I listen to the CD at work a lot. The lyric (or close to it) "...from a day when sword was mightier than pen...." harkens to a time before lawyers, and deeds, and land grants determining who owned the earth. My lands would stretch as far as I could defend myself and give protection and provision to those who would help me do so. An idea like that has a strength of responsibility that is almost unheard of on both sides of that fence these days. When you are lucky enough to find a few whom you can protect and provision, whether in body or in soul, you have allies. Even better if they are friends as well.
That piece of a line sounds a bit louder in my headphones. It triggers a deeper meaning I don't recall.
Excelsior-
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Blue Moon- feminine voice
I wanted to be poetic and beautifully deep while thinking about a Blue Moon, but honestly all that comes to mind is beer. I love beer. I don’t love getting drunk. I love the taste, the mouth feel, the patient creativity of brewing your own. When I am enjoying the flavor, the dulling drunk is annoying, limiting the palate.
The first time I drank beer, I spit it out. I think it was a Miller product. The next time was Guinness and I was redeemed. The two experiences could not be further apart. I started home brewing in 1993 while living in Florida. There were 5 of us sharing the house, which required plenty of beer. With a full crew, we had one batch blowing off, one in second fermentation, one aging, and one to drink. I lost the necessity of lots of bubbles. I appreciated what a good head was and how the top of the glass can be different than the bottom.
After a several year stop in production, I started to experiment again. I wanted to make a historical beer. Me being me, I had to choose the most difficult ones-the ones with no surviving recipes- Rye Beer, and Ebulum. With the German Purity Laws, brewing guilds had to destroy their secret recipes. Ebulum – an elderberry oatmeal beer- was never really written down. Well, they sort of were. They were like my recipes: a list of ingredients with no quantity or instructions of any kind. These are the best recipes. I like to play with my food. And drink-
I called the rye Judas Tears. The beverage is against the law. It is perceived as yuck by those who hear what it is, but when cajoled into trying it, those who hate beer are surprised to be fond of it.
The ebulum is called Heather and Hay- two Scottish items for an old Scottish beer. There's wheat and elderberries and a list of spices that it makes no sense that they would work together, but there you are- a bunch of individual elements that can stand on their own or combine unexpectedly into something good.
After 14 years of growing, my grape vines burst and overflow and I am encouraged to a more patient level creativity in wine making. I use my grapes, and honey and ciders to make combinations I've never heard of. My freezer is full of 15ish gallons of grapes waiting for the prefect day to get smooshed. It is the only time I am capable of patience- when I am brewing and vinting or waiting until the perfect day to do either. I'm willing to wait for a Blue Moon until it's ready.
The first time I drank beer, I spit it out. I think it was a Miller product. The next time was Guinness and I was redeemed. The two experiences could not be further apart. I started home brewing in 1993 while living in Florida. There were 5 of us sharing the house, which required plenty of beer. With a full crew, we had one batch blowing off, one in second fermentation, one aging, and one to drink. I lost the necessity of lots of bubbles. I appreciated what a good head was and how the top of the glass can be different than the bottom.
After a several year stop in production, I started to experiment again. I wanted to make a historical beer. Me being me, I had to choose the most difficult ones-the ones with no surviving recipes- Rye Beer, and Ebulum. With the German Purity Laws, brewing guilds had to destroy their secret recipes. Ebulum – an elderberry oatmeal beer- was never really written down. Well, they sort of were. They were like my recipes: a list of ingredients with no quantity or instructions of any kind. These are the best recipes. I like to play with my food. And drink-
I called the rye Judas Tears. The beverage is against the law. It is perceived as yuck by those who hear what it is, but when cajoled into trying it, those who hate beer are surprised to be fond of it.
The ebulum is called Heather and Hay- two Scottish items for an old Scottish beer. There's wheat and elderberries and a list of spices that it makes no sense that they would work together, but there you are- a bunch of individual elements that can stand on their own or combine unexpectedly into something good.
After 14 years of growing, my grape vines burst and overflow and I am encouraged to a more patient level creativity in wine making. I use my grapes, and honey and ciders to make combinations I've never heard of. My freezer is full of 15ish gallons of grapes waiting for the prefect day to get smooshed. It is the only time I am capable of patience- when I am brewing and vinting or waiting until the perfect day to do either. I'm willing to wait for a Blue Moon until it's ready.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Our Place- feminine voice dare
Had to get outside- snow on the edges of the yard, 40 degrees and dropping, but working in the mail room is not ok today. I don't belong in an office. I belong outside.
I put on my silk long john's, my cold weather under armor and headed out to rake the yard at 5:45 pm. I had started a new garden bed at the beginning of fall, and it needs much more work before spring.
Scratching scrape scratching scrape- heaped the pecan leaves into the garden. The boys will have a new chore of running back and forth a bit everyday to crush them up and speed composting. The soaker hose caught my attention. It kept getting stuck in the tines of the rake. I was getting annoyed by some issues between some friends and even more annoyed that I was dedicating more time to resolving that than tending to my own life. The soaker hose trapped again. And again.
There are two kinds of people, I decided. Those who pray for rain and those who use the talents and skills the creator gave them to over come the drought. It must be very insulting to give possibility only to have it ignored, or worse unnoticed. I know how it has felt at times in my life. I mulled over what my gifts, my talents and skills are. Seems silly to say I have forgotten, but the hard knocks and losses of the year made me forget. There has been unemployment, draining of all savings accounts to live, replacing cars, loosing loved ones- either from moving away or moving beyond. It's strangely difficult to remember.
There is a wonderful children's book called "I Am" by Mac. One every page are stick figures beside words that say things like "I am creative. I sing. I dance. I tell stories. I am creative.... I am strong...I am helpful...." The most important sentiment is "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not."
I was working by the street light that made the snow deep amber. I looked up, sifted through the airplanes and found the First Star.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I am keenly aware of the importance of vocabulary in these things. I had not made my new year's resolutions yet. I do this on the winter solstice. It makes sense to me that the longest night night should be the end of the old year with it's enveloping of light, and the beginning of the new one like an enormous egg with a tiny yolk of daylight that grows to something comparatively enormous. A resolution wish for me and only me- scratching scrape, scratching scrape. Last night I fell asleep thinking about a challenge tourney we were all in in May. When Erika could not decide who she should call out, I asked her "Who was the scariest one up there? Who could she learn the most from when the fight was over?"
My thoughts were like pop corn- soaker hose, drought, star, fight- me.....
I made the scariest wish, biggest leap of faith, the thing I could learn and remember the most of myself from to counter the drought.
"I wish to become everything the Maker has faith in me to be."
I can not longer lie in my later years. It's not that I am bad at it, I simply can't make myself do it. When I can say out loud "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not" then my wish will have come true.
Time for dinner. Arin and Jason are cooking. And I have to write something down so I don't forget it.
I put on my silk long john's, my cold weather under armor and headed out to rake the yard at 5:45 pm. I had started a new garden bed at the beginning of fall, and it needs much more work before spring.
Scratching scrape scratching scrape- heaped the pecan leaves into the garden. The boys will have a new chore of running back and forth a bit everyday to crush them up and speed composting. The soaker hose caught my attention. It kept getting stuck in the tines of the rake. I was getting annoyed by some issues between some friends and even more annoyed that I was dedicating more time to resolving that than tending to my own life. The soaker hose trapped again. And again.
There are two kinds of people, I decided. Those who pray for rain and those who use the talents and skills the creator gave them to over come the drought. It must be very insulting to give possibility only to have it ignored, or worse unnoticed. I know how it has felt at times in my life. I mulled over what my gifts, my talents and skills are. Seems silly to say I have forgotten, but the hard knocks and losses of the year made me forget. There has been unemployment, draining of all savings accounts to live, replacing cars, loosing loved ones- either from moving away or moving beyond. It's strangely difficult to remember.
There is a wonderful children's book called "I Am" by Mac. One every page are stick figures beside words that say things like "I am creative. I sing. I dance. I tell stories. I am creative.... I am strong...I am helpful...." The most important sentiment is "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not."
I was working by the street light that made the snow deep amber. I looked up, sifted through the airplanes and found the First Star.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I am keenly aware of the importance of vocabulary in these things. I had not made my new year's resolutions yet. I do this on the winter solstice. It makes sense to me that the longest night night should be the end of the old year with it's enveloping of light, and the beginning of the new one like an enormous egg with a tiny yolk of daylight that grows to something comparatively enormous. A resolution wish for me and only me- scratching scrape, scratching scrape. Last night I fell asleep thinking about a challenge tourney we were all in in May. When Erika could not decide who she should call out, I asked her "Who was the scariest one up there? Who could she learn the most from when the fight was over?"
My thoughts were like pop corn- soaker hose, drought, star, fight- me.....
I made the scariest wish, biggest leap of faith, the thing I could learn and remember the most of myself from to counter the drought.
"I wish to become everything the Maker has faith in me to be."
I can not longer lie in my later years. It's not that I am bad at it, I simply can't make myself do it. When I can say out loud "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not" then my wish will have come true.
Time for dinner. Arin and Jason are cooking. And I have to write something down so I don't forget it.
Monday, December 13, 2010
3 am again, no 4 am rant
The middle of the night is the only time I feel like I have myself to myself. It is also the worst time to write, or sew and expect to be able to go to work the next day. Well crap.
Sometimes I come home for lunch just to be alone for 15 minutes. Even if the family all backs off and know Mom's in time out, their enerigies are there. My darling love is wondering and reaching out to me with his heart- it is not the same as just being alone to recharge, to find restful peace before starting it all at full bore again. I keep telling myself, because others keep telling me- there is always tomorrow, or next week- and it fills me with rage.
Later is the kind of thinking that has it all ending up being too late in the end. I've spent too much time waiting. I have full faith in all of you to be able to figure it out. Leave me to me. I don't want to go out. I want to stay here, alone. And when I come out in 3 or 4 or 8 or 12 hours, it will have helped and I won't resent being needed, or the being the only one who knows what to do. As much. The thing with moms needed to take time for themselves is something we know in a full "no Shit" capacity. It's everyone else who needs to respect that fact, and give it to us. I don't feel that this need is respected by anyone. Otherwise, they would not tell me to just do it tomorrow, or next week. And if I had that feeling about making dinner......? It's starting to sound like a reasonable idea to pack up the sewing room and let the boys have it for play room. I'm not using it and they could. And it makes me sad that I feel like my need to have my own kind of recreation feels so disrespected that it does sound like such a reasonable idea. I packed it all into the attic before when the boys were all in diapers. It cracked my heart a little each day to see what was such a part of me having to be ignored. It was less painful to put it all out of sight and forget how it felt to feel peaceful creation. There was a bit of release when I did that- like when I mowed over the gardens, or decided to stop clearing the work benches- a relief that I didn't have to be sad about it anymore because it was gone. And I stare at the TV doing nothing and feeling like I don't know anything anymore. Worse part is, I can see the same broken heart behind the eyes of the boys about the things they used to love. No time or soul to play baseball with Patrick, teach Richard to sew, play music, rock climb, draw, paint, build- I don't even know what they like anymore. I don't know any of us anymore it seems. It makes me very sad that this is the only kind of writing I can come up with because of the emotional, mental, and spiritual log jam feels iced over with no signs of spring in sight. Even more so that I have to rant and demand to get respected time alone. That feels dirty- not at all helpful or healing. I don't remember the last time I relaxed- that I was not in full speed ahead mode. I some how think if I get what needs to get done, then I will have time for myself to enjoy the things that being me peace- as long as no one else needs something from me, even if it is just love. I'm tapped out and it's hard work to scrape the inside of that barrel. Me, what I do, my time, does not feel important enough in others minds. I want to run away from home. Or change the locks, albeit temporarily. So this is Purgatory-
There's always next week, I'm told.
Back to bed. Being so worn out will not help my defeated feeling. It only makes it worse. I had a life goal to be a force of change for myself, and not a complainer. That goal is out the window tonight. I do feel better though. Thanks for listening.
Sometimes I come home for lunch just to be alone for 15 minutes. Even if the family all backs off and know Mom's in time out, their enerigies are there. My darling love is wondering and reaching out to me with his heart- it is not the same as just being alone to recharge, to find restful peace before starting it all at full bore again. I keep telling myself, because others keep telling me- there is always tomorrow, or next week- and it fills me with rage.
Later is the kind of thinking that has it all ending up being too late in the end. I've spent too much time waiting. I have full faith in all of you to be able to figure it out. Leave me to me. I don't want to go out. I want to stay here, alone. And when I come out in 3 or 4 or 8 or 12 hours, it will have helped and I won't resent being needed, or the being the only one who knows what to do. As much. The thing with moms needed to take time for themselves is something we know in a full "no Shit" capacity. It's everyone else who needs to respect that fact, and give it to us. I don't feel that this need is respected by anyone. Otherwise, they would not tell me to just do it tomorrow, or next week. And if I had that feeling about making dinner......? It's starting to sound like a reasonable idea to pack up the sewing room and let the boys have it for play room. I'm not using it and they could. And it makes me sad that I feel like my need to have my own kind of recreation feels so disrespected that it does sound like such a reasonable idea. I packed it all into the attic before when the boys were all in diapers. It cracked my heart a little each day to see what was such a part of me having to be ignored. It was less painful to put it all out of sight and forget how it felt to feel peaceful creation. There was a bit of release when I did that- like when I mowed over the gardens, or decided to stop clearing the work benches- a relief that I didn't have to be sad about it anymore because it was gone. And I stare at the TV doing nothing and feeling like I don't know anything anymore. Worse part is, I can see the same broken heart behind the eyes of the boys about the things they used to love. No time or soul to play baseball with Patrick, teach Richard to sew, play music, rock climb, draw, paint, build- I don't even know what they like anymore. I don't know any of us anymore it seems. It makes me very sad that this is the only kind of writing I can come up with because of the emotional, mental, and spiritual log jam feels iced over with no signs of spring in sight. Even more so that I have to rant and demand to get respected time alone. That feels dirty- not at all helpful or healing. I don't remember the last time I relaxed- that I was not in full speed ahead mode. I some how think if I get what needs to get done, then I will have time for myself to enjoy the things that being me peace- as long as no one else needs something from me, even if it is just love. I'm tapped out and it's hard work to scrape the inside of that barrel. Me, what I do, my time, does not feel important enough in others minds. I want to run away from home. Or change the locks, albeit temporarily. So this is Purgatory-
There's always next week, I'm told.
Back to bed. Being so worn out will not help my defeated feeling. It only makes it worse. I had a life goal to be a force of change for myself, and not a complainer. That goal is out the window tonight. I do feel better though. Thanks for listening.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
fire in the sky
Every day on my work breaks, I go for a walk to look at things far away, esp the clouds. They have been very white and remind me of charcoal drawings the way they feather out. They are usually a blank slate to stretched cotton. Every day this week, I have seen the form of a phoenix in the skies.
We hear what we want to hear, but we see what we need to see. Phoenix is fire. Phoenix re starts, redoes, or begins to continue.
Which pile of ashes am I to sweep up and drink the tea of? I am eager, even impatient to know. I can start feeling like I am living my own life again. I was a fulfilling and powerful, grown up feeling when I had it in the past. Fire does not wait well.
We hear what we want to hear, but we see what we need to see. Phoenix is fire. Phoenix re starts, redoes, or begins to continue.
Which pile of ashes am I to sweep up and drink the tea of? I am eager, even impatient to know. I can start feeling like I am living my own life again. I was a fulfilling and powerful, grown up feeling when I had it in the past. Fire does not wait well.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Repetition as a Form of Change- Feminine Voice week 20
After a long respite, I began fencing again. Reading – and understanding- Fiore’s manual has reminded me how seriously I take this martial art. I wanted to start with drill work to build my strength back up again and I am more determined to train it right right from the beginning. I paid attention to what I learned from Dr James and from 41 years of getting to know the quirks of this particular make and model of human being.
Every joint in my right leg is like raw nerve. I had forgotten about my ankle- that I had severely sprained it 3 times, minorly countless others and fractured it. As I lunged, my knee and toe were in perfect align, my stance wider and my pelvis tilted too correct fleet angle. The deeper I lunge, the more my heel rolls under, my ankle not supporting the leg above it. I would still lose my balance and my knee was in grinding pain because I had forgotten about my ankle.
The first few days of physical therapy were exhausting. With every bit of focus I could muster and every muscle on the right side of my body, I slowly did 10 lean drills. I forced my ankle into proper alignment by brute force of will. I wanted to cry with the same screaming as when I injured it falling through the stage years ago. I wanted to be rescued and comforted. Who knew it took so many muscles for a foot and ankle to stay put? I can feel the work all the way up to my hip. My knee brace is too uncomfortable to wear.
And then I did it again the next night. Four days later, I think about foot alignment while walking on my breaks at work. Every step is controlled, precise, and perpetual correction. I do not roll to the outside of my heel while at standing at rest infrequently enough that I have noticed I have changed. Last night, I did 45 lean drills. For the first time in years, I had to stop an exercise because of muscle fatigue instead of knee pain.
I have added neck therapy and once these become habits, wall angels. I might not have to stop fencing after all.
Every joint in my right leg is like raw nerve. I had forgotten about my ankle- that I had severely sprained it 3 times, minorly countless others and fractured it. As I lunged, my knee and toe were in perfect align, my stance wider and my pelvis tilted too correct fleet angle. The deeper I lunge, the more my heel rolls under, my ankle not supporting the leg above it. I would still lose my balance and my knee was in grinding pain because I had forgotten about my ankle.
The first few days of physical therapy were exhausting. With every bit of focus I could muster and every muscle on the right side of my body, I slowly did 10 lean drills. I forced my ankle into proper alignment by brute force of will. I wanted to cry with the same screaming as when I injured it falling through the stage years ago. I wanted to be rescued and comforted. Who knew it took so many muscles for a foot and ankle to stay put? I can feel the work all the way up to my hip. My knee brace is too uncomfortable to wear.
And then I did it again the next night. Four days later, I think about foot alignment while walking on my breaks at work. Every step is controlled, precise, and perpetual correction. I do not roll to the outside of my heel while at standing at rest infrequently enough that I have noticed I have changed. Last night, I did 45 lean drills. For the first time in years, I had to stop an exercise because of muscle fatigue instead of knee pain.
I have added neck therapy and once these become habits, wall angels. I might not have to stop fencing after all.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Is 5am too early for a beer?
It's Thanksgiving and I have been up since 4:45 am sorting out the difference between being thankful, and accepting things as they are. I always get very lonely around the holidays. I left New York state 18 years ago. You'd think I'd let go of the memories of the hills, the people, and what I felt like there. My circular harpies remind me it's never pretty, the mountains are never as tall- you can never go back for these reasons. I have been away from for so long, I do not remember childhood traditions. The boys are with their father as always. I still have not yet formed traditions of my own. At least not other than the cyclical harpy that feeds off the conflict of being thankful for what and who I have and aches for something I am not even sure I am remembering properly. It's a yearly thing. To let go of my days of coming into adulthood and true independence is not something I'm willing to do. I ended up in the deep South with ever intent of moving on in few months- to keep the gypsy life that I was enjoying. One thing lead to another and to quote Jimmy Buffet- "Summers and winters scattered like splinters ad 20 more years slipped away...."
I'll be ok. I will go back to bed after I cry for bit, go to the orphan Thanksgiving that one of my dear friends will host and enjoy myself. Until then, unhelpful as it may be MY tradition is aching longing in private and feeling very alone for an hour or two before a party.
I'll be ok. I will go back to bed after I cry for bit, go to the orphan Thanksgiving that one of my dear friends will host and enjoy myself. Until then, unhelpful as it may be MY tradition is aching longing in private and feeling very alone for an hour or two before a party.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Confidence- week 18 Feminine Voice
the lion within
I have an admittedly hard time knowing the fine line difference between confidence and arrogance. The minute I realize I am describing myself in a congratulatory way, I feel I am that shameful descriptor- Show Off. (remember, no one likes a show off) and my confidence fails, my lion with a thorn in her paw. When I am aware that I feel confident in a skill, I fail. When I am absolutely sure I know what I am talking about, I am wrong. When it doesn't feel like anything out of the ordinary, it's all good. When I think - hey- this was a pretty darn good .....smack!
I do not like it. I am constantly struggling with it. I have been consciously and somewhat unconsciously holding things back and in more and more.
I listen over the cubical walls and I think there is something better- more intelligent- more creative to me and to my friends. I think I must be stuck up to think so. I think about the life I have led and their "35 years of dedicated service" plaques. I keep very quiet and to myself as much as possible. To paraphrase Mr Twain- better to keep your mouth shut and appear a stuck up bitch, then to open it and remove all doubt. And I roar at my sister's memory when she said I was too stuck up and that's why no body likes me. And in the echo I wonder if there is any truth to it.
Where is the line between confidence and arrogance, I wonder? Today I do not know. In a day or two, I will be sure I do. All I am sure of is there is a cyclical quality to my feeling this way about myself. And I don't like not knowing.
I have an admittedly hard time knowing the fine line difference between confidence and arrogance. The minute I realize I am describing myself in a congratulatory way, I feel I am that shameful descriptor- Show Off. (remember, no one likes a show off) and my confidence fails, my lion with a thorn in her paw. When I am aware that I feel confident in a skill, I fail. When I am absolutely sure I know what I am talking about, I am wrong. When it doesn't feel like anything out of the ordinary, it's all good. When I think - hey- this was a pretty darn good .....smack!
I do not like it. I am constantly struggling with it. I have been consciously and somewhat unconsciously holding things back and in more and more.
I listen over the cubical walls and I think there is something better- more intelligent- more creative to me and to my friends. I think I must be stuck up to think so. I think about the life I have led and their "35 years of dedicated service" plaques. I keep very quiet and to myself as much as possible. To paraphrase Mr Twain- better to keep your mouth shut and appear a stuck up bitch, then to open it and remove all doubt. And I roar at my sister's memory when she said I was too stuck up and that's why no body likes me. And in the echo I wonder if there is any truth to it.
Where is the line between confidence and arrogance, I wonder? Today I do not know. In a day or two, I will be sure I do. All I am sure of is there is a cyclical quality to my feeling this way about myself. And I don't like not knowing.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Impotence - femine voice week 17
-inability to preform and accomplish
-too much pressure, which is an unblaming way of saying insecurity and fear
Frozen in fear
Impotence:
frustrating at best in terms of creativity
terrifying at worst in the face of violence when being frozen in fear results in harm.
I have spent many focused weeks on creative writing- poetry- and now this feels foreign. it will take some getting used to to write in full sentences again.
-too much pressure, which is an unblaming way of saying insecurity and fear
Frozen in fear
Impotence:
frustrating at best in terms of creativity
terrifying at worst in the face of violence when being frozen in fear results in harm.
I have spent many focused weeks on creative writing- poetry- and now this feels foreign. it will take some getting used to to write in full sentences again.
Illusions- feminine voice week 16
I'm back in order, and almost on time-
I am disappointed to realize that my own search for truths in life has resulted in the disbelief of illusion. Like a Victorian scientist, I am focused on looking behind the curtain, to not let myself be swept away, or otherwise fooled by a trick of the eyes or hand. I'm finding it terribly unfair to my heart, my spirit of whimsy to not let it be amazed by a street magician's card tricks.
Pray to not lose your innocence- to not lose your ability to just be amazed.
Pray to not need the truth.
I am disappointed to realize that my own search for truths in life has resulted in the disbelief of illusion. Like a Victorian scientist, I am focused on looking behind the curtain, to not let myself be swept away, or otherwise fooled by a trick of the eyes or hand. I'm finding it terribly unfair to my heart, my spirit of whimsy to not let it be amazed by a street magician's card tricks.
Pray to not lose your innocence- to not lose your ability to just be amazed.
Pray to not need the truth.
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