The other day I went to a Xain owned craft store to buy a bottle for a spell. No, the irony is not lost on me. Actually, I like buying spell components in a Xain store. I feel like I'm thumbing my nose at fundamentalists.
The Halloween stuff is out now. I looked all through it because I love Halloween and I am always looking for that just right decoration- something cool, funky, witchy, and if it's on sale, even better.
There were no witches.
Not one green-faced hag. Nor were there skeletons, ghosts, or monsters with rotten flesh. No zombies. No blood. No tombstones. How can you have a Halloween without bones and eyeballs?
Thinking a lack of gory things were simply the personal preference of a Xain CEO, I've been looking all over town. The fall magazines are the same way- if there is a monster, it's in cartoon form. Halloween, it seems, has ceased to be scary.
The only place I've noticed hags (and please don't judge me for this) is on Martha Stewart's website. She has cool shit. Of course, Martha is rather hag-like herself. Just saying, is all.
Hmm, now that I think about it, Martha Stewart is the ultimate evil witch. She rules her domain. Everyone is terrified of her. She has minions. I think Martha Stewart is Baba Yaga incarnate. All that's missing is the chicken foot house.
I think this year I want Halloween to be a bit creepy. I need skulls, spiders, snakes, and bottles of poisons. I need crows and howling wolves. I do believe the whole front yard needs to be a cemetery. And we all know tombstones are creepier when you stumble upon them in the woods, the markers obscured by weeds and dead leaves, so this is a great excuse not to cut grass. Maybe I'll attract a zombie or a vampire.
The Witchcraft of FreeDragon
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Grandmother Spider
I was looking over my old posts and reading the latest posts of others. I went for the kitchen for a snack. As I returned, I saw a dark spot scurrying across the floor. Closer inspection revealed Grandmother Spider and She asked me to talk about her.
Grandmother Spider wove the world from her dreams. That is why reality is fluid and not quite as concrete as we think it is. As a weaving goddess, Grandmother appreciates all forms of needle arts and textiles. If you sew She is your patron whether you know it or not. Grandmother doesn't care if you know; She loves you anyway. She is a good grandma and loves all Her children and their children equally. Your existence delights Her because we are all part of Her creation.
But Grandmother is not all light and love. She's been around since before time began. She understands, and values above all else, balance. In and out, cycles of seasons, the turn of the wheel, the back and forth of the shuttle, warp and weft. Grandmother is hard. She makes you learn all your lessons, even the ones you can't bear to face.
Grandmother's earthly form is the spider. Never do I harm a spider. I understand if you have a fear of creepy crawly things and I don't fault you for being afraid. But I know all spiders are Grandmother so I let them roam freely about my house. When I first became aware of Grandmother, spiders were suddenly everywhere. At first I thought this was cool, then one night I picked up my tarot bag and a very large wolf spider ran up my arm. I screamed and jumped. I couldn't help it. I asked Grandmother to please not do that and She hasn't anymore because She loves me. But She laughed like hell.
Grandmother likes stories. She weaves her words. I am especially fond of garden spiders with their neon colors and 'writing' in their webs. Some people think you should never let a garden spider see the whites of your eyes or they will write your name in their web and then you will die. I think this is nonsense. I let the garden spider see into my eyes so it can know my story and weave it for others to know.
Grandmother likes songs and poetry, too. The rhythm helps Her weave patterns. If you sew and you want to bring the energy of Grandmother Spider into your work, trying singing as you stitch. The word 'enchant' means to sing over. What is your song?
Grandmother likes to sit by the fire at night, weaving dreams into cords, weaving cords into tapestry. She tells Her stories all the while, entertaining Her children, preserving history, teaching morals. Her words get caught in the threads. The textile itself is a story.
Grandmother is a world goddess, but She prefers to live in the desert where the spaces are open and clean. She needs plenty of space for weaving. She needs dry air so Her textiles do not mold or rot. She likes the harshness of the environment because it forces one to accept things as they are instead of how we want them to be. Thoughts flow easier in less clutter, but an idea must bump against something to make itself known. She lets ideas slide into the rocks, the sand, the howl of coyotes, the prickle of cati.
She likes the heaviness of the heat, She puts the heat into her blankets so they will be warm. She likes the drabness of the desert because it makes Her colors seem more vivid. She likes the grit of sand in comparison to the softness of Her rugs.
Grandmother is a simple goddess in that She gives you Truth. Sometimes people don't want to hear Truth and they make life complicated with lies. Grandmother urges you to pare down life to the bare essentials so all your attention can focus on creating beautiful things. Whenever anyone creates beauty then their soul becomes in harmony and they are beautiful too. Walk in beauty always. And please don't step on the spiders.
Grandmother Spider wove the world from her dreams. That is why reality is fluid and not quite as concrete as we think it is. As a weaving goddess, Grandmother appreciates all forms of needle arts and textiles. If you sew She is your patron whether you know it or not. Grandmother doesn't care if you know; She loves you anyway. She is a good grandma and loves all Her children and their children equally. Your existence delights Her because we are all part of Her creation.
But Grandmother is not all light and love. She's been around since before time began. She understands, and values above all else, balance. In and out, cycles of seasons, the turn of the wheel, the back and forth of the shuttle, warp and weft. Grandmother is hard. She makes you learn all your lessons, even the ones you can't bear to face.
Grandmother's earthly form is the spider. Never do I harm a spider. I understand if you have a fear of creepy crawly things and I don't fault you for being afraid. But I know all spiders are Grandmother so I let them roam freely about my house. When I first became aware of Grandmother, spiders were suddenly everywhere. At first I thought this was cool, then one night I picked up my tarot bag and a very large wolf spider ran up my arm. I screamed and jumped. I couldn't help it. I asked Grandmother to please not do that and She hasn't anymore because She loves me. But She laughed like hell.
Grandmother likes stories. She weaves her words. I am especially fond of garden spiders with their neon colors and 'writing' in their webs. Some people think you should never let a garden spider see the whites of your eyes or they will write your name in their web and then you will die. I think this is nonsense. I let the garden spider see into my eyes so it can know my story and weave it for others to know.
Grandmother likes songs and poetry, too. The rhythm helps Her weave patterns. If you sew and you want to bring the energy of Grandmother Spider into your work, trying singing as you stitch. The word 'enchant' means to sing over. What is your song?
Grandmother likes to sit by the fire at night, weaving dreams into cords, weaving cords into tapestry. She tells Her stories all the while, entertaining Her children, preserving history, teaching morals. Her words get caught in the threads. The textile itself is a story.
Grandmother is a world goddess, but She prefers to live in the desert where the spaces are open and clean. She needs plenty of space for weaving. She needs dry air so Her textiles do not mold or rot. She likes the harshness of the environment because it forces one to accept things as they are instead of how we want them to be. Thoughts flow easier in less clutter, but an idea must bump against something to make itself known. She lets ideas slide into the rocks, the sand, the howl of coyotes, the prickle of cati.
She likes the heaviness of the heat, She puts the heat into her blankets so they will be warm. She likes the drabness of the desert because it makes Her colors seem more vivid. She likes the grit of sand in comparison to the softness of Her rugs.
Grandmother is a simple goddess in that She gives you Truth. Sometimes people don't want to hear Truth and they make life complicated with lies. Grandmother urges you to pare down life to the bare essentials so all your attention can focus on creating beautiful things. Whenever anyone creates beauty then their soul becomes in harmony and they are beautiful too. Walk in beauty always. And please don't step on the spiders.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Could use some ideas here
I need a Silent Sunday subject. Who wants to see what? I had thought about doing a more personal post and take pictures of things in my house.
Anyone?
Anyone?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Not so much as a tremble
I was a little surprised to see earthquake posts around the blogsphere today because I didn't feel a thing. Of course, I may be too far away here in Alabama. Though we've had earthquakes here before. One in 90-something, maybe 92 or 93, and another one at the beginning of the 2000's maybe 02. I didn't feel those either and am rather disbelieving of it all. (Huh, it's 2011, nearly ten years since the last one and the one before about ten years before that...I'm just sayin' is all)
What I am not disbelieving of is Mama Gaia having a hissy fit. One can only take so much abuse before snapping. What do people do when they get really, really enraged? They start to shake. What do you think a goddess does, hmmm?
It would be wise to walk through the whole house right now and unplug every thing not in use.
What I am not disbelieving of is Mama Gaia having a hissy fit. One can only take so much abuse before snapping. What do people do when they get really, really enraged? They start to shake. What do you think a goddess does, hmmm?
It would be wise to walk through the whole house right now and unplug every thing not in use.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Now I Ain't Falling For That
As a country girl, I sometimes fish. Not very often. Fishing is not my passion. I'd rather ride in the boat and drink beer. Usually I don't want to actually catch anything because if I catch it I have to clean it and I despise cleaning fish, especially catfish (which, for those of you who don't know, requires nailing the fish's head to a pole and pulling off its skin with pliers). I don't see the point of catching fish just to throw them back. I mean, why bother? But every once in a while, I get a craving for fried fish. Frozen fish is just not the same.
So when my country roots call, I grab a friend and go fishing. I do my best to have the friend clean the fish. I'll say I need to make up some biscuits and get the oil good and hot so I can start frying. Oh, and go head and fillet those fish for me, would you?
Kevin and I had about 7 or 8 fishing poles. When he moved out, he took ALL of them. One was my father's and I'm pissed off about that. Two were mine and he shouldn't have taken those either.
Every time Kevin wanted to fish (which was way more than I did), he get all the poles out and make a selection. He'd say, 'This is Jack's, I won't take it.' Or, 'Do you mind if I borrow yours?'
He knows perfectly well it was wrong to take all the poles. I think he did it deliberately so I would have to call him. I think this because he left the tackle box I gave him for Valentine's Day a few years back. How does anyone take rods and reels but leave behind the hooks, floats, lures, and line? What is he going to catch without a hook?
It's probably killing him. He's probably wondering right now, WHEN will she go out to the store room?!
But I am so not calling.
Should he call me, I'll say something along the lines of, 'I'll let Daddy know you're bringing his fishing pole to his house.'
I'm not about to get hooked.
So when my country roots call, I grab a friend and go fishing. I do my best to have the friend clean the fish. I'll say I need to make up some biscuits and get the oil good and hot so I can start frying. Oh, and go head and fillet those fish for me, would you?
Kevin and I had about 7 or 8 fishing poles. When he moved out, he took ALL of them. One was my father's and I'm pissed off about that. Two were mine and he shouldn't have taken those either.
Every time Kevin wanted to fish (which was way more than I did), he get all the poles out and make a selection. He'd say, 'This is Jack's, I won't take it.' Or, 'Do you mind if I borrow yours?'
He knows perfectly well it was wrong to take all the poles. I think he did it deliberately so I would have to call him. I think this because he left the tackle box I gave him for Valentine's Day a few years back. How does anyone take rods and reels but leave behind the hooks, floats, lures, and line? What is he going to catch without a hook?
It's probably killing him. He's probably wondering right now, WHEN will she go out to the store room?!
But I am so not calling.
Should he call me, I'll say something along the lines of, 'I'll let Daddy know you're bringing his fishing pole to his house.'
I'm not about to get hooked.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Silent Sunday- Dragons!
(Note from FreeDragon- when the time is right, I'll write a post about Mr. Dragon)
Saturday, August 20, 2011
What Am I For?
I was going to write a post on seduction, because that's what is on my mind. Then I read a post over at hecatedemeter about what kind of witch are you?
And because of the kind of witch I am, I can blend both posts into one.
I am a work-behind-the-scenes witch. I am concerned with the small things because I have faith the macrocosm will take care of itself whether I give it input or not. But the mircocosm is a bit different because small things matter an awful lot. Sometimes small is very big.
For this reason, you won't ever see me on television in full witch regalia. You might see me at a festival or circle meeting on Mabon or Halloween, but don't bother asking for my name, I won't give it to you. I respect the Pagans who are out of the broom closet, they make life easier for the rest of us, but it's a very personal choice to allow yourself to be defined by one thing. Some people can't do it; they have multiple faces which may conflict. If I come out, then my family will probably shun me. It's sad they can't love me enough to let me be myself, but I love them enough to refrain from embarrassing them. Giving up is sometimes a great but unappreciated gift.
I want to be more. I always want to be more. Whatever I can do encourages me to reach for the next brass ring. I don't do anything by halves. I'm not going to read a book, I'm going to read, search the Internet, ask my friends what they thought, and probably go see the movie. When I am certain I have explored all my options, then I'm done. It's not enough for me to observe the Turn of the Wheel, I want to see just how it turns here so I can be Witch of This Place. Put me in a different place (please don't, I love the mighty Tallapoosa River) and I will have a different view of another Turn.
Small matters. Sure, the world turns. But did you ever look really close to see why it turned? Look at a clock, a real clock, an old clock with cogs and gears. Take out just one tiny little gear and everything stops. All the small details add up to harmony.
I believe I am worth more than the sum of my parts. I believe if I had lived during the Burning Times I would have surely met an early demise in the flames and I would have left this earth screaming the name of my goddess and never once would I have begged for mercy or repented. A part of me sees the wisdom in letting your tormentors hear what they want so you can live in peace and secretly carry on with your personal beliefs. But a larger part of me believes it is wrong to live a lie and it is that part of me which would be galled to say there are no witches.
Witches are everywhere. Witches working for quiet change. Witches healing the earth. Witches growing herbs. Witches hexing the wicked. Witches blessing babies. I'm the witch who can heal you. I'll take away your pain, make you well, work from within my bones to make you happy, but should you ever betray me, I'll turn your fears into inescapable reality. I will treat you exactly as you have treated me.
I'll give you spells and I'll let you learn your lesson. I don't sugar coat anything. I'll let you get exactly what you wish for. And if you don't learn the first time, I'll let you mire yourself in deep shit until you realize what you're doing isn't working.
I believe is leaving magick for others to find. I believe in luck, but I believe I create it myself. I believe in fate, but I believe in change. It might be my fate to be heartbroken, but that won't stop me from falling in love. And after my heart breaks, does life stop? No, it goes on and so do I. Fate said my heart must break, I say it must heal.
I believe perfection is the art of doing ordinary things very well. I cook, I clean, I sew, I garden- all with magickal intent. I believe if you come to my house, you would figure out my witchy ways by the way I serve the food, arrange the furniture, by the way I walk, talk, and think. You would see witch in the poetry I read and write, in the clothes I wear, in the plants growing around my home. You would see witchy in not just the company I keep, but in the people I attract. I have a power and it draws both the light and the dark. I am not surprised by this; I am prepared.
If you loved me, you would know I am witch by the spell I cast to bind your heart to mine. Only a witch can give all just to turn around and let you go. I don't hold back, I give all of myself, but if you want to be free I'll let you go. I enchant, I never enslave. I tie you up by being open. I start at the top and work my way down. When I walk away, you'll want to follow because after you go witch, you'll never switch.
I'm for kindness, for tenderness, for gentleness. I am fiercely protective, boldly daring, and a little too much. I'll scare you with my intensity. I'll do anything for the one I love, but my independence will drive you away. I won't ask for anything but I'll give whatever you ask. Only a witch can be duel opposition harmonizing in one cord. Fire and ice, earth and sky. All the powers of land and sea are obedient unto me.
I see what is and what will be and I choose according to me. Usually I will go for the impossible because I think it's better to try and fail than to never take a chance. But often I do whatever is simplest because I, like magick, tend to follow the path of least resistance.
I'm the witch who opens the door when it should stay locked. That's what I am for.
And because of the kind of witch I am, I can blend both posts into one.
I am a work-behind-the-scenes witch. I am concerned with the small things because I have faith the macrocosm will take care of itself whether I give it input or not. But the mircocosm is a bit different because small things matter an awful lot. Sometimes small is very big.
For this reason, you won't ever see me on television in full witch regalia. You might see me at a festival or circle meeting on Mabon or Halloween, but don't bother asking for my name, I won't give it to you. I respect the Pagans who are out of the broom closet, they make life easier for the rest of us, but it's a very personal choice to allow yourself to be defined by one thing. Some people can't do it; they have multiple faces which may conflict. If I come out, then my family will probably shun me. It's sad they can't love me enough to let me be myself, but I love them enough to refrain from embarrassing them. Giving up is sometimes a great but unappreciated gift.
I want to be more. I always want to be more. Whatever I can do encourages me to reach for the next brass ring. I don't do anything by halves. I'm not going to read a book, I'm going to read, search the Internet, ask my friends what they thought, and probably go see the movie. When I am certain I have explored all my options, then I'm done. It's not enough for me to observe the Turn of the Wheel, I want to see just how it turns here so I can be Witch of This Place. Put me in a different place (please don't, I love the mighty Tallapoosa River) and I will have a different view of another Turn.
Small matters. Sure, the world turns. But did you ever look really close to see why it turned? Look at a clock, a real clock, an old clock with cogs and gears. Take out just one tiny little gear and everything stops. All the small details add up to harmony.
I believe I am worth more than the sum of my parts. I believe if I had lived during the Burning Times I would have surely met an early demise in the flames and I would have left this earth screaming the name of my goddess and never once would I have begged for mercy or repented. A part of me sees the wisdom in letting your tormentors hear what they want so you can live in peace and secretly carry on with your personal beliefs. But a larger part of me believes it is wrong to live a lie and it is that part of me which would be galled to say there are no witches.
Witches are everywhere. Witches working for quiet change. Witches healing the earth. Witches growing herbs. Witches hexing the wicked. Witches blessing babies. I'm the witch who can heal you. I'll take away your pain, make you well, work from within my bones to make you happy, but should you ever betray me, I'll turn your fears into inescapable reality. I will treat you exactly as you have treated me.
I'll give you spells and I'll let you learn your lesson. I don't sugar coat anything. I'll let you get exactly what you wish for. And if you don't learn the first time, I'll let you mire yourself in deep shit until you realize what you're doing isn't working.
I believe is leaving magick for others to find. I believe in luck, but I believe I create it myself. I believe in fate, but I believe in change. It might be my fate to be heartbroken, but that won't stop me from falling in love. And after my heart breaks, does life stop? No, it goes on and so do I. Fate said my heart must break, I say it must heal.
I believe perfection is the art of doing ordinary things very well. I cook, I clean, I sew, I garden- all with magickal intent. I believe if you come to my house, you would figure out my witchy ways by the way I serve the food, arrange the furniture, by the way I walk, talk, and think. You would see witch in the poetry I read and write, in the clothes I wear, in the plants growing around my home. You would see witchy in not just the company I keep, but in the people I attract. I have a power and it draws both the light and the dark. I am not surprised by this; I am prepared.
If you loved me, you would know I am witch by the spell I cast to bind your heart to mine. Only a witch can give all just to turn around and let you go. I don't hold back, I give all of myself, but if you want to be free I'll let you go. I enchant, I never enslave. I tie you up by being open. I start at the top and work my way down. When I walk away, you'll want to follow because after you go witch, you'll never switch.
I'm for kindness, for tenderness, for gentleness. I am fiercely protective, boldly daring, and a little too much. I'll scare you with my intensity. I'll do anything for the one I love, but my independence will drive you away. I won't ask for anything but I'll give whatever you ask. Only a witch can be duel opposition harmonizing in one cord. Fire and ice, earth and sky. All the powers of land and sea are obedient unto me.
I see what is and what will be and I choose according to me. Usually I will go for the impossible because I think it's better to try and fail than to never take a chance. But often I do whatever is simplest because I, like magick, tend to follow the path of least resistance.
I'm the witch who opens the door when it should stay locked. That's what I am for.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The Reading of the Cards
I ran across a word I'd not heard before over at Forest Grove- Spaewife. (there's several variations in spelling, I like how this word looks) It means female fortune teller.
I realized I'm a spaewife because I carry around cards every where I go just so I can get an idea of what path to choose. If you had asked me before I thought about it, I would have said I don't let predictions rule my life. But why else am I carrying around cards?
The deck I am currently enamoured with is the Bicycle Poker Deck, Anne Stokes Collection. Yes, the same art I shared with you about a week or two ago.
This is a modern deck of cards, but the imagery is classic fantasy. I like that. I want a deck with rich, historical symbolism, but at the same time, the deck must be able to reflect my current issues and problems. Arcane symbols with half-forgotten meanings are of no use to me.
Being that this deck is designed for playing and not reading, there is no book of meanings. I thought at first I would need to research the meanings of ordinary playing cards but I've connected so well with the deck I understand as soon as I draw a card. And that's the way it should be. In fact, you might want to throw the booklet out and let intuition be your guide.
Sometimes I'll draw a card and I don't know what it means. Whenever this happens, I try to wait, to watch and see what unfolds. Each time, something is revealed to me and then I know what the card was telling me. Every single time I've waited, when all is revealed I think, I'm so glad I didn't rush headlong into a wall. These cards are helping me to be more patient. They make life a little easier.
I have other decks, but this is my favorite. This is the only deck I've ever carried around with me. This one really speaks to me. I understand it. It warns without putting a dark cloud over my head. Some people are afraid when they see bad things in the cards. But you need to know when a problem is on the horizon so you either deal with it or avoid it. I used to have an angel deck. Loved the art, but the cards only showed me light, no shadows. I was constantly being blindsided by things I never knew was coming. It was a beautiful deck, but I couldn't learn from it.
Spaewife. I don't tell fortunes per se, but I think about time constantly. I wonder about my future, I see how events from the past still shape the present, and sometimes I wonder if I am where I am supposed to be. Rarely do I read for others. It's fun at parties, but for me to read for others the tone has to be light-hearted. People usually want to be told something good and frivolous. Rarely are people willing to admit they may need an attitude adjustment. I use the cards as a tool of self-transformation. I won't lie about what the cards tell me so don't ask unless you're prepared to hear my prophecy. If I read for you I'll try to end on a positive note, but I'm going to tell you what you most need to hear. That's what Spaewives do.
I realized I'm a spaewife because I carry around cards every where I go just so I can get an idea of what path to choose. If you had asked me before I thought about it, I would have said I don't let predictions rule my life. But why else am I carrying around cards?
The deck I am currently enamoured with is the Bicycle Poker Deck, Anne Stokes Collection. Yes, the same art I shared with you about a week or two ago.
I love the art. I like the size- this deck fits easily into my purse and probably I could get the box in my pocket if necessary. There are dragons (my favorite!), unicorns, fairies, vampires, one werewolf, a few angels and some grim reapers (an archetype I've always thought was misunderstood). It's a very balanced deck- light, dark, and both at once.
Sometimes I'll draw a card and I don't know what it means. Whenever this happens, I try to wait, to watch and see what unfolds. Each time, something is revealed to me and then I know what the card was telling me. Every single time I've waited, when all is revealed I think, I'm so glad I didn't rush headlong into a wall. These cards are helping me to be more patient. They make life a little easier.
I have other decks, but this is my favorite. This is the only deck I've ever carried around with me. This one really speaks to me. I understand it. It warns without putting a dark cloud over my head. Some people are afraid when they see bad things in the cards. But you need to know when a problem is on the horizon so you either deal with it or avoid it. I used to have an angel deck. Loved the art, but the cards only showed me light, no shadows. I was constantly being blindsided by things I never knew was coming. It was a beautiful deck, but I couldn't learn from it.
Spaewife. I don't tell fortunes per se, but I think about time constantly. I wonder about my future, I see how events from the past still shape the present, and sometimes I wonder if I am where I am supposed to be. Rarely do I read for others. It's fun at parties, but for me to read for others the tone has to be light-hearted. People usually want to be told something good and frivolous. Rarely are people willing to admit they may need an attitude adjustment. I use the cards as a tool of self-transformation. I won't lie about what the cards tell me so don't ask unless you're prepared to hear my prophecy. If I read for you I'll try to end on a positive note, but I'm going to tell you what you most need to hear. That's what Spaewives do.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sewing Project Sneak Peek
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
If I owned the house, there wouldn't be blade one in the yard (Profanity Warning)
I have encountered my first problem as a single woman- grass.
Lots and lots of grass, growing in leaps and bounds every day. Thick grass, weedy grass, dying grass, grass the envy of golf courses mingled with grass suited for cow feed, all of it in my yard, and (groan!) needing to be cut. Badly.
Kevin is gone and he took his fucking lawn mower. He could have cut the grass one more time...
I won't blame him. Even if he had cut it, the stuff grows like kudzu. It wouldn't have been long before I would be wondering exactly what to do.
I HATE CUTTING GRASS.
Walt Whitman wrote, " A child said, What is grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?...I do not know what it is any more than he.
I know the answer: Grass is a waste, particularly when it is designed to be a lawn in America. The British bought their lawns when them to the New World even though our climate doesn't get nearly enough rain fall to properly keep it green. Thus, we spend an awful amount of time, energy, and money nurturing something that doesn't need to be growing in the first place. We weed it, water it, fertilize it, and then we sweat ourselves to death keeping it cut. Even dumber, we forget the British mix in clover with the grass. We want a half acre of the exact same plant spreading out from our homes in a perfect shade of Kelly green.
WHY? Fuck, someone explain it to me because I don't get it. A bare lawn, and I mean just grass, is ugly and lonely. It needs a hedge, some shrubs, and lawn furniture before we're willing to cross it. Except sometimes we're still scared to set foot on it, thus we have tacky little signs announcing 'KEEP OFF THE GRASS'. Why? Why do we insist on making a lovely green carpet we can't walk on? Why do we spend hundreds of dollars making it grow just to turn around and buy 100's of gallons of gas to cut it? How is this earth friendly?
Several months ago, I told Kevin I wanted to rip up some of the lawn. I wanted to plant crepe myrtles. He rejected the idea immediately, citing the mess they made. It's be something else to cut around. (And why, for Goddess' sake, do we insist on designing our yards for the comfort of unfeeling, gas-guzzling machinery instead of for ourselves?) I said, no, no, the point would be less grass to cut. I want a six foot wide strip across the whole front yard, planted with at least two different kinds of bushes to create a living fence. It would provide privacy from the road, add interest to the house, and possibly be a wind break. It would be heavily mulched and I would keep it trimmed. He was quiet for a moment, then said, What about the ditch?
What about it?
If this living fence goes all the way across the yard, I couldn't cut the ditch with the lawn mower anymore, I'd have to use the weed eater.
So?
So that's more work! Fuck that!
So currently I still have an ugly yard, ugly ditch, and no privacy from passing cars. I could have adjusted my plan, left an access opening at the end, something. But after Kevin rejects an idea, it is soundly in File 13 with no hope of being resurrected.
I don't own a lawn mower.
I checked prices today and discovered even the most basic models are expensive. Then I discovered a new problem- how can I be sure I can start the mower before I buy it?
That has been the problem with every damn lawn mower I have ever owned. I struggle with a pull cord (Can I just say whoever invented this was a dumbass? What's wrong with a key, a switch, a simple starter button?!) I'll pull hard enough to yank the lawn mower off the ground and it still won't crank. I'll get mad, cussing, screaming, kicking, ranting, pull, pull, pull, PULL and nothing happens. Throroughly soaked with sweat and disgusted, I'll find a man, my father, my boyfriend, neighbor, and with barely a tug they easily start the mower and I feel really stupid. Then I still have to cut the goddamned grass. Only now there's a male chauvinist pig criticizing my every move.
My solution has always been to let someone else cut it. When I lived at the trailer, a biker looking dude appeared on my porch and offered to cut the grass for $30. Had he approached me anywhere else, I wouldn't have spoken to him. But I'll let any ol' grass cutting fool in the yard for $30 no matter how rough he looks. He actually turned out to be nice, he did a great job, and for a while we had a nice arrangement. I'd leave the money under the door mat and the grass would be cut when I came home. If I happened upon him cutting the grass, I'd bring him a glass of sweet tea. He knew better than to cut my flowers and I didn't have to think about grass at all.
I haven't been able to find a nice but rough looking grass cutter up here in Tallapoosa County. I ain't found a yard man nowhere. No one is willing to get out in the heat and cut their own yards, let alone mine. And there's that whole problem of me not owning a mower. Someone will have to haul one down here. Which takes even more gas. Which means they will want even more money.
Fuck the grass.
Lots and lots of grass, growing in leaps and bounds every day. Thick grass, weedy grass, dying grass, grass the envy of golf courses mingled with grass suited for cow feed, all of it in my yard, and (groan!) needing to be cut. Badly.
Kevin is gone and he took his fucking lawn mower. He could have cut the grass one more time...
I won't blame him. Even if he had cut it, the stuff grows like kudzu. It wouldn't have been long before I would be wondering exactly what to do.
I HATE CUTTING GRASS.
Walt Whitman wrote, " A child said, What is grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?...I do not know what it is any more than he.
I know the answer: Grass is a waste, particularly when it is designed to be a lawn in America. The British bought their lawns when them to the New World even though our climate doesn't get nearly enough rain fall to properly keep it green. Thus, we spend an awful amount of time, energy, and money nurturing something that doesn't need to be growing in the first place. We weed it, water it, fertilize it, and then we sweat ourselves to death keeping it cut. Even dumber, we forget the British mix in clover with the grass. We want a half acre of the exact same plant spreading out from our homes in a perfect shade of Kelly green.
WHY? Fuck, someone explain it to me because I don't get it. A bare lawn, and I mean just grass, is ugly and lonely. It needs a hedge, some shrubs, and lawn furniture before we're willing to cross it. Except sometimes we're still scared to set foot on it, thus we have tacky little signs announcing 'KEEP OFF THE GRASS'. Why? Why do we insist on making a lovely green carpet we can't walk on? Why do we spend hundreds of dollars making it grow just to turn around and buy 100's of gallons of gas to cut it? How is this earth friendly?
Several months ago, I told Kevin I wanted to rip up some of the lawn. I wanted to plant crepe myrtles. He rejected the idea immediately, citing the mess they made. It's be something else to cut around. (And why, for Goddess' sake, do we insist on designing our yards for the comfort of unfeeling, gas-guzzling machinery instead of for ourselves?) I said, no, no, the point would be less grass to cut. I want a six foot wide strip across the whole front yard, planted with at least two different kinds of bushes to create a living fence. It would provide privacy from the road, add interest to the house, and possibly be a wind break. It would be heavily mulched and I would keep it trimmed. He was quiet for a moment, then said, What about the ditch?
What about it?
If this living fence goes all the way across the yard, I couldn't cut the ditch with the lawn mower anymore, I'd have to use the weed eater.
So?
So that's more work! Fuck that!
So currently I still have an ugly yard, ugly ditch, and no privacy from passing cars. I could have adjusted my plan, left an access opening at the end, something. But after Kevin rejects an idea, it is soundly in File 13 with no hope of being resurrected.
I don't own a lawn mower.
I checked prices today and discovered even the most basic models are expensive. Then I discovered a new problem- how can I be sure I can start the mower before I buy it?
That has been the problem with every damn lawn mower I have ever owned. I struggle with a pull cord (Can I just say whoever invented this was a dumbass? What's wrong with a key, a switch, a simple starter button?!) I'll pull hard enough to yank the lawn mower off the ground and it still won't crank. I'll get mad, cussing, screaming, kicking, ranting, pull, pull, pull, PULL and nothing happens. Throroughly soaked with sweat and disgusted, I'll find a man, my father, my boyfriend, neighbor, and with barely a tug they easily start the mower and I feel really stupid. Then I still have to cut the goddamned grass. Only now there's a male chauvinist pig criticizing my every move.
My solution has always been to let someone else cut it. When I lived at the trailer, a biker looking dude appeared on my porch and offered to cut the grass for $30. Had he approached me anywhere else, I wouldn't have spoken to him. But I'll let any ol' grass cutting fool in the yard for $30 no matter how rough he looks. He actually turned out to be nice, he did a great job, and for a while we had a nice arrangement. I'd leave the money under the door mat and the grass would be cut when I came home. If I happened upon him cutting the grass, I'd bring him a glass of sweet tea. He knew better than to cut my flowers and I didn't have to think about grass at all.
I haven't been able to find a nice but rough looking grass cutter up here in Tallapoosa County. I ain't found a yard man nowhere. No one is willing to get out in the heat and cut their own yards, let alone mine. And there's that whole problem of me not owning a mower. Someone will have to haul one down here. Which takes even more gas. Which means they will want even more money.
Fuck the grass.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Norma Jean (Nudity Warning)
Today's photo essay won't be silent because this is an icon you can't help but notice. And I'm posting about her today because a sex goddess should be revealed on Friday.
I don't really have a problem with nudity, but some people do, so you have been warned. I hope if you are offended by bare skin you address the issue. I would like to point out, it is rarely the nakedness that is offensive to people, but rather how the viewer feels when confronted with nudity that causes discomfort. I think nudity bothers folks for just two reasons- either they are reminded of their own imperfections or they are enraged when they can't have what they desire.
I grew up being told I was ugly. I believed this completely. It is still hard for me to believe men find me attractive. I always wanted to be the girl who turned heads just by walking through a room. I longed to be tall (I'm a slight 5'3"), blond (I have light brown hair though I do get blond streaks from sunlight), and big busted (my bra size is none of your damn business).
Marilyn herself said she was pretty, not beautiful. This is shocking to me. How can someone so beautiful not see herself as she really is?
Maybe it's because we all overlook what we are. Sometimes when I am in the grocery store, I will realize I have seen the same man on every aisle. I will have a shopping cart full. He will have one basket with three items. I'll wonder what he is doing and I'll start watching him randomly pick up things and put them back while furtively stealing glances at me. Ugly women are not followed around Kroger.
Today's post is not about beauty. Today's post is about attitude. You want to turn heads? Act like you're worth looking at.
I don't really have a problem with nudity, but some people do, so you have been warned. I hope if you are offended by bare skin you address the issue. I would like to point out, it is rarely the nakedness that is offensive to people, but rather how the viewer feels when confronted with nudity that causes discomfort. I think nudity bothers folks for just two reasons- either they are reminded of their own imperfections or they are enraged when they can't have what they desire.
I grew up being told I was ugly. I believed this completely. It is still hard for me to believe men find me attractive. I always wanted to be the girl who turned heads just by walking through a room. I longed to be tall (I'm a slight 5'3"), blond (I have light brown hair though I do get blond streaks from sunlight), and big busted (my bra size is none of your damn business).
Marilyn herself said she was pretty, not beautiful. This is shocking to me. How can someone so beautiful not see herself as she really is?
Maybe it's because we all overlook what we are. Sometimes when I am in the grocery store, I will realize I have seen the same man on every aisle. I will have a shopping cart full. He will have one basket with three items. I'll wonder what he is doing and I'll start watching him randomly pick up things and put them back while furtively stealing glances at me. Ugly women are not followed around Kroger.
Today's post is not about beauty. Today's post is about attitude. You want to turn heads? Act like you're worth looking at.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
I Feel Free
Kevin moved out today. It was sad, but things went smoothly. I took a long shower, used up all the hot water, and suddenly realized I could buy my favorite soap and bubble bath. I no longer have to defend my girly habits.
During lunch, I suddenly realized I didn't have to settle for BBQ flavored chips anymore. I can buy the flavor I like and there's no man here to turn up his nose.
As I cleaned the kitchen, it occurred to me that I now have less cooking to do, thus less dishes to wash and less groceries to buy. Then I realized my laundry basket would stop filling up so fast.
When I come home night, I won't have to be quiet because there won't be anyone asleep. I can take another shower, bang around in the kitchen, and watch tv.
I am no long obligated to report my whereabouts. I don't have to tell anyone where I'm going. It is perfectly okay to flirt. I can sit right here in front of this computer all day and no one will whine for my attention.
I can watch 'Bones' and 'Celeberity Ghost Stories.' I can read uninterrupted. I can set up a full altar in the living room and it will remain undisturbed. I may get out my Marilyn Monroe pictures to remind myself that I can be classy or brazenly nude and either way is fine, but both at the same time is fun. Heck, being that I am a single woman living alone in the country, I may sunbathe topless.
I can hog the pillows, sleep in the middle of the bed, and wrap the covers around me burrito style. Finally, I can sleep as long as I need to without setting the alarm for Kevin to go to work, then resetting it so I can take insulin.
I can now wear any length of skirt. I might skip wearing a bra sometimes. My hair doesn't have to be styled to anyone's liking but mine.
I can sit on the porch, strumming my guitar all night. I don't have to explain my sewing projects. I can cook what I like to eat. I can wear the perfume Kevin hates.
I can do anything in the world I want to do. I can't wait to get started.
During lunch, I suddenly realized I didn't have to settle for BBQ flavored chips anymore. I can buy the flavor I like and there's no man here to turn up his nose.
As I cleaned the kitchen, it occurred to me that I now have less cooking to do, thus less dishes to wash and less groceries to buy. Then I realized my laundry basket would stop filling up so fast.
When I come home night, I won't have to be quiet because there won't be anyone asleep. I can take another shower, bang around in the kitchen, and watch tv.
I am no long obligated to report my whereabouts. I don't have to tell anyone where I'm going. It is perfectly okay to flirt. I can sit right here in front of this computer all day and no one will whine for my attention.
I can watch 'Bones' and 'Celeberity Ghost Stories.' I can read uninterrupted. I can set up a full altar in the living room and it will remain undisturbed. I may get out my Marilyn Monroe pictures to remind myself that I can be classy or brazenly nude and either way is fine, but both at the same time is fun. Heck, being that I am a single woman living alone in the country, I may sunbathe topless.
I can hog the pillows, sleep in the middle of the bed, and wrap the covers around me burrito style. Finally, I can sleep as long as I need to without setting the alarm for Kevin to go to work, then resetting it so I can take insulin.
I can now wear any length of skirt. I might skip wearing a bra sometimes. My hair doesn't have to be styled to anyone's liking but mine.
I can sit on the porch, strumming my guitar all night. I don't have to explain my sewing projects. I can cook what I like to eat. I can wear the perfume Kevin hates.
I can do anything in the world I want to do. I can't wait to get started.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Single Woman Again
After 7 years, Kevin and I are calling it quits. We have grown apart and are not happy anymore. We don't see each other much. We are moving in different directions.
I tried really hard to make it work. Sometimes, you can do all the right things and still not get anywhere.
This is just another life change for 2011. I've had so many changes this year, so I'm not surprised, just a little sad.
We aren't fighting; we are parting on good terms. Kevin will be moving out. I told him he didn't have to rush.
I called him this morning out of habit. He seemed happy to talk to me. After I hung up, I realized I have a lot of adjusting to do.
I tried really hard to make it work. Sometimes, you can do all the right things and still not get anywhere.
This is just another life change for 2011. I've had so many changes this year, so I'm not surprised, just a little sad.
We aren't fighting; we are parting on good terms. Kevin will be moving out. I told him he didn't have to rush.
I called him this morning out of habit. He seemed happy to talk to me. After I hung up, I realized I have a lot of adjusting to do.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Who Is (###) ###-####?
Every once in a while, I get a call or a text from a number I don't recognize. The text will generally say something along the lines of 'whats up?' I'll stare at the number, racking my brain trying to place the area code, wondering who it is, how many people have my number, did I give it out recently...hmmm?
Last night I had a missed call. At 10:30pm. I don't know very many people still awake at 10:30pm aside from my co-workers, none of whom have my cell. Right after the call, the same person sent me a 'whats up' and that still wasn't a clue. Please, if you're texting me, tell me who you are. If you got a new number, I won't recognize it and I won't know who changed their contact information. So you have to say, 'This is Old Buddy From Work, whats up? Call me, please.' And I will. But I'm not calling random strangers, which is what you are until you identify yourself.
Or heck, just leave a voicemail. I'm pretty good with voices. It's area codes I suck at.
Last night I had a missed call. At 10:30pm. I don't know very many people still awake at 10:30pm aside from my co-workers, none of whom have my cell. Right after the call, the same person sent me a 'whats up' and that still wasn't a clue. Please, if you're texting me, tell me who you are. If you got a new number, I won't recognize it and I won't know who changed their contact information. So you have to say, 'This is Old Buddy From Work, whats up? Call me, please.' And I will. But I'm not calling random strangers, which is what you are until you identify yourself.
Or heck, just leave a voicemail. I'm pretty good with voices. It's area codes I suck at.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
A Small Difference
I said in an earlier post I wanted to compost more kitchen waste. I'm making a small bit of progress- I've started sharing my coffee with my garden.
Coffee grounds are excellent nutrients for almost all plants. So is the coffee itself. Each day, after the coffee is cold, I pour some in the garden. I then dump the grounds into one flower pot. Each day a different plant gets the grounds. Everything looks greener and less wilted. It made a dramatic change in my aloes. They went from a dull greenish-brown to bright, almost neon, green.
After I 'coffee' the garden, I wash the coffee pot and get it ready for next day. I'm recycling kitchen waste, preparing for the next day, and helping my plants all at the same time. I feel pretty good about doing it because it was an easy change to make and I saw results immediately. This is the sort of thing I want to do with all my wishes.
I hope you and yours are having a bountiful harvest this day.
Coffee grounds are excellent nutrients for almost all plants. So is the coffee itself. Each day, after the coffee is cold, I pour some in the garden. I then dump the grounds into one flower pot. Each day a different plant gets the grounds. Everything looks greener and less wilted. It made a dramatic change in my aloes. They went from a dull greenish-brown to bright, almost neon, green.
After I 'coffee' the garden, I wash the coffee pot and get it ready for next day. I'm recycling kitchen waste, preparing for the next day, and helping my plants all at the same time. I feel pretty good about doing it because it was an easy change to make and I saw results immediately. This is the sort of thing I want to do with all my wishes.
I hope you and yours are having a bountiful harvest this day.
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