Ahhh, I Needed That

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Time

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

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

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

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

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

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

Some Kind of Virus

Today the goddess expresses herself in a video:






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

Digging A Hole

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                              

                                                       

Rough Start

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

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

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

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

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

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

 

Pink Pajamas In The Goat Pen

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Niggling Guilt

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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