Posts

My Chair

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This mornings' chilly sunrise found me snuggled into my favorite chair. I bought it with my own money when I was 12 years old, and haggled the thrift shop owner from $50 down to 35. It was my first piece of furniture and has been one of the few constant things since then. It's an unremarkable rocking chair; leather cushion seat cracked with age, It's Oak arms scored with the scratches and dents from careless play and a dozen moves. Its springs creak and groan in protest, but never fail to rock my mind to a quieter state. I've been taking my meds, getting sleep, reducing stress, but my mind has been racing. The thoughts fly by too fast for me to grasp. I snagged a few here and there when I'm struck by the beauty of a moment, but before I can write it down or audio record it to remember it, they slip away as though they've never been there; mirror holes in my mind where a memory should be. This comes at a time when my post concussion syndrome symptoms have come b…

Samhain treasures

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There's nothing like surprise Halloween mail to perk one's day up, let me tell you! I thought today would just plot along like any Monday, but the mail gods had other plans. All the way from Canada a good sized package waited for me. I open it carefully as instructed and Halloween came early. I was squeaking and bouncing like one of Anubis toys as I unwrapped treasure after treasure. The biggest I saved for last, though. I held my breath as I pull back the paper on the most perfect little wine loving crow painting an original by Stacy Magic Love Crow. I am ecstatic. I love Stacy's work. Her crows convey so much emotion and energy. Thank you so much, Stacy. Your package got me back into gear for the fall season. I'd gotten a bit melancholy, not getting much done creatively, but this gave me a shot in the arm. I got my own gift in the mail for the person I was assigned for the fall/craft gift swap hosted by the lovely Katerina of miss Misanthropia. This has been so much …

The Morning After

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What a difference a day makes. Yesterday morning I woke to a warm, snoring dreadlocked Rasta man wrapped around me, and my furry god curled up at our feet. I felt warm and sexy and sensuous.This morning I woke to a cold bed. Not even a dog to warm me.  I've had my sexy Rasta man here with me for a week again, this time after a six week separation. I dropped him off at Ronald Reagan National Airport . After a quick kiss for me and head pat for the dog, he was gone again. The dog, (formerly known as"furry god" ) has decided he is gone because of me and ignores me except to ask to go outside. He wouldn't even sleep on the bed like he usually does. But I won't let it get me down! Nope. This is the perfect morning for some self pampering with no self-shaming. I laid in bed watching 1 & 2 star Netflix movies (one of my stranger proclivities) until 11am this morning (got up to take the dog out at six as usual though). After that I felt ambitious, so I ran a hot bubble…

Pumpkin Spice Season

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There is a delightful chill in the air this morning that reminds me Fall is almost here. The leaves on a few trees behind my house have already turned red, blazing the way for Pumpkin Spice season.Yesterday I got started on my decorating, going with a rustic combination theme of harvest time and ancestor veneration. I haven't gotten my wall hangings yet, but I will soon.
All that decorating got my creative juices flowing, and this year for today, the 14th anniversary of my dads passing through the veil, I put together this wall hanging. As you may have guessed or I may have said before, Dad was a painter. He did mostly residential wall or house painting, but also some faux marble and wood painting. He could also paint in oils beautifully. I saw a painting he did when he was younger and had time, and it made me sad that providing for us kids had stolen all his time from him for creating beautiful things. Ah, well, no changing it now. Now all I can do is be glad of the memories; play…

The Right Stuff...

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I feel good, friends. Finally. I feel good.It was rough after the fight my sis and I had, but after a few weeks, she needed help with my adorable twin nieces, so we came to bit of a truce. Now I see my nieces 40 hours a week, and can help my mom with things around the house. (She broke her shoulder when Anubis pulled her down during a walk a couple months back.) I work three days a week at a farm that is home to three Arabians, a donkey and pony, chickens, ducks, and two senior dogs. I love my work, and spending time with my nieces. I've had several side jobs come in dog sitting for people, and will be farm sitting in a month or so. I'm painting when I find time, and I have to find time because I've gotten several challenging orders.  One client ordered a set of glasses based on the Outlander books/series by Diana Gabaldon . As research for this project I spend a lot of time looking at well-muscled men in kilts online, since it's set primarily in the Scottish highlands. Fo…

Daddy said there'd be days like this...

The day had been almost perfect. Sunshine, warm weather, clear skies and a drive through the mountains. Just a few little spats back and forth about seatbelt wearing and open container laws. Then there was the peeing on the side of the road and indecent exposure laws. But it was a beautiful day of swimming in a mountain lake with cherub-like twin girls and a handful of boys and the women who love them. The driver had a sip or two of the other's wine during their visit, but stuck with water. That's why she had volunteered her car, so the children would be safe. She knew this bunch, and they thought nothing of driving around, beer or wine in hand while children sit in the back seat. It sickened her and angered her that people like this get pregnant when they think about sex, but not her... she sent that thought away down the path it had snuck up. Down that path lies madness.
So they ended the beautiful day by deciding to cook out at one of the mother's house and let the kids…

Not So Bad

It wasn't bad, as miscarriages go.
Sure, there was the pain; the ripping-you-apart-twisting-hot poker-to-the-uterus pain. There was the knowledge that dripping down her legs was the hopes and dreams shed held for the dead thing inside her. Another would-be child: dead. Another child she couldn't keep alive, leaking out like any other bodily fluids.
It wasn't that bad though.
This one was so different from the last one. This one she'd felt the pains and when the blood began to flow she knew. She knew better than to hold false hope.
This time she was not huddled hemorrhaging under a tree in the sand on a remote island in the Bahamas far from any hospital.
This time she was in her mother's home, a mere hour's drive from excellent medical care. She'd felt the tearing away, the dropping feeling, the loss of Connection, and known. She took the time to almost ceremonially bathe and prepare herself. She told her mother she was going out for awhile and calmly climb…