Death of a Porcupine

SAVE REDD!!  Redd is a kitty kitty that was found by a dear friend of mine.  He is sick and looks like he may have been shot by a BB gun.  My friend is doing her best to raise the money to get the cat the medical care that he needs, but she needs help and so does Redd!  For those of you in the Clarksville area, Celestial Esscents is having Readings for Redd on Saturday July 23, starting at 10:00am.  If anyone is able to come, please do.  All money will be donated to take care of this precious pussy cat.  If you are not in the Clarksville area, but would still like to help please feel free to contact me and I will get you additional information! 

Tasty Tidbit #1:  There

            I would have thought that after seven days of close quarters with my family I would have more material to write about, but I don’t.  Nothing of significance happened while I was away.  Oh we went to town a couple of times, but aside from that there was nothing.  No grand lessons, no revelations on the subject of life.  Usually, I journal when I am in PA, but not so much this time, unless you count a couple of recipes.  I also didn’t do any meditating, except once for just a couple of minutes.  All in all, I have no idea why I went.  I was glad to come home.

Tasty Tidbit #2: And Back Again

            While the trip to PA was uneventful at best, the homecoming was a bit more explosive.  No sooner had I said goodbye to my mother when I had an overwhelming attack of emotions.  More like a train wreck of emotion.  I was walking through the living room and the next second I was crying.  When my husband asked what was wrong I had no idea, which just makes me look like a crazy person, or at least a super hormonal woman.  The only thing I could tell him was that I felt like everything was about to change, but that’s pretty standard for me, nothing new there.  I had no idea why I was crying, but it did take a couple of days to get myself back to “normal”.  You would have thought someone died the way I was going on.  Everyone is fine by the way.  Though I have no answer as to why I was crying I can say that once over it, the feeling I got was one of release or cleansing.  Maybe I just needed to get it out of my system, who knows.  I’m just glad that the waterworks decided to relax a bit.  Don’t want to end up being called a whiney baby. 

Death of a Porcupine

            I should have known better.  On our arrival to the backwoods of Pennsylvania I forgot that my grandparents, aunt and uncle, tend to kill any intruding animal that wanders into the fenced area.  I was dragging my suitcase down the grassy hill when I saw movement.  I thought it was a cat at first, but then I realized it was a raccoon (at least I thought it was, turns out I was wrong again). Stupidly I pointed it out to my grandmother who was waiting for us on the front porch.  She walked around to get a better look and that’s when the yelling started. 

            “Porcupine!   Davey, get the gun!”

            I swear to God my uncle, God love him, came out wearing a wife beater and jean shorts, gun in hand.  He ran to one side of the house but my grandmother was already yelling for him to go around the other way.  I was protesting the death of the raccoon/porcupine thing.  I asked them not to kill it which was a pointless gesture, but I had to ask just the same.  There were two shots and then the shouts of backwoods triumph.  The porcupine was dead. 

            My grandfather explained that Sasha, the family dog who is now deaf, but has a nose like you wouldn’t believe, tends to end up with a face full of quills.  Not only is it painful for her, but it costs a hundred dollars every time it happens.  I was the heroine of the evening.  Saver of dogs, spotter of porkies, I didn’t feel like I had saved anyone.  Though I was glad that Sasha would be spared a nose full this time, I took a moment to ask the porcupines’ spirit to connect up; though I’m not sure it was interested in listening to me.

            I realize that back in the woods, my grandparents have to work hard to protect what’s theirs, but I have always had a probably with the killing of the wildlife.  I can remember my grandfather killing treed raccoons, and my grandmother killing the patio furniture in an attempt to kill other raccoons.  Rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks all are dispatched with, in the same fashion.  I try to see it from my grandparent’s point of view.  They carved a home out of a place that was once surrounded by forest, pioneer style in a way.  They fenced in about an acre of this land and called it their own.  They planted trees and tilled the earth to put in a garden to feed the family.  It’s important, one might even call it a part of their survival.  I just wish there was a different way to deal with the wildlife. 

            On one of our evening walks my mother starting talking about her grandfather, my great grandfather.  Their farm is just across the road from my grandparents drive and we could see the big old white farmhouse every night when we walked.  There have been a lot of changes to the house even in the past year.  Siding was put on, and although it’s still white the house doesn’t look right.  It looks too modern to be over a hundred years old.  For the first time it didn’t feel like my great grandparents home, but someone else’s.  I wander, back to my great grandpa.  My mother was telling me that when he planted his crops he used to put three seeds into the ground.  One was for the family; the other two were for the wildlife.  I was surprised by the story, but my mother said my great grandfather respected the land and the animals, except groundhogs.  I guess he had something against groundhogs; he liked to blow them up.  I suppose we all have our faults. 

            I puzzled over the issue of wildlife versus survival while at my grandparents and am still pondering as I write this.  I’m not sure what the best answer is.  Just because you plant some extra seeds doesn’t guarantee that the critters won’t eat everything you planted leaving you and your family with empty bellies.  As far as I know that didn’t happen to my great grandparents, but there is always that chance.  Maybe it’s a quantity thing, I don’t know.  My brain was going haywire.  When I got home not only were my emotions a mess, but I came home to a mess.  My meditation room is still in a relative state of chaos.  After making some porcupine/wildlife notes I starting doing a little cleaning.  One of the things I picked up was a white bag that was sitting on the floor, it didn’t feel like there was anything in the bag, but knowing me I double checked.  I reached into the bag and felt something long, thin and very pointy.  I pulled a plastic bag out of the white bag, and I was more than a little surprised to see four porcupine quills. Now what do you make of that?

Back to Pennsylvania

For those of you who are regular or not so regular readers of this blog, this is just a little note to let you all know that there will not be a posting next week.  I will be out of town in a place lacking internet and toilets that can handle toilet paper being flushed down them.  With so much to look forward to, I feel confident that the follow blog on the 21^st, for those of you who need a date, should be interesting. 

Tasty Tidbit #1:  Lazy

            July 2^nd was pretty cool.  That was the day or rather evening that we spent celebrating the Fourth.  A bit premature I admit, but fun none the less.  My husband, Teresa, and I headed to Brenda’s house to enjoy a cookout, hay rides, and over a thousand dollars in explosives.  I have just a little bit of a pyro in me.  I would use Brenda’s code name but I can’t remember it.  I suppose I could make up a new one for her but I wanted her to know how much I appreciated that night out.  For the first time in a long time I was required to do nothing more than sit on the sidelines.  To be honest I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I was given the mission of yelling for Brenda’s husband; apparently I have talents in the loud and obnoxious department.  I just have that special way, lol.  Instead of running around taking care of guests or setting up tables, I sat on my duff.  Our group offered our services, but the point was for us to relax. I admit I wasn’t sure exactly how to do that.  I figured it out though.  It was wonderful not having to run anything or run at all.  Just sit and watch things blow up, making pretty sparkly colors in the sky.  The paper lanterns and the balloons were awesome too.  The laziness got so bad that during the fireworks I stopped clapping and started using my singular yelling talent.  Instead of clapping I yelled, “I’m clapping with my mouth.” No I wasn’t drunk, didn’t even have a single beer that night, just had fun.  So thank you Brenda, for helping me remember that being lazy once in a while is a lot of fun!

Tasty Tidbit #2:  I spell Hell: D-M-V

            Oh yes ma’am.  Today I got to experience that most necessary and soul crushing experience called the DMV.  I managed to elude the establishment for a couple of years, but with my license expiring the day I am supposed to be leaving on my trip and that I’ve moved and now live in another state I decided that avoidance was no longer an option.  I had heard rumors about this DMV, be prepared to rot in a chair while waiting.  In Wisconsin they didn’t have chairs so I thought I was prepared.  I brought every kind of paper that I thought I would need; my husband’s orders, our lease agreement, three bills, my social security card, my birth certificate, a current LES from the hubby, and a blood sample.  When I arrived and after I had stood in line for the standard minimum state required length of time, I made it to the counter where the nice lady there informed me that I was missing a piece of paperwork, and that they required a urine sample, not blood.  The piece of paper, my marriage certificate.  So like a good little girl I drive back home, locate my marriage certificate, and drive back.  More waiting.  I get my number, great B250.  The number on the screen was B240, wow only ten numbers between me and freedom, this should be a friggin’ breeze.  Not.  The first hour we got all the way up to B242.  If you think I’m kidding, you’ve never been to a DMV.  By this time my urine sample was cold and my eyes were starting to twitch.  It took another fifty-five minutes to get me to the counter.  Five minutes later I was released back into the wild with an ugly picture and the strangest sense that someone had just sucked two hours of my life out of my body.  I think they keep it in a barrel in the back room.  Thank God I have three years before I have to go back.  I made it all the way to the car before I realized they never asked for the urine sample. 

Back to Pennsylvania

            Doesn’t sound like a horror story does it?  In truth it’s not.  Uncomfortable, yes.  Grating, yes.  Nerve wracking, definitely.  So why go you ask, because that is where it all begins, at least that’s where my story begins.  I suppose if you want to be technical it’s where most of my family’s story begins, on my mother’s side.  My mother called me a few weeks ago asking me to go with her on an annual trip to the back woods of nowhere.  I don’t have a problem with nowhere; I do have a slight problem with what is waiting for me in nowhere.

            PA as I always call it, even if it’s not technically correct to write it that way, has always been a source of comfort to me.  When my parents were getting divorced I went there for most of a summer, just me and the woods and the wood spiders.  I sat on the rock in the middle of the creek and watched the sunlight dance.  A couple of years ago I needed to get away from everything, even my precious animals, I went to PA.  I spent two weeks recharging my batteries.  I sat in the middle of a gravel drive and meditated.  I wrote an entire notebook of ideas and journal entries that I’m still sorting through.  My mother and I like to play a little game where we compete to see who gets my grandmother to say their full name the most; oddly enough I don’t always win that one.  For years going to PA with my mother was a blessing, a chance to get away, time for the two of us to just be together.  As things do, PA changed and I’m not sure why.

            Maybe it was just time for me to grow up and stop seeing PA as the magical getaway, but I don’t believe that, not really.  It wasn’t just that my grandmother is so outspoken about her religion, she’s told me enough times that I’m going to hell to make me laugh, though out of respect I don’t, usually.  I blamed it on the religious element at first.  I was tired of hearing her rhetoric, tired of hearing how everyone in the world was going to hell but a handful, her handful.  I have no problem with people having different ideas or beliefs than me; I just don’t need them rammed down my throat.  But it’s not the religion.  That’s who my grandmother is, period.  Accept, move on.

            There’s also the head biting, meaning she has this habit of being my sweet old grandmother who yells, can you hear me now from the car window at the Verizon van, to someone who tries to eat the face off somebody because they ask how my uncle in the hospital is doing, it’s a weird transition.  Sometimes she forgets things.  She forgets to turn the stove on, or off.  She forgets that she just told us the same thing three times and tells us again.  She forgets that she is seventy-two and that she has two knee replacements and at least one hip replacement possibly two.  She forgets and she falls and she gets up and she falls. 

            She also pauses.  As we are walking to the car, she’ll just dead stop.  She doesn’t walk very fast so it’s not abrupt, but it can be a little startling if you are walking behind her not paying attention.  When my grandmother stops she always looks around.  Not real fast like you are trying to cross an intersection, but slowly, taking everything in.  Then she’ll point to something in the garden, or to some tree next to the fence.  She’ll talk about the color, how much rain there’s been, how the sun is affecting the bean crop, where the birds are nesting this year.  Always some detail.  Small, insignificant.  When in a hurry these pauses seem to take forever, until you begin to appreciate them.  My grandmother can tell you the history of the trees in her yard and in the surrounding forest.  She can tell you about each stump, and when each flower will bloom.  My grandmother is amazing.  Yet she makes me uncomfortable.

I remember the first time I felt the need to leave PA, the first time it no longer felt like a safe haven.  The first time that my sanctuary dream was shattered.  My grandmother was recovering from a hip replacement surgery.  The second one, I think.  My mother was helping her in my grandmother’s bedroom and I was called in to help.  There on the bed was my grandmother, a strong powerful woman that you just don’t screw with because you will lose.  She was laying there, my mother supporting her.  My mother was trying to help her pull an adult diaper on.  My mother asked me to help support my grandmother while she worked the diaper up.  After we got that on we put my grandmothers socks on, I put on the right one.  The next time we came to visit, she fell the day before we got there breaking a couple of ribs.  She had been bending over pulling a weed out of the rose bed and down she went.  We didn’t play our game as much that year, laughing hurt her too much.  The last time we went, she was different in a way I can’t describe.  There was a meanness in her.  Maybe it was always there and I didn’t notice it before, I don’t know.  And she kept forgetting.  That worried me more than the mean streak.  My grandmother is changing.  My grandmother is getting old.

Maybe that’s an obvious statement, maybe not so much.  The powerful woman I knew as a child and even as an adult has somehow shrunk, become smaller.  It reminds me of one of her flowers that blooms and then begins to wilt.  My grandmother is wilting and it hurts for me to see it happen.  I realize we all wilt, if we make it that far.  Still it bothers me.  Maybe that’s why I don’t want to go to PA, maybe that’s why I don’t want to wander in the woods anymore.  I want to hold out my hand so she can steady herself as she moves up and down the single step in their home.  I want her to stand straight and tall again.  I don’t want to see the spark slip away.  I don’t want to say goodbye.  I realize I’ll have to, eventually.  If I go to Pennsylvania I have to face it, if I stay home I can live in my memories.  So tomorrow I’ll pack my bags and Saturday I’ll head back to my sanctuary and learn what life has to teach me.

Montage

Favorite Quotes of the Week:

Quote #1:  Welcome to the Cow Planet.

Quote #2:  Can we make the Kool-Aid grape?

Quote #3:  I like a good swelling.

Tasty Tidbit #1:  Welcome

            I thought I would take a moment to welcome baby Cecelia Marie to the world!  Beautiful little Cece joined us on this adventure June 27^th.  We love you!!

Tasty Tidbit #2: 2:34am

            It’s a little early for me, but in a way this is a good thing.  I had been debating on when to write ‘Ritas today.  Tonight is the gratitude ceremony for our shop, so things will be running late and with cleaning going on and potluck cooking I didn’t see when I was going to fit this in.  I guess works.  I just hope I can get back to sleep.

Tasty Tidbit #3: Understanding

            I meant to write this tidbit last week during my tidbit extravaganza, but I forgot.  My bad.  But we’re here now so it’s all good.  Over the past few months I have been advised by several people, Mardi included to reconnect with my father.  I had connected with him last year around my birthday, but things went south rather quickly culminating in me basically telling him to piss off.  It’s not the way that I like to do things, I was just mad as hell.  Thirty whatever years of pissosity just poured out of me into an email.  During the expo and before it, I was started getting the message that I needed to patch this relationship up.  Not one to ignore a message, though I did put this one off for a while, I swallowed my pride and wrote an apology letter to my father.  I was surprised how quickly he got back to me and that he was still interested in talking with me.  We have exchanged a couple of emails now and he even sent me a birthday card, something I haven’t seen in I couldn’t tell you how many years.  Then Father’s Day showed up.  I’m not used to celebrating Father’s Day for a few reasons so it kind of snuck up on me.  In fact it was about halfway through the day when I realized what day it was.  Of course, I thought about my dad.  Emotions mixed and I found myself torn.  Though I appreciate that we have been able to say what we needed to say to move toward healing, I honestly don’t feel a relationship coming on.  In other words, though we have reached a point of understanding, I don’t see it going beyond that.  I had toyed with the idea of going up to Wisconsin to visit him.  I had gone as far as telling him that I might do so, but that I wasn’t sure of my plans.  Sometimes things just are what they are.  On Father’s Day the same thought kept rolling through my mind, you have to be and act like a father to qualify for Father’s Day, at least in my perspective of the world and that wasn’t what I felt. I debated, writing an email saying Happy Father’s Day or don’t.  The answer ended up being don’t for me.  I don’t see us actually having a father/daughter relationship, more a relationship of understanding between two adults and that’s okay.  I never thought it would be, I thought that if I didn’t have a real relationship with my father that I would have a hole in my heart, that somehow I was not loveable enough.  Instead I have found that I am loveable, that there is no hole (the one that had been there was simply created out of my expectations), and that it’s okay to accept that my father and I are never going to have anything more than understanding.  I believe in this case, understanding is enough.

Montage

            I had no intentions of writing about the shop this week.  I tried to write four different topics before finally giving in and writing this one.  Tonight is the gratitude ceremony for our little shop, Celestial Esscents.  The cleaning is finished, the boxes are gone, and what we have left is what we had when we began, nothing. 

            I first saw the stain glass window sticker from the technical college next door.  I was in the parking lot with my mother who had just signed up for classes.  The stain glass intrigued me.  What sort of shop had stain glass?  I was pulled, like so many others, like a moth to the flame.  I decided to check it out.  Leaving my mother at the car I walked around the low chain link fence.  The yard was green, the little house was white.  I wasn’t sure if I should knock or just go in, so I choose to just go in and ask forgiveness later if necessary. 

            As I walked through the door I took a deep breath.  The most wonderful smell hung in the air. A mixture of candles, incense, essential oils, and magic.  My kind of place to be sure.  The woman who would be my boss for the next four years greeted me at the door and then continued her conversation with another woman.  She was talking about some psychic, a young man.  I was pretty sure I knew who she was talking about but some verification was needed.  She told me that I was correct; Frank was doing readings out of the shop here.  The timing was perfect; my birthday was just around the corner.  Before I left I booked myself a reading and an energy session.  I also made a daring move; at least it was daring for me back then.  I told the woman that if she ever needed a volunteer I was ready and able to help.  She regarded me for a moment and then asked for my name and number.  I was slightly amused since she had just written all of that down, but that as I soon learned was Peggy’s way.

            As my reading day approached I grew impatient for a call back from Peggy.  I wanted to work in that shop.  It had always been a dream of mine to work in a metaphysical shop, now I had a chance, I didn’t want it to slip away.  I should have known better.  Peggy did call and I did end up working my dream job for four very special years. 

            Some of those years were tougher than others.  I was actually away from the shop for just about a year.  Those were difficult times, but I learned so much and grew so much that by the time I was ready to return to the shop I was a different person altogether.  Stronger somehow through my experience.  Though I was sad to be away for so long, looking back I see how important my time away was, and I don’t regret that time or the lessons I took from it. 

            When I returned to the shop after my year of learning, it was like no time had passed at all.  It was like a couple in a relationship that breaks up for two weeks.  You don’t stop counting the time together just because of a misunderstanding.  So I never count my time away, in some ways I believe I was always there, if only in spirit. 

            This past year plus has been yet another series of learning experiences.  We celebrated our bond with the community by hosting the Harvest Blessings Fair.  I look on that fair with great love.  Everyone worked to the point of exhaustion.  We gave our all and then some and I was proud to be a part of it.  The day was bright, but chilled you to the bone.  We had asked for sunshine but forgotten to specify temperature. We attempted hot chocolate, but weren’t fully prepared.  I remember standing on the front porch before the fair started, before the vendors and service providers had set up their tents.  I looked out and I envisioned a fair, and that’s exactly what we got.  We were not only able to do a great day of business and collect lots of memories that included hot dogs and the corn man, but we were also able to collect a van full of food for the local food pantry, right when they were in need.  Divine timing indeed.

            Tonight is the final moment of Celestial Esscents.  True we will probably be back tomorrow to clean up after tonight’s festivities, but after tonight it will truly be done.  A piece of me aches.  It aches at the memories, the pictures that run through my head of good food, good friends and good conversations.  Potlucks and classes, readings, energy work, and facials.  I laugh to think of playing The Game, and I tear up when I think of those days gone.  But new days are coming.  New memories are aching in their own way to be made.  Laughter waits impatiently to be shared.  Life is waiting for us to raise our arms to the sky one last time on the launching pad and let go of what is past its time.  Joy is calling our name.  Tonight as this chapter of my life comes to a close I am both smiling and weeping.  I am truly blessed.  I watch as the door closes and listen intently for the opening of the window. 

Tasty Tidbit Night

Favorite Quotes of the week:

I have not included who these quotes are from simply to protect the not so innocent, but you know who you are.  For the most part people aren’t going to find these funny.  I think they’re hilarious. 

Quote #1:  I don’t watch porn, I live porn.

Quote #2:  I need that.

Tasty Bit Night

Tonight I decided to do this a little different.  I found myself with a pile of little tales to tell, but no meaty center.  I have decided to accept that and make tonight a Tasty Tidbit Night.  We’ll return to our regularly scheduled program next week...probably.  J

Tasty Tidbit #1: New Glasses

            I’m starting to think I might need new glasses.  I don’t use my glasses very often, just when I take my contacts out at night, and briefly before I put my contacts back in, in the morning.  My glasses are old, as in high school old.  I don’t believe I have ever had the lens changed out, which means they are somewhere in the -5 range while I currently wear something like a -6.5.  In the world of sight, that -1.5ish makes a huge difference as demonstrated in this tidbit.  Early this week I started out my morning as usual.  Put the glasses on, feed the fish, etc.  When I finished feeding the fish I noticed something lying at the foot of my bed.  It looked like a nut.  I picked it up and stood staring at it trying to figure out how a nut had gotten into my bedroom.  My best guess was that I hadn’t latched the pantry door and the cats had pulled the nut out and played with it.  I keep a couple of bags of uncracked nuts in there, so it wasn’t impossible.  It’s early and still fairly dark in the bedroom and I have to hold this nut pretty close to my face trying to identify just what kind of nut it is.  Raise your hand if you saw this one coming.  You’re right.  It wasn’t a nut, it was a dog turd.  My eye appointment is in two weeks.

Tasty Tidbit #2: The Art of Lateness

            Time drives me nuts.  Being late takes me to a whole new level.  When I’m running late my breathing accelerates, my heart starts pounding, I’m calling in angels to hide my car from lurking police cars, and in general I become a mess.  I’m not sure if I think the people waiting for me are going to hate me because I’m running late or what my problem is, but I can’t handle being late.  Some of my friends however do not have this issue; they have learned what I call the Art of Lateness.  Each one of my friends handles their lateness art in a different way.  One of my friends is always late, I mean always.  Her and her family actually have their own personal time zone, which is absolutely cool.  She figures that her friends know her; this is who she is and if you don’t like it, sucks to be you.  One of my other friends has a similar attitude.  She isn’t late that often but when she is there is always a good reason, plus she doesn’t care if you don’t like it, which I love.  My other friend can’t stand being late, but she is, often.  It flusters her pretty bad too.  She is becoming a master in the craft of Lateness.  Her attitude lately is more relaxed in a shrug your shoulders it is what it is kind of way.  It’s fascinating to me how my different friends handle lateness.  I used to think that people that were late were just lazy, but I don’t think that’s it.  There really is something to be said for divine timing.  While I’m rushing and pushing myself to the point of psycho crazy trying to be on time, they have more relaxed attitudes, more acceptance of how things are.  I love that and I respect it. Someday I hope to be a master of Lateness as well, or at least be okay with being late once in a while. 

Tasty Tidbit #3:  I Didn’t Write This For You (I’m Not Sure I Wrote It For Me)

            Ah blog night.  It’s the one night of the week that I sit down in my space and really let the writer in me out of her cage.  It’s a small cage and damp too.  I shut the door to my room and light a bunch of candles.  Fire up the incense and disappear into the keyboard.  That’s exactly how my room looks tonight.  My incense, a wonderful Japanese blend has already burned out, but the scent will linger for hours.  I have something a little selfish to say and it being the night that my writer is released well here it is, I’m not writing this for you.  What you didn’t guess that was coming from the title?  And here’s the other brainstorm, I’m not sure I’m writing this for me.  So why write it?  To write.  I know I have beat this drum before and I hate to beat a dead horse to death (hehehehe), but after a comment I received last week on my blog I decided that this statement needed to be reiterated.  My only purpose in writing, besides sharing, is simply to write, the practice of writing.  In a way that seems harsh to me.  I don’t like being harsh.  But it is the truth.  I am not trying to be a spiritual guru, or an expert of any sort.  I am just a woman sharing.  If you choose to read, you have my thanks.  If you don’t, well that doesn’t really matter now does it.  This is my practice ground. My baby steps toward greater things.  Each step I take, each blog I write moves me forward.  My blog is also deeply personal.  Just because something might seem like just an interesting story on the surface does not mean it doesn’t have a much deeper and very personal meaning for me.  I often describe it as me standing on the cliffs edge.  This is my space of vulnerability.  That means I must maintain healthy boundaries.  I am making the choice to share, to stand on the cliffs edge, so I make the choice to open myself up to who knows what kind of comments.  Still I felt it was important to remind everyone, myself included that this blog is for the practice of creation and however egotistical it might sound, the title remains the truth.

Tasty Tidbit #4:  Me versus Me

            I have a conundrum.  It seems there is a something of a war going on inside of me.  The New Me vs. the Old Me.  In a way which is hard to wrap my brain around neither me is me, I’m just me.  This is going to get confusing but try to stick with me.  Setting that brain wracker aside, I still have the problem of me vs. me.  The New Me is the stronger, healthier me.  This is the me that enjoys eating good foods, getting plenty of rest and exercise, and is generally a more balanced and healthier person.  The New Me is also ready for new adventures, ready to take on new things, to see what the world has in store for me.  The Old Me is just that, the me that hangs on to the old habits, the old job, the old and comfortable things.  The things that I have been ready to let go of, but unable to do so, because the Old Me was hanging on too tightly.  To be honest I’m concerned that the Old Me might win this little battle.  I have made more poor food choices in the last two weeks than I have in the last six months.  My schedule has been rocked sufficiently out of balance, and it seems like Old Me is doing everything she can to hold onto her old worn out identity.  New Me is trying, but it looks like an uphill battle.  Falling back into old habits is easy and comfortable.  I slid into a couple of them without realizing it until a week had gone by.  Then two past and things got even more comfortable.  Old Me gets me to ignore my meditation time by having me play pointless phone games.  Instead of getting a good night’s sleep, Old Me invites me to watch a movie or stay up late doing something else so that I don’t get enough rest.  Exercise? Eating healthy?  Not so much.  When I think about not eating something Old Me jumps in and says but if you do that cleanse again you’ll never eat that whatever it is again.  New Me does her best to remind me how good I felt when I was exercising, how much I enjoyed the new foods I was eating.  New Me has her work cut out for her.    Thankfully I have friends to help me out, even when they don’t know they are helping.  Twice this week I was having fat days and on both days I had people comment on how nice I looked and the weight I have lost.  Those things help New Me out.  I know I have to let the Old Me go.  I know it’s for the best.  I try to be gentle with her, talk to her, and tell her that she isn’t being annihilated, just changing.  I’m hoping I can talk some sense into her before she goes completely off the deep end.  Hmm, might be too late, lol. 

Those Things Unsaid

Tasty Tidbit #1: Parking Lot Talk

            I didn’t think I would have a tasty bit tonight, but like many of my bits they tend to come last minute.  Tonight I enjoyed a conversation with three wonderful friends.  We decided to make it a true ‘Ritas and Rants night, choosing our respective teams of pink vs. green.  Pink won! What I love about ‘Ritas nights is not just the conversation that happens during dinner, but the conversations that happen afterward in the parking lot.  Some of the best conversations I have ever had have been in parking lots.  There’s something about having a great evening that always makes me want to linger, to make it last just a little longer.  Tonight, by virtue of having a good friend to listen I was able to talk out some things that have been weighing on my mind.  Every once in a while I thought, it’s getting late and I have a blog to write, but I never got anxious about it as I sometimes might.  I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation and it gave me a lot to think about.  With the closing of the shop I fear losing my friends and my parking lot conversations.  I know it’s an irrational fear.  Just because one part of our connection is changing doesn’t mean that we will lose the connection to each other.  I am grateful for all of my parking lot conversations and pray for many more to come. 

Those Things Unsaid

            One thing that I brought up in our ‘Ritas conversation tonight was about my trip overseas.  Last October/November I took a two week cruise that began in Venice, Italy.  Well, that’s just where I got on the boat anyway.  For the first time in my life I fly overseas, visited several countries where I didn’t speak the language, and I did it by myself.  It’s taken me a long time to begin to talk about my experiences overseas.  As usual there are a number of reasons for this, the foremost being that I didn’t want to sound like a bragging, egotistical maniac when I was talking about it.  I didn’t want it to sound like I got to go do this and that, and you didn’t.  What I truly felt I was doing on my cruise was gathering information to share with people back home who might not have the chance to experience a trip like this one. 

            My trip started as a longing.  I wanted to travel.  I was ready to roll out of Clarksville but I wasn’t sure which direction I was going to go.  I kept thinking about the ocean.  I wanted to be floating in the middle of the ocean.  Once this idea formed in my mind, it was about a week and I got a travel catalog in the mail.  The first cruise listed was a transatlantic cruise.  Two weeks traveling with five glorious days floating through the Atlantic just like I wanted.  I called the travel agency to make the arrangements, but things did not flow so well.  As I was a single traveler, there were of course extra fees and the man on the phone told me that he only had F deck accommodations left, and only one room at that.  There was a lot of pressure from him and I wasn’t comfortable making the commitment.  I wanted a mini-suite, I had seen one in the catalog, and F deck was basically the bottom of the ship.  I told him I would have to think about it, which didn’t make him happy, and I hung up.

            I felt a lot of disappointment.  Here was the cruise of my dreams in front of me, and I couldn’t get what I wanted.  Should I take the smaller room and be grateful that I got to go to Europe at all?  I meditated on it, and it occurred to me that this was a travel company and they probably only purchased a certain number of rooms.  I checked online and sure enough I found the same cruise for a cheaper price, got the mini-suite, and $250 in cruise credit.  It snapped right into place, and I was on my way.

            During the weeks leading up to my cruise I tried to convince all of my friends to come with me.  I had been confident when making my reservations, but now I was second guessing myself.  Going to foreign countries sounded exciting, but it was also a little frightening to think of going by myself.  All of my friends had prior commitments or couldn’t go for one reason or the other.  I found myself considering cancelling the trip altogether.  Go to Italy myself, was I nuts?  I questioned my sanity more than once.  In a flash, it was time to go and there was no turning back.  Interestingly enough I wasn’t really concerned about landing in Venice, I was more concerned about flying into and out of JFK airport.  Not because of terrorists, but because I heard the airport was a nightmare.

            I did have some brief troubles in New York, but a very kind New York native took pity on my at the baggage rack and assisted me in finding my way.  New York was the most nerve wracking portion of the trip.  I ended up walking up hill, going in the wrong entrance, and then did the dumbest thing any traveler could do, I gave my passport to someone.  The airport people were checking people in through kiosks and one asked me for my passport.  Like an ass I handed it over.  It wasn’t until he turned the corner almost out of eyesight that I realized my tremendous error and panicked.  Thankfully the angels were watching out for my stupid ass, and the man returned with my passport almost immediately.  My passport had been amended when I was married so you can’t put it through a kiosk, the names never match.  I learned a valuable lesson; thankfully it was not a costly one.

            After a long stay in the lovely JFK airport I was finally on my way to Italy.  I stayed awake the entire flight.  It wasn’t too hard being crammed into the plane like a sardine and the guy next to me falling asleep on my shoulder. 

            Italy was exactly how I thought it would be.  Slightly sleep deprived we walked as a herd into customs.  Customs turned out to be one huge room with two lines.  One for Europeans and one for everyone else.  There were no lines, and the Italian guys didn’t seem to be bothered that there were over two hundred people in no kind of line and more people pouring down the single escalator.  The two guards laughed to each other, speaking Italian.  I loved every damn minute of it.  I couldn’t stop smiling.  I’m pretty sure I was pissing off people by smiling, but I didn’t care.  I managed to get through the line pretty quick, and my luggage also appeared with equal speed.  I managed to get on the second bus going to the dock, left my luggage with more Italians, and wandered in the general direction everyone else was wandering hoping that I would find where I needed to check in for the ship. 

            Turns out I wandered correctly.  I was starting to feel a little more than a little sleep deprived.  It took two hours more to get me checked into and finally onto the Norwegian Gem.  As I waited for my final check in, I couldn’t decide between a shower and passing out.  I didn’t get to do either.  Once on board, there was a drill, then dinner.  I thought I would be too tired to eat but I was wrong.  I wandered up to one of the buffets on one of the upper decks.  We were just pulling out of port and  as I was collecting my plate I watched Venice begin to slide by.  I was alone, and feeling lonely.  I walked through the tables looking for a place near the windows to eat and take pictures.  I stopped at a table with a woman who looked to be in her mid to late fifties.  I asked her if I could sit and eat with her.  Later it would occur to me that I had gotten incredibly lucky that this person was not only kind, but spoke English.  She said yes and a friendship bloomed.  By the next day I had met her friend and travel companion.  I was no longer alone.

            Except for the excursions at the different ports, which included two ports in Spain, one in Portugal and one at the unforgettable Azores, I spent the majority of my time with these two kind ladies.  One of which turned out to be a psychic.  I had to laugh.  Out of the over 2000 people onboard of course I would find the psychic.  Though our friendship didn’t last long after the cruise was over, it’s like my friend Rona says, people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  I truly believe we were brought together on that cruise to share our experiences with one another.  I was truly grateful to have friends to share it with.

            I could spend all night describing the places I went and the things that I saw, but that’s for another blog.  Tonight it just felt important to write the beginning.  After all that’s a good place to start.  It took me a long time to get to the point where I could begin to get past my feelings of guilt and begin to talk about my experiences.  I have six boxes of photos that I have only ever shared with my husband.  It’s time to open up those boxes and the journal that I kept during that amazing trip.  It’s time for those things that were unsaid to find the words and be shared.

32

Tasty Tidbit #1:  The End

            That’s where we are at right now folks, the end.  Not the end of this blog, but the end of something near and dear to my heart.  The shop I work at is closing.  Emotions fluctuate daily, hourly really.  On one hand there is sadness.  Working at C.E. is the longest job I’ve ever stuck with.  Usually I stay for awhile, then get bored and move on.  C.E. gave me a sense of dedication I’ve never experienced before.  I will miss the community we have built over the last four years; well I’ll miss most of the peopleJ.  We have been a community of students and teachers, changing and exchanging roles as the situation called for it.  We created a place where people felt it was okay be to themselves, it’s a place of healing and friendship.  Teresa has always said that even though she was the owner, she always felt like this was everyone’s shop.  Setting the sadness aside there is also excitement.  I love new things and I am thrilled to find out what is waiting for me out in the big wide world.  My focus for the past four years has been fulfilling the dream of working at a metaphysical shop.  Now I have new dreams, new goals, and the opportunity to fulfill them all.  As much as I love C.E. I can let it go knowing that the Universe has new adventures in store for me, and for everyone connected with the shop.  I have been so blessed with the lessons I have learned, the people I have met, and the love that I have experienced.  So there is sadness, and there is excitement.  There is release, but never regret.     So I guess what I am trying to say is, We’re Out Bitches!! 

Tasty Tidbit #2: Two Pigs, No Blanket

            As I’ll be discussing shortly, my birthday came around just yesterday.  Pretty damn cool if you ask me.  My husband decided to go all out this year and get me something that I have wanted for a long time. I am now the proud mommy of two guinea pigs.  I’ve got an albino with pink eyes, and a black and white one that is afraid of everything.  I was actually afraid of the albino one at first, though I’m getting over it now.  I was once bit by an albino ferret, but my albino piggy is super curious and loves to eat hay from my hand.  We tucked them into a quiet corner to get acclimated to their new home and I get to bring them slivers of carrot sticks twice a day.  They were making a guinea pig purring noise this morning which made my heart sing.  I decided to name the black and white one Sneaker, since I have to coax him out of his house with a carrot sliver and then he just runs away with it back inside.  I considered several different names for the white one. I really wanted to name him flap-jack, don’t ask me why I don’t know. I refused to name him snowflake, or powderpuff, or anything dumb like that, so my husband and I decided to name him the obvious.  We named him, Cracker. 

32

            Birthdays are weird.  They are a lot like New Year’s Eve to me.  One day you wake up and you are 31, the next day you wake up 32.  How does that happen exactly?  I am usually pretty low key on my birthday, in fact there was a time when I wouldn’t tell anyone it was my birthday and just let it pass by quietly.  Not because I had a problem with growing older, I just didn’t want all that attention.  To me, drawing attention to myself because it was my birthday put a huge spotlight on me and I wasn’t interested in drawing that kind of attention to myself.  Some of that was shyness; some of it was lack of self-love.  Thankfully I have gotten over both those, for the most part. 

            Today is a new day, the second day of being 32.  Nothing much has changed; I am still the same person I was yesterday.  I don’t even feel a year older.  There has been so much change in my life these past twelve months that it would be hard for me to pick one thing that has stood out most for me.  I have changed in dramatic ways over the last twelve months, moved three times, overhauled my eating habits, learned new things about myself (i.e. I love public speaking), and a plethora of other things.  I have lost friends and gained new ones.  I have found my voice, and learned how to use it.  I listened to my friends and started writing.  Thirty-one was turbulent, exciting, saddening, and just about every other emotion.  I look back and I am amazed at what happen in that short amount of time.  I flew overseas for the first time in my life; I took a transatlantic cruise, and started a blog. 

            My birthdays are still pretty low key, though everyone knows it’s my birthday these days.  I love the closeness of my friends and family.  Maybe that’s a sign that I’m getting old, lol.  My friends all gave me happy birthday messages on my Facebook, which gives me endless amounts of warm fuzzies.  Then I was gifted with a beautiful and extremely tasty lemon cake, not to mention some wonderful gifts.  I felt blessed and loved.  I feel that way a lot. 

            Thirty-two is only just beginning to bud.  I feel like I just planted a bunch of seeds in a garden.  I don’t know what the seeds will become, but I am watching as the buds begin to push to the surface.  I am eager to see what will grow in my garden this year, what adventures I will take, what new parts of me I will discover.  I know that each seed has to grow and blossom in its own time, and I am definitely feeling somewhat impatient. I want to see now, but I know I have to wait.  Considering the changes at the shop I am a little concerned about what 32 might want to teach me.  Will it be all about endings?  I doubt that very much.  However I am willing to learn whatever 32 has to offer.  I am sure I will have bright shiny moments and I am sure that the clouds might threaten from time to time, but nothing is permanent. Not even 32.

Break Time

Tasty Tidbit #1:  For My Husband

            Wanna have sex?

Tasty Tidbit #2:  Are My Shorts Too Short Or Is My Underwear Too Long?

            Let me tell you something folks.  If you are wearing shorts, or even pants for that matter and you bend over and I (or any other innocent bystander) can see a solid three inches of your hot pink granny panty underwear, you need to adjust your wardrobe.  And by the way, Hot Pink thanks for that, excuse me while I gag. 

Break Time

            Yeah, whatever I planned to write about tonight you can forget it. Had a feeling that was going to happen.  Actually, I am sitting here typing with no real idea where I am going with this blog tonight.  Okay, so that’s not completely true.  I was whining a bit to my other half that I didn’t have anything to blog about tonight, but its Thursday which means I better come up with something.  Ben asked me who I was writing for.  I said myself, but I always have my peeps in mind as well.  Tonight I feel like the well of creativity and spiritual guruness is dry.  I want to say things that are inspiring, creative, and yes, spiritual.  The problem is I’m not really feeling any of those things at the moment.  Why?  I’m tired.  I need a break.

            I like to do things in my own time, but time seems to have a mind of its own lately.  The days are all blurring together into one continuous stream of motion.  A crushing, whitewater rapids like rushing motion.  I rush here, I rush there, I’m running until I can’t remember that it’s Thursday and I have a blog to write.  I can hear quiet calling my name but I just don’t have the time to stop and be.  Even weekends filled with fun are still filled.  This morning as I meditated I fell asleep, which isn’t something that happens.  I might wander off into the realm of thoughts, but I can’t remember ever falling asleep before.  Though I love everything that I am doing in my life, I’m ready for some down time.  I’m just not sure when that is going to happen.  When I sat down to try and look at a calendar to see when I could take a break, I was slightly distracted by the ten other things I was trying to do.  Thursday came so fast this week that when my Google calendar emailed me to remind me that ‘Ritas needed to be ready, I went into the settings of my calendar because I was sure that it couldn’t be Thursday already.  But of course, it is. 

            I have a tarot card deck with dragons on it.  Random, I know.  One of my favorite cards in the deck is the Hermit card.  The dragon is perched on a cliff edge, glasses on is nose (snout?), reading a book.  Underneath him is a whole stack of books just waiting to be cracked open.  When I think of rest, when I think of taking a break, I see that card pop into my head.  On my kitchen table there is a stack of books waiting for me and I haven’t had time to do anything but shuffle them around.  What I really want to do is sit down in my comfy chair and read.  A nap would be nice too.  I just can’t seem to find the time.

            Everything, of course, boils down to organization and time management.  When people tell you shit you already know it just makes you want to smack them, doesn’t it?  Like when your life blows up in your face and people say “oh you have to stay positive,” or even better “everything happens for a reason.”  That might be true, but at this moment I sure as hell don’t want to hear it.  I know that I need to work on my time management, let me pencil that in.  Thankfully, my life has not blown up, just become very busy.  The fact that I enjoy what I do helps tremendously, but it doesn’t change the fact that I know what I need.  I keep thinking over and over to myself, I just want a week to sleep, sit quietly, and read.  So how do I get that?  How do you pull yourself out of the rapids?  I have to be honest and say I’m not exactly sure.  I’m positive that I will get the rest I need.  I know that when I do the well of creativity will refill and I will have lots of fun and interesting things to share with everyone.  For the moment though, I think I am going to do the best thing I can for everyone.  I’m going to go to bed early.  This might not be the most exciting blog I’ve ever written, but it’s the truth and I like that.  Goodnight all, see you next week.