Lotus Walk

Car Protection Spell

2008-11-01T13:30:00.004-06:00

Some dear friends were having issues with their car being vandalized (a number of times) a few months ago. My first instinct was to recommend they make some Witch's Bottles, and bury them on the property where their car is parked.

But I gave it some more thought and decided that, since they are working with something that doesn’t stay in one place, some more portable protection was needed.

Years ago I studied white magick, and learned various tools for protection. I came up with this ritual for them and figured I’d share it, in hopes that it might help others experiencing similar issues.

Padme’s Car Protection Spell

On a moonlit night fill a large wooden or ceramic bowl with water (about 2/3 full). To the water add a handful of sea salt, some bay leaves (or basil), and some black stones like onyx or obsidian. Most lapidary stores will have small polished stones, but if you don't have such a store in your area, try visiting your local craft store to get some onyx, obsidian or jet beads.

Bring the bowl outside and let the moon shine on it for a while. The idea here is to infuse the bowl with the moon's energies.

Before you do anything else, it’s a good idea to “smudge” the vehicle. Most natural food marts will sell sage smudge sticks. Smudging involves moving around the car in a counter-clockwise direction (also called “widdershins”) while slowly waving the smudge stick up and down, aiming the smoke at the car, being careful not to get any embers on it.

Working widdershins is geared toward banishing any negative forces. If you can’t find a smudge stick, use some incense (preferably sage or cedar). Wave the smoke toward the vehicle.

Then, working clockwise around the car, use the moon-infused water to draw protective symbols, like a pentagram (a five pointed star), an octagon (the shape of a stop sign), an X, a circle with a slash through it or whatever you feel moved to draw. Chant things like “May no harm come to this car” “May this car be protected” as you draw each symbol.

When you’re done, take the herbs and the stones out of the water and dry them. Pour the remaining water around the car.

Keep the herbs and stones and put them in a small blue or black pouch (if you’d like, you can draw protective symbols on the pouch like you did on the car). Take a small piece of parchment (or any nice paper) and write the following in red ink:

Oh Goddess (or whatever deity you prefer), gracious day and night
I call to thee to lend me your might
By the power of three
I conjure thee
To protect all that surrounds me
So mote it be
So mote it be
So mote it be*

Fold the paper three times and place in the pouch with the herbs/stones. Hang the pouch from the rear view mirror.

*Chant inspired by gcola’s on this site

Safe travels!

Glad Samhain

2008-10-31T13:34:00.003-06:00

Today is Samhain (usually pronounced SOW-in), the time when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thin, making it an ideal time to commune with those who have passed from this realm to the next.

It is in that spirit that I write this post…to express my gratitude to those I have loved and lost in this life:

Grandpa Geo: For teaching me about comic timing

Mrs. Hamel: For teaching me about friendship

Aunt Marian: For teaching me about vulnerability and grace

Mr. Stillwell: For teaching me about sarcasm

Mrs. Zastrow: For teaching me to look deeper into the written word but never so deep that the work loses its beauty

Jess: For sharing your music and helping me find mine

Aunt Eleanor: For teaching me that pride often masks shame

Gramma: For teaching me the importance of faith and devotion

Aunt Betty: For teaching me that I will never be too old to play

Tom: For teaching me that a man with a beard can look damn sexy in a dress

Gerry: For teaching me the importance of family of choice

Lee: For teaching me that all creative acts are rituals

Albert: For helping me see that every part of me is sexy

Sally: For teaching me that life is always worth the hassle

Grammy: For teaching me the perils of gambling and grudges

Dale: For helping me see I’m just as tough as the most tattooed, pierced, branded broad, and for allowing me to love and care for Pete and vice versa

Stump: For letting me experience what it feels like to be loved unconditionally

Dad: For teaching me how I want to be: loving, affectionate, open, compassionate, nonviolent, independent, accepting, self-confident, easygoing, and creative

Ken: For teaching me the wisdom of forgiveness (most importantly to forgive myself), for showing me the heights at which I can know joy and the depths at which I can know sorrow. And for being the one I most look forward to reuniting with on the other side of the veil…

Day Three...

2008-07-22T15:51:00.002-06:00

Back on a daily dose of Effexor and already I feel better. When I turn a corner; I don’t feel like my brain is still heading the other direction. I have more energy, focus, and best of all, despite the fact that my right SI is still paining me, I’m not feeling weepy and worn out.

I went to see “The Dark Knight” Saturday night. It wasn’t an easy movie to watch by any means, and I felt a bit let down afterward. Not because I was disappointed by any of the performances, or the direction, or the cinematography, but because it’s a grim tale and Nolan was relentless in the action, leaving me no time or space to fully grasp the enormity of the incidents…or their impact. I left feeling confused about what the events really meant for Gotham, and not sure if I agreed with the conclusions the characters (or the director) had drawn from them or not.

Admittedly, I was (and am still) reeling from the impact that The Joker had on me. I’m still not quite sure that I saw Heath Ledger in this movie. I saw The Joker and he was scary as hell…

Even sitting still, I saw no peace in this man. I could almost sense the machinations of his mind.

No wonder Heath Ledger complained of insomnia and an inability to quiet his mind while he was filming TDK… What a mind-fuck!

On a brighter note, I went to see “Mamma Mia” Sunday afternoon and felt pretty shiny-happy afterward.

Having read reviews of both films, the critics, quite rightly, have sung the praises of “The Dark Knight” (and Heath Ledger’s performance in particular) and have been mixed (with more bad than good) in their reviews of “Mamma Mia”.

“Mamma Mia” is not great cinema (it’s not great theatre), but it’s freakin’ fun! I whooped and cheered and laughed and sang along.

As she was leaving, a woman who was sitting in the next row thanked me and my movie companion for making her time more fun because we were so obviously having such a good time. Only then did it occur to me that we’d been the only two in a full house really cheering and whooping it up.

And I didn’t care.

I’d see it again and probably enjoy it just as much…

I’m not sure I could say the same for “The Dark Knight.”

Effexor Withdrawal

2008-07-20T13:32:00.001-06:00

I feel bad that I haven’t posted in such a long time.

I feel bad about a lot of things lately…

Around 6 months ago I started taking a low dose of Effexor. My gyn thought it would help with the pelvic pain as well as help me with the barrage of unwanted thoughts I’d been experiencing whenever I’d try to relax.

And she was right. It helped with the pain, it helped with depression, it helped me sleep, and it reduced my automatic negative thoughts. I had energy, I felt happy…

Unfortunately, there’s an inherent trade off with Effexor. Typical of select serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), Effexor significantly dampens the libido, even at the lower dosages. It helped with the vestibulitis and my other issues, at the expense of my sex drive.

In April my gyn set up a physical therapy appointment to address my vestibulitis an pelvic floor spasms. Since then I’ve been working to wean myself off of the Effexor. Thus far the best I’ve done is cut back to one 37.50mg dose every other day. Any longer than that between doses and I experience what I call brain zaps. Throughout the day I have small ‘seizures’. My eyes roll back and I feel like my brain is having a spasm. They last for maybe a second or two, but they are scary.

And I’ve been more anxious, more prone to headaches, incredibly lethargic, and even abstaining from caffeine hasn’t helped my insomnia.

It’s yet another downside of many SSRIs…their short half-life means more severe withdrawal symptoms.

To top it off, the heavy rains we’ve had here every day for what seems like a month has me on a near constant dose of ibuprofen to deal with the pain in my right sacro-iliac. I try to only take enough to make the pain tolerable (not wanting to sacrifice the health of my kidneys, liver and intestines by taking mass quantities of the stuff).

But tolerable isn’t pain free…it’s not even close. Tolerable is, for me, reducing the pain just enough to allow me to focus on something else, anything else for substantial periods of time…

Tolerable is being functional at work, but not stellar. Tolerable is being able to carry on a conversation, but not be fully present, or able to follow a complex train of thought.

Tolerable is being able to focus on making simple projects, but nothing particularly inspiring or challenging.

Tolerable is being able to read other blogs, but not able to formulate any sort of worthy response.

Tolerable is a pitifully far cry from being my best self.

The withdrawal symptoms and the pain are taking a terrible toll. To say I’ve been emotionally fragile is putting it mildly. To say I’ve been vacillating between lethargy and volatility also seems too polite.

It’s been a rough time, with nothing to indicate that I made the right choice to get off the Effexor save for a couple brief moments where I felt a slight flutter of passion. Two moments…in a period of 3 ½ months is not very encouraging.

This isn’t living…this is wasting. I’m a waste of time, space, energy…

I hate myself like this. I hate being in constant physical and emotional pain, particularly when there’s been no pay off for it.

I hate that my body doesn’t function properly without artificial ingredients. I want to be earthy, natural, organic, empowered…it’s hard to feel like I’m embodying those concepts when I’m forced to adhere to an allopathic regime in order to function.

On the other hand, Effexor even in the low dosage helped me in so many ways; I feel like I was much closer to being the woman I wanted to be when I was on it than I have been in trying to go off it…

I don’t feel that I’m clear-headed enough to know if this just wasn’t the right time to taper off the Effexor, or if there’s ever going to be a right time to do it. And that uncertainty makes me wonder if I should continue in trying to taper off.

I have read that Prozac, because it has a longer half-life, has fewer withdrawal symptoms than Effexor. So it would still be an SSRI, but it would be easier to stop taking (should I make that choice on down the line). It’s something to discuss with my gyn when I see her next month.

For now, I think it’s better to go back on a daily dose and look into other options with a healthier mindset and hope that I’ll feel better sooner rather than later…

I'm running for President...

2008-06-25T09:27:00.002-06:00

Back to Inanna

2008-06-05T11:35:00.013-06:00

Inanna is my guiding goddess this week.

Inanna and I are old friends; I’ve worked with her in a number of rituals in my past.

One outstanding example took place thirteen years ago, on Samhain. I was privileged to participate in a symbolic Descent of Inanna ritual. The ritual took place in the dark of night on a hillside near a sulfur spring. The heat from the spring and the stench of sulfur gave an eerie impression of the Underworld.

Instead of dressing like Inanna and giving adornments and clothing to gatekeepers, we each wrote seven things we valued on seven pieces of paper. We wrote things like family, friends, possessions, laughter, sex, speech, sight… As we worked our way down the hill, we stopped at each gateway, read what we had written out loud and then handed that piece of paper to the gatekeeper. At the end of our descent we were symbolically naked, alone, and powerless.

At that point we were given bread and water to symbolize the food and water of life and then allowed to return up the hill, now free from past influences…tabula rasa.

~~~

I think Anita Revel phrases the symbolism of the descent of Inanna quite well: “Inanna's journey into the underworld and subsequent revitalization represents the soul's evolution through hardship into glorious renewal.”

The affirmations for Inanna (from the Release Your Inner Goddess website) are:

Negative influences have made me stronger
My new life path reveals itself to me
I say goodbye to destructive influences
I release my insecurity
I release myself from harmful judgment
In releasing the negative, I welcome the positive

And at this point in my life, as I’m actively letting go of past hardships, bidding farewell to unhealthy patterns, opening myself to a new way of being it seems amazingly apropos to be reminded of my old friend Inanna.

Friday’s Five

2008-05-30T13:31:00.001-06:00

This morning the skies over Albuquerque were dotted with dozens of hot air balloons. Lovely…

Lunching with the boss…on his dime (and on the clock!) where discussion about work matters was not allowed.

Article: I Love You Just the Way You Were sent to me by my beautiful sister-in-law.

Today’s Message from the Universe: “Free from the past, I now move forward and create a life beyond fear.” Nice… Well timed, that.

The rest of my Amazon book order came in yesterday’s mail. So I now have:

Healing Wise (Wise Woman Herbal Series) by Susun Weed. Susun’s book on menopause is amazing. If you’re in the process of “croning” I highly recommend it.

Luna Yoga: Vital Fertility and Sexuality by Adelheid Ohlig. I learned about this book when I was doing internet research on blood mysteries and found this excerpt which inspired me to read more.

The Once and Future Goddess: A Sweeping Visual Chronicle of the Sacred Female and Her Reemergence in the Cult by Elinor Gadon. A really gorgeous book which I’ve only just leafed through…

105 Ways to Celebrate Menstruation by Kami McBride, another book found while researching blood mysteries.

Thursday’s Thoughts and Five Good Things

2008-05-29T15:55:00.002-06:00

This is my hundredth post on this blog!

First, the five good things:

My beautiful, compassionate, talented sister-in-law
Tara the scooter is ready to be picked up from the shop (and it was a minor repair)
This fun video
The Vaginismus Awareness Network
I’m getting a massage today.

It was difficult coming up with five things today. I am feeling conflicted and unsure about how I want to proceed with some significant relationships in my life.

I’ve been dedicating a lot of thought to forgiveness and healing from other’s actions. Over the weekend I read Forgive and Forget: Healing the Hurts We Don't Deserve.

I have been struggling with my concept of forgiveness because I’ve been attached to the idea that if I truly forgive a person, I should want to continue having a relationship with that person.

Realistically, I know that’s not always the case. I can forgive the act and choose not to continue the relationship. Last Saturday night I went to an event where there were a number of people from my past with whom I no longer associate. I had behaved in a co-dependent manner with them for a long time…when I finally stopped; these folks were affronted and responded accordingly. I don’t think either party was entirely to blame. But I learned that I wasn’t good with my boundaries with these people, so I stopped associating with them.

I am still drawn to people who indulge my co-dependent addiction. This is a pattern I want to change.

I am working on owning my feelings and not projecting them onto anyone else, nor holding anyone else accountable for them (and vice versa). I know that just because I’m working on changing this pattern, it doesn’t obligate anyone else to change, nor should I expect it to. But I want on-going relationships where all parties are actively working on changing unhealthy patterns and we help one another in these endeavors.

It takes two to tango in a co-dependent dynamic. And if one person is okay with the status quo, it can be very unsettling when the other partner starts changing the steps.

There are some relationships that can and will adapt to the changes I’m making for myself…and there are some that won’t. Time will tell.

In the meantime, the Serenity Prayer is frequently on my mind and I whisper it before I go to bed at night and when I wake in the morning:

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference."

A-ho!

Wednesday's Fab Five

2008-05-28T11:09:00.004-06:00

Trader Joe’s Thin Mini Rice Crackers (specifically the multi-seed with soy sauce). Yum!

A Woman's Guide to Overcoming Sexual Fear & Pain – came in yesterday’s mail.

I officially stepped down from a committee at work that was taking advantage of my co-dependent tendencies.

I found the spare key to the Element in the candy dish, when my keys were locked in the car this morning.

This picture of a float in a parade in Germany:

Working with Persephone

2008-05-27T14:51:00.002-06:00

Persephone is the goddess I’m working with this week… Some of her affirmations are:

I am free to be myself
I accept myself as I am
I am good and I know it
I believe in my gifts and abilities
I release my need to be humiliated
I release my habit of self-criticism

I interpret Persephone energy as taking personal responsibility for myself and my life. I view this week as a time for uncovering truths about myself…

Coincidentally, last week, my dear friend Corgimom let me know that she saw an unhealthy pattern repeating itself in my life. I had once again made choices that were leading me to unhealthy circumstances very similar to where I was five years ago.

Some of my key concerns are my co-dependent behavior, difficulty dealing with emotional abuse, and other people's anger. I used these as keywords for searches. A common theme emerged…I am an adult child of an alcoholic.

Last Friday I picked up some books for adult children of alcoholics and I’ve learned a great deal about how my past impacts who I am now and how my behaviors have communicated certain things to various people in my life.

So I’ve already begun the process of being accountable for my actions and choices. But I’m also trying to figure out the things for which I am not accountable and learning to stand up for myself in those situations.

And I’m learning that it’s all too easy to feel like a victim of circumstance, being dealt a bum hand father-wise, which made one of the exercises for working with Persephone energy all the more timely. I am to come up with five things I’m grateful for each day.

I admit, I have had some recent practice with this, but then it was only three things…It may be a bit of a challenge to come up with five every day…

Here are my five for today:

Approachable and easy-going co-workers
Beads (they never spoil or get impatient waiting for me to play with them again)
Decaf Earl Grey tea
Google
Air conditioning

Releasing my Inner Circe

2008-05-22T10:47:00.003-06:00

I signed up to receive the weekly goddess newsletter from Release your Inner Goddess website. This week’s goddess is Circe (which, as odd as it seems, is pronounced kirk-ee).

Some of the affirmations for Circe are:

I can make choices
I am my own best friend
It is my right to choose my path
I am free to choose my own destiny
My power is unleashed for the greatest good of all

I’ve made some powerful choices this week.

First, I joined a vaginismus support group. It was a little difficult to get in. Unlike most yahoogroups, I had to give some background about my experiences with vag and how I learned about the group before I could join.

What I’ve read there thus far is very familiar…which is great, because I finally feel like I have a community, but also really sad, because it means there’s a lot of other women out there who are suffering. Their courage, humor, wisdom, and willingness to share and be supportive is admirable.

Until I found this group, the best source of support I found is the Vaginismus Awareness Network. The articles I’ve read on this site have really resonated with me and brought me to a whole different level of awareness about my body, about my actions, about my reactions…

I haven’t been listening to my body…when it told me sexual activity was a no-go (at least temporarily) and I didn’t honor that, it responded accordingly, by preventing me from having and wanting sex. I believe if I’m ever going to heal my sexual self, I’m going to have to really hear what my body is trying to communicate to me. Right now this means, if not 100% okay with being sexual, I’m not going to do it. It’s no longer something I am willing negotiate or allow myself to feel pressured about…it is now a prerequisite for any sexual activity.

It’s not that I don’t love Pete, or care about his feelings and needs. It’s that I need to be safe, strong, happy and healthy…I need to be empowered.

Being empowered means that I’m in charge of my feelings, my actions and reactions, and my well being, and no one else’s.

Being empowered doesn’t mean that I’m not still compassionate, loving, supportive, affectionate, generous, and wise. I can be empowered and still be a good partner to Pete, a good “parent” to Dharma, a good friend…

I will be a stronger, healthier, happier person…and therefore an even better wife, “mother” and friend.

My power is unleashed for the greatest good of all...

New Phone

2008-05-16T15:29:00.004-06:00

My contract with my cell phone provider ended last week, so I decided to change my service and try Pete’s provider. This also meant I had to pick out a new cell phone.

I’m not a high-tech person. I’m never first in line to buy the latest gadget or to update my current gadgets. I prefer to work with what I have until it breaks or is so outdated that it no longer functions properly. Ever since I’ve had a cell phone, I’ve picked the model that is easiest to use over phones with lots of high tech features. Not that I couldn’t figure out how to use those features, but for me a cell phone is a luxury in and of itself…Why pay for unnecessary features I wasn’t likely to use anyway?

This time when I shopped for a new phone, I was more drawn to the basic flip model that came in pretty colors than the fabulously feature filled free slide phone the salesperson recommended.

The pretty flip phone was not only a cheaper phone with fewer features, it wasn’t free…which seemed odd to me, until the sales rep informed me that the fabulously featured filled slide phone was free because the next generation in the line was coming out soon (thus rendering the current version obsolete in the realm of latest and greatest gizmos).

Not wanting to pay more than I needed to, I reluctantly chose this less aesthetically pleasing slide phone:

Thus far, it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve made this year…
The features are amazing! I feel like I’ve got a new toy as I add images and MP3s and fuss with the settings. For example, whenever Pete calls, not only does it bring up his picture, it also plays Lyndon David Hall’s version of “All You Need is Love”.

If they’ve made these kinds advances in a “free” model, it’s going to be very interesting to see what they come up with next. In the mean time, this phone is so freaking fun; I’ll be quite happy with it for a good long time.

The answer is "D". All of the above

2008-05-07T10:44:00.005-06:00

I saw my OB/GYN yesterday. She was very apologetic about not answering my email…which she did receive, and had started to respond to it, but was called away on an emergency (as often happens with doctors who deliver babies). When she returned to her computer, my email was marked as being read…so she thought she had already responded to me.

The upside is that she sat with me a long while to answer all of my questions.

First, we tackled the anatomy. She informed me that the bulbocavernosus (BC) muscle is not part of the levator ani (LA) muscle. It’s a more superficial muscle that overlays the LA (LA originates from the posterior body of the pubis and inserts at the anococcygeal ligament, the sides of the lower part of the sacrum and the coccyx). BC essentially serves to keep the vagina from being a gaping hole. LA does the same, only a bit deeper in the vagina, it also draws the anus upwards during defecation and supports the pelvic viscera.

The symptoms of LA spasms very closely match the symptoms of vaginismus, but my OB/GYN believes that vaginismus is caused more by BC spasms.

The medical research I’ve done indicates that vaginismus is a more generic term for an involuntary spasm of the muscles surrounding the vagina. So vaginismus it’s not entirely inaccurate shorthand for my LA spasms, as I discovered by visiting this site.

The doctor agreed that information relating to vaginismus would be relevant to LA spasms (particularly since most of the information relating to LA spasms was about men…prostatitis and the like. Ah the joys of living in a male dominated society).

She also informed me that vulvodynia and vestibulitis are more specific to external tissue (labia minora and vaginal vestibule). The doc says it’s more likely that the lichen sclerosis (LS) was the source of my more external pain issues, but she followed that up by saying I don’t have a classic case of LS either.

She says I don’t have a classic case of anything…

She thinks it’s possible that do have vulvodynia, even though the pain I’m experiencing is just inside the vagina…which indicates vestibulitis (and vestibulitis being a subset of vulvodynia, I’m not inclined to quibble over that point of distinction).

The good news is that the clobetasol has worked wonderfully on the LS, and from what I’ve read, physical therapy is very effective in treating vestibulitis and vaginismus. More good news is that my doctor gave me a glowing review of the physical therapists that I’ll be working with (though, alas, not until the middle of next month).

On the off chance the physical therapy isn’t effective, there is one more treatment option for the muscle spasms; more injections, this time with botox of all things. These injections would be so painful, that I would either have an epidural or general anesthesia for the procedure. I’m hoping that it won’t come to that…

It is sort of comforting to learn that I haven’t been off the mark with my research…it is possible to have LS, vestibulitis, and vaginismus at the same time. And I've been right to work on treating all three. I get the LS in check so I can focus on the vestibulitis and the vaginismus (I can't focus on curing one and not the other, since vestibulitis leads to vaginismus).

In a way I'm glad I didn't know exactly what was going on with me physically until now. That confusion allowed me to focus on the doing general emotional and spiritual healing surrounding my sexuality...now I can dedicate my energy and focus to healing the physical issues.

Lesbos residents are suing the Greek Gay and Lesbian Union over their use of 'Lesbian.'

2008-05-02T08:06:00.003-06:00

Click here for the UK Times Online story.

Okay, setting the insanity of such a lawsuit aside for a moment, let’s pretend that we can no longer use the word “lesbian” to refer to female homosexuals.

I propose the following alternatives:

Bilitisans: From the Chanson de Bilitis by Pierre Louÿs, a book of erotic poetry published in 1894. Bilitis is a fictional lesbian character, purported to be a contemporary of the poetess Sappho. One of the first lesbian rights groups in the U.S. was known as the Daughters of Bilitis.

Califians: From Queen Califa/Califia, from Garci Rodríguez de Montalvo’s book: The Adventures of Esplandián (circa 1510), which tells of this majestic Black Amazon warrior queen ruling the mythic Island of California. Alas, it’s probably not a good idea to use “Californians” for the same reason the good citizens of Lesbos don’t want us to use “Lesbians.”

Iphysians: From the Greek hero/ine Iphys or Iphis who was raised as a boy and fell in love with Ianthe…one of the earliest portrayals of a lesbian, from Ovid’s “Metamorphoses.” (written in 8 C.E.)

Yurizoku: Literal translation: Lily Tribe. Yuri meaning lily and zoku meaning tribe. It’s a Japanese term for a story line involving love between women in manga. While I’m not a particular fan of manga, I’d love to be a member of the Lily Tribe.

Or, perhaps the good citizens of Lesbos could refer to themselves as “lesbosians” instead of “lesbians.”

Any other suggestions?

Guantanamera

2008-05-01T10:25:00.004-06:00

There’s a restaurant in Albuquerque named Juan’s Broken Taco. Whenever my musician friend, Sam and I would drive by it we would sing, to the tune of Guantanamera:

“Juan’s Broken Taco! We drove by Juan’s Broken Taco! Juan’s Broken Ta-co! We drove by Juan’s Broken Ta-co!”

It’s a habit that I’ve carried with me through the years, so much so, that when Pete and I were driving to San Diego last week, he spied a sign that said “Ortega’s Tacos”. So of course, Pete sang out “Ortega’s Tacos!” as the first verse of Guantanamera…

Here’s where my OCD kicked in…We’d drive by a place or Pete would say something that had the same syllables and meter as Guantanamera, and I’d start singing that phrase. Poor Pete could barely escape it.

Which made it hysterically funny when we went to Old Town in San Diego and heard a mariachi band playing it in a patio restaurant

“We can’t escape that song!!!” we told the confused hostess who witnessed our seemingly random laughing fit.

“Tell me about it! I have to work here!”

That would be hell, I’m thinking. Not for me, but for everyone around me…As it was, it took me a little over a week to break myself of singing Guantanamera whenever I’d see something or hear a sentence that could match the phrasing of the song.

Phrasing of that song….
I match the phrasing of that song!
Phrasing of that song!
I match the phrasing of that song!

I’m hopeless…

Blood Mysteries

2008-04-30T15:38:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I began menstruating for the first time in four months. I’m not sure whether my lack of menses was caused by menopause or by the testosterone patches/salve.

Part of me is hoping it was the latter... I'm not sure I'm ready to stop bleeding yet.

A lot of women are going to think I’m crazy, but I really missed menstruating. For all the pains it brings, I’ve missed the normalcy of my monthly blood…the reassurance that on some level, my body is still functioning properly “down there”. I also missed the cool things that happen when I bleed…vivid dreams, heightened intuition, feeling more grounded and connected with all things natural.

Years ago I was part of a learning circle of women who would gather to share healing wisdom, and do magickal crafts and rituals. It was with that group that I first learned about blood mysteries, about the magick and power of my cycle and menstrual blood.

Gradually, I began using a Keeper cup to hold my blood and cloth pads to absorb the overflow. Whenever possible I would pour the contents of my Keeper onto the earth, at the base of a tree. I kept a bucket of water in my shower to pre-soak my pads…and before I would wash them, I’d use the blood tinged liquid to water my plants. The plants flourished…and I loved the sense that even though my womb was empty, I could still use my blood to nurture and nourish.

When I had to stop using my Keeper cup because of the vestibulitis, I tried using the cloth pads alone but they soaked through too soon on my heavy days and, in the corporate world it’s not okay to stay home just so I can bleed…particularly when I bled for 7 days out of 28. I started using disposable pads again and in doing so I lost a lot of my affection for my monthly blood.

I want to get back to a place where I honor my blood, particularly if it’s becoming a rare occurrence. I’ve started using cloth pads again…my flow is lighter now so it’s certainly doable, even in corporate environs. I have a bucket with water to soak them and I plan to use that water on my houseplants. And I’m doing little things to honor this time…yesterday I wore red earrings, today I’m wearing oval-shaped earrings to symbolize the sacred yoni.

I’ve also been taking advantage of having a flexible work schedule and letting myself sleep in a little later and not worrying about getting to work at a certain time. The past couple evenings, I’ve been snuggling up in bed to read instead of watching TV or going out…I’ve been honoring my desire to withdraw and go within.

And I’ve been doing some web surfing about blood mysteries, where I’ve found some really cool sites:

http://goddessontheloose.com/?p=57

http://www.elizabethdavis.com/mysteries.html

http://www.susunweed.com/Article_Blood_Mysteries.htm

My plan is to honor my bleeding times (when and if they come) by celebrating each of them in some small way, maybe I'll light a red 7 day candle and keep it burning every day that I bleed, or I'll wear something red or something to symbolize the yoni on those days. Maybe I'll knit with red yarn, or buy myself a book about goddesses or healing, or feminism, or take myself out to lunch. Maybe I'll buy myself flowers or some decadent treat... Or whatever I'm inspired to do at the time. I may not have too many bleeding times left...I want to make the most of them.

A Fun Meme for Friday...

2008-04-18T09:55:00.002-06:00

A fun meme (shamelessly stolen from Saving Nine):

1. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (Mother and Father's middle name): Louanne John

2. NASCAR NAME: (first name of your mother's dad, father's dad): George James

3. STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name): Kemma

4. DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal!): Purple Owl

5. SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born): Lynne Monrovia

6. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning): The Blue Mocha Frio

7. FLY NAME: (first 2 letters of 1st name, last 3 letters of your last name): Maert

8. GANGSTA NAME: ( fav ice cream flavor, fav cookie): Phish Food Scotcheroo

9. ROCK STAR NAME: (current pets name, current street name): Dharma Valencia

10. STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav candy): Lavender Godiva

11. PORN NAME: (1st pets name, street you grew up on): Fritzie Crestview

LS? VVS? Both?

2008-04-17T15:21:00.003-06:00

I saw my OB/GYN on Tuesday. I let her know that the T salve didn’t work so now I was using an herbal salve, which seemed to keep flare ups at bay (for the most part), but didn’t stop the pain.

She recommended physical therapy to treat the levator ani muscle spasms and prescribed clobetasol propionate (clob) for the lichen sclerosis (LS).

I pushed her on the pain issue and she prescribed lidocaine gel as well.

When I asked her why my pain seemed to be more localized (in the vestibular area) she mentioned something along the lines of muscle spasms causing a variety of issues, then went on to ramble about her daughter’s piriformis muscle spasms causing numbness in her legs and how that freaked the good doctor out. And, by engaging my sympathies…she evaded further questioning.

I have a love/hate thing going on with that sort of interaction.

I hate it because she’s the supposed expert and she’s not listening to me…So she’s not giving me the answers I’m looking for.

I love it because I’m compelled to seek out more information on my own, learn more about how my body works and often uncover some alternatives that my doctor hasn’t prescribed, like herbal remedies and other over the counter meds.

I learned the levator ani muscle is more specific to the rectal area and the muscle surrounding the vaginal vestibule (where I’m feeling pain and tightness), is the bulbocavernosus muscle (as can be seen in the Gray’s anatomy pic: here).

What’s not clear is whether the bulbocavernosus is considered a portion of the levator ani or if they’re separate muscles…

So when my doctor talks about treating levator ani spasms, I want to make sure that therapy addresses the bulbocavernosus area as well.

Another thing I learned is that LS and vulvar vestibulitis syndrome (VVS), while nearly identical symptomatically, are actually different pathologies. Unfortunately, neither is easily treatable nor curable.

Judging from my symptoms, I think there’s a distinct possibility that I have both LS and VVS. And there’s a possibility that other factors are in play, like inflammation of the Bartholin glands.

Armed with more information…yesterday morning I emailed my doctor to get a bit more clarification about the anatomy and to confirm whether my symptoms are just LS or LS/VVS…

I’m still waiting for a response…

I hope that’s because she’s a busy lady and emailing takes time…and well thought-out answers take time. I hope she didn’t evade my questions when I had some face time with her because she simply doesn’t know. I need answers. I need to believe that what she’s prescribing will work.

In the meantime, I’ve joined an LS on-line group, and thus far it's an excellent resource for information. Many women who post say that clob can work wonders, which makes me optimistic about that. It's sad that there has to be such a list, but I'm so thankful to find some community support at last...what I've been dealing with has been extremely isolating.

Thus far, the best thing is reading the "success stories", I'm looking forward to writing one of those soon...

True Colors

2008-04-11T13:01:00.012-06:00

I'm still not quite at peace with my recently altered look, but I’m getting there…

When I look in the mirror, I see all the aspects of my hair that I really liked; the length, the wave, the texture, the shine, the shape…are gone. It’s too short to even remotely camouflage my double chin and I have to use tons of product to style it, so it always looks a little dingy.

I feel like I look like this:

Except with much shorter hair.

As much as I hate the new style, it’s gotten tons of compliments. And I’ve been saying things like “Thanks…I’m glad you like it…I’m adjusting to it” or “Thanks, I’m not sure it’s really me.”

Because it’s been a little surreal that most of my friends and colleagues think this new look really suits me. And at first I felt as though no one in my life really “got” me.

But now I’m starting to think that maybe folks really do get me, maybe more than I thought…maybe more than I get myself…

Maybe this new edgier look emphasizes qualities that they see, but I haven’t quite owned about myself in a while: Audacity, distinctiveness, creativity, caprice, fun, feistiness…maybe even a little rebelliousness.

It’s not that I don’t have those qualities, but maybe I’ve been focusing too much on trying to look pretty, soft, and approachable...sweet. Oh, let’s face it…I’ve played it safe, conservative. I haven't felt up to being audacious and feisty.

But maybe it’s time to be a little more edgy and let my wild child out to play for a while…let my true colors shine through.

Something like this:

Warrior

2008-04-10T08:29:00.007-06:00

I’ve been involved with a committee at work that views one person as the sole source of all our workplace issues.

I don’t share their opinion. Even if I did, it wouldn’t change the fact that we all need to find a way to work together harmoniously…we each have to own our part in conflict and be open to the other person’s perspective.

I think this was especially important for this particular committee to model…because we were tasked with improving communications at our work place.

But my colleagues on the committee could not see past their anger at this one person, and most of them didn’t see the point of working on any other issues. Me, I still see lots of things that could be improved…but not just by me. Alas, my priority is the job I was hired to do, and not this work that needs to be done.

As scary as it's been, being a minority of one, it’s been even more challenging to champion what I believe is right with my director…an older man.

All my life I’ve failed to impress older men, starting with my grandfather, then my father and it’s been a bit of a theme throughout my life. It makes me predisposed to fear them. Okay, not all of them…but definitely those in positions of authority with conservative values who demand blind trust, but don’t engender it. This is how I view my director and he’s done little thus far to dispel this opinion.

So I’ve had this baggage to set aside as I’ve faced other fears...like speaking forcefully without getting overly emotional, or reinforcing my points without feeling like I’m being redundant. I’ve had to tell my director “I don’t feel heard” and restate my truth until I got some assurance from him that my voice was heard and given equal consideration.

He said he would follow up and include my concerns when he spoke to the staff about the committee disbandment.

He didn’t.

Either he spaced it or he didn’t value my opinion. Either way, I feel like a failure. I failed to make a positive and memorable impression on the man

And my old baggage seems stacked even higher now…all my failings seem spot-lighted.

My self esteem, for all my glorious affirmations, is remarkably fragile.

When I left work yesterday, I was feeling like a fool for championing my cause. Then this song came on the CD that Pete had in the car.

It reminded me of where I’ve been and of the power of where I am now:

I am an older woman now
And I will heed my own cries
And I will a fierce warrior be...

I can and will fight
I can and will a warrior be
It is my nature and my duty
It is the womanhood in me

I used to associate "warrior" with brutality. But I'm warming to the concept that I alone determine the nature of my inner warrior. And I don't need to be a brute to fight the good fight.

And I'm finding that the older I get, the fewer battles I feel compelled to fight, but those precious few will get the full force of my strength and determination.

Even if I don't have a strong sense of victory right now, I think this last battle was well chosen. I believe mine was a more collaborative, compassionate choice, even if it wasn't a popular choice.

I've championed a cause with peaceful action; I spoke forcefully without anger and honored my truth without creating harm to others.

I am a warrior.

Dear Hair Stylists of the World...

2008-04-08T10:36:00.007-06:00

If my admiration for your talents hasn’t been adequately expressed in the past, please allow me to remedy that here and now. Your skill with razors and scissors is enviable. You all do something I don’t have the aptitude for and I really appreciate that you provide this service.

I’d like to take this opportunity to most humbly and sincerely apologize for any wrong doing I’ve done to you in this life, in any previous life, or in any future lives I may have.

I’m hoping that by doing this, we’ll be able to forge a better communication index in the future. It’s important to me because I’m somewhat zaftig and that challenges my positive self-image, so having my hair match my concept of what looks attractive on me is really essential.

In the interest of improving communication, here are some things that it’s important that you understand about me:

When a hair stylist cuts my hair in a pleasing manner, I like to tip them generously, and become a loyal customer who actively promotes that stylist. Conversely, when a hair stylist ignores my wishes, I’m not likely to return and I will discourage others from going to that stylist.

Another thing…my glasses are not a fashion statement. When I take them off, I really can’t see what you’re doing until you tell me I can put them back on. I am, for all intents and purposes, blind without them, so I have to trust that you’ll honor my wishes after I take them off and you start cutting.

When I do have my glasses on I can see very well and I do have a clear concept of my hair texture, my face shape and my hair length and I do match my requested hair cut accordingly. I do not have unrealistic expectations about the styles I chose. I usually know what styles will work with my hair and what won’t. I don’t expect and I don’t want you to go to great lengths (and remove great lengths of my hair) to strong arm my hair into a particular style. If a style I’ve chosen won’t work, just tell me and I’ll make a different choice.

Also, I’m a pretty straight shooter. When I say: “I like the length and shape of my hair, I’d just like the top layers a little shorter,” I am not speaking code for: “Change my hair texture, length, and style to the extent where I don’t recognize it and can’t style it.” I can’t tell you all how many times this request has been misinterpreted and I’ve wound up weeping for weeks at the mere sight of my shorn coif.

For the future, hair styling friends, I want to be unequivocally clear about what I don’t want… I will never ever request a haircut that I currently have…which to me looks like an amalgam of these:

Now that I’ve made my wishes a bit more clear, I look forward to a healthy partnership with one of you sweet, lovely, and talented gods/goddesses in the future…when my hair has finally grown long enough to reach some semblance of a style I might like.

With love and respect,
Padme

Becoming Real

2008-03-26T15:59:00.004-06:00

Over the past two years I’ve had to explore my feelings about all aspects of my sexuality in an effort to uncover the emotional reasons behind having vestibulitis, HSDD, and lichen sclerosis (LS).

I feel like I’ve worked and reworked through every issue that might be linked with my dis-eases. Nothing changed. If anything the vulvodynia and LS got worse (which did nothing for my libido).

I may have gained some precious pearls of self-wisdom, but they haven’t made a significant impact on my symptoms.

In February, I decided to stop dwelling on what’s wrong with me and allowed myself to consider the possibility that when it comes to dis-ease, sometimes things just are the way they are. I gave myself the gift of accepting “what is”.

And for me, a big part of accepting “what is” was giving my body time and space to do what it needed to do to heal.

First, I stopped using the testosterone (T) patches to increase my libido. It’s been a month and a half since my last round of patches… I’m starting to see that my libido waxes and wanes like the moon. Some days it’s really strong, some days it’s practically non-existent. And I’m okay either way. It feels much more balanced and natural than the indiscriminate, aggressive drive that the patches induced.

Then I started weaning myself off of the T salve and began using an herbal salve to treat the vestibulitis/LS. In just these past few weeks, it’s worked better on the LS than the T salve did in 4 months. Skin that once felt hard and brittle swiftly softened. Pain and itching subsided… Even the vestibulitis started easing up a bit.

But I got cocky…I felt so good that I soaked in the hot tub on Sunday and Monday without thinking to reapply salve afterward…and I didn’t apply any salve Monday night or yesterday morning…And today, I have a bit of a flare up, but this time it feels different. It doesn’t feel like a set back…it feels more ephemeral, like a healing fever.

And finally, I allowed myself to feel good about my choices. I think this has made a bigger impact than the changes I’ve made in my meds. I’ve stopped shaming myself about not being a certain way. I’m proud of my sexual identity; however I choose to express it.

And I feel like I’m moving beyond mere acceptance and to a place where I truly appreciate myself for who and how I am.

I have healthy boundaries and I feel good about what I want to do. I have physical limitations and I feel good about the things I can do. I have emotional quirks and they help me cope and make me endearing to those who mean to love me.

Yesterday I read the Velveteen Rabbit for the first time and it really resonated with me, because I feel like in learning to appreciate myself, I’m finally becoming real:

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are Real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

I’m hoping the Skin Horse is right…that Real lasts for always.

Just call me Ned

2008-03-20T10:54:00.001-06:00

I’ve had a slight case of laryngitis since early December, and haven’t been able to shake it… I thought it might be my voice getting deeper from the testosterone patches and the stuff I’ve been using for my lichen sclerosis.

My voice is still sometimes a little squeaky, but more often a deep whisky voice. But I thought my cadence and timbre were still pretty feminine…

Until this week.

I’ve been getting responses to my voice mails and phone calls where people say things like “Someone named, uh…Ned? From your office called…”

Ned.

I guess the upside is, if I ever decide to be a drag king I’ll know what name to use…

PadmeGoddess

2008-03-06T10:50:00.004-07:00

I actually started on this blog entry in January, but other ideas and tasks took precedence. Here’s how it began originally:

I have decided to love myself as I am.

No more waiting to lose weight. Or waiting for my hair to grow out. Or waiting for my body to feel a certain way…or not feel a certain way. Or waiting to be wiser, funnier, more compassionate…

Because really, there’s no time that my weight is going to be ideal. Or my hair is going to magickly look full and bouncy when I take off my helmet or for that matter, just because I take the time to style it. Or my body is going to be limber and pain free…or enable me to be a sexual dynamo… Or I’m going to radically change my nature in order to meet some esoteric goal.

From there I tried to turn each negative thing into a positive.

I am a zaftig, sensuous goddess. I am a sultry, tousled, silver haired goddess. I am endowed with body wisdom; I am a strong goddess. I am a wise and kind goddess…

And then I tried to find goddesses that corresponded with each aspect that I wanted to re-empower… I found this wonderful website. It lists a number of goddesses and under each description it provides a list of affirmations associated with each.

One affirmation stood out strongly in my mind under Amaterasu:

“I blossom in response to adversity.”

And I thought; what an apt descriptor that is. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do… blossom in response to adversity.

Because it’s all too easy, in light of my physical issues and the stress that stems from these issues, to feel down on myself for all that I’m not, for all that I’ve failed to achieve, for all that I’ve failed to change about myself.

In my pagan days, I used to address my friends as goddesses…as if “goddess” was an extension of their first name… For example, I would be PadmeGoddess.

It was the best way I knew to acknowledge and remind other women that they manifest goddess energy…

I still do this from time to time, with friends who have known me for a long time, or with women I know are pagan. And they do the same in kind… I do it particularly when I know they are having a rough time and vice versa, as a reminder to help us blossom in response to adversity.

I think by addressing other women as goddess, it’s a lot like saying namaste…with a feminist twist. It acknowledges our shared lineage from our divine mothers, who each appear in us from time to time.

So when I say: I blossom in response to adversity. I am Amaterasu.

I release myself from harmful judgments: I am Aphrodite

My vital energy resurfaces with laughter. I am Baubo.

I am full of fiery passion. I am Bodicea.

My aura glows with welcoming fire. I am Brigid.

I find my path by following my inclinations. I am Ceres and Eostre.

My insecurity is replaced with wisdom: I am Aphrodite, and Baba Yaga, and Cerridwen and Hina, and Inanna, and Spider Woman, and…

I am PadmeGoddess.

101 Ways to Prepare Beets

2008-03-05T11:09:00.005-07:00

It’s been three weeks since my last round of testosterone patches and I’m feeling it. Low energy, less than zero libido…

Oh, but not all is lost…I still have the lovely whiskers on my chin and the acne and a voice that is constantly cracking. Yay.

And even if I were on the T this week, the vestibulitis is back with constant burning. And the lichen sclerosis makes the part of my va-jay-jay that’s not burning; itch like a mosquito had my clitoris for lunch.

Tonight I’m supposed to take a “Creativity in the Bedroom” class at the local sexual resource center – Self-Serve. For me, it’s the emotional equivalent of taking a class in “101 ways to Prepare Beets”.

Maybe I’d feel differently if I thought the class would make things better. But it’s not going to change my biochemistry or cure vulvodynia. And it’s not going to change the fundamental differences between what my partner wants and what I want sexually.

But I agreed to take this class if he took a class, which he did, despite his own very valid qualms. So today it’s more important for me to honor his efforts and be impeccable with my word.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll learn ways to tickle his fancy with my thickening moustache…

******

Sometimes karma works in my favor. The class was cancelled.

So my energy is a bit freer for other things this evening:

Like talking more with Pete...
Like maybe going out for a Decaf Java Chip Frappaccino...
Like watching a guilty pleasure like “The Moment of Truth” (or the DVR recording of “New Amsterdam”)...

Like going to bed early to try to catch up on some sleep...

Or maybe all of the above...

And further out than I thought...

2008-02-27T15:38:00.001-07:00

My beloved compared me coming out on my blog to getting a butterfly tattoo on my butt:
There's limited exposure, those who see it are generally already inclined to approve of you, and those who don't can kiss your ass.

That’s pretty much how I thought of it, too. But then again, I didn’t know his family had been reading my blog, until I got an email from my sister-in-law yesterday, checking to see if my last post was an early April Fool’s joke. And if it wasn’t a joke, she let me know that she loves me for who I am and for having the courage to put it out there

Thank you, Yarn Sister!

I did think that my blogosphere was a smaller bubble, but if I’m out to Pete’s side of the family, it feels like more a relief than a concern.

I love this family... They warmly welcomed me into their fold from Day 1. They seem to get that as long as Pete’s happy, I must be okay... They trust him that much. So when I had the option of changing my name when I married Pete, it was a no-brainer, I took his name so I could feel more a part of his family.

I don’t want to lose that, because on my side of the family, things are a little different. My mother wants me to be happy, but by following a path that’s consistent with her values. Unfortunately, we have different values. Even though she’s never said anything against bisexuals, she has expressed her opinions on monogamy. It would not be okay with her if I wanted to pursue a sexual relationship outside of my marriage…

And if my mother knew about my blog, at worst, she’d shun me. At best, she’d worry needlessly about me….about Pete… I would really rather spare her that…

The bottom line is that Pete and I are happy. Neither of us would tell you that our first 11 months of marriage have been easy, but every newlywed couple struggles (and without the physical issues that we’ve had to work through), so I’d say we’re doing amazingly well, all things considered.

And like most happily married couples, we want to be together for as long as our bodies, minds, and spirits will allow. The only difference is that our happily ever after may wind up being a trio instead of a duet.

I'm coming out...

2008-02-21T15:45:00.007-07:00

Three years ago I was dating a man and a woman when, through a series of very romantic emails, a third party spoke to my heart and I fell for him like a fainting goat.

Ending things with the other guy was easy. He was nice enough, but not someone I wanted to be with long-term.

Ending things with the woman was really difficult…it felt like I was letting go of something I’d wanted for a very long time. But I’d also wanted a partner who was as enamored with me as I was with her…and she wasn’t sending me that vibe. Pete was.

And he had an abundance of qualities that I love; his intelligence, his wit, his sensitivity, creativity, compassion, openness, generosity and his loving nature…he’s an extraordinary person.

Even still, there is a distinct energetic, physical, emotional, and spiritual difference between men and women, and I prefer women

So I fell in love with Pete in spite of the fact that he was a man…not because of it.

Fast forward to three years later and we’re happily married, despite my HSDD, which has stemmed from chronic vestibulitis, making the typical “straight” sex scenario difficult to downright impossible. The bottom line is that I’m not fulfilling his needs. And until recently, that’s been my primary motivation toward healing, not just on a physical level, but emotionally, spiritually.

I recently finished reading The Vulvodynia Survival Guide which emphasizes that physical issues are just physical, not something to feel guilty about. And the HSDD that often stems from vulvodynia, while a fairly common occurance is not an issue that is easily overcome.

And it reminded me that sex is an important component of leading a happy, healthy life. And that sex can be fulfilling without intercourse.

So I’ve shifted my focus in my healing and started exploring what I want and I don’t want…

I’ve pried open the doors of the Fibber McGee’s closet that is my sexuality…and surprise! One of the many things that tumbled out of closet was a large, lovely, luscious lollypop of lesbianism.

It made me wonder how much of my repressed bisexuality is a factor in my physical issues. I think if that were the case, the vestibulitis would have started soon after I chose to be with Pete instead of a woman, but I'd been experiencing painful intercourse (albeit, on a much lesser scale) as far back as 1999. I thought it was a combination of things; an allergy to nonoxynol 9, perimenopause, rough lovers… And while intercourse has only been prohibitively painful in the past 2 years and I think that's more a matter of the vestibulitis going undiagnosed and untreated for so long.

Still, I believe in the mind-body connection...so I've questioned whether my body is rebelling against the main event of hetero sex because I’m really a lesbian or at the very least, bisexual and I've repressed that aspect of my sexuality for so long.

And I’m still unsure what being a lesbian or being bisexual really means. Because my sexual encounters with women have been extremely limited (although wonderful), what I imagine lesbian sex is like may not be realistic. Here’s what I envision:

The energy is radically different than being with a man.

It is more of a sensual experience than a strictly sexual experience.

The entire body is treated as an erogenous zone.

The yoni is treated with reverence.

It is softer and gentler overall.

It is more about the journey than the destination…because there are multiple destinations, so there is a mutual sense that there is plenty of time for touching, exploring, talking, giggling, gazing, admiring…

The spiritual component is heightened.

There’s a mutual appreciation of one another’s unique beauty and frequent expression of same.

Pain issues aside…these are things that I need in order to feel sexually fulfilled. Ideally, I’d like to be experiencing all of these things with my beloved. Realistically, I don’t know if that’s possible.

Lucky for me, Pete understands my desire to be with a woman…and that acting on this desire doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with him anymore. He is still the person I'm in love with.

All along I’ve been open with him about my bisexuality, and he’s assured me that our relationship can be open to that.

So we’ve started discussing what that might look like.

Looks like I won’t be selling back that copy of The Ethical Slut to Hastings after all…

Doing the Work

2008-02-15T13:53:00.001-07:00

My beloved and I have had some difficult discussions these past few weeks; about boundaries, about desires, about limitations, about fairness…

Some discussions have been heated. I think this is because we both have fragile self-esteems, so we get defensive…and that makes it difficult to listen with a compassionate heart.

Some discussions have been tearful. I think this is because we both want to be accepted and loved, but we still struggle to do what’s best, for one another, for ourselves. And we’re not always sure if that means staying together, or letting go... and the prospect of having to let go is really scary.

None of the discussions have been what I’d call easy…I call these periods in a relationship “doing the work”, because that’s what it feels like to me…

Being challenged on things I never thought I would have to question about myself.

Taking the time for self-inquiry, to get a sense of which observations feel valid and which don’t, and why.

Making a conscious effort to change behaviors that are inconsistent with my vision of who and how I want to be.

Speaking my truth even when it feels scary.

Abiding by my boundaries even when they conflict with my beloved’s wishes.

Modeling how I want to be treated, instead of playing tit for tat.

Being mindful that “fair” is like “enough”. It’s an entirely subjective, esoteric, and inevitably unrealistic goal.

Maintaining perspective and noticing that the good outweighs the bad, even during the hardest times.

Choosing to stay on days when it feels like that choice is based on little more than faith; in my inner wisdom, in my partner, and in the inherent balance of the Universe.

I think the reward for “doing the work” is the joy of falling in love with the same person over and over again, the privilege of returning to that magickal space with one another...

And it seems to me the stuff of happily ever after…

Pix and plastic bags

2008-01-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

At long last, I’ve posted a picture of the Infamous Lace Scarf on my project blog. I’ve also posted pictures of a couple purses I knit as Xmas gifts for my moms.

I'm in-between projects now and feeling a bit angstious about what to work on next.

Actually, that's not entirely true...I have a grocery bag-bag started that seems to be taking me an awfully long time to finish.

Part of it is tedium with the medium. Let's face it, white or brown plastic bags only hold so much intrigue, texturely, chromatically. Part of it is "been there, done that"... I'm ready for new creative challenges.

Partly, I feel a bit down on the project because, as hard as I try, I still forget to bring bags to the market or keep one in the car for spontaneous stops, so I'm accumulating more plastic bags, and there's only so many creative ways for reusing plastic bags.

I am learning to say "no" when I forget to bring a bag...so I load up my arms with stuff (which gives me some incentive to remember the next time). Still, there are times when I'm not being mindful and, as a result, I have an abundant supply of potential plastic bag yarn.

Reusable bags, while nice in theory, aren't going to catch on until the average consumer has real incentives to use them regularly, that is, beyond the environmental reasons not to use plastic grocery bags.

In Albuquerque, some markets will give shoppers a bag credit of $.05 per bag, but only if you bring one in (as opposed to just carrying out purchases by hand), and not if you use the self-checkout to purchase groceries.

What if merchants started charging $.05 per bag? Or if, like San Francisco, all cities banned petroleum based plastic bags?

What would inspire you to reduce your use of plastic bags?

Farewell, Heath Ledger

2008-01-23T10:40:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a town close enough to Hollywood that the culture dictated that you would be as current as possible with your movie viewing because movies were so often a topic of conversation.

Since moving to New Mexico, I’ve seen significantly fewer movies. All the same, I’ve tried to keep an eye on a few young actors whose work seemed to be continually evolving…who were true chameleons.

Heath Ledger was one of those actors.

His death brings an end to one of the most promising acting careers I’ve witnessed in quite some time. At the age of 28, the man had developed his craft above most of his peers…hell, beyond most actors a decade older than he. He seemed to continually challenge himself, pushing himself to play well his part.

From what I’ve read, Heath Ledger was not the sort of person who would have chosen to end his own life…still, with the absence of evidence indicating foul play, it seems his death was an accident of his own making.

Last weekend I re-watched Rain Man and saw a veteran chameleon playing an autistic savant. Since seeing that movie for the first time, I’ve often thought that to some degree, we are all idiot savants…as though karma gives us certain gifts at the expense of others.

Maybe Heath Ledger’s trade off was a lack of body wisdom.

Or maybe it was simply lack of longevity…and he was destined to have a brief brilliance, like James Dean or River Phoenix. Heath Ledger was of their caliber, if not greater, talent-wise.
Still, I want to see more good, more purpose behind his death other than reminding me of the ephemeral nature of virtuosity.

Maybe another highly publicized prescription drug-related death in the industry was needed to help heighten public awareness of the potential dangers of prescription meds…

Maybe another actor will be inspired and strive to match his talents…

In any case, I pray that he departed this realm knowing he was loved, and knowing his work touched others, knowing that he mattered.

Talkin' about a resolution...

2008-01-08T14:06:00.000-07:00

Last night a memory came back to me, vivid, and as strong as if it had just happened yesterday. My former lover, S and I were in a grocery store waiting in the checkout line and I was lightly rubbing his back…when he suddenly and angrily ordered me to stop. It seems I was, literally, rubbing him the wrong way.

What bothered me about the incident wasn’t being told to stop; it was how fast a tender moment turned to anger and the fierceness of his words. I felt as if I’d been slapped.

At the time I attributed his behavior to his passionate, yet melancholy nature as a musician and an artist. Being borderline depressive myself, I allowed myself to be drawn into his despair…and found a bizarre sense of freedom in fully expressing my own sorrow to another human being. My desolation was beautiful in his eyes. And I loved him for his acceptance and understanding of my inner torment, and his ability to transmute my agony into ecstasy.

The reality was that he vacillated between loving me and barely tolerating me…then again, he barely tolerated anyone. I never knew if I was going to feel cherished or reviled by him. Ultimately, he made choices that challenged me beyond my limits and I ended the affair.

Since then I’ve made much better choices for myself, so when I remember the grocery store incident, it’s easy to see what I’m not missing in my life.

Now, my life is filled with being the good wife, the good friend, the good daughter, the good sister, the good hostess, the good artist, the good employee.

And I’ve been glad to be all these things, but lately, I’ve been lonely for a friend who can nimbly navigate me. It’s not that I miss S specifically, but there are elements of that relationship I still want in my life; long conversations about shared interests, a movie partner that appreciates the medium as much as I do, intense pleasure, being heard with empathy, a space to be sad, a space to be sensual, warm hugs as a requisite greeting and having those hugs be something that each of us feels a little sad to end.

I stayed with S because of those things and many others that I valued. I didn’t think I’d ever find them elsewhere. I’m starting to see that part of me has held onto that belief.

My logical mind knows that simply wanting something doesn’t equal entitlement. At the same time, I don’t think I’m exorbitant in my desires, so I thought somehow they would manifest for me anyway…not surprisingly, they haven’t.

So I’ve tried convincing myself that I don’t really want nor need those things, or that I don’t really deserve them. I call this “dissuasion mode”.

It doesn’t work. It never does. I take heart in knowing that, over the years it takes less time for me to come to that conclusion and remember that I can’t take a passive role in my own life.

And every time I have this realization it's magickal. I invoke the thunderbolt of my mind. Suddenly, what felt insurmountable when I was in dissuasion mode seems simple, straightforward and infinitely safer than continuing to wallow in self-pity.

Right now, I can’t think of any logical reason why I can’t have everything my heart desires out of my relationships.

Some things will come through something as simple as an invitation to a friend; others will require me to be clear with my desires, active in their pursuit and consistent in my communication, other things will require me to explore relationships beyond my current ties.

It’s about as close to a New Year’s resolution as I’m going to get.

New Addition to the Family

2007-12-10T15:07:00.000-07:00

Introducing the newest member of the family:

River Darlene Lois

Est. 3:03pm (EST), December 8, 2007 C.E.

I may be biased, as a proud Aunt, but I think she's awfully cute!

30 posts in 30 days!!!!

2007-11-30T12:51:00.000-07:00

Our database tech is from the Netherlands and still has a bit of an accent. Today I overheard him answer a call on his cell phone:

Now, what he said was: “Hallo? Hmm…I think you better take it up with the call center.”

But it sounded an awful lot like: “Hallo? Hmm…I think you better take it up the colon, sir…”

OUCH!

Well, I’ve done it… 30 days straight of blogging and, while not every post was what I’d call particularly intriguing, I got a lot out of this experience.

First, I had new friends commenting on my blog, which I have to say really made a difference. Knowing that my blog was being read spurred me to write more. It’s not that I write specifically for an audience, but if something I write helps someone else feel less alone in this world then I know I’m doing the right thing by blogging. Seeing new folks comment, helps me see that I’m expanding my web presence. And everyone who commented has been wonderfully supportive!!!

So, thank you, new friends: Kreative Mix, Mama Drama Jenny, Miss Emily, and Zazzy (who I think may be a twin from a different mother). I am also very grateful to my “old” friends: "Crunchy" Mom, Cronz, Corgimom, and of course, my beloved Owlpete.

And over the course of this month, I learned some new technical things to enrich my blog visually; incorporating and editing hyperlinks, restructuring the layout, adding images.

One thing I’d like to do, but haven’t been able to figure out on Blogger is to add an image to a link. There are really cool links that should be associated with the “Kind Blog” and the “NaBloPoMo” images. Alas, I don’t know enough about HTML to mess with the code of my blog in order to associate the links to the images. When it comes to messing with code, I know my competencies, and working with code is low on that totem pole. I need step-by-step instructions that I can refer to all throughout the process. So, my search for instructions continues…

Also, I'd like to one day figure out how to strike out text in my posts...

Finally, it was good to start a new discipline and take time every day to listen to my muse. Of course, there were some days when she was clearly working with someone else while I was trying to write…but overall, she got me through.

Congratulations NaBloPoMo Folks!!! We did it! WOO HOO!

Neither rain, nor sleet...well, maybe sleet!

2007-11-29T16:23:00.000-07:00

I rode my scooter (Red Tara) to work today and when I left to go to lunch, I found her sprinkled with sleet.

And sleet fell all during lunch…making the streets pretty slick and creating patches of ice for me to dodge on my way back to the office. A short ride, made longer by the stress it induced.

So I asked to finish out my workday at home, packed up some paperwork, bundled up again and hopped on for the ride home. On the way I faced more sleet, more ice, more stress.

But Tara pulled me through…she didn’t lose traction or shimmy even when I turned tight corners. Even on the slickest patches, she gripped the road and got me safely home.

All the same, I wouldn’t want to do that again any time soon, not when I still have a fully functioning car I can drive to work and stay dry and, most importantly, protected.

And even if I didn’t, I can always work from home…ain’t technology grand!

After I got home, the sleet subsided, and the roads started drying out. It’s like the Universe said “Oh good, Padme got the message to check the weather report before she rides. Yo, clouds! You can let up now!”

It's the thought that counts...

2007-11-28T14:07:00.001-07:00

This morning I read Zazzy's blog and she posed a lot of questions that I’ve been looking at over the years about holiday giving.

I always feel a little sad this time of year; this season of pervasive inadequacy. I neither feel like I've done nor received enough to imbue this season with the special quality it had for me when I was a child. I crave that effulgent display of gratitude that lets me know I've made a positive impression. At the same time, I want to receive something that has just the right combination of extravagance and surprise.

There are certain people that I really want to give gifts in the same way that I wanted to give gifts to my family when I was a girl...when I wanted any gift from me to be extra special. These are the people in my life that I hold most dear… and I am just foolish enough to think that a gift could somehow convey that.

Oh, and this gift must also remind my friends that I’m worthy of their continued friendship. So it must be impressive…but not too impressive because I don’t want to set the bar so high that subsequent gifts will be a let down.

There have been a lot of friends over the years that I dearly wanted to give a gift, but because I couldn’t meet my own expectations with said gift, I wound up not getting them anything at all.

And with my family, the order is a lot taller. Not only do I feel obligated to make up for being the black sheep of the flock but I have to convey how much I still love them, despite our differences, despite the distance that separates us.

But no matter how much I give them, I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.

It really seemed so much simpler when I was younger…when any gift I gave seemed to impress family and friends. I’ve wondered what has brought this change…and really, I think it’s my obsession with making sure I’m doing “enough”.

Oh, the shame of not having done enough! Oh, the guilt! Oh, the woe…

On the other hand…what constitutes “enough”?

The idea of “enough” in relation to giving gifts is an esoteric concept that is closely linked with my level of self-esteem in relation my perceived level of obligation to others and the appropriate level of compensation in relation to said level of obligation.

In other words…it’s bullshit.

Because the reality is even when I haven’t given gifts to close friends…our friendships have flourished and deepened. While gifts may have helped nourish friendships over the years, lack of gifts has never ended a true friendship.

And when it comes to my family the reality is that presents are not going to change their perception of me.

So why sweat it? After all, when I was younger I never really worried about a gift being “enough” and folks seemed genuinely happy with whatever I got them. I was as excited about seeing someone’s reaction to a gift I gave as I was about opening my own gift (and I really, really love getting gifts), and I was never disappointed by their reaction.

Then again, I could have been surrounded by a troupe of spectacular actors…

I don’t think I lost my ability to choose (or make) cool gifts. I think somewhere along the line I let my self-doubt hold sway and that’s made a key difference, for the worse, in my gifting.

I’m rediscovering that the energy I put behind a gift really matters. For example, earlier this month I sent my sister-in-law a baby shower gift that I was especially proud of (having made many of the items in the gift myself). In the pix from the shower, she and her husband looked genuinely happy with the gift. “Tickled” would be a more apt descriptor…

The thing is...this gift wasn't about convincing my sister-in-law that I was worthy, but about wanting to give her something that only I could give, that only I would think of...an expression of my unique style. I think that intent gave the gift inherant value.

I want a gift to be valued because it came from me, not me to be valued because I gave a gift.

So this year I’m working to be kinder to myself and trust my instincts instead of worrying about not doing enough for my friends and family. Instead of "I hope this is enough", my mantra this Xmas will be "this gift will be valued because of its source."

I want to be clear with my intent...

Hmmm, I wonder if this is what “it’s the thought that counts” really means…

Yet another diagnosis...

2007-11-27T14:06:00.000-07:00

I saw my OB/GYN today because I’ve been experiencing some pain that is definitely not vestibulitis.

I thought I had been getting frequent yeast infections or UTIs. Although the symptoms are similar, I’ve not had either of those issues show up on recent lab work. Also, the treatments I’ve tried for those conditions (OTC yeast infection creams, cranberry capsules) have not alleviated my symptoms.

My ob/gyn treated my symptoms as a dryness issue and told me to use Bag Balm or Vaseline. But I didn’t think this was just a dryness issue.

In the past two years I’ve tried benzocaine cream, Estrace cream, bio-identical estrogen/testosterone gel, Monistat, taking cranberry capsules, applying Bag Balm and Vasoline, avoiding washing with soap, avoiding heavily chlorinated water, avoiding sexual contact, washing my clothes in fragrance/dye free laundry soap, and wearing cotton underwear.

Nothing’s worked yet.

Lately I’ve gone back to using a benzocaine cream because a couple weeks ago the pain and itching were beyond tolerable.

I’ve also been trying a lower oxalate diet, which seems to have helped. So much so, that I was fairly asymptomatic when I went into see the doc today.

Thankfully I still had some irritation (am I actually glad to have pain and itching?) so the doc had something to focus on (aside from the rose colored glory that is my va-jay-jay).

Now my OB/GYN suspects I have lichen sclerosis, which is a type of vulvodynia. She prescribed testosterone in a petrolatum base which I get to apply every day for a month. The upside is that she’s pretty optimistic that this will do the trick…

Another upside may be that between the testosterone patch for the HSDD and the topical stuff for the vulvodynia, I’ll probably be singing bass in a matter of months.

I always wanted one of those deep, whiskey voices…

Watch out Diana Krall…

Tagged!

2007-11-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

My dear friend Corgimom tagged me to write 7 random or weird things about myself then tag someone else to do the same…

So the passing of the torch doesn’t get lost in this post…I tag Nuveena and Owlpete.

Here are my 7:

1. Jobs from my past include: cook in a pizza parlor, one-hour photo lab tech, fifth grade teacher, die skiver (no, that’s not dyslexic for sky diver), painter/candle maker, a sculptor, and legal assistant. My favorite job to date: sculptor.

2. There are times when I hesitate stepping out of bed at night because I’m afraid someone or something will grab my foot and pull me to my doom. The same goes for entering a pitch black space, except then I think I’ll be grabbed by the throat…or I’ll walk into a wall.

3. I am a published poet, having two poems published to date. I have also served as an editor for the South Coast Poetry Journal. The first poem I ever wrote was about falling down a flight of stairs…an autobiographical piece.

4. I love my sweet mutt, but given a choice for my next dog, what I really want is a Cardigan or Pembroke Welsh Corgi, or a Pug.

5. I won’t eat beets. I don’t think there is a way for anyone to prepare a beet so that I’ll enjoy it. I don’t even like the scent of beets. On the other hand, I wish I did like the flavor and odor of beets because they are a glorious color!

6. I think I am just sane enough to be eccentric and just crazy enough to believe that’s an important distinction.

7. My AAA membership card indicates “88” as the number of years I’ve been a member. When queried about this, I say I’ve found the Fountain of Youth. Actually, my grandfather was a member and my father joined under his membership, and joined my brother and me under this membership as well as soon as we were old enough to drive.

Thanks Corgimom for tagging me...and therefore giving me something to write about on this final stretch of NaBloPoMo!

Caveat Emptor

2007-11-25T15:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a 40% off coupon at a craft store…so I figured I’d finally get myself a full-spectrum lamp by which to craft.

It turns out the lamp was 50% off, so I didn’t get a chance to use my coupon.

I was able to assemble the thing all right, but I couldn’t get it to tighten enough to angle the light where I wanted. Finally the thing gave up altogether and the shade flopped down to a useless level.

After two hours of trying to readjust the thing I put on my shoes and fished the packaging out of the trashcan and packed the thing up to return today. I picked out another lamp of a slightly different style and took that home.

It turns out this light was a re-packaged return and was missing a small part. Fortunately it was only an aesthetic detail. The light is now happily glowing over Mission Control, otherwise known as my crafting area in the den.

For 50% off, I’m really not too picky with such things, but it makes me a little sad to know that any store isn’t being forthright regarding the quality of their merchandise. There were no labels indicating that parts were missing or the lamps were in any way lacking.

What I typically do in these situations is give the place a chance to remedy the situation, if they don’t make it right the first time around; I tend not to give them another chance. While it was relevantly easy to return the first lamp, the second lamp was still missing a part. That’s not exactly what I would call making it right,

So this store will be taken off my list suppliers, Thankfully there are an adequate number of craft stores in Albuquerque that can supplant this one.

Only 30 more non-shopping days until Xmas

2007-11-24T13:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I made it through an entire day without purchasing a single thing. I managed to structure my day so that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, I was able to stay home and avoid the chaos that is Black Friday.

I try to do this every year as a protest against Western over-consumerism and general humbuggedness over the commercialization of the holiday season and the excessive emphasis on Xmas over any other holiday. Most years I just avoid the malls, or shopping for Xmas gifts, but figured it was okay to pick up some groceries or go out to dinner.
This year I was determined to not buy anything.

Not only did I manage to do this Friday, but Thursday as well!

And I didn’t need anything, or really want for anything on either day.

When I lived in the mountains there were many more days where I didn’t buy a thing, but now that I live less than a mile away from a grocery store, a drug store, and a multi-media store, I tend to plan less and let myself off the hook if I forget something because it’s so easy to make a quick run to the store.

It would take some mental energy and some discipline, but I might make that a resolution in the coming year. I could try not to buy anything at least two days a week – even dining out… It would force me to cook more and spend more time working on making things from scratch. It would help me be more self-reliance and perhaps a little less self-indulgent.

And this year, I will come very close to a non-shopping Winterval. Aside from one or two gifts, mostly I’m giving loved ones donations to Heifer , and homemade cookies and maybe, if it comes out okay, chocolate walnut fudge. One or two people may get one of my hand knit pieces if the knitting gods smile on me and I’m able to find the time, yarn and the right pattern from my knitting books or better yet, a free pattern from the internet.

The way I see it, my beloved and I have everything we really need to be happy and healthy and so do most of our friends and family. Sure, there are a few things I want; an Ott light to illuminate my knitting, a few books, maybe a new iPod, but there’s precious little that I need. So it seems more appropriate to take whatever moneys I would allocate toward holiday presents and donate to those who really do need things like food, clothing, and shelter.

Post Thanksgiving Bliss

2007-11-23T15:51:00.000-07:00

Last night we got our first snow of the season, which confirms my belief that the winter holiday season really does not start until after Thanksgiving.

Today we’ve had lovely large flakes of snow, what I call “Charlie Brown Xmas” snow… It’s not sticking…just making the roads wet and the trees look like they've been lightly frosted. In a few hours, the sky will become a dark, peuce-like gray as the cloud cover mixes with the city streetlights.

It’s been a perfect day to stay home with my sweet Dharma dog, relaxing, trying out lacy patterns with a gorgeous variegated red boucle yarn, watching some movies on the DVR and enjoying the stark wintry scene out my back window.

Tonight my beloved and I will visit friends on the west side for a post-Thanksgiving dinner.

It’s a wonderful way to welcome the snowy season!

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T12:34:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving, like with most holidays highlights how my life is a product of the choices I have made:

Because I have chosen to live in New Mexico, I don’t see my family at Thanksgiving. The upside is that I don’t have to try and be a polite and genteel lady.

Instead, I see my family of choice, and I can be as boisterous and ribald as I please, without having to hear anyone blast out with an exasperated and scolding exclamation of my name. I’m still amazed that my mother can communicate so much admonishment in one word.

The downside is that I don’t get to experience some of the things that feel like a holiday to certain foods, certain odors, certain music, and certain games…

There’s one food in particular that if I don’t have it at Thanksgiving (or any holiday where turkey is the main course), my enjoyment of the day is so much less, that I won’t cook a meal or go to a meal at someone else’s house without it. That food is my mother’s Veggie Casserole.

Since I’m allergic to mushrooms, I’ve had to revise the recipe, but I don’t think it changes the flavor that much…

Veggie Casserole

5-6 large carrots
5-6 large ribs of celery
1 bag of pearl onions
1 small can of sliced water chestnuts
2 cans of cream of celery soup
1 large can French fried onions

Drain water chestnuts and place in a large bowl, Boil onions until tender, drain and rinse under cold water. Peel onions and cut off root tip. Toss with water chestnuts. Cut carrots and celery into 1” chunks. Steam carrots and celery until just tender, drain. Toss with onions and water chestnuts. Add soup and stir gently until all veggies are coated. Pour into a casserole dish. Sprinkle with French fried onions. Bake at 350° until bubbly.

Today I am thankful for: My wonderful husband, our cozy home and happy, healthy, loving dog and my small circle of friends, though few in number, more special in my heart, and more valued for their rarity

HAPPY THANKSGIVING ONE AND ALL!

What's in a name?

2007-11-21T11:50:00.000-07:00

In the past, I’ve examined my beliefs regarding a “higher power” in this post and in this post and I’ve come to the conclusion that while I do believe in a higher power, both internally and externally, I haven’t quite figured out how best to connect with the eternal energy or more precisely, how I should address it.

Even though I have a more pagan background, I’ve never been comfortable with terms like “Father Sky” or “Mother Earth” or any other name for a supreme force. When I did ritual and called upon a certain God or Goddess it was with the intention of summoning specific energies to the rite.

But a few weeks ago I couldn’t get to sleep and I felt this strong desire to pray. It started off a little awkward as I searched for a way to address the External Divine:

“Heavenly Father…Mother? Heavenly Mother? No, wait, for me the Mother is more earth-centered energy... Okay, Heavenly Father…”

Since then, my prayers typically went something like this:

“Heavenly Father, I ask you to speak to my heart and show me how to be an instrument of peace, compassion, wisdom and love. I ask that you help me evolve to be the best person I can. Lord, please help guide my heart toward the best way to help others.

“Lord, thank you for all you’ve blessed me with today and everyday. Thank you for this loving husband. Thank you for this doting dog. Please help me be the best wife and mother I can be for them.”

“Thank you for this warm, soft bed and for the watertight roof over my head…”

“Thank you for the ability to rhyme.”

“Heavenly Father, I ask for your blessings on my beloved, my friend Cronz and her family. Bless all my friends, Lord. Bless my family.”

“Lord, help me find my compassion with those who I don’t understand. Please guide me in my relationships. Lord, open my heart and mind so I can accept people as they are.”

Somehow, this simple silent speech put my mind at ease. Somehow, I felt heard, so I could lay my worries to rest.

Then, a few weeks ago I saw a teaser for 20/20…a short clip from the “God Hates the World” video. Since I missed the show, I decided to google “God hates the world.” I wound up watching the video because I thought it had to be a satire. But it’s not.

And I started to wonder, how do they know what God hates or what he wants for the world? And if God hates the world, doesn’t that include them? Does God hate them? Or do they think God doesn’t count their blind hatred of their fellow humans as “proud sinning”?

Maybe they've been talking with God and getting different answers than I have been... Which made me wonder if we were talking to the same guy...because their perception of God is so vastly different than my perception of God, even though I’ve been using a fairly similar form of address in my prayers. After all, “what’s in a name?”

Still, I felt I had to check in with “my” Heavenly Father.

“Heavenly Father… you’re really my Heavenly Father, right? You’re the one that loves everyone no matter what and can do things like guide me on the path of peace, compassion, wisdom, and love.”

“You’re not their Heavenly Father; the one who’s fucking up the planet and condemning people to a pit of fiery despair simply because their hearts ignore gender as a discriminating factor in loving?”

I waited for feelings of assurance that “my” Heavenly Father wasn’t “their” Heavenly Father.

None came…

So, now I think maybe the name by which I address the External Divine really does matter. By using a more commonly accepted Judeo-Christian term to address this nameless, formless universal force, I think I may have been really talking to the wrong guy…despite my intentions…

Sneaky guy, that world-hating wrathful version of Jehovah…

The coffee maker proclamation

2007-11-20T11:49:00.000-07:00

I don't like to blog about work, but every now and then, working in an office can be irritating, particularly when people don't clean up after themselves. So today I sent the following missive to my co-workers:

Today, I, a non coffee drinking member of the staff cleaned out the conference room’s coffee maker. Aforementioned coffee maker had remained unwashed from the training of November 16, 2007.

Henceforth, I will be charging exorbitant fees for cleaning of said coffee maker and the environmentally conscious disposal of grounds and filter for same and will be contacting known makers and/or consumers of coffee in said coffee maker regarding payment for services rendered.

Fees will be commensurate with my level of irritation at the time of cleaning, which may vary, depending on hormonal fluctuations and status of waking up on the wrong side of the bed on the morning of said cleaning. Fees may include, but are not limited to:

Chocolate
Wearing a funny hat of my choosing at the next staff meeting
Washing my scooter
Fanning me with palm fronds at the next staff meeting
Greeting me as “Oh Captain, my captain!” for a period of no less than 2 months

-OR-

Perhaps the people who make/consume coffee in said coffee maker could clean it themselves? Maybe whoever made the last pot or the last staff member to serve him/herself a cup of coffee should be the one to clean it?

***

Responses thus far have been very positive...

*****

Aside from this minor irritation, I am in a good mood because today is my beloved's birthday.

I'm awfully glad he was born!

Happy Natal Return, sweet love of my life!!!!!

Camp Song

2007-11-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, almost every summer my family would go camping on Lopez Island, off the coast of Anacortes, Washington. We would stay there for at least a week, Mom, Dad, my brother and I, living in our old green Hi-Lighter pop-up tent trailer, and feasting on the local bounty; digging for geoducks and finding crabs under the seaweed (when there wasn’t a red tide).

Most every night we would have a camp fire. On the best nights we would make s’mores and banana boats and sing camp songs.

There was one song in particular that my mother taught my brother and I that in all my experiences with Girl Scouts and Campfire Kids I never heard from anyone else…and when I tried to teach it to folks, they’d look at me with that strange, judgmental expression that communicated I’d somehow behaved inappropriately:

Oh it’s beer, beer, beer
That makes you want to cheer
On the farm
On the farm
Oh it’s beer, beer, beer
That makes you want to cheer
On the Leland Stanford Junior Farm

Chorus:
My eyes are dim
I can-not see!
I have, hey, not, ho
Brought my specs with me!

There are endless verses…I know, because my brother and I would make up more of them as we sang:

Vodka makes you feel so odd-ka
Gin makes you want to sin (or grin)
Rye makes you feel so high (or want to fly)
Wine makes you feel so fine
Whiskey makes you feel so frisky
Brandy makes you feel so dandy
Rum makes you feel so numb (or dumb)

Y’know…there’s nothing like positive reinforcement of booze as a source of fun to mold young minds into the alcoholics of tomorrow…

Sharing Info about Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder

2007-11-18T11:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve learned a few things about HSDD in the past few months. There’s not much out there on the topic as far as how to deal with HSDD, which is surprising, considering that sex is featured twice in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs!

I guess this is a good time to mention that I have zero-tolerance for the attitude that sex is wrong, morally, spiritually, intellectually…Sex is good thing…as long as no one is harmed in any way.

And every woman regardless of her age deserves a healthy sex life if she so desires.

If you are dealing with HSDD, it probably didn’t just happen overnight. My desire waned over time and there were a number of contributing factors, physical, medical, emotional/mental.

For any woman who is dealing with HSDD, I recommend that you consider the following factors:

Physical: Is intercourse painful? If so, try to pinpoint where, when, and how. Pain, any pain anywhere in the body is a sign that something is wrong. Talk to your OB/GYN or primary care physician or midwife or natural healing practitioner (health care professional) about any and all pain you are experiencing.

If you’ve been dealing with pain, you may have built up psychological defenses to protect yourself, consciously, unconsciously… Even when/if you have resolved any pain issues, it may take a while for your libido to catch up.

Medical: Is there a medical reason you are experiencing HSDD? Tell your health care professional about your concerns. Ask your health professional about medications or supplements that may increase libido.

Are you taking medications or supplements that could reduce your libido? Anti-depressants that contain SSRIs may reduce sexual desire. Also, certain thyroid medications, and the Pill can impact libido.

Talk to your health care professional about your medications and supplements, and possible side effects. Ask about safe alternatives. Be sure to ask about withdrawal symptoms if you decide to transition from one medication to another or decide to stop taking a particular medication – particularly with SSRIs. Also, St. John’s Wort (hypericum) can lower desire. Do not stop taking any prescribed medication without consulting your heath professional!

Emotional/Mental: Are you depressed and/or stressed? Is your brain working overtime? Talk to your doctor, counselor or natural healing practitioner about ways to manage depression or stress. Consider talking with a psychologist or a licensed counselor. Also, try some stress reducing activities; exercise, yoga, meditation…

Have you been the victim of sexual abuse? Visit the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network website for resources in your community. If you have not already done so, seek counseling. Find a support group. Do whatever you need to do to heal yourself.

Is it HSDD or something else: Are you and your sexual partner(s) having issues because of your HSDD or are there other issues that you need to address? Talk to your partner(s) or go with he/she/them to counseling.

Be good to yourself: Don’t feel ashamed for wanting or not wanting to have sex. Don’t get in a cycle where you feel constantly guilty for not meeting your partner(s) needs in this regard – you both/all will survive even though it’s not easy. Talk to your partner(s) about what’s going on with you. Ask for patience and be patient with yourself. Ask for forgiveness and forgive yourself.

There may be anger and tears, shame and blame, baby steps forward, jumbo steps back…but eventually some level of acceptance is attainable.

And some level of healing is inevitable if you are willing to do the hard work, self-exploration, and communication even if it feels awkward, embarrassing.

Remember this, like everything in life is temporary…and therefore changeable.

A Letter to My Brother

2007-11-17T14:38:00.000-07:00

This is the letter I've been working on to give my brother for Xmas:

Dear C,

From the times I’ve come to visit you these past 17 years, and from the snippets of conversation we’ve exchanged from time to time, and from what little Mom tells me, really, I can only guess at who you are now…

I figure your house, like mine is a constant work in progress and that sometimes it can feel like the house owns you instead of vice versa.

Maybe you wonder, as I do, how Dad managed to do as much as he did around the house…and maybe your answer is “child labor.”

I figure you still enjoy a nice cold beer now and then, or perhaps, at times, a few beers...and that you still indulge in (shudder) “dip” occasionally.

Maybe, like me, you feel you’ve come along way in figuring out what feels balanced and healthy for you with regard to alcohol and other indulgences, but still sometimes it’s a struggle to make the right choices in this regard.

For that matter, it’s a struggle to make the right choices in every regard because you have a strong moral compass, and the bottom line is that you really care about doing the right thing, and being the best person you can be.

I figure that your job is really demanding of your mental, physical and emotional energies in ways that few people around you understand.

Maybe being surrounded by people who are really different than you has significantly changed your outlook on life. And maybe you feel you are wiser and stronger for this experience. And maybe you have learned that not only does your sense of humor survive, it helps you to survive.

And maybe you’re lucky, like me, to have a life partner who helps you through those days when your sense of humor fails you.

I figure that you live with some degree of pain every day…physical pain from your back injuries, emotional pain because you still miss Dad and other loved ones who have moved on in one way or another.

Maybe some days are better than others…but maybe you miss living in the version of your body that was pain free.

All in all, I figure, we are not so very different.

A long time ago, Mom told me that the best guideline for giving a gift was to get something I would want for myself.

What I want for myself each year at Xmas is a gift that is meaningful in ways that are beyond the mere monetary value of a gift. I want a gift that is as rewarding to give as it is to receive.

With that in mind, this year, as in past years, I’ve donated to a charity in your name, because that’s something that feels meaningful and rewarding to me…

For me, it acknowledges how blessed we are…that we can share our abundance with others. It’s also a positive step away from the material trappings of Xmas. I don’t know that we really need to exchange material goods in order to wish one another a glad Yuletide, or to express our esteem for one another.

That being said, I know that giving this gift and simply signing the card with love, doesn’t fully express the depth of my feelings for you, either.

It doesn’t tell you how very proud I am of all that you’ve accomplished in your life. It doesn’t tell you how much fun I have when we sit around and recount the many twisted, yet funny stories from our childhood. It doesn’t tell you how very much it means to me to have a brother who, after all the past sparring and in spite of our differences, still loves and accepts me for who I am.

So this year, I’ve enclosed this letter…to let you know that I treasure you beyond measure, that I value our relationship, that I am very, very proud to call you my brother.

I love you, C.

Many blessings,
Your devoted sister

A Meme for Friday

2007-11-16T15:27:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Friday Fill-Ins:

1. The things I give thanks for this Thanksgiving are a loving husband, a doting dog, faithful friends, and a cozy home.

2. My Thanksgiving traditions include cooking, spending time with loved ones, eating turkey.

3. The best part about Thanksgiving is spending time with loved ones, and lots of good food.

4. My favorite Thanksgiving food is turkey and stuffing with gravy.

5. Forgetting to leave mushrooms out of the stuffing for a friend who was allergic (and now I’m allergic to them!) was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me on Thanksgiving.

6. After the meal, I like to clean up right away, then play games during dessert and coffee time.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to dinner out with my beloved, tomorrow my plans include running errands and relaxing and Sunday, I want to knit for as long as possible!

Autumn, we hardly knew ye...

2007-11-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

I checked my calendar this morning and it was just as I thought…

Winter doesn’t officially begin until December 22.

I had to make sure because I’ve been seeing Xmas decorations and Xmas themed commercials since Halloween (in the craft stores, since July!!!).

And we have had an Indian Summer in Albuquerque (those Indians are so smart, to have their summer when the weather is cooler).

I’m feeling a little rushed now; going straight from summer to winter…

When did autumn disappear from the agenda?

And so today, I googled “autumn” and found that, at least on the internet, autumn is still very much alive…

I found:
wiki-autumn
And on-line autumn,
And the band Autumn,
And google images of autumn.

I also found:
autumn word lore,
And autumn quotes,
And autumn poems…

And one poem in particular by Abhinabha....

Autumn

O season of ripe beauty, you I greet!

Whose heart is love's calm wisdom at its throbbing core;

Your deep hues and myriad colors make the soul's wings beat

And lift a lover like me to your ambrosial shore.

Through you Nature weeps its precious golden tears,
In you a mortal eye could glimpse its native Immortality,
O endless fount of inspiration to the poet-seers
To be bound by your embrace is to be truly free!

A glad earth bathes in your benign and lustrous smile
And man's heart thrills with an unknown rapture and delight
By your whispers and footfalls and flute-call beguiled,
An ancient kinship links him to your celestial height.

A brimming of golden sweetness in your dreaming eyes
Fills the world with the beauty of a realm divine,
The sun's last rays serenely trickle from your purple skies:
I send my love and song and call your blessings mine.

May you have blessed autumn-to-winter!!!

I like Wednesdays...

2007-11-14T14:28:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, Wednesday was my favorite day… Wednesday was the day we did arts and crafts in school… We got out of class a little early so the teachers could have their weekly meetings…My favorite TV show was on Wednesday nights...

Now that I’m an adult, I still look forward to Wednesdays.

On Wednesdays I lunch with my dear friend, Cronz. And I always come away from our lunches feeling wonderfully nourished in body and spirit.

Wednesday nights are “date” nights for my beloved and I. So tonight we’ll go out for dinner, and then perhaps take a romantic stroll in the park where we had our first date, and then, perhaps get decaf lattes to warm up. And later, we'll probably snuggle on the couch and watch "Pushing Daisies" which is cute and romantic...like us...

And today, on a Wednesday, Cronz gave me SOCKS!!!! Wildly colored “Little MissMatched” socks!!!!

And they came with a “True You” Quiz: "If I could make my own world…"

If I could make my own world:

My name would be Grace

Every Tuesday for dinner I’d eat an In-n-Out Double-Double hamburger with fries

I’d be an artist when I grew up

I’d invent a car that runs on garbage

I’d be in the Olympics in this sport: archery

I’d get this actor to play me in the movie of my life: Kathy Bates

I’d go back to this period in history: 1960's - I'm a hippie at heart...

My world would be: free from violence, hunger, and disease. People would live to 100 and die in their sleep.

Still struggling

2007-11-13T15:04:00.000-07:00

My spirits are really down today. I can't think of anything to write except that I'm still struggling with the HSDD...

Last night I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep. I came to bed and snuggled up next to my beloved and a wave of sadness came over me…

I am just not the woman he needs me to be.

I could have woken him up, so he could see me despairing over this because being upset shows him I'm concerned about my how my HSDD hurts him. And that’s important to him because he goes for long periods believing that I’m not concerned about it at all.

But really, how can I not be concerned when I know that every day we don’t have sex, he takes that to mean that I don’t love him…that he’s not desirable. I’m the person whose actions (or rather inactions) bring up these feelings for him and the guilt of it weighs on my heart like a lead apron.

My body is still not cooperating. Along with the HSDD, I have dyspareunia because of dryness. And it’s not just dryness “in the moment” but constant “my tissue is thinning and won’t regain elasticity no matter how much Bag Balm I slather on” dryness. There doesn’t seem to be a cure for this.

And if that weren’t enough; I’ve been getting frequent yeast infections and/or UTIs, and if I’m not dealing with one of those, it’s my period, and sometimes it’s one of those along with my period.

And if that weren’t enough; chronic joint pain, plantar faciitis, migraines, and sciatica have come to winter with me once again.

Every day I wake up and try to find feelings within me which seem to be dwelling elsewhere. To conceive of sex as a source of pleasure feels like reaching for the moon...it's become so fraught with stress and grief and this overwhelming sense of failure.

I finally find a partner I know in my soul that I’m meant to be with, and my sex drive goes on sabbatical.

I feel like I’m the butt of some great cosmic joke…the humor of which is completely lost on me.

Organized Chaos

2007-11-12T15:25:00.000-07:00

Today my beloved and I had lunch with my friend D. And we learned that D doesn’t know me as well as she thought.

For example, D thought that I always kept my house just so. To which I, the paradigm of sensitivity, responded BWHAHAHAHAHAHA!

D hasn’t been by on a typical weekday when helmets and junk mail and gloves and iPod gear cover the dining room table, where jackets are thrown over dining chairs, and bags are slung over the jackets.

D hasn’t seen that shoes are kicked off and stay on the floor of the den and laundry goes unfolded and clean dishes wait to be put in cupboards. She hasn’t seen crumbs on the coffee table, and empty coffee mugs on the end table, surrounded by a knitter’s clutter…snippets of yarn and skein labels, yarn gauge and row counter, darning needles, crochet hooks, and needlework shears.

She hasn’t seen that “my” chair in the den hides bags of materials for upcoming projects. For that matter, D hasn’t seen how much yarn I have squirreled away…most of which is stashed in a cabinet that is starting to resemble Fibber McGee’s closet.

And it’s highly unlikely that D will ever see these things, because I just wasn’t raised that way…

Well, that, and there's a fair amount of “non-public” space in the house to hide clutter in a hurry.

My parents always kept their place just so. It was never cluttered or dusty or overdue for a thorough cleaning – then again, they did have a house cleaner come in once a week and they didn’t live in the high desert, where dust is a daily occurrence.

My father was almost rabid in his resistance to clutter…except in the garage. My mother only slightly less so…except in the hallway closet and her basket beside the couch.

Those spaces were a strange and wonderful blend of organized chaos.

Yet they were the places where my parents were most productive. My father would do woodwork or ceramics or stained glass projects in the garage. My mother would sit on “her” end of the couch and correct homework, make decorations for her classroom, practice calligraphy, knit, or crochet. What supplies didn’t fit in her basket, she stashed in the hallway closet…which, like mine, often resembled Fibber McGee’s…

So I’m thinking that this fruit didn’t fall too far from the tree…

Fideo

2007-11-11T13:23:00.000-07:00

My beloved and I are frequent visitors to a local restaurant because their flautas and fideo are amazing. But if we could get these items elsewhere and have them be just as good, we would.

Any other restaurant in town that we attend on a regular basis, we are greeted like old friends, with warm smiles and a tone in the wait staff’s voice that indicates to us that they are sincerely happy to see us. I get the feeling that those who don’t get to serve us are a little disappointed. At one place the server can practically start writing our order as soon as we walk in the door.

Not so at the flautas and fideo place. There we feel like we are an after thought…to the hostess, to the waitresses. We’re cheerful folks, but being around such sullen faces is a bit of a downer.

So today I decided to take matters into my own hands. I made fideo for the first time…and while I let it simmer a little too long (if the pasta sticks to the bottom of the pan…it’s simmered too long), I was able to match the flavor of the restaurant fideo pretty closely. I think I have the ratios worked out. Next time I’ll take it off when it’s still a little soupy.

Here’s my recipe (inspired by a recipe on RecipeLand.com):

Padme’s Fideo
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 angel hair nests
1 – 8 oz can tomato sauce
3 cloves of garlic minced
2 medium shallots diced
Salt and pepper to taste

Over a medium-high heat, sauté the angel hair nests until golden brown, turn, add the shallots and sauté the pasta and shallots until the nests are golden brown on both sides. Add 1 clove of garlic, tomato sauce, salt and pepper and water. Stir so that the nests are covered with the liquid. Bring to a boil, add the rest of the garlic, reduce heat, cover and allow to simmer for 10 minutes, or until the pasta is al dente.

The retirement plan...

2007-11-10T08:17:00.000-07:00

My beloved and I are thinking that when we retire, we’d like to raise some kids…

Once commuting is no longer a pressing concern, our plan is to live a bit more rurally, have a nice size plot of land with plenty of room for kids to jump and play and roam around. And we’d finally have the time to give them the attention they’d deserve.

They wouldn’t eat much…depending on the amount of acreage we could probably for the most part live off the land.

Maybe when they’re a little older we’ll bring them to Wrigley Field to hang out with the Cubs.

We’ll give them old world names like Jael, Aja, Amalthea, Caprice, Faunus, Gruff…

And I’m thinking they’d be a nice way to supplement our income. We’ll make chevre and soap…maybe even shear some of them for yarn... Then we could sell our wares to local markets…

And when the kids are older, maybe we’ll sell their kids to the butcher…but only the males. No wait…maybe we’ll find a petting zoo for them… It’s wrong to kill kids.

11/09/07

2007-11-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

As her spirit loses the battle one more
As her body breaks down
As her legs fall into a pile of jigsaw puzzle fragments

She envisions a hose from tailpipe to window
She envisions a wound from her wrist to her arm
As more of her body falls into the pile of jigsaw puzzle fragments

She wonders when she became so dry
When she shifted from a being a woman of water
To a woman of dusty jigsaw puzzle fragments

She wonders why she can’t just melt
And be one with the earth
Instead of becoming a pile of jigsaw puzzle fragments
To be swept and tossed away

Another pattern posted!

2007-11-08T12:44:00.000-07:00

I finally posted another pattern on my project blog. Check out my cable purse.

When I finally finish the infamous lace scarf (ILS), I'll be sure to post pix of it there.

Last night I took a break from the ILS to practice some crochet techniques and a knit swatch for a new project...a blanket for the den. I think it would look so much better and be much warmer if I knit it...on the other hand, with knitting it won't be finished until the cold weather has long since passed...in 2010!

P.S. May this serve as my official message to the Universe that I believe I have no need to receive the "Every Cookie Recipe" email ever again...having received it 5 times thus far. Is this a chain letter thing? Will I stop receiving it if I forward it to someone else? Is this vengeance for not forwarding the breast cancer walking woman and the uterine cancer walking woman? What message am I not getting that necessitates receipt of this email fivefold?

When nerd chicks ride scooters...

2007-11-07T11:56:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I rode my scooter to work, like I do most mornings. It’s been freakin’ cold in the mornings this past week…

So I bundle up in layers: Long sleeve shirt, cardigan, polar fleece jacket, second polar fleece jacket…gloves, helmet, jeans…

I usually flip up my visor when I get to my first stop sign, in order to de-fog my glasses.

So, my visor’s up when I turn onto the first major cross street. John Denver’s “Winter” comes on my iPod and I start singing along.

I see a man standing, waiting for work at the Labor Ready place. He’s got his hands jammed under his armpits and he’s stamping his feet, trying to force some warm blood into his extremities. I see him look up at me as I pass by on the scooter. He hears me bellowing:

“It’s cold, and it’s getting colder!
It’s grey and white and winter’s all around!”

I figure his first reaction was: “What the hell was that?!?”

His second thought (if he heard the lyrics): “Hell yeah it’s cold!”

His third thought: “I wonder if that singing helps her feel warmer…hmmm…

“You’re as cold as ice!”

Ok, there is perhaps a slight chance that I may be taking the recycle knitting a teensy bit too far…

2007-11-06T08:33:00.000-07:00

The word of my recycled grocery bag bags has spread. Last week a coworker brought me some plastic bags, because, as she put it, “You’re the bag lady!”

Lovely. I’ve become a bag lady.

Still, I am not dissuaded. Recycle knitting is fast, fun and my bags almost always get compliments from the cute check out guys and girls at Wild Oats.

A few weeks ago I gave my mother-in-law almost all my grocery bag stash so she could make her own grocery bag bag (check my knitting blog: http://padmeprojects.blogspot.com and yes, I do intend to post another pattern soon).

This past Sunday, my beloved and I were walking out of the super market and I happened to “peek” into the large barrel that holds the bags folks bring in to recycle.

SCORE!!! I found a neat stack of at least 20 bags right on top… I snagged them.

“Check these out! These bags weren’t perfed right, so the store tossed them out! SWEET!” I waved my pilfered sacks with glee.

My beloved gave me a look which indicated that I may have crossed a line somehow…

“What?!? It’s not like I stole them…they were in the recycling bin. They’re still going to be recycled…I’m just going to recycle them in a slightly different way than they had intended.”

Still the “look” from my husband…

I remain unrepentant.

With a little “plastic” surgery, these bags will work just fine for my projects. I spent most of Sunday afternoon and evening sorting through and stripping my recently supplemented stash of plastic bags. An embarrassment of riches…and it was all free!!!

Now if only my muse would stop by while I’m knitting lace, so I can get back to my recycling projects sooner rather than later!

Lace scarf update: I made the mistake of showing my beloved my row counter to let him know I’d gotten up to row 31…because I thought saying it out loud might somehow jinx me. Turns out I jinxed myself anyhow. I knit a few more rows, dropped a stitch and had to unravel my work back to Row 20. I’m not doing any more progress reports until this thing is done!

Daylight Saving Time is a happy active morning person conspiracy

2007-11-05T10:42:00.000-07:00

I don’t need extra sunlight in the morning. On weekend mornings, I want to sleep in and on weekday mornings; I prefer to sleep until I absolutely have to get up to get ready for work. I can turn on a light if I need or want illumination. I usually do anyway because there’s not enough light in the mornings even with the durn time change!

Also, morning is not an exercise time for me. I’m not coordinated enough to exercise in the mornings. My body and brain aren’t in sync until I’ve been up for at least half an hour, and preferably after I’ve had a nice long shower. There’s just not enough time between 6:30 and 7:15 for me to pull myself up to full function and fit in a workout.

I need sunlight in the afternoons, when my brain and body are in agreement that it's time to remember what it's like to move instead of being slumped in front of a computer all day.

Darkness makes my body want to slow down and makes the earth feel colder. With all my aches and pains, I need sunlight to keep things as warm as possible if I’m going to be willing to move at all.

Daylight saving time best serves the happy active morning people. As a drowsy zaftig nightowl...daylight saving time needs to go away.

But even for the happy active morning people it wouldn't be that bad...

Think about it; we’d still get our nice long summer evenings, because since we wouldn’t set the clocks back in the winter, so we wouldn’t need to change the clocks in the spring.

And best of all..we wouldn't have to force our bodies to adjust to this bureaucratic nonsense twice a year.

Yo, Muse!!!!

2007-11-04T10:27:00.001-07:00

In the rare occasions that I’ve sat down to knit this past week, it hasn’t exactly been a project of my choosing.

In July I tried my hand at knitting lace in the simplest form, a scarf. Call it beginners luck, but it turned out beautifully. It turned out so well, in fact, that I gave it to my mother for her birthday.

A few months later, she calls me. A dear friend of hers admired the scarf and my mother would like me to knit another one. She offered to pay me…for the materials.

I tried to explain to her that the issue for me wasn’t the materials. I had actually picked up two balls of the same yarn so I could make myself a similar lace scarf one day. I tried to explain that lace is extremely detailed knitting that demands a lot of my time and focus, and at this time of year, I want to be working on gifts for my niece or nephew (who is expected to arrive any day now!) and gifts for the winter holidays.

Crickets chirped…

It became clear she was asking me this as a “favor”. But in my book, when I’m asked to make something elaborate and time consuming as a mere act of gracious kindness. It feels more like an imposition.

And she knew this…because from that point in the conversation, she played some pretty hefty guilt cards. GUILT!!!! It’s my mom’s special home-brewed kryptonite.

Righteous indignation fading…boundaries weakening….AAHHHHH!!!!!

Of course I said I’d do it…. But I did manage a feeble caveat: “Only after I’ve finished knitting for the baby.”

Yeah, I’m a rock.

This is not the first time my mother has asked me to duplicate a project I’ve made for her. Her friends have this nasty habit of admiring and wanting pieces that were truly labors of love.

While it’s nice to be admired, I would prefer it if my mother appreciated the unique essence of my hand made gifts; that the things I’ve made for her are meant for her alone. When she assumes I can just whip up a duplicate, I feel like she’s devaluing not only my gifts, but also herself as my inspiration.

Not that I would feel much different if I were being paid for the project. There’s a vast difference in my mindset when I’m making something as a gift when and making something to sell. I’ll go that extra mile for a gift…but once I try to put a monetary value on my craft, I feel almost resentful.

Over the years I’ve learned that crafting for pay irritates my muse. She really only inspires me when I don’t have an ulterior motive spurring me to create. If I’m crafting with any motives other than charity, generosity, or simple creative exploration, the little fairy ditches me.

What I thought might appease my muse thing time is that this scarf is for my mother’s friend, Elsa. When I was a little girl, Elsa gave me one of my favorite stuffed animals that I have to this day. And this gift wasn’t for any other reason other than Elsa thought I was special.

And now, my mom tells me that Elsa is dying. All guilt aside…I really understand why my mother wants this scarf for her… I want this scarf for her.

But silly me, I figured I would knit my next lace piece at my leisure. I thought I’d make “my” version of the scarf a little thinner and a little longer, so I didn’t bother to take notes on the first one. I don’t know what size needles I used, or the dimensions.

I’m trying to duplicate it as best as I can…and this time, I’m taking notes so if I ever come across that yarn again, I’ll be ready to make “my” scarf.

Still, I’d do better if my muse were here, at least so I can get beyond 20 rows before a have to unravel the damn thing!

The Cabin Swing

2007-11-03T11:57:00.000-06:00

My brother called me a week ago, wanting to make sure I knew that the cabin was gone. He also directed me to a blog that has pictures posted of the lost homes.

We talked about the possibility of rebuilding, and he really surprised me. I still don’t know if he’ll want to oversee the project, but his ideas for the next cabin were much in line with what I would want for the place, which gladdened my heart and gave me a glimmer of hope for our tenuous relationship.

We also shared some of our favorite memories of the “second” cabin. Many good times over 13 years of our childhood-into-adulthood were spent there. One of my brother’s favorite memories was of the cabin swing.

My father built this swing out of a pine board and rope. He looped a rope over an oak tree branch, ran the rope through knotholes that were conveniently located at each side of the board…a couple square knots later and voila: Swing!

The reason my brother holds his memories of this swing so dear to his heart wasn’t because he spent many an happy hour on it swaying to and fro over the hillside while the oak leaves fell in the autumn breeze, and the sunlight danced between the branches of the ponderosa pines…

He remembers the swing because of the time he was pushing me in the swing and one of the knots slipped out of a knothole.

I was, of course on the verge of maximum altitude when the board swung out from under me…

Ahh...my first flight; all too suddenly interrupted by my abrupt impact with the earth, followed by what seemed like an eternal tumble down the hillside.

My brother’s second favorite memory? Me falling down the cabin stairs.

There’s a unique timbre to his voice that hints at stifled laughter when he speaks of these “fond” memories.

Sadistic bastard.

Is it any wonder this man and I have issues?

Charity on Demand

2007-11-02T10:00:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, an unwashed woman wearing a BUM t-shirt asked me for spare change.

Now there are those who would call that “ironic”, and as indundated as I've been by America’s stubborn predilection for using “irony” to describe events that are actually “coincidence”, I admit the first word that came to my mind to describe the event was “ironic”.

I shudder at the thought!

Fear not, gentle readers, this is not going to be a diatribe extolling the virtues of proper English (though I do struggle every day against my inner pedantess because my co-workers regularly commit heinous acts of mixing metaphors, malapropisms, and misquoting adages, ah, well, perhaps that is a blog for another time...).

In retrospect, although I appreciate the laughter this moment of poetic coincidence gifted me; I could not, in good conscience, give this lady money.

I've listened to many a tale of woe from people begging for money. There was one occasion when I gave a few dollars to a man because I believed his story and really empathized with his situation. But when he approached me a few weeks later with the same story, I realized I’d been duped, and politely refused to give him more money. He became very angry, lobbed a few derogatory phrases at me and stormed off.

His anger really scared me and I wondered if I’d really helped him at all by giving him money.

Every year for the winter holidays I make financial donations to the Heifer Foundation. Throughout the rest of the year I donate clothing, food, or other supplies to local charities. I’ve been knitting and gathering squares to create blankets for Project Linus and the homeless. It’s not that I don’t want to help those in need...

But panhandling is a different animal that, for me, crosses the line from charity to charity on demand. When someone approaches me for money, I have an immediate sense of obligation to that person. At the same time, I don’t want to enable an unhealthy cycle for anyone. I can’t count on addicts to be truthful about how my donations to their personal cause will be spent.

The bottom line for me is that I need to know that my contributions will make a positive difference.

Overall, I think the Universe understands that about me and has gifted me with limited encounters with panhandlers for quite some time. But every now and then, I figure the Universe wants to check in with me about my boundaries.

“You still feeling the same way about panhandlers, Padme?”

“Sure am, Universe...but thanks for checking.”

National Blog Posting Month

2007-11-01T08:03:00.000-06:00

I may regret this, but I signed up for National Blog Posting Month (note NaBloPoMo image to the right). This represents a significant change in my pattern. I've chosen not to post on a regular basis...relying solely on inspiration to spur me to write.

On the other hand...I have, in the past written "daily pages" for over a month, as one of the Artist's Way activities. I figure if I can do that, I can do this.

Last night we had a large number of trick or treaters. I love that with all that's scary about western society, people still let their children go door to door soliciting candy from strangers. It's heartening that people still have faith in the greater good.

Either that or sugar lust impaired their higher judgement.

My beloved carved two pumpkins for Halloween, the first, an elaborate witch and cauldron pattern - very detailed and very cool. The second, he carved for me...a heart shape. That little heart shaped jack-o-lantern got more comments from our costumed beggers than the much more labor intensive carving. Just goes to show that even ghouls and goblins appreciate romance...

We played Scrabble in between visitations. Well, he played and I floundered. The man managed a BINGO on a triple word score. Looks like I need to quit playing Sudoku and do more anagrams.

Then again, I was distracted by keeping an eye on the toasting pumpkin seeds...

At a Loss...

2007-10-26T15:09:00.000-06:00

Last night my mother called to inform me the family mountain home had burned down. This makes the third house my family has lost to fire at this site.

When she was a young girl, my grandmother won this property by spinning a wheel at a state fair. My great-grandfather had the first cabin built on this site. I have vague memories of this cabin. I remember my entire family sleeping in one large room with deer skins on the walls. I think the room was sectioned off by partial walls or blankets. I remember sleeping under the weight of layers of wool blankets because there was no central heat. To this day I sleep better when I feel the weight of blankets over me.

That cabin burned down when a forest fire swept through Smiley Park in the early 70’s.

The second cabin was designed by my father with the help of an architect named Adrian. I have too many memories of this place to mention for fear of downplaying the significance of one memory by favoring it over another. This was one of the few places in my childhood where I look back and count more happy memories than sad in my time spent there.

That cabin burned down thirteen years to the day after the first cabin. We think perhaps a bottle in a window sill refracted sunlight and started a fire, much like a mean kid frying ants with a magnifying glass.

The third “cabin” was actually my father’s dream house. It was built while I was in college and my parents enjoyed it mostly after I had moved to New Mexico. My father wanted to retire there, but my mother preferred being closer to civilization. I have few memories of this place…mostly of the lands surrounding it, so going there still felt like coming home.

After my father died, half of his ashes were cast into the sea. The other half was given to my family to spread in the mountains near the cabin, but the three of us never got up there all together in order to complete the task. So my father’s ashes were placed in a wooden box, and rested on the bar where he poured many a drink for himself and other visitors to what he named “Hawk’s Lair.”

It is strangely poetic that this last fire merged my father with the place he loved most, forever.

For me, not having forged significant memories or attachments to this building, losing it leaves me feeling strangely ambivalent.

In many ways this loss simplifies some things for me. For example; I’ll never have to argue with my brother about who gets what of the family heirlooms that once resided in this house.

And, if another place is built, logistically speaking, it’s more likely my brother who would invest the time and energy to the project. Because of this high level of involvement (and the fact that my brother and I are practically estranged from one another) my brother’s spirit that would dominate the space.

But we have vastly different energies, my brother and I.

So, the upside of this arrangement is that it lightens my load, materialistically speaking. The downside is it would be one less place for me to go that feels like home.

Either way, I feel like I have one less refuge in a world that already held too few sanctuaries for me.

Check out my new blog!

2007-09-27T10:00:00.000-06:00

I've decided to start a new blog to post my projects.

Check it out: http://padmeprojects.blogspot.com/

1:05 am

2007-09-25T01:05:00.000-06:00

Here I sit in front of my laptop when I should be asleep. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.

Partly, it’s been the noise from the state fair, 5 blocks away. It has seemed louder this year. I hear screams that my logical mind tells me are people on the thrill rides. But my reptile mind tells me that screams are a sign of danger, and around this time 6 years ago, I heard screams thousands of miles away that were real. And since there have been a lot of sirens in the vicinity of the fairgrounds, well, it’s been hard to feel safe.

And I’ve been creating my own noise. Mental noise. As hard as I try to clear my headspace so I can rest, I’m bombarded by destructive thoughts.

I remember things that I did or said long ago that haunt me. They demand my focus. I shame myself for things that may or may not have been mistakes. And it doesn’t matter that I’ve learned from those experiences, and/or atoned for my mistakes. It doesn’t matter that I have a stronger moral compass and a higher level of compassion.

And lately, it’s not just my distant past that troubles me...

I shame myself for things I’ve said or done in the past week or so. And it may be because my actions didn’t warrant positive feedback from others. And it doesn’t matter if I tell myself that my worth is not something that can be measured by others. If it’s been a while since I’ve impressed my colleagues or at least one person I come in contact with in the course of daily living, I figure I must be doing something wrong.

I shame myself for all the things that I want to change about myself and haven’t; for all the patterns I’ve wanted to change and haven’t; for all the habits I’ve wanted to adopt and haven’t. And it doesn’t matter what positive changes I've made for myself; I am ashamed by my lack of will power, my lack of motivation.

I shame myself for not being a bigger part of the solution; for seeing things that I think may be in my power to change for the better, but I lack the fortitude, dedication, and energy to take on tasks and see them through.

I wonder what will be the thing out there that will feed the hungry ghost that dwells within me. The thing that will replace shame with pride, the thing that I feel good about, regardless of others’ feedback, the thing that will make changing old patterns seem easy because this thing...it needs me to be healthy. And this thing inspires me to the point where I can see myself sticking with it endlessly.

This thing, it's is something I’m meant to be doing. It could be a livelihood, it could be some other project. It’s connected to peace...to silencing screams, to healing the planet, to making a significant impact toward positive change.

And I know it’s something I need to find on my own and that feels lonely, scary, but at the same time...empowering.

So now… I can rest, because for this journey, I need to be receptive, but selective; energetic, but focused. And for that...I need rest, so tomorrow, I can continue the search...

Choosing my ride

2007-09-21T09:41:00.000-06:00

I'm still recovering from the fall I took last month. I ache and still don’t have full range of motion with my left shoulder, or my right thumb and the side of my left leg still feels bruised. I haven’t ridden Luna for 3 weeks.

During this time away from riding Luna, I’ve had an opportunity to think about what kind of rider I am, what kind of riding I do, what kind of riding I like to do, and what I really want out of my two wheeled transport.

I’m a cautious rider. On La Scopa, I’ve had to be. I’ve had to do some fancy maneuvering to avoid cars that were pulling out in front of me. I’ve learned to leave a very wide berth when switching lanes because my speed was so much slower than the flow of traffic. On La Scopa, the tires are small, the bike is lighter and my center of gravity is lower so cornering is a breeze. I easily avoid the gravel around corners.

With Luna, I’m even more cautious. I have more speed, but substantially less control. I have to focus on shifting. She’s a good height, but so heavy, and her tires feel really unpredictable. She’s harder to stop, harder to corner. She feels like too much bike for me.

Also, I wear less gear on the scooter. Since I go so much slower on La Scopa, I’ll usually wear a chambray shirt instead of my much bulkier motorcycle jacket. I always wear a helmet, but since it’s a step through ride, I don’t have to worry as much about ankle protection. I wear whatever shoes I want.

Motorcycles require boots. There are those who ride in flip-flops, shorts and a tank top, hair blowing in the breeze. Me, I like my ankles, my skin and my brains intact. If I’m riding Luna, I’m in full gear. Gloves, full face helmet, armored jacket, jeans and above the ankle boots.

Having to wear boots every time I ride is no small thing, folks. Those who know me know I am a sock maven and the wilder and funkier, the better. I miss showing off my socks.

But on a more practical note, my orthotic supports don’t work very well in the boots. They’re tolerable, but if I want to keep the plantar fasciitis at bay, I need more cushion and they don’t make biker boots with removable insoles…

And speaking of practicalities...I do 90% of my riding in the city. I’d love to go for rides all over the state, but my priority is to feel safe riding in the crazy Albuquerque traffic. So I want good acceleration, but I don’t need a fast ride.

When I first looked to upgrade La Scopa, all I wanted was a little faster scooter. But once I took the motorcycle safety training and did so well, and the idea riding with friends was so appealing...I was convinced I was ready for at least a 500 cc motorcycle.

And certainly I’m capable of riding one, but as far as being ready for one...hmmm...maybe not so much. Maybe one day...but for now, I think I’m a scooter gal at heart.

I love the more retro-styled scooters, so I figured I'd go for a Vespa. I went to PJ’s and they let me test drive a Vespa GTS 250. It had plenty of power, but the handlebars were too straight. I felt too rigid. My upper frame would lock up...I felt like I was going to lose control, particularly at higher speeds. I had to stop several times to calm myself down, reassure myself that I could control this ride. Even at slower speeds I felt too stiff. As cool as Vepsas are and as much as I love, love, love the guys at PJ’s, this was not the ride for me.

So I went to visit New Urban Transport and those nice folks let me test drive a Kymco People 250 S. It's a great ride, but I found it a wee bit too modern looking for my taste.

Soooo, they brought down a lovely wine-colored People 250 from their Santa Fe store for me to try. This version is a more retro/Vespa style. It handled just as well as the 250 S.

Me like! Me like so much, I bought her on the spot…

(I don't have pix of mine yet...this one belongs to Scootgirl)

If Luna and La Scopa had a love child, this would be it. This scooter has larger wheels and her handlebars are more curved than the Vespa, which makes for a much more ergonomic ride.

She handles city streets beautifully. Her acceleration is super. She smokes most bikes from the line...most cars for that matter. I’ve taken her up around 65 mph so I believe she’s quite capable of highway riding (though I’m not sure I’m ready for highway riding).

I tend to wear my heavier gear since she’s a faster ride, but I keep my comfy shoes...and funky socks.

I call her Tara; the Red Tara being the fierce aspect, associated with magnetizing all good things. It seems consistent with the energy I feel when I ride her and with what I want to manifest in my life.

More HSDD work...

2007-09-07T11:11:00.000-06:00

I saw the ob/gyn Tuesday I’m still pain-free. Well, I’m pain-free in the spots where I got the injections. I still have some tightness of the more external tissue. I think the Bag Balm helps this…I’m hoping it will in the long term.

And for the HSDD, the testosterone helped, a lot. And it was nice to feel lusty again and to actively focus on the things that attract me to my husband. Alas, I can’t take it on a long-term basis because my system will adapt to it and I’ll get diminishing returns.

Still, it didn’t help me feel less distracted during sex.

I think most men, once they get “going” have a singleness of purpose when it comes to sex. It takes a lot to dissuade them. I’m not wired that way. I could stop foreplay at any point and shift my focus immediately to another task. I have to actively focus and try to dismiss distractions. I don’t think this is unusual…

But, I can’t just rest on that. I have to look at all the things that are preventing me from having a robust libido. And I think this monkey-mind is a defense mechanism.

There is a lot of pressure to resolve my pain issues and the HSDD so I can get back to the task of taking care of my beloved, of ensuring his pleasure, his happiness. I’ve been so focused on getting where he needs me to be…I haven’t been able to focus on what I want for me in this area.

Even if my libido matched my husband’s; it wouldn’t change my basic nature, my basic wants.

And what I really want is just to make sweet love on a clean, comfortable bed. Day, time, negotiable…what constitutes making sweet love is also negotiable…

But my partner is so attached to his fantasies, to seeing them fulfilled. And many of his fantasies involve me taking giant steps out of my comfort zone, emotionally, physically…to do things that make me feel awkward or objectified or uncomfortable.

It hasn’t felt okay to say no because it creates so much disappointment (and therefore; distance, resentment, anger…). And it feels like I’m putting my relationship in jeopardy. As much as I want to be the “one” for my husband, maybe the reality is that I’m not the person to fulfill these fantasies; which is a significant incompatibility.

If I state my boundaries with the expectation that these boundaries be respected, it means he has to sacrifice his fantasies, which he has given a level of importance that goes beyond wants...these feel like basic needs to the man.

And if I don’t expand my boundaries, I can’t evolve, but if I test them and find them impermeable; I need to respect that…and I haven’t.

I think that’s a big part of what’s causing the muscle spasms and the HSDD; I’ve been trying to adapt to something I deep down don’t want to adapt to. I haven’t honored my truth.

So, last night, I spoke this truth to my beloved, knowing it could mean the end for us, but also knowing if I am with someone at the risk of my well-being, I am not doing right by either of us.

It wasn’t the end.

It wasn’t easy, but it is an opportunity to learn, yet again; what challenges us also strengthens us. And, with every challenge, we shorten the time it takes to work through the reactionary mind matter in order to free our minds, and be open to possibilities.

It is a time to be mindful that mind-sets are temporary and transmutable.

It is a time to be mindful of the importance of acting from love.

It is a time to be mindful that only a whole, empowered person can love fully.

It is a time of mutual healing.

Qelah

2007-09-06T14:55:00.000-06:00

Qelah is a person who appeared to me in my Monday night dream.

In this dream, I went to a women’s gathering in the mountains. There were many tents…including one for fortune tellers…sort of a mini-psychic fair.

She first appeared like a stereotypical gypsy fortune teller, as one who had traveled with the carnies for a long while; her well weathered face, brown and leathery. She was tall and wiry, as if no amount of food would put weight on her. Her thin grey hair poked out in greasy wisps under her spangled kerchief. Her voice was of one who smoked 2 packs of Camels every day since she was 12. Her hands were rutted with veins and her fingernails were painted blue, purple, yellow, green, and red.

She took my hands in hers and told me she could not tell my fortune.

“I’m supposed to be with you” she said. “My destiny is entwined with yours, so I can’t tell your fortune.”

I was quick to inform her that my destiny was already entwined with someone…and it was a monogamous connection at that. So I made my way out of the tent.

“I know.” She said. “I’m supposed to be with him as well.”

At this point I’m thinking: “Yeah right.”

Because this person, this rough, slovenly, brash; your basic “broad” is sooo not my type. And knowing what I know of my beloved, she would remind him of his first wife’s mother-in-law…so she is not someone who would appeal to him either.

But I look back at her, and she now appears as a cross between one of the faerie folk and an Amazon, short, brown, and stout, but soft, deft in her movements…almost ethereal. Her skin is a lovely honey hue that literally glows. Her hair is held back by a mauve muslin cloth, and instead of a greasy grey, it is now a mass of long colorful dreadlocks. Think Tia Dalma from “Pirates of the Caribbean” only cleaner, and with white teeth.

“I’m Qelah.” She tells me, the rough whiskey voice replaced with a smooth alto. “I’ll see you later.”

And she does. And she meets my beloved. And things progress between us…a relationship starts between she and me and he and she and all of us together...

And over time I realize that my beloved’s view of Qelah is very different than mine. So I ask him to describe her...

And he says..."She’s about your height, maybe a little thinner…just a bit more muscular…but not much. Her hair is short…almost shaved. Her lips are thin, but not too thin…like yours. Her eyes are deep brown.”

And I agree, “Her eyes are a really pretty brown…But she’s much shorter than me…her head only comes up to my chin. Her figure is a similar to mine…something of a squat hourglass, voluptuous, but proportional. But her hair is a mass of long dreadlocks and her lips are full, lush… and always look like they’ve been stained with pomegranate juice.”

What we can both agree upon is that she is supposed to be with us.

Cumbersome beast...

2007-08-31T10:50:00.000-06:00

Maybe it’s my political predilections influencing me, but ever since I lay down the motorcycle a few weeks ago, I’m finding it incredibly difficult to make right turns. Yesterday on my home from work, I aimed for signal lights and prayed for them to turn red before I got to them so I could make right turns from a stop…when no one behind me expected me to maintain a certain level of speed.

This morning I rode around my neighborhood to practice making right turns. Many of the corners were coated with gravel from recent rains. The first time I tried making a right turn, I skidded. I managed to keep the bike up, but felt really shaken. I kept practicing; avoiding any turns where I saw gravel, but I still was taking the gravel-free turns at a snail’s pace, and making them too wide at that.

After about half an hour of this, I eased Luna back into the driveway. My hands were shaking… I was light headed...My sacrum was buzzing. Nothing in my body felt grounded or balanced.

I had planned to go for a ride with my friend T in the gently curved Manzano mountains this morning. I had to cancel, because, at this point, I don’t think I’m safe in city traffic, particularly Albuquerque traffic.

Ironically, I feel like I could handle the mountain roads and was really looking forward to that ride…if I didn’t have to navigate through the city traffic in order to get there.

Also, on the scooter…I’m fine. I’m practically a daredevil on the thing. Granted, there’s a significant difference in size and maneuverability between little La Scopa and Luna, but I don’t worry about being too slow on the scooter or skidding a bit on gravel…maybe because La Scopa’s been a slow ride all along, or maybe it’s simply because I’ve never injured myself while riding her.

But I also think there’s a different expectation of what a scooter should do and what a motorcycle should do in traffic. I think other drivers expect scooters to be slow but nimble. And they expect motorcycles to be fast and nimble.

Take, for example, the presidential motorcade. To quote the APD spokeswoman: "Any time there is a presidential motorcade, the officers, that's part of their job, they drive at a high rate of speed."

But really, motorcycles are cumbersome beasts and even the most experienced riders can crash in what seems like uncomplicated circumstances. This week a motorcycle cop died while providing police escort for the President. He was at the front of the motorcade approaching the underground parking at the ABQ airport; he hit a curb and crashed into a tree.

I think it’s ludicrous that a motorcycle would be expected to ride at a high point of speed for a motorcade, particularly upon entering the ABQ airport parking garage; where the speed limits are quite low (and for good reason). Let me ask you this, Mr. President… Isn’t the whole point of the motorcade to ensure your safety? Why do you need motorcycles to ride at high speeds to escort you, putting life and limb on the line…for what? Do you really save that much time by doing this? Are you not aware that speed limits are posted to ensure safety? Do you really think you’re worth that risk, when you have sacrificed thousands of soldiers because of your greed?

But I digress…

While this event hasn’t helped boost my bravery, I’m still extremely disappointed with myself that I haven’t found a way to conquer this fear. I don’t think of myself as an emotionally fragile person. I actually pride myself on my ability to take on challenges and come away with a certain level of mastery. That I haven’t been able to get my logical mind and my emotional mind in sync is really frustrating.

And part of my issue is that I believe in signs. For example...the first time I took Luna out for a ride after my fall, I encountered a heavy rain/hail storm. Very scary stuff. The next day, a cop yelled at me for inching out a bit beyond the crosswalk to prepare to make a left turn (when on-coming traffic allowed), and later during that ride, I nearly dropped Luna making a right turn. I may have gotten home safely each time, but I certainly don't feel encouraged by these experiences.

Luna; this beautiful bike that I took such joy in riding a few weeks ago is now something I'm beginning to dread. Where I had been jockeying for more, I now willingly give up “my” bike time. I’m feeling foolish to have made such a large investment. I just don’t know if or how I can reclaim my power here.

A week and two days

2007-08-30T08:18:00.000-06:00

It’s been a week and two days since my last round of injections.

It’s difficult to tell how well they worked. The day after the injections, I experienced my first ovarian cyst. At least, that’s what my ob/gyn told me was going on upon hearing my symptoms. She made it sound like it was a fairly normal thing.

There is such a vast range of “normal” in human physiology. I don’t think I could ever become a hypochondriac. Unless I’m in pain, I tend to assume any “symptoms” are my body’s way of protecting me and maintaining homeostasis. I eat something bad for me…my body is going to do everything it can to eliminate it from my system. It may not be pleasant, but it’s effective.

I went in for injections last week at a time when my body had already been through a lot. I was (and still am) swollen, stiff and bruised from laying down the motorcycle. I was (and still am) finding that as pain in one area subsides, pain in another area surfaces. I was still wondering if I was really okay…

But at the same time, I was operating on the misconception that this pain was trifling compared to the pain my beloved was experiencing at my expense because of my HSDD.

I thought I had to do everything I could to make this right.

I thought I had to prove, yet again, that resolving this sex issue was as important to me as it is to my beloved...

Because, I thought, all the other things I do and say to affirm my love for him were meaningless if I wasn’t addressing the HSDD with due diligence.

And I was operating on the misconception that this had already been a long and slow process (even if I had just been diagnosed 3 weeks earlier).

In any case, it didn’t feel okay to postpone treatment.

So I subjected my body to even more trauma and extreme pain with these injections and I applied testosterone patches to increase my sex drive, because I still had to deal with the HSDD.

And with all this...the last thing I wanted was sex. Even if my drive were “normal” at that point, I don’t think I would have wanted to have sex; not when what my body really wanted and needed was time and space to heal.

But I still wanted to want to have sex..

My body made the choice for me. It sent a very clear message that sex was a no-go last week. There’s nothing like a bit of excruciating ovarian pain to ix-nay the ookie-nay.

And as soon as that pain had substantially subsided, I had sex. Never mind that my body and spirit hadn’t completely healed from the accident or from the injections and my mind wasn’t quite comfortable with the prospect, and my hormones weren’t quite “there” yet, and my emotions were still playing catch up...

Not surprisingly, it hurt.

How I’m supposed to want sex or even want to want sex when it hurts?

Ironically, I have been the one perpetuating this vicious cycle because I was operating under the supposition that “doing everything I can” meant I had to focus my healing energies exclusively on resolving my HSDD. I had to ignore or somehow marginalize the pain factor.

If I continue to dedicate my energies in this manner, I will end up with a weak body, a sick mind and a broken spirit. Even if my HSDD was finally resolved at that point, I wouldn’t be worth the dig.

I need to look at how best to heal for the long term; and I know a solid house cannot be built on a weak foundation. I need to take a more holistic approach. I can’t fully focus on the HSDD until I’ve reached a certain level of healing with the vestibulitis. The ob/gyn tells me these muscle spasms are impacted by stress. And I’ve experienced a lot of stress these past few weeks.

It’s become clear that doing “everything I can” isn’t working. At least, not the way I’ve been doing it. I still need to be a whole person, so “everything I can” is not a practical approach.

I am no longer willing to do “everything I can”.

I am willing to do “everything I need”.

The key difference for me is that doing “everything I need” means setting some boundaries and trusting that my beloved can and will hang in there while I do the things I need to do to heal on all levels.

I’ll be focusing my more immediate energies on healing the injuries I sustained from the motorcycle fall and the last round of injections. Once I feel 100% recovered from those; I’ll return more of my focus and energies toward healing the vestibulitis and the HSDD; physically, mentally, emotionally. And, should I experience some other illness or injury during this healing process, I will shift my focus to my more immediate need.

This may mean that my beloved will need to do some healing of his own so he can be okay with me taking this time, even though having my HSDD resolved ASAP is very important to him. It’s a hard thing to ask of a man who, while extremely evolved, still grapples with inner demons that tell him that sex = love, and sex = worthiness. It’s a hard thing to ask of any man because sex is a major stress reliever for men. How do you ask someone to be patient when they won’t have access to a primary anti-frustration tool?

But I had to; for me, for him, for us. Last night I said the hard things; set my boundaries. I don’t think it was easy for him to digest, but I believe he saw the wisdom in it. I think his logical mind understands, but he may need a little time for his emotional self to catch up.

I think it’s an unfortunate reality in all relationships that sometimes doing the right thing for yourself is not easy on your partner... even if it will make your relationship better in the long term.

Round 2

2007-08-22T13:42:00.000-06:00

I had my second round of trigger point injections yesterday. Not an easy thing this time. It seems that the last round of injections “woke up” some nerve endings.

Think of having a root canal without Novocaine. Now imagine having that level of pain further south. Damn straight, OW!

Try as I might, the pain was just too intense for me to breathe through this time. I’m still a little traumatized. And I don’t think my beloved’s hand has quite recovered from my vise-like grip.

He probably felt pretty helpless; but I know it would have been so much worse without his gentle, calming presence, his humor, his warmth and his (now somewhat worse for wear) hands.

Still, once it was done, I pushed for answers for resolving the HSDD issues. Having my beloved there to hear the answers and ask any questions he needed to ask was great. It brought him into the process and took some pressure off of me to be the emissary, yet again.

And sometimes it takes a third party to get information past the emotional filters.

The doc informed us that the study drug won’t be available for at least a year and a half. With this information I received more chastisement for stopping the thyroid meds. Oh, well…it’s not like I can undo the past.

The main thing she recommended was to reduce stress, since the reason the study drug works (in theory) is that it reduces the myriad of stressful thoughts that distract women from sex. It’s an SSRI.

So, it’s possible another SSRI or Wellbutrin (which isn’t an SSRI, but studies have shown it has some positive impact in this arena) would help me to some extent, but the study drug is particularly effective in dealing with these distractions.

In the meantime, having something to boost to my natural sex drive would help, so my ob/gyn prescribed testosterone for the short term. I’ll be trying it for a couple weeks (once I find a drug store that isn’t out of it). The doc is checking my liver function to make sure I’ll be okay, should I need it for a longer period.

Thankfully I’m in a slow period at work, so my stress there is much reduced (and I’m able to take time to attend counseling and doctor appointments). I’m looking into stress management/reduction classes. Even if the testosterone does help, it may be worthwhile to try a low-dose of Zoloft or some other SSRI to take the edge off while I’m building my stress-relief skills.

We’ve made it through another day with a little more information, and, hopefully, we’re just that much closer to a solution.

Layin' It Down...

2007-08-21T08:19:00.000-06:00

So I took my new motorcycle, Luna, for a drag in the dirt this weekend; not entirely intentionally. I was riding in the Jemez mountain range, winding my way downhill approaching Battleship rock when my rear tire lost traction and I lost my balance.

As my beloved phrased it, I did the smart thing and guided the bike off the road and laid it down. In my words, I drove a motorcycle into a mountain. Really. Dirt, foliage, rocks, distinct lack of flat, even surface area = mountain.

After it happened, when I saw my beloved coming my way, my only thought was to get up ASAP and let him know I was okay. I gave a thumbs-up gesture then said “I’m okay” about a dozen times in rapid succession…

Then I looked at Luna.

That’s when I scorched the ears of the angels. I may have even made up some curse words. I was so angry with myself for having scarred our beautiful bike. I was angry at the prospect of dealing with insurance bureaucracy, of losing face with the folks at the motor sport dealership and at work, and being lectured by well-meaning friends and parents... I was embarrassed to be a spectacle at the side of the road. I was embarrassed that I had interrupted such a lovely ride.

That I was clearly more angry than stunned provided fairly accurate confirmation of my physical well being to my fellow riders.

Once I calmed down, I thanked the powers that be I wasn’t on my friend’s bike, as I had been on my way up the hill. I did ride that bike home after the accident (and I am so grateful for the loan of it). My beloved rode the somewhat disheveled, but still drivable Luna.

And the ride home was lovely; largely due to my friends being so positive and supportive of me.

That my friend allowed me to "get back on the horse" on her bike was a grand gesture that spoke volumes about her faith in my abilities.

That my beloved reinforced to me that I was a good rider lifted my spirits, and helped me to shake off the tumble a lot more quickly.

That my friend in the lead rode the rest of the way down the hill at her own pace created some road between us and showed me that she trusted I would be okay.

Though a lot more cautious, I regained a lot of my confidence by the time I got down the mountain. Riding on 550, I even enjoyed the rain. By the time we all made it safely to my friends’ home, I was able to laugh about my foray into the firmament and enjoy being nursed by my favorite 2 year old (thanks for the “Erica” [Traumeel] and the Dory band aid, Nurse Ridge).

The good news is that Luna was and is still drivable and my sweet husband thinks he can handle most of the repairs on his own. So, no dealing with insurance bureaucrats!

It’s important to mention that I was wearing protective gear; a jacket with shoulder and elbow armor, gloves, helmet, jeans, and boots. Were it not for this gear, my elbows would have been shredded, as would my left leg. I’m pretty sure my left shoulder would have been dislocated. I managed to keep my head off the pavement, since I didn’t find any scratches on my helmet, but I think that’s an exceptional thing.

And because I was wearing protective gear, aside from some bumps and bruises, I’m okay. My body feels just as one would expect it to feel after laying down a 550 pound motorcycle, but each day I’m a little better. I’ve been drinking a lot of water, taking homeopathic Arnica Montana, rubbing Traumeel on my sore spots, and taking ibuprofen for the pain.

Still, it’s better than being in a sling and having to change bandages.

I hope to be up for riding Luna again by next week. This was my beloved’s week to ride Luna anyway. Though I am sorry that he has her when she’s not at her best...

In the meantime, I’m enjoying riding the scooter, which feels so much lighter and more maneuverable since I started riding Luna. And, I’m content to ride at a slower pace while I'm healing.

In hindsight; I was focused, taking corners at a good speed for my comfort level, and implementing skills I’d learned in the safety class. I’m not taking this incident as a reflection of my ability or inability to handle my ride. I believe this was one of those freak occurrences that happen to even experienced riders, and hopefully, they are better riders for it.

If the adage is true that there are two types of riders; those who have fallen and those who have yet to fall. I’m hoping that being in the former category now means I don’t need to qualify for it ever again.

Moreover, this is a club that I wouldn’t want anyone else to join; but please, please, please, gear-up anyway, folks…

Easy? No. Worth it? Absolutely.

2007-08-17T08:49:00.000-06:00

We did a lot of talking last night, my beloved and I.

We barked at one another out of fear and frustration.

We verbalized our pain even though our faith in one another was shaken and we were both afraid.

We spent time in silence while we nursed our emotional wounds; then barked again.

We shared more of our fears and found our way through to tears and held one another.

And, in doing so, we found safety in one another, again.

If we had discovered one another at a different time in our lives, last night could have ended us. Being who I am, and being who he is and being deeply in love with one another has changed us for the better.

We’re still working on changing our unhealthy patterns. We bring out more good than bad in one another.

We’re still martyrs and thieves with one another. We see the folly of these mindsets.

We still act from fear instead of love. We are braver.

We still obsess on what drives us apart. We always remember what binds us to one another.

My beloved and I chose this song as our wedding theme and I think it has become a theme for our relationship:

There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.
Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It’s easy.

Nothing you can make that can’t be made.
No one you can save that can’t be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It’s easy.

Nothing you can see that isn’t shown.
Nothing you can know that isn’t known.
Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.
It’s easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

With all due respect to Messieurs Lennon and McCartney...it’s not what I would term “easy”, but I believe this love will always be worth it.

It’s amazing what a 4 mm crystal and a small amount of pain meds can do…

2007-08-16T09:05:00.000-06:00

Tuesday night I tried again to talk with my beloved, to help him out of his emotional crevasse. And again, it didn’t help; he had spiraled down even further. But, he did agree to see a counselor with me. He even went on-line to get the required referral through his HCP website.

That seemed to give him some small particle of hope and he drifted off to sleep.

Me, I couldn’t get to sleep. I stayed up ‘til around 1:00 am Wednesday morning.

My beloved woke up at 2:00 am in excruciating pain. 5 hours in the ER and one Percocet later we learned that a kidney stone was the culprit. 3 hours after that we learned the CAT scan results. The 4 mm stone was on its way to my beloved’s bladder. The worst was over; he could go home to await the passing of the stone.

We spent the rest of the day convalescing at home; me, because I had been functioning on only a couple hours of sleep (having taken a nap while waiting for the CAT scan results) and he was waiting to pass the stone. Still, he seemed really happy. Maybe it was relief, combined with narcotic pain meds, but my beloved was happy. A distinct energy shift had taken place.

So, of course he started hinting that he wanted to have sex…

It’s amazing what a 4 mm crystal and a small amount of pain meds can do…

We’re still going in for counseling.

The bad news is about the HSDD study; I’m out. The results from my blood test came in. My thyroid levels are too low and there’s not enough time to bring them up so I can remain in the study.

I stopped taking Armour thyroid a few weeks ago because I stopped taking the Pill. The Pill impacts thyroid function and how thyroid replacements work, so I was concerned about over dosing. Also, I’d done research that indicated a connection between thyroid replacement meds and HSDD.

I stopped taking the Pill because it contributed to my dryness issues and I had learned that the Pill also contributes to HSDD. Since my beloved’s vasectomy was a success, I didn’t need the Pill as a contraceptive any more.

Lest alarms be sent up about going off my meds; I didn’t just quit taking them. I supplanted Armour Thyroid with herbs to boost my thyroid function naturally. I guess they didn’t work well enough, or weren’t working fast enough to bring my thyroid levels where they need to be.

So today I’m doing more research… Thus far I’ve found Wellbutrin or testosterone could work to boost my sex drive. Wellbutrin might be good (if only for its anti-depressant qualities), but I’m leaning a bit more toward testosterone, since it’s something I already know my body is deficient in, so, I’m likely to process it better. Also, my experience with Lexapro doesn’t make me too eager to try any anti-depressant.

I’ll be consulting with my gyn about my options next Tuesday, when I see her for Round 2 of the trigger point injections.

In either case, I’ll likely start taking the Armour Thyroid again. And I’m a little down hearted at the prospect of taking any prescription meds because it means that the big-bad pharmaceutical companies are making money off of me. Not a lot…but still… It’s a hard choice to make.

Too little, too late?

2007-08-14T10:27:00.000-06:00

The first trigger point injection only lasted a day or two. I have an appointment for the next round of injections next week. These, I’m told, will last longer, probably weeks.

Still, they don’t help with the HSDD (hypoactive sexual desire disorder) issues.

I interviewed for the HSDD study and almost didn’t get in because I’m too depressed (according to one of the many questionnaires I completed last Thursday). My gyn couldn’t understand how I could be so engaged, open, and humorous and still be depressed.

Of course I’m depressed. Every day I am a disappointment to my beloved, to myself. He’s miserable. I’m miserable. I was asked to give responses that reflect how I’m doing aside from the HSDD and I couldn’t compartmentalize. The HSDD has become all-encompassing.

But I had to think of my life outside of that…which I really didn’t think was that bad. So I sat with my gyn and we reworked my responses to reflect that.

Pending the results from my blood tests and eye tests, I’m in the study. The good news is that if I get the meds, it’s very likely they will work and I’ll have access to them after the study. And if I don’t get the meds, I can withdraw from the study at any time.

The bad news is that if I don’t get the meds, there aren’t many other treatment options. And, if I stayed in the study, I wouldn’t be able to pursue these treatments. I don’t think I could be magnanimous enough to stay in if I wasn’t seeing improvement. I would drop out of the study.

The really bad news is that it may already be too late for my beloved and I.

Saturday night we celebrated our marriage with friends and things seemed really good. Sunday things were mellow, but still good…

Come Monday, he seems to have given up on us. He’s making noises like he wants to leave. He seems to have convinced himself that he’s bad for me; that he’s the reason I have HSDD, and that I’d be better off without him.

No matter what reassurances I offer or truths I illuminate, he is determined to believe the worst. His faith is depleted.

I know that it's not all on me to solve things for him. He's doing the best he can, as he always does and sometimes that isn't enough because often, sorrow, not joy is the impetus for seeking new tools, for evolution.

In the meantime, he seems so convinced that things can't get better that I’m terrified that I might lose this person who means the most to me in this world.

I'm trying to hold onto my faith that both of us are destined for joy. But it's incredibly difficult when my beloved is so disheartened (and I understand the logic behind his feelings all too well, having experienced such despair so many times in my own life).

The few things I can think to say are: "This too shall pass." "I have faith in us." "Sorrow is not the permanent state of being for either of us."

I feel like my words to him come across as hollow and trite when all I want to be is encouraging, strong and optimisitic, to give him hope; to reinforce hope for both of us. I can't think of anything else I can do. I think it's time to get some outside help.

So today, I've started pinging friends about their recommendations for a good couple's counselor. I need more tools, too. I need more ways to help him and to help myself. And we need more tools we can use as a couple.

In the meantime, I'm praying like crazy, and posting this, as always, in hopes of letting those in similar circumstances know they aren't alone, but also in hopes that my dear friends, both known and unknown will send us some much needed healing energies...

Bag Balm is my friend!

2007-08-09T09:00:00.000-06:00

I had a flare up last Friday and decided to try Bag Balm to deal with it. Not only did it work, it worked faster than the Monistat (further confirmation that I haven’t been dealing with yeast infections, but vulvodynia).

Yesterday I had the trigger point injections. They were, as the doc promised, quite painful, but not as bad as the prolotherapy I had on my lower back last year. Breathing, slow rhythmic breathing was the key.

Having a gyn who is gentle and skilled was a plus as well. I love this lady. She greeted me with a warm smile and a hug. After the procedure, she held both my hands and met my eyes to check in with how I was doing. She told me how well I did, and that she was really optimistic that the injections were going to make a big difference. It was like having a really supportive mother there.

Oh, and she’s really excited that I’m consulting with her today for her sexual dysfunction study. I’m excited too…to be meeting someone I’ve only known a week to discuss the most intimate details of my sex life. Well, maybe I’m a bit more nervous than excited. And I don’t know if I’ll receive the meds or the placebo. My beloved and I are hoping it’s the former. If it is the former, I’m hoping there won’t be other adverse side effects.

But about those injections... My punani was completely numb afterward. I should have gotten a labial piercing, it was that numb. That lasted about 3 hours. Once the numbness went away, I felt fine. So, much to my beloved’s delight, I decided to take my pain free punani for a spin; no internal pain. Externally, things are still a bit tender, but not unbearable. Even in this short time, the Bag Balm has helped. So it’s likely to become a daily thing.

Just don’t call me Slick...

A Pain in the Punani

2007-08-02T15:54:00.000-06:00

Warning: Intimate details about gynecological issues to follow.

For the past 4 years I have been experiencing dryness “down there”. This was, in a way, to be expected. I’ve been perimenopausal for over 7 years now. But 2 ½ years ago I started experiencing pain, and that’s been a different thing altogether.

The first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t use my Keeper cup any more. It was just too painful to insert and take out. I thought it was because I was so dry between periods; my vaginal walls were suffering the effects, and the Keeper was just too abrasive.

I mentioned my dryness/abrasion/pain to my primary care doc’s assistant (midwife). She didn’t seem to notice that the speculum was causing me a lot of pain, even though I mentioned it (okay, I didn’t actually mention it…I yelled “Ow!”).

She recommended that I use longer lasting lube, like Replens. The problem was, I’d already tried it and found my body would rapidly absorb all the liquid, leaving the binding agents behind; resulting in an abundance of clumpy discharge. Super sexy!

Another issue was that my doctor wanted me to work on reducing my periods (I was anemic and my periods were really heavy). I lost weight; I tried herbs, I went on the Pill. I was still anemic. I went on Seasonale, which meant I only had a period every 3 months and they were scant at that. My dryness increased. My libido decreased. But I was no longer anemic. Woo hoo.

For my va-jay-jay; I got no diagnosis…no solutions.

I started looking for solutions on my own. Up to this point, I had been taking Lexapro, but knowing its potential sexual side effects; I consulted with my doctor and decided to go off of it. Lexapro withdrawal isn’t fun. Despite tapering off slowly I had brain zaps, dizziness, mood swings as broad as Thor’s swing of His hammer, memory lapses, lack of concentration, suicidal thoughts…

On a side note, the midwife recommended I supplement with B-12, which. I guess it kinda-sorta works. It’s certainly not doing me any harm and even if it’s only having a placebo impact on my depression, that’s still an impact.

But even after the withdrawal symptoms went away I still had zero libido, which was even more depressing than…depression.

To make matters worse, intercourse became increasingly painful. My external tissue was more easily abraded. Forget about masturbating…instant flare-up (a flare-up meaning my punani was so raw, it hurt to pass urine)! The only thing that would help a flare-up was Monistat (looking back, I’m thinking maybe it was more because of its long lasting lubrication than the miconazole). Monistat’s stock has gone up at least a point based on the number of flare-ups I’ve had this past year…

Which brings us to April…when I saw a different physician’s assistant for my annual exam (it takes months to get an exam with an actual OB/GYN). She was good…she was gentle and she listened and most important, she noticed how painful the speculum was for me and based on that, she decided to do a bit of….probing. This went something like “Ow, not too bad there, ow, ow, OW! Not too bad there…”

She recommended Estrace cream for the dryness and vaginal dilators for the pain. I also went back on the regular Pill, thinking if I got more into a natural cycle, I’d be more lubed. Going off the Pill at this point is not a good option (until my beloved’s sperm count verifies that his vasectomy was successful).

Only one problem; the Estrace cream didn’t help the dryness/chafing much. Neither did increasing my periods, which meant using a dilator was out of the question because it would be too painful. So I called the sweet PA, who acknowledged that my issues were beyond her knowledge and referred me to an OB/GYN. Hallelujah!

This was May…The earliest I could get an appointment to see the OB/GYN was July 31. No matter how nice or how pushy I was with the admin, there’s no way around this sort of wait time in New Mexico. Ask any woman who doesn’t already have a regular OB/GYN (or even one who does!).

Oh, and before she’d actually make this appointment I had to explain to the admin why I needed to see the doc. It seems a referral from the PA and having my symptoms on file isn’t enough. Mind you, during this conversation I was in my office…at work:

“Why are you seeing the doctor?”
“Aren’t my records on file? The PA referred me.”
“I have to write the reason for your visit.”
“Err, umm. Pain.”
“VAGINAL pain?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Where?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where is the pain?”
“Like you said vaginal pain.”
“Yes, but where? Your VULVA?”
“Uh huh, yeah. That’s it.”
“Ok, pain in the VULVA.”

And at this point, I’m thinking this admin is a pain in the vulva. Before this gig, she had to have been one of those cashiers at Walgreen’s who would hold up a box of condoms and yell for a price check while a crimson-faced teenager stood there, mortified for a moment before slumping off in utter embarrassment.

So I’ve waited. And my beloved has waited.

My beloved has been waiting for a really long time while he’s dealt with sexual frustration, anger, feelings of rejection, putting up with not having such a basic need met, having to settle for hand jobs and blow jobs instead of intercourse, not feeling loved, never feeling satisfied. He even got “fixed” so we wouldn’t have to deal with moisture depleting options like the Pill and condoms… The man deserves to have his needs met.

Hell, I deserve to have my needs met. And I’ve been working on this for a really long time…having gone from the Pill to Seasonale, back to the Pill; having used lots of KY, gone off Lexapro, having done hours of inner analysis and soul work, having sex out of obligation instead of desire, having kept a stock of Monistat on hand...

Sex has become a gaping hole in my life, in both of our lives and has been for long enough. At best, we’ve moved past anger to a place of calm sadness.

It’s been a long wait…

And finally, Tuesday, I got to talk with a real OB/GYN and get some real answers about what’s going on with me; vulvodynia/vestibulitis.

The doc tells me there are two treatments for the vestibulitis; both of which are painful, one of which is painful, humiliating, and slow (physical therapy and biofeedback), the other is more painful, but with faster results (trigger point injections). I’ve chosen the latter. My appointment is set for next Wednesday afternoon.

My OB/GYN isn’t surprised my libido and arousal levels are so low, with the amount of pain I’ve been dealing with. Still, once the pain has been dealt with, I’m going to need a little help in that arena. So she’s working on getting me into what sounds like a really good study.

Unfortunately, there’s not much to be done about the vulvadynia. The doc says water-based lube actually makes the dryness worse and has advised Bag Balm or Vaseline, (which lends credence to my theory that the benefits of Monistat are largely in its ability to keep me lubed on a more long-term basis). So I’m looking into some other longer-lasting oil-based options.

It feels a little too soon to hope, but at least having a diagnosis is empowering; at least now I have a reference point for research.

Let the healing begin…

Aman

2007-07-20T15:06:00.000-06:00

I don’t, as a rule, talk politics. This is partly because I’m not well versed on the salient issues and partly because, in my experience, people just want to fan the flames of their righteous indignation at the status quo and for me to feel angry right along with them. Comrade!

But I’ve never seen the point of getting angry without doing something about it…

There was a time when I was really angry about the status quo and I acted on it. I participated in abortion clinic defenses, protested malathion spraying, went door to door seeking support for health care reform, and boycotted dozens of products. I took herbs instead of allopathic meds, partly because I was poor, and partly because I believed that practitioners of Western medicine were really the pharmaceutical companies’ bitch.

Then again, back then I also smoked a lot of pot; which fueled my paranoia…fueling my anger. Over time, I became more about conserving and focusing my energies (and I can barely be around pot anymore...not that I miss it). In any case; anger stopped being a productive force for good in my life.

And since anger stems from fear, and I’ve seen how the American media is geared toward reinforcing fear, I don’t watch the news or read newspapers. I will, on occasion read an internet news story if it catches my interest, but Jon Stewart, Bill Maher and my dear friend Cronz have been my primary sources of political news for years. And, because my fear has mellowed, my anger has mellowed…

Now, I take different actions, pick different battles. Now, I have less free time and a little more money; I donate to the Heifer Foundation and the Human Rights Campaign. I eat organic whenever I can, I still boycott products like GE and Dominos, my main transport is a fuel efficient scooter, I vigorously recycle and promote recycling at work, (and recently knitted a grocery bag made entirely of…grocery bags). And, since seeing SiCKO, I’m getting back into natural healing to deal with my health concerns.

And that felt like enough...until yesterday.

Last weekend my beloved and I took the narrow gauge rail train from Durango to Silverton. In our car was a young couple who spoke with accents that I recognized as distinctly Urdu, so I asked them where in India they were from. “We’re from Pakistan.” was the response.

Pakistan. Hmmm. Images from Veer Zaara came to mind; Pakistan was not portrayed in the most positive light in that film, but it wasn’t depicted as the center of world evil either. It occurred to me that I knew very little about Pakistan beyond that.

So, I did a little research on Pakistan this week, starting with the basics about the country via Wikipedia, then finding story upon story about bloodshed and suicide bombers, and Pakistan’s connections to Al-Qaeda and the Taliban.

And...yesterday, I saw the Daniel Pearl video.

This murder was an act of pure evil. It was beyond anything I’d ever witnessed demonstrating man’s inhumanity to man. I felt my fear surface with lightening quick speed, but instead of getting angry, I was disheartened. As horrific as this action was, I understand why such fury exists. America’s foreign policies are even worse than the homeland policies that enraged me in my salad days. Except now, big money has an even tighter grasp and a further reach than ever before...making it much more difficult to feel like I anything I can do would even begin to counteract them...and I wonder if the things I’m doing now to work toward world peace are sufficient.

They are...and they are not. I need to have boundaries and feel balanced, but I need to do more. I started by Googling: “working toward world peace” and found this site: http://www.eons.com/love/feature/4945?section=yourself.

Some of these things I’m already doing, some I will be doing from now on…all are in line with where I’m at in the political, emotional, and spiritual scope of things. They seem to be ideas that approach peacework from a place of compassion, not fear.

Aman. It means peace in Urdu...

God within, God without - Part 2: The Pretty Pebble

2007-07-18T14:20:00.000-06:00

First off, thank you, gentle readers for sharing your comments. Each challenged me in different ways and served to expand my perspective. Here’s where my thoughts have led me thus far…

As appealing and empowering as an exclusively inner Divine would be, it just doesn’t feel right to me to pronounce that I am my own God. And this idea doesn’t set well with my more Buddhist sensibilities. Not that I think Buddhism is the Answer; I have spent the last 4 years exercising detachment, using a Buddhist framework for my path. Maybe it’s my dysthymic nature, but this approach, while good in theory, left me feeling apathetic. I never figured out how to feel connected to everything and attached to nothing. Still, I come away from this practice ingrained with some wonderful concepts; the middle path, compassion, sila, mindfulness, karma and interconnectedness.

I know I am impacted by others in seen and unseen ways; there will always be external forces interacting with me and acting upon me, some physical, some ethereal. With all the influences existing without, I am not convinced the Divine can be found entirely within (with all due respect to Doreen Valiente). I think there must be a balance between the two.

And I have to admit that part of me wants there to be some benevolent force to exist without so I won’t feel so scared and lonely in this all too often dark world. I yearn for guidance and support from the ethereal plane.

This part of me wants more tangible evidence beyond some esoteric concept of the external Divine…Dare I say it? I’ve wanted a sign. Now, I have scoffed at folks who have demanded a sign from God, and then abandoned their faith because they didn’t see or recognize a response. I scoffed because their faith was already gone; they were already looking at other options, so what they were really looking for was something (or rather a lack of something) to rationalize their choice.

Mind you, these were folks transitioning from a Judeo-Christian concept of God to a pagan concept of God. They saw a sign that confirmed the existence of their newly found pagan god…which leads me to think anytime you look to a benevolent force beyond (whether it has a name or persona or not) with an open heart and a seeking spirit and ask for a sign to confirm the existence of this force, something’s going to happen. You may be manifesting this for yourself, or finding meaning in events that would otherwise seem mundane, but still, you find what you’re looking for.

So, a few weeks back just before going to sleep, I sent a silent prayer to the great Father/God. I asked him to make himself known to me; to let me know to whom I should send my prayers. Being a Dianic Wiccan in my past life (and still and always a feminist), I also made this appeal to Mother/Goddess. I asked them to speak to me through my dreams.

I had three distinct dreams that night. At first, I didn’t think my dreams revealed much, but the more I focused on the details of each dream, the more symbolism and meaning I found. None of the dreams revealed to me the face or nature of the God/Goddess, as I’d hoped, but each dream was an allegory for where I am, where I’ve been and where I need to be in my spiritual life.

Would I call this a sign? Not exactly, but the symbolism I found in these dreams filled me with a sense that I’m actually closer now to the Divine than I have been in a very long time. The changes have been subtle. I feel a little stronger physically and emotionally. I feel a bit more connected and in-tune with my surroundings. I’m starting to get back into things like natural healing, mantra, ritual; the things I used do to feel connected with the elements and the higher realms. I am starting to see the Divine around me in different ways and I realize it’s constant…but entirely subjective.

I think the Divine is like a pretty pebble that a child finds and believes is magic. It is within the child to empower the pebble and it is within the pebble to empower the child; based on this belief. The child will have experiences that may change her faith in the power of the pebble. The pebble will remain as it always has been.

God within, God without - Part 1: The Nihilistic Tango

2007-07-06T11:37:00.000-06:00

In the past few months I’ve come to doubt whether there is or ever has been a higher meaning or if I’m simply assigning higher meaning to make some sense as to why things happen or don’t happen. What if the things that happen in my life simply happen? What if finding higher meaning is just a coping mechanism? What if I’m not here to learn and evolve and be a better person in this life than I was in the last? What if there was no past life and there is no future life? What’s the point of trying to live one way or another? What’s the point of living at all?

So I’ve been dancing with Nietzsche, doing the nihilist tango (my beloved suggests this is where two people meet up on the dance floor and come up with all the reasons not to dance…)

Nietzsche suggested that nihilism becomes a false belief, when it leads individuals to discard any hope of meaning in the world and thus invent some compensatory alternate measure of significance. I wonder, did existentialism become, in Nietzsche’s eyes, merely a compensatory source of meaning? And rather than living with even a false hope of higher meaning, did Nietzsche go mad as a result? Did living in a world devoid of metaphysical possibilities drive him to madness?

What would a world without metaphysical elements be like? Initially, when I think of things that exist beyond the physical world, the first thing that comes to my mind is God (not specifically the Judeo-Xtian god, but any benevolent force beyond the physical realm that has the potential to impact the physical realm).

What would life be like without God?

Certainly it would be lonely without some omniscient, omnipresent force acting for the greater good in my life. It would be empty without some source of unconditional love. It would be scary without God to protect me. I would be left entirely to my own devices. Then again, maybe that’s the way it is now, in a way…

What if God, or whatever force that’s out there, only exists within each of us? With such a large portion of our brain that modern science can’t determine if or how we’re using, who knows what we are capable of? Maybe the higher power is exclusively within our own mind. Maybe there is an internal divine and this is what we summon or call upon for guidance or help when we pray.

So I’ve tried to wrap my brain around the possibility that God only exists within, but it has felt too big for me to contemplate. The moment I try to intellectualize this possibility, I am overwhelmed by the feeling that I am in danger. What that danger is, I can’t say. It’s not a rational fear, more a paranoia; a non-specific feeling of impending doom.

With no benevolent force without, I am left entirely to my own devices, which is scary and empowering at the same time. What a powerful level of responsibility it would be to be wholly accountable for my own life; for what happens or doesn’t happen for me, to me. But without this accountability, can I be truly empowered? Do I want or need this level of empowerment? Would this bring meaning to my life?

How hard would it be to take complete responsibility for my life? To fully own what does or does not happen to me as my own higher power acting upon my life, subconsciously. And how does this impact others and their higher powers? What role do others have in my life? Is interconnectedness possible if we are all simply acting from our individual place of higher power?

42

2007-06-27T15:45:00.000-06:00

Today I am 42. For Douglas Adams fans, that’s the Ultimate Answer to the Great Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. But 42 does not put me much closer to understanding the Ultimate Answer.

And, truth be known, I’m okay with that. I think if I finally figured out the Ultimate Answer to the Great Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything, I’d cease to exist in this limited human form. And, as pain filled and frustrating as this body is for me, I’m not done with it yet. I have more to learn and more to enjoy before I’m ready to be reincarnated as someone or something different, or even spend the rest of eternity as formless spirit.

That is not to say that I haven’t figured out a few things in this journey so far…

Sometimes, not having children is the best decision you can make for yourself and for humanity. Bringing another unwanted child into the world is not a legacy, it’s a burden. I am not attached to any particular legacy other than to have made a positive difference in the world. I do sometimes worry about being old and alone, but who’s to say that having a kid would prevent that? As long as I nurture friendships along the way, I will never be alone.

I’m okay with being a dilettante. I like dabbling in different things; spiritually, creatively, professionally. This is my middle path. I don’t think I’m destined to be an expert at any one thing, but I am competent and even quite good at many things.

Besides, most folks who think they are experts, or that their thoughts are really deep and profound are either incredibly shallow or completely stoned.

I like my style. It may not always be smiled upon by Stacy and Clinton, but if I feel good in what I’m wearing, who am I hurting? That being said, I do think it’s important to make an effort to look my best, even if my “best” varies from day to day. Part of feeling good is feeling that I look good. I like the colors and fabrics in my closet and I like them on me. True, my shoes are boxy and I sometimes compensate by wearing fabulous socks, but when you’ve got plantar fasciitis; “comfortable and funky” will overcome “sleek and stylish” every time.

It is both logical and ridiculous for me to expect my family to be like me or to “get” me or for me to “get” them. It’s logical, because I was raised with these people. It's ridiculous because I have spent the past 17 years living nearly 800 miles away from them. I am trying to work from the knowledge that I am neither the black sheep nor the golden child. When I connect with them I still need to reaffirm; who I am and what I do is enough and I am better in body, mind and spirit simply loving them as I do…from a distance of no less than 750 miles.

Faith is the answer to 95 % of my worries. I worry when I doubt my abilities, mistrust others, or fear the unknown. If I believe in myself and trust the higher power to take care of the rest, I’m pretty good. The other 5% of my worries is really just lack of chocolate.

I'm sure there are more, but it's time to stop writing and go celebrate. I hope I'm at least doubly wise when I'm 84...

Necessary Contrast

2007-03-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

I’ve tried to let events seem simply “be” with no positive or negative association with them. After all, it’s a Buddhist virtue to accept things as they are. But where’s the fun in just going around accepting things as they are? Without the necessary contrast of pain, there can be no pleasure. If all things are connected and conditional, when I detach from pain, I detach from pleasure.

It’s ironic that only when things are painful do I actively look for the higher meaning behind events. When I think I’ve found this higher meaning, I feel like I’m evolving, like I’m moving toward enlightenment, toward nirvana. It’s even more ironic that I associate nirvana with pleasure; as a positive, meaningful goal in my life. But nirvana isn’t really pleasure…it’s the absence of suffering.

If I move toward enlightenment by suffering, and working toward enlightenment brings meaning to my life, is it possible that my life is meaningless without pain? On some level, do I welcome pain in my life?

Even if this is the case, I think I have a bit more pain than what would constitute a necessary contrast with the pleasure in my life. I wonder; how do I banish pain, yet hold onto a healthy amount of it for contrast? Should I even worry about that and simply go about eliminating pain?

Specifically, physical pain is becoming a pressing concern in the form of plantar fasciitis. Since it prevents me from walking, from getting adequate exercise, I've gained a lot of weight. My energy levels are becoming extremely low and my body is suffering on other levels because of this. If I don't lose weight, things are only going to get worse. Obesity will slowly kill me. So the way I see it...this pain is literally killing me.

This being the case, I've decided I don’t need this pain to serve as the necessary contrast in my life. I've tried stretching, massage, walking anyway, z-coil shoes, orthotic insoles, and acupuncture, to no avail. Either I need to find a more drastic treatment, or look at other causes. Maybe I just need to find a way to more effectively communicate my intent with my feet.

I believe there is a mind/body connection and that physical pain is often a result of emotional pain or trauma. Some time ago I mentioned that I have persistent unwanted thoughts. For a long time I’ve tried to say or do something to distract myself from them, in doing this, I haven't worked through them. I’ve blocked them.

Yesterday I woke up with the conviction that these painful thoughts are pooling in my feet because there’s no where else for them to go. They need to be released someway.

So, instead of trying to dash them away, I’ve started saying “Okay, what’s this about?” and engaging in some inner dialogue. It’s early and there are a lot of these thoughts to deal with. I don’t expect an immediate change, but I’m hopeful.

In the meantime, I'm still wearing corrective shoes/insoles, stretching and massaging. My short term goal is to see significant improvement in time to have my walk down the aisle be pain free.

Wedding plans

2007-02-02T10:48:00.000-07:00

So Pete and I have set the date for our wedding, April 6, 2007, in the city of lights…Las Vegas. I chose Vegas because it’s only a four-hour drive from my hometown. For reasons that are becoming foggier now, I thought it was important to have our family bear witness to our nuptials. I thought it would somehow make the wedding feel more real.

But looking deeper within, I see there is an element of seeking acceptance from my family; not only of my life choices, but of the man who means more to me than any other living being on this planet. Aside from the many spiritual and emotional reasons I want to marry Pete, I want my mother to accept and acknowledge that our relationship is legitimate, meaningful. In my mother’s world, until there’s some legal document confirming our status as husband and wife…Pete will always be somewhat less than “family” in her eyes.

So this need for acceptance, that’s why I chose to include my family and in so doing, I chose a certain degree of trying to please them over pleasing myself and put myself in a position to be judged by them.

My mother is not expressing joy or even enthusiasm and that’s hard. In contrast, my future in-laws are thrilled and act like it’s a no-brainer to join Pete and I on this special day, even though they literally will be flying across the nation to do so. My mother hesitates to make this journey, which, logistically speaking, poses significantly less of an inconvenience for her.

When I last spoke to her about our plans, I wanted to be excited, but I held back…waiting for her to catch up…wanting her to encourage me to share more…waiting for her to just let go of her fear and judgment and just be willing to share my joy. Instead, she hesitatingly offered me money for the wedding. I declined. I don’t want her money. I just want her to be happy for me. Perhaps if she’s willing to “sponsor” the event, that is, in her way being accepting, but that feels grossly inadequate to me.

Now, to top it off, my brother calls me and begs me not to get married in Las Vegas because everyone he knows who’s gotten married in Vegas, their marriages have ended in knockdown, drag out divorces. While I appreciate that he would want my marriage to last, I can’t help thinking there’s this common theme in my family of not wanting to stretch, not wanting to step out of their narrow surroundings and open themselves to the wide realm of possibility.

Perhaps, on some unconscious level I send them signals that I don’t need them to be supportive, I don’t need them to be happy for me, I don’t need their acceptance…I just wish my conscious mind was in agreement, because I feel so heartsick right now. Perhaps I just want what they cannot give and I should just cut and run.

Just knowing that my family isn’t behind me 100% on this, feels wrong, and stirs up much insecurity. I don’t have confidence in my choice of wedding clothes or hotel or chapel, or the post-wedding spot for us all to dine together. All the wedding plans seem somehow less, somehow not good enough, because what’s “good enough” for me may vary vastly than my family’s view.

Ultimately, I need to make a stand and fully own my choices, Pete’s and my choices and find the confidence to stand by our choices as being best for me, for us.

So if I want to wear a black dress (which is gorgeous, by the way), that’s the “right” dress to wear. If Pete and I really want to get married in Las Vegas, that’s the “right” place to do it. If we think it’d be fun to go have In-n-Out burgers for our post wedding brunch, that’s the “right” place to eat. If we would rather let folks choose their own lodgings as opposed to dealing with the logistics of housing a dozen people ourselves, that’s the “right” thing to do.

As Pete pointed out to me, our family isn’t there to get their money’s worth out of our wedding…they’re there for us. And we’re worth the trip.

Out of this experience, thus far, I’ve gained an understanding of why brides, aside from the patriarchal tradition (which I’ve long viewed as oppressive and wrong), choose to take their husband’s name. It symbolizes joining his family. So I want to take Pete’s name as mine, to distinguish myself from my family of origin and to join his family whose values more closely echo my own.

I’m not a traditional Judeo-Christian, but one quote has been echoing in my mind lately; "Whither thou goest, I will go. Where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people..." Ruth 1:16. I am seriously considering including this in my vows because Pete and his family already feel like home to me, and this expresses my intent beautifully. I can hardly wait to make it official.

Hair Trauma II

2007-01-12T14:01:00.000-07:00

Tuesday I went to the hairstylist. I’ve been working on growing out my perm, and my hair was finally at a length where the tired permed ends could be taken off without causing too much "change of length trauma”. I brought a picture of a style which, considering the new length and the texture of my hair, I thought would be a good style for me.

The stylist hacked away and gave me a style that by no stretch of my imagination matched the picture I brought in. “Perhaps if you show me how to style it…” I suggested, thinking this might be the issue. She moussed and curled and sprayed and scrunched and still my hair did not remotely resemble the style in the picture. “I think I just need to play with it myself.” I reasoned, again, trying to give Ms. Scissorhands the benefit of the doubt.

I paid her (paying extra for the styling) and tipped her to boot (trying to show my faith that she had tried to do what I’d asked), went home and washed my hair. I tried to style it, to no avail. I had helmet hair, no matter what I tried.

Now I thought I had released my attachment to looking a certain way. The ravages of time have greyed my hair and wrinkled my face, sagged my boobs and slowed my metabolism… I’d long ago let go of any hope of being a beauty by current American ideals. But when I looked at my shorn reflection, tears welled up from the very depth of my being. Convulsive wails bordering on hysteria came out of me and I could not be consoled. I scared the dog. I scared myself and called Pete who rushed home to comfort me. He even made me an appointment at a place that very evening to “fix” my hair (mere words cannot express how wonderful Pete is!!!!).

The “fixer” did her best, but informed me that for the look I was going for, I really needed…(are you ready for this) a PERM!!!!

So I got the freakin’ perm and still, this hair style is not even close to the style I chose.

I've been struggling to find the Higher Meaning in this experience. This is not the first time this has happened to me, and I figure I’d better find the Higher Meaning from this experience, because I sure as hell don’t want to go through this again!!!!

First, I guess I still have a ways to go in my personal evolution with regard to my appearance...

Second, I believe this was a reminder about the importance of honesty...and there are a lot of folks in the world who don’t feel brave enough to be honest.

I can think of dozens of reasons the first stylist would not want to be forthright with me. Perhaps she didn’t want to disappoint me. Perhaps she didn’t have the skills to do what I’d asked. Perhaps she cut my hair to eventually grow into the style I wanted and didn’t want to tell me it would take a while for my hair to look like I wanted. Or maybe she was distracted and let herself day dream instead of focusing on my hair. In any case, there was some lack of honesty going on…from beginning to end. As we parted, I would have appreciated some acknowledgement of “I know this doesn’t look like the style you wanted…”

Perhaps she imagined I would somehow freak out if she told me I needed a perm for the hair style I’d chosen, or I needed to let my hair grow a little while longer (like I would freak out less ending up as I did?!?!?). Perhaps she didn’t consider that, I would have been a little disappointed for a moment, but I would then be grateful for giving me the information I needed to make an informed decision.

In any case, the lesson I take from this is that honesty and forthrightness is a two way proposition. It’s up to me to be clear with my expectations and to ask my stylist to repeat back to me what I’ve asked so I can make sure we’re both on the same page. And to let her know that it’s okay if she can’t do what I’ve asked. I can’t take it on faith that the person brandishing the shears is an empowered individual who will be forthright and honest, so I need to set the example, not just for hair stylists, but for anyone I interact with that seems too sheepish to be forthright.

At least, that’s what I hope the higher meaning is…otherwise, in a few years, I’ll be seriously considering shaving my head because I’ll be dealing with Hair Trauma III.

Get me out of the hands of this man!!!

2006-12-15T07:41:00.000-07:00

Baby, I feel the same way!!!

Xmas...it's not just for Xtians anymore.

2006-12-14T14:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent the first part of this month feeling a bit grumpy because I’m finding very little room to be free from religion this time of year. From late November to mid-January, I can’t leave the house without witnessing some sort of nod to Xmas. I check my email and find little graphics of Xmas lights on the website... Forget about watching TV… Even going to Wild Oats…there’s Xmas music playing.

I received an email from an Xtian coworker that implied that Xtians get pushed around a lot for being Xtians…With all due respect; I don’t really see that happening. Unless you are twisted enough to interpret the inclusion and acknowledgment of other holidays this time of year as somehow diluting the Xtian’s iron-fisted stronghold over America as being pushed around… The email seems more of a pre-emptive strike, because I’ve seen little if any acknowledgment of any other religion having reason to celebrate this season other than Xtians and Jews in my community. Frankly, I’m more than a little weary of the majority of Americans operating under the assumption that Xtianity is superior philosophy that justifies limiting freedom of religion and then claim oppression when folks mention other holidays this time of year. Other religions exist. Get over it.

And let me wish you “Happy Holidays!” without it being interpreted as “I specifically don’t wish you a Merry Xmas!” Also, don’t assume if I trim a tree, hang up lights or give gifts, that I’m doing so to honor Xmas (even though none of these traditions have Xtian origins). There are so many “other” holidays this time of year; Bodhi Day, Diwali, Hanukah, Kwanza, Ramadan, Sankranti, Satanic New Year, Saturnalia, Shabe-Yalda and Yule (to name but a few). I could be rigging up lights to celebrate Bodhi Day, folks – it is, after all, the day Buddha became “enlightened”.

For all my umbrage at the presumed moral majority, I still look forward to this time of year. I really love the music Xmas has inspired, heck, which Xtianity in general has inspired. I love the lights and the trees being all sparkly. I love seeing people wearing red and green and little trinkets of the season. Living where I do, I love the luminarias. And most of all, I love exchanging gifts.

People all over the world give gifts this time of year. And from these acts of generosity, energy builds, generating a palpable hum of positive energy all around the planet. This energy; for me, that’s the reason for the season. Whether you call it Xmas, Yule, or Winterval…

As December 25th draws near, I find myself being inextricably drawn to this institution whose foundations for me lay in traditions that aren’t specific to religion. My father, an agnostic, honored this day as more of a secular holiday, while not necessarily linked to Xtian “roots” (which, according to many sources are mythical anyway); it was, nonetheless, a holiday of generosity and goodwill.

Lately I’ve been working on re-creating my own reality, a better reality for myself. In my reality, celebrating December 25th as my father did makes a lot more sense than a day I shouldn’t celebrate because my religious proclivities lead me elsewhere. So, just as Xtians chose this day to represent Christ’s birthday, I choose this day to continue my tradition of it being a more secular, yet very humanistic holiday which just so happens to be called Christmas.

Secularism in the U.S.

2006-11-29T14:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was listening to NPR and heard the phrase: “Freedom from religion.” This was in reference to the secularization of Europe and how the Pope wasn’t really down with that. I say “Too bad, ‘cause that’s the wave of the future, bud, nyah, nyah!”

At least, I hope so. And I nyah, nyah at the Pontiff because I don’t think it’s really the Pope’s place to say what is or is not okay with regard to Europe’s government, any government. The Pope should not be meeting with political leaders to discuss political matters. The man is a religious leader, not a political leader. His stance and subsequent recommendations are dictated by one narrow viewpoint, the Roman Catholic Church. And judging from how messed up most of the Catholic boys were that I dated in my salad days…I’m thinking the application of Catholicism to a government system is a bad thing.

The more I think about it, the more I’m in favor of secularizing the U.S. While religious teachings can inspire good guidelines (“thou shalt not steal” comes to mind), religion should not be the basis for government for the simple reason that religious texts are subject to endless interpretations. “Thou shalt not kill” for example, could be interpreted as prohibiting killing anything; plants, mammals, insects, fungi... Which leaves dairy products…and if I eat dairy products, am I killing indirectly, since cows, goats, and sheep eat grass? And if I’m not allowed to kill plants, sugar is right out, so is chocolate and any government that would prohibit me from ingesting of chocolate can pucker up and smooch my lily white, cellulite-dimpled ass.

But I digress…

I’m trying to imagine what the U.S. would be like if it were more secularized. People would still have freedom of religion, and folks would be free to exercise their beliefs as they see fit, but the key difference would be that our government wouldn’t be allowed to base laws exclusively on religious texts. “In God We Trust” would be removed from all U.S. currency. The phrase “under God” would be removed from the Pledge of Allegiance. Political leaders would not be lead in prayer before session. No one would be sworn in on a Bible in court or for public office. No public school would be forced to teach intelligent design (with all due respect to His Pasta-ness).

And ideally, in a secular society, legal or civil unions would replace marriage because “marriage” is a religious distinction, and should not be legally recognized unless the officiant who performs the ceremony is also legally licensed to perform civil unions.
It is my utmost hope that having a secularist society would mean that marriage would not be limited to a Biblical definition. All marriages would be legal; straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, polyamorists...yep, I say bring back polygamy. Let’s allow folks to legitimize their relationships, let’s legally recognize that some folks love not just in pairs, but in trios, quartets and so on, and that these partnerships deserve to benefit from legal recognition and protection.

Of course the down side would be that we’d have to pay to park on Central on Sundays…and Christmas would no longer be a national holiday, which is a major bummer, because we could all use the time off.

I don't believe in Santa Claus

2006-11-14T15:02:00.000-07:00

There, I said it.

Pete’s been really ferocious about the importance of honesty lately. He’s written about it on his blog. He rants about TV and movie characters that lie. He’s amped up about honesty and feels free to charge on his moral high horse at will. I tease him about it, but it’s only because I worry I’m next on his judgment rampage.

I think everyone lies, in one way or another. Some lie outright, some brag, some keep secrets and cover them up, some commit sins of omission, and everybody lies to themselves because they either aren’t ready for or are in denial of the truth about themselves, about their loved ones, or about the way the world works or doesn’t work.

I strive to be honest. It helps that I have the world’s worst poker face, and an increasingly failing memory, so lying takes more effort than it’s worth 99.5% of the time. I know I commit sins of omission when giving full details isn’t the kind, practical, or tactful thing to do. I know I lie to myself about truths I’m not yet evolved enough to face.

But this post isn’t really about honesty and the moral grey area thereof…it’s about Santa Claus.

Pete has admitted to me that he fears saying: “There is no Santa Claus.” I don’t blame him. No one likes an iconoclast. But that’s the truth, and why should anyone feel bad about telling the truth? It’s pretty clear to most kind and moral beings that lying is wrong, but what about perpetuating a myth such as Santa Claus?

Is it wrong to lie to your kids about Santa Claus? Is it wrong to use the myth of this omniscient, corpulent, elf to manipulate children? Is it wrong to perpetuate a lie to your own children year after year? Is it harmful for your children to discover that they’ve been duped by the very people who are supposed to protect them?

I believed in Santa even when my brother tried to convince me that Santa was actually Mom and Dad; even when my friends made fun of me. I believed in Santa even when I caught my mother filling my stocking, even when I’d find Mom’s Xmas stash…later to be given to me as gifts “From Santa”. I believed in Santa, despite all the mounting evidence that disputed his existence. Not sure why I was so steadfast… but I was a firm Santa devotee until 1974.

1974. I was 9 and the thing I most wanted for Xmas, well, it doesn’t matter what I most wanted. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t what I found under the tree Xmas morning; a powder blue manual typewriter with a note in it from “Santa”...a note with typos no less!

There was some tittering and joking between my parents about my father’s lack of typing skills, followed by a humorous exchange of “looks” between them when I found the hideous blue thing. That’s when I knew...

Santa wasn’t real. He was THEM! And they had let me down, big time. When they saw my obvious disappointment, they acted as if Santa was to blame for this blatant gift error and they had pulled off yet another year of pretense.

Or maybe they had wanted to dispel the Santa myth at long last and this was their way of encouraging me to have more realistic expectations. If so, then why even get me started believing in Santa Claus? Why set me up year after year, making sure my little material wishes were fulfilled, only to heartlessly dash my dreams this way? Why not discourage materialism from the start? Oh, but materialism is a rant for another time...

In their defense, perhaps my parents wanted me to be more of a realist; to be leery of myths, never to act on faith alone. Maybe they wanted me to be more grounded. Maybe, at age 9, they figured it was time for me to walk through the world with a bit more cynicism and to question authority more often. Or maybe, being human, they simply made a mistake and didn’t fully realize how I would be impacted by it.

20/20 hindsight; I should have gotten things in writing from Santa: For the sum of one month (30 days) of exemplary behavior, said 9 year old girl shall receive one Barbie Dream House, various lesser-important-but-still-welcome gifts, and one stocking stuffed with miscellaneous little-but still-welcome tidbits and a moderate amount of candy, consisting mostly of chocolate.

I’m not a parent and have no plans to ever be a parent, but I do care about the welfare of children. So I feel the need to share my viewpoint, as a victim of PTAST: Post-Truth About Santa Trauma...

My point is not that children should be deprived of Santa Claus or that Santa is a bad thing, but if you’re going to sell your kids on the concept of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy or any mythic benefactor instead taking credit for bestowing gifts upon your child personally, I beg you to develop a definitive plan for weaning your kids off the notion. Know how you’re going to reveal the truth to your kids, particularly if they are highly sensitive, oddly intelligent, or wildly imaginative (or all three). Otherwise they might wind up a cynical, bitter old broad like their Auntie Padme.

Oh, and if you do convince your kids that Santa is real, make sure you see their letters to the Big Guy well ahead of time, so you don’t wind up buying an abacus instead of an X-Box for your little tyke.

The Chicken Thief of Glendora

2006-11-10T13:19:00.000-07:00

In the early 1960’s there were more orange groves than housing tracts in my home town of Glendora. A relatively sparse suburb of Los Angeles, Glendora attracted a variety of people. The folks who purchased the lot next to my family home were smart, eclectic people whose interests ranged from clockworks to suburban farming. Soon after settling next door, they set up chicken coops on the other side of the fence, in an area all too close to my parents’ bedroom.

The chickens, by themselves were not so bad, but the rooster crowed often, regardless of the hour and my parents spent a number of sleepless nights, until one day, the neighbors left on holiday…

My father was swift to act. He crept into our neighbor’s yard, bundled the rooster into a burlap sack, tossed the sack into his blue station wagon and drove to the nearest chicken farm, where he tossed the loud fowl over the fence.

When the neighbors returned, there was no mention of the missing rooster. Years went by, with no further word on the matter. My father took his secret identity, “Chicken Thief of Glendora” to his grave. Eventually, the neighbors stopped keeping chickens. 40 years went by; with nary a mention of the ill-fated rooster to the neighbors, until last month.

My mother in recent years has been spending a lot of time with John, our former chicken owning neighbor. She, a widow, and he with his wife in a hostel because of Alzheimer’s disease, they have become good friends and spend much time together. So when Pete and I were out for a visit and we were all to go to my brother’s home for dinner, John was invited along.

After a lovely meal, we sat in my brother’s kitchen sharing funny stories from our past, laughing boisterously. Even John chimed in with some hilarious tales. The stories stopped rather abruptly, however when my brother said six fateful words: “What about Dad and the chicken…”

Mom and I gasped. “Did he just go there?” I wondered. One look at my mom and I lost it. The screaming, hooting laughter came bubbling out. My bladder threatened to unload and I tore down the hall. Mom followed shortly, howling as I was. We faced one another, both bent over, unable to stop laughing long enough to regain motor control.

Meanwhile (Pete told me, later), my brother was doing the world’s worst verbal backtracking job. Somehow the subject was blissfully dropped, leaving Pete and John rather confused. Shortly after my mother and I had regained our composure, we bade my brother a fond farewell and my mother drove us back to her home.

As she turned the corner to our street, John said, “Well Cathie, I’m going to have to get you drunk one day and ask you about Bernie and the chickens.” Somehow my mother tactfully side-stepped the issue, managed to get John home, and kept her cool until he was out of earshot.

Once John had closed his door; the story came tumbling out as we completed the journey home… Pete was now in on our wicked family secret.

Five minutes after we walked through the door of my mother’s house, my brother called. It turns out, he didn’t remember the full story, and he thought my father had only played a part in the evil scheme...

"Normal" Craziness

2006-11-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

There are those of us who wonder when the justification for certain behaviors stops being attributed to character flaws and starts being attributed to mild versions of mental disorders… Those of us who walk the fine line between “normal craziness” (or being mildly mentally ill) and full blown mental disorders and sometimes wonder how does one keep a mild version from becoming full blown?

I’m going to blog about some of the things that I go through from time to time; partly because I find journaling therapeutic and partly with the intent of documenting some of these shadow syndromes to increase public awareness. I hear folks kvetch that sharing one’s less than positive experiences is like spreading poison, but I respectfully disagree. I believe if there’s nothing written about these issues, it’s a form of passive permission; folks can go on pretending these problems don’t exist, for them or for a loved one…and there won’t be good reason to find some way to help, or better, a cure…

I have a bit more to write about cures (I could rant about the evils of anti-depressants for hours), but that’s for another post. This post is really more about what I’ve been going through this past month:

Pete is a lot more open with his family than I am with mine. He tells his folks things my mother would freak out if I mentioned to her. Case in point; when we were in CA, while recapping one day’s events to my mother, Pete told her I drove him by a place where I’d once been stranded at 3am. Mom got pretty upset and grilled me for the particulars. Mind you this happened over 20 years ago; I survived it and am none the worse for wear. Still, she freaked.

Knowing how she reacts to certain information, I give my mother the details of my life in edited pieces, kind of like preparing food for a baby, making sure it’s easy to digest. Not that I think this is the healthiest dynamic, but these are the terms on which we are best coping with our differences at this point in our personal evolutions.

For her I think the price is that she doesn’t really know how far I’ve come and what gifts I bring to the world because they don’t come from a place she perceives as valid. If I were compassionate because of the teachings of Christ alone, she would appreciate that. That I am compassionate because of the teachings of Buddha, she doesn’t like. So, I’m a bit of a disappointment for her. She is doesn’t really “see” some of my best qualities (IMHO).

For me, the price is that whenever I talk with my mother I have to review my life and my actions with a filter gauged for judging what is and is not okay by her standards, not mine. This is actually pretty easy; to let my inner critic play for a while. What’s difficult is reining it back in. That’s where this character flaw becomes mildly mental.

I’ve been operating in what I call “shame mode” for over a month and I’m struggling to turn it off. Every day I am embarrassed by my actions. I analyze what I’ve said and done and literally shudder at myself. Sometimes it’s as simple as telling a joke that didn’t go over, sometimes it’s something I did in the past which doesn’t mesh with my current value system, sometimes it’s something I’ve said or done at work…

I can’t just dismiss these thoughts lightly. No matter what I’m rehashing, I fear I have somehow put something I value at risk. Perhaps, I’ve offended a friend. Maybe I’ve done something inappropriate at work and now my job security is in doubt. It doesn’t matter how these actions are perceived by others. I doubt myself, and until I get feedback to the contrary, I assume the worst.

Shame mode is bad after a long day at work, but worse the day after a social gathering, when I’ve been around people I respect and whom I want to respect me, when I’ve been nervous and imbibed a bit, or perhaps imbibed in an attempt to quiet the inner critic for a while. Those are days I rehash one event after another, after another. Pete can attest that these are days when I’m unusually quiet for hours. Long hours when I struggle to quiet my mind.

Sometimes, to distract myself, I’ll say something really outrageous like “I’m pregnant” (which is sooo not true and just the opposite of what I’d want for myself). It pisses off my inner critic who immediately jumps in to contradict and jolts me back to reality, if only temporarily. Not that this is such a sane technique, but at least I don’t do this when anyone else is around.

When I’m not alone, I try to engage another person in dialogue, or talk just for the sake of talking. I watch TV and movies but they aren’t really enough to distract me, unless there are subtitles, so I knit or bead a lot. These are comfort activities for me, but I feel like I’m trying to run from my thoughts, so they’re not really relaxing.

Even when I’m not in shame mode I have a noisy brain – a monkey mind leaps from one thought to another for hours. I can’t even quiet my mind to let myself feel romantic or express myself sexually. This is a big issue, particularly because of Pete. If I were single I’d be more miserable in other ways – but I wouldn’t have to worry about constantly disappointing Pete.

From a wholistic perspective, this represents some imbalance in my body/mind/spirit. These thoughts get churned up because there’s some common thread, and if I had better body/mind/spirit awareness, I’d have a healthier perspective on myself. Assuming that’s true, I need to figure out how to achieve synchronicity of body/mind/spirit.

Here’s how I’m starting:

Body: Pete and I are making better choices food-wise, and starting to walk more. Dharma’s homework this week is to visit a dog park, so that’s another good excuse to get out and about. I'm also working on cutting back on my sugar intake.

Mind: I’m taking a stress management class next week. I’m journaling more. Just in writing this, I’ve learned what triggers my shame mode and what feeds my inner critic. I’ve also learned that my inner critic is smart and wily, and that means I am too…

Spirit: I’ve started doing mantra again. I’ve started a 40 day discipline. Using my mala as a counter (108 beads) I am chanting a healing mantra 3 times a day. It puts me over the 12,500 repetitions recommended for this discipline, but I figure I could use a little more positive reinforcement.

Synchronicity: I think I’ve found a way to have my HMO cover acupuncture treatments. Also, I’m making a point to communicate more, to let things out instead of holding things in. Pete’s really helping me with this one. After telling Pete everything I’ve been going through, he didn’t flee for the hills. Quite the opposite really…

So I know I have someone to support me and love me while I journey toward healing. The best someone. Somehow, sometime, I did something right to deserve this man in my life, so how bad can things be, really?

Happy Halloween!

2006-10-31T08:28:00.000-07:00

Beware! Beware the Lick-Witch. If she licks you, you will become her slave! Pete and I are already her captives. Run! Save yourselves!!!

Keep on keeping on...

2006-10-30T14:57:00.000-07:00

Well, my back is better. Thanks for the well wishes.

My magnificent massage therapist does wondrous work. He didn’t find a lot of muscular issues going on – more that I was shouldering (literally) a lot of emotional baggage and my lower back (which is usually where I store my stress) was essentially full and the overload had to go somewhere.

He helped me take stock of what I’ve been going through these past few months, heck, this past month…

First, Pete and I drove to CA to visit my family. My mother is a conservative, Republican, church-going Christian. I’m a liberal, Green (for lack of better options), syncretist with Buddhist tendencies. Mom ordered Pete out of her car when he mentioned his Buddhist prayer beads…jokingly mind you, but still her predisposition was clear. With all my insecurities, visiting Mom reminds me of dozens more, because no matter what I do, I am less than what she wants me to be. The upside of this trip, Mom loves Pete. And well she should…he’s one the best people I know, and the best partner I’ve ever dreamed of having.

Next, we got Dharma. Bear in mind, I’ve never had a dog bigger than an overweight dachshund, and I’ve been terrified of German Shepherds most of my life, so Dharma being part Shepherd, was a big source of nervousness for me. The first day we had her, she violently attacked my ex-husband’s cat (we were babysitting while he was out of town). Since then, she’s been a gentle, sweet, mellow beast. No one else in the “family” has seen her violent side. It really shook me. I’m still a little worried about how she’ll be with other animals, but she and I are fine. I love her tremendously and I think our trust gets stronger each day. I think we’ve been equally scared of one another.

Then, Pete’s folks came out. I love them. This was the first time Pete and I had house guests, so that was a big deal – but a bigger still because Pete’s folks funded the down payment (and countless other household items, including the fridge), so we really wanted to make a good showing. Pete’s mom is one of the most accepting, loving people I’ve ever met. Pete’s father is a workaholic and came to work, so we did a lot of that!

Pete’s dad offered a wealth of advice and really good information, often unsolicited, which can come off as criticism, but I believe was meant with true kindness of spirit. He’s quite stoic and a bit hard for me to get a read on. In that way, he reminds me of my own father, who never really approved of me much. When I stood up to my dad it never went well. Not so with Pete’s dad. I think I growled at him once because he kibitzed in my kitchen when I was making dinner. He backed off. I know I coughed out: “BULLSHIT” when he accused Dharma of being a typical woman (nosy). He laughed.

So in addition to dozens of household hints, with this Dad, I’m learning how to stand up for myself in a way that feels okay for both of us. It’s a very healing thing. Not always easy, but therapeutic. Because of this, I really feel like he’s my Dad, too. I love that.

Pete’s mom was my Mom pretty much from day one. I love that, too.

So now things are settling down (the calm before the storm of the holiday season) and I’m working on releasing a lot of this stuff and the more I release the more room there is for other deeper seated stuff to get stirred up. What’s getting stirred up so far are a lot of insecurity issues, about my weight, my health, my appearance, my job, my relationship, my sexuality, my intelligence, my ability to make a positive difference in the world, my emotional and mental health (or lack thereof)...

Wait... What was that? Did I just hear my old closet monster growling in the background? Do I hear the clickity-clack of my first-grade reading teacher’s shoes?

November is going to be an interesting month.

Warning, I'm in a foul mood

2006-10-27T13:17:00.000-06:00

...and have been for the better part of the past two weeks, hence my lack of posts (not really wanting to subject my beloved webiverse to my ire).

But I just gotta vent...somewhere...somehow...oh, screw it, here and now!

I'm pissed at Rush Limbaugh for being a mean spirited hate monger, and worse, a hate-monger with influence. May he be afflicted with Parkinson's and then accused of using his condition to schill for his political party. He's a mean, mean, man who needs to go away.

Michael J. Fox, on the other hand, is my hero of the month. He said: "Disease is a nonpartisan problem that requires a bipartisan solution." You GO MJ!

Speaking of dis-ease; having spent the last three days barely being able to sit upright, I went this morning to my osteopath's office to get an adjustment from his physician's assistant (otherwise I would have had to wait 2 weeks!)

My time was ill spent – I waited an hour, then sat through 5 minutes of being lectured about gaining weight, 2 minutes being adjusted, 7 minutes on a roller table (which kept stopping and was so poorly programmed, it made things worse than the pain it was meant to alleviate). After that, I was ready to give more than my name, rank and serial number.

Summing up the lecture: “Exercise,” says Larry the PA, “You’ll feel better…”

“Yes, Larry,” I wanted to say, “and it’s just that easy, especially when I’m in so much pain right now, I can’t even sit upright for more than 2 minutes. Wow, this lecture is oh so helpful right now. I need to lose weight – tell me something I don’t know, you cavalier prick. I’ll get right on that and ignore the fact that every time I go for a walk, or when I sit down to rest a while, when I try to get up again, my feet and ankles are in so much pain I can barely move. Oh, and I’ll just wave my freakin’ magic wand to overcome my programming and eat just as you say I should…”

Guilt-laden and $20 poorer, my back feels about 5% better right now, but that's mostly because the weather was about 5% warmer than when I went into the office...

The upside is, I've lost 7 pounds since the last time I weighed myself - so that's 7 pounds less lecture than I would have gotten a month ago.

Not that I don't own that I need to lose weight, but that's not the only source of my back pain, which brings me to another source of ire...

Health care in America is atrocious. I have health insurance, and if I were ever seriously ill or injured, I'd be glad I have it, but for wellness, I mean true wholistic body, mind, spirit wellness, my health insurance system sucks rocks.

Wholistic medical practioners, herbalists, DOMs, homeopaths, aren't covered by my health insurance. So if those are my preferred healers, tough. I would dearly love to treat my chronic back pain and myriad other issues with acupuncture and other alternative healing techniques, but affording it is another matter.

In the past, I've studied herbal remedies, naturopathic techniques and approaches to healing because I didn't have health insurance, but now that I have it, I still use those methods because allopathic medicine merely addresses the symptom, rarely the cause, and even more rarely the emotional and spiritual sources of dis-ease.

Acupuncture works, as do many other alternative approaches to healing. But there's politics involved - and I think pharmaceutical companies pay big bucks to politicians to make sure we remain hooked on their product, so Western medicine wins out.

To my mind, health insurance should really be about wellness, and if the provider is trained, competant and qualified, what should it matter whether s/he's a DOM or a PhD or whatever...if they are true healers, it should be covered.

In the meantime, I'll suck on my homeopathic pills (which, thank Goddess are still available over the counter), soak in my hot tub, and say a mantra for peace, within, with-out, and forever...

Om shanti, shanti, shanti...

He's in, she's in...

2006-10-10T10:29:00.000-06:00

Pete charmed the socks off of my family. Mom loves him! I knew he was "in" when I saw her put his name in her "birthday book", but he really bowled her over when he asked her permission to marry me. Sigh. Helpless romantic, that one. And now Mom says I get to keep him!

Another keeper - Dharma is finally home with us and is, in a word, delightful. That is, as long as you're not a cat or the lower front corner of our coffee table. Removal of temporarily housed cat, and a strategic spray of Bitter Yuck (with a generous supply of bones and other chew things) seems to keep her from this minimal naughtiness.

Dharma also likes yarn - and lacking opposable thumbs, well, her options are limited as to her use of it. Although I haven't given her a chance to stretch her creative spirit, I have (probably unfairly) assumed that yarn, in Dharma's eyes is likely to be relegated to the role of chew toy. Thus, I have made efforts to Dharma-proof my stash.

That being said, Dharma is very sweet, bright and obedient. She is very much a zen dog; docile, accepting, very in the moment. She does not bark and seems to limit her hyper moments to greeting Pete or I when we come home or wake up.

Basically, she's a 42 pound lap dog.

We're trying to socialize her as much as we can, but have our suspicions that Dharma was abused (some scars, and a bit of tuck-tail behavior). She has bonded with both Pete and I fairly equally, but I believe Dharma favors women a bit more. We'll be taking her to school for training to help build her confidence and deepen our bond with her. I'm very excited to see what she's capable of...

Losing face with Mom

2006-09-29T07:52:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow Pete and I travel to CA to visit my mom and my brother. This is the "big meet the family trek" for Pete, and I have every confidence they will love him, that is, as long as he keeps his shirt on...

Last night I was talking to Mom about some details of getting together with my brother and his wife for dinner while we're out West. Pete stands in front of me, licks his finger, lifts up his shirt and starts circling his nipple with his finger, giving me a seductive look.

Of course, I burst out laughing, still on the phone with my mother. Of course, she asks what's so funny. Of course, I splutter out some lame anecdote, which, because I'm still distracted by Mr. Sexy, winds up not making much sense at all, so, of course, I come across as a complete doofus.

Y'know.... When your Mom makes a comment like "Uh, right." in a tone that clearly conveys you're either off your nut or a complete dweeb, it's not a good thing...

Hooyah!

2006-09-26T13:47:00.000-06:00

I recently purchased a scooter, a very retro-looking, Honda scooter which I call La Scopa ("the broom" in Italian). I love this little beast. How can you not love a vehicle that's so fun and easy to ride and gets 90 miles to the gallon.

After my first "test ride" to work, I visited some friends who have motorcycles. "When are we riding up to the Crest?" my friend joked. (the "Crest" being Sandia Crest - and the road leading up to it is one of the steepest, curviest roads around).

Freakin' 750cc vs. my little 49cc scoot-scoot. Hardly in the same league, really.

I drove home, contemplating the need for more power and pondering where I was in the scheme of things, motorcyclicly-speaking. I stopped at a red light. To my left was a rather large, thunderous Harley, complete with tattooed, unruly grey hair in a braid under his bandana, sunglass wearing, weathered faced biker (with cute bandana-wearing biker chick on the back of his bike). He looked over at me and lifted his chin abruptly in greeting. I could have sworn I heard a low grunt of subtle approval.

And I thought...I'm in the club!!!! I may have only 49ccs, but it's all woman, baby!

Ever since then, I find I strut a little when I get off the bike. My voice is a little deeper and has a remarkably similar cadence to my older brother's. When I ride, my lower jaw slightly juts and I look downright stoic.

I think I'm getting back in touch with my inner butch...

Hooyah!

Love is patient...

2006-09-21T08:02:00.000-06:00

Pete and I were supposed to bring our Dharma dog home yesterday, but there was a bit of a hitch. The puppy that Dharma fostered has Giardia. It's more frequently a puppy problem, but it's possible Dharma has been infected as well. Until she's tested negative and/or treated and cured, she can't be spayed, and the law says we can't bring her home until she's been spayed. Damn the man!

Anyway... it's going to be a couple weeks before she can come home. Dharma's foster-human was worried that Pete and I would change our minds about our darling Dharma dog. No way! She's our girl. Just one look at her sweet face and we know she's worth waiting for.

It's amazing. How quickly you can fall in love and how easily patience is found because of the power of love.

I only wish I had her measurements so I could knit her a sweater while I'm waiting. Don't roll your eyes - short haired dogs need more warmth and winter cometh. I promise I won't add pom-poms, or use baby colors, or anything fru-fru. I'm tellin' ya, this is going to be one stylin' dog...

Introducing...

2006-09-18T10:33:00.000-06:00

Dharma the wonderdog. She's not home with us, yet (we can't take her home until she's been "altered"), but she's all ours. We're picking her up from her foster-human on Wednesday.

Dharma is around 2 years old. She came to rescue 8 weeks ago, very pregnant and gave birth immediately. Her pups were all stillborn. Another pup's mum at rescue died in birthing him, so Dharma nursed and fostered him until he went to a home of his own.

Just as Pete has known loss through the death of his wife and I've known it through the death of my father; Dharma has known loss through the death of her pups and the adoption of her foster-pup. Just as Pete and I help complete one another, we're hoping to help Dharma heal and feel complete with us as she completes our family.

We can be heroes...

2006-09-14T08:27:00.000-06:00

Last month someone stole a coupon from Pete and I. The clerk gave us our discount anyway, but I was flabbergasted that the person didn't know that it's not okay when someone drops a coupon to grab it and use it for yourself.

All right, I'm being kind, maybe she did know it wasn't okay. Either way I was gobsmacked at her gall, mainly because it would never occur to me to do anything other than pick up the coupon and hand it to it's rightful owner.

Pete and I had a good laugh over it. Just thinking of our slack-jawed reactions makes me smile and I have to admit, it was a little refreshing to feel naive this late in the game.

At the same time it occurs to me that what we often take as common courtesy, isn't. It doesn't occur to everyone to do the right thing or make little gestures of kindness as a part of their natural course. Which means compassion is an active choice.

So when you let someone ahead of you in traffic, or hand someone something they dropped, or hold the elevator for someone those gestures are more important than you immediately realize. If only for a brief moment, you make a positive difference in someone else's life. You are a hero.

And it's so simple to do, even second nature to some...to quote Bowie: We can be heroes, just for one day...

Cape and tights, are, of course, optional...

Make Your Own Kind of Music...

2006-09-13T09:36:00.000-06:00

I heard this song the other night and it got me to thinking about the web. It's incredible. This space. This universe in a box with its wealth of information and insights. And most amazing of all, there's room for everyone here.

There are bitch-fests and pity-partiers, oppressors, racists and anti-semites, these are blogs I steer clear of, but I see there's room for them here (if only for necessary contrast)...

I love my life, but there are times when I wonder what I'm missing. I look around and find folks who blog about what parenting is like and I am so grateful, there's room for them here.

Folks are writing about the Human Experience from all angles. Sharing a sorrow or two does not mean that's all you're about. Even the sunniest of bloggers, mix a little shade with the sunshine now and then. There's plenty of room for them here.

I'm not a mother, I'm not a wife, and at my age, to be neither sets me apart from the societal norm in many ways. I haven't found many others like me, so maybe, I think, just maybe my voice has value because it's different. So, I look around and I see there's room for me here, too.

There's room for everyone here to Make Your Own Kind of Music...

Nobody can tell ya,
There’s only one song worth singin’,
They may try and sell ya,
As it hangs them up to see
someone like you

But you've gotta make your own kind of music
sing your own special song,
make your own kind of music
even if nobody else sings along.

You're gonna be knowin’
the loneliest kind of lonely.
It may be rough goin',
just to do your thing's
the hardest thing to do.

But you've gotta make your own kind of music
sing your own special song,
make your own kind of music
even if nobody else sings along.

So if you cannot take my hand,
and if you must be goin',
I will understand.

You gotta make your own kind of music
sing your own special song,
make your own kind of music
even if nobody else sings along.

You gotta make your own kind of music
sing your own special song,
make your own kind of music
even if nobody else sings along.

by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil - most famously sung by the Late Great Mama Cass