The Goddess Speaks

I Don't Get It

2010-12-20T16:28:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I don't get it; I really don't. This whole men-o-pause thing. I'm not pausing from men. What if I was never into men? Where does this term come from and why must I acknowledge it? It is time for this goddess to do a little research in this area.

Four months ago I skipped a period. I have never skipped and NOT been pregnant. I have never not known when I was pregnant about thirty seconds after I conceived so..... OK, maybe I played a little denial game with myself for a couple of weeks that first pregnancy, but I KNEW. And, I knew four months ago that I was not pregnant. I played a little game with myself then too. Two months ago I skipped again. The game I played then was the 'maybe this is it, and I'm done with this business forever' game. I really don't know what women are complaining about here. It's not so bad.

Not so bad to have a full beard that I spend hours plucking, shaving, covering and fussing over. Not so bad to retain every ounce of fluid that I take into my body. I really don't know where the liquid for my urine comes from. How can I be this bloated and still pee? I don't get it. I don't. But, it's not so bad. I'm not all hot and sweaty or cranky or whatever it is in all of those magazine articles that I skip past with a nonchalant flick of the wrist because I am too young for that yet.

So, anyhoo... back to the why this name for this condition. Upon referring to my handy dandy etymology handbook I am now clear about the term. It's from the Greek. That is why it is all Greek to me. Ha ha. Get it? It's all Greek to me cause I don't get it? ha ha? Not with me on this one I guess. I've been on the floor for a good five minutes guffawing, but oh well... (This lack of ability to be funny must be the meno thingamajig. My memory's not so good in my condition). Menos=month, pause=pause. Thus, the pause of the monthly cycle. That would explain the off again, on again nature of my monthly 'friend' (I use the term lightly--that's kind of a menses joke there too. Sheesh! Keep up people).

Due to my game playing, something I have done my whole life with my period by never acknowledging that it was upon me each and every month since the middle of 5th grade before I even had a chance to turn 11, my god, so unfair, I was completely in the dark as to why I was carping at my beloved all day, and feeling a bit achy. Two symptoms, I might add, that I also refuse to acknowledge pre-in need of feminine product. It is only after I have moped about, lopping off heads left and right, and Aunt Flo has truly stepped through the door, that I am all... "G.D. F-ing hell, it was the PMS!". It really is unfair that it was all my fault and NOT the sole fault all of the headless people who got in my righteous way. I heartily despise the moment that realization hits and I know that I am going to have to make some kind of reparation. I really, really hate that. At any other time I don't care that much about being right. I don't get it!

Today was another such day. I've been going merrily about my head lopping day with a slight headache. I thought it was from drinking too much coffee, or not getting much accomplished on my 4 days before Christmas and I am nowhere near ready list. But, no. One trip to the Ladies... What a pisser. This shouldn't be called a pause. It should be called an interrupter. The pause is good. The interrupter is what is making me crazy. I would rather be hairy and bloated than cranky and achy. Why don't we call this thing Menointerruptus instead? Also, why can't one of the symptoms be bliss? I don't get it. Why do all of the symptoms have to be so mean spirited?

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

It's Still Looking A Lot Like Christmas... In June

2010-06-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The Christmas music emanating from my CD player is indicative of what my summer break holds for me. The solstice may have been yesterday but you wouldn't know it from the weather outside, nor the cloud hanging over my head inside. My brain, and "OH GOD", my body are ready for a seasonal shift. If the past strewn about the house would just stop nagging at me I could get on with it. I know from experience that unless I deal with things like putting away the Christmas music and stuffing the winter clothes in a trunk I will not be able to fully embrace strawberry shortcake and lazing in the hammock with the newest Janet Evanovich novel.

My job list includes a topic titled, "Little Bits". I have little bits of clutter all over the house that need to be helped along into their proper place. Nearly every room has what I call a clutter corner. The one in the family room has an assortment of magazines, books, and dvds that no one knew what to do with. The corner in the kitchen reminds me of all the things that were broken these past months, with everything from wood glue to a hacksaw peeking out from under old egg cartons, take out menus and piles of greeting cards. Each room is pretty much the same story, different verse.

The clutter creates a stagnant energy all around everyone in the house. It needs to be removed to enervate chi, but it has a paralyzing effect. This catch-22 is hard to get around. I try to tell myself to just power into a project, get it done quickly with some kind of reward waiting for me at the end like a dangling carrot, to no avail. My feet are stuck in an imaginary tar pit. OK, more like my derriere is cemented to the couch... you get the idea, I'm sure. My readers are not idiots.

Why oh why couldn't I have magical powers? It is so NOT fair. I am sure I had them in a past life, that or servants. I keep thinking that I should be able to snap my fingers, and the debris of yesterday will fly into its proper place.

Hmmpf! It's not working. It's not working and my fingers now have a cramp. Well, I CERTAINLY can't put anything away with crampy fingers.

May oblivious housemates and magical thinking be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Stop Projecting Onto Me

2010-04-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Yeah, I'm in a crank mood. What about it? You want I should stick my head under my pillow and stay there until I'm in a mood that pleases YOU? Forget about it. I've had it with you people. Me, me, me!

May you have a little respect for those of us who give of ourselves 23/7 from, The Goddess of Everything.

S.U.D. (Status Update Disorder)

2010-03-06T14:38:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Due to Facebook, I find my mind participating in status update think. As every thought I have does not belong on Facebook, I have decided to post these updates here.

I cannot promise this will not be annoying. You may choose not to read this post.

I will not be offended. Much.

1. feeling bitchy

2. the sunshine is getting on my last nerve

3. i am just a snot machine, and i make snot for nobody but me

4. eating barbara's baked cheese puffs in the dark, and watching Kathy Griffin on YouTube

5. how many more narcissistic sociopaths can my life accommodate?

6. people who create constant chaos and drama need their own island far, far from the rest of us.

7. ooh, a yeast infection AND my period--what a happy day for me.

8. I am so full of crap!

9. If I tell, something bad will happen...

10. shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!

11. no longer able to feed my angel addiction (the tv series, that is).

12. watching another Lifetime movie until the Xanax kicks in.

13. Strike me down and I shall rise again.

14. I am so beyond unhappy.
15. Furlough day 4 of 5, yet I still have to go to work. Oh right, I'm supposed to be happy that I HAVE a job.

to be continued...

May you be indiscreet in private from, The Goddess of Everything

Making It Better

2009-11-08T16:28:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I've been in an angry, transitional phase for over a year now. Nearly two, truth be told. First there was 'acceptance' then came anger. Not how it is supposed to work.

I accepted that I needed heart surgery. What followed was a brief time of healing the immediate wounds, and a long time of dealing with the scars.

I'm not done with the scar healing thing, but I am beginning to deal better.

At first, I was angry about the medications making me gain weight. Then, I was really angry about having to go back to work before I felt ready. Later, I was really, really angry about the scars AND going back to work full-time. I don't know that I can do anything about working. Life requires money. Money requires work. I could do something about the scars.

Last week I got a beautiful tattoo that covers one of my scars. It is a monarch butterfly. Now instead of looking down and seeing an ugly scar, I look down and see a beautiful butterfly. It's a start.

May anger lead you to take charge from, The Goddess of Everything.

It's In The Cards

2009-04-18T07:58:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

My Tarot card of the day well describes my state of being. So, I'm just going to cut and paste.

Your Daily Tarot Card

Saturday, April 18
The Hermit
The Hermit represents the need to distance yourself from the people and events in your life that are causing undue strain on your emotions. There are times in your life when seclusion and isolation are warranted. The Hermit is a card of discovery and enlightenment, which can only develop by spending time alone with your thoughts. Your energy will be depleted quickly in social situations.
(The last part has been so true for me)

Please don't take that first part personally.
My emotional state is a rollercoaster, and it is all about me.

May you enjoy peace, and be free from undue strain: The Goddess of Everything.

Whirled Peas

2009-04-15T01:08:00.000-07:00

Tonight the goddess speaks about herself:

I cannot sleep, again.

My mind is whirling like the peas foretold on the car bumpers of old yuppies.

My body temperature does not regulate.

I am too cold to fall asleep.

I can feel my toes

As if they are a separate part of my body.

My brain is a pool.

All thoughts are precariously balanced.

They sit staring at the water

Hesitant to jump in case the water is intemperate.

But, the water is nothing.

It's just water.

Inside my chest, I can hear my heart.

It is annoyingly loud.

Something is foreign in there.

I can't seem to get my mind away from the edge of the pool

stop the

precarious thoughts,

the cold toes,

the too loud heart.

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

Not In The Mood

2009-03-31T00:40:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

(Dear Reader, it's not you; it's me.) With that little disclaimer out of the way I can get started on my purely, self-indulgent whine fest.

I have not kept up with my blog because I have not been able to step out of myself, and see the humor beneath the cloud of gloom I have created all around me. Maybe it began with the bad haircut . . . maybe it began with the prescription pill weight gain . . . maybe it began when I had to go back to an overly stressful work environment before I was fully recovered from major surgery . . . maybe, maybe, maybe. Who cares. I'm so sick of myself it's ridiculous. There is NOTHING hugely wrong with me. N.O.T.H.I.N.G. That is why I say I created my own gloomy cloud. BORRring.

I did get a bad, bad haircut. It was a home job. Chop, chop. It is only now beginning to look good to me three months later. I kind of like how it has grown out. To maintain it I could use another haircut. Problem is, I'm afraid of 'hairstylists'. They scare me more than going back in time to visit a sadistic 60's dentist. My hair has become the least of my worries. It, at least, is tangible. The rest of me is steeped in negative joo joo; bad energy; cloudy karma; wrong firing neurons.

It is way past time to hunt down a mule for a good kick to the head. All around me people are having real problems while I grump about my day. But, here's the thing. I have done my best to protect the general population. I have been in deep hibernation. I don't go anywhere besides work. I stay home, I go to work. I keep out of every one's way. When I do have to go out in public people feel the need to remind me how long it has been since they've seen me. Then, the dreaded question, "What have you been doing?" Argh. Nothing. I've been doing nothing. Beyond that I am empty of small talk. I cannot for the life of me exchange pleasantries. When asked how I am, I exert herculean self-control to keep from telling them e-x-a-c-t-l-y how I feel, and it's not 'fine'. Avoiding engagement, I don't ask how them how they are doing either.

My doc wondered if I had a hole in my aura. God almighty, that's all I need. I don't know if I have a hole in my damned aura. I'm not sure what my aura does, or if it exists. One time some stranger walked up to me, and told me my aura was hot orange, and I must be in a lot of physical pain. Duh, I was rubbing my neck and wincing in -- wait for it -- pain. OK, so if you know me, you know I am open to all of that woo woo stuff. It's just that my bad mood precludes me being able to deal with any other realms of consciousness right now. Here, now, and three dimensions is about all I can handle.

I did work with a psychic/energy cleaner outer/woo woo expert recently, and it just made me mad. Apparently, I had some hitchhiking old woman stuck to me like glue for the last two years. I guess she's gone now but, I'm pretty upset with her for dragging me down. Just who did she think she was sucking up my good energy because she was too afraid to move on to her next destination? Didn't I have enough to deal with with a failing heart, a stressed out spouse, and a sick kid? The woo woo lady told me to write the hitchhiker lady a letter. I was supposed to put all of my bad feelings in the letter, and burn it. I've heard of adult children of screwed up parents doing that. It's supposed to be cathartic. I haven't done that yet. I guess it couldn't hurt but it's one more thing.

May peace and an intact aura be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Day Light Savings Time

2009-03-07T06:08:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The Goddess HATES Day Light Savings Time. She really really hates 'Spring Forward'. I don't need to lose one more hour of sleep, in my life. If I could gain an hour every month, now that would be worth changing the clocks for.

I will not get over this. I will not go with the flow. I will not ignore it (well, maybe just a little). If I were braver, I would rebel. I would refuse to acknowledge the change, and show up everywhere an hour later. So there!

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

It's All Been Said Before

2009-03-02T08:37:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I haven't written in awhile. Every time I come up with and idea, I read another's blog, who has already stated my point of view. EVERYONE is writing something these days. Good or bad, it all seems to be out there. Also, I haven't felt very funny, but that's another story -- I think . . .

What's left to say? Well, I feel overexposed. I've been on Facebook for a few months now, and it seems like my business is like laundry hanging out to dry in the surburbs. I've done it to myself; filling out all of those surveys and lists about myself. One blogger likened it to the little morsels of pillow talk one usually spills out over months of dating. I've just upchucked myself all over the internet.

Cousin S admitted that it was a bit Narcissistic. This had occurred to me when I first set out on my little FB adventure. I deliberately chose to allow myself to be a narcissist in this particular environment. It's fun. Why not?

Now, as I find myself, overexposed and wanting to pull back I have to think about how that is going to work. I notice my eldest son and his friends never post a status update. They rarely check the site except to post pictures of/for each other. That seems reasonable -- well, save for the one guy who always posts the pictures of everyone else drinking, drinking, drinking at parties. That's got to get old after a bit.

I don't want to leave the environment, I simply want to pull in a bit. The catalyst came when someone was suggested to me, as a friend, that I was not prepared to have know anything personal about me. I immediately went in and amped up my privacy settings. My next step may be to erase my most personal details. I've already begun that process by taking down some of my info. It won't be as much fun perhaps, but the landscape has changed. I am no longer surrounded by only trusted friends. There are all of these friends of friends, and neighbors, and former students, and their parents, and the checker at the grocery store. This will not do. Not for me.

Besides, who will want to read my blog, if they get tired of me over there? I'm kind of tired of me over there. If I think of all of the people in the world, is there anyone else left who I really want to connect with? Maybe. Maybe there is someone whom I have forgotten that I loved to be around, and we will find each other there. It will have to be through a friend though. I've gotten all private again.

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

All Amped Up Yet Strangely Tired

2009-01-20T23:35:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It has been a good and full day. I should be in bed, and yet here I sit. I'm not so tired, but too tired to trudge up the stairs, wash my face, and change out of my clothes. In fact, I still have my coat and scarf on. I have been home for 3 hours. If it weren't so cold, I would fall asleep in this chair.

Today I got to say good-bye to someone I refused to say hello to. The outgoing president; "He who can't be named". Not a fan, never a fan, read the books and followed the stories when he was running for Texas governor. Why didn't half of the country do their research before they voted?

It is such a relief. I don't know what will change, but something has got to be better than the black cloud of fear and hate that this last dude perpetuated.

New guy, new president, history being made, breath of fresh air for this moment. I am way too much of a socialist to think that the air will completely be to my liking. I don't think I will need my gas mask anymore though. Whew.

I look forward to tomorrow, for my country. When was the last time I thought that thought?

As my eyelids droop, and my fingers click away, I am reminded that the sooner I get to bed, the sooner I can wake up to a full day of new hope. It is almost like a childhood Christmas eve. Thank you, America. Thank you for not picking the political look-alike. Memories are short around here so I will savor these years while they last. Voters seem fickle. Today I say thank god for their fickleness, unlike eight years ago when I was railing against the stupidity fickleness brought. Fickle pickle tickle.

I'm amped and ready to go. I'm tired and ready for a deep sleep. All and everything. It's cold, so I will rush up the stairs rather than trudge. I will fling my clothes off, and tuck myself into bed with cozy pajamas on, and sweet dreams on my pillow. Oh, and a kitty or two at the foot of my bed. Cats on the bed were not allowed during the last presidency. It is a new and hopeful era. A cats get to sleep on the bed era. Nothing will disturb this goddesses sleep tonight, or hopefully for the next 4 years.

May a confluence of energy and excellent exhaustion be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

A New Year, A New (Old) Me

2009-01-01T09:57:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Why do we feel the need to make big resolutions at the turn of the new year? Because it feels new, darn it. It is a place to start over, make a run at old and new goals. Some years I feel more inclined to participate in the resolutions game than others. This year is looking to be a goal setting one.

I am a list maker. I operate so much better with a list in my hand, and a pen, with purple ink, to cross out each item as it is completed. I will even write things down I have already done to be able to cross something off right away -- just to get the ball rolling in the right direction.

Mostly, I want to keep my household running smoothly, with less clutter, see that my family's needs are met, and that I am practicing regular self care. This year I have set a few bigger goals. I MUST travel. I MUST. Recently, I mentioned a class a friend is teaching in Italy, and my husband said that I should sign up for it. I have always wanted to travel in Europe with my husband so, have put off many opportunities. When I have been to Europe it has been with my sisters. That makes for a different kind of gondola ride, but oh well. So, I am going to do it. I am going to commit to the trip. If the man wants to join me, he may. I'm not going to worry about it. Once summer hits he is in the studio and I don't see him again until the middle of September anyway.

I also plan to be on skis by spring. I had set a goal to be skiing this winter, but haven't felt ready (still healing from the heart thing). I heard myself turning down a ski trip for this weekend siting too much exertion for my energy level, and I blanched. I know I need to allow my body time to heal, but I'm thinking it partly a head thing. Anyway, it had better be snowing in March, because that is how I want to spend some of my spring break.

I am in training people. Writing it out; making a list will inevitably help me keep my eye on the prize. I trained for heart surgery. Now, I am in training to reclaim an active life. This means more list making, and less Facebook, MySpace, Netflix and Janet Evanovich. Those were on my 'rest to heal' list. I have two gym memberships, and a host of friends and family past ready to have me reclaim my activity director hat.

I would have liked to spice this entry up with humor, but I am just waking up (with a bad haircut). Next time. I'll be funny. I promise. It's on my next list.

May peace and an active life be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

{PS, writing is on my list ;)}

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

2008-12-30T05:08:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-29T21:36:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-27T06:18:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-25T07:17:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-21T08:02:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-10T19:30:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-12-03T20:30:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-23T06:03:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-09-20T00:05:00.000-07:00

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)

2008-09-11T23:30:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-08T03:02:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-05T06:02:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-24T14:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-18T02:16:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-08-15T18:48:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-06T22:09:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-05T05:44:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-07-27T06:25:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-07-20T18:53:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Ho Hum, Karma Coins and Coconut Popsicles

2008-07-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-09T22:35:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-07T19:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-01T14:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-28T10:29:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-21T10:18:00.000-07:00

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.

Feed Me, Seymour!

2008-06-19T18:04:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I am hungry. Someone needs to feed me pretty darn soon. I am not used to fending for myself. My beloved comes home, makes dinner, and serves it to me. This is the way of the world. There is one acceptable alternative; beloved brings take-away food home for me to eat, puts it on a plate, and presents it to me. If I am not fed, I will live on frozen juice bars and cheesy poofs. EVERYONE knows this about me. If you didn't, now you do.

You may think I am a big baby, but I put nutritious, made to order, meals on the table for every meal, for 21 years. It is my turn to be waited on. Oh sure, sometimes we cook together. I can still manage to steam some vegetables or cook up some rice; I'd just rather not.

Are the dishes done? Yes. Is the laundry clean, folded, and delivered to the appropriate bedrooms? Yes. Have the dogs been groomed and fed? Yes. Is the house tidy, and the bathrooms shiny and sweet smelling? Yes. I am a pretty face; I am a pretty face who takes pride in making a nice home for my family. I'm simply not a goddess who cares to cook anymore. The big, handsome, strapping man took on that chore last year. He tells me that cooking relaxes him. HA! The children were both living away from home last year. As of yesterday they are all back. It is all too overwhelming now I presume. Sigh. I know, get over myself. The dude has been working all day. The kids can cook. I'm not going to starve. I am just a bit cranky.

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

Recovering From Unrealistic Optimism

2008-06-10T08:26:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

My horoscope says that I am going to spend the end of my day recovering from 'unrealistic optimism'. What is that? How can optimism be unrealistic? It's optimism. Dream big; believe in the unbelievable. Plus, I don't need to recover from one more thing right now.

Big news: I am now allowed to drive. I thought I would be more excited, but I find that I actually like to be chauffeured everywhere. I am kind of surprised to find that I'm not chaffing under a lack of independence. Of course, my lack of enthusiasm could stem from my attachment to my heart pillow. After my surgery, the hospital provided me with a red heart-shaped pillow to press against my chest for protection. I use it for getting in and out of bed, coughing, and when I ride in the car. I ride around with that pillow pressed firmly against my chest more for comfort now than protection from pain. If I'm in the driver's seat, I won't be able to hug my pillow. I'm not ready to let go just yet. It will happen. Oooh, is that a bit of optimism kicking up it's little head?

I eventually gave up my bunny pillow. I'm not sure just when I was able to get through a day or night without it. My sister gave me a big comfy bunny shaped pillow while I was in the hospital. I clutched that pillow for weeks -- day and night. I hauled it up and down the stairs every morning, and every night. It was pretty comical to see me walking around, like a toddler with her blankie, binky, and favorite stuffed animal, hauling my two pillows everywhere I went.

I love my bunny pillow too. Now that I have that off my chest it is time to go back to my original topic.

What am I optimistic about anyway? I don't think I am at all. My horoscope is w - r- o- n- g.

It could be optimistic of me to sit on the toilet. I am taking plug-u-up drugs right now. It could be optimistic of me to get up in the morning. The weather is so bad it feels like we should all be in hibernation. It could also be optimistic of me to make one more attempt at watching, The View. It seems like that show should be good, but it never is. The View. There it is; my unrealistic optimism recovery moment. Ahhh . . . I am glad that is settled in my mind. Now I can rest to try another day.

May peace and optimism of any kind be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Unspeakable!

2008-06-08T12:51:00.001-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Ack!! I have jock itch!

It's unspeakable, and yet I have spoken it -- publicly at that.

Our family has been under a tremendous amount of stress lately. Due to family matters that are private (yes, some things are private around here) my husband and I have been out of our minds with worry. So, the rash developing on my inner leg was not given much attention until it really started to hurt. I didn't know what it was. The moments I even gave it any thought, I speculated that it was some reaction to the adhesive from all of the bandages, and electrical plugs that were attached to me lately.

It wasn't until I was scrabbling through my underwear drawer, looking for the softest, most non-chafing undies that I came clean to my husband. "It's jock itch". He just said it so matter of factly. "Jock itch!" I screamed. "How can I have jock itch?" "I'm a girl."

Evidently girls can get it. How could I have raised two boys, and not know a thing about jock itch? It baffles the mind, it truly does.

My husband rifled through HIS drawer, and tossed me a tube of anti-fungal cream. Apparently, every guy keeps that stuff handy. He told me it clears up really fast once you start treating it.

Well, I guess that explains why I never noticed if he had jock itch or not. GROSS!

There are just some things I do not want to know about. For instance, I don't want to know that the frozen juice bars I've been eating three or four of everyday are twenty carbs each. I don't want to know how jello is made, or what chemicals are in my hair dye. AND, I most certainly DO NOT want to know anything about jock itch.

May peace and a blind eye be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

He Thinks I'm Beautiful

2008-05-28T16:58:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

There's no question that I am in a rut. I sit around all day, healing from this heart surgery thing.

My life is the same every day. For the first two weeks, I faithfully showered and dressed for my day each and every morning, as if I might have somewhere to go. This regimen was supposed to help with my healing process. I'm guessing it was working, but I've gotten a little impatient. The last couple of days I haven't bothered with the shower and changing out of jammies routine. This morning I got a look at myself when I was trying to set up a video chat with a friend. I couldn't see her, but my face was front and center on the screen. To me, I looked like a tired out hag. Cringing, I warned my friend not to be too horrified when the video of me came through. The hag look shouldn't have been a big shocker, I'm aware I haven't put any effort into how I look lately. Sure, I have daily visitors, but I haven't been thinking about how I look to them. My husband is another matter. Generally, I try to look nice for him. He's the one person, besides me, whose opinion on my appearance is important to me.

This afternoon, sitting on the couch with my scrabble game on my lap, covered in tissues and popsicle sticks, my sweetheart breezed into the house. Just the sound of his work boots striding across the hardwood floor lifted my spirits. When he came into my line of sight I could see that he was taken aback when he saw me, and he said, "Wow, you look beautiful". It was hard to believe him. I challenged him. "No", he said, "You really look beautiful", and I knew he believed it. So, I believed it. No matter how crummy I feel, or look to myself, I am beautiful to this guy, this guy who loves me.

The other day, Brent commented that I should put him into my blog more. I thought about why I didn't include him more often. He is the center of my universe after all. My conclusion was that I couldn't infuse my feelings for him with humor. Lately, every moment together has been too precious, and terribly serious. The idea that without my surgery, I wouldn't live much longer was such a present force with us, that we have been in serious "Cherish" mode. My thoughts about him, about us seemed too private. None the less, I have been thinking about what he said. I should include him more, and not just when I am revealing his inability to see a clothes hamper, or his lack of knowledge concerning toilet brushes. As far as writing material goes, Brent is a writers dream. There is so much to say, and I guess, I don't always have to be funny.

Stepping up. That is what this guy, who loves me above all others, has done the last couple of months. The moment the doctor told us that my condition was severe, and surgery could not be put off much longer, Brent stepped up. He became a man on a mission to take care of, and love me. There are countless examples of his diligent attentiveness, and I look forward to sharing them in the future.

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

It's A Zen Thing

2008-05-26T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The goddess has a new lap top. It's a Mac Book, oh yeah, who's your goddess? I am totally excited to be able to write as much as I want from my recliner. As you are all aware, I am recovering from heart surgery -- Moo! (new cow valve)

This is so much more cushy than the chair upstairs. I am sure to be 43% funnier, writing from a reclined position.

I have kicked some heart surgery fanny, and now I am ready to write about it. Although, recovery stories are foremost on my mind, at the moment.

I've been sitting around for the last two and a half weeks getting used to the crack in my chest. Ow, sometimes that sucker hurts. Thank God for those narcotics they dole out just for letting some over educated hotshot cut you open, play with your insides, and sew you back together again. I am quite grateful for the sewing back together part.

Back to the drugs; apparently, I was so out of it I was singing, "I'm not going to rehab, no, no, no . . ." as I was coming to, in the recovery room. I remember nothing after the cute guy, in hospital scrubs, inserted something dreamy into my IV line, or before another cute guy, also in scrubs, was bragging about the small incision he had made. (I sure hope that was the surgeon talking). My next memory was having the breathing tube removed. I was trying so hard to be a little trooper, doing my yoga breathing, and trying to remain calm. That was a totally freaky experience. I don't know why I had to be any kind of alert for that experience! Umm. . . suggestion for the surgery suggestion box: keep patient heavily drugged while removing breathing tube. My recovery nurse, Kellen, told me that I was very zen like when I was going through that little trauma. I guess it could have been worse. Personally, I can't recommend that part of heart surgery.

Another thing that I can't recommend -- the massive amount of water weight gained during surgery. I was horrified to discover I had gained twenty pounds in less than four hours. I was sure that it would take me a year to lose it. The good news is that my weight gain distracted me from all of my other little worries like, pneumonia, hospital infections, the owie on my chest. You get the idea. Everyone told me that I was going to lose weight in the hospital, but no one told me it would be weight I gained under the knife. I believe the weight gain thingy is a hospital conspiracy to distract patients from the actual event. In that light, I can live with the new stretch marks that have adopted me.

Many nurses told me what a good little surgery girl I was, and how well I was already recovering. These molly-coddlers led me to believe that I was the star of the hospital. This allowed that insurance expediter to hustle me out of the hospital after a whopping three full days of being waited on, in my own private suite. I asked for one more day, but no, my great attitude was my undoing in the end. I was jettisoned out of there like a nobodies business.

I do have my memories to get me through the nights. There was the orderly who walked into the bathroom while I was going number two one last time. She and I had quite the long, soulful conversation. I just had to let go of that little shred of decency that I had managed to hang onto through all of the groin groping during my angiogram debacle. Dancing with my two sons just prior to being wheeled down to the operating room, is a really happy memory. This is probably where the recovery room singing came from. The nurses had never seen anyone dancing before heart surgery. I can't imagine why not, heart surgery is such a hoot. My husband and I having a cozy date in the sixth floor solarium was a highlight. We got to snuggle while watching, "What to expect during and after your open heart surgery". There were a couple of old men, in robes, sharing the experience with us, but I'll always remember it as a special time with my sweetheart. Also, I'll always remember the way my nurses, tidily clipped my colostomy bag to their hips when they wanted me to go for a walk, the stool softeners -- applied in the southern region, Nurse Dan, helping me on and off of the portable commode, and always being very considerate to lift my gown away from my bottom when I got back into bed, so that it wouldn't bunch up, and cause me discomfort, and the many, many hospital staff members who measured and recorded my each and every urination. These were the best of times, these were the worst of times, and like Wonder Woman, I took care of business with strength, focus, humor, and my chest and fanny hanging out.

May peace and a zen-like attitude be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Faking A Wonky Heart Valve

2008-05-01T03:13:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I'm am beyond exhausted, and of course, I can't sleep.
Back from a wonderful vacation, where I slept like a log, I have quickly descended into crazy land. I have witnesses who saw me sleeping past ten a.m. I was sharing a room after all, and this time I wasn't passed out! This was actual sleep. So what happened?

Well, it's been such a stressful year of teaching that I decided to check myself into a hospital for a rest. Of course, after the big drama of a spurting femoral artery two weeks ago, resulting in a hospital stay, I now know rest and hospital are NOT synonymous. Too late. I am committed to the week's stay. I had to fake a worn out aortic valve to get it, and that's no small task. All of that pretending to be out of breathe after every little exertion is boring. Pretending to be fatigued wasn't so hard since I really don't get my rest during the week. However, faking the mushy glugging sound every time a doctor listened to my heart was totally hard. I had to study up for that one, AND channel Houdini. (Don't let that guy out of his locked box, I'm telling you . . .).

I'm not looking forward to the scar on my beautiful chest, but I'm sure it will be worth the around the clock waiting on I will receive in return. I even get to have a buzzer to call for room service. I barely have to lift my pinky to reach it. One little flick of the finger, and I will have drinks served with sippy straws, and bed pans rushed to my bedside. The hospital even provides a designer nighty. I'm going to be living large soon. Aaahhhh . . . a bed that goes up and down, a television all to myself, around the clock staff to see to my every need, and gorgeous doctors visiting in the middle of the night. What more could a goddess ask for?

May peace and an open heart be yours from, The Goddess of Everything

Too Much To Write About

2008-04-28T11:00:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I have not been writing because there is just too much going on in my life. By the time I sit down to write about one event, another pops up. Perhaps I will take the time to write up everything. Until then, here are the things that I have not written about:

1. The Oolala's step out in their finest, and are inspired by Eartha Kit at her concert with the Portland Symphony.

2. Fay gets another purse puppy, and I really really want one too.

3. My husband won't get me the dog of my dreams.

4. Basking in the mommy moment of my children sharing their own moment.

5. Hospital procedure goes awry, and a dozen men get to touch my groin (they call themselves nurses).

5. b. Things I never wanted to know went on in hospitals, using a bed pan, and boy do I love being hooked up to the oxygen tank.

6. Pig valve, cow valve, Dick Cheney valve, or carbon -- what's a pretty girl to do?

7. My cardiologist is young enough to be my son. How did I get to be older than my doctors?

8. Tripping the light fantastic in Manhattan with fabulous friends.

9. I really do have the greatest husband in the world (despite the whole dog thing, which he is most likely right about).

10. The Very Pampered Goddess.

May peace and a full life be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Snowstorm in March or Bashful Bather

2008-03-28T15:13:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I cannot 'flower blooming' believe it. I am in the middle of a snowstorm in March.
It is my 'flower blooming' spring break, for flowers sake. Snow, hail, sun, snow, hail, sun, snow. What am I supposed to do with this weather? What have I done other than sleep, read, eat, sleep some more, and generally let the blood settle in my lovely ass-ets?
The one really good thing about adding extra pounds, due to my snowstorm inactivity, is that my bottom is so amazingly lush and full. I am not kidding. If you tell me differently I will poke your eyes out with my nose. I can't stop running my hand over my own round bottom. It is so easy for me to get fixated on anything though. For instance, on one of my TV marathon days, I watched a 30 minute show on Paul McKenna's weight loss strategy. He has four rules, and I have centered my attention on the first two, when the last two are significantly the more important ones. There are also ten of these segments, and I only watched the first one. What I am suggesting here is that I am not necessarily making good choices with my temporary fascinations. My ass may be gorgeous, but the muffin top above my jeans is a tad alarming. As are the first two of Paul's strategies if the last two are not followed. Here are Paul's four rules, so you don't have to watch his first segment and get stuck in the lower gears as I did:
1. Eat whatever you want
2. Eat when you are hungry
3. Eat consciously (no distractions like TV, or books, chew 20 times, etc. . .)
And here is the really important, not to be hastily cast aside rule,
4. Stop when you are full
Whatever. I don't think it is possible to get full on coconut, double dark, chocolate ice cream anyway.

I will be donning a bathing suit tonight. If I might compare myself to a tropical rain forest here, I'll be sharing my dense lusciousness with others. Hopefully it will be just the right amount of dark. We are going to some friends for dinner and hot tubbing. Thank god, they mentioned suits because they also suggested we could spend the night if we wanted. Had there been no mention of suits, implying nakedness, I might have thought they wanted to swing, and not the kind of swinging the monkeys in the rain forest do. I have been in their hot tub naked, it was quite the floating boob fest, but that is where I draw the line. I don't care to be surrounded by floating boy bits not belonging to my husband. As I told my friend, "I'm just not that groovy". My first two, mixed doubles, hot tub experiences left me a little shy of co-ed bathing.

I know that you are dying to hear the stories so here goes. When I was a sweet young thing, just nineteen years old, and barely not a virgin, my boss invited me over to her house to practice for our sign language test, and soak in her hot tub. To get a visual image of my boss, imagine small, demure, measured, and soft spoken. In fact she was so demure and controlled that she could not form a facial expression to accompany her sign language, which is an integral part of signing. That is why we were having the extra practice at her house. A glass of wine, and a soak were supposed to help to loosen her up. (My facial expressions were spot on; some might say that my every thought could be read in my face).

Excitedly, I packed a little bag, in preparation. I carefully considered my two suits; one a bikini, the other my swim team speedo. I chose the speedo, since it covered more skin. I felt I should be more conservative since I was dressing down with my boss, who was on the shy side.

I had never been in a hot tub. It was a cold night, snowing slightly, and I couldn't wait to experience being outside in the snow, yet cozy and warm in the hot water. It sounded delicious. Swinging my swim bag, I blithely, and light heartedly tra-la-laed to my boss' house. She was just getting home herself when I arrived. As we stood on her stoop, unlocking her door, she turned to me and said, "Oh, did I remember to tell you that we don't wear clothes in the hot tub; is that cool with you?" I can only imagine the expression on my face which did not match the words, "Sure, no problem", that spontaneously spouted from my mouth.

All through our sign language practice, I thought calming thoughts. "Why am I so dumb?" "Why didn't I say, but I'll be wearing clothes, thank you?" "What's the big deal, I walk around naked in the locker room all of the time." By the time I had convinced myself that it was perfectly cool to get in the hot tub, naked, with my boss, the front door opened, and in walked her boyfriend. A much older, shaggy haired, Lebanese man. "Great, I can join you in the hot tub!" he exclaimed.

Now this is where I was traumatized. Not only did I get into the hot tub, naked, with this naked couple, but when the water got too hot for the boyfriend, he stood up. He stood up and preened. That is the only way to describe it. I didn't know where to look. I tried to be cool. I tried not to be too obvious about commenting on the night sky. The time his privates spent above the water line was interminable.
And, the thing is, they both had to know how uncomfortable I was. I'm sure I hadn't suddenly learned to mask the betrayal of my oh so expressive face. I never hot tubbed with them again. I chose to pretend the night had never happened. Unfortunately, I still can't wipe the image of that naked man and his floppy penis out of my mind.

The other story is less time consuming. It was like a Saturday Night Live skit. A bunch of science teachers at a week long workshop, staying in a mountain lodge. Twelve of us crammed into a hot tub, laughing and drinking, and clothed. I came late to the party so I didn't know that one of the men was only wearing a pair of tighty whiteys. Tighty whiteys are not so tighty when they are wet. This guy started telling a story in a very lugubrious, listen to my every word, manner. During his very long story that he kept telling us had a hilarious punch line, he kept getting in and out of the hot tub in all his flabby, hairy, soggy underpantedness. It was absolutely gross. Another image emblazoned on my brain for all eternity. So, you can see why I am a little nervous at the prospect of sharing a soak with men.

Think of me tonight. No amount of alcohol could loosen me up if someone should choose to bare all. This time I will not be silent. I will rain my own snowstorm down upon my host if he so much as jokes about going naked bottom. If I'm not showing my yummy bottom then no one else is either.

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

One of Those Days

2008-03-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The grocery store was out of flax seed muffins, cherry yogurt AND TURKEY MEATLOAF!!! My world is tilting on it's axis, and I am out of coherence with the universe.

Cleavage

2008-03-10T23:13:00.001-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I tend to show a lot of cleavage these days. One could say that I am in the décolletage phase of life. That's somewhere between mom and crone, isn't it?
After spending years hiding my perfect breasts due to misplaced modesty, I have been celebrating them. Modesty flew out the window with six straight years of breast feeding; probably within the first six feedings truth be told. Now, I try to make the girls the center of attention whenever I can.

I was such such a tomboy as a preteen. I was embarrassed to get breasts, which to my great anguish appeared early. By 11 a bra was a good idea, by 12 a necessity to cover the dark crowns and constant nipping. The tact I chose for dealing with the onset of womanhood was to ignore it as best I could. Thus, I am still surprised every time I get my period. These things have a way of not being ignored, however. Boys and girls alike pointed them out to me. I was mildly teased by boys. The girls were more prone to open dialog. One of my best friends unexpectedly broke into tears, saying how unfair it was that I had breasts and a waist when she had neither. She couldn't see how I could possibly be embarrassed to shower in P.E. (I believed everyone was embarrassed, I never questioned that we were all in the same boat, apparently my friend thought differently). My father even commented, not in an icky way, but because he was my dad his outward acknowledgment that I was a girl caused me great shame. All of these factors: tomboy, early puberty, teasing, jealousy and shaming contributed to my not making the most of a really good thing. I covered those beauties up during some of their best years -- certainly their pertest.

For the past many years now, I have tried to rectify the injustice I did to myself, and to the rest of the world by hiding my light under a bushel. My friends and family can all confirm that I have done everything in my power to tastefully display 'The Girls'. It's not as easy as it would have been before gravity took hold, but I do my best. Now a bra is not just something to keep my nipples from showing, but a harness to keep the set from blending into my belly, creating a blob around my waist. They're not perfect anymore, but I haven't heard any complaining from the peanut gallery.

This brings me to the anxiety I have been experiencing for the past year. A future heart surgery is going to bring a blight to my cleavage. I am going to have a humdinger of a scar right where I generally try to create a focal point for my audience. ( I know, weeny whine -- at least I'll have breasts when the surgery is over). Pathetic whining aside, the anxiety still exists. My husband says that I can get a tattoo there. Since he has never been amenable to a tattoo this does give me something to look forward to. I could get a tattoo. But, could I get a tattoo of perfect skin? Somehow a picture of, well, anything on my chest seems a little biker chick. That's a phase I'm not sure is on my particular path of phases.

I want to keep showing off my cleavage. I do. I am considering not letting the scar stop me. Now to get over my anxiety. After all, I still owe the world for the 'hiding my assets during their best years' thing.

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

A Padded Room And Cigarette Breaks

2008-02-04T10:30:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I learned earlier this week that pop tart, Britney Spears' perks in the psych ward, were a rubber room and cigarette breaks. I so wished that could be me. I have hit the wall my friends. I can't do what I do anymore. Please, please, please let me have the rubber room.

Motivation, Or The Lack Thereof

2008-02-03T13:08:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Total lack of motivation has led me to gain weight, stop doing the laundry, stop paying bills and let the house go to hell. Here I sit in an ancient house dress that used to be cute, and my husbands over-sized Icelandic sweater. My hair looks good though. Also, my nails aren't bad.

Let us now journey into the mystery of where my motivation has gone. Down the toilet. Short journey.

How to get it back: No F-ing idea. Shorter journey.

Why I care: because it's boring. Everyone is doing it; losing their motivation for no apparent reason. I'm beginning to give my husband's conspiracy theories credence.

I have been rendered useless by a series of subliminal messages transferred through the television. I certainly watch enough of it these days. I have become a salivating pile of goop from messages hidden in a Reba re-run marathon, hours upon hours of HGTV, and the E network. The government is sucking the life out of women to keep us down. It is probably to keep us from voting for Hillary. God, that woman is always doing something. It's exhausting how she is making me look bad. The only thing that makes me feel like I can relate to her is her large, round behind, and the knowledge that she has a vagina somewhere under those tailored skirts. Work, work, work, work ,work. She has more accomplishments than the last six Nobel peace prize winners. But, does this impress me? Hell no! Because I have been systematically reprogrammed, and now suffer from Stepford Syndrome.

What gives me pleasure: coffee, alcohol, and my hair looks really good right now. I am an addict with a string of good hair days to my credit.

I tell myself the reason that I can not get started making lists is that I don't have a calendar. For the last 15 years I have received several complimentary calendars in the mail. You get those when you donate money to certain organizations. I have had my selection of calendars from NOW, to Habitat for Humanity, the zoo, Amnesty International, The Girls Next Door (I think someone else in my house must have supported that organization). This last year I did not open my mail or answer the phone. No one got any money out of me unless they hunted me down in person. Thus, no calendars. My husband offered one of his many welding supply calendars, but they don't give me any visual pleasure. And, since all I do these days is sit around and stare at stuff, that is a pretty important element.

Other reasons I may lack motivation:
1. The weather sucks.
2. One of the dogs keeps peeing on the carpet and I can't get her to stop so I've given up on everything.
3. My vision is going bad and I'm still mad that I shelled out 4,ooo bucks for the latest laser technology only three and a half years ago.
4. My bedroom is a mess so that I wake up and am instantly cranky with my spouse setting the tone for my entire day.
5. I am being suffocated by print (books, magazines, newspapers, web articles, piles upon piles of junk mail, etc. . .).
6. Perhaps I get some kind of perverted charge out of not getting anything accomplished (this is weird psychology bullshit, but thought I should throw it in the mix).
7. Aliens have taken over my mind and all of the time spent watching E is a sign that I should become a Scientologist.
8. The damned conservatives are trying to keep me from acting on my self-righteous anger over health care, education, and the environment by controlling my thoughts through narcotics released in airplane contrails.
9. Those fluorescent light bulbs, that are becoming so prevalent, are sucking the life force out of me one migraine at a time.
10. (I leave this for you, the reader, to contribute an opinion -- make it funny; I need the laugh).

My only hope seems to be to turn off the television, wear a gas mask, and buddy up to my favorite Scientologist, John Travolta.

May peace and a hunky childhood crush be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Anxiety Ridden

2008-02-02T00:28:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Guess what? I can't sleep. Again. I have to be the most boring blogger on the planet. Every other entry is about my inability to sleep through the night. What am I, a newborn?

Anyway, my fabulous sisters commented on my blog. Now I feel like I exist. Our mother made us get our pictures taken every five years. I've included the current photo. I know, I know, we're hot. Get over it.

I had acupuncture and a massage today. Still every muscle in my body is in the 'locked' position. My brain is a fog of anxious thoughts. I figure that is why I have allowed myself to be stupefied by the television and several dozen books this week. I even read, Into The Wild. Total guy book. Also, not for a mother of a teenage boy who reads Kerouac, and is looking to test himself.

My husband suggested I take one of my pills. That is code for, take one of your pills because I can not handle you when you are like this, and I really just want to listen to my night time radio program, while I fall asleep without any trouble. (That pill must have been a little bitter).

What I have been doing is cruising my kids' web-sites and copying their pictures. I found a really cute one of the twins. They are both 23 now. Six months apart with different parents, but it
works for them. They are out celebrating the current birthday right this second. Thank god they have each other.
I am such a terrible mother. I didn't even get my
child a card for his special day. I called him. He'll get money. Hopefully, he won't fret about no cake. My children are not fond of cake. That has presented some birthday tradition problems over the years. Birthday fruit salad seems to be the favorite for the young one. This one would probably vote for a beer with a floating candle. Oh, how they grow up . . . If I could, I would fly to Texas to smack his girlfriend upside the head. There's a story there, but I guess it falls under mother/son confidential. I'm sure his soul friend will give him some great advice tonight. No, she will probably get him drunk and let him sleep on her couch with her cat. Whatever cheers him up. It used to be pop rocks and a pillow fight. Like I said, how they grow up.

This is about the time I wish that one of our hot tubs worked. I could use a soak. I must run a bath, and try to submerge my rubenesque form into the warm water. It's only an hour into the next day.

May peace and a deep tub be yours from: The Goddess of Everything

Ewwww. . . He's Eating My Crayons.

2008-01-24T06:45:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

OK, here it is. I am a teacher. I am a teacher of small children. These kids will walk across the room to wipe their nose on me, or worse. I have a six inch band of snot running a perfect circle around my waist. None of these little kidlets are aware that they are sliming me, it's just what they do.

It is cold and flu season in our neck of the woods, so you can just imagine the mucus that is flowing around me. Last week, the vomiting started. My teaching partner and I draw up vomit charts every year, the way football coaches draw up a schematic of the field. We keep a record of who has upchucked, where they were at the time, and who they sit by. With this in hand we can triangulate the area, and get a pretty good idea where the spew will come from next. Of course, you have to factor in the, 'get up to walk across the room to my teacher' component. (Small children will bypass two other adults, a bathroom, three sinks, several trash cans, and a field of grass to get to their teacher just in time to vomit on her new $150 Naturalizer boots).

Body fluids aren't the only freebie my little darlings share. They just do weird things, which any other child will find fascinating or disgusting, but will still join in on. The other day I found an entire table group licking the name tags on their desks. I don't know why I took the time to question this behavior (sometimes I only ask myself, "Why ask why?"), but this time I did pause to inquire. Each child looked up, startled, and immediately pointed a finger at someone else, "He/She did it first!", of course. What was I thinking to even wonder?

Small children will put anything in their mouth; I am here to tell you that, "Yes", I have seen it all. One poor little bow-headed girl, in my room sits by a particularly hedonistic little boy. This boy will, and does put anything in his mouth. My dear, bow-headed, little cupie doll spends much of her day, being horrified, with her hand in the air,
"Teacher, Teacher, he's eating my crayons!", "Teacher, Teacher, he's eating his hair, his scab, his eraser, my eraser, my scab . . ." She doesn't get that she is way more annoying to me than her seat mate. While he keeps himself quietly occupied, she is quite the lesson interrupter. And, as she has not spent time cultivating the appropriate public school immunities, she was the first to throw up. Not a surprise to me, of course; I have been keeping a close record of germ accumulation since day one. The little scab eater will be the last to spew, if he even spews at all. Frankly, I doubt that he will miss one day of school -- EVER.

May peace and a good constitution be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Brrr Baby, It's Cold Out There . . .

2008-01-21T17:58:00.001-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It is not warm outside. The sky is blue. The sun is shining. It is damn cold. It's so cold the outdoor animals want in. Barn kitty mewled at the front door until I realized that he wanted to be let in. I couldn't figure out why he was making all of that noise so close to the house. Even our dog, who prefers being outside above all else, was reluctant to go out for a quick potty sojourn. I'm sure that if the goats were free to leave the barnyard, they would be knocking at the front door, bleating to be led to the rug in front of the fire.

I've been cozily, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket, reading by the fire all day. My book finished, I carefully maneuvered my way out from underneath a blanket, a cat, and two dogs (praise the saints, no goats) to refill my cocoa cup and find a new book. All hell broke lose as everyone realized that their lazy goddess, was actually, and finally, available to put food in food dishes. Oh, the barking, and the meowing. What a cacophony. It was only two hours later than usual. How the day goes by when it is cold, and there is nothing to be done but read.

I honestly don't think that I should have to go to work when it is this cold. I could get frostbitten walking to the car. That would not do. I Cold Day is most certainly called for. I doubt the phone tree will be activated though. People, in power, can be such cretins. The pioneers knew to hunker down in the winter; to keep the wood on the fire, and conserve energy. Hmmm. . . 'conserve energy'. That is what I have been doing all day. I was not lazy at all. I was being as a pioneer.

I've always known that had I been a pioneer, I would have died on the trail; probably very early on in the trip. My husband would have had to take on a child-wife to raise the children that my early demise left behind. Of course, had there been a pregnancy, I would have died in childbirth. There might have been one child, but no more. No, not even that. I would have died of dehydration during my pregnancy. Had it not been for demoral and IV fluids, I would have died in the 20th century. The century in which I actually did incubate, and deliver two children. So, I am positive I wouldn't have made it as a pioneer. If I ever go back in time, I will not leave the east to follow an adventuring husband. He will have to understand that I already know the ordeal would kill me. In fact, I wouldn't survive my teen years. I would throw myself off of a cliff during a P.M.S. episode. No need to wonder if I would have made it as a pioneer then.

I do like the idea of conserving energy, in winter, anyway. Why must we race about, acting as if these arctic days are no different than any other cold day? Why can't the world stop for a week, or two? We could all use the time to hunker down, and enjoy a good book, by a crackling fire. The animals seem to have the right idea. It was probably a cat who wrote, "It was not a night for either man, or beast".

May peace, a warm fire, and a cat on your lap be yours from: The Goddess of Everything

Party Goddess

2008-01-20T00:18:00.000-08:00

Tonight the goddess speaks about herself:

In considering my last post, I am reminded that when I party, I sometimes do sleep for a few, restful hours. This was the case on New Year's Eve. I know, I know, I complained hardily of having to change out of my pajamas. But, change I did. Of course, just as I predicted, I had a fabulous time. We were the first to arrive to the party, and one of the last to leave.
It was the dancing. We danced and danced. In fact, I danced so much that the many champagne cocktails I enjoyed had no ill after- effects whatsoever. Mmmm. . . champagne cocktails. It was my first time. Who knew? Champagne usually gives me a headache. Adding more alcohol to it never seemed like a good idea. Now I know that it is the best idea ever! I was also introduced to the music of a true party princess (albeit a train wreck), Amy Winehouse. I have danced to, "Rehab", nearly every day since.
What was truly amazing, is that I did sleep. I slept well. It was between the hours of 4 a.m. and noon -- not exactly real world hours, but it was a great sleep. Some may say I was passed out, but I beg to differ. If only every night were New Year's Eve. . .

May peace and a comfortable couch be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Why Does Sleep Elude Me?

2008-01-17T03:45:00.001-08:00

Tonight the goddess speaks about herself:
Why can't I sleep? Where does sleep go when it is not with me? Does it miss me? Does it dis me? I wish I remembered what it feels like to wake up refreshed.

I'd really, really like to sleep like a baby. I've tried everything from herbs to acupuncture, and meditation to heavy doses of alcohol. Hot baths help, but I can't be getting in and out of the tub at all hours of the night. Melatonin only works to make me more relaxed, which is nice, but not an answer to my not sleeping problem. Sex works great! It works great for the guy in my bed.
While he happily snores away, I am left tossing and turning.
I'm beginning to develop a theory that my brain won't switch off. Somehow it isn't getting the right signal. It is like a workaholic on cocaine. I can't seem to stop thinking.

Thinking, thinking, thinking . . .
. . . thinking about what?!
Nothing can be this important that I have to be in a constant state of processing information. Do I really have to be alert when I am filing away my day, or assimilating new information? What about osmosis?
Osmosis sounds like a lovely cocktail served by cabana boys, on a tropical island, under a swaying palm tree. Please, I'd like some osmosis.

Dreams. I don't remember dreams because I apparently don't have time for them. Could my brain be protecting me from bad dreams? If I knew, would I prefer my constant state of 'awake'? Perhaps. Perhaps, but I'll never know.

If I were a party girl this would be the perfect situation. I would party all night, and sleep all day. Oh, didn't I mention? Falling asleep during the day isn't too much of a problem. I could doze off at anytime. I just don't let myself for fear that any sleep during the day will make it harder to fall asleep at night. Ha!! I don't seem to have any problem falling asleep after 7 a.m., or when I am in Hawaii, or during long vacations. This wouldn't be a problem if I didn't lead a normal life; a normal life that includes a job -- DURING THE DAY. Sigh. I guess I was meant to lead the life of a rich party girl. The answer is now glaringly obvious to me. I am not fulfilling my contract on this little blue planet. Would that I could.

May peace and a fashionable pair of dark glasses be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Buckle Up. It's Going To Be A Bumpy Ride.

2007-12-31T13:47:00.001-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I'm feeling very moody, in a Bette Davis, All About Eve, sort of way.

I don't want to do anything productive. All I really want to do is retire to my boudoir with a bottle of liquor in one hand, and the TV remote in the other. My beloved isn't really getting me today, so he is practicing his expertly-honed avoidance techniques. OR, I should say that he was practicing those skills until he discovered that half of the chocolate covered cherries, and ALL of the chocolate covered cranberries are gone.
"We were going to take those to the party tonight", attempting to sound confronting -- Button it up, Buster! I am having ISSUES!

I don't want to see people. I don't want to do anything planned. And, I especially don't want anyone showing up at my house for a visit. I just really, really want to lie around with the remote in my hand. Really. It's the last day of 2007, and I think I want to end it with a whimper.
Some people don't want me to have what I want, thus the bumpy ride. Now, If I had that dress Bette is wearing perhaps I could handle the day with more grace. That is a damn sexy dress. Notice that it has sleeves. It has sleeves because no woman likes to expose her arms. 99% of all women do not like the way their arms look in sleeveless attire yet, 95% of all evening wear is sleeveless. Why is this? I don't get it. I have several evening gowns, and cocktail dresses; all of which are sans sleeves. I just ordered two today. NO FREAKING SLEEVES. However, they were 70% off. (I also bought a lovely wrap with the same discount).

We are going to a fabulous party tonight -- of course, that is what is expected of fabulous goddesses. I know that I will have a lot of fun. I know that I will look gorgeous, hot and sexy beyond words. That is not the point. I am in hibernation mode. Due to this randomly occurring manifestation I will moan and groan about having to get ready all day, torturing everyone (my husband) around me. Bumpity, bump, bump, bump. If only I had Bette's dress, maybe I wouldn't be so bitchy about doing something that requires me to change out of my pajamas, and leave the house.

May peace and flattering evening attire be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Frustrated

2007-12-30T00:44:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I feel incompetent at the stupid MySpace site, and I am tired of it.
I am completely frustrated with my inability to post videos on my blog.
This is not rocket science people. It isn't even junk science.

Why can't I do it?????? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Here is a cute picture to make everyone feel better. At least I know how to upload pictures.

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

Back To The Beach

2007-12-06T23:20:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Two days until I will be living it up in Hawaii! I can hardly wait to get back to the beach. I can smell the surf and feel the sand between my toes.

The waves are calling, "Everyone weighs less in the water".

I am sitting here in my new bathing suit and fabulous matching cover-up. So, the halter top pulls slightly on the back of my neck. So what? This is the second suit, same as the first, in a larger size, that I've had shipped to me this week. I don't have time to order yet another one. I should have gone with the long torso suit. Every time I do, though, the crotch hangs down. I'd rather have a crick in my neck than an exposed crotch. It wouldn't be decent (I'm an outie). Plus, I would be over-exposed, if you know what I mean. I didn't go for the bikini wax, but I did do some major remodeling -- I may have gotten a little carried away with the electric razor. (Shhh, don't tell my husband; I'm not supposed to use his beard trimmer).

I do wish I had done the spray-on tan thing. I am so white. I am beyond white. I am white on white. I'd rub on some instant tanning lotion if I could do it without turning my hands seven shades of sienna, while the rest of me is merely transformed to a shade of sickly- ecru. I've just never had any luck with fake tan. It is funny how I spend a fortune on products that protect my skin from the sun, but one week out of every year I spend a much larger chunk of change to travel somewhere that I can purposely damage it. It makes no sense. Really darling, I don't care about making sense when it comes to my island vacation. All I care about is reveling in the sand, sea, sun and mai tais.

So, picture me: catching a wave, on my surf board, in my sexy new bathing suit, while holding a perfectly balanced, umbrella drink in my hand. I'll be the extraordinarily hot, white chick with the hunchback, and all of her bits and pieces tidily covered.

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

Wishing For Sleep

2007-12-06T04:49:00.001-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Oh, look! I'm a awake and it's the middle of the night.
Shocker of shockers, I am not sleeping through the night. Despite my doc's best efforts, I still wake up after a few hours. Sometimes I stay in bed, but that only disturbs the heavenly, snoring one.
He doesn't always sleep through the night either. However, his sleepless nights are fewer.

I wonder what other people with my condition do? I usually scan the online tabloids. I know more about the lives of strangers, as seen behind a camera lens, than I do about members of my own family. Last Thursday, I was actually searching for Britney Spears' address, in my address book, to send her a Christmas card. But, what do others do? Do they write the great American novel? Do they knit hats for the homeless? Or, are they as shallow as me when I'm not sleeping? I think of doing something more worthwhile with my unplanned time. It is just that I am so tired, cranky, and bleary eyed. Yes, I could be writing to my legislators, or soldiers in the war, but I am not. I am not, I am not, I am not.

I feel another list coming on. This one will provide me with alternate, more altruistic endeavors for my sleepless nights. I will keep it by my computer to refer to when I'm thinking about Brad and Angie dragging their kids all over the globe. How many schools has their oldest child attended in the last two years anyway? I think it's 12.

Of course, I will have to be careful that I don't do something really rash in my befuddled state. I could get up in the morning to find that I have adopted an orphan, or three, from an internet orphanage. I'm sure that is possible. I'm such a sucker for little kids. I can identify 13 out of 15 babies belonging to movie stars, by their picture alone. (I just love those Us Weekly quizzes).

I'd better get back into bed before I do too much for the world. I don't think I've done the proper research. I could end up offering to drive Lindsey to rehab when I really meant to offer to build a school in Afghanistan.

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

No More 'Drunk Dialing'!

2007-12-05T11:12:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

One can cause a lot of confusion by calling up a friend, when not in one's right mind.
This happened to me this week. I truly regret making my friend worry about me for even a second. It was selfish on my part. I was feeling silly and lonely. I reached out without thinking of the consequences.
May a level head be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

I Am So Pretty

2007-12-03T21:07:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I am amazing!
I don't know how I do it, but everyday my students love me.
Today, Tylor Christie said, "You are so pretty". Six years old, and he is the most astute male on the planet. I am so pretty.
May a heady compliment from an unexpected quarter be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Misdirected Mourning

2007-11-28T16:57:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I am still hung up on the recent haircut. The one where I held up my fingers with this much space between them [ ], and the stylist cut this much hair off [ ________________ ]. I had really long hair.
I mean, I was only 8 inches away from my fanny. Now I have 'longish' hair -- above my freaking bra strap. (And, as low as that is these days, it isn't all THAT low).

I don't get these people! She said she understood about long hair. She said someone had once cut off too much of her hair. Whatever . . . What trip are these hair people on?

I am sad, sad, sad about my hair. Grandma died, but all I can think about is my hair. Is that demented, or what? Grandma would understand though. Just last month she was eating soup when she asked, "Is this for me to weave a rope to heaven?" as she held up a single strand of my hair.
Ooops . . .

Will I ever dig myself out of this grief? Only grandma will understand what I am really crying about at her funeral on Friday. She gets it. She was a goddess too.

May your grief be frivolous when frivolous is called for from, The Goddess of Everything. (Wishing you jewels in heaven, Grandma)

On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown

2007-11-26T23:40:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess expresses herself in a picture:

May the ability to truly express yourself be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Wine, Oh Wine, Oh Whino

2007-11-26T06:29:00.001-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Wine, wine, wine.
Why do I drink so much wine?Why can't I stop with just one glass? Why does my brain not have an off switch? It used to have an off switch. At least, I have a vague memory of being able to stop drinking before my nose turned red.
Of course, like any little disturbance in my life, drinking too much wine triggers a nocturnal awakening. The kind where I would really rather be sleeping, but I can't -- no matter how much I lay there tossing and turning. And, why may I ask, doesn't tossing and turning wear one out enough to fall back to sleep? At least I'm burning calories in bed. It would be great if they weren't the same empty ones I had so recently consumed.
Wine is just so good. I love it so much. I love the shape of the glass, holding the stem, bringing it to my lips. I love that first touch on the tongue, when I can feel it silky smoothness just before I taste it.
Ahhh. . . that is a relaxing thought. Perhaps I will go back to bed, and imagine myself bobbing, in a wine glass, in a sea of wine.
May the memory of sobriety be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Ten Things You May Not Know About Me

2007-11-25T20:51:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
As I am inspired by my goddess sister, Katy, I will make a list.
Here are ten things you may now know about me:
1. I prefer red wine to white
2. I can walk around in the dark like a blind person
3. Cow milk upsets my stomach
4. I dream in color
5. I prefer silence to background noise, except the sound of the ocean
6. I used to ride a motorcycle, but now I'm afraid to
7. Other than my husband, my best friends are all women
8. When I drink alcohol, I almost always overindulge
9. I don't eat fast food
10. When I share a bed, I have to be touching the other person, or it takes me hours to fall asleep
Bonus. I've read Wuthering Heights 17 times.
May indulgence be yours from, The Goddess of Everything

Joan Fowler of Salem, Oregon

2007-11-25T18:52:00.000-08:00

The Goddess speaks about herself:

Are you looking for me? Here I am. Simply sign up, and make a comment. I will respond.
As always I am stunning, intelligent, kind, and under the spell of the moon.

May you find your inner Batgirl from, The Goddess of Everything.

Oh My God, Oh My God

2007-11-25T08:57:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Another sleepless night in goddess land. When will I ever sleep through the night again?
Is this nocturnal alertness a sign of something? An opportunity?
This is how I feel about not sleeping:Not good. Now I can't even upload the video I want to share.
Very, very cranky goddess!!!

What Does It All Mean?

2007-05-26T02:54:00.001-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Here I sit, in my undies, in the middle of the night because I can't sleep -- again.
This time it's because I have a headache. When I have a headache I have to elevate my head. No matter how tired I am I have to keep my head up. I tossed back a couple of painkillers, and tiptoed downstairs to find the pain relieving gel I'd left in the kitchen. I got this stuff from my chiropractor. (It was Wednesday, Olgalita; not one of your days in the office, and my bedroom was too messy to ask you to come over and poke me with needles) One must make asides to one's doctor when one's doctor reads one's blog. (Plus, in an act of utter stupidity but, with the best intentions, I gave away the pain relieving stuff you gave me) That was another aside. I need little talking balloons, like in cartoons, only the ones with the little bubbles.

As usual, when I awake in the wee hours, I read the gossip columns. I know that Rosie is not coming back to The View; Apollo Ohno is going to suspend his Dancing With the Stars disco ball trophy from the ceiling, and have it drop down every time someone walks in the door; and Dean McDermott's ex was wearing an old, unflattering bikini when he told her he was leaving her for Tori Spelling. (That sort of puts the icing on a sucky day -- men should wait until their wives are looking totally hot before wiping the floor with them by informing them a younger, more digitally enhanced, nymphet is actually their soul mate).

I also read my Tarot.com horoscope. Today it ends with: Kindness will grease the path to satisfaction. What does that even mean? Don't be a bitch today?
A greasy path doesn't sound all that appealing to me, or safe. Maybe it means that if I am kind today I will get some action from my husband? I don't think it would be kind to leave a greasy path for him to follow if that's the case.
What satisfaction am I looking for today?
Well, I did want to paint the bathroom and install a mirror and a vanity light. I would be really satisfied if that got done today. I guess if I follow the advice of my horoscope being kind will be a better tool than snarking about what kind of help I expect. I still don't want to be greasy. (My neck is all greasy from this headache gel stuff).

I don't really have to put in all of these asides I just realized. Olgalita is in Belize. She asked me last October if I wanted to go with her, and some other women. I said that I couldn't miss a week of work.
Stupid! Stupid! Head-Slapping Stupid!
I could be in Belize, right this very minute instead of sitting, cross-legged, in my underwear in front of my computer in the middle of the night. AND, I wouldn't have this headache because I would be on a relaxing vacation. I also wouldn't be wondering what it means to be kind in order to grease a path. Is that like, you can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar? I guess that means, don't be a bitch, as well.
Being attractive to flies has never been high on my list either.
I'm not supposed to begin sentences with a gerund am I? Or, am I? I don't care. What does that really mean either. Practically no one attempts to use gerunds correctly anymore.

Now that I am just getting silly with fatigue, maybe I should attempt to get back to sleep.
May peace and a better understanding of grammar be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Procreation Isn't For Everyone

2007-05-24T23:06:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Crap! Crap! Crap!
I hate that word but, I can't think of a better word to describe how I am feeling right now.
It doesn't matter that I took my niece on a shopping spree that totaled nearly $500, today was her birthday and I didn't call and I didn't send a card. I am probably in the doghouse, with my sister, because said niece did not receive anything in the mail today. Plus, THE GUILT.
I have been heavily medicated since Monday due to major migraine activity. I haven't missed a day of work but, while I probably wasn't legal to drive, I still had to manage a classroom of miscreants.
For the last two weeks I have called upon every extra reserve that exists in me to just get through each day. Today, for instance (and this is just today mind you, not atypical for the last couple of weeks) I got to tell parents that their little darlings called someone an F-ing asshole, made lewd gestures with their genitalia, and flipped off classmates and a teacher. Wow, six and seven year olds gone wild. Welcome to the world where children are allowed to watch everything on television, and play any video game they want.
I have barely made it through the last two weeks. All I do is sleep, take (legal) drugs, and go to work. That's it.
Top three most stressful jobs in the world: Policeman, Fireman, Teacher (I don't know why soldier isn't on the list -- I'm guessing soldier rates up there with policeman..) Then, air traffic controllers, and prison guards for juvenile prisons. Hmmmm. . . . Not feeling the respect right now people.
I do a damn fine job. I believe in public education. I just don't believe everyone should be out there procreating. Can we have a psych eval. for prospective parents please? Helicopter parents would be out, crack whores -- out, abusive S.O.B.'s out. Parents who think they know more than a specially trained professional --OUT! I want to hear, "yes Ma'am, No Ma'am", and that is it. I want to hear it from the kids and the parents. I don't care if you have a PhD in anything. Learn to say NO to your child. Don't hit them, don't use empty threats, don't give them everything they want, feed them, make them wear a coat when it's cold, and a helmet when they ride a bike, AND freakin' say NO and mean it.
This week I had a kid enrolled, who was apparently kidnapped from the custodial parent. I had several students make lewd sexual gestures to other students, a boy who said he watched a pirated version of a movie that had just been released the day before, foul language was flying, and all this before I am officially on duty. I actually apologized to a parent for waking him up, at noon, to tell him his son had flipped someone off and, been disrespectful to the 45 year veteran teacher who was guiding him through the district discipline plan.
Tomorrow is Friday. I am going to teach. I am not going to spend my day "problem solving" with children who have the misfortune of having bad parents. I don't know what I am going to do with those kids who can't behave but, I will think of something before tomorrow.
May peace and a strong prophylactic be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Irrepressible Restlessness

2007-05-18T19:22:00.000-07:00

Today the Goddess speaks about herself:
Do you feel torn between a desire to spend the day as quietly as you can, and your irrepressible restlessness?
This was my horoscope, on Tarot.com, today. It also told me to be careful about creating unnecessary drama just to spice things up. Since I am the antithesis of drama queen that was a pretty funny suggestion.
Anyway, my horoscope made me think. Irrepressible Restlessness. I've decided that is a good book title (copyright!), and many of you could probably contribute to a chapter or six. If you are not the biggest drama queen, I will have to look elsewhere for those insights.
I will have to contemplate what this restlessness, irrepressibly means in my life, and write more on it later.
Two books that have hugely influenced me this week: On Becoming Fearless, by Arianna Huffington (I'm going to be her in my next life), and Life Laughs, by Jenny McCarthy (I might choose to be her in another life, minus the spread in playboy, and the farting in an elevator filled with hot guys). Having Arianna as an icon in ones life might not seem as much of a stretch as subscribing to Jenny McCarthy-isms but, when you hear what movie my parenting style was based on you will better understand. Go right out, NOW, and rent Back to the Beach. It's when Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon (as themselves) take their teenage son back to the beach, where they met, to visit their college aged daughter. My children have memorized the movie, as have I, and we are all better people for it. Plus, it is just darned funny. Even my grandma, Arlene, sat through the entire movie, and that woman never even sat down long enough to watch her favorite, The Lawrence Welk Show.
Then you can read Jenny and Arianna, in that order.
Here is an insight from Jenny on marriage: "So even though there are times you want to run like hell or when you feel stale and bored, remember that opening your heart and refilling it with love just might keep you married long enough to beat each other with canes." ( p.47)
While Arianna inspires me to be a better person, Jenny just gets it said.
May peace and a sturdy cane be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Limoncello

2007-05-18T18:24:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Major stress time in my life, and it is capitol N o w.
Wednesday afternoon I drug my husband to the bar for straight shots. Then, he hauled me home for smoking and cursing in front of the outdoor fire. (I did all of the smoking and cursing; he built the fire -- we were made for each other)
Yesterday, I called up two other hot chicks, and we headed down to the pier for drinks in funny glasses with chips and seven different kinds of salsa. Sometimes you can only commiserate over mango and blackberry salsa. (It's a girl thing)
Two days of partying should have assuaged my restless soul but, tonight I find myself downing one limoncello after another, and licking the wrapper of an old chili-chocolate bar. Sadly, I am home alone. Not even the fear of gaining weight, from my excessive stress disorder, is slowing me down.
We are supposed to be having prohibition at the house. I climbed onto the kitchen bar stool, tossing the butt pillow aside, and rummaged through the liquor cabinet. The only bottles in there are filled with things even I wouldn't drink. Here is what I will NOT drink, even in desperation: triple sec, sake, gin, ancient kahlua, peppermint schnapps, and half a bottle of chambourg. There's vodka, but it is the special Icelandic vodka that hasn't been opened yet. I don't want to have to explain opening that for no special reason. Just as I was resigning myself to my Friday night alcohol free state, I remembered to check the freezer. Joy of joys. A shiny gold cap was sticking out from amongst the 3 cheese raviolis and the sweet potato fries.
Vodka! Or, so I assumed. As I pulled the long-necked bottle out it seemed to be very, very yellow in hue. Maybe lemon vodka? No, it was limoncello. Mmmm. . . the drink that Danny DeVito claimed he and George Clooney got wasted on the night before he went on The View.
I don't know where it came from or, who put it there but was I happy to see it. Icy cold, it is an amazing drink. (Kind of girlie for Danny and George, if you ask me).
What to drink it out of was my only thought. After snagging a martini glass from waaay back on the top shelf of the glasses we never use, I happily settled myself in front of the computer to watch last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy. Good thing I was drinking. The writers really let me down tonight. I am never watching that show again. No one had a happy ending. It sucked!
This morning, everyone at Curves wanted to talk about it but, they held back in deference to me. They should have just hashed it out. An ending episode like that deserves a good griping over with the girls while they are all in a sweaty, breathless oblivion.
I have nothing to do now except laundry for the weekend. Boring. I forgot to return a stupid movie rental from last night. I didn't even watch that movie. I didn't even rent that movie. Let the man return and pay for it. I'm going to have one last limoncello.
May peace and an ice cold martini be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Preparing For Prohibition

2007-05-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
The alcohol in the cupboard calls to me. It calls like a yodeler on an alpine mountain top, annoying but, crystal clear.
Therefore today I have told my husband to prepare for in-house prohibition. We will drink no more after the last of the alcohol in the house has been consumed. Turns out there is quite a bit of liquor in the old cabinet above the fridge (not to mention the wine cooler).
We are both doing our part to make prohibition happen. It could take weeks, if we go slow, so we are not going so slowly. I predict that we will be free of the devil Drink within 48 hours. I am now preparing myself with an elixir of wolf berry juice and painkillers.
There will not be a drop of spirits, in this house, within the next two days, if it kills me.
This is my declaration.
May Peace and a cast iron stomach be yours from: The Goddess of Everything

Back In The Saddle

2007-04-22T17:07:00.000-07:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Oops! I did a little sliding off of my saddle recently. Those teeny little goddess jeans that I bought yesterday are not going to fit for long if I allow myself to backslide on the health plan.
Thursday: Happy hour at Morton's with Mary and Karen. Karen didn't have a drink, why did I think I had to have one? I haven't had a drink in months. Well, what's one little glass of chardonnay after all? Turns out Chardonnay is a gateway to two little glasses of Pinot Grigio, two little glasses of Chianti, and a portion of the mudslide (crazy good ice cream cake) I felt compelled to bring home from the big and tall store of restaurants. It's all Mary's fault, then, Lee's, then Barbara's. You know how it started, here's the middle and end.
I wasn't feeling too guilty about the glass of wine Thursday night. The late dinner after the glass of wine was only a minor concern. Part of my plan is that no food will enter my body after 7 PM. We didn't even order dinner until 7:30. By then we had moved on to Southpark, I had the paella, it was just OK-- nothing to write home about. It's no fun when you splurge, and it isn't really worth it. My eyes did not roll back into my head in other words. But, I did sleep better than I had in over a year. I was wondering if I shouldn't have a glass of wine each night, strictly as a sleep aid. Funny, wine used to make me wake up in the middle of the night. Remorse woke me up in the morning though. I was thinking that that was my last slip for a long while. I went nervously to the gym Friday morning. It was my monthly weigh and measure day. I was sure I wouldn't show a loss after my dreadful behavior the night before. NOT TRUE! I'd lost pounds and inches. After the trainer ran the numbers she brought me a copy of my progress since the very beginning. I've lost a lot of weight, baby! Even more inches! She said that I was doing so well she was going to nominate me for Member of The Month. This was just the incentive I needed to stay firmly in the saddle with my thighs clenched and toes pointed down. I took my report card, from the gym, home to show my husband. He rewarded me well. . .
OK, I had a little lapse on Thursday night -- no big deal.
Saturday, I raced to the mall to meet my sister-in-law for power shopping and a belated birthday lunch. Since I'd lost so much weight everything looked good on me. Lee and I had a great time, sharing a dressing room, and telling each other how good we looked. (Three kids and that woman can still wear a bikini; WOW!) We were grabbing shorts and shirts and dresses and shoes, barely looking at each item. Everything looked good on us so we bought everything. Luckily, everything was half off so we were feeling no pain when we headed out for lunch.
The restaurant had just opened for business. I'd never heard of the chain, but apparently they are famous for their giant portions. I don't know what I was thinking when I ordered a martini. Lee didn't feel the urge to have a drink. Now, this is a drink I don't think I mentioned in my opening. This was some kind of crazy blue colored, rum martini. Looking back, I'm sure it was the Chardonnay talking. I'd raised my hand once now, I had somehow forgotten to say, "Just water for me, thanks". It was no small drink either. In my defense I did not drink all of it. I also barely made a dent in my ginormous lunch offering. The waitress had to bring two boxes just for me (giant boxes). Lee looked over at the drink to which she had just treated me. I looked too. It looked kind of forlorn but, what could I do? I was going to be driving in the next five minutes. That's when the waitress brought me my 'free' birthday treat. She had thoughtfully wrapped it up for me as she could see I was kind of a wimp in the cleaning my plate department.
I tried to give the dessert to Lee but, she just smiled at me and told me to take it home to my kids. MY KIDS DON'T EAT SUGAR. This humongous concoction of ice cream and chocolate was not going to be calling to them from the freezer all night. I gave birth to mutants. Non-sugar eating mutants!!
When I got home I ignored the voice in my head that was shouting, "Throw it away! Throw it away!" and popped it into the freezer right along with the containers of extra fudge sauce and whipped cream (there was even a marachino cherry peaking out from the center of the whipped cream). Quickly, I ran upstairs to try on all of my new clothes. This was to remind myself of why I eschew monster calorie loaded sweets. Trying on all of my new clothes did take my mind off of the devil in the freezer. Plus, it was family dinner night at Barbara's. The boys hadn't eaten all day in anticipation. The youngest was even experiencing low blood sugar fatigue such was his dedication to saving room for a nine course dinner at Barb's bistro. OK, here is where it is Barbara's fault; if she hadn't decided to put on these monthly dinners, and if we hadn't gone to the last one and been so impressed that we arranged to have the boys join us for this dinner, I never would have had four more glasses of wine. While last month, I had easily said, "Just water, thanks," this month the food begged to be partnered with wine. (I did pass on the pre-dinner champagne). The asparagus wrapped in prosciutto called out for pinot grigio. The eggplant parmesan cried for Chianti, and the Chianti soaked pear sang as if it's heart was breaking to be partnered with one final taste from the glass (so, it was a pretty long pour. Is that my fault?) I wobbled home on my high heels. I told myself that this was it for months and months. I would not need to indulge my inner calorie hog again for ages.
But, oh how the saddle slips when it has been loosened. It really needs an expert to tighten the straps, and I am no expert! I made it all day Sunday without even thinking about the dessert in the freezer. Well, other than to try to talk my eldest son into eating it before he took himself back to college. (Did I mention that I gave birth to mutants?) He just laughed at me and told me to toss it. TOSS IT! This is free birthday mudslide for God's sake. It will stay in that freezer until someone eats it, or it turns to inedible ice cream goo. Turns out that someone was me. About 4:30 in the afternoon I took that sucker out of the freezer and carved of a little sliver. Then, I went back and carved off another little sliver. As I was wrapping it back up for the second time something in my brain turned on; some little voice in my head, maybe my mutant son's said, "Toss it", and I did. I didn't just throw it in the garbage under the sink where I could dig it out in five minutes either. I tied that devil, with its extra fudge, whipped cream, and half of a maraschino cherry and I put it in the outside garbage!! Yeah baby! Take that! Girlfriend is clenching her thighs for all she's worth. I will not lose my seat completely. I may be under the horse but, I am still attached to that saddle.
May peace and a firm grip be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Time To Be Funny, Again

2007-03-10T19:49:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It's time to be funny again.
I haven't been, or felt, particularly funny the last couple of months.
Last night I went to see, 'Wild Hogs'. I laughed so hard I wet my pants--
several times.
I have no idea what criteria movie critics use to critique a movie. I don't think they consider the watchability factor. Sure, a Brokeback Mountain, or a Capote are swell movie fodder, but you don't necessarily want to watch them more than once. Give me a two star movie any day over an art film.
There's a time and place for artsy fartsy, but there are many more times and places for fun-time movies.
The best time I ever had at a movie was watching, 'Snakes On A Plane', at the Baghdad, eating beer and pizza, and shouting at the screen with the rest of the movie revelers. I knew it was going to be good, and it was!
This year I refused to see most of the Oscar nominated films because they were too much of a drag. I need laughter in my life. Not watching the movies didn't stop me from dressing up like a dreamgirl, and partying down at the nearest Oscar party. However, the only movies I cared about were Dreamgirls, and Little Miss Sunshine. Two very fun movies.
This is going to be the year of fun for me. No raining on my parade from anyone, inside or outside of my personal reality.
Today I went shopping to buy a new pair of pants, and a purse.
I came home with two hot dresses, a ridiculous pair of shoes, and three pairs of wild earrings. I will not be constrained by the hum-drum right now. Apparently, hum-drum is not an exclusive category. I may have to wear evening gowns to teach in, having no desire to buy sensible attire, but the kids will love it!
Who knows what the future holds, but at least I am sure it won't lack for laughs.
May peace, laughter, and a silly pair of earrings be yours, from, The Goddess of Everything.

A Little Amped Up

2007-02-15T19:17:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Aaahhhhhh!!!! Is this day over yet?!
I have been busting it out all day. This morning I conducted a conference call while applying my eyeliner, attended several meetings in person, and over the phone. Plus, many many e-mails to keep everyone in the loop. This is so not me. I am not this person.
I like to spend my days with small children, and my nights with my honey or the girls or both.
I like the hardest part of my day to be when the students are hooligans in their pigtails and shiny, innocent face disguises.
KIDS! Kids are adorable.
Adults? Not so much. (Yes, a phrase coined by Jon Stewart)
Yesterday we were talking about Presidents' Day. Several of the kids wanted to know why we didn't go to school, and what they were expected to do that day to 'honor' the presidents.
I told them they could write a letter to the president. (Now I live in a largely conservative town,
some of these kids' parents don't think the abolition of slavery was necessarily a good thing).
I try not to bring up the current occupant of the White House. It is just all too depressing for a Progressive, Bleeding Heart like me to hear the dark-side opinions of adults sweetly intoned out of the mouths of babes.
Today was a little different. It must be a sign of the times (maybe those poll numbers are true) because so many of them raised their fists to say the prez was a bad guy.
So, when I suggested they write a letter they said, "He wouldn't listen to us; He does whatever he wants; He doesn't care about anybody". Wow.
Well, I assured them, regardless, they still have a voice. they can write, with respect, what they think the president should do, in their opinion. At the very least, they'll get a form letter back, on White House stationary. If they are very lucky they will get a glossy photo to throw their spit wads at, or perhaps store their gum upon. I know one of those things came in real handy for me in the early eighties. Think poor, unwed mother, college student trying to get an education, and find a sliding scale clinic while Reagan was president.
Think again sister!
Those were dark days.
Thank goodness I had that glossy photo, of the guy with the big hairdo and movie star smile, on which to take out my frustrations.
May peace and a clear conscience be yours from: The Goddess of Everything

Can't Sleep

2007-02-07T04:47:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Can't sleep, can't sleep, can't sleep. . . . . . . . . .
Once again I was awoken by some unknown force only to lie in bed, feeling deprived of a full night's rest. Is it the damned moon shining in my window? Is it a surge of hormones knocking my brain into hyper drive at four in the morning? What? What? What?
I don't want to get up and start my day because I know that I will be drooping again two hours later. I have this surge from four to six. I have no idea what causes it, but I will have no problem blaming the moon. The very same moon that insists that I come outside to look at it. Never mind that it is twenty-eight degrees outside (that's below freezing, for you non-Americans). Never mind that there are wild animals alerted to my presence as I stand underneath its demanding glow, shaking my fist. Although I probably look too crazy to the bears, raccoons, coyotes, mountain lion, and fox to bother with. They are more than likely shaking their heads at the idiot standing in her 'Juicy' pajama bottoms and Cher, The Final Tour, t-shirt railing at the moon with waving fists and two feet of hair going in every direction.
Fine. It's big. It's bright. It lights up the night sky, and causes the waves to go in and out.It's a freaking force of nature. I get it. It's THE MOON!
Does it have to come out so many nights of the month; waning, waxing, gibbousing. It never stops. Night after night after night another phase insists that I personally, stand under it, and admire it's versatility and brightness. "Look at me, I'm full" "Look at me, I can make a crescent" Blah, blah, blah, blah, freakin' blah.
I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!
May peace and a dark bedroom be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Where Are Those Melanopsin Ganglion Cells When You Need Them?

2007-02-01T10:41:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself.

It's a sunny day outside but, I choose to sit here in front of my portable luminaire. You know, the light box that is supposed to replicate sunlight for those with SAD. My annual Seasonal Affective Disorder started coming on a couple of weeks ago. It really hit last night. All of a sudden. The experience was very similar to feeling the 'whoosh' of serotonin leave my brain during PMS time.
I was just sitting in the big chair, the one that makes me feel like that Lily Tomlin character -- fill in the blank -- I can't remember her character's name; the little girl one, who sat in a big chair.
My big chair also has a giant ottoman so, my feet were up. I had my dinner plate on my lap. One minute I was enjoying my dinner and, caring about watching a particular show on TV. The next second I just didn't care about anything. I mechanically finished my dinner and kind of zoned out for an hour.
I went to bed very early in the hopes that I would feel better in the morning. Morning. Nada. Sigh.
I think my melanopsin proteins jumped ship, possibly my cones and rods as well. What's a SAD girl to do when she doesn't have enough melanopsin ganglion cells to trick her into feeling happy in the gloom of winter? I need some feedback here. Make it funny; I'm not interested in self-help. I've read all of the books. I need to laugh! Except-- wait-- I take that back. I do not want to be sent a lot of cute pictures of puppies and internet jokes that have been sent to me a million and one times already. (Trust me, there are no new ones). I need something bawdy, baby!
I need to kick up my heels and DANCE!!!!!
My remedy for my lack of melanopsin thingies is a laundry list of little things that may help.
1. Sit next to my light box for 30 minutes
2. Wear jeans to work on top of sexy underwear
3. Wear a sparkly top and pink lipstick
4. Make my students dance around me and sing 'She's The One', from A Chorus Line
5. Make slime, in Science, instead of doing the boring lesson that was planned
6. Buy a new pair of earrings
Retail therapy really helps a lot but, I don't love to shop when I am in this mood. Also, there are a limited number of stores in my town. I can however, find earrings at the local art gallery. Notice that there are no food treats on my list. Due to my my internal flora balancing, of late, I have no cravings. Damn. All I do is sit around losing weight. If a girl can lose weight just by sitting around, and still be feeling down in the dumps, you know this is not the normal blues. So,
I have a plan. A plan should be on my list of What To Do In Case My Melanopsin Proteins Jump Ship.(copyrighted title to my next book)
7. Make a plan to compensate for loss of melanopsin ganglion cells
I have my plan. Do you have yours? I'd love to read your list!
May peace and an abundance of melanopsin thingies be yours from, the Goddess of Everything

Snow White

2007-01-21T21:39:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I keep staring in mirrors to see if I have any pigment left in my skin. A week of snow days kept me indoors and out of the light. There isn't one teensy tiny bit of melatonin left in my biggest organ. (No, not my goddess gut! Go skim your high school biology book now. I'll wait.)
I'm already one of the whitest girls on the planet. If I don't get some significant reys soon I am going to fade away completely. Yesterday, at the market, I noticed another white chick leaning against the bin of oranges with her face turned up to the sun. She had her eyes closed and looked very serene. I was tempted to join her but, thought better of it, when I realized the glare from our duel foreheads could permanently blind anyone walking toward us.
When I was a kid I had all sorts of melatonin. Some people even described me as being olive skinned. I could tan like a marshmallow over an open flame. Not anymore -- now I get very red before peeling, revealing even whiter skin; even my eye color is fading. I don't even want to talk about what is underneath my L'Oreal medium golden brown tresses.
I have to say that getting older does have its advantages. For instance life insurance companies stop bugging you. Also, doctors want to give you a lot of drugs. They just offer them unsolicited. It's very nice. When my dentist inquired about my jaw pain and, I told him it was still 24/7, he offered to write me a prescription for something that would RELAX me. Only a few years ago he was sending me to physical therapy, bio-feedback, and the acupuncturist. My MD was the same with my recent knee injury. When the MRI didn't show any damage, he prescribed me a life-time supply of a top notch pain killer. Score! When I was younger these same docs would have tried to get to the root of the problem so I could get back on the ski slopes. Apparently, I am now past the point of no return. At the ripe old age of 44 and three-quarters I get to look forward to a life of sedation. Now all I need is for my alternative health practitioner to give me a medical MJ card and I'll be livin' large.
Losing weight is very interesting at this age too. The more weight I lose, the more skin heads south. (Weight loss is only attained past the age of 40 by careful 'hormone balancing' -- don't even get me started) As much as I would like to celebrate my smaller pant size, I can't help but notice that my rear is getting caught in the top of my socks, and my breasts keep getting tangled up in my belt loops. And, I don't know what drug I need to cope with the belly skin that just won't snap back to its original position but, I want it! I really really do.
Don't get me wrong; I'm still a red hot goddess! I'm just a little confused about how to arrange all of my parts into my clothes to achieve a desirable shape. It's a little like sculpting. I've become an artist of sorts. So, I have that going for me. Guess that will be my second career -- 'Sagging Body Part Rearranger'. I'm already a pretty good hair and face painter. Really, what I am at this point is a blank canvas, or a giant mass of sculpy clay. Hmmm. . . I always knew that I was a work of art.
May peace and graceful aging be yours from, The Goddess of Everything

Everything and Nothing

2007-01-13T19:38:00.000-08:00

Today the Goddess speaks about herself:

The days have been speeding pleasantly along. I have been up to everything and nothing.
Work , work work, then two snow days in a row. Work again, go to class, come home to dinner, knit, watch Frasier, and go to bed. Not a bad way to fill the days.
I'm taking a long weekend workshop called, "High Trust". Hours upon hours of sitting on a hard chair. Every ounce of my blood is now located in my delectable derriere. The high trust relationship I have with my own body, I fear, is almost certainly hopelessly corroded. Not a lot of thinking takes place in my lower regions thus, I believe I am not getting as much out of this class as I had hoped. Perhaps tomorrow I can stand on my head. I doubt that this would be anything out of the ordinary for the teacher as he is quite the cuckoo crazy. He has done/said everything except stand on his head. The first day he said that he would never use "that language" and today, the third day he is exploding the F word here and there. Now saying F- word, in my opinion is just like saying the actual word. Anyone within hearing automatically thinks the word in their head when they hear F-word. Am I not right?Mr. C. C. has totally given up the pretense and is using it in varying conjugations. I don't really care if people explode the F-bomb every now and then. What does bother me is some integrity imbalance in stating one will never do something and then, doing it. There were a few other irregularities like this. My reaction to this kind of conflicting behavior is to become a bit off-balanced myself. I had to go to my happy place several times today.
My happy place is at home with B. I love to be curled up next to him doing anything. Lately, anything is knitting. B. gave me, "Stitch & Bitch", for Christmas. It's a beginning knitting book for women of a certain age. I love it. Everything is spelled out WITH pictures! After the author has talked you through knitting your first stitch, she says, "Sucked, didn't it?" And, it did!! Tell it like it is sister! I have tried to learn to knit a number of times over the years. I felt like I was knitting with the hooves of a water buffalo for hands. No, that's wrong. They don't have hooves, do they? Or, do they?
Anyway, you get the picture. Knitting with any kind of hooves is not going to go well. After my first attempt at some oblong shape with a couple of unplanned button holes (I'm calling it a doll's blanket), I have advanced to a three colored scarf. It is quite satisfying to watch it grow each night. Last night I noticed that the last two squares seemed to be a little wider than the first three. I counted the stitches and there were 12. I had started out with 10. Now, in the book she says to unravel it no matter how far along you've come. I understand the concept of fix it now so you won't forever being noticing your mistake, and dwelling on it. But, I am a positive person. I choose to see this little foible as charming rather than aberrant.
Knitting was a wonderful way to spend my time during the two snow days. I could stay in my pajamas all day, hang out on the couch, watching drivel on television, and still be productive. It was great! Practically no guilt. I will eventually have to deal with the 4 inches of dog hair on every surface of the house since I did NOTHING but knit for two days. The amount of dog hair inside rivals the amount of snow, on the ground, outside. No joke. We can't go half a day without swiffering if we don't want to be wading through wafting drifts of animal fluff.
Hmmm . . . maybe I could knit a dog hair rug . . .
My friend, Tita, claims to be the Queen of Dog Hair but, I don't know. I think I am definitely in the running for the title.
Tomorrow is another day in class. I will try the standing on my head thing and let you know how it goes. Wish me luck!
May peace and your own happy place be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

A Little Freaked Out

2007-01-04T18:24:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
It was a cranky, after the full moon day, for me. Right off the bat I was dithering in my head.
Dithering in the head is when many thoughts, that make you anxious, queasy and mad-all-over-again (that would make a great title for another blog) were rolling over each other in waves--literally, IN MY HEAD. It started with reading my horoscope. No, it started with me not being able to sleep, getting up to hang out on the net, and reading my horoscope.
Anyway, 2007 is apparently going to be a roller coaster ride of change for everyone. This got me to thinking about all of the changes I would like to make in my life. Big changes, Baby! Right at the top is my job. I work in an insane asylum. Individual people are fine. The basics of my job can even be very enjoyable but, the system itself is bad enough to make a refined goddess rip a few heads off of skinny little necks.
As I was obsessing-I mean mulling things over, my son was running around getting his stuff together to go snowboarding. He's an adult with his own apartment but, my brain still goes into worst case scenario mode anytime he is about to do anything remotely dangerous; and I know about it. He is a very conscientious son. He will always call me after the fact. I got a call right after he jumped out of an airplane the minute he turned 18. However, he does not know that things like, snowboarding, which he has done several times since being home for vacation, is one of those things I would rather not know about until he is safely home. (A goddess lets her children experience life without showing them her fear. . . for the most part).
With all the dithering in my head I was kinda lookin' for a fight when who should arise from the marital bed but, my beloved. Our first fracas was over the tea kettle. He turned the stove off and opened the lid on the pot letting the steam out. This always makes me shake my head. Today I wasn't about to stand for it! I took the kettle off of the burner and snapped the lid shut.
We argued over which way kept the water warm longer. Of course, he had no logic to back him up on this; I had just taught a two month unit on weather. I think I know which way keeps the heat AND the water in best! Well, you can kind of see how the morning went. We have nothing big to fight about and he doesn't really fight anyway; it's so maddening. Plus, after a half a dozen little tiffs like this he had to go to work. I got three separate kisses out of the deal. I did make him reach up from below and kiss me over the top of the stair railing. Ha! Take that!
My day at work was ok. It was at the end of the day, when I was happily painting on the stage, where my worry button was pushed. The secretary found me to tell me I had a phone call. For one second I was relieved to hear my beloved's voice. The next second I was quelling panic. Our son had tried to call but, had not gotten through. He also wasn't answering his cell. Every kind of worst case went through my head: landed upside down in a snowbank, went off of a cliff, sustained a head injury, car accident on the way down the mountain. . . Since there was nothing I could do but wait I went back to painting with my cell phone in my back pocket on high and vibe. I spent the next hour trying to visualize my son in a safe place, waiting for a phone call that never came. Every time I tried tried to call either my husband or son there was no answer.
Finally, I decided to go home to wait. As I drove up to the house I could see that my son's car was parked right where it always is when he's home.
Of course, I was relieved. However, when I walked into the house to find my beloved, blithely sitting on the couch, eating bread and cheese, and watching the Sci Fi channel, I went from a little freaked out to a lot more than mildly frustrated. (A little head ripping off would have felt good). A switch clicked over in my head just then, and a voice said,
"Refrain from ripping off anyone's head; hug your loved ones, who are safe, and ask what they want for dinner." So, girding my goddess loins, I did just that (after a teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy bit of reproach).
May peace be yours in this year of change from, The Goddess of Everything

New Year's Eve; Hot, Hot, Hot!

2006-12-31T19:23:00.001-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
New Year's Eve began with sleeping in late, eating yummy oatmeal, and going to yoga with two of my three men. It was the right way to start my day to begin with centering and healing. The intention I set for myself during my yoga practice was to be more focused in my everyday life.
Not a bad start to the day all in all. I then proceeded to spend the rest of the day resting up for the big party. I'm no slouch when it comes to perfect party preparation.
I hadn't really been looking forward to this party, though, until just a few hours before. I'd been a bundle of nerves worrying about having company come, and making sure they had a good time with a bunch of people they didn't know. Plus, I didn't know the people who were hosting the party very well.
I beseeched my husband to let us all go out to a generic hotel/bar party where we would all be on the same footing so that we could solely enjoy each others company. He kept assuring me it would all work out. When our friends called to cancel I was actually relieved. I hate to say that because they are such old and dear friends. It's just how I felt.
It was that evening, as I was getting ready, that I began to look forward to a night out. My illness and cleansing had caused me to shed a few pounds; all in the right places for once. It was fun to pull on pants that hadn't fit in a couple of years, and a very sexy/groovy top that sparkled. I was lookin' hot! My hotness inspired my honey to feel me up as we headed out the door (goddesses love that when it comes from their one and only).
There were many, many people at the party. All of the beautiful Oolala's were there, of course. The five of us were the hottest women at the party, if I do say so myself, and I do because I am an expert in this area. We sparkled. Baby was there when we arrived. She was bejeweled and glowing carrying around her bottle of Jose Cuervo. She was wearing her new kick ass boots with the diamond encrusted boot bracelet. Lita was there too. I had noticed that she'd parked her little car close to the house as I came in. She had blatantly ignored the sign directing everyone to park in the field. It was perfectly understandable considering the hoochy-mama heels she was showing off. She was also wearing a short tight dress with a plunging neckline. Ouch!
I kept looking around for Tita and LaLa as I mingled with the other party guests. The whole house was just a little off balance without all five of us there. When finally she arrived, Tita, of course, looked gorgeous in her long black skirt and very low cut top (I have it on good authority that she was wearing a, 'Now That's a Damn Good Bra!' undergarment as well). Those girls of hers were definitely standing at attention; a fact her date did not miss an opportunity to be distracted by all night long. It was all too tempting for her date because I'm sure I caught a little nuzzlin' on the dance floor. Impossible to resist really.
I was becoming a little concerned about LaLa. We had considered coming together, and I was just a tad concerned. So, I was doubly glad when she walked in the door. The way her top sparkled, and her face glowed I'm guessing there was a little fooling around with her honey before they got out their door because she was looking tre oolala! As I approached her for a kiss, she was already being admired by everyone near the entrance. Finally, with all of the smoking hot Oolala's assembled the party was complete.
I didn't drink and I didn't eat much but, I did a whole lot of mingling and dancing. The evening entertainment began with my honey and another musician jamming for awhile. My man is so sexy when he beats his drum. This impromptu jam session caused a delay in the dance part of the evening however, and some of us were itching to get our groove on. When the musicians moved off of the dance floor Tita got the action going without delay. It was a sister fest of ogle worthy proportions. My man joined us when the feather boa came out. He cannot resist doing his little boa dance. There was even an element of danger to his dance as he was performing right under the ceiling fan (who knew it was dangerous to be tall?) He's no idiot either; he was having the hot women all to himself. Not to be outdone, Lita's husband came out wearing her full length leopard print coat. The host found him a pimp hat, and then the women were all over him. It was a wild night, and this was after the midnight kissing and fireworks! I'm guessing more than a few people got lucky in the wee hours of the New Year. Now, that's hot.
May you have peace, and get your groove on, in the New Year from, The Goddess of Everything

Girl's Day Out!

2006-12-29T18:22:00.001-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Whichever goddess invented pampering was a sparkling star among geniuses! Today the Babes hit the salon for spa pedicures. We had our delicate goddess tootsies bathed, oiled, massaged and decorated. While we talked of vacations, kids, husbands and colon cleanses our discreet attendents worked their magic. The only way it could have been better is if our chairs had been arranged in a circle. This spa even had cushy pillows! I have to say the chlorinated city water in a styrofoam cup was a little out of place in our plush surroundings but, a goddess needs something to keep her grounded.
So, about those colon cleanses. . . I've actually thought of putting myself through that particular indignity. Oh to be that clean on the inside. The idea has intrigued me ever since my grandmother told me what those little red rubber bags, that hung in everyone's bathroom, were for when I was a kid. "Eif ya git a little backed up, yew can just stick that hose up yer heiny a everthin' comes out nice and neat." (Granny had a little bit of her West Virginia accent left over from her girlhood).
I don't know how the neat part worked exactly but I figured it was just an expression anyway. Nothing I visualized was particularly nice or neat. However, it was one of the longer conversation I ever had with Grandma Iris, and I remember it. She usually would say something along the lines of, "Why don't you go on and bother your mommy with that bizness?"
Now I could understand taking care of a problem in the privacy of your own bathroom but, I was lucky enough to be given a tour of the Naturopath college once. One minute we were in the herb garden, among beautiful healing plants, and the next(without any warning at all) the tour was led into a room with two metal beds with troughs attached on both sides. It was the colonic room, where for an absorbinant fee one could have ones's colon cleansed in an invasive manner. I learned that the 'retrieved contents' were carefully examined by medical students. OK, Yuk! Evidently they find a lot of undissolved vitamins and any number of supplements. I didn't need an explanation to know that we, in the modern world, do not have good digestion.
Every time I take a pill now I say a little prayer to the goddess of digestion to please, please let this pill dissolve and not be stuck in my lower extremities for all eternity.
Back to the spa. . . Well, while Babe number three (that's by chair order) regaled us with her lovely colon cleansing experience, Babe number two seemed pretty grossed out. Maybe not so much grossed out as, hmmm. . . no, she was probably grossed out but, in a mature considerate way. She used the expression, "You've got to be frigging kidding me!" I believe. I was too amused to be completely conscious of every detail of the conversation. My thoughts, between fits of laughter, kept drifting to the three people doing the pampering. What must they hear on a daily basis? They managed so well not to respond. It was truly admirable.
Babe three kept on talking about her wonderful experience with hydro-therapy of the colon. Babe two kept up her interjections of astonishment. But, while I couldn't stop laughing at the conversation in that serene and public environment, I think I was still aware that the rest of the spa was dead silent. I bet there is a rush on the hydro-therapy, colon cleansing thingy place tomorrow! Women with brand new manicures and pedicures stampeding the doors for the ultimate cleanse.
I love my Babes, and I loved my outing with them. I was so happy when we didn't end it in the salon. NO, we didn't try to get a group rate for the ultimate cleanse. We went shopping at Chico's where we get to be a size 2 because whoever owns those stores must be a shining star, genius of a goddess too. Babe three made us try on beautiful tops, and then she secretly paid for them. What a fun and unexpected act of kindness! We were pretty darned excited to walk out with our gifts in size 2. I got to show mine off at a party tonight. Babe two gets to show hers off on television. How cool is that?
I can hardly wait for another girl's day out.
May peace, pampering and good friends be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Blame It On Beyonce`

2006-12-28T12:24:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It's not really Beyonce's fault. It's merely happenstance that she is involved at all.
I was the one with the brilliant idea of doing a 'cleanse' during my Christmas break. Just three days was all I was going to devote to this Master Cleanse thingy. It was a way to reboot my system back to healthy eating. I was one sick little hard drive the last three weeks before Christmas.
The mass amounts of chocolate and alcohol, bread and cheese, and coffee, and more alcohol that I consumed was world class. I could be in the Guinness Book of World Records for overdoing it.
Once I cozied up in front of my computer to watch missed episodes of Ugly Betty and Grey's Anatomy on ABC's full-stream, with a box of chocolates, I was a goner. The first couple of hours the box was downstairs. I would go down during each commercial break to grab one, or two, or four, and snarf them down. Before I knew it one box was gone. That's when I really let lose and brought the second box upstairs. Forget about exercise or self-control then. I was all in.
When I found myself wandering downstairs during a commercial I felt compelled to bring something back up with me. It didn't take much pondering in front of the open refrigerator for me to decide that I was darn thirsty for a beer. I wish someone had been there to slap me silly.
Months of healthy eating went down the toilet because of a couple of boxes of chocolate.
My students had wanted to gift me with sweets.Didn't they ever notice that I never eat the cupcakes at the birthday parties; or that I rarely have a gummy bear, and then I only eat one clear colored gummy bear when I reward them with gummies? Is this level of observational skill so beyond the scope of six and seven year olds?! Giving me chocolate for a gift must have been some kind of plot. They must have known that I would be lazing about during vacation with nothing better to do than watch old TV episodes on the Internet, and eat bad things!!
Never mind all of that now. After months of healthy eating my body completely went into gimme mode after my binge. The overeating of chocolate was the gateway to eating too much bread and cheese, followed by too much wine, chased down at the beginning of every day by too much coffee. My gut was a roiling, boiling vessel of hell; a lemniscate of bad digestion. I had to regain control!
During one of the few seconds I wasn't blinded in a haze of built up toxins I thought about a summer visitor. A friend of ours had told my husband about a cleanse that had really cleared his head, and made him feel healthier than he had in years. I told myself right then, "I will get back on track!" I chose Christmas eve to go off of coffee, and the day after Christmas to begin the cleanse. After grilling my husband about the ingredients of the elixir our friend solely survived on for ten days I was off and limping. The cleanse turned out to be The Master Cleanse. When I visited their web-site I saw that this was the very same cleanse Beyonce had used to lose weight for 'Dreamgirls'. BONUS! I vaguely remembered her remarking on her grouchiness and need to be in close proximity to the toilet but, I airily waved that memory out of my consciousness. It just seemed that if Beyonce, with her busy schedule and constant demands on her time could do this then, so could I. Also, I only planned to do it for three days not ten.
Day one and two weren't so bad. On day one I was inundated with food images on TV and and the Internet. However, I was stalwart in my resolve. I was also very sleepy. Day two was a much improved experience. I had a boost of energy that allowed me to complete several tasks that I had been putting off of late. All that day I was thinking of extending the cleanse to lose weight like Beyonce. It was such an unbelievable breeze. I even went to the movies, where the smell of popcorn, although tantalizing, did not cause me to consider breaking my fast.
DAY THREE.
Oh man, I didn't want to get up. (There was a ballgame going on in my gut or something equally as active). The call to the throne was just too urgent. Over and over again it called me until I didn't think I had anything left to give. I hadn't even done the chugging of the very expensive French salt mixed with a quart of water yet. Once I got that down though I was vigorously nauseous. What had happened? It had all gone so well the previous two days. This is when my husband told me that our friend hadn't been able to handle the salt water purge. Knocking my head against the wall I went back up to bed. My intent was to have that water come out the end for which it was meant. I had nine months of throwing up with the last kid. If I could learn to hold it back until I rolled down a car window, I could certainly hold back this little tide for a few minutes.
Well, it is later. I did hold that tide back until it was ready to cleanse what it was meant to cleanse. After all I am a pro. I'm just so conflicted now. My belly looks so much smaller. I even got out the tape measure. It is actually smaller around than my chest (a big goal for me lately).
How can I not keep going? If Beyonce can do it why can't I? So what if she had a big, cool musical movie as a carrot? I have my good health as a goal. I'm getting rid of nasty toxins so that my body can accept the good food I will feed it from now on.
Although. . . seven more days of this and I won't have any belly left. I would look amazing! I might even be able to try out for a big, cool musical like Beyonce.
I WANT TO BE AS BOOTYLICIOUS AS BEYONCE!
You see where this has taken me? It's all Beyonce's fault. Damn her bootyliciousness!
May peace and common sense be yours from, The Goddess of Everything
PS, bootylicious is now a word in the English Oxford Dictionary.

Getting Focused

2006-12-27T10:37:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
We have a friend, L. He is a GSD (Get Shit Done) guy. He sees something that needs doing and he does it. Bam. It's done. I am not a GSD. Not right away anyway. It can take me months, years even to get a project done. Once I start I'm either easily distracted, or so task oriented that I cannot veer from my task to save my life. There's no middle ground. Then, when I get a project done I am utterly exhausted, collapsing in a heap to spend a week in recovery.
I can not figure out why I put some things off for so long. Why? Why? Why? Take my son's senior pictures for instance. We had his pictures taken in August, and at the same time did family photos for Christmas gifts. I brought the proofs home and they have been hanging on the closet door(in a bag) ever since. I can't bring myself to make a selection. We didn't even get our Christmas cards out this year because I couldn't deal with the pictures. What's up with that? It should have been so easy. It wasn't like we were trooping to the portrait studio at the last minute. I can't ask our son to decide because he is spending this year abroad. He picked out the one he wanted in the year book and vamoosed for an island far away. I wish I could go to an island far away.
That's it! I want a rest, a holiday, a retreat, a. . . what did they call it in the original Alfie movie when the doctor sent him to a sanatorium to rest? That's what I need; a doctor authorized rest on an island far away. Preferably a tropical island, not the icy cold one my son chose.
The island is necessary because I actually have to be far away from the responsibilities of every day life. But, what if that is what I have been manufacturing already? The reason I can't get things done is because I have created a private oasis in my mind where my responsibilities are not allowed.
If this is the case then maybe it is time to come home from my mental vacation. I'm starting to see a beacon across the sea. Waaa. Waaaa. Waaaa. (cue foghorn)
Trips over!
Time to get up off of my delectable laurels and toss aside my flowered lei!
I'm going to be a GSD. (for today at least)
Peace and a clear mind be yours from, the goddess of everything.

All I Want For Christmas . . .

2006-12-25T22:54:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

My Christmas wish list isn't so long as it is time consuming. Each thing on the list is too big to wrap and, not as easy to shop for as say a moderately expensive pair of earrings. (I love jewelry, of course because goddesses do, and I am very easily distracted by sparkling objects). My poor B. would much prefer I change everything on my list to jewelry because my list stops him dead in his tracks. All he wants is for me to be happy. He can see that what I want would benefit us both, and yet, I know he would give anything if he could find one thing on my list at a store, wrap it up in pretty paper and sneak it into my stocking.
The List:
1. Remodel the upstairs bathroom, or at the very least, retile the shower stall so that we can actually take a shower in it.
2. Take out the crumbling tile floor in the kitchen, and replace it with anything that resists water and is not crumbling.
3. Put in a dog fence so that we can leave the house for more than a few hours at a time.
4. Take out the frog pond(swimming pool), and replace with a pretty patio for entertaining.
5. Keep his side of the bedroom clean.
6. Finish the upstairs railing so that we don't have to put ugly bookcases in front of the stairs to keep people from falling to their deaths in our home.
7. Go with me on a European vacation instead of going to Burning Man. It's ok to miss Burning Man one year. Just one! I don't begrudge him Burning Man; I just want to use his vacation time to go to Europe together once. I'll go by myself other times. I acknowledge him as A Burner.
8. Stop collecting so much junk-- Oops, I mean interesting objects with great resale potential, and start giving/throwing it away--Oops, I mean selling it.

Guess what I got for Christmas this year?
Number three on the list. (Cue choir of angels).
Hallelujah!
There is hope for the rest of my list. I will even give up number eight for any one of the other things on my list. I'm flexible. Besides, I also got a rainshower of kisses from my beloved. (I guess goddesses also love and are easily distracted by a shower of kisses).

May peace and gifts that cannot be wrapped be yours from, The Goddess of Everything

Coffee Detox

2006-12-24T22:41:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Christmas Eve, when you are having your family over for dinner, is not the day to 'take a break' from coffee. I had that, "Don't talk to me; don't even look at me until I've had my coffee", demeanor all day long and into the night. . . Three cups of ginseng tea helped slightly but, not enough to keep my whole family from hiding out in the other room-- the other room being any room I was not in at the time. Added bonus; with all of that ginseng in me I was also feeling a need for a little sexual servicing-- if ya know what I mean. . . wink, wink, nod, nod. And, I was definitely NOT getting the nod, nod from my sex partner. He was in the middle of cooking all day. That may have had something to do with it. Even a grouchy goddess can usually snap her fingers and have her man in bed (or any available surface really) in seconds flat. Thank God he was cooking because I could barely function. OK, I cleaned the house, finished wrapping gifts, made two kinds of amazing tasting potatoes, and even managed to put my face on. In the past, however, I would also have done the cooking, set the table and greeted everyone with a happy Christmas smile and hug.
People usually love to be around me on the holidays. If I am perfectly honest I can't blame my general bah hum bug attitude on caffeine withdrawal. Something has me off my game. It's been a long time coming and, here it is baby. Watch out! Mid-life crisis here I come.
Honey, turn the coffee pot on-- I'm going to need it to get me through!
Peace and coffee be yours from, The Goddess of Everything

The Stars At Night. . .

2006-12-23T18:51:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
As I leaned into the fire, and looked up at the night sky, I thought how lucky I am to be able to see so many stars from my own back yard. I was also wishing that B would join me for a cozy chat by the chiminea. The minute we got home though, he had plopped himself down in front of the television to watch the food network. Gearing up for the big game tomorrow I guess; pre-game training for chefs if you will. He's cooking Christmas dinner for ten. And, although I will help, it is his show.
I really wanted to celebrate the completion of our new fence. There is a wonderful new privacy gate on our back porch now. It looks like a barn door. I love it! B never did join me. When the cold finally chased me indoors I found him asleep on the couch. He missed some good stars tonight that's for sure.
Solitary time is interesting. Sometimes I can get bogged down in anxious thoughts. Fortunately, tonight I was thinking about my connections with friends. There are many people that I would like to spend more time with. Taking time to do that is not so simple. I have two groups of girlfriends, two sets of sisters and several people I would like to draw into one of those groups. Each group has people who have a need to be insular. They feel safe if it's kept small. It's true that when I tried to get a big group of women together it got pretty unwieldy--difficult to be intimate in large numbers. Perplexing actually. I left feeling like it had been fun yet unsatisfying.
B and I were talking about that on the way home from a family function tonight. With 20 people to talk to he would just get a conversation going and there would be an interruption. He left feeling like he would have liked more time with each person. Whereas I avoided conversation there. Lacking any kind of party sparkle mood I didn't even observe; merely tried to stay upright. I have been pretty darned sick lately.
The answer, of course, is to invite all of my friends to sit around a big fire under the stars. Something about a fire outside lends itself to instant intimacy. So, as I form my plan of attack for bringing my many groups of friends together, the first thing I need is a bigger fire pit.
Peace and wishes for a warm fire under the stars from, The Goddess of Everything

The Very Grumpy Goddess

2006-12-22T18:35:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

A very grumpy goddess embarked on a shopping trip way too early in the morning. She was accompanied by her most studly man nymph. They did not have a list. . .
The goddess and the studly man nymph must never go out without a list. It is more than mildly distressing how they enable each other to spend, spend, spend when they go shopping together.
After buying 12 things, 9 of which were not planned for, at the first store (who can resist popping extras into the basket at Cost Plus? she said in a beseeching voice) the very grumpy goddess suggested a stop, at Bob's Red Mill, to make a list over a healthy meal and unlimited free refills of coffee.
Ahhhh. . . The list. The coffee. The sumptuous reuben sandwich. The very grumpy goddess was now only slightly grumpy. The organized pair tra-la-lahed to their next consumer oriented destination; happy in their agreement that everything purchased at Bob's, that was not on any list, was perfectly legal since the list was 'created' there. All purchases made at Bob's were therefore automatically part of the list by association. Next stop--Trader Joe's.
As their golden carriage pulled near to their next destination, the goddess could see that parking would be at a premium, and although she pointed out a perfectly good spot to her manly companion, he assured her there would be a better one if they just waited. Waiting for the perfect spot only created a short line of chariots, with horses chomping at the bit, behind them. Maintaining her stately calm, the goddess ever so sweetly leaned into her patient soul mate and, caressing him with her breath, she crooned,
"I'm getting out here".
With a quick flutter of her long, burnished eyelashes, the goddess sailed out of the chariot, ever so gently closing the door behind her. I wish I could say that the studly man nymph joined her as quickly as possible but, alas the this story is not about happy little elves. After cooling her exquisitely shod heals in the store for twenty minutes the goddess was once again feeling very grumpy. You see, the SMN (studly man nymph) had the list in his pocket. The goddess tried to fill her basket with everything she could remember fr0m the list but, she had hit a wall. Parking her basket between the potted orchids and the bread rack (odd pairing that--read with a british accent) our lovely, forsaken goddess became quite agitated. Where could her SMN be? Had there been an accident in the parking area? Had an alien space ship appeared, hovering over the golden chariot, and whisked it away with her beloved still in it? Hark! A voice floats to her as if on a cloud of orchid dust,
"Hey, do you have everything yet?"
Sweetly, and not with her teeth clenched at all, the goddess turned; her long sable locks sweeping across the cheek of her perfectly intact SMN. Did someone cry out in pain? She thought. No. It must be her wild imagination. There he stood in all his befuddled splendor.
Needless to say, he had stepped into the store next door.
"Was it really so long?"He mildly queried when the goddess reported that he had been missing for twenty minutes. The very grumpy goddess requested the keys and left the SMN to finish the shopping with THE LIST.
A little holiday music, and a smattering of NPR worked their magic on our grumpy gal. By the time the bags were stowed in the back of the chariot the goddess was feeling not so grumpy anymore. They were soon off to visit not one but two New Season's Markets. Everything on the list finally accounted for the studly man nymph gave his goddess a much welcome embrace. Bolstered by the hug, the very tired goddess drug her exquisitely shod heels to her golden chariot and headed into the golden sunset.
The End
Peace and patience be yours, The Goddess of Everything

Sick, Sick, Sick,Sick, Sick!

2006-12-21T10:26:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Four days until Christmas and I am sick! This is the fifth day of me being sick(also,the fifth day that I have been on vacation, of course), and today I am sicker than yesterday when I was sicker than the day before. Right now I am hopped up on a combination of painkillers, muscle relaxants and decongestant. ( I'm also in my womanly moon phase --whoopdee frickin' do-- apparently these would have been quintuplets by the ocean of . . . never mind. TMI). Instead of using my altered state to run errands and clean the house, set up the Christmas tree I didn't want and find gifts for two of my bother-in-laws, I am writing about me.
Here I sit in the same ripped up tie-dyed t-shirt I have been wearing; yes, even to bed breaking my own thou shalt not sleep in clothes worn during the day rule. The rule was a self-defense rule since my husband would never change his clothes if he weren't encouraged in that direction-- goddess love him ( and I do). But, here I am breaking my own rule as I am too sick to care. Well, of course, I smell. Being unable to stand myself at this point I will shower and leave the house for more than a 15 minute dog walk. Soon. OK, after my next dose of that orange liquid stuff that tastes like oven cleaner smells. Not that I use oven cleaner; my oven is self-cleaning.
I was supposed to throw a double birthday party for two of the Oolalas tonight. We were going to ring in the solstice with wine, gossip and cigars smoked by the back porch chiminea. Tonight was supposed to be one that I anticipated with enthusiasm, not one where I am hacking on the couch while the girls are partying without me. This stupid illness has left them adrift too. While they can't decide on the restaurant, or what time to gather or if they want to meet at all without their goddess I feel that I have let them down. I really don't need the extra guilt. Guilt does not empower me or make my body heal faster. Also, I ask myself did I really want to throw this party? Did my body succumb to this virus as an excuse to not have the party at my house? Why does it have to be about me? If it weren't about me all of the time would I be sick right now? Can anyone who might be reading this still be more sick of me than I am of myself?
OK, yes. My son leaving for the cabin for the rest of the week, and my beloved staying at his shop all day answer the latter question.
So, I will finally shower and change clothes. I will run those errands and clean the house. I will not do anything about the Christmas tree I didn't want anyway. And, That will be That!
The goddess has spoken.
Peace and good health from, The Goddess of Everything.

My First All About Me

2006-12-20T13:18:00.000-08:00

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
It is the day the dog fence gets finished. This is a day of joyous jubilation as it is a day that has been promised and recanted a thousand times over 7 years.
When my beloved was trying to convince me to buy this house, with its 5 acres of dead cars strewn about, and a tatoo parlor in the dining room, I had some conditions.
#1. A fence to keep the dogs in. (Number two was a promise to keep the yard work up and maintain the upkeep of a very large, very unfinished farmhouse but, that is another hundred blogs).
To be fair, a fence was immediately erected. With big equipment and a three man crew I was certain to be made happy. But, NO! What kind of fence did I get? One that kept my dogs from taking off to knock over other people's garbage and chase the school bus? One that kept those very same dogs from getting picked up by the dog catcher, requiring $600 for their release? NO!!! It was a PEREMITER fence. It was a MAN fence. The fence spoke, and it said, "This is my property!" My beloved was so concerned that the next door neighbors would be confused about what was theirs and what was ours that he couldn't sleep until a physical boundry existed. It couldn't keep a horse contained but, it let everyone know where our property line was.
Here I am today, with a fence. It's not the pretty white one I had picked out 6 years ago. It is not even the rustic cedar post fence I had said I would be happy with. It is a very ugly post and wire fence, with big, ugly, ten foot metal gates (just in case we need to drive the tractor through the dog area). The entire yard has been torn up by some weird bulldozer thingy that the fence guys are always driving around but, never really doing anything with. Now the dog area is a mud pit instead of the nice grassy place to keep their paws clean while they run and play. BUT, I have a dog fence, and that's really all that matters.
Peace and Blessings to you from,