Truth in Advertising?

I walked into Great Clips the other day to get my hair cut. The lady who greeted me had a very thick accent (Russian? Slovak? I couldn't quite place it), and I had to ask her to repeat something she had said as I didn't understand her.

I sat down to wait my turn and was idly looking around the waiting area. They have advertising posters for Great Clips on the wall and one, more than the rest, caught my eye.

It said "Great Clips: We have stylists who speak your language."

Umm..not so much.

Who are You? (Part 2)

Since I wrote about who I am currently, I thought it might be a good idea to write about who I want to be. I'm an impatient sort who hates the thought of taking baby steps toward a goal; however, trying to span the chasm in one giant leap doesn't seem to be working, so I'll try a different tact.

I want to be (a): bookstore/pagan shop owner, wildlife educator, child-like, living in an eco-house designed by my husband and me, founder of a no-kill animal shelter, hopeful, publisher of a magazine/newsletter about animals or nature/ecology, best-selling author, founder of a pet cemetery, eco-crusader, unafraid, playful, world healer...

It's hard not to be discouraged. I feel like some of those things are such lofty goals that I'll never reach them. I'm not sure where to start, how to start. I hate feeling defeated before I even begin - that negates the purpose of even trying. Optimism would probably help right now, but I'm not feeling it. I don't know why being true to oneself has to be so hard.

Who are You?

Over the past few months, I've been trying to determine who I am. I've been reading books and taking tests and still, I'm left with little clarity. Eventually, I understand there will have to be a time when I stop reading about doing stuff and actually start doing stuff- you can only prepare for a test so long before it's time to actually sit down and take the damned thing.

When I sit and try to think of my passions and what I'd like my life to be, I start to feel stymied and stonewalled and restless and defeated. I did a couple online tarot readings, just to psychically test the proverbial waters, and both were disastrous - malicious intent, legal problems, failure. For the reading I did this morning, my outcome card was the Devil reversed. I can't imagine getting a worse card in the outcome spot. This cannot bode well, and I admit that it made me a bit edgy.

Fortunately, I put more stock (not that I base my entire life on what's revealed during divination, but it does have its value) in the gentler readings I get from my Animal Medicine cards. I did a reading a couple weeks ago where I asked for guidance as I was feeling suffocated and stymied. The basic gist of the reading was teach others what I've learned, be still and open myself to messages coming from all around, let go of baggage, and stop being afraid. Okay, that's a lot more hopeful than the destruction and carnage promised in those online readings.

As I attempt to discover my passion in life, I thought it might be helpful to write down who I am so I can get a clearer picture of where I am right now and where I need to go. You pretty much need to determine a starting point before you can plot how to best arrive at your destination.

So here goes...

I am (a): Virgo, daughter, wife, friend, cat caretaker, secretary, water phobic, passionate about animals and the environment, Amazonian (at least in spirit), good Witch, critical, realistic/pessimistic, humanist, hateful of hypocrisy/dishonesty/injustice, lover of medieval stuff (garb, speech), voracious reader, lover of unusual words, mythology and ancient Egypt buff, out of shape, healer, teacher, meat eater, good driver, hockey fan, Scanner, musically inclined, sentimental, wary of change, organized...

That's all I've got for now. Hopefully there'll be more to follow.

Love Lost

It was three years ago almost to the minute that I lost my precious, sweet Tommy. He had grown too ill to remain in his body, and I had to make the wrenching decision to let him go. I remember the ride to the vet when I kept telling him it would be okay, he wouldn't have to hurt anymore, he would soon be free. I remember the light going out of his eyes. I remember the gnawing, unforgiving, nearly all-consuming pain that gripped me for days afterward. I remember sitting out by his grave the next day, watching the sun rise and wondering how life could go on when my heart was shattering. I remember crying and crying and crying and thinking I'd never be able to stop.

Eventually, the constant tears abated, but the heartache remains, even three years later. I miss you, little Piglet. Thank you for your love and for the laughter you gave me. I know you're one of the brightest stars in the heavens because you were such a brilliant light on earth.

Goodbye, My Friend

(written by Karla Bonoff 1988)

Oh we never know where life will take us

I know it's just a ride on the wheel

And we never know when death will shake us

And we wonder how it will feel

So goodbye my friend

I know I'll never see you again

But the time together through all the years

Will take away these tears

It's okay now

Goodbye my friend

I've seen a lot things that make me crazy

And I guess I held on to you

We could've run away and left well maybe

But it wasn't time and we both knew

So goodbye my friend

I know I'll never see you again

But the love you gave me through all the years

Will take away these tears

I'm okay now

Goodbye my friend

Life's so fragile and love's so pure

We can't hold on but we try

We watch how quickly it disappears

And we never know why

But I'm okay now

Goodbye my friend

You can go now

Goodbye my friend

Oh No She Did'int

I called my boss a "stupid Alzheimer's-ridden bitch" today.

Granted, it was in an email to my husband but still...when you start referring to your boss in such glowing terms, it's well past time to move on.

I get a daily horoscope emailed to me, and for the past two days, this is what the Career section has said: You've got a bone to pick with a higher-up, but this just isn't the right time to pick it. Sit quietly and bide your time. Give it two weeks.

I hope that means I'll have found a new - and better - job in two weeks. [Aside from the whole panic about not having a paycheck, I don't even think I'd mind if I got fired. Not on an emotional level, anyway. The practical level - having bills to pay - is another story, however.] Or that we'll win the lottery within two weeks. Or that SHE'LL get another job within two weeks.

Naww, I'd rather *I* get a better job. Leave these people in the dust and never look back. I'm tired of that place and pretty much everything in it. I feel hypocritical every second I'm there. If I could out and out say, "I don't like you people so just leave me be, and it'll make things so much easier," that would be fine. But I can't. So I have to smile and to pretend I like them, when all the while I'd rather be having a root canal. THAT is a lot less painful than having to play make-believe every day.

A week or so ago, my husband said, "That job is crushing your soul."

No truer words have been spoken.

Turn and Face the Strange

Autumn, it seems, will be a time of changes.

After living on her own for over two years, Mom will be moving in with us, probably next month. She receives Social Security and wages from a cleaning job, but she's unable to make ends meet, and the logical conclusion was for her to come live with us. She'll basically be inhabiting the lower level of the house, and she's already fearful of being "in our way." Hopefully she'll settle in and settle down without too much anxiety.

She's currently enmeshed in trying to sell her property. She's never liked the old house where we lived and once Dad died, she was eager to sell and move to a place built within the last century. The asshole developers who signed a purchase agreement to buy the property are basically giving her the run-around and have held things up since 2006.

When the idea of selling the land first came up, I had a hard time with it. The old house and surrounding farmland have been in my family for decades, and there are memories and ghosts wrapped up in that soil. I don't do well with goodbyes, but I was able to put my grieving on the back burner when the sale stalled and Mom continued to live there.

But now that she's going to live here, the house will be abandoned, and that makes me incredibly sad. Having to say goodbye is a closer reality now, a chill upon my soul, the start of a hole that will eventually burrow completely through my heart.

I went back to the house on Sunday, and I felt the grief welling as I made my way up the driveway. Moving around inside felt familiar yet strange - it was home but it wasn't.

There's an ancient oak in the backyard - a guardian who witnessed and blessed my wedding, as my husband-to-be and I stood beneath its spreading limbs and pledged our devotion to each other. It nearly died quite some time ago but it came back, gnarled and scarred but still full of life. Once the land belongs to someone else, I'm sure that old friend will be destroyed, and it breaks my heart. On Sunday, I stood with my hand against its thick bark and cried for the grief I feel now and for the grief to come.

I wish we would win the lottery so I could pay Mom for the land and keep it intact - perhaps create a park named for my father so the legacy of my part of the family line would live on, even after I'm gone.

Tears fall like the leaves. I know the Wheel will turn and things will change, transform, pupate from caterpillar to butterfly. I know this to be true, but for right now, I don't have to like it.

What the World Needs Now

According to the song "What the World Needs Now" which was written in 1965, the thing the world needs is "love, sweet love."

I disagree.

What the world needs now is a swift and virulent pandemic.

I believe that many of the troubles in the world are being caused by the gross overpopulation of the planet. In short, there are way too many freakin' people around.

Consider: As the population rises, more and more land is gobbled up for use in building houses, mini-malls, new roads, and Starbucks franchises. Land being used for these purposes is no longer available for crop planting or livestock raising, which means that less food is produced. So the number of people needing to be fed increases while the amount of arable land decreases. Anyone else see the problem here?

And obviously, more people means more consumption of disposable items, which increases the pollution problems that are also killing the planet and will, in turn, kill its inhabitants. Just not quickly enough.

People are not meant to breed like prey animals. Women should not be lauded and given a badge of honor for having litters of children. There's a reason rodents have lots of babies at one time - it's called predation. If a mouse has twenty mouselings, there's a good chance that perhaps a quarter of them will survive to create more mouselings. Aside from other humans, Mankind has no natural enemy. There are no dragons or dinosaurs around to prey on us, and modern medicine has improved to the point where most babies survive to adulthood. I could understand the reasoning in the old days of having twelve children - some of them would die young and you needed a flock of children to help run the farm because you didn't have machinery for plowing and harvesting. We're not living in "the old days" any longer. Stop with having so many damned kids. [I blame some of this on the Catholic church who says it's a sin to use birth control. Ummm, isn't your God powerful enough to make a pill or condom fail, if it's truly His will that you should be fruitful and multiply?]

Adding to the population overload is that fact that more and more people live longer these days. There are marvels of science and medicine to keep people from succumbing to the plague. So not only are scores of new people arriving, we're not losing people quickly enough to balance things out. There was a great definition of death on the old "Dave's World" TV show. Dave's young son wanted to know why people had to die, and Dave told him, "Life is like a merry-go-round. Some people have to get off so other people can get on." In today's world, people aren't exiting the merry-go-round at a fast pace, and there's no room for the newcomers.

I'm sure some people might think, "Oh sure, you're all for a global pandemic as long as it doesn't affect people YOU love." And if they think that, they'd be - pardon the pun - dead wrong. While it would be optimal if a plague only wiped out the morons and evildoers among us, I would still welcome it, even if it took people I care about, even myself. We are dying slowly right now, choking off our supplies of clean air and clean water. I'd much prefer a swift death to one brought about by starvation, suffocation, or dehydration.

Eventually, there will be a mass extinction. The Earth's history bears proof of several former extinctions, and there's no reason to think there won't be another, especially at the rate we're destroying the planet.

I say, bring it on. Leave the place to the non-human animals. I'm sure they'll treat their environment better than the homo sapiens have.

Chaos Take Me

I have a recurring dream that features tornadoes. Eventually, I came to the realization that I usually have these dreams when my life is stressful, so I've taken to calling them my chaos dreams.

The setting is always my childhood home - I'm sure there's a deep psychological reason for that, I just haven't quite put a finger on it yet. Typically, the tornado(es) pass by the house or I wake up just before they hit the house. Not so on Thursday night.

In the dream, I was standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. My mom was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table and my (deceased) father was in his easy chair, which was tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There was no panic. A bit of apprehension, but no outright fear. The tornado passed over the north portion of the house. I could feel the pressure inside the house changing, and I felt like I was being sucked upward but I managed to keep my feet on the floor. I kept chanting, "Keep it together, keep it together," as though I were imploring the house to stay in one piece. The tornado moved west and did some damage to one of the sheds on the property, and then I woke up.

It's no surprise that this dream was visited upon me right now. My life feels quite out of control at the moment. My job is going to hell (which is probably ironic, considering I work for a church); the plumbing in our house has been screwed up for over a month so we haven't been able to take a shower or a bath, and standing in the tub pouring a bucket of water over yourself doesn't quite cut it; money has gotten tight, which makes me nervous; and there's always the low-level concern I feel about the state of the world.

Hopefully soon, our plumbing will be fixed (plumber's coming out Monday); I'll get a job I enjoy; we'll win the lottery (which would preclude the whole job thing completely); and a new president will be able to create some semblance of sanity from the wreckage left by the Bush administration.

Breaking Point

I believe I have reached mine.

We haven't been able to use our upstairs bathroom for about a month because all three water-consuming facilities (toilet, tub, and sink) are leaking. Hopefully we'll have some resolution (in the form of gods-awful expensive repairs) by the end of the month.

The downstairs shower is leaking so we can't use that. If you read my husband's blog, you'll know why we can't use the downstairs tub, whose repair hinges on a type of faucet that they apparently don't even make anymore.

Due to the downstairs tub issue, we've had to rip up part of the carpeting because it started to stink like a wet, dead dog, and I'm going to assume we'll have mold growing inside the wall under which the water seeped.

Something so stupidly infuriating happened at work that I was ready to quit on the spot and am now entrenched in the hunt for a new job.

I might need an MRI for an ongoing back problem.

We took our cat Oliver to the vet today, and he has gum/tooth problems that will require (expensive) teeth cleaning and perhaps tooth extraction. This is stressful to me in a multitude of ways.

Add to that the troubles of the world which I can't totally block out, and I'm ready to curl up in the corner and cry until I'm exhausted.

While the logical part of me realizes that none of these are "end of the world" scenarios, the emotional part of me is fed up and wants to pitch a holy fit complete with insane crying jag.

Bridges Shouldn't Fall Down

When the clock reads 6:05 p.m. today, it will mark the one-year anniversary of the collapse of the I-35W bridge.

Blessings of comfort to those who lost loved ones in the disaster.

Blessings of peace to those who survived but who are still suffering emotional or physical trauma.

Blessings of gratitude to the first responders - police, fire fighters, medical crews, and "regular" people who did what they could to help. Peace to them as well, for whatever post-trauma battles they may still fight in their dreams.

Blessings of healing to my native state.

Let There Be Peace on Earth...

...and let it begin with me.

Sy Miller and Bill Jackson wrote the song "Let There Be Peace on Earth" back in 1955. It has since snuck into hymnals - at least it has in the church where I work. It's a nice thought, isn't it? A world with no war, no violence. A brotherhood of man, as John Lennon sang in "Imagine."

It'll never happen.

We can't even stop people with 11 items from going through the "10 Items or Less" checkout lanes at the grocery store. Yet we hope that someday, people will join hands across the globe and base their lives on some sort of universal "Be Kind - Rewind!" mantra? Come again?

I don't have much hope regarding the greater good of Mankind. I guess that sounds pessimistic but personally, I think I'm being realistic.

There are pockets of exceptions, but overall, humans are hard-wired for survival at all costs, and as the gap between the Haves and the Have-Nots gets wider, the Have-Nots respond by losing their interest in keeping the peace. When resources are in short supply, the Haves tend to tighten their grip and hoard their treasure like Smaug the dragon. Let the doubloons corrode into dust and the great stores of wheat rot, but they'll be damned if they're going to share.

If your neighbor has the last loaf of bread in the village, he's probably not going to be willing to share any of it with you because he's concerned about keeping himself alive. Driven by hunger and survival instinct, you may very well mosey over to his hut, bonk him on the head with a club, and take the bread for yourself. If he had split the loaf in half and given you a share, two people could've lived half as long. If he kept it all for himself, one person would live twice as long. Which of those scenarios is better?

We might think ourselves above such survival-based narcissism but until we're truly in that sort of predicament, can we really say without a doubt's shadow that we wouldn't act like a baser animal, intent only on living for another day, kindness and social protocol be damned? I would like to think that I'd share my resources. I would also like to think that I wouldn't commit violence to obtain the resources of someone else. BUT I've never been put into the precarious business of clinging to life by the very tips of my fingernails. How do I KNOW what my reaction would be?

Let's face it. Even if we consider ourselves good people, we still have our moments where we want to smack the mother-lovin' bejeezus out of the person who cut us off in traffic or the rotten kid throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the store. We nearly get an orgasmic rush as we imagine the thick palm of our hand connecting solidly with the back of some jerk's bony head. It's a luscious sensation, isn't it?

But, being civilized people, we sublimate those feelings and go about our lives in a mostly non-violent manner. We don't act on our emotions. We may mutter blackly under our breath about unfit parents and mandatory birth control or, in the case of the snotwad driver, scream at the top of our lungs...but that's as far as it goes. We don't run the driver off the road or body slam the shrieking child. Granted, problems can arise when we never allow ourselves to let off steam in an appropriate way. Note the sexual abuse of children by priests - they're forced to stuff their natural sexual urges and it oozes out in unacceptable ways.

Too, if you think about having total peace on earth, "all good" isn't really much better than "some bad." There's no contrast, no friction. If it's sunny 365 days a year, you don't fully appreciate a sunny day. Let it rain for a couple weeks and then see how you feel when the sun comes out again. There's no such thing as "light" if you don't have "dark" to create a comparison. Death is necessary for Life to continue. As in all things, balance is essential.

Does that mean I like when bad things happen to good people? Of course not. I'm not a sadistic nut who gets off on other people's pain. I still grieve when I see a dead animal alongside the road. I still mourn the state of the world when I read about a 90-year-old woman who gets stabbed in her apartment by a creep who wants to rob her or about an 11-year-old boy whose life is cut short after he's hit by a drunk driver. I still ask "Why?" when a bridge collapses into the muddy waters of the Mississippi, killing and injuring people who wanted nothing more than to go about their evening's business.

While I don't foresee peace on earth, I WOULD like to see people dial it back a bit. Let's do our best to get rid of extreme violence - murders, rapes, torture, war. I think a few slap fights, a screaming match every now and then, and perhaps some vulgar hand gestures and a hard-fought game of Candyland would be enough to maintain the balance between Good and Not-Good.

It wouldn't be universal harmony, but I think it'd beat what we got going on now.

45 Years

I've wanted to write about this topic for some time now but when I think about it, I get so angry that my brain implodes, which makes forming complete and coherent sentences impossible. I'm still angry, but I think it's well past time for this post.

The price of gas has become a thorn in the sides of many people over the past few months. As the cost per gallon rises ever higher, we hear cries of "Produce more oil! I don't want to drive slower and consolidate errands and reduce my consumption! Start drilling in the Alaska Wildlife Refuge!"

To the people who make these outbursts, I respond with the following: You are idiots.

Why do you think it's called "fossil fuel"? Perhaps because it was created millions of years ago? It's a NON-RENEWABLE energy source, you short-sighted morons. In case those words are too big for you to understand, I'll dumb it down so your reptilian brain can grasp the point: When it is gone, it is gone. Poof. Bye-bye.

What good will it do to continue drilling for oil when we're using it faster than the planet can replace it? But that's what most people will say, that's what their solution will be - find more oil deposits and suck them dry. That'll fix the problem, right?

An optimistic estimate [note the word optimistic] states that at the current rate of consumption (and we all know the current rate will rise), we will exhaust the resources of oil left in the ground in about 45 years.

45 years.

That's it.

Less than a lifetime for people who will be born in the next few years.

Why worry though, right? I mean, most of us will already be dead by the time this happens, so who cares? We'll get ours. Why concern ourselves with discovering RENEWABLE energy sources, which will neither run out nor pollute the planet further? Why bother conserving energy while working to perfect solar power or fuel cells or hydrogen engines? That seems like way too much work. Let's just drain the rest of the Earth's blood and let our children worry about the future.

Bluntly put, I am appalled and disgusted by the human race.

Freaky Friday

Submitted for your approval...

On Thursday, I wrote about the Law of Attraction.

Yesterday (Friday), we were getting bad weather so I was flipping around the local channels to see if anyone were breaking into programming to give an update. Oprah was on the CBS affiliate, and the topic of her show was...the Law of Attraction. With Martha Beck, who I've written about recently. At one point, another of the guests, Louise Hay, said "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear"...which was the name of my post from Thursday.

Yesterday (Friday), we received our latest issue of Consumer Reports in the mail. They were comparing small SUV's. On the lead page of the article was...a green Subaru Forester, which I had also mentioned in my Thursday post.

Before the mail came, I was looking online at different cars, thinking perhaps we'd be able to replace my husband's failing car with a lower-priced Toyota or Honda. I checked heavily into the Honda Fit Sport. In another section of Consumer Reports, they did a short article on the SmartCar and gave it a horrific review. Instead of getting a SmartCar, they suggested instead that you buy...a Honda Fit.

Today, hubby and I went to Menards (a home improvement store) to pick up supplies for a repair job. On the front window, there was a placard announcing a sweepstakes to win...a Subaru Forester (and they showed a green one). I wanted to enter but you had to have a Menards' credit card, which we don't have. I'm tempted to get one simply to register for the car.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear

I've noticed a sudden upsurge around me of the ideas espoused in the book, The Secret. I haven't read the book myself but from what I understand, it talks about bringing things to you through the power of intention and visualization and good thoughts.

My best friend and her husband have recently written blog posts about this phenomenon, and my mother - who has been trying to sell her property for three years - said the other day that she'd heard a radio program about writing down what you want to manifest in your life, so she put pen to paper and wrote out specifics of what she wants in a land sale.

Being a fairly analytical person by nature, I decided to allow myself time to ponder this topic, and I found that I'm on the fence about it.

I'm not sure that I can totally buy into the idea of "If you can believe it, you can achieve it." At least not in the way most people probably interpret it, e.g. "I can have anything I want as long as I believe in it hard enough and keep a positive attitude about it." That thinkin' and hopin' and wishin' and prayin' will draw your heart's desires to you.

For example, I'd like to win the lottery. I've even stated (and my husband agrees with this, which precludes the necessity of bopping him on the head and absconding with a winning ticket) that if I won a ton o' money, I'd give most of it away to reputable charities. Neither hubby nor I are extravagant people, and that wouldn't change simply because we suddenly had the wherewithall to BE extravagant. We would get new cars (sensible sedans or small SUVs, not $60,000 pieces of vehicular eye candy), pay off our mortgage, pay off my mom's loan and buy her a new house, repay a loan given to us by my parents-in-law, bestow gifts upon family and friends. That's really about it. No mansions in Monte Carlo, no outrageous bling, no gold-plated toilets. Just simple comforts and donations to charity.

I have the best of intentions and yes, we buy a ticket each week. (This isn't like the joke where a guy curses God every week when he doesn't win the lottery, until God finally says, "Dude, meet me halfway and buy a ticket, already.") So how come our numbers don't come up? My intentions always include the caveat, "As it harm none" but I can't see how our winning the lottery would harm anyone. I'm not prescient enough to know everything that might happen. Maybe having $150 million would eventually cause harm to come to me, mine, or someone else, and that's why we never come close to winning.

I would also like to have a new car for my husband. He drives a fair piece to work and back each day, and his 11-year-old car is starting to throw shoes too frequently for comfort, which impacts both his mental health and our fiscal health. At the moment, we can't afford to plunk down money for a brand-new vehicle so it would be nice to even win just enough money to buy him a decent car. How would having a reliable vehicle hurt anyone? Would he wind up picking the one lemon off the new-car tree, only to have its brakes fail, causing him to get into an accident that left him paralyzed for life? Again, I don't have a crystal ball that would show me all the possible futures of this scenario, so I can't really say if this wish is totally benign or not.

Despite my skepticism, I do find value in thinking positively. I'm not Christian and I don't believe in the process of prayer. To me, prayer smacks of getting into a cosmic drive-through lane and yelling an order into the clown's mouth - Ronald's mouth to God's ear, as it were. I'm a Witch, and the basis of magickal spell work is to focus your intention about a particular need and release it to the Powers that Be. I used to think that perhaps Someone was listening to my petitions but now, I'm not sure I believe that anymore. I will still imagine a particular deity when doing a spell because it helps my focus if I have a physical image to lock on, but I don't think the idea that there's a S/He out there paying attention rings true for me these days.

Perhaps the REAL magick of focused intention lies in the fact that it opens your mind and your consciousness to a multitude of possibilities - possibilities that you would be blind to if you had a negative attitude and/or closed mind.

When we're alert, we notice our surroundings. If I say to myself, "For my next car, I'd like to buy a green Subaru Forester," I can almost guarantee that I'll start seeing green Foresters everywhere. Did people run out and buy that particular vehicle because I had the thought? I highly doubt it. (If my thoughts possessed that much power, there would be scores of people bursting into flame.) It's because my mind was focused on this specific object; I became visually sensitive to it. Those green Foresters were always on the road, I just never noticed them because it hadn't been important in any way. Once they held an interest for me, my blinders came off and the cars lost their cloaking devices.

I don't totally discount the idea of "believe to achieve." I find a great deal of merit in writing down your desires because I think this process shapes and hones your thoughts into a razor-sharp image. Saying "I want a new job" is nebulous at best and creates a fuzzy picture that will dart in and out of your line of sight like puffs of wispy smoke. Saying "I want a new job that pays $18/hour, has flexible hours, allows me to have my own office, offers a pension plan and 401(k) and medical/dental insurance, is located less than 10 miles from home, and has opportunities for advancement" gives a solid picture of what you actually want and helps you zero in on finding it. Does this mean you'll actually locate a job like this? Maybe, maybe not. But I know you have a better chance of making it happen if you program your internal radar to pick up signals that may guide you to it.

When I wanted to find a mate, I kept a journal which was comprised of letters directed to him. In the journal, I described what I wanted in a mate - physical attributes were listed, although non-physical traits were more highly prized. In 2001, on the day after Thanksgiving, I told the Universe it had 18 months. I was ready for a mate, dammit, and I expected him to show up in my life within a year and a half.

He showed up in December 2001.

Did the Universe harken to my pleas? Or did stating my intentions so clearly simply flip a switch in my brain and prime my psyche to be ready and able to accept this gift of a mate, almost as though turning on an internal sign that read "Pay attention, stay open to possibilities, notice everything"?

I like to think that *I* deserve the credit for my successes, rather than being like those folks who stand up behind an award podium and give all the accolades to God/Deity. Is my stance selfish? I like to think that it's self-affirming. *I* changed myself and did the work in manifesting a desire - shouldn't I take some pride in that and give myself a pat on the back? Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself? I dislike it when people give God all the credit for the good things in their lives...but take full responsibility upon themselves when something bad happens. What's that about?

I still believe in magick and serendipity. I consult my divination cards (with good success). I think I have been "given" specific totem animals for a reason. I think magickally charged items (stones/candles/wands) possess a good measure of power. I know that my cat Tommy was a familiar - a magician's assistant, if you will. I find great peace in gazing at a full moon, an aspect of Goddess.

However, I'm starting to believe that magick comes from within, rather than from without.

Slobberhounds and Englishmen

My father was born March 19, 1934, a sturdy mix of English/Irish with a good dose of Minnesotan thrown in as well. In homage to his heritage, he was a fairly stoic man who kept most of his emotions close to his vest. He was free with his laughter, but I don't remember that I ever saw him cry. I only recall ever hugging him twice - once before he left for the hospital for surgery and then again when I was about to leave home for Texas.

Remembrances of my dad are jumbled and scattered and don't seem to follow any type of linear movement.

When he still farmed, I remember that he accidentally plowed up a rabbit burrow; he called to me from the field and as I met him, he placed a baby bunny in my hands. I took good care of Ginger; unfortunately, after we moved him to a pen outside, he was killed by what I think was a weasel.

Dad was in a band with his brothers called "The Country Boys" - he played bass but I assume he could play lead as well, since we had an acoustic guitar in the house. I imagine I got my musical talent from him, if such things are indeed hereditary.

He never outwardly showed love to the cats we owned, who invariably liked to climb up into his lap to catch a nap. But when he didn't think we were looking, he would reach down to pet Smokey or Eddie or Duncan ("Old cat," as Dad called him) and he never put them back on the floor.

He liked to grill, even in the dead of winter. Mom and I liked our hot dogs burned to a crisp so Dad would stand out there in the cold, eventually bringing in a plate of hot dogs...only to be sent back outside because the dogs weren't black enough. Once, he made chicken on the grill, and fussed that it had turned out too dry. Reaching the dessert portion of the meal, he asked Mom if her cake were dry. She said, "No. You didn't grill it." He took her jibe in good humor; if I remember correctly, it nearly put me under the table with laughter.

He was diagnosed with colon cancer in either 2001 or 2002 (I think it was 2002, but would need to check my journals for confirmation). He had colon resection, which he went through with flying colors, and was placed on an oral form of chemotherapy medication. My best friend Melissa was returning to Texas for her wedding in October 2002 and my parents made the trip; they considered Lissa an adoptive child and wouldn't consider missing her big day. They were staying in the same hotel as Melissa and Dan, her husband-to-be. My mother is the type to make the bed and to tidy up when she stays in a hotel. I told her that she didn't have to do it; the housekeepers would take care of it.

I remember that we were all in Lissa and Dan's room, and Dad was sitting in the corner. I could sense that he was bursting to tell us something, could barely hide his Cheshire grin. I said, "Okay, Dad, what are you dying to tell us?" He proudly and gleefully said, "Your mother made the bed." He was so excited that he could tattle on her, his eyes twinkling and crinkling up as he laughed.

The cancer didn't shrink as much as his doctor liked, so he was put on stronger and stronger forms of chemo which took a greater and greater toll. Come the first part of November 2004, he was in the hospital. His body had had enough, it had been decimated by the poison; after a hospital stay of a couple weeks, there was nothing more that could be done and he was moved to a nursing home.

Mom called on November 28. She said that the nursing staff said it probably wouldn't be much longer - considering these folks knew their business, I didn't doubt that they were right. Mom told me I didn't have to come, which wasn't even an option. My now-husband Eli and I were in the car and at his side within minutes.

A death watch is never a pleasant experience. I kept willing Dad to go, silently telling him it was okay. He was suffering, a hollowed-out shell of his formerly robust self, and he needed to leave the pain behind. Every time he would breathe out, our eyes would travel to the bed. I can't speak for Eli and for my mom, but I think all of us were probably begging him not to take another breath.

Finally, it was so. Like doctors in the medical dramas on TV, I automatically looked to the clock to note the time; it was 2:13 p.m. [I found out later from Mom that his father had also died at 2:13 p.m.] The next few moments are a bit of a blur. I think Eli went out to summon a nurse; I don't recall if I hugged Mom or just stood near her as the nurses came in to verify his passing. They quietly left the room to allow us some time alone. Mom and I were crying, hugging, and I was telling her that it would be okay. I moved to Dad's side, leaned down to kiss his brow, silently whispered to him to have a good journey.

Sunday night, the evening of Father's Day, I dreamed. I was at the church where I work, and there was a wake in progress. I was sitting in the room reserved for the grieving family members. There were people all around me, but I don't know that I recognized any of them. I looked across the room and noticed Princess, my dad's beloved bloodhound, stretched out, eyes just as rheumy and jowls just as slobbery as they had been in real life. I moved to her, reached down to pat her on the head, and in my peripheral vision, I noticed my dad sitting in the corner. He stood and I walked to him and put my arms around him. I can't remember if he spoke. I think I may've said, "I love you" before I woke up, noticing as I came awake that I was crying, much as I'm doing now as I write this.

My aunt (Mom's youngest sister) Susie has sensed my dad before. Out of the blue, she's smelled the cherry pipe tobacco of which he was fond. Just recently, she had an experience where a strange misty smoke appeared in her room and swirled to form the faces of four people, of which my father was one.

I've really not had any experiences of my father since his death, either subtle or blatant, that would alert me to his continued presence. I like to think my dream was his way of saying, "Princess and I are alright."

Don't Shred the Children

Our new shredder at work has a pictograph of a child with the universal NO sign (circle with a slash) across it. I can only assume that means we're not supposed to stick kids in the shredder. There goes my to-do list for next Tuesday, shot right to hell.


That story has nothing to do with this post, other than the title. It just tickled me for some twisted reason.


It's been a little over a week since I had my epiphany and, happily, it hasn't worn off yet. I feel quite buoyant and very "clean," if that makes sense. My psyche feels refreshed. It was like I was coated in the soot created by my job-related negativity and letting it go was like loosening a shower that washed the grime from my soul. I feel like a different, better person. I'm sure the folks around me think I've smoked too much crack or something, given my turnabout from massive pessimism to calm optimism.

Last Friday, just days after I took my first steps into the light, my newly born attitude was put to the test. I decided to celebrate the end of the work week with a feast from Taco Bell. [Shut up. Amo quesadillas del filete.] As I got out of my car and started the trek across the parking lot, I noticed three young girls - maybe 18 or 19 years old - heading for the building ahead of me. They were giggling and fairly boisterous.

Immediately, before I even had time to think, my emotional reaction was one of irritation. Bam, it was just there, my body tensing in response. Oh great, I'm going to be stuck in line with these squirrelly kids. Lucky me.

Seconds later, and much to my surprise actually, another voice popped up in my head. Those kids are going to act however they act and there's not much you can do about it. You can choose to have a bad attitude about it, or you can choose to have a good attitude about it.

I chose to have a good attitude and walked inside.

They were hovering in a little pod near the front of the otherwise-unpopulated line. When they saw me come up behind, one of them said, "We don't know what we want yet so you can go ahead of us."

Say what?

I stepped ahead of them and placed my to-go order, then stood aside to wait. They were no more obnoxious than any other customer. But I know if I'd had a crummy attitude, they would've seemed like spider monkeys hopped up on amphetamines and triple espressos, screeching and yawping and winging feces at each other.

One by one, they placed their orders (which were also to-go) and moved over to wait. After being told the total of her meal, the last girl looked at one of her friends and said, "My total is $6.66" with kind of a wide-eyed I'm-not-sure-whether-I-should-be-freaked-out-or-amused-by-this look on her face.

I may've heard her friend's response incorrectly, but it sounded like she said, "That's the mark of the bitch."

I laughed about that all the way home.

Stars Shining Bright Above You

I'm currently halfway through Martha Beck's latest book, Steering by Starlight. It's about rediscovering your Purpose in Life. According to Martha (and I have to say that I agree with her), we Know what our Purpose is early in life...but then we grow up and the pressures and responsibilities of the real world come along, burying us and our Purpose. We drag ourselves to work every day, making widgets so we can afford to pay the rent, but we really want to be an artist or a dancer or a theoretical physicist. The mundane needs eclipse those of our soul, and we grow further and further distanced from our true selves.

I have felt this way for quite some time, slogging through various books (Refuse to Choose by Barbara Sher and Now What? by Laura Berman Fortgang have given me a wealth of knowledge) in the hopes that something will create a spark and help me rediscover who I'm really meant to be.

Memorial Day week, I was on vacation. Sunday came and with it, the knowledge that I had to return to work the next morning. It didn't surprise me that I had insomnia that night, nor did it surprise me that I was quite angry Monday morning after getting to work. Angry that everyone but me can come and go as they please. Angry that some of my co-workers are exempt, don't work 40 hours most weeks, yet get paid for 40 hours. Angry that the administration there isn't very proactive. I was indeed the Grumple who stole Christmas. Grumpitty, grumpitty, grue, indeed.

Tuesday morning, I was alone at work, so I was able to read a couple chapters of Starlight. Martha was talking about how people create their own prisons with their thoughts and beliefs. "I can't leave this job or I'll be a failure." "I can't leave my abusive wife because no one else will want me and I have to stay for the kids' sake." "I can't become a sculptor because I won't be any good and I'll starve to death because no one will buy my creations." We convince ourselves that we've already failed, even though we haven't even tried. We keep ourselves in our cozy little ruts - even if the ruts are awful, they're familiar. We convince ourselves that we're trapped, never noticing that the cell door is wide open.

I sat and pondered what I read and I swear to you, I had an epiphany. I could almost literally feel my mind expanding, feel new lobes popping up all over my brain. It was a weird but wonderful experience.

I thought about my attitude toward my job, thought about all the negative stuff I was stewing in...and I just let it go.

Instantly, I felt so much lighter - mentally, physically, and spiritually. Like this Atlas-ian weight had just fallen from my shoulders and my soul. I felt free.

Don't misunderstand. I still have issues with this job and letting go of stuff didn't make me into a Pollyanna. But for now, I'm not festering and being toxically negative and constantly complaining. I still want to follow my bliss, there's no mistaking that, but I don't feel like I'm dying each day I go to my current job.

Moments after I had that revelation, I had an urge to walk through the building. As I was moving down a hallway, I noticed a wild turkey right outside the window. She's been around before, but I'd never seen her before Tuesday. In Native American tradition, Turkey's medicine is "Give Away." This relates more to giving away material possessions, but I also take it to speak to giving away emotional/mental stuff that doesn't serve you any longer. I thought it was totally fitting that I saw her after I "gave away" a lot of my mind clutter. Seeing her felt like a celestial pat on the back, like the Universe was saying, "You chose wisely, you're on the right path."

So. Onward and upward. I'm finding that it's a lot easier to fly when you remove the self-created shackles that are binding your wings.

Another Brick in the Wall

While I realize that cogs play an important role in the working of a piece of machinery, I'm tired of being a cog.

For the past 20 years, I've been a quiet person with a quiet job leading a quiet life, and it's just not enough for me anymore. I want to BE somebody, ya know? I want to impact the world in such a bright way that for years and years, people will recall my name. I don't want to be famous (or infamous); I just want to be remembered for doing good.

I don't want to do good with the explicit purpose of being remembered, because that sounds like it's all for the wrong reasons - like when celebs do something charitable while making sure the cameras are rolling. It would just be neat to be such a wonderful example of do-goodery that people would say, "We're really glad she was around to do what she did." I guess that sounds egotistical in a way, which is unfortunate because that's not how I'm meaning to come across. Charitable works would be their own reward for me, and it would be a true gift to know I made someone's life easier, maybe even inspired him/her to turn around and do something good for someone else.

Don't get me wrong. I don't find fault with leading a solid life. Cog-like people form the backbone of society; without them, this machine called Life would grind to a creaky halt, and I am grateful to the folks who perform their duties day in and day out. I just don't want this for myself anymore, after so many years.

I have no delusions that I'll become the next Shakespeare or Gandhi or Mother Theresa. But, to paraphrase the words of Mufasa from The Lion King, I want to be more than what I've become. I know there is so much more inside of me, so much I'm capable of doing for the good of the planet. I nearly feel like I'll burst sometimes with the want of making a difference.

But, like so much in my life right now, the question boils down to "How?" How do I make an impact? What do I do, what direction do I take? How best do I use my skills and my passions to make my dreams a reality? How do I turn this flame inside me into a roaring fire that consumes me and drives me forward to do what I'm meant to do?

I fall victim to the erroneous thought that a simple act can make no difference. It's always "all or nothing" for me - I have to save the entire world; otherwise, why bother? It's ridiculously short-sighted, I know, but it seems to be how I'm wired, and I need to retrain my psyche to think differently.

I'm currently reading a book called Me to We, and it's turned me on my head. You know you're in trouble when you're only on page 14 and already you're reading the story of Kim Phuc, who's most famously known as the "Girl in the Picture" - Vietnamese child, running screaming toward the camera, naked, her clothes burned off by napalm, her skin starting to fall off in black and pink chunks. Ye gods, how can you read this and not want to do Something? How can you not be changed by it?

The book is filled with stories of regular people doing simple acts that have swelled into wondrously wide-spread kindness. I haven't yet been able to get it through my skull that hey, if these folks can do it, why not me?



(And although I'm not a fan of Pink Floyd, considering I used one of their song titles as my post title, I have to ask: How can you have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat?)

Time in a Bottle

I dreamed last night that I was on a train with Tommy. The door of the train was open, and Tommy was crouched beneath a seat near the back of the train, and my sole purpose for the entire length of the dream was to keep Tommy was getting out. I knew I would be broken-hearted if that happened. He never escaped, but I still woke up with a broken heart.

It's been nearly three years since his death, and I miss my little guy. From the first moment he gazed up at me with a look of "What took you so long?" he was my furry soulmate. He was a part of my heart and my soul in ways I just can't explain and today, for whatever reason, I am feeling the gaping, jagged hole that was created the moment the light disappeared from his eyes.

I try to comfort and to cheer myself with all of the good memories of him - his sweet face, the little tippy-toe dance of his back feet, how he would lay beside me draped over my arm at night, my husband-to-be saying "Goodbye, Piggles" before he left for work each morning. But it gets obscured with my pressing guilt of not spending more time with him, of not knowing he was so sick.

I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm sorry that you had to spend so much time alone. I'm sorry that you had to suffer before the end. And even though I'm grateful for the time we had, I'm sorry that we only had 13 years together.

I just wish we could have one more moment together so I could hug you and tell you I'm sorry. I guess I'll have to be content with raining my tears upon the wings of Raven, the celestial messenger, and asking him to fly my message to you, wherever you are.

I miss you, little Piglet.

Hell Hath No Fury

I am an angry person. For all of my soft-heartedness (Disney movies and most Animal Planet shows make me cry), I am generally a smoldering pit of rage most of the time.

I was reading an article the other day and the author said she got road rage while walking. My first thought was not "Wow, this chick's got some issues." My first thought was "Wow, that sounds a lot like me."

Why so angry, bubby? In the words of Karen from Will & Grace, what's the problem, what's happening, what's going on?

It was Sartre who said, "Hell is other people." Therein, I believe, lies the answer to my question: Other People. Others is who gets my goat - Humankind. Not my friends, mind you, but the Populace in General.

There are exceptions, of course, but humans have pretty much gotten dumber and more self-centered and more oblivious and more de-evolved as the years have passed.

More and more, I encounter grocery carts left in the middle of an aisle or laid crossways at the end of an aisle, effective blocking passage for everyone else. It's like trying to navigate between Scylla and Charybdis sometimes, and all I want is a damned box of Cheez-Its. Of course, if I were to take some sort of gentle corrective action - like, say, smash my cart into these idiots' carts with the force of two bighorn sheep ramming heads - *I* would be looked on as the rude one.

Louie Anderson said his father would growl at the public while driving. I growl too - if by "growl," you actually mean "yell." Dennis Miller said that being on the road with other drivers is like being a part of a suicide/homicide pact of which you're not aware, and I fully agree. I sometimes get the sense that some of the people around me have been lobotomized, a procedure which has actually improved their IQ. If you are the first person in line in an arrow-lighted turn lane, and the arrow turns green, for the love of all that's holy, GO!! GO GO GO GO GO!! It doesn't get any greener, and it doesn't stay green long, so GO!

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. We're in this downward spiral where "Me" is so much more important than "We," where obliviousness to the fact that other people inhabit the Earth is nearly imprinted now in our DNA, where nothing else matters but what *I* need to do and where *I* need to go and what *I* need to have.

I'm not like that, so I imagine that's where my rage against the human race originates. I assume/expect that people will be considerate and attentive - like me - and when they don't meet my expectations, I go off the deep end.

I don't think my expectations are really all that unattainable. Don't you think courtesy should be second nature? Or is that too much to ask these days?

Regrets, I Have A Few

Spike TV has recently obtained the rights to the STAR WARS movies so of course they've rebroadcast the films numerous times already. I happened to catch the last ten minutes of Return of the Jedi last night, and it made me recall seeing the movie for the first time in 1983.

Instead of being joyous like the dancing, bouncing Ewoks, I was in tears. I had grown up with these characters, gotten emotionally invested in them, and it hurt quite a great deal to know that I'd never see them in new adventures again. [And then Lucas not only screwed up the trilogy - Episodes 4-6 - by making "improvements," he hung the horrible saga - Episodes 1-3 - on us like an albatross around our necks. Aye, that's a huge regret for me, but it wasn't one of my creation, so it doesn't really count.]

As I was ruminating last night, it struck me that I was only 15 when I saw ROTJ. A young, naive kid who had no idea what the next 25 years would bring. And those 25 years have brought along some regrets:

...that I didn't go to college when I was younger.
...that I didn't take better care of myself.
...that I wasn't more outgoing in school.
...that I wasn't better about saving money.
...that I didn't spend more time with Tommy and that I didn't catch his tumor while it was still treatable.
...that I spent so much time/energy/resources after developing a huge crush on a Hollywood bonehead.
...that I didn't tell Dad to pass on having chemo treatments.
...that I didn't keep playing music in some form.
...that I never learned to play piano.

But even if I had the opportunity to go back and talk to my younger self, would I tell her about any of this? In sci-fi, you hear so much about "polluting the timeline" - would telling her these regrets cause her to make changes that would have a ripple effect?

If I'd gone to college, perhaps I'd never have met Melissa, my best friend. If I'd never met her, I may've never moved to Texas. If I hadn't moved to Texas, maybe I'd never have met my husband-to-be. Granted, some of those things might've happened regardless...but I don't know that for sure. Life isn't one of those "choose your adventure" books - if you don't like the outcome, you can't instantly go back to page 3 where you're safe and sound. If you choose to open the door and there's a monster behind it, well, game over, man.

So I'm not sure what good having regret is, if you wouldn't go back and change anything, even if you could. Maybe it's value is more proactive than retroactive - it helps you make changes going forward, so you don't continue doing things you regret.

As Master Yoda said, "Always in motion is the future." Very good advice from a very sage Dagobavian.

When I'm Queen...

People who are guilty of DWI/DUI will be shot. I'm getting damned sick and tired of the news stories where someone drives drunk and kills someone else. There is NO reason to drive drunk. NONE. If you enter a bar with the intention of having even ONE drink, you make it a solid, non-negotiable point to have a designated driver or some other way to get home. Why is this such a dificult concept?? Why do innocent people have to die because some idiot gets toasted and figures it's okay to drive in that condition? Just within the last few days here in Minnesota, a guy with four DWI convictions - FOUR!!! - was charged with murder because he finally managed to kill someone the fourth time. It's about damned time the murder charge came down on someone, who, let's face it, DID commit murder by piloting a two-ton wrecking ball down the road at 60 (or more) miles per hour while intoxicated. That's murder, if you ask me. I'm also getting sick and tired of the people who try to sue a bartender or drinking establishment because their precious just-turned-21 son or daughter drank him/herself to death, or left the bar so wasted that s/he fell into a lake and drowned. You know what? I'm sorry for their loss of a child BUT where's the personal responsibility here? Because gosh, *I* survived turning 21 just fine - didn't drink myself to an alcohol-poisoned death while celebrating that momentous occasion. Turning 21 is a rite of passage - but so is dying. I was careful to make choices that would allow me to stick with the former.

People who abuse animals will be subjected to the same torture they used on the animal. You dragged a kitten by a shoelace tied around its neck, broke its leg, and burned it with a cigarette? You just signed yourself up for being fitted with a noose and having a few intense meetings with a sledgehammer and a blowtorch. You put a puppy in the microwave? Sayonara, Mr. JiffyPop. You shot an arrow into a horse used in therapy with developmentally disabled individuals? Robin Hood and his longbow will be paying you a visit. Animals, especially young ones, are helpless and vulnerable, and if you are enough of a heinous monster to do evil to them, you will be terminated in the same evil - but fitting - manner.

Politicians who start unjust wars will be tried for war crimes. Hello, Bush and Cronies? To quote Denis Leary from the old MTV spots: I think you hear me knocking, and I think I'm coming in. Better still....

Wars will be abolished. If you can't sit down like mature adults and discuss your issues, get the hell off my planet.

Marijuana will be legalized. Why not? It's probably no worse for you than alcohol and if it's legal, you can regulate and tax it. Same standards of not driving while high would apply, of course. I find it highly hypocritical that we'll shove alcohol down people's throats (figuratively speaking - watch a sporting event and count how many ads there are for beer), but marijuana, which has medical applications, is a no-no. Betcha if Big Tobacco started growing the stuff, it would become legal damned quick.

Gay marriage will be legal across the nation. The idea of "marriage" should not be based on some archaic nonsense from a book [that would be the Bible] to which not everyone subscribes. George Takei (Sulu from "Star Trek") has been with his partner for 21 years - TWO DECADES - but he's not allowed to unite with this person and to receive the same benefits that married couples receive? But we'll allow people like Britney Spears to crazily flap in and out of marriage like a demented seagull with an inner ear infection and a broken wing? What's wrong with this picture?

Elderly people will be given much more assistance than they now receive. They would not die in their homes because they couldn't afford to turn on the heat or the air conditioning. They would have access to affordable medication and health care. Nursing homes and assisted-living facilities would carry out extremely rigorous background checks on employees to weed out the abusers.

Prospective parents will be required to pass a psych test and/or obtain a license before having a child. It won't catch all of the abusers, nutjobs, or otherwise unfit parents but maybe it'll catch a few. You need a license to drive, to hunt or to fish, to get married - but none to have a child, whom you could screw up to the point that he becomes another Ted Bundy/Charles Manson/Hitler. You need a license before you can go out and shoot a deer. But hey, you're free and clear if you want to have a kid to abuse or molest or allow to die because you stuck him in a bathtub and then went downstairs to shop online for shoes because you're too fucking stupid to be trusted with the care of a rock, much less a child.

Automobiles will be constructed so that speeding were impossible. With the exception of emergency responders, there's no reason that people need to drive faster than the speed limit. With gas prices going sky-high, one would think that drivers would drive so that they would conserve fuel, wouldn't one? Every day when I'm on the road, doing the speed limit (which during some of my drive is 65 mph), people blow by me like I'm standing still - and these are usually people in gas-guzzling SUV's which, if you go fast enough, probably get NEGATIVE miles to the gallon. These are the same people who will whine about gas prices while outrunning the speed limit, roaring up to red lights with slamming brakes, and then jack-rabbiting off the line once the light turns green. I want to get some of that car window paint and write SLOW THE FUCK DOWN on my back window...but I work at a church and I'm not sure that would go over well with the flock.

Recycling will be mandatory. It's sad to think that you almost have to FORCE humankind to stop fouling its own nest. We may have a bigger and more highly developed brain than our furry brethren, but we're morons. Where the hell do we expect to GO once we've destroyed this planet? I almost wish I'd be around to see the day when Earth simply says, "Okay, everyone out of the pool" and people extinct themselves. I believe Germany already implements a waste management process whereby you pay per pound of trash - throw a lot away, feel it in the pocketbook. Recycle most of your waste, put more cash back in your pocket.

I'm sure I have other edicts that I would enact, but I can't think of them at the moment. I realize that some of these ideas are quite radical but you know, desperate times call for radical measures, I think. People don't seem to get the hint when they only receive a slap on the wrist and will only fall in line after receiving a wallop to the back of the head.

I'm not naive enough to think these are perfect solutions. I know they have inherent snags because for every good intention, there could be an equally bad result. But I'm also not naive enough to think I'll ever be elected to the post of Queen of the World, so I don't think we have to worry about any of this coming to pass.

Kneel Down in the Moonlight

The title of this post [which is a line from a song by Martin Page] really has nothing to do with its content; I just like the phrase and this seemed as good a place as any to trot it out. Then again, maybe it will eventually have something in common with the content. If I let my mind wander, instead of pulling back on its choke chain like I usually do, it very well may come into play.

Okay, this was a bit disconcerting. As I'm writing, I have the TV on and I'm watching the replay of the soccer match which took place in Moscow. Behind the sound of the announcers' voices, I hear "Take Me Home, Country Road" by John Denver playing over the loudspeakers at the stadium. In Moscow. How bizarre.

While sitting at work today, I had a strange but interesting notion. Someone had a pencil in her hand, and I was suddenly struck by the thought that, to me, pencils are comforting.

Being a curious Virgo, I immediately grabbed hold of it before it could slide by mostly unnoticed and I asked, "Why?"

Is it because I learned to write using a pencil, tracing letters in the notebook that had the wonderfully textured newsprint paper, making sure the curve of each "a" hit the dashed line sandwiched between the two solid lines? Is it because pencils are reassuring in that they come equipped with an eraser? Maybe it's because pencils are simple and low-tech - no running out of ink, no blots on the paper, no fretting over choices of "fine," "extra fine," or "medium." Or is it the lovely way the wood shaves into curls when you sharpen it? I'm sure this isn't exactly a question for the ages, but it was interesting to plumb its depths for a few minutes.

Speaking of plumbing the depths... My best friend Melissa also writes a blog and recently, she posted her to-do list - things she wants to accomplish before she moves on, a bucket list as it were. I thought, "Hey I should do that too!" ...and could hardly think of one thing for the list, much less 10 or 20 or 100.

It appears there's a hole in the bucket (list), dear Liza, dear Liza. And how incredibly sad is that? To come up blank when faced with the idea of jotting down my dreams? Why is it easier to list the things I have to do, not the things I want to do? When did the wide-eyed kid, the piece of me with all the fanciful notions, go missing? Is she dead or merely comatose?

In an attempt to prompt her recovery (or resurrection), I'll list the things I did think of:

Visit Ireland
Learn to play drums
Become a wildlife educator
Grow sunflowers
Visit Maine/Vermont/New Hampshire, preferably by train
Write a novel
Take the train across Canada

That's all I've got...for now.

My Name is Jill...and I'm a Scanner

For those of you who haven't read Barbara Sher's book "Refuse to Choose," a Scanner is a person who wants to nibble daintily from that box of chocolates called Life - first, half of a caramel, then the corner of a nougat - rather than ramming her head inside and wolfing down the entire lot. [People with THAT predilection are called Divers.]

I'm glad to realize that there's an actual NAME for this type of trait. I thought I had A.D.D. because I would get just so far into a particular topic/hobby...and then I'd completely lose interest and want to move onto something else...which I would also lose interest in at some point...and the cycle would continue. I didn't (still don't) have stick-to-it-iveness, and I thought there was something wrong with me. Thank the Maker for Barbara's book! It's nice to know that I'm not alone in this.

But putting a name to my condition doesn't solve the inherent challenges of being a Scanner. Being as the gods haven't seen their way clear to giving my husband and I winning lottery numbers, I have to work for a living, much of which requires doing the same damned thing every single damned day. For a Scanner, this is soooo not cool.

Recently, I've been having an internal struggle about things. I find my current job obscenely boring, and this drains me to the point where I have no energy left once I get home. Being exhausted doesn't make me want to do anything fun - stuff that might recharge my batteries. It's a vicious circle - I'm exhausted from work, which keeps me from doing something I would enjoy, which keeps me from recharging my spirit, which keeps me exhausted.

I feared that I was simply lazy, and that was the reason I did nothing while I was at home. It's a relief to think that perhaps my inactivity springs from my exhaustion, not from being lazy. If I thought I were lying to myself about this, today was a good witness for the defense. Before I went to work, I had all kinds of energy, thinking, "When I get home, I'll work out in the yard and clean off the table and write out bills, etc., etc." Once I got home, I went right for a chair and the TV. Coincidence? I think not.

This, of course, dovetails into the whole "What is my passion in life?" conundrum. If I found my passion and was able to do it for a living, would it help? Or would I just get bored with it in a couple years and have to move onto something else? And would that really be so bad? As a Virgo, I like stability and security, and the thought of changing jobs every few years makes me itch.

It's very confusing, makes me feel like a snake who's swallowed her own tail.

You Know You're Getting Older...and Other Stuff

Comedian Louie Anderson said "You know you're getting older when the first thing you do after eating [Thanksgiving dinner] is look for a place to lay down."

For me, I know I'm getting older when I get excited about the delivery of a new washing machine, an event which occurred last Friday. [Although I guess I don't feel too badly because the delivery guy said that people are the most thrilled when he drops a washer or dryer on their doorstep.] Honestly though, it was like being a kid and getting an Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas.

Speaking of Easy-Bake Ovens...there was an incident a few months ago where a kid got burned because she stuck her hand into the baking chamber. Okay, if a kid is stupid enough to do this and the parents were too busy/lazy/moronic to actually tell their child it's a bad idea to stick your hand into the baking chamber...I can't say that I feel much sympathy. Sounds cruel, I suppose, but people these days are too fond of not taking personal responsibility for their idiocy. I'm sure someone got sued over this case. If I had been the judge, I would've thrown it out immediately and made the parents pay for any incurred legal fees.

Because, gee, I had an Easy-Bake Oven as a child and the only thing it gave me were delicious little dessert treats, not second-degree burns. Then again, I wasn't dopey enough to think it would be a good idea to shove my hand inside either. Are children getting dumber or was I just an exceptionally intelligent child?

Dust in the Wind

Driving home, I heard Kansas' "Dust in the Wind." The DJ made a comment that he felt the song was depressing.

I beg to differ.

The line "Don't hang on/Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky" is actually quite comforting, if you think about it. Granted, if you frame your reference to that line in "Oh gods, I'm going to die one day," well, yeah, that might be a downer. But for me, that line is soothing because it tells me that NOTHING - good or bad - lasts forever. Things are going bad and it sucks but hey, it won't last forever, so chin up, things will get better.

I highly doubt that was Kansas' thought when writing that song and that particular line, but that's how I perceive it.

Eight Belles

Rest in peace, sweet filly.

Thank you for running such a gallant race against the boys.

I hope wherever you are now, you're racing through sun-dappled meadows without a care in the world, running for the sheer joy of it.

Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.

One Moment in Time

I was lying awake in bed yesterday morning, not thinking about anything in particular, and something wonderfully peculiar happened.

Surrounded by the lazy cats on all sides with my husband sleeping beside me, I had a shining moment of contentment. It didn't last long, streaking through my consciousness like a shooting star in the night, but it was glorious. No worry, no fear, no wondering about this or that. Just...peace and warmth.

Pretty cool.

Neon Sign

So I went to this website that I had bookmarked quite a while back but hadn't visited in a long time: www.wisdomology.com.

They have a featured question section (I would imagine the question changes daily), and I clicked on it.

The question of the day was "What is your passion in life?"

Apparently this is something to which I'm supposed to give some thought.

Follow Your Bliss

That phrase, spoken by the wonderful Joseph Campbell, has come to haunt me in the past few years.

What is my bliss? Should I be alarmed that the answer doesn't come to me as easily and quickly as the snap of my fingers? Why doesn't it come easily to me? What is it about being an adult that completely destroys one's sense of freedom and ease and fluidity of thought?

When you're a kid, you can be anything and do anything, and there's never an internal voice that pours icy water over those dreams. You make up stories on the fly without even thinking about how silly they seem - they just come out, and it's okay.

I think of what my bliss career-wise would be, and it's always the same: "I would like to do this BUT..." "I would like to do that BUT..." There's always an addendum, a caveat, a wet-floor sign.

A few months ago, it came to me that I'd like to become a wildlife educator. I'm quite passionate about animals, and I know that the best way to protect animals is to educate people - kids and adults alike - so they'll gain a respect for Nature and, hopefully, want to protect it. Okay, this is good, got a plan, here we go.

I looked into a home-study Conservation program. It wasn't unreasonably expensive and, although it probably wouldn't allow me to jump right into a career, it would be a good base for further education and would at least get me going in the right direction. Not soon after I got this information, one of our cats needed some medical care that was expensive...then our old furnace died right in the middle of winter...then my husband's car required repairs that weren't cheap.

So much for outlaying any money for school.

My current job is boring me to tears, and has for quite some time, so I told myself that once the pastor got back from his five-month sabbatical in May, I'd start actively looking for a new job. The day after Easter, I found out my husband is going to be laid off within the next 12 months, so I almost don't dare trying to jump jobs.

Rather than acting the victim, I'm curious to know why the Universe is guiding me toward a different path than the one I was trying to choose.

Where Do I Begin?

I've been mulling the last couple days, trying to figure out what the purpose of this blog would be. (I'm a Virgo - everything needs to have a purpose.) I stopped writing in my paper journal over a year ago. I didn't feel as though I had anything important to say. Not in a depressive "I'm nobody so why bother?" kind of way. Just in a "In one hundred years, will it really matter what I did or what I'm feeling right now?" way.

But lately, I've been feeling the pull again to journal write, which led me to this (blog)spot. I type faster than I handwrite, so I feel more comfortable journalling in this manner, which I think will help me actually write.

As to my purpose here... I don't want this place to be like the journals I used to keep when I was younger: "Went to school and had a test in Biology. Ate dinner. Got a letter from a friend. Went to bed early." And I don't want this place to be a laundry list of everyday occurances. I have friends to whom I write letters and emails (not as prompt on those things as I should be but...) and with whom I share the mundanity (is that even a word?) of Life. I don't want to be repetitious because that's boring and doesn't serve much purpose.

I want to plumb the depths of my subconscious here. Explore my creativity, which has been sorely neglected for too long. Engage in play, discover my Reason for Being, figure out What's Next in Life. I'm nearly 41 years old, and I'm really starting to feel my age these days, thinking that I haven't really done anything in the first half of my life. I'm hoping that I can kick-start my soul and actually start doing things that will make me blissful, make me feel like I'm living and not just surviving.

Do or Do Not...

And with that lead-in from Jedi Master Yoda, I'm officially kicking off my first blog entry.

Wow. Scary. Faced with all this blank, black-hole-that-sucks-creativity-from-the-marrow space. But if I say I'm a writer, then I need to write, dammit. Still, I can feel my innards cringing away from the task at hand, my brain racing with things that I really should be doing right now, that spiteful mean-hearted Internal Critic snickering in my ear. Argh, I need to give that jerk a blindfold and a cigarette and give the order to Fire!, ya know? (The cigarette would be heavy tar and unfiltered too - muhahahahaha.)

Anywho, I digress...

Hopefully having an official blog will force me to actually write every day. We'll see what happens.