Cr*p (I hate that word but, it so applies)

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

"You might try a variety of tactics to keep you from sliding into a funk today and the easiest one is to let others distract you from your complex emotions. Surrounding yourself with like-minded family, friends or colleagues is one way to avoid sinking into your feelings . . ."

This is my horoscope today. It is spot on so far. I AM sliding into a funk, and I will be surrounded by family today. I don't know about like-minded, but it will probably be a distraction. 

I am cranky. Ridiculous reasons for funk sliding:

1. I hate my new haircut.

2. I've gained a lot of weight.

3. I don't want to have jury duty next week when I was snowed out of my classroom the last week of school, and I have no lesson plans prepared.

4. I loved staying home so much, that I never want to go back to work.

5. I haven't heard from my kids for three days, and I don't know if they know that we have to be in Sherwood by 11:30 this morning.

6. I want to go to Seattle for New Year's but B has to work, and I don't know if Dunc can take care of the animals if we are gone, which we can't because B has to work.

7. I wake up too early every morning. Usually I just go back to sleep until 

9 or 10 o'clock, but today I have to be in Sherwood by 11:30 (whose idea was that? What's wrong with 2:30, or 3:30?).

8. There's a 9 between my 7 and 8.

9. I'm whining and that is never flattering. I can't afford unflattering whining when I have a bad haircut, and have to wear Big Girl jeans that I swore I would never have to wear again so, I got rid of all of them, and now I had to buy some new ones!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

10.AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (screaming inside my head to disturb the negative thinking patterns that are developing by writing this blog).

May peace and only ridiculous worries be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Waa, Waa, My Hair Is Gone

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Sigh. I lost my mind this week. Saturday night to be exact. I am still trying to figure out what got into me. I cut my own hair. Never, never, never a good idea. I'm not talking a little trim. I'm talking massive hair lossage.

I haven't had a professional haircut since April. My hair has just grown and grown, like Rapunzel. It was long and super shaggy. There was absolutely no style to it whatsoever. If I didn't curl it it was Mennonite hair (without the little white cap). That's fine if one is a Mennonite. I am not. I was feeling a little too country girl, I guess.

Also, I am not a fan of the super long hair on old women. From behind, they look all young and sexy then, they turn around and, BAM! It's hard to look away from such a dichotomy.  Also, it is a bit scary, as if your very own eyes are playing tricks on you. 

I wanted  some sexy movement in my hair. So, I cut it short around my face. Poofta! My hair poofed up, framing my face with thick, brown apostrophes. Not my best look. Then, to alleviate this heavy look, I cut some of the hair in the middle, creating bangs. My husband told me not to, but a little devil possessed my scissor hand. Bangs. My super long hair in the back looked stupid now, kinda like "party in the back" 70's hair. So I wacked that off just below the shoulder. Five pounds of hair -- into the trash bin. 

"Agh!" I've never heard my husband scream before. He wasn't joking. That was his lizard brain response. Scream, cover eyes, quickly turn away.  My lower lip trembled like it hasn't since I was about five years old. Twenty-five years together, and he couldn't control himself. I could tell he knew he had screwed up. Spouses have an  arsenal of 'supportive phrases' that by a quarter of a century are as easy to access as excess ear and nose hair. (If I could cut that off and glue it on my head, I would).

All I could do was crawl into bed, and hope that when I woke up, I would discover that it was all a bad dream. When it turned out to not be a bad dream, I swallowed my pride and explained myself to the hairdresser I hadn't seen in months. She told me she could make it all OK. But, after an hour it was another two pounds lighter, and much, much shorter. It's hair. It will grow back. I just wish I could stay in bed until that happens. 

When my husband saw my new do, he didn't hesitate, "That looks good -- it's sexy".

May peace and a true love be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Arctic Blast '08

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I think I have survived the biggest snowstorm anyone  alive has ever seen in this area.

I am not tired of all of the snow. As it now melts away, I am actually kind of sad. It was fun being snowed in. Of course, my power never went out, and all of my family were warm and safe. 

I didn't mind not getting any mail, but I was super surprised by it. I thought there was some post person pledge, "Neither sleet, or rain, or snow, or bunnies . . . " ya know, that whole thing. It wasn't our mail carriers. The mail truck didn't make it in from the big city.

The roads were super dangerous. Many still are. I did miss my morning paper. That  didn't get delivered for a whole week. The mail came one day out of 10. The paper didn't. The road to our house was closed for two days, and probably should have been closed for more. A propane truck slid down the hill and crashed into a power pole. Lots of people lost power, but not us. Lucky again. We ran out of toilet paper and coffee. Two things I never want to be without again, but it didn't kill me.

The ground was covered in layers, like a cake. First, a foot or more of snow. Then, a half an inch of ice. Finally, another 6 inches of snow. One day I had bruised up my shins when I walked out to the mail box (which, of course, was empty). I would put one foot down, breaking through the crust, and when I didn't bring that foot back up exactly straight, my leg would knock against the layer of ice. Yow! The cat could walk across, like Jesus on the lake, but I'm a bit heavier. It really did hurt. 

This snow had to be seen to be believed. I would never have been able to believe it was this dramatic if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I wonder if I will remember it when I am older and grayer. 

So, I have been a shut-in, and liked it. In fact, I would really like to still be snowed in for a couple more days. Just a good excuse to stay in bed and read. 

May peace and an interesting season be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Smells Like Wet Dog

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

We've been snowed in for a week. WITH the animals. That funky smell that is seeping in around the edges isn't pleasant. No matter how much essential oil I sprinkle here and there, the doggie smell is taking over my house. 

I have been in a flurry of cooking while shut in. All of the Christmas cookies, sweet bread, hot apple cidar and yummy meals only provide short term bliss to the nose. I will be happily melting something in my mouth when suddenly I will get a whiff that spells w-o-o-f. I can't kick them out in these frigid temperatures either. Besides, they just frolic about in the snow for awhile, and pop back into the house all wet and more smelly. Plus, they are quite pleased with themselves.

We have four animals that can come in the house. A very large, and hairy shepard mix, a tiny (but oh so smelly) terrier/pug/shitzu/poodle/yorkie ball of bark, a big orange cat, and a feisty feral kitty that we have been taming. Three of the four are rescue animals. You would think that they would be more  grateful to have a home, and try to keep it nice. The fourth (the terrier mix) was born smelly. She can't help it I guess. She is darned cute in her funny little way. She is the reason I am up writing. She took it upon herself to bark until everyone under our roof, and the roofs of people in the next county were awakened. I don't know what got her all excited, but here I sit instead of being cozy in bed. 

It is Christmas morning.  I could be making the dough for the Christmas cinnamon rolls. I sort of lost my desire to cook a big breakfast, for Christmas, when my children jumped ship last night. The older one is working a double shift on the mountain today, and his brother hitched along to go snowboarding.  They said it was a hairy, wild ride. Driving in a snowstorm makes it hard to see the road, apparently. Most people stay home when the snow hits, but not my little winter babies. The youngest one spent 8 months in Iceland, and the eldest doesn't know the meaning of the phrase, 'turn back'.  They  covered any guilt they might have at abandoning their parents on Christmas by giving excellent gifts. It's not so bad. We had a lovely Christmas Eve. It is just that between the smelly animals, invading my space, and the hole the younger generation have left in the house, I just feel like going back to bed.

And, that's what I am going to do. 

May peace and a heavenly smelling Christmas be  yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

The Weather Outside is Frightful

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It is a winter wonderland outside. As beautiful as it looks, it is mighty treacherous trekking for anyone who goes outside. There is a layer of ice over 7-8 inches of snow. Besides, the fire is the place to be today and I plan to be there. It is beautiful to look at. I may attempt an adventure to the road to see if our paper guy braved the trip to bring us our Sunday tome. Our mail lady didn't make it yesterday so I will be surprised if I get to read the Sunday funnies. The walk will give me a chance to peak in the goat barn.

Our goats are so cute this time of year. Our junior goats are so furry they look like sheep. They are all fat and cute. Yesterday, they ran into the pasture by the house, and the tallest one danced up onto his hind hoofs to pull down a fir bough. He was rewarded with a yummy treat, but the cost was getting snow dumped on top of him. He didn't seem to mind  since he went around the entire tree pulling down bough after bough, getting a snow bath for his efforts every time.

The dogs are truly loving their snow play. They leap and dive, and then run around like wild things, barking for joy. When they are ready to come inside they are matted with snow and require a good rubbing down. The cats, on the other hand, go right under the house. They have no interest in getting their little paws wet. I don't know what they are doing under there; it's possible they are playing with spiders. They come in the house covered in cobwebs. That isn't so cute, or easy to clean off. Currently, the littlest dog, and the littlest kitty, are chasing each other. The kitten is chasing the dog, and then the dog will suddenly stop, roll over and they wrestle. Kitty never tires of this game, but the dog retreats to the top of the couch when she is worn out. My big dog is snuggled with me on the couch. He was up half the night barking at a VERY loud owl in the woods next to our house. I was a little nervous letting the smaller animals out this morning for fear that noisy owl would swoop down, and carry one of them off for breakfast. 

My plan for the day is to wrap Christmas presents. I convinced my husband to drive into town yesterday. I knew the freezing rain was coming in, and I hadn't done my holiday shopping for our children yet. The drive was spectacular. It was like being in an old fashioned post card of an idyllic winter scene. It took over and hour for a usual 35 minute trip; most of which we traveled without seeing any other cars. I felt like we were traveling in another time, or on another planet. I swear I could hear the trees whispering to each other when I rolled down the car window. We did finally run into other shoppers the closer we got to town. The mall parking lot was pretty sparsely populated, but the Costco parking lot was just as packed as any other Saturday. We only went to three stores. I usually like to assist Santa with the stockings by acquiring healthy snacks for my handsome snowboarders at Bob's Red Mill. No way were we going to try to go down the little lane to that groovy store. So, I overcompensated by buying way too many treats at Cost Plus. I just love those mini packs of nutella with the little tiny, individually wrapped scoops. So cute. So tasty. They are upstairs, in the spare bedroom, right this very second. I may sneak one while I am in there wrapping all of the socks, giant bags of hot flavored kettle chips, books, and cozy pajamas we got for the boys. I may be getting a little excited for Christmas -- finally. 

First, I think that I will tidy up the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, stick some bacon in the oven, and maybe thaw out some Amish Friendship bread for breakfast. My neighbor's hens are still laying, and she is letting me have whatever I can find while she and her husband whoop it up in Paris for Christmas. It is a toss up whether I would rather be in Paris or eating fresh eggs for breakfast. OK, Paris. I'm not that bucolic. 

May peace, a wintry wonderland, a warm fire, fresh eggs, and Paris be in your future from, The Goddess of Everything.

Live To Diet Another Day

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Despite my adamant resolve to lose weight with slim-fast and cigarettes, my convenience store dream never got off the asphalt of the local quickie mart. I was stymied by the "ick" factor; my own gag reflex as it were. This story may yet have a happy ending, but first we must review. 

The beginning of my little adventure/adventure to be little began with a perusal of the local one-stop down the hill from my house. It is there that one can buy single, chilled cans of slim-fast meal replacement shakes. Already my commitment was slim -- haha. If I had truly been all in, I would have gone straight to the big box store for a case. My plan was to purchase a can or two to 'see' how I liked it. I carefully coached myself to NOT look at the list of ingredients. Certain ingredients are a deal breaker unless they are in any of the following: cheesy poofs, nutella, hot chocolate, chocolate kisses, fudgesicles, brownies, red vines or kettle corn, and the original recipe M&M's (seriously, I can tell the difference from 10 years ago). However, my ADD kicked in just as I selected a cappuccino flavored, make me skinny, diet drink, and allowing my glasses to slip down my nose, I peered over the top of them to read the ingredients. 'Hydrogenated' peered back at me. I don't eat any kind of hydrogenated unless it is in one of the previously listed free pass items. 'Artificial flavorings' -- another deal breaker. Then, a list of several things I can't pronounce which I have learned from previous encounters are preservatives and fillers. Sigh, I couldn't do it. I couldn't walk out of the store with a can of 'ick'. 

With the first blow to my two part diet plan blown, I turned my thoughts to part II -- cigarettes. No need to look at the ingredients list on those suckers. They are full of poison. I don't watch movies with the devil in them, and I don't read horror stories for fun. My readers can rest assured I would not read the side of a cigarette box before sticking a cancer stick in my mouth. How would anyone ever take their first drag if they fell into that trap? Some other force was at work though. Suddenly, everywhere I looked people were smoking. Everywhere. Very large people. Really, really obese people (and I'm not saying I wouldn't qualify) standing outside of restaurants, movie theaters, and the entrance to the hospital. I could not avoid the evidence of my eyes. Cigarettes were not making these people thin. OK, maybe they had just started smoking that day with the same plan in mind that I had had. Seriously though, I doubted it. They all seemed expertly comfortable, and not the least bit furtive in their practiced respite.  

I felt deflated, betrayed by my lack of resolve, and utter inability to ignore external  sabotage mechanisms. Why is it always like this? I set a goal. It seems reasonable. I try to implement the goal. Then, I actively look for ways to enable my unhealthy habits. I was so close to beginning something that I think could have really helped me achieve my goal weight. With each passing day, we are all just one more day away from the pine box. Why couldn't I stick to my plan, and lie in that box wearing a size 8 Stella McCartney kick ass outfit? Why, oh why, oh why?

May peace and the ability to turn off your inner 'ick' be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Liposuck That!

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The good news is, I don't need botox anymore. The bad news is, I may need liposuction of the brain. Something is pressing on my brain, and making me fuzzy. All of my extra weight gain has caused my face to plump up so that I no longer need consider injecting poison into my furrowed brow.  However, I feel like there is a layer of fat around my brain now too. Fat = good for face = bad for thinking clearly.

I know that I am not thinking clearly because I am enjoying my job. This time of year, I usually can't wait to rid myself of the little ankle nipping six year olds, known as my students, by escaping to a tropical beach. Now, I am planning fun, holiday activities with cinnamon and applesauce, curling ribbon, glitter and cookie cutters. AND, I am liking it. Something is not right.

I know that my brain is not working correctly because I invited company over, for dinner, on a school night. I am cooking lasagna. Since Amy's has stopped making the family sized lasagna, I will be making my own -- FROM SCRATCH. Do you know how many flipping steps there are in lasagna preparation? More than two, which is one more than I usually care to be a party to.

There have been other signs of fat brain malfeasance. For instance, I keep wearing heals to work. This is not that comfortable, and I am not that young. I am not Tina Turner for christ's sake. (sorry Jesus) But, heels are slimming, and draw attention to one's legs. My legs look great (in stockings;I have varicose veins).  Heels also thrust one's buttocks out in a sexy manner. THERE IS NO REASON TO BE SEXY WHEN SURROUNDED BY TINY PEOPLE UNDER 30! Something is misfiring. Why am I drawn to inappropriate foot attire at this time? I have no idea. By the end of the day I am limping down the hall saying, "Ow, Ow" ever so quietly, to myself. 

Lastly, I have decided to KNIT my Christmas gifts this year. Christmas is less than a month away. I have 9 nieces and nephews, 8 siblings of varying kinds (four sisters, four brother-in-laws), 7 loved ones by marriage and birth (three mother-in-laws, two father-in-laws, my mother & my husband -- some people got married more than others), 6 gifting co-workers, 5 girlfriends, 4 pets a whining, 3 parent helpers, 2 children to whom I gave birth, and a partridge in a pear tree.  I have truly lost my mind.

May peace and abundance surround you (but, not necessarily around your brain) from, The Goddess of Everything.       

                                              

  

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Now that the election of the millennium is over, I can focus on me. I can focus on me, and my fat a$$. Boy howdy, how it has grown. I went to A Chorus Line, with my mom, last summer, and you know that song?  "Tits and A$$". Well, I've got the gut and the other word that I am tired of disguising so will just leave it up to you to fill in the blank. The "t" thing is sagging down into my gut, and we've addressed that issue in a previous blog so, I will move on.

Obama's presidential campaign was a finely tuned, rehearsed, and executed symphony much like my new diet plan. Here it is -- Slim Fast and cigarettes. I am going to binge on Slim Fast and cigarettes, and I am starting tomorrow. There is no time to waste. I intend to fit into the same inauguration dress, for Obama, that I wore for Clinton in '93. It is slightly out of style, and a little stained but, it cost a fortune, and I am not going to bind myself up in Spanks and body tape to get into it. 

Are you with me stressed out, sex deprived, overweight women of the Bush years? It is time to shed our excess weight, replace the batteries in our vibrators, and find room in our pantry for a liquid diet and a new oral fixation.  It is time to say, "Yes, we can!"

May peace and a positive attitude be yours from , The Goddess of Everything.

Time For An Overhaul

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It's good to be me -- most of the time. I'm charming, amusing, beautiful, fascinating, curious, creative, and loved. For sometime now, I have not appreciated all of my lovely qualities. I have been more focused on the negative attributes acquired when I wasn't diligently protecting my complex psyche. These would include, but are not limited to: anxious, cranky, alcoholic, compulsively lazy, and dangerously self-involved. Lately, anxiety is my middle name. Where did "fascinating" get off to? Hiding, I presume. 

When anxiety rules, chaos reigns as its creepy consort. I am surrounded by empty jars of vodka and nutella. They litter the house, at night, like bats at a bug party. I've been trying to be good to the planet by reusing grocery bags, leaving me without a place to hide my shameful empties. The children pick up after me in the morning. I am sure they are shaking their heads, wondering if their mother will be reprising the role of the mother in, "What's Eating Gilbert Grape". I could seriously go there. Some days I dream of allowing myself a free for all of indulgence. I can see myself never leaving the house, only opening the door to the grocery delivery boy, who only delivers nutella, nutella, nutella. The vodka would just magically appear (that's how it is -- I think there is an enabler in the house).  

I am awash in pitiful self-indulgence, lacking the will to say no to myself. I blame my mother. She was always telling me to remember to do something nice for myself every now and then. Had she shamed me more, I would be better equipped at this self-loathing thing. I would have taken up smoking, and given up food. Instead, I give myself little rewards for making it through another day. SHE encouraged that behavior. "Set a goal", she would say, "And, reward yourself when you accomplish it".  Had she said, "You are lazy and worthless -- you deserve nothing", I'm sure that I would be a crack addict by now. Those women are thin. They aren't wallowing in nutella and vodka. They can wear a bathing suit in the hot tub, whereas I wear a man's t-shirt and baggie, hammer pants, cut off at the knee. I've set my goal too high. My dream should not be to make it through another day. It should be to make through to my next fix. My hair might get stringy, and my teeth might fall out, but what anxiety will I have? I will be oblivious to the world around me. 

It's time to roll up my sleeves and get to work on my new goal. 

May peace and a new goal be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Mmmm. . . Kissing Good.

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I  LOVE kissing. I can't express how much. 

Well, I've kind of been missing out lately. Oh, I get the good-bye peck on the way out the door, the smooch on the cheek when my mom stops by, and the kisses from the kids.

I'm missing the passionate, kiss until you are breathless, kisses. Kisses that leave your lips chapped, jaw sore, and toes curled for a week. Those are the ones I am missing. 

For awhile, one of my groups of friends, was into the double cheek kiss. I think is was after someone's trip to Europe. That kind of kissing is so confusing. I never know whether to go left first, or to the right. I'm pretty sure my European ancestors didn't do the double kiss thing, so it isn't even in my collective, genetic memory. Anyway, this group of friends kept it up for a  couple of years. As much as I love kissing, this style of smooching was fun at first, but quickly became tiresome. The custom lost it's lustre, and died off at some point. Possibly, after a broken nose or two occurred. (Fortunately, I have a small nose). 

I remember kissing someone with a very large nose. It really got in the way. Talk about not knowing whether to go left or right. We were always smacking into each other. That relationship didn't last long. He did have the most amazingly long eyelashes though. I always wondered what it  would have been like if I had also had a large nose. I guess a couple has to figure that kind of problem out. Maybe it comes naturally if you are "meant to be". That was certainly the case for my spouse and I. We had no trouble remaining in a lip lock for a good six months after we met. I don't recall even an eyelash getting in the way. I think I also spent one year of high school in a never-ending kiss, resulting in my current TMJ problem. But, then who didn't spend a year in high school doing something like that? Perhaps not kissing, but some type of obsessive hormonal behavior. I won't attempt to list what those might be. I don't want to delve into the private business of others.

So, kissing. Kissing is good. Not kissing isn't the worst thing, but I've had more fun when it was an insidious part of my life. (Can insidiousness-ness be a good thing? Let's say yes so I don't have to pull out the thesaurus and interrupt my flow).  If kissing were a sport I could watch it on TV. Wait. Scratch that. I think that is called, Porn. Watching isn't anything like doing. Doing elevates the endorphins and may give you a cold. There is more excitement in the risk of doing.

As I contemplate the deeper issue of less kissing in my house, I know that all I have to do is walk out to the guy pressing apples into cider on my back porch, and have my kissing way with him.  He won't object. It is really that simple. What the heck am I whining about?  And yes, it's my husband. 

May peace and more kissing be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Not Again (It Turned Out OK)

Today the goddess speaks about her son:

So, my eldest son has a big, painfully swollen for no reason, elbow.

When he was 16 he had a rare staph infection that settled in the bursa  sac of that elbow. It could have killed him. He was extremely ill, and OHSU only saw it once in ten years. He had emergency surgery, and many painful procedures over a couple of months.

I'm thinking, "No, it can't possibly reoccur."

So, I look it up on the internet. Staph that settles in the bone can flare up during times of extreme stress on the body.  Great!

He wants to hold out until morning to go to the hospital. Last time it took four trips, in 24 hours, to get him any kind of real help. Nothing was ever said about his bone being involved before, but no one knew what they were dealing with. It was like watching an episode of, "House". I don't want to have to argue with the hospital about giving him a bone scan. 

I really, really hope it is just bursitis. He's been lifting a lot of heavy stuff lately, and playing in an extremely physical basketball league.  Keep your fingers crossed.

(It seems to be the bursitis thing. He won't go to the hospital, but he is feeling all better now)

May peace and health be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Sigh

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

She cannot sleep. She cannot sleep. She cannot sleep. She tosses and turn, tosses and turns . . .

If I were a songwriter I'd have a lot of good material. I'd have to be a blues singer, I guess. Poor, poor, pitiful me. What a silly goddess I am. What do I need with sleep? It just interferes with living my life anyway. If I were not up right now, I wouldn't be playing scrabulous with the Puzzled Goddess. I wouldn't be enjoying the complete stillness of a quiet house, or the starry sky outside my window.

May peace and quiet be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Hospital Drugs Are Not Making Me Happy

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The amnesia drugs they gave me for my surgery are having residual effects. I have little holes in my memory that are distressing. I imagine a night sky filled with stars, like a fabric in my brain. Except everywhere a star is supposed to be there is a little memory hole.

The aorta strengthening drug and the tissue life extending drug are making me tired, depressed, and are causing me to gain weight at an alarming rate. 

Why couldn't I be prescribed, "Special Brownies" so that I wouldn't care? Oh wait, eventually the depression will make it so that I won't care. Brilliant!

May peace and a better attitude about the miracle of modern medicine be yours from, The Goddess of Everything. (I really am grateful to be alive, I just haven't gotten to the expressing it well part of my personal journey).

Blah, Blah, Blog

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Some days I wonder if I will ever blog again. I am currently reading the most recent David Sedaris. On good days, I know that I could be him. (Oh that I had four sisters, a privileged upbringing, and was a gay man). Most days I just wish I could remember to write.

David Sedaris writes a tad like me. Of course, he is way better, and is published, and people ask him to autograph stuff. When I read him, I want to write more. I wonder why I have a job that interferes with my supreme destiny. Yes, I had all summer to establish a writing schedule, and practice the craft. That I didn't underscores my place in the world of 'Amateur'. 

I'm reading, When You Are Engulfed In Flames. I am laughing my face off. I call it research.

May peace and a good book be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

So Many Happy Hours, So Little Time

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The beloved and I spent a marvelous two days, one night in the big city of the Land of Port. Portland, to you newbies. We did it up right too. We bi-passed all of the cultural events and made our way from happy hour to happy hour. I even got the best mani-pedi in the known world. (The woman is a witch).

My beloved has sadly neglected me all summer. I INSISTED on a couple of days together. . .     . . . alone.

We started with a body work appointment. (I must have my organs manipulated -- it's an addiction of mine). It was my husband's first time with "she who intuits and manipulates". He was much impressed. He can now breathe with the full use of his lungs and bronchial passages. He is a convert. I had her work on my "anger issues" - more about that later.

After our body work, we hooked up for lunch at St. Honore. My husband lived in France for a year. He swears that St. Honore is as close to French cuisine as one can get. We satiated every sense, AND left with a box of French desserts for the morning. If you are ever having a hankering for 'real' french soup, bread, coffee, dessert . . . hoof it up to NW Thurman and 23rd Place, in Portland. I really couldn't imagine having room for more food, but I certainly had room for 'happy hour'. (I must mention here that I ran into our school counselor at New Renaissance book store, where I purchased Mandala coloring books for my students -- if you don't know how soothing it is to color a mandala design, then you are truly lacking in self-awareness; catch up!). Our lovely counselor has co-written a book on calming children through yoga. It is an amazing book, and coinkidinkily, she is going to be on my friend, Helen's, TV show next week. I was thrilled to have run into her. It is amazing how small the world truly is.

To elaborate on the smallness of the world, while my honey and I were walking hand in hand through the city we ran into someone else we knew. I wanted to get a mani-pedi at, Oasis, in the Pearl district. We breezed by to check out the operating hours. In so doing, we saw that, Susan, director of our family owned gallery, was enjoying a pedicure herself. I really think I should garner a deeper relationship with that woman -- we have so much in common. She once loaned me her copy of, The Other Boleyn Girl (The movie wasn't that good). Now, I see that she has perfect taste, not only in books and employment, but in self care as well. I am duly impressed.

We left Susan to leisurely stroll back to our Park Place condo. On the way we were sidetracked by a happy hour sign. Mmmmm . . . the best sweet and sour martini I have ever had, duck spring rolls, and a mango sauced, deep friend scallops. I was in heaven. That was at Sangori. We next skipped to Fanouille, for a cheese plate to go, and risotto with wild mushrooms, drenched in truffle oil. Truffle oil is like chocolate to me. We took our culinary, boxed treasures back to the condo, switched on the gas lit fireplace, and soaked ourselves in French take-away and Italian wine. I was transported to another realm. 

Too soon, my perfect time in the city had to end. First, we hooked up with the only man my husband allows on my, "God forbid if anything should happen to my husband", list, Jay. We took him to Laurelwood, for  the best garlic fries west of anywhere, and another trip to New Renaissance. Then, we headed home. A too short mini-vaca.

May peace and an eclectic city be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Water Parks, Crying Jags, and Still I Don't Sleep

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Maybe it was the iced dutch mocha I ordered at four in the afternoon, or maybe it was the crying jag in the car between Corvallis and Colton, or perhaps it was the constant yapping of the dog, but I am not asleep. It is nearly 2:30 in the morning. I have things to do in a few hours. Things I would like to do clear eyed. Sleep is never simple for me, but just once in awhile I'd like to do it with a little less effort. Last night for example, I should have been out like a light the second my head hit the pillow.

Yesterday, I spent nearly four hours playing in the water with my niece and sister. It was a total blast. We went round and round in the current pool, went up the steep stairs over, and over to slide, hands over head, down the big spiral water slide, and played with every available water toy at the park. It was hot. We got crazy sun tans, and we were completely water logged by the time we rolled away in the hot, hot car to the taco place for dinner. I was the kind of tired that was meant for a deep, sound sleep. But NO! Not only did I  toss and turn, but we had a wicked huge lightening and thunder storm. I actually got scared and had to turn on all of the upstairs lights at my sister's house. Luckily she had escaped to the basement in an attempt to stay cool so she didn't know I was wasting her electricity. 

You'd think after a fun, but exhausting day, followed by little sleep, and a long hot car ride home with a crying jag I would be sawing logs like a logger in the redwoods.  It is not to be. Here I sit, writing about my woeful, non-sleeping existence. I WANT TO BE ASLEEP! I'd cry about it, but I don't think I have any tears left. When I arrived home, this evening, I was drained from the drive, the crying, and the oppressive humidity. I had a complete meltdown all over my husband. I made him so tired, he immediately fell asleep. Now I'm wondering why I didn't just point my car in the direction of the ocean. I'd certainly thought about it all morning. I haven't seen the ocean since March, and I was only an hour away. I think the combination of  weird, thunderclouds in the sky, and missing my husband, and wanting to be in my own bed sent me home instead. Now I'm thinking a long walk on the beach, surrounded by all of those negative ions might have done the trick. 

There is no beach at my house, and I don't like to walk at night next to the woods. (There is something in those trees watching, I just know it). I'm not even that crazy about having my back to the woods right this second with all of those big, non-covered, windows exposing me to the eyes of the nocturnal woodland creatures. So, no walk to wear me out. I'm going to have to crawl back into bed, and hope that the sandman remembers me for once. I probably turned him down for a date three decades ago, and that's why I have such lousy luck in bed (sleeping). I'd like to dream a little too. I'd like to dream about the water park. I think I could live there. I'm sure I could put up a little tent next to the picnic table area. I would love to have that current pool all to myself.

I don't know. I don't know how to sleep through the night, and I don't know how to quell my fear of being up by myself when I am so emotionally overwrought. Many a night, I have faced the woods to look up at the night sky, or taken a midnight walk with the dogs under a full moon. However, when I am this tired, the kind of tired that doesn't even have adjectives to describe it, I get jittery. I WILL climb back into bed, snuggle up to the snoring giant, and hope he is aware enough to wrap his arms around me, and maybe, just maybe, I will fall asleep.

May peace and sleep be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

RANT!

Today the goddess rants about herself:

Those 5 pounds are on top of the 12 pounds I've already gained since the end of July!!!!

May peace and access to a nudist colony be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Best Laid Plans

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I can't seem to get done anything that really needs doing. My summer break is speeding by, and I haven't even gotten a handle on my bedroom closet. I've got the walking thing down, and the lying around thing down. I lost an entire day this week to a migraine. My head is still fuzzy. 

Today, I was nearly two hours into an epic walk when I realized that it was Wednesday. I was supposed to have met Kiggibaby at the gym in the morning. It was 12:30 when the memory shot through the top of my brain, and lodged in my shoe. Dang! I got up this morning and did everything I had planned to do the day before. The day I spent rocking back and forth and breathing in and out very, very deliberately.  I get the kind of migraines that begin with a loss of vision. It starts as if I am looking through a very narrow kaleidoscope, and keeps narrowing until my vision is completely gone. That's when every muscle in my body starts tightening up. Olguita's neurologist called it a 'headache-less migraine". Uh, dude, it hurts. I'm not alternately banging my head against the floor, and violently throwing up like the migraines of my past, but it's not "headache-less".  I spent all day waiting for my appointment to fix the stupid thing. Two hours getting it fixed with acupuncture, and the rest of the evening feeling sorry for myself having lost an entire day.

So, I got up today, and headed out for my walk. I completely forgot about the gym. I hope Kiggibaby forgives me. Today the walk, and dying my roots. I needed to clean the kitchen, pay bills, and fold the piles of laundry all over my bed, rocking chair, and the dryer. But, no. those things did not get done. I did think about how to organize myself.

I was thinking I would do it like a story outline. "Somebody, Wanted, But, So . . . "

"The goddess wanted the kitchen to be clean, but watching television got in the way so, she had Nicole do it on Thursday". Except Nicole doesn't clean the kitchen, and really, she isn't necessarily needed to vacuum and mop anymore since the doc OK'd me for all activities. It's just that she was already scheduled, AND she likes to vacuum and mop. I would be denying her pleasure as well as twenty-four bucks.

I answered the phone this evening. It was someone from Kaiser to schedule my MRI. I got to use my parichardial bovine card. She needed the information on it. When I was instructed to keep it with me at all times I have to admit, I kinda, sorta scoffed. I mean come on, are there heart valve police out there, who are going to pull me over, and check that I have my card? Apparently there are. There are, and they call after eight pm.  

I'm really, really tired. However, my bed is covered in whites and work out clothes. I have to fold before I can snuggle in between my soft, cool, white sheets. Darn, why did I put off my chores earlier? Tomorrow, I am going to be a good girl. Get those chores out of the way, apologize to Kiggibaby, work out, AND make time to lie around.

May peace and a plan for your day be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Stuff

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I think I had way too much body work done yesterday. I didn't sleep well, and my insides are turning. Too many toxins stirred up, and not enough drinking of the water. I remember to drink tons of water after a regular massage, but whatever Ruti does is NOT regular massage. She massaged my thyroid and aorta. That's definitely NOT regular. I'm sore, and tired and a tad disoriented. Too bad that I was supposed to spend the day cleaning house. I don't have much choice with company coming.  I don't want to lose Charise in a mountain of dog hair, disguised as a couch. 

I guess I'm good to vacuum now. The doc cleared me for everything. I was a bit surprised to learn that I am now allowed to use all of the machines at Curves. My chest is still sore. However, I hit them all yesterday without any repercussions. Unless the working out, on top of the body work, is contributing to my being up in the wee hours in discomfort. Nah. What I'd really like to do is go to yoga this morning. I would have to get one of the boys to take the dogs to the groomer. I COULD do that . I COULD ask them to clean the house too, but I'm not that delusional. 

My eldest son has been cranky with me lately. I haven't put in the time with him since He moved back home. It's got to be hard to live with your parents after five years. He was so happy to spend nearly every weekend with us last winter when he and his girlfriend went their separate ways. Home and Mommy were comforting then, I guess. Now he is looking ahead at months and months of sharing space with his annoying parents. We are kind of annoying sometimes. But, the boy does seem to have a short fuse lately. I'm thinking he is aware of his less than calm demeanor toward the world around him, but doesn't know how to temper his response to it. Look world, I've graduated from that higher learning place, now what? I had a baby to look after; there was no, now what? for me.  I TRIED there. The constant references to grandchildren, and sabotaging of the condoms didn't get me anywhere though. He is just going to have to face the gaping unknown. I am sure his strong character will prevail.

Unfortunately, what is prevailing around here is my facial hair. Lately, I eschew cover up and foundation (I know, Sondra, gasp!). That five o'clock shadow WILL not go away. Yuck it up, but when it happens to you, don't come  crying to me. For one thing, I don't have an answer. I'm still reeling from the laser holes burnt into my chin by a psycho hair removal technician. She caught me off guard with her perky, cute blonde routine. Then, she got me on that table, gave me the worst pain in my life AND burnt holes in my skin. I won't be going back. What to do, what to do? People used to constantly compliment me on my beautiful skin. Now, they are all like, "What's that smudge . . . Ohhhhhhh  . . . ".

I think I will take the little dog on an epic walk before she has to go to the groomer. The walk will distract me from my sore insides and my hairy outside. It will also impress my son.

May peace and nothing much to complain about be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Know It All Neighbors, Sheesh!

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It's not been a bad week. Of course, I speak of what is now the past week, it being Sunday and all. It wasn't bad and it wasn't good. We took my car in for service, at the beginning of the week, and I haven't seen it since. I went to Cracked Pots, had a head-slapping, feet stomping moment with my neighbor, walked all over town (no car), rode in a boat up the Columbia, and womanned the wire sculpture table at Summer Celebration with my husband. The not good parts were not feeling great, and missing out on the dancing in the streets that happens every year in my town. 

I have walked up and down the bleeding, ridiculously steep hill that exists between me and downtown every day for a week. It is quite a triumph actually. The first time I ever did it, I was in tears by the time I reached the top. Did I mention that this hill is ridiculously steep? I remember being so excited to finally live close enough to town to walk in, only to curse the day we exchanged our seven mile, flat surface bike ride, for a one mile climb up Mt. Vesuvius minutes into the first walk home. The people around here call it a 'hill'. They drive cars.

Wednesday saw me at Edgefield, wending my way through the miles of yard art, and a hundred hopeful artists. It was pretty amazing. I started drinking a couple of weeks ago, and helped myself to two glasses of wine before the excursion. Mmmm, black rabbit red. It didn't really help in the energy department, but it sure tasted yummy. It was pleasant to be on the wending end of the event. As I walked through, I couldn't help noticing how tired, hot and bored the artists were. I have certainly paid my dues there. We leave the sales all up to the galleries now, but I remember a time when my husband liked to do the shows so that he could interact with the clients. It is way more fun to look than to sell, especially when you are at a place that lets you carry your wine  glass around, and get it refilled at every corner. 

At some point during the week, oh wait, on THURSDAY, at 10:50 am, my end of week funk started. Well, I'd had a booster each morning that week, but Thursday was  evil day. It was my physical. I got on the scale, the scale at the doctor's office, the accurate one. For years and years I have not had a scale. It seems sadistic. Why ruin a perfectly good day by looking at how much more you weigh now than before the gods started playing their little jokes? However, I was told to weigh myself everyday to check for sudden weight gain. Apparently that is a bad sign of something, and that something is something I'm supposed to be on the alert for. What that means is that I have stepped on a mini torture machine every day for three months. First I was horrified at how much I had  gained. Then, I was horrified at how much I had gained, and finally, I was slightly relieved at a little weight loss. uP, uP, DOwn. This trend does not bode well. . . 

Despite walking EVERYWHERE, with the daily trip up and down the ridiculously steep hill, and the cardio at the gym, AND not eating very much  there had been a little weight gain on my scale. The doctor's scale wasn't as polite as mine. It was very, very rude. It told a different story; the story put me in a funkish mood. Upon returning home, I immediately leashed up the dog, and headed down the hill. (Immediately after spending the entire day in the recliner, going to bed, and getting up the next morning). 

It was Friday by the time I rallied myself for the immediate walk. I was almost home when my across the road neighbor pulled alongside me. She commented on how she sees me walking everywhere these days. So, brandishing my humorous bravado, I told her how the dog had lost weight, but I had been gaining  -- a lot. I asked her opinion, hoping for a response along the lines of , "Oh no, you look great!" (Which I do no matter what the scale says). Instead she asked me a question. She asked if I'd been drinking. No, not because she thought I was drunk. She just said how her daughter always  complains of gaining weight, but the minute she stops drinking the weight comes off. This is the head-slapping part, or should have been. I responded that yes, I had given myself permission to start drinking again two weeks ago . . .        Hmmm. . . about the same time I started to pack on the pounds! First I wanted to deny it then, I started stomping my feet in hot anger. It's not fair!! It is summer, I should be able to suck back a few margaritas and mojitos without having to shop for bigger pants! I  stomped home as cold reality sunk in. I had barely gotten the leash off of my slim, little princess dog before I not so drunk dialed my neighbor. She'd barely had a chance to get inside her house to answer the phone.   "Damn you, Karen!", I stormed, "It IS the alcohol!"  She laughed at me. LAUGHED. See if she gets her plate of Christmas cookies next December!  Well, I told her off a little bit, ranting about how I was certainly not going to give up drinking before Helen's birthday dinner that night, or the white russians a certain friend always sneaks into summer celebration,  or the wine and gab fest set for Sunday. Sheesh! 

OK, so I planned to have just one mojito at Helen's birthday dinner. Yeah, well, that first one  was just so darned good. Helen had  two . . . I had two. Then came the boat trip. Dinner was at the Puffin, which is on a pier in the Columbia. The people who own the Puffin have a boat at the pier. They are friends of Helen. It was her birthday. We went for a ride. Did I mention it was a party boat? It was peer pressure, man. Everyone was doing it, drinking that is -- embibing in the elixir of fat cell production. Oh sweet sabotage. Needless to say, I didn't get up early the next morning. I also didn't get on the scale. Why bother? I wouldn't have to be psychic to know ahead of time what the outcome of that little venture of just two steps would be. Funk, funk, funk all the next day. I drug myself through my volunteer stint at the wire sculpture table, put on a good face for all of the kiddies (didn't even notice my mother working at the table across from me for the  first hour) and had my son drive me home, before the dancing in the streets, and with a coconut popsicle in one hand and a Corona in the other. What the heck.

May peace and a trash can large enough to fit a bathroom scale be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

 

Mamma Mia!

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Ho Hum, Karma Coins and Coconut Popsicles

    Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It is a day of ho hum, stay in bed, don't face the music. I tossed the coins earlier, and my I-Ching told me to tip toe around the dark forces -- don't stir anything up. My horoscope said to ask what others want, and my relationship tarot told me to be patient. As you can tell I have had nothing better to do than visit the tarot website and spend  all of my free karma coins. I don't know how people who follow these signs get anything done. I am so confused I don't know if it is safe to get out of bed, but I really have to pee.

One of my former students is in charge of complaints and questions at the tarot site. She intimated to me, while we were both waiting for Eddie Izzard to take the stage, that she could bank some karma coins in my account; wink, wink. I don't know if that is kosher. Can it be good karma to gain karma coins in that manner? She is half Jewish; she knows from kosher though.

I'd like to think she understands the depth of my integrity also. I wouldn't want a sudden abundance of karma coins to stir up any of the dark forces that I am supposed to be tip toeing around. The question I asked, when I tossed the coins, didn't have anything to do with karma, or karma coins however. Maybe I am safe in that department. What I did ask was if I should have a certain psychic I know do her woo woo thing on me.  OK, my question actually was framed more like, "Should I work with the psychic?"  Then, I get this long and kind of scary response about being surrounded by dark forces that I should not disturb. But, if there are dark forces the psychic is supposed to get rid of them. That is what she is good at anyway.  Once again, I don't know how people who follow these precepts live their lives without constantly looking over their shoulders. I think I will follow my relationship tarot of, BE PATIENT. 

No really, I am very curious about this psychic thing. I am also curious about tattoos. I think I'd like to get one. I am considering some kind of sun art. Not the one I have posted, but something along those lines. I've been thinking about getting a tattoo for years, but I am a pain chicken. The place I want to put it would be painful, and pretty private. I once went into a shop to get a tattoo with our friend, Lance. He got the good artist, I got the creepy one. Needless to say, I walked out without a tat as my skin is as virgin as the day I was born. Well, except for those stretch marks and age spots. Wouldn't that be cool if age spots grew into beautiful, artistic designs that reflected our inner desires? Whatever . . .

I have a feeling I am not going to be very patient in my relationship area today. I've already been snippy with my beloved. He is running a giant yard sale down at his shop. I will not go near it unless I have an overwhelming craving for a coconut popsicle. I'm happy that he is getting rid of all of that junk. Junk makes me crazy. Junk makes him happy. Of course, it is not junk to him. Every piece is special, and valuable to someone. Oh, and it was a good deal at the time. Once again, whatever. . .  As  comforting as junk/stuff is to him, it makes me feel disoriented. It is one of our only areas of incompatibility. There is the junk collecting and the toilet seat issue, and the whole clothes hamper thing, and oh yeah, he likes to watch Stargate. I would almost rather scratch my eyeballs fuzzy than watch a show with no compelling relationship developments between ANY of the characters. The movie was great. I've seen it multiple times. The syndicated show, however, is deadly awful. If only it were the slightest bit campy I could tolerate it, but no. How that show stays on year after year, and Firefly only lasted one season, I will never know. This is why I don't know about the whole astrology thing.  How can there exist in this world one thing that is so bad, and another that is so good, and the bad thing gets to stay on television for ever! Maybe Joss Whedon, the creator of Firefly, should have consulted a psychic. 

I kind of am craving a coconut popsicle now. The best ones are sold at the little Mexican grocery next door to my husbands shop. They are soooo good. I could walk down with one of the dogs, just in case I encounter one of those dark forces that I am not supposed to be disturbing. I think dogs are probably good protection for that kind of thing. Also, my dogs like coconut popsicles. Perhaps along the way I will encounter a tattoo artist who is also craving a popsicle, or would like to trade her services for a bunch of really special junk.

May peace and good karma be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Ahhh, I Needed That

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Finally, a day of wonderfulness after many, many not so wonderful days. This morning, I filled out a form that asked me to rate my stress on a scale of 1-10. I chose 9. I didn't chose 10 because no one is dead. I've been at a 9 for slightly over a month now.

My friend, Katita, has been talking about taking me to see her body work person since she first set eyes on my post-surgery, voodoo doll body. I was like, "Sure, whatever you say," but I didn't have a clue what I was getting into.

Had I known, I probably would have drug my contorted, scarred up body to NW Portland my first week out of the CCU. However, if all things happen for a reason (and I'm not saying I subscribe to that idea) then, this was probably the perfect time to go. I REALLY needed this day away from my stressful life to recharge, reflect, and be transformed. 

Katita didn't bother to try to describe what her friend was going to do to me, and I don't think I will attempt it either. Suffice it to say, the body worker gently shifted things that needed shifting. Afterward she stripped the sheet off of her massage table, handed it to me for a ground cover, and directed me to a nearby park to integrate, as well as commune with the earth. Everyone can use a little alone time surrounded by trees and grass, even if it is in the middle of the city. I joined the other nature worshippers for a half an hour of blissful introspection. 

When my tummy reminded me that it was time for another kind of respite, I rolled up my sheet, and strolled to a nearby cantina. I was drawn to the open windows, grown up drinks in frosty glasses and reggae music. There were singles sitting at almost every table enjoying the summer weather and quiet street scenes. I savored an amazing sangria for the next hour before returning to find Katita. She too was feeling wonderful. We finished off our day with a trip to the pet supply store and our favorite grocery store. It was a much needed, fabulous day. 

I was thrilled to return home to find that my guys had had a great work out at the gym. We all needed an Ahhh day. I'm just so glad we got it.

May peace and a day of Ahhh be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

It's Time

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It has become abundantly clear that this princess thing has played out for me.

For now anyway. It is time to reconnect my goddess child with my goddess mother.  It's been a nice ride being waited on, and catered to, but that must come to an end for now. The family is way past ready for me to nurture them.

It isn't fair to my beloved husband to do all of the cooking when I am home all day long. I can put together a meal in the hours upon hours I have without stressing out my healing heart. However, it will take some overwhelming will power to make me feel happy about it; happy I must feel because cooking for one's family means cooking with love. I am a firm believer that the emotional state and intent of the cook is key to making a meal that truly nourishes the mind and body. There is a certain restaurant, in my town, that serves up dishes that look pleasing to the eye, but leave a hollowness in my soul and tummy. There is another place where the woman pours so much of herself into her sandwiches that I feel lifted up after every one. 

I am not the gourmet that my husband is, but I can make a tasty dish. My youngest son came home from overseas last summer, and he asked why everything I cooked tasted so good. "It was made with love, honey." That's all. That's everything. I'm not saying the task I have set for myself is an easy one. When my husband took over cooking two years ago, I walked away from the kitchen and never looked back. It was like when school gets out for the summer, and I locked that classroom door for the last time. Within minutes I become Summer Me, Teacher Me isn't even a faded memory. It's time. It's time to take on the task, temporarily. This isn't forever. Winter will come, the barnyard will quiet down, and the clamoring gallery owners will be easier to appease.

May peace and a chance to nurture be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Some Kind of Virus

Today the goddess expresses herself in a video:






May peace and a comfy robe, and a sister who loans you the robe, and who encourages you to video blog on YouTube, and keeps encouraging you to figure out the blankety, blank site be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Digging A Hole

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

What I am not doing today is digging a hole.  OK, not literally anyway. My son is digging a hole.

The sick goat didn't make it, and all I can see of my son is his bare back bending up and down, back and forth as he digs. He is digging within sight of the other goats. The dead goat's pal is letting us know how upset she is about her friend. I don't know if it will help her to see the burial, or if it will be more upsetting. I hate to think of her being more upset. 

I took some Trauma Life essential oil out to the goat pen. Brent's assistant is doing farm work today so I had him rub the oil on Hillary's ears. It had an immediate effect on him, let's hope it helps the goat settle down. Duncan and Josh will be building fence near the goats all day. Hopefully, they will be a reassuring presence for Hillary. It's crazy how humans become attached to their animals so quickly. We've only had these particular goats for a week now. I feel bitterly sorry for Hillary's loss. As for the goat that didn't make it, I am actually glad that she is out of pain.  As for me, I am creating my own hole.

I'm not sure if it is a hole so much as a rut. But, it  could be one of those ginormous Oregon Trail covered wagon ruts. Some of those are pretty damn high. I'm supposed to rest. I am so tired of resting, but every time I do anything remotely physical my body lets me know, in no uncertain terms, that it wants to spend the rest of the day recovering; sometimes several days recovering.  I don't feel like  I can start anything today until I dye my hair anyway. I don't feel comfortable dying my hair when the men-folk are working outside, and may come in at any moment. We need an outhouse and human watering trough out there.  Maybe if I wasn't such a messy hair dyer, I wouldn't have to get fully naked to dye my hair, and I wouldn't care who might walk in on me. 

A good farm girl would wind her hair up in a knot, stick a hat on her head, and dig herself out of her own hole. It could be time to go white.  People have begun to accuse my "no longer, dark haired," husband of cradle robbing.  I don't find it flattering.  However, the women in my family traditionally dye 'til they die. It is hard to break a family tradition.  I need to just suck it up and do something. It's not like I don't know how to climb a rope. I could get out of my pity hole if I really wanted. 

Well, the sun is only going to get higher in the sky, and my hole isn't going to get any smaller. I am going to try it the farm girl way for now. I'll probably let you know how that went.
May peace and a long, strong rope be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

                                                                              

                                                       

Rough Start

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

     " Your muscle relaxants and Tylenol are on the counter, and your coffee is out on the table. It's already 92 degrees out."  My husbands words briefly disturbed the emptiness I'd been trying to achieve in the shower. The warm water was somewhat alleviating as it massaged my sore everything. How can every muscle be so sore  after sleeping? Aren't we supposed to wake up refreshed from a night of sleep? Not me. I'd been restless, and unsuccessful at trying to fall asleep, so I'd gotten up to check my email. Somewhere between the bed and the chair, in my bedroom, I'd lost my mouth appliance. I've been clenching my jaw 24/7 since I was three years old. A night without my mouth thingy, no matter how I try to send messages to my brain to allow my jaw to relax, always, always results in a morning filled with pain. 

     I had thought to take a muscle relaxer before my second attempt at sleep. Why didn't that happen again?  Oh, right -- Duncan's girlfriend. I'd met Duncan on the stairs with his guitar. He let me go ahead of him, and I ran into the cat on my way down. When I picked him up in order to put him outside, Duncan had said, "Here Mom, let me do that".  Everyone has been offering to carry things for me lately so I didn't look into his intent. "No," I said, "I'll do it." I had to go out to the car anyway because that's were my pills were. That's when I ran into Sara, in the dark. She gets off work at 11:00. She and Duncan had been headed out to the porch swing to spend some time together. (Duncan's girlfriend last summer had the same schedule. She also had the same name. Weird). I guess I got sidetracked. I was in my ratty tie dye shorty, holding the cat, which I did relinquish to Duncan. After a quick hello and I just got off work, and I was just putting the cat out, I lost my original purpose for going downstairs. It wasn't until I was flat on my back, in bed, that I remembered the muscle relaxers. "Damn!" I thought I could will myself to keep my face relaxed. It's never worked before, but by then I was tired. I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after that. The last thing I remember is the soothing sound of Duncan's guitar, and Brent taking my hand and rubbing the inside of my wrist.

Waking up was hell. Everything hurt, not just my jaw. Maybe the backs of my knees didn't hurt. It was pretty late too, and it was already hot in the bedroom, even with the drapes closed and the fan going. Brent put his lips to my forehead , and told me that I felt  warm, and that my cheeks were bright red. Great. I get to be sick and sore.  

Turning off the water, I had flung the shower curtain open a little too roughly, startling myself. The first thing my eyes settled on was the bale of straw on the ground, outside the bathroom window.  Inert. The next thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror across from me. Without my glasses I couldn't see the white stripe running down the part in my hair. If everyone could just be a little near sighted today I could not care that I had forgotten that I was going to dye my roots. It  was too late, I don't think I am going to care because I feel awful. I'm not going anywhere today. Not when I hurt this much, and feel like throwing up, and crawling under the bed until I feel human again.  

May peace and restful sleep be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

 

Pink Pajamas In The Goat Pen

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

After a night of fun and friends. I was cozily recovering in my bed. So what it was after ten in the morning. I deserve a little "Me Time" after sharing of my goddess self at the monthly Alberta Street happening.  As I said, I was cozily ensconced in  my bed.  I was watching Weeds, deeply involved in the new season's plot when the dogs started barking like my mom was at the  door. (They go crazy over her). I heard the door open, and a not mom voice calling out hello. It was Olquita. Usually the dogs don't bark for her that much. I was happy for the warning. Without it my daring friend would have scouted me out until she found me in my bed. I remembered she had said she would drop off some movies, and that I shouldn't get out of my jammies. So, of course, I did not get out of my jammies. I was wearing my soft pink pajama bottoms fresh from the wash too. 

 When I got downstairs I was not expecting to do anything other than flop down on the couch for a good gab.  However, the first thing out of little miss farmers mouth was, "Where's your sick goat"? (Like I keep goats in the kitchen or something) I had no clue what she was talking about. What sick goat? 

Well, apparently one of our new goats was walking funny, and Brent had been on the phone with farmer Olguita and farmer Olguita's husband getting advice. While I had been curled up in my sanctuary all morning, there had been trips to the feed store, urgent phoning, shots given, and the vet put on stand-by. I don't quite get how all of this went on right outside my bedroom window without me being the tiniest bit aware, but it did.

Of course, we had to go immediately out to the goat pen to see the sick goat. I slipped on my muck boots, but did not change out of my soft as a rose petal pink pj's. When will I ever learn?

Sure enough, one of the new mamma's was lying down, and not looking too swell. We tried to get a good look at her through the fence, but Olquita was worried that the goat wanted to go potty but couldn't get up by herself. I climbed into the pen and tried to help her up. Pants not torn climbing over the fence -- good.

Goatee poo did not get up easily, but eventually she was peeing and popping pellets out in relief, all thanks to my pleading, and O's encouragement. When she was on her feet we could see that her udder was pretty big.. Brent was supposed to have milked her to relieve her, but had not. Olquita said we should do this in case she had mastitis, causing her illness. Guess who didn't want to be milked? It hurt and goats do not stand still for any kind of pain. That's when Olqa got into the pen with us. I held Hannah and Olga expressed milk. No mastitis. Filthy pants -- Damn! Why oh why can't I learn to put on work pants before even thinking about looking at livestock. I don't know if they are ruined, but I certainly wasn't about to climb back into bed  with 'goat pants' on. Not only did my pj's get dirty, but while I was up close and personal, I noticed bugs all over the goats. LICE!  EEK!  Although lice is an every day job hazard for me, I am on summer break for crying out loud. But no, I get to deal with giving goats baths every other week now. Lucky for us goats don't share their lice with people, or Brent would be burning all of our clothes and making us shave our heads. He isn't as comfortable with lousiness as I am.

The bad news is Hannah the goat is sick. The vet came out and gave Brent a bunch of medicine to give her every day. She has listeria and pneumonia. The vet has never seen a goat at such an early stage of the sickness before so he has not idea what her chances are. He complemented us on being so attentive to our goats. (We all know who didn't deserve that compliment). When it comes to goats and chickens, Brent is Mr. Attentive. And, unlike the  vet, I know my guy. He has cured an incurable goat before. I think Hannah's odds are excellent.

The vet did give me an idea. Whenever I am feeling neglected, I can dress up like a goat!

May peace and a strong detergent be yours from,  The Goddess of Everything.

Niggling Guilt

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

There's been a tiny, little sprout of a hint of a possible guilty feeling after my last blog. I'm just going to come right out and blurt the truth that I fudged on earlier,  MY BATHROOMS ARE NOT SHINY AND SWEET SMELLING!  

Phew, it's out!.  I never would have come clean (so to speak) had I not been caught in my little white lie; caught on the very day I told it.

Although I really hate to say that it is lying. I am a reader who writes; it is creative license, an embellishment as it were.

You see, Olguita came over yesterday for a visit, and to poke me with her needles. But, wait. Before I go on let me set up a little back story.

I am the only female in a house of men -- tall, lanky, good looking men, uniquely superior in nearly every way. As a goddess, I feel that I have trained them well in the ways of women:  listen, never offer un-solicited solutions to problems, open doors, carry heavy bags, push the cart, bring coffee without being asked, and shake an excellent martini. Bathroom etiquette was, of course, extensively covered. You know, wipe out the sink after shaving, no snotting in the shower, light a match AND put the toilet seat down.  

Now, my big, handsome men have always complied with most of my wishes, but I guess everyone must have their little rebellion. My men have chosen the toilet seat as theirs. Before lasik surgery this was hazardous for me, especially when I tottered to the the potty in the wee hours. More often than not I fell into the toilet. This did not make for a happy goddess. "Pick your battles", my mother said. I could never do this. In the early days, I went to battle over everything. These future men, and not completely raised husband (God and I know, Carole, you tried) were under my wing. I couldn't let them go out into the world and embarrass me, I mean themselves. Plus, there is the matter of me being a warrior goddess. However, my mother was correct. Had I learned a little earlier to allow some minor treachery, say for instance in the no dirty dishes in your room rule, something that was more of a minor inconvenience to me personally -- perhaps, now I would be enjoying a properly placed seat at all times.  

At this point it is also fair, and important to the story to mention the hairiness, and tallness of the men in my house. Both my husband and I have very hairy fathers; mine was something of a gorilla. The boys have no chance of not being heavy shedders of body hair. They are also very tall. The farther away one is from the actual toilet bowl, the harder it is to not miss hitting the rim (and, from time to time the floor).  These factors add up to an un-shiny toilet rim. Now, I would think this would be embarrassing for anyone to just walk away from, allowing the next person to come along and see. Evidently when your eyes are closer to the ceiling than not, it is also hard to see the toilet. Walk away they do.

This brings us up to Olguita's impromptu, needle poking visit. We had retired to the goddess sanctuary (my bedroom), a place few are allowed to enter (usually because the goddess's lover does not have proper hamper-usage skills [ God and I know, Carole, you tried]). It has taken twenty plus years, and almost as many birthday wishes, but now he's got it!!! Except for the perpetually unmade bed, and that never bothers me, my room is now a place I do not mind inviting very close, right-brain oriented friends with a propensity for buying a lot of clothes, shoes and art. So, there we were comfortably chatting while my chi was getting a jump start. We quite enjoyed ourselves. All too soon it was time for Olguita to go to work (where people pay her to poke them). It was at this time she required a trip, to the adjoining room, to dispose of the detritus of needle-poking (not the needles, of course, those she took with her to put in her little red sharps bucket -- she's a safety girl).  I was not minding this as I believed my own white lie about the shiny, sweet smellingness of my bathrooms. I was still not minding just after Olguita had hugged me good-bye, and driven off in Red Bull, her little, red and white Mini-Cooper. 

All seemed so right with my world. I was experiencing my usual after acupuncture euphoria as I climbed the stairs to gaze at myself in the big mirrors of the upstairs bathroom. My euphoria was short lived because as soon as I encountered the toilet my temper bubbled up, "Shit!" (nasty word, and not literal in this case). The toilet seat was up, and the rim was displayed in all of its spotty, hairy yuckiness! 

Liar, liar, pants on fire. So, instead of doctoring my previous blog, to be more accurate, I decided to write this one. I hope I can be forgiven.

May peace and short, hairless children be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.