halloween...

In some circles, this is a huge holiday. And through it all, witches get a bad rap - witches, not to be confused with those who worship "the dark one." I'm thinking this morning that in all women there is a little bit of witch. Unlike some others I know, I don't associate this term with the darkness at all, so don't take it all personally and think that I'm name-calling. I am, after all, female, and thinking that the qualities of a good witch are something we should all strive to embrace.

Wicca.com explains it this way>>>

"Witchcraft in ancient history was known as "The Craft of the Wise" because most who followed the path were in tune with the forces of nature, had a knowledge of herbs and medicines, gave council and were valuable parts of the village and community as Shamanic healers and leaders. They understood that mankind is not superior to nature, the earth and its creatures but instead we are simply one of the many parts, both seen and unseen that combine to make the whole. As Chief Seattle said; "We do not own the earth, we are part of it." These wise people understood that what we take or use, we must return in kind to maintain balance and equilibrium. Clearly, modern man with all his applied learning and technology has forgotten this. Subsequently, we currently face ecological disaster and eventual extinction because of our hunger for power and a few pieces of gold."

I see no problem with this? I think somehow that those who founded some of the major religions were not comfortable with powerful women, wise women, healers, who understood the earth and her rhythms. And that they chose to demonize this peaceful ancient breed in order to take their power and rid the earth of this "blight". And so tonight, as the little monsters beg for candy, we will see many black witch costumes and tiny human beings with warts on their painted green noses. And I object.

I have an affinity for herbal cures, magic and the natural world. Perhaps in another life I was one of the wise women who was labeled evil and was driven underground. I have no penchant for sorcery, but a little love potion doesn't seem to me to be a bad thing. And I'm not boiling up any poisons to coat innocuous apples, instead a cup of organic herb tea would be just the thing to warm me up on a chilly morning like this one.

And I'm also thinking that perhaps it is not the witches who are threatening our children, but instead, the politicians and powerful men who fill their heads with nonsense and fear. Prescription drugs are prescribed for ADD, ADHD and hyperactivity. Are these not harmful to active, creative and beautiful children who perhaps, don't conform to the norm? And what about those who cover our fruits and vegetables with chemicals and shoot the the cows full of hormones? From oil companies to plastic manufacturers and loggers to strip miners, our world is being destroyed. Are those who run these companies evil? We don't need a magic ball to uncover the truth here, just a little wisdom.

This All Hallows Eve, I will embrace that goddess within...the witch who is wise, magical and peaceful - the witch who is beautiful and in touch with the earth - the witch who nurtures and understands that all creatures are indeed necessary for balance on the planet. Yes, this Halloween, I will be a witch.

white

The ground is white this morning...sending me back to Ohio in my mind. The earth seems still somehow when the snow falls. But I am not still today, but unsettled. I am not sure of the reason, but feel a great need to find a sense of who I am, what the hell I'm doing, and why I am here.

There's a bunch of stuff on the internet about some great violet pulse of light that was beaming down to earth from another dimension for 17 hours yesterday. Some "experts" reported that feelings and manifestation would be "increased a million-fold" during this span of time. Looking at yesterday, I realize I was intense. Most all of my feeling were deeply rooted and I couldn't seem to break out of the depths. When I felt good - I felt great. And the opposite was also true. Seems like I've had lots on my mind lately.

I guess I need to get out of my head and back into the present moment. This is not always easy for a girl whose brain never shuts off. In addition, I've been reading this really crazy book called, "The Children of the Matrix" which would freak out just about anyone. In a nutshell (no pun intended) the book proposes that we are all controlled by and intergalactic race of beings with hybrid DNA, going back to the time when Atlantis and Lemuria-Mu were in the "golden age."

Okay - sounds a little crazy, but the evidence is frightening - and I don't often use that word. My open-mindedness has been challenged. I'm trying to figure out if it's just my ego talking, or if the guy who wrote the book is a quack. Regardless, the information is good to file away in my little cabinet of a brain.

If the book is on the right track, how can I possibly choose who I should trust, and who is part of the conspiracy of control? And does it matter at all?

There are also mixed messages from the other side re: my meditation group, my relationship, and some new acquaintances. Perhaps it is me who is mixed, and the universe is only reflecting that... (yes, says a voice in my head.)

Mornings like this confound me.

I long to fall gently on the earth, like the snow, sure of my purpose and peaceful. A walk with Buddy may do me some good, clear my head, and leave me grounded. What I know is searching the internet only leaves me with a headful of unanswered questions - and there is absolutely no room in my brain for any more.

a moment of bliss

Some days begin just like other days. We have nothing big planned and no major event scheduled and yet, somehow, the universe throws us an unsuspected moment of true bliss.

Today I had one of those moments. I showered late, in the afternoon, planning to pick up my friend Deb at the Firestone dealer while her car was being worked on. We were going to Starbucks for coffee. I wore blue jeans, boots and a really great jean jacket with fake sheepskin lining - very cozy - and my favorite silver velvet gloves. The world seemed good as I zipped through the streets of Sioux Falls. The sun was shining, though the temperature was in the thirties. We sat in Starbucks discussing current events and life and love, and I looked out the window while I sipped the perfect peppermint soy mocha with whipped cream. Life was indeed good. And then, as if the gods were just as happy, the snow started to fall. Little flakes at first, which grew to be bigger flakes, blowing through the air. I felt giddy - like I did as a kid with the first snow of the season. I actually got butterflies in my stomach for the joy.

As if that weren't enough, I dropped Deb off and went to my favorite coffee store to get some fresh beans. I chose Tres Rios from Guatemala, which it turns out was the perfect choice as it had just been roasted this morning. The bag was warm when the clerk at Black Sheep put it in my hands, right after offering me a free cup of the day's special brew. Then he punched my punch card, and believe it or not...I now had 10 punches, which means a free pound of coffee on my next visit.

I bopped back into my cute little VW beetle with the heated seats, warm coffee beans in my hands, snow falling, cheeks rosy and my phone rang. My SO was calling just to say hello, and that he loved me.

I don't know about you, but this, to me, is pure bliss. And I just want to hold on to these moments forever. There will be less blissful days, weeks, even months. But today, for a perfect moment or two, the universe smiled a really big smile and aimed it at me. Best of all, I noticed. A little fresh coffee, a little light snow, a little love - what more could a girl ask for?

being present

I wake up and stretch, my body tight from lying in bed for hours, barely moving. I smile remembering where I am. For more than six months now I have been living in a new place, in a new relationship, yet it still catches me by surprise every now and then. But much of my life has become familiar again. Little patterns have emerged where there were none, and I realize that this is the cycle that we constantly repeat. And though we humans like to set ourselves above the rest of the creatures that share the earth, we are much like them, preferring the familiar to the strange or unusual. Unconsciously, no matter how much we try to keep things exciting, they slip into regular patterns. Like breathing, creating these routines is something we cannot not do.

And I am present this morning, noticing my patterns of life, and thinking about what I might change - not just to keep life exciting, but to make the most of my time and energy.

Not much of a morning person, despite the fact that I still get up with the sun, I find that the early hours are spent wandering about my life and accomplishing nothing. I can hardly get moving without coffee, and even then, my heart doesn't really start to beat until a few aimless hours have passed. I make mental lists of things to do, but can't do these things until later. I make myself get to work, then take a break at noon to get something to eat. Around 2 I feel energized, ready to accomplish something. This is my most productive time, though I'm not sure if it's guilt that motivates me, or whether this is what my body and mind choose.

And these patterns annoy me. Sometimes on a whim, I change things up a bit. This can be disastrous - for I rely on patterns to make sure everything gets done, and done properly. On days when I don't follow the routine, the coffee maker doesn't switch on when it should, the clothes don't make it into the dryer, the cats don't get fed, or the bed doesn't get made. Since I am present this morning, I ask myself...what if things don't get done? Is it a disaster? In most cases, the answer is no. Life continues, I breathe, and through the chaos, new ideas emerge, creative thoughts are born, and little things surprise me. And the big things...they take care of themselves somehow. The bills do get paid, the lights work, the animals play.

In the meantime, we live, we notice the beauty of the earth - a new rose on the rose bush, cardinals in the grass picking up seed, the way the sun comes through the window and rests on the tabletop. And this is a productive use of time and a source of joy - the reason we live.

a perfect day...

...I think. At least that's how I intend it. The weekend was absolutely full and included a trip back in time. This weekend's trip to Wetonka was specifically earmarked for loading up the truck with old furniture from Steve's grandparents' house that needs some refinishing. And so on Sunday morning, we ventured into the decaying rooms of their old house. We weren't the first to visit. Many critters had been there before, leaving destruction in their wake. I'm sure they were not happy we were visiting. But they remained quiet...in the walls, under the floor.

We toted out what we could repair and use first. An old dresser with a beautiful mirror was the first to emerge. It wouldn't be hard to fix, as it was quite intact. The old steamer trunk we pulled out of the corner will take more work, but would be beautiful with a little tlc. We also recovered three dining chairs, an old wooden tool chest, and a second dresser for Steve's cousin, Sarah. That was supposed to be it for the big pieces, but a trip to the garage revealed and old school bench, and a metal bed. I couldn't help but to think that I wish I could fix all of it - but there were things I just couldn't use, and I had provided us enough projects to last at least a year.

The furniture was amazing, but it was the small things scattered about that most stirred my heart and my imagination. Hanging on a hook in the stairwell was a blue satin strapless prom dress. The waist was tiny, and I wondered which of the Miller girls had danced in it and what their partner looked like. Did he wear a white jacket? Glasses? And did she think him handsome? Did he steal a kiss at the door before he went home? That house was full of girls, and the evidence was everywhere. They had been arts and crafts pros, making pictures for the walls which their mom framed. I saw them lounging under plastic chandeliers of green and gold that hung from the ceiling. Perhaps they read some of the Reader's Digest condensed books in the book case, pages yellow and damp. We found postcards, letters and cards sent with love, property deeds and and old cash register. Pots, pans, and antique kitchen utensils were still scattered on the table, and a cook book copyright 1915 sat on the countertop.

But in the midst of what was left in this old house, we found a family - we took a peek inside their lives. I thought it a shame that everything, so lovingly touched and cared for was now left lying on floors and moldy sofas. Our lives, I think are too busy to treasure the old, to see the beauty in things touched by those who have gone before us. What is old becomes trash, and we buy something new, cluttering our world with more stuff, instead of caring for the old, and taking ownership.

I know the task ahead is a little daunting - cleaning up the furniture, polishing the metal and reconstructing the drawers. But the beauty of it is that the spirit of the stuff remains. When I pull out a drawer in the old dresser, and place linen napkins inside, I will do what Grandma Miller did years ago. And her heart will join with mine for just a moment. She will smile from the other side when her grandson sits on the chair she carefully chose to match the table that exists somewhere else.

Today I will begin the process, and it will be a perfect day. I will clean the wood, and wash out the pots. I will take care to be gentle, and will find time to reflect on a time when these things were used and the people who cared for them before me.

And so time passes, and remnants of life are left behind for others. I wonder what I will leave when I go. Will my grandson's girlfriend say, "Let's restore your mom's dresser," not knowing that it belonged to a woman who lived two generations before me. Should I leave a note inside the top drawer...this belonged to Steve's Grandma Miller, which she left for me to find in 2006. I'm not sure how old it is, but treasure it as I do.

the missing muse

Some mornings I sit here wondering what the heck I'm going to write about. Today is one of them. I know that this whole blog thing is good for me. That it helps me to flex my writing muscles. And yet, there are times when there is nothing in my head that seems to need to be said.

When all else fails, I write about coffee. But even that doesn't seem important today. Maybe it's true. Good writing comes from pain. Right now I have none that I can think of. And so there are no passionate words to describe my anguish. And love...that's the other inspiration, but there are no words passionate enough to describe my love. What else is there? Is the world so black and white? I think not...

My muse...Annabelle...isn't doing her job. I hear her voice now saying...It's not me, it's you. You haven't been coming to the page. I'm here for you when you decide to settle in and get serious. And Natalie Goldberg would say...just keep the hands moving. So easy for you dear. Today it's not so easy for me. She also says it's okay to write crap. Okay...I'm writing crap.

Once during meditation, I asked for a mentor. And I was given Thomas Merton. This was scary. Have you ever tried to read his work. He's passed now, but when he was alive (and perhaps now, on the other side,) he was true genius. He was a Catholic monk, turned mystic with and Easternish philosophy. And so I guess we sort of came from the same place, making it only fitting that he might mentor me from beyond. Perhaps today I need to reconnect with his work, and ask for a little psychic intervention.

The voices in my head are saying...it's so you. Study, study, study...anything to keep from writing. They know me so well.

And there is laundry to do, my office to clean up, new curtains to hang. Not near as threatening as the writing. And reading is good. I could play with my new ipod - which by the way I love, thank you Jonathan.

So I could fill up my day with tiny tasks. Or I could get serious (says Annabelle). Now is the time I need Ronda - my cheerleader. She exists in the 3-D world and has always encouraged me when I need it. Minnesota, though closer than Houston, is still quite far away. She's probably already taking a class. (Anything to keep from writing, right Ron?) Are we that much alike? Perhaps I should get up early and drive there on Thursday...it's like driving to Austin. Or maybe we could meet in the middle, just to visit. (Another reason not to write...)

Now I've managed to get something down here...crap or not...I showed up.

wednesday again

It is a good morning. Feeling quite chilly today outside, and Buddy seems to have a wild hair this morning. He's barking like crazy and I can't figure out why. Wednesday, perhaps?

Back on the learning curve...or the relearning curve. Can't remember, even in Ohio, the air feeling quite this brisk in September. Autumn has definitely arrived, and we, like the squirrels that are so bothersome, are preparing for the winter.

Attention Walmart shoppers...get over to aisle 7 for a killer sale on plastic to cover the windows and keep out the drafts that this winter will surely bring. Hot apple cider (irradiated, of course), now being served at rock bottom prices in the produce area.

And so, we scurry about, getting ready, yet again for a change.

My SO is quite the scurrier...checking the antifreeze, putting weather stripping around the doors, and making room in the garage for the patio furniture. He knows, I suppose. Yet I am not quite there. And while intellectually I know these preparations are necessary, I prefer to think of winter as quite a ways away - not just around the corner. It just doesn't seem real. I know there is a need to get gas for the snowblower and make sure that it's running, but it seems much more practical right now to mow the lawn, which remains green and growing despite the cooler temps.

Worst of all, my winter clothes seem quite dated...as they haven't been worn much over the last 22 years. And while it sounds like quite the chore, I must go through them and toss those that I will never wear. I do plan to do some shopping this afternoon. Boots? I suppose, and some warmer socks. I have been looking for long sleeve t-shirts, but most are too "cute". With little lace necklines, and so I guess it will be long john tops under my sweaters. They're comfy and certainly serve the purpose - but do they make them in the colors I'm into these days?

I do love the way the air feels just now. And the way the breeze seems constant. My summer color has been replaced by rosy cheeks. That's fall for you. But what in the world will I do with all the geraniums that continue to bloom. Will they live if I bring them inside? Or will they wither in the artificial heat and light? What I know is that the hearty aloe on the porch will make it through the cold...I think?

And so I prepare for my first winter in the Dakotas. I can't help but to think that as long as it's warm and cozy in my heart, the rest will take care of itself.

post weekend

Most weekends my SO and I hit the road, at least that's what we did all summer long. He was stoked about it all the time, says that it's his way to relax and get away from it all. And after years - literally - of sitting around, I've been up for it, too. But if I'm honest with myself, I long for a weekend here and there at home. It's not that I don't enjoy myself at the lake. The company is good and it is quite a respite in a hostile world. On the other hand, I long for time alone with my man. I've joked about us always being gone...that he's afraid to spend time alone with me. And his only response is, "you bite." Well, only gently and with love, I admit.

And so this weekend we stayed home - at least sort of. We did wake up in our own bed on Saturday morning, and this was good...leaning on our pillows with no rush to start the day. But once we were up and awake, there was lots to do. Our finished basement was full of boxes from our moving months ago, and there were tools to move from the kitchen (where they'd found a temporary home) to the basement, where they would live permanently. Once the basement was cleared out and somewhat organized, there was a need in me to fill it again. Not with boxes and junk, but with real furniture. So off we went to the second-hand furniture stores and outlets to find little treasures for the "den."

"Den" is appropriate, since I imagine our spending cold winter nights in the cozy basement room filled with things we love.

We shopped - well I shopped and he tolerated my shopping. We bought things we'd planned to buy and things we didn't. We also bought miscellaneous stuff we'd written on a list, like a new AC filter and spray paint for the park benches we're refinishing.

Needless to say, we weren't home much. But we were alone and together, and this satisfied my need.

This weekend we will be staying home again as luck would have it. Two weekends in a row??? Can he manage??? I'm sure we will be busy getting the house ready for winter and finishing the projects we started last weekend (I do have an ashtray-turned-birdbath to show for it). And though I'm learning the meaning of "winterize", I am having fun.

Today I am grateful for home, and alone time, and my SO, and the pup, and the cats, and the way my world works these days. And not to be forgotten, coffee in a ceramic cup instead of a to-go mug.

thursday morning

Just when you think you're out of the woods and things are going very smoothly, you're reminded of all of the parts of your life that you've been neglecting. For me...it's the yoga.

Exercise has never been high on my list of IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO. And unfortunately, I think, it might remain on the low end of the list forever. In my quest to ease the guilt, I began a yoga practice about five years ago. Believe it or not, it really worked for me. I found a great little studio in the heart of Humble, Texas (strange place for a great little yoga studio, you might think, as Humble tends to be quite a conservative place to be.) I pulled myself out of bed three days a week at 5:15 in order to greet the sun and a number of other students for class.

It began with breathing...lots of breathing. There are more ways to breathe than you might imagine, and we learned and practiced many of them. After a warm up, we learned to pose. Great posers we were, shaping our bodies in triangle, warrior, and cobra, pushing our bodies to the limit. And after a little sweating, there was meditation. Actually, the meditation (in corpse pose of course), was my favorite part of the class. After a yoga class, my mind was clear, and it was easy to shut out the voices that seem to be in my head most of the time. With a clear mind, I was able to meditate, allowing my body, mind and spirit to merge into pure energy. Okay, maybe that sounds a little hokey, but there were times when I actually felt myself leave my body behind. But I digress.

Whenever we get too comfortable in a spot - like I am here in the SLRH in South Dakota, the spirit says, "Enough already. You've got work to do." And so the universe sends message after message until you get it. The messages began with a little conversation about yoga, then my body started feeling a bit tight. Last night, at my meditation group, we listened to an audio recording about meditation, and finally, the book I'm reading has an entire section where the protagonist lives in an Ashram.

I get the message.

If I'm honest, even though the thought of re-starting my yoga practice sounds like a big responsibility, I'm longing for it. That sense of connection I feel when I find the silence within. To touch again the divine in me seems like the right thing to do.

Today I will dig out the Native American flute music, round up some incense, and dust off my meditation pillow. I'll start there. Some breathing, stretching and finally some meditation. And as luck would have it, my schedule is somewhat clear (she says as if time is anything but one moment after another.)

Namaste

a walk in the park

Last night I was reminded that life is indeed a walk in the park. So many times, hemmed in by the insanity that we think is our lives, we forget that life is about joy, about doing what makes one happy. And when a little reminder comes along that kicks us in the shorts, we breathe again.

So today I am breathing, thinking about the couple we came upon as we walked through Seratoma Park last night looking for the perfect woody spot to have our pictures taken. It was 6:30 or so when we left home with directions from the photographer, and the sun was still in the sky, though barely visible through the clouds. We walked down what had been aptly named the Woodland Trail wearing sweatshirts as the temperature was dropping. There were few people out walking, perhaps because the mosquitoes were thick. We were keeping a good pace and enjoying the peace, laughing and talking. The company was good as it always is.

A little ways ahead of us we saw a mature couple. I say that because my understanding of the word "old" is changing these days. She was dressed in khaki pants and a matching jacket. Her white hair was twisted and clipped up. She held the hand of a man dressed in blue jeans. Though we couldn't really hear them talking, she seemed to be listening attentively as she looked into the man's face. Her smile was genuine, as if his words warmed her heart.

It didn't take long until we got close enough to pass them by. It was then that I realized that they weren't talking at all, but in a low and melodic voice, he was singing to her. I'm not sure of the song, only that she glowed in the music. Arm in arm they made their way through the woods, surrounded by beauty and bathed in love.

Steve and I looked at each other and smiled. We were thinking the same thing. One day we want to be like them. Steve said, "I can't sing." And I said "it doesn't matter as long as you talk to me." He pulled me closer and we slowed down a bit, both lost I think in our own thoughts. We met them again later, as we had stopped by a little lake to watch the fish, and he smiled at us, but continued singing to the woman he would always love.

One day they were young and in love. They shared the trials of life, probably raised their babies together. There were good times and bad times. And when things got rough, he sang to her. And that music and their love kept their passion for life alive. And last night they walked together down a quiet path, appreciative of each other. They left the insanity of the world behind and found joy in each other.

So life is indeed a walk in the park. Breathe it in.

falling...

So the leaves have not yet begun to turn into the collage I remember, but autumn is indeed in the air. Evenings are perfect for wrapping myself in a blanket outside in front of the fire. Here it is quiet. There is no need for human words as crickets sing and stars glow. There is only me and Steve in our not so SLBY.

I am looking forward to the change in the season, having not really seen that for so long. And even winter seems exciting. A little crazy, but as my life has changed, it seems only appropriate that the environment in which I live change, too. The roses may not know it, as they continue to bloom as if they sense the coming of spring. I can see at least 14 buds from my window. The sun falls on their faces as they reach still toward the sky. They are my everyday miracle.

My last angry post was validated for me again this past weekend, as I met yet another woman who found herself curled up in a ball on the pavement after being battered by a man who says, "I love you." I am resolved to be a part of the solution.

Empowering women seems impossible in a world where we have forever been second class...or third. Perhaps wearing pants is not the solution. Perhaps instead it is tapping into the goddess energy in all of us. The goddess who is beautiful and fierce, who creates life, and who nurtures would not accept this treatment. She would eat a man for lunch. And she is there, waiting for the right moment to make her move. My resolution is to help women find her in the depths of their souls, to call her forth as protector.

And when the battle is fought, she will recline on a bed of rose petals and sip nectar saying..."don't *^%$*&@ with me."

And she will again give and receive love that doesn't hurt, no matter the season.

strength and courage

I can't help but write about women this morning. This is an old topic, but must need to be revisited because it's omnipresent in my world this week.

I am acquainted, either very closely or distantly to three women who are in the middle of man made drama. This I mean literally. Men make it, they live it. Or perhaps these women make it??? This morning I am not sure.

The names here have been changed to protect the (almost) innocent.

Jody lives with Mitchell. She doesn't like him anymore. He is not happy about this. He threatens her. They have very ugly violent fights. She has two small children. She says she's moving away. He comes too. The cycle continues. She says she tries to tell him, but he won't leave. When he does leave, he steals from her, pawns her stuff, and threatens her. She says she doesn't have the strength to fight. She says she's trying. She is tired of being a victim.

Amy lives with Jason. She has two teenage daughters. Jason is physically and emotionally abusive. He is also an alcoholic. She says she can't take it anymore. But every night she goes back home and puts herself and her kids in the line of fire. She is afraid of him, that he might really hurt her the next time. He threatens to kill her. She gets a new place to live in the country. She can't tell him he can't go along. He goes anyway. It gets so bad she says she's going to leave. Someone offers her a safe place. She goes back to him anyway. She doesn't have the will to fight. She is a victim.

Alison has been living with Paul for five years. They are engaged. The relationship has always been rocky. They have split up numerous times, but each time she goes back for more. He is angry - all the time. He is jealous and critical and constantly harasses her, accusing her of being with other men. He has mental disorders and uses drugs and alcohol on a regular basis which causes him to be even more unstable. He hurts her. This week she sought refuge with a friend, and told Paul he has to leave. He packs his things (again) and leaves. She is afraid to go home. She is afraid he'll come back. She is weak when it comes to Paul. The cycle continues. She says it's different this time. Has she decided she is no longer the victim?

This cycle of abuse is everywhere. Spend some time in a group of women. The majority will tell you that they have "been there." I am one of them. At what point do we become accepting of this behavior? At what point do we begin to value ourselves so little that we live in pain and horror? At what point do we decide that we deserve better? How do we break this cycle?

I have no answers. Though I wish that I did. For me the turning point was a mini-breakdown of sorts. Perhaps on looking in on me, you wouldn't have noticed, as I went about my daily business without missing a beat. But inside I was broken, and I knew I had to save myself. Then I did. I worry that perhaps I will find myself there again for the sake of love, but my current relationship has no signs of dysfunction that I can see. And I like to think if it began to take that turn I would run as fast as I could in the other direction.

I talk to the women I mentioned above. Try to give them encouragement. Tell them life doesn't have to be that way. But they know nothing else. They don't believe me. They are afraid.

This pisses me off. And so today I hold the space for them to be courageous. To step up and say, "I deserve better, and it's out there for me." Someone has to hold it. I hold the space for them to save their children. I hold the space for them to break the cycle. I am here to say for them..."It is NOT okay!"

On the other hand, I know that I had to save myself. I had to dig the courage and strength out from under a boulder of fear and doubt and judgment. And under that boulder I found my voice. And once I found it, it began to scream. The tables turned, and all of a sudden, the power was mine. All I can offer these women is the small shovel of encouragement, then they have to dig...deep. And sometimes, the hole is filled with their own tears, but it continues to grow despite the saltwater. After digging and digging, which seems endless, a tiny voice can be heard. It grows louder and louder until we recognize it as our own. It screams, "I am worthy! I am beautiful! I am smart! I am strong! And I will no longer be your victim!"

I want you to know that I can hear you scream...and I'm listening.

No more excuses

It's been a long time coming, but it is here. I have spent more than a year crying over red wine and my disheveled life. I have been disgusted, dishonored, disappointed and disinterested. I have been shot down, beat up, blown away and betrayed. I have been possessed, obsessed, misdirected and manipulated. But it's over, and I have no more excuses for not living my life.

So I had this birthday. And while turning 45 can be difficult for some people, it was not for me. I consider it my rebirthday. The very week of my birthday, I was set free from the past and reborn. This may take some getting used to. First of all, I am like a newborn baby, and everyday I make a new discovery. I see things I didn't see, and don't try to wrap them in all of the "things I know." These "things I know" (coincidentally) turned out to be "things I thought" were true. And so I have discarded all previous definitions and I'm making up my own as I go. This (it turns out) serves me much better. These new definitions are born of the soul - my soul. They resonate with me as TRUTH.

The first (and most important): Love, though it requires an occasional compromise, does not require SACRIFICE, nor MARTYRDOM.

The second: Love is a constant buzz. Sometimes there are highs, and sometimes there are lows, but always there is a hum of BLISS.

The third: Love CHALLENGES the soul. Not in petty controlling ways, but in making us look at ourselves through the eyes of another. It asks us to be the best we can be. This doesn't mean changing ourselves, but being our own truth.

The fourth: When one is loved honestly, there is no jealousy or doubt. There is no need to manipulate or play games to reassure oneself that Love IS.

As I'm only a newborn, I am sure that there will be more to see. I am committed to taking each new experience at face value, not applying old definitions, and clarity of thought. And as I become a toddler, and learn to walk, run and eventually climb a mountain, I plan to wear good shoes - shoes that keep me grounded in the basics. Shoes that allow me to dance when I feel like it, slow down when I feel like it, and won't mind being kicked off in front of a cool stream.

So the past is gone, and there is only now. This moment is all that exists, and in this moment I am happy and humming blissfully.

This hum also reminds me that there is work to do - my stories have yet to be told, and I am out of excuses. I must write. It is who I am and what I do (but didn't before my rebirthday). Pages must be filled with words - mine. I must also nuture my soul - meditation, intelligent conversation. And I must nurture my body - sleep, eat better and give up the smokes.

A newborn knows.

friday morning again

It is Friday again, and when I compare my feelings from a week ago to my feelings today, I am reminded of how a few moments or hours can change one's life.

I have again been blessed by the Universe and her love and abundance. She reminded me that I am strong and powerful, and that when we join forces, amazing things happen. And while my mediation went well, what is more notable is my strength, courage and sense of self. I am no longer afraid.

I am overwhelmed tho, by the number of women I meet who have been where I've been, and who continue to feel less than able to stand up and say, "It's not okay." What is it that keeps us in relationships that are less than joyful, painful even? I wonder if it is our optimism and our expectation that love is always beautiful. What is it that causes us to stop believing that little voice inside that protects us from danger? When do we stop trusting our own senses? Our eyes show us anger...we offer an embrace. Our ears hear hurtful words, and we soothe. Our bodies suffer wounds that we explain away. And yet we go back for more.

Today I say listen to that little voice and trust your own senses. It will tell you IT IS NOT OKAY. Pain is a sign that something is amiss. And it is only after you pull yourself out of the fire, that you can heal. Get out of the line of fire.

And alone...it's okay - just right even. And for some of us, it is the only way to heal old wounds and gather our strength. It is the only way to remember just who we are. And in that private space, we can be who we are without ramifications, fear, and pain. And while loneliness may raise its face and say hello, it will leave as it came, quietly. And one day you will wake up and it will be gone, and you will have found ways to keep it at bay. Best of all, you will have found yourself again.

Life is good.

friday morning

So I am off...today is the day I've been dreading. Yet somehow, I think it's better that it's finally here. And I will face the monsters.

My first thought about this whole thing is that I don't want to face it alone...but it is of my own making, and I will feel better at the end of it knowing I faced it alone. Through the entire ordeal, I have gained strength and courage. I am no longer cowering in the face of it. I am surrounded by the support of those close to me...and if I close my eyes I can feel this. No physical arm around my shoulder is necessary when good energy envelops me. I am never really alone then.

It's time to prove that I am no longer willing to be taken advantage of, nor taken for granted. This I can do. I have licked my wounds and am ready for the confrontation. (god i hate confrontation.)

I wish I had something insightful to say...something wise and inspiring, but there is only this thought. Git 'er done. (thank you larry.) And the outcome is not nearly as important as the process - that I stay focused, strong and in integrity. And I will look good. Had a manicure and pedicure you know. I can still wear that power suit, and I have lost a few pounds. Looking good always helps.

When I get to feeling lonely, I will think of my view of the stars from the dock last weekend. I will think of the beauty of that single moment, hold it in my heart, and know that I have chosen well. That my decision was the right one. And that my life will continue on a new course of discovery - of the world, and of self. Woohoo! What a ride.

I smile and think of the end of things...and the beginning.

tick, tick, tick

The days dwindle between now and Friday, when I leave for Houston to face the monsters. I have tried to paint smiles on their faces in my head...but it's not working.

The monsters have names, and each one has called to remind me of all of the things I'm not doing right. They have surfaced just now, telling me I am not good enough, not worthy, not smart enough, not a good sister, not a good mother, not a good person. They even reminded me that I have tiny boobs and that I am not the pretty one.

I think the only way to send them away is to be willing to be not good enough, not worthy, not smart, not a good sister, not a good mother and not a good person. I am willing to accept my tiny boobs, and not to be the pretty one. If I can embrace this...than perhaps I can face them, because then the monsters will be all bark and no bite. They will not be able to make me tremble. My strength may come from the humility this brings.

Embracing our imperfections, now there's a thought. Never was really good at that.

Last night, I had a long conversation with a good friend about my move here. What I realize now is that it gave me an opportunity to find the lost Melissa. No one here "expects" me to be anything other than what I am. I like this. Unfortunately, it will pass. Soon, I will have painted for them a picture of who I am. And when I fall short, and don't "look like" the painting...they will be disappointed. They will say, "who are you?" The cycle will repeat itself.

So, I ask myself, what can I do to prevent this? Should I paint an imperfect picture...where the colors clash and the balance is off? I guess that the key might be to find out who I am, then look in the mirror, and paint from the image I see there. Will the real Melissa please stand up...tiny boobs and all.

I seek...make the journey back to the day I was born, when the world didn't know who I was, and I was just being me. I cried when it felt right, ate when it felt right, got up, went to sleep and laughed when it felt right. So then...feeling the feelings and acting appropriately may be the answer. This I have to relearn - this authenticity. I have to learn that when the monsters call to scare me, I can hang up the phone, because it feels right...I can fight back, throw stones and run into the cave for protection. I can scream in my biggest, scariest voice..."You won't eat me." And when they see me for who I am, they will scratch their heads and just go away. Or maybe we can find a way to live in harmony.

watching

This morning I am watching the birds. At last, their bird feeder seems to be their own. Up to this point, the squirrels have been invading the property, scattering their seed on the ground. They didn't seem to mind it all that much. They just picked it up off the ground and ate it...they don't know the 5-second rule. My SO, on the other hand, really minded it. The squirrels became public enemy #1.

It began the first night we hung it on a really leafy branch. By morning, the squirrels had all but destroyed it. The cedar gazebo had been knocked to the ground - the cord chewed through - and the seed strewn. Tiny squirrel teeth marks scarred the wood. The bird feeder lay in pieces. The house could be salvaged, but a little remodeling was in order. One trip to the hardware store and Steve thought he had it handled. He put the feeder back together and hung it from a thick piece of steel wire. Then he filled it with seed. And he watched.

The next morning, while the feeder remained in tact, the squirrels and birds were again, feeding off of the ground. The squirrels it seemed, had found a way to dump it. The mound of seeds under the feeder grew day by day. Woodland creatures came to feast. Forrest, the baby cottontail and his mother among them. Steve filled the seed everyday - it was starting to be out of control.

Sneak attacks were also being made on the windchimes that we had placed in the trees. There was one casualty, as the squirrels chewed on their strings. All ended up on the ground, dead soldiers. We were able to resuscitate two of them, but they remain in sick bay, while we come up with a new location.

The BB gun was next and my SO was on a mission. He wouldn't kill them, he said. Just teach them a lessons. Well, the squirrels are slow learners. He popped them in the head, on the butt, but they came back for more. It was as if they had little squirrel armor keeping them safe. As if every morning they donned their little helmets and went to feed. "Hey, watch for the sniper at 6 o'clock."

Needless to say, this tactic was unsuccessful, so he decided to move birdseed central to a new location. And so last night, after a trip to the hardware store, he feeder was secured. It now sits on top of the cement post that once held a clothes line. It is suspended from a piece of metal that extends about 2 feet from the post. And from my position here by the window, the squirrels haven't figured out just how to get up there. Gathered at the bottom, they scheme and plan their next attack. Every once in awhile, one of them darts over to the remnants of the pile of seeds that remain on the ground where the feeder used to be for a light snack. And the birds, well they seem to enjoy the view and the seed from this new location.

And so I watch...and enjoy the show. Has the war possibly been won? Or is it just detente?

return flight

Thinking about Houston and my reluctance to visit. One week from tomorrow I will be on a plane headed back. I know it is something that needs to be done, will tie up loose ends, and will leave me feeling as if there has been forward motion. Still, I am reluctant. When I left it behind, watching it fade into the distance in the rearview mirror, I was thrilled to be moving on - starting a new life in a new place. I could glance as the city passed by, knowing that I could shake the dust from my boots and walk a new walk.

As I plan this trip, I realize that I must look Houston and all it means right in the face. Deal with unresolved issues and confront the fears I have about myself and my own weaknesses. This doesn't sound like fun. I wish I were going to visit friends, see my kids and laugh a lot. But this is business. How will I stand up to it? Will I find the strong voice that I know is inside of me?

I have been practicing. I have been speaking my truth. For the last year I have been *VERY BRAVE*. But it's as if Houston brings out the weakness, and reminds me of all that I did not do, did not say. When I look at all the stuff, I realize that I am really the angriest at me, for living a life that was not okay. For not standing up for myself. And I look at this trip as an opportunity to undo all of that - well, maybe not undo, but to make it better. To do what I couldn't in the past, and to stick up for myself.

Ann has agreed to stand with me. Her presence will, I hope, give me courage.

I was thinking about what Roger said last weekend, that I had the balls of an elephant. I'm sure he was talking about my move to South Dakota, and being able to be fearless about the future. He would be surprised to see this other side of me. The side that has no balls at all. The side that quivers at the thought of confronting this past of mine. I'm thinking that it would be a good thing to write his words down on a sheet of paper to take with me to the "meeting." So that I will smile and see myself as a courageous - but gentle - giantess. This picture will help. Maybe I should draw her. She will be beautiful and strong, and her mouth will be open. (She is never afraid to speak.) And perhaps she should wear a tiara.

I wonder how many times I will return to Houston, and if my visits will always inspire these fears, or if instead, one day I can look this city straight in the face and forget. Will I be able to return with excitement of seeing friends and family? To remember the joys that I experienced there? My hope is that one day I will feel Houston's heat and humidity as I disembark from an airplane, and feel bittersweet about my journey there, my extended stay, and the life I made for myself there.

I will make my reservation today...and will do it with the intention of creating a good visit - a productive visit. But I will be glad to get on the plane and come home at the end to the new life I've made here in the SLRH on 14th St.

the proposal

Got a proposal from my soon-to-be-ex husband yesterday... funny how you begin and end a marriage with the same thing. Like the first one, it made my heart beat faster and left me relatively speechless, but for very different reasons. The first time I was excited, thrilled even. This time I was angry, disgusted and shocked that he might believe that after 17 years of marriage I would walk away with less than I deserve. So I took last night to think about it and what I know is that there are many reasons that I got an apartment, took the dog, the daybed, and moved out. And perhaps the biggest reason of all was his selfishness. So this latest proposal should have come as no surprise. It's not the money really. The numbers don't matter as much as the principal of the thing. I did, after all, relinquish my very lifestyle to take care of him and his children, to financially support his whims, wise or foolish (the motorcycle for instance), and to live my entire life as "servant."

Okay, everyday wasn't a bad day. And some days were even joyful. But through it all I learned to keep the waters still to avoid angry outbursts and drinking binges. What he took from me was much more than my paychecks, but instead, my own sense of self. And he believes that offering me a smaller portion of what we owned together will make up for that. He's sadly mistaken. Nothing he can offer would be enough. It's taken me more than a year to find the person I was, who faded into the oak woodwork of the house on Castle Hill. And now that she's back, she won't sell herself short. Not this time. Fool me once with promises of love and I'm the sucker. I won't accept the second proposal...but only an agreement made on my terms. And this will surprise him, because he doesn't remember the person he met, who buried herself under motherhood and housekeeping. She was strong, assertive and smart...and she knew how to take care of herself. Always did, always will.

He would be shocked to know that I think he's selfish I think. Because he doesn't see it. He lives in fear and lack and can be nothing other than selfish. I, on the other hand, do my best to accept the abundance of the universe and know that there will always be more than enough.

My answer is no. I will not be her again. I will not let your proposal make me feel small or weak in the knees. I will not cower, or hide, or fade into the woodwork to keep the waters still. I feel a storm brewing. There will be thunder, lightning and strong winds. And no matter the aftermath, I will have won, stood strong, found myself again, and this is priceless.

gone fishin'

Seems like a write about coffee a lot. Seems like I drink coffee a lot. I suppose it's because a hot cup of coffee is an integral part of every morning of my life. This morning was no exception. But it was different.

I was still in bed, trying to motivate myself to get up, when I heard the voice of my SO from the kitchen calling my name. He said, "There's a problem with the coffee." How could there be a problem with the coffee? I make coffee every night and set the brew cycle so that I will be greeted with the rich aroma and a fresh pot when I wake up. So I rolled out of bed and made my way toward the kitchen. There was a problem with the coffee. Instead of a full decanter, it was half full, and the remainder was on the white floor and dripping down the side of the cabinet. I was clueless. I grabbed a towel and started to clean it up, but paused to pour a cup, took a drink, and finished cleaning up the mess. The phone rang. It was the sister of my SO. She was upset because she wanted to go to the lake with us this weekend, but her husband wouldn't "let" her.

Wow...this day was going to be different. The coffee and quiet I usually enjoy before the day begins was no where, and I was in the middle of it all. Not a morning person, I have a hard time relating to anyone before 7. I had no words to calm Belinda, nor did I have the desire to clean up a kitchen mess. Then I remembered the events of the night before. Business stuff gone wrong. Chaos is in the air today, and there is nothing I can do about it but cut and run.

I did clean up the mess and make another pot of coffee. Now I wait for the phone to ring signaling more chaos as I drink my coffee.

Can I design my day sans chaos? Create a day that is peaceful when the world around me is running amok at dawn? I'd like to believe the answer is yes. And so I will refrain from talking on the phone, shower, pack a small bag and disappear to the backyard where the bluebonnets are blooming until my SO arrives to whisk me off to a place where my phone doesn't get a signal and Bo makes me coffee every morning. Sometimes I think that our weekend trips to the lake come too often - but on days like today, I'm glad we have this place to get away, to fish and sit around the campfire, to make s'mores and sleep in.

If you have drama to report, or chaos on order, don't look for me here....after I finish my coffee, I'm "gone fishin'".