". I smiled and waved. Then I saw him. He was tall and gaunt, and didn't look as if he had much energy left to be standing, much less cheering and waving a sign. But he was giving it all he had. And in his hands was a simple piece of posterboard, which read "You are saving my life. Thank you." Tears streamed down my face, and my pace quickened just a bit, and in that moment, I felt just a little bit like a hero.
So Amandarin, I wish you that moment. That one and a hundred more as you face this monster ride called "training to run a marathon". It's HELLA not easy, but it's worth it.
And to anyone whose reading this.... if you're looking for a hero to support, check out this lady or the team she's running with Phat Girls Running. Or go directly to APLA, and read about the hundreds of heros they train regularly.
Or try the Lukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training The disease is different, but the love and caring and determination is the same.
Or Feed a hungry animal
Whatever it is that makes your heart weep and sing at the same time, go find it and support and be a hero for someone else. Cause I'm thinking THAT's what makes one heroic.... not JUST the courage or the passion.... but the ability to give and do that for someone else.
Here's to making the world a better place.
This weekend, I saw "Stranger than Fiction," an interesting film wherein Will Ferrell plays an ordinary man who seems mysteriously to be the central character in a book which will end with his death. An unlikely hero, Harold Chik is an IRS auditor, living a rather humdrum experience, ruled by numbers. However, when he overhears the Narrarator's voice in his head mention his untimely and impending doom, he leaps into action to find the hows and whys of his death, and see if it can be stopped (or at least postponed.)
I went to the movie seeking an entertaining story that would allow me escape from my own daily routine, but found instead a film that wouldn't let me stop thinking about it afterwards. Would I, like Harold, seek out the cause of my demise and fight it? Would I live those last few days as if I were "truly alive", fullfilling the wishes of myself and others? Could I dedicate myself for that time to eat a juicy and succulent life, and so at the end, feel that death, however untimely was neccessary and not in vain?
and if I could do that under those circumstances, why do I not do it now? Why am I not living each day fully and vibrantly? Why do I find myself forever postponing and timing things out..... "well, in two years, i'll be mostly out of debt. I can do what i love then..." How many years have I, have any of us, wasted in that process?
Hmmm, hold on.... There have been moments. I've not spent it ALL looking ahead or behind. I have had a dabbling here and there of being completely and totally present. Where I've been as alive as alive gets, and enjoyed the view. In 2003, I participated in APLA's Marathon Training program. For 7 months of my life, I ran and fundraised to help people in the Los Angeles area who are afflicted with HIV and/or AIDS. And in the end, I did something I'd long wanted to do. I finished a marathon.
Right now, my friend Amandarin is participating in that same project. And while I do not envy her "runner's knee", her aching hips, her heat exhaustion, her recent shoe-blow out, or her constant struggle to fundraise..... I do know that there's not a feeling in the world like running that marathon. Oh, not just the crossing of the finish line (which admittedly is pretty spectacular). No, I'm speaking of another moment, one unlike any I'd ever known.
December 14th, 2003- I was running mile late-teens/early twenties, huffing and pained and wondering if I'd make it when I passed a group on the sidelines. It was a large bunch of yellow-shirt wearing APLA supporters, cheering and hooting and beliving in me. They held signs of all natures. "You can do", and "You're a hero". I smiled and waved. Then I saw him. He was tall and gaunt, and didn't look as if he had much energy left to be standing, much less cheering and waving a sign. But he was giving it all he had. And in his hands was a simple piece of posterboard, which read "You are saving my life. Thank you." Tears streamed down my face, and my pace quickened just a bit, and in that moment, I felt just a little bit like a hero.
So Amandarin, I wish you that moment. That one and a hundred more as you face this monster ride called "training to run a marathon". It's HELLA not easy, but it's worth it.
And to anyone whose reading this.... if you're looking for a hero to support, check out this lady or the team she's running with Phat Girls Running. Or go directly to APLA, and read about the hundreds of heros they train regularly.
Or try the Lukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training The disease is different, but the love and caring and determination is the same.
Or Feed a hungry animal
Whatever it is that makes your heart weep and sing at the same time, go find it and support and be a hero for someone else. Cause I'm thinking THAT's what makes one heroic.... not JUST the courage or the passion.... but the ability to give and do that for someone else.
Here's to making the world a better place.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
The Fringe of Danger
A friend of mine, Ms. Scarlett, just came to me, trembling and crying and on the edge of a meltdown.
It seems that last Friday, she was held up at gunpoint, at an ATM less than a mile from where we work. The shock is just starting to wear off, and her conversation with the detective, in regards to identifying suspects in a line up, and the possible impending trial, pushed her over that cliff of emotion. I held her while she cried, and then sent her home ill. She was in no space to manage calendars or answer phones or in any way pretend that the world was fine and normal.
When I relayed the story to Amandarin she remarked that this was the second mugging she'd heard of this week.
Additionally, I just sent flowers to one co-worker for her sister's passing while another colleague is waiting by a phone at home, hoping for some good news regarding her grandmother's recent heart problems.
Laughably smaller, my radiator blew up two week's ago, and I'm just finishing a round of poison oak that I contracted around Halloween (during our pet funeral services).
So my question is... Hey Universe, what the hell is going on!?? October was a month full of deaths (for myself and others), and now November seems to be badly wired, waiting to short out and start a fire.
Is it too much to ask that we gently glide into a warm and uneventful Thanksgiving? I can't speak for the rest of the world, but we Angelinos could use a break!
It seems that last Friday, she was held up at gunpoint, at an ATM less than a mile from where we work. The shock is just starting to wear off, and her conversation with the detective, in regards to identifying suspects in a line up, and the possible impending trial, pushed her over that cliff of emotion. I held her while she cried, and then sent her home ill. She was in no space to manage calendars or answer phones or in any way pretend that the world was fine and normal.
When I relayed the story to Amandarin she remarked that this was the second mugging she'd heard of this week.
Additionally, I just sent flowers to one co-worker for her sister's passing while another colleague is waiting by a phone at home, hoping for some good news regarding her grandmother's recent heart problems.
Laughably smaller, my radiator blew up two week's ago, and I'm just finishing a round of poison oak that I contracted around Halloween (during our pet funeral services).
So my question is... Hey Universe, what the hell is going on!?? October was a month full of deaths (for myself and others), and now November seems to be badly wired, waiting to short out and start a fire.
Is it too much to ask that we gently glide into a warm and uneventful Thanksgiving? I can't speak for the rest of the world, but we Angelinos could use a break!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Hot Cuppa Inspiration
On the side of today's tasty beverage, I found this:
"My father said being an artist was the shortest road to the poorhouse, claiming 'real' work is something you don't like. I ignored him through oppisitional behavior, later reasoning that only an idiot sets out to find the poorhouse, not to mention devote himself to something he doesn't love. Instead, I discovered an interesting back road to the unknown, and deliberately without a safety net.
-- Russell Chatham, painter lithographer, author, publisher and restaurateur"
I long for that backroad. I remind myself that I am an artist, and a dancer, and a writer, and whatever more I may wish to be today..... and I long to create without that safety net.
which reminds me.... I recently found out than an old acquaintance of mine is running a school for Aeiral Arts. I think it may be time for me to take that webwork class that I'd signed up for in college (the week before I tore all the ligaments in my right ankle and spent months on crutches). I long to fly, to spin, to be that girl on the flying trapeze.
What daring things will you do this holiday season??
"My father said being an artist was the shortest road to the poorhouse, claiming 'real' work is something you don't like. I ignored him through oppisitional behavior, later reasoning that only an idiot sets out to find the poorhouse, not to mention devote himself to something he doesn't love. Instead, I discovered an interesting back road to the unknown, and deliberately without a safety net.
-- Russell Chatham, painter lithographer, author, publisher and restaurateur"
I long for that backroad. I remind myself that I am an artist, and a dancer, and a writer, and whatever more I may wish to be today..... and I long to create without that safety net.
which reminds me.... I recently found out than an old acquaintance of mine is running a school for Aeiral Arts. I think it may be time for me to take that webwork class that I'd signed up for in college (the week before I tore all the ligaments in my right ankle and spent months on crutches). I long to fly, to spin, to be that girl on the flying trapeze.
What daring things will you do this holiday season??
Monday, November 06, 2006
Limes of Love
The ever-fabulous Amandarin, whose selfless actions brought Tag to my door in June, has once again worked with others to create a generous project of love and giving.
LIME PROJECT is a group of women who have come together to raise funds for a friend, currently fighting Hodgkins Lymphoma.
To quote the website:
We don't know who makes these decisions, but the support ribbon color for Hodgkin's Lymphoma is lime green. Conveniently, this is one of Heather's favorite colors."LimeSuckers" came about because well... pretty much everyone was suckered into it.
Most of us met on LiveJournal, a blogging / networking website, and this idea was hatched there, sprouting from the mind of Bronxelf (also known as Avril), for the group of us to produce and sell calendars to benefit Heather.
Not just any calendars..."naked" calendars. Tastefully done, of course, but still. Cheesecake sells.
That's right kids.... beautiful nekkid women, showing theirgoodies support for a friend in need.
So dig into your pockets. 2007 is coming, and you need a calendar! Not just one that tells you the days and dates, but one that supports a life AND has bold and beautiful pictures of women not afraid to bare it all to help a friend.
Pay It Forward.... Buy a Calendar!
LIME PROJECT is a group of women who have come together to raise funds for a friend, currently fighting Hodgkins Lymphoma.
To quote the website:
We don't know who makes these decisions, but the support ribbon color for Hodgkin's Lymphoma is lime green. Conveniently, this is one of Heather's favorite colors."LimeSuckers" came about because well... pretty much everyone was suckered into it.
Most of us met on LiveJournal, a blogging / networking website, and this idea was hatched there, sprouting from the mind of Bronxelf (also known as Avril), for the group of us to produce and sell calendars to benefit Heather.
Not just any calendars..."naked" calendars. Tastefully done, of course, but still. Cheesecake sells.
That's right kids.... beautiful nekkid women, showing their
So dig into your pockets. 2007 is coming, and you need a calendar! Not just one that tells you the days and dates, but one that supports a life AND has bold and beautiful pictures of women not afraid to bare it all to help a friend.
Pay It Forward.... Buy a Calendar!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Ebb & Flow
Change comes rapidly, like a swift Autumn wind. Faster than the seasons can shift, faster than I can keep up. As John Lennon sang: “Life is what happens to you when while you're busy making other plans.”
*pause, to catch my breath*
Although co-habitation can be challenging, Tag and I grow ever closer. However, sometimes it is for unfortunate reasons. Just last weekend, we shared the heartbreak of losing a pet. Brave Neo, who traveled with Tag from Chicago, died inexplicably, leaving the bulk of our Saturday mired in impromptu services in the nearby park. This, added to the sadness of my Grandmother’s passing, has left me pondering the “dark time” and all its hidden gifts.
Traditionally, Samhain is the festival that marks the “End of Summer”, or the time of the Harvest. One tradition states that you could harvest until sundown on Hallows Eve, but not a moment longer. Whatever was not cut by that sunset, you left in the field as an offering to the spirits. From that moment, you could only look forward to the next harvest season; making productive use of what had been brought in, and sowing the seeds for the following year.
During this last season or so, friends have fallen away, life has run at speeds both hectic and humdrum, and of course, love has come to play.
For each birth there has been a death. For each Spring blossom that bloomed, an Autumn leaf fell to ground. Sadness and loss weigh heavy right now, as the days grow shorter and darker. I’ve been battling moments of anger and despair. Last night, in dance class, I found myself weeping, in a dimly lit room pulsating with music and life. I felt like I was a great black hole of energy, absorbing joy and transmuting it into nothingness.
My mood is lighter today, although not completely recovered. My thoughts are scattered and this post is challenging to write. However, underneath it all, I still feel a smidgeon of hope bubbling up through the goop-- the ever-present idea that it does once again get better, that wounds heal, and lessons get learned and at the end of the day, as long as one can surround themselves with friends and loved ones…. it’s gonna be ok.
*pause, to catch my breath*
Although co-habitation can be challenging, Tag and I grow ever closer. However, sometimes it is for unfortunate reasons. Just last weekend, we shared the heartbreak of losing a pet. Brave Neo, who traveled with Tag from Chicago, died inexplicably, leaving the bulk of our Saturday mired in impromptu services in the nearby park. This, added to the sadness of my Grandmother’s passing, has left me pondering the “dark time” and all its hidden gifts.
Traditionally, Samhain is the festival that marks the “End of Summer”, or the time of the Harvest. One tradition states that you could harvest until sundown on Hallows Eve, but not a moment longer. Whatever was not cut by that sunset, you left in the field as an offering to the spirits. From that moment, you could only look forward to the next harvest season; making productive use of what had been brought in, and sowing the seeds for the following year.
During this last season or so, friends have fallen away, life has run at speeds both hectic and humdrum, and of course, love has come to play.
For each birth there has been a death. For each Spring blossom that bloomed, an Autumn leaf fell to ground. Sadness and loss weigh heavy right now, as the days grow shorter and darker. I’ve been battling moments of anger and despair. Last night, in dance class, I found myself weeping, in a dimly lit room pulsating with music and life. I felt like I was a great black hole of energy, absorbing joy and transmuting it into nothingness.
My mood is lighter today, although not completely recovered. My thoughts are scattered and this post is challenging to write. However, underneath it all, I still feel a smidgeon of hope bubbling up through the goop-- the ever-present idea that it does once again get better, that wounds heal, and lessons get learned and at the end of the day, as long as one can surround themselves with friends and loved ones…. it’s gonna be ok.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Cycling
The title and time of year would lead one to think that this will be a post full of reverie for color-changing leaves and the cool breezes that mark the end of another Southern California summer.
I might wax poetic about the onset of Autumn, and how Fall always stirs my blood, invigorates my dreams, and truly excites me.
OR I could, of course, elaborate on how my new life with my love is blossoming and morphing into a reality unlike any I've ever experienced before.
But that is not the point and purpose of this post...
I will instead take this moment to remember My Grandmother.
-the one who played mini-golf with me, the summer I stayed a week in Winston-Salem.
-the one who chuckled at my too tight Jordache jeans, which made it impossible for me to bend over enough to retrieve my golf ball.
-the one who fixed large bowls of ice cream for us both, so that we might sit and bond over the daily episode of "She-Ra: Princess of Power".
It's been a very VERY long time since those memories were an acutality, and since that long ago day, much water has passed under the bridge that pointed to our differences, and not our connection. She is an older Southern woman, with husband and children, ensconsed safely in her house in North Carolina. I am a single female, scattered about various Los Angeles locations, living life friviously, with (until recently) only cats to keep me company. She holds to tradition and security. I look forward towards opportunities, and don't wish to settle for less than I want. I don't think I fully qualify as "the black sheep" of the family... but I'm certainly the one who is "not like the others."
Still, that all seems small and inconsequential today, for as my life blooms with chance and bubbles with opportunity, my grandmother's is coming to a close. She's fought cancer for 24 years, and doctors said that a 5th round of chemo is just not an option. The last MRI showed a tumor in the front lobes of her brain that is as inoperable as it is deadly. She sleeps, most likely to never wake again, in a hospital bed on the other side of the country. And my father, bless him, sits at her side, watching her through the night.
At this time, as we draw closer to the cross-quarter and the veil grows thinner, I will light my candle and wish her spirit safe travels. I honor her strength, and I cherish the woman who vacuumed religiously and worshiped sun-tanning, whose blue eyes danced when she chuckled, and whose laughter will always have a place in my heart.
I might wax poetic about the onset of Autumn, and how Fall always stirs my blood, invigorates my dreams, and truly excites me.
OR I could, of course, elaborate on how my new life with my love is blossoming and morphing into a reality unlike any I've ever experienced before.
But that is not the point and purpose of this post...
I will instead take this moment to remember My Grandmother.
-the one who played mini-golf with me, the summer I stayed a week in Winston-Salem.
-the one who chuckled at my too tight Jordache jeans, which made it impossible for me to bend over enough to retrieve my golf ball.
-the one who fixed large bowls of ice cream for us both, so that we might sit and bond over the daily episode of "She-Ra: Princess of Power".
It's been a very VERY long time since those memories were an acutality, and since that long ago day, much water has passed under the bridge that pointed to our differences, and not our connection. She is an older Southern woman, with husband and children, ensconsed safely in her house in North Carolina. I am a single female, scattered about various Los Angeles locations, living life friviously, with (until recently) only cats to keep me company. She holds to tradition and security. I look forward towards opportunities, and don't wish to settle for less than I want. I don't think I fully qualify as "the black sheep" of the family... but I'm certainly the one who is "not like the others."
Still, that all seems small and inconsequential today, for as my life blooms with chance and bubbles with opportunity, my grandmother's is coming to a close. She's fought cancer for 24 years, and doctors said that a 5th round of chemo is just not an option. The last MRI showed a tumor in the front lobes of her brain that is as inoperable as it is deadly. She sleeps, most likely to never wake again, in a hospital bed on the other side of the country. And my father, bless him, sits at her side, watching her through the night.
At this time, as we draw closer to the cross-quarter and the veil grows thinner, I will light my candle and wish her spirit safe travels. I honor her strength, and I cherish the woman who vacuumed religiously and worshiped sun-tanning, whose blue eyes danced when she chuckled, and whose laughter will always have a place in my heart.
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