a question for my readers who blog

in between the election and the renovations, i've been thinking about the class on blogging im expected to give on thursday evening. (i also have a radio show to do that afternoon - it never rains, but it pours.)

i've been thinking about blogging, about why i blog, about why others blog. but besides the question why blog at all, i wondered what makes people start in the first place.

i started blogging over a year ago, just around the time we moved my grandmother out of her house at the jersey shore where she had lived for nearly 100 years, and up here to connecticut. on the one hand, i know the blog serves as an outlet, a cathartic release, a blend of public rant and private whine. if no will remember me for my secret thoughts, what better place to make them public?

but sometimes it feels like more than that.

so what about you, gentle readers-who-also-blog? what got you started?

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

what made you start?

thoughts on election eve

i don't think it's any accident that we will elect our next president essentially during samhain. i don't think it's any accident senator obama's grandmother chose to cross before the election. season of the hag, season of transcendence and transformation, of rebirth, and the seeds of new life... the stars themselves line up for change. the old mindsets must pass away, because the world is turning into another sort of place, kicking and screaming, perhaps, but a world where community and cooperation will be valued over competition and greed.

i hope in this election those of us with the ability to peer fearlessly into the darkest night and see dawn's first glimmer will trump those who can only gaze fruitlessly into the past. i hope those of us who have Faith will prove that there are more of us than there are of those who only have fear.

i hope that as wednesday dawns - my grammy's birthday, in fact (and guy fawkes day, too, that rollicking old anarchist who tried to blow up Parliament) - it really WILL be, as in the words of ronald reagan, Morning in america.

so im not going to say go out and vote tomorrow. im going to tell you to go out and vote for obama. if you plan on voting for mccain, do yourself the favor, save the strain on your heart and stay home in your rocking chair.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

home stretch

Beloved taped the shelves yesterday, and today, as soon as i finish typing this blog entry, i'm going to put a coat of primer on them. a coat, or maybe two, of paint, and then the shelves will be finished. Beloved is even making tiling noises about finishing the backsplash, but if he can't get to it before next weekend, i won't be heartbroken. everything comes in its time.

i wrote nearly 3000 words yesterday - 1800 in the morning, and then another 1000 before bed. it felt good to find myself lost in the rhythm of writing again - i love the feeling of looking up and seeing that an hour has gone by without my notice. in a way, this is a different kind of writing - but in a way, it isn't. it's still words, it's still a story.

that the story is my story and that i am the main character feels a bit strange, but that part is the shortest section of the book. one of my pet peeves about self-help books of any variety are the ones which purport to offer the reader some life-changing strategy, and instead, turn out to be thinly-veiled autobiographies, long on the excrutiating details of the author's life, and short on the strategy for change.

i think before i prime those shelves i'll see what else might come.

in the words of shakespeare's henry, once more, dear friends, into the breach.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

for sake of auld lang syne

i dreamt about my grandmother last night. she showed up at the halloween "evening with the Other Side" laura and i went to, facilitated by our friend jess steinman. she said... thank you. in my dream, she seemed pleased i'd taken the kitchen cupboard. it's important you take all these things, nanny dear, she said. but what she wanted to give me weren't things, exactly... they were piles and piles of paper, old yellowing sheaves covered in slanted writing. i think they were stories.

something about this year feels different.

yesterday, the renovations were finished. joe and mike drove away, four months to the day they first arrived. yesterday, i cleaned my writing room as if in preparation for the most honored guests. the space feels fresher, lighter, spare and clean as the freshly bare branches of the birches outside my window.

today i begin NaNoWriMo. to others on the journey, i say, strength to your sword arms, sisters ;).

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

happy birthday, rose-y rose

today is not only the most sacred day in the celtic calendar, but also the birth day of my friend rose - hardass sagewise goddess-sister, whose copious knowledge of the Green World has given me - among so many other things - the idea for may-apple wine.

may-apple wine, as distilled by the sidhe, came to play an enormous and critical part in the first two books of my silver trilogy. to rose goes an everlasting debt of endless gratitude, because she is the one who suggested the plant in the first place, and any liberties taken with the plant and its derivatives are mine. i am quite sure rose would never conceive of using a plant for such nefarious purposes :)(if you, gentle reader, wish to know more about may-apple wine and its effects upon both humans and sidhe, please see Silver's Edge (harlequin, 2004) and Silver's Bane (harlequin, 2005).)

so happiest of happy birthdays, rose-y rose*. i wish you health and joy and happiness on this most auspicious of birth-days...thank you for sharing all that you do.

* i doubt that rose knows that i think of her as rose-y rose, as opposed to my grandmother rose, who i always thought of as thorn-y rose. it's nice to have a balance. ;)

sacred samhain

in the last few days, the weather's swung wildly between scattered snow flurries and needle rain to brutal light and blustering winds that seem to roar in all directions. i think of it as samhain weather.

the word samhain (pronounced sow-en, or sew-en, depending on who you ask) literally means "summer's end" in ancient irish. according to the celts, the year was divided into two halves - the light half, summer or "sam" and the dark half, winter - or "gam." transition times and places - where one thing turned into something else - were the most magical of times and places, and the beginning of things always happened in the dark.

tonight marks the turning of one year into the next.

the sacred days of samhain extended over a three to five day period - which is the reason why the christian church invented the feasts of all saints AND all souls, and finds a theologically appropriate reason to celebrate them at THIS time of year. (the obliteration of ancient practices by piggy-backing them onto acceptable practices is a tactic stolen from the romans, whose empire the christian church inherited upon the conversion of constantine.)

because samhain is a transition time, the Veil which separates this world from the Other thins and lifts. this means Spirits roam, Energies are loosed, and Ancestors return more readily. already i can feel them coming to call - if last night's lurid dreams were any harbinger. a thick coat of frost blankets the grass this morning, only a thin red lip of a sun shows itself at quarter past seven. the Hag's bony fingers have found their grip.

the migraines which have plagued me on and off don't bother me when i'm asleep... and perhaps, that is the message in them. they call me into Dreamtime, into the Veil, into the place where New Things are conceived and formed. those who would dismiss dreams and imagination forget that we can create nothing in the physical world until we imagine it first.

and so... this year... as the old year lies like a rotting apple, that yet contains the seeds of a new tree, i ask myself ... what would i like this coming year to look like? to what intention will i set myself? what Story would i like to tell? what Harvest would i like to reap?

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

happy birthday, katie liz

my oldest daughter, katie, turns 28 today. she has a house and a job, a mortgage and a baby. she has a husband and a subaru. she pays her own bills, manages her own life. i feel a great sense of accomplishment when i think about her, because, in so many ways, my job, as far as she is concerned, is done: katie is undeniably All Grown Up.

it is no easy thing to nurture the Adult out of the Child. there is more than a little magic, and always a bit of mystery. our culture largely leaves most of us unprepared for the task of parenting - babies don't come with instruction books, but we act as if they do. and adults don't spring fully formed out of children, either, but we act as if we think that's how it works.

i look back and i don't quite understand how it happened, either. somehow, we have navigated the tricky shoals between childhood and adulthood, between mother and daughter. somehow we have crossed the great divide. somehow the little vessel i launched so many years ago is not only capable of finding her way back home, but of navigating rougher seas than i ever seen. she is her Own Person, cast in my mold, perhaps, but not of my image.

and yet, when postulating who might die first - me or my grandmother - katie looked at me in horror and said, you can't die first.

of course i could, i retorted. everyone else roey's relied on to care for her have predeceased her. i figure if the Grim Reaper isn't coming for her next, it's got to be me.

that just can't happen, said katie. after all, what, do you suppose i would do without you?

my eyes filled, my heart swelled, and even i was at a loss for words.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

just as i thought..or, on fear, part 2

from alternet.com:

Fear, in fact, has been shown to be one of the most powerful predictors of support for conservative leaders. Robb Willer, a sociologist at Cornell University, published a study in 2004 showing that each time a new terror alert was issued by the government between February 2001 and May 2004, the approval ratings for President Bush would subsequently rise by an average of 2.75 percentage points. Not only did the fear of external attacks produce increased support for the standing leadership, but the terror alerts also increased support for Bush's economic policies.

i still haven't responded to the dear lady who wants to save my soul. she left me a comment on my first FEAR blog to the effect that since she believes she is Saved, she is no longer afraid. she lives, she says, in a state of Perfect Assurance, knowing that she is already Safe.

from what, i wonder.

what this kind soul is missing is that the very word "saved" implies there is something to be saved FROM, and since i don't think there's anything to be Saved from, i don't feel any particular need to be SAVED. from anything. from anyone.

anybody who thinks we've evolved from our feudalistic past has only to look at two things - one, the way big corporations are organized and conduct themselves, and two, the fact we still have people who believe with all their hearts that Hell (brimstone and all) is a literal place - to see we haven't really come very far since the middle ages at all.

i just wonder how long its going to take before we all get sick of being told how afraid of everything - and everyone - we're all supposed to be.

a plea to parents everywhere

this probably belongs on the Cranky Crone blog. it's a thought precipitated by Another Blogger's observations on her maternal parent, and the four days i just spent in the company of mine. her parent isn't voting. mine is voting for (shudder) elmer fudd and caribou barbie.

as my mother was fiercely proclaiming that "sarah palin is everything a feminist could hope for," i looked at her and tried to control my deep feelings of nausea. (maybe i AM an Alien Child.)

mother, i said, as gently as i could under the circumstances, do you deny you have three genius children?

she stopped short and snorted. and what does THAT have to do with anything? she demanded.

all three of us are voting for obama, i replied. now if, by your own admission, the three of us are geniuses and smarter than you will ever be - i've heard you say that - and we are ALL voting with one mind, wouldn't it behoove you to bow to OUR greater insight and vote the way we would want you to? after all, you're retired. WE have the greater stake in the world now, and it is for OUR children that we must shape the course of things. your insistence on clinging to an ideology that celebrates a world that never really was is screwing things up for YOUR grandchildren. it's like the music - you don't have to like it or even listen to it, but you can't deny the world is dancing to a new beat.

my mother's response was mostly unprintable and largely incomprehensible, but at least she didn't foam at the mouth.

i, however, think that i was on to something.

and furthermore, aren't the rest of you getting sick and tired of paying for this freaking war? it really has to end. blessed be.

...of mice and men gang aft awry

i thought about that phrase of robert burns' all morning, as a migraine plowed its way through my head. by 11 AM i realized that the dizziness i'd be feeling on and off was increasing to the point where i had to sit down and was probably the harbinger of a doozy of a headache. so i downed an imetrex, ate a banana, and headed for the couch.

fortunately, by one thirty i had recovered enough to get to my physical therapy appointment, and to take libby to get the halloween costume she'd been promised. my head is mostly better now, and i hope i feel well enough to get to the psychic circle meeting tonight - laura and the ladies are discussing mediumship.

the celtic spirituality workshop seems to be dancing on the little balls of light sparking through my head, planned out but for the handouts. meg's picking baby jake up early - that will give me time to put those together tomorrow afternoon.

why all the headaches, you may wonder, gentle reader? migraines are often the curse of the psychically sensitive. the sensitivity to vibrations of higher frequencies makes me equally sensitive to changes not only in my own internal chemistry, but in the greater atmosphere as well. my migraines began, coincidentally, just as i began to open to my intuitive abilities.

talking to dead people has its downside, too.

and furthermore, the war really has to end. blessed be.

the best laid plans

my mother left me a message last night. she wanted to know two things. one, was the house still clean, and two, had i returned the fifty-dollar outfit for baby jake that turned out to be too small?

the answer to both questions, alas, is no.

but today i've designated as a Day to Get Things Done. i have laundry and vacuuming to attend to, costumes i promised to buy, the item to return. i had wanted to treat myself to a trip to tar-zhay to check out slipcovers, but i dont think that's going to happen unless the Housekeeping Fairy decides to wave her magic wand. my sense is that she's sleeping in. (not that i blame her. the rain on the skylights is whispering a most seductive why not go back to bed? as it sluices off the glass.)

but i am determined to Get Things Done.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

happy birthday, mister brad

today is my son-in-law's birthday. born three days before katie, my oldest daughter, his wife, brad quickly became more or less a fixture in our house once they started dating in their senior year of high school. three year old libby fell in love, finding in brad something of the big brother she missed.

are you going to marry my sister, she asked brad one night when he showed up to take katie somewhere. not tonight, he answered without missing a beat.

i remember when she first mentioned him, during that very first week at her third school in as many years. it was just part of a fairly standard conversation, part of a fairly standard answer, to a question parents ask every day - how's school?

she answered with a fairly standard list, and then she paused and said: and there's this boy in math class. he sits behind me and he seems to think everything's funny.

why do you think that, i asked,

because he's always laughing, katie answered. not everything's funny.

i remember how her words stung my heart because i knew she knew that all too well.

that's no reason not to like him, i said, especially if he's cute.

i guess he's cute, said katie with a sniff, implying that the boy likely thought himself as cute as he was funny. and that was the end of it, until she brought him home to meet me, well over a year later, and i saw for myself that he was cute and he was funny, along with kind and agreeable. even then i could see how he balanced katie's intensity with something of my own son's sunny charm. i saw how he made her laugh.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

silent sunday

but for the hum of the computer, the house is silent in this sunday morning. i sit here bathed in dancing dust motes, sipping hot coffee, the puppies sprawled in sun puddles, sleeping off breakfast. Beloved has gone to brooklyn, meg and libby are sound asleep. the storm last night battered the leaves off the trees. the branches of the birches outside my window droop, looking like they're glad to be rid of the troublesome weight, and ready for a long winter's rest.

soon i'll go outside and see if there's any damage. the Hag that roared through the skies last night sounded angry enough to bring whole trees down.

i spent some time last night with my friend susan, talking about the class she's asked me to give on blogging. while i am not sure i can claim any particular understanding of the genre, i do enjoy it and have become a most enthusiastic blogger. after all, as Beloved points out, it's just about all i write any more. (that's about to change, but we needn't go into that now.)

blogging is an interesting phenomenon. i find it utterly beguiling. in the next few days i'll be thinking a lot about why.

but first i would like to ask you, gentle readers, if you don't mind... why do you blog? what satisfies you or keeps you coming back - not just to your own blog but to others? what is this thing called blogging, and why do so many of us do it?

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

more free books

and there's these:

self-editing for fiction writers... renni browne and dave king
how to write science fiction... matthew costello
cosmic critiques: how and why ten sf stories work...martin greenberg and isaac asivmov
the craft of writing science fiction that sells... ben bova
the writers' digest series of basic books - plot, dialogue, theme and strategy, voice and style, and character (these are a set of five)... by various authors

stuff im giving away

here's a list of some of the books i'm giving away. most are writing books, but there's a few others sprinkled in. if anyone would like one - or two or six - drop me an email - at anniekelleher@aol.com - for the cost of the media mail, they're yours!

the writers' desk... jill krementz
gifts with heart..mary beth sammons
the complete guide to writing fiction...barnaby conrad et al
a short guide to writing about art.... sylvan barnet
how to write sf and fantasy... orson scott card
how to write tales of horror, fantasy and sf ... ed j.n. williamson
the fiction writer's silent partner... martin roth
seductresses: women who ravished the world... betsey prioleau
lamp of the goddess: lives and teachings of a priestess... rae beth
the thinker's way: 8 steps to a richer life... john chaffee
piercing the darkness: undercover with vampires in america....katherine ramsland
on writing... stephen king

i'll post more stuff later.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

what i did today

my mostly sleepless night put a serious crimp in my plan to carry through with my mother's vigorous approach to dirt. however, i did manage to clean out my bathroom cupboard, under-sink area and the plastic shoe caddy that hangs on the back of the door. (in case anyone is wondering, i don't keep shoes in it - i keep toiletries like aspirin and bandaids and tums. this is so Beloved doesn't have to bellow for me to come and find stuff for him.)

i also straightened up my closet and my shoes, and got my bedroom completely vacuumed. it is nice to feel the house slowly coming together but i really wish i hadn't lost so much sleep.

i had an interesting experience last night as i was dressing for the Rainbow Bridge - i was joined by the strong energy of a woman who died fairly young and was an extremely stylish person - far more so than i am, apparently. she insisted i wear an outfit of her choosing - right down to earrings, perfume and lipstick. if i owned any makeup, she'd've wanted me to wear that. it was fun to see how someone else - even a dead someone else - would put my clothes together. i also kept seeing a lot of A's and E's... and lo and behold, just about everyone who attended had a first name that began with an A or an E.

i am woefully behind on catching up with blogs and emails - thank you to all the gentle readers who are writers of other blogs and who i haven't visited or returned a comment to in Quite a While. i AM thinking of you and reading your blogs - but when i've tried to write something witty or pithy or both... my mind sort of freezes up. i'm feeling better, though, since so much of the mess is getting put away or thrown away. i've been remiss at returning calls, too... i expect to catch up on those next week.

i've decided this next month to do a non-fiction version of NaNoWriMo. that's the nationwide contest where you challenge yourself to write the first draft of a novel in a month. i'm really feeling that the Angel Way book is demanding to be written, not outlined. i hope the discipline of NaNoWriMo will inspire me to get the first draft done by december. i'm thinking it would be very possible given that i don't have to do thanksgiving for a cast of thousands this year.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

thursday morning, two am

i pulled a muscle beneath my arm yesterday somehow - probably in act the slinging of the contractor bags down the attic steps. the satisfaction of a job if not perfectly done at least well-begun seems worth the discomfort, but unfortunately the pain affects the side on which i like to sleep. so here i am, nursing my muscle with st joan's wort oil, courtesy of rose, aspirin, and warm milk. and blogging, of course...the great White Board on which my furious fingers can roam-at-will.

the Queen is back in her Castle and my house is several pounds of dust and dog hair lighter and feels decidely less hovel-ish than it did before Her Majesty's arrival. it has been a long time since i spent such a length of concentrated time in my mother's company. i realized that if i am a mystery to my mother, she is equally a mystery to me. she sees me as her Alien Child - i see her as a Force of Nature, my personal incarnation of Kali-Ma. the Great Mother is alive and well in her and at her best she is as nourishing as a celtic cauldron, as flowing with milk and honey and all good things as any Promised Land. but woe betide anyone who gets in her way: she is, after all, as Beloved always puts it in tones tinged with awe, a woman who made a man give up God.

this trip, she fed me stories about my great-grandparents, disjointed bits of memories like tidbits on a tray.

she told me the reason my great-grandfather broke with his brother, leon - who was actually his half-brother - the one who changed his last name. pop was the oldest of four, my mother said. like me, i thought. uncle leon was a bootlegger and pop found out where he hid his stash on the beach. and when uncle leon went down one night to get it, pop was there waiting for him.

the conversation that followed as related by my mother seems entirely too tame to warrant the actions that ensued as a result, though when i probed her, she stuck by her version of events. considering this all happened before she was born, i can see how she would've been told a watered down version of the Real Thing, that over the years has become ingrained as gospel.

then yesterday my mother mentioned, quite in passing, a story about my aunt katherine, who, when asked about her bad memories of the depression, replied: i don't have any bad memories - we didn't suffer.

the novelist in me looked at my mother and wondered if she could miss the tenuous connection my mind automatically makes between the two.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

out of the attic

i dragged twenty five contractor bags filled to the brim out of the attic and the play room yesterday. we started in the playroom - the reclaimed garage space that was once my daughter meg's and then my son jamie's bedrooms. now it's evolving into a kind of catch-all for books and the treadmill. the futon for guests is evolving into a dog bed - buddy and sam claimed it when they were chased out of their pen by the renovations.

brace yourself, i told my mother.

this is hopeless, my mother moaned, not once but periodically.

finally, she took charge. nan, she said, in the tone i remember so clearly from my childhood, the one she uses to draw the boundaries one crosses at one's peril, JUST THROW STUFF AWAY.

then i tackled the attic.

while my mother dandled baby jake, swept the floor, vacuumed and shook her head, i filled twenty contractor bags - a whole box - of old clothes, dusty curtains, shoes and bedspreads. now they're piled outside the garage, gleaming in the gray pewter dawn, my own mini-landfill.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

mother superior

whatever else i could ever say about my mother, she IS a hard worker. between the two of us, we not only took care of baby jake, but we did 8 loads of laundry, sorted through well over a dozen boxes, cleaned out the living room closet and hauled at least four contractor bags to the garage and innumerable books to their designated places.

the mother superior has put her impramatur on the kitchen table, so for the foreseeable future, it will stay exactly where it is, because - wise man that he is - even Beloved doesn't want to cross her.

tomorrow we tackle what used to be my son's bedroom, and the attic.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

a tale of two tables

it was the best of times... it was the worst of times. the renovations are winding down...tempers are revving up. Beloved and i have reached the point where we both want things to be done...now. our snarling has settled around a kitchen table. literally.

among other things, i have brought two tables into my Beloved's life. there's a certain similarity between these two tables - both have sturdy legs, impervious tops. the first, which we eat off of every day, Beloved has coveted from the moment the nice men from jc penney carried it into my condo in farmington. it has a blue tile top and gold oak finish. i brought it with me when i moved into pond house from farmington, and Beloved has rejoiced in its presence in his life ever since. he even calls it my dowry.

the second table came from my grandmother's house at the shore. sturdy, with legs like two by fours, and a metal top strong enough to stand on, it bears, in layers like old paint, a good portion of my memories.

i learned to play pinochle at that table. my great-grandfather presided over sunday dinner predictably as the sun rose and set at that table. i learned of births and deaths and marriages at that table. at it, i ate all the favorite foods of my childhood. the touch of the slick surface, the aroma released by the old drawers conjures the ghosts of wards' cookies and clint's fried chicken chased by a cold coke in a green bottle at the back of my tongue.

in Beloved's eyes it is ugly, old and worn.

in mine, it is history given weight and substance and form.

someday, i would like to teach baby jake to play pinochle. someday, i would like to tell him of his great-great-great grandfather, who ran away from home in italy when he was only 13, and stowed away aboard a steamship bound for new york city. someday i would like him to know his roots are sturdy, and strong enough to carry him anywhere he wishes.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

pain in the neck

i was awakened at one-thirty by the light of the moon shining in my bigger window, and a literal pain in the neck. i tossed and turned about an hour, then surrendered to the sleeplessness. what else to do but get up and blog?

by lamplight, the living room walls look the color of the perfect ratio of coffee to cream in my morning mug. i take a few measurements - the whole room is so off-kilter that i see my plan needs tweaking. the general shape of my floorplan still stands, but i see that the placement of the tv and the bookcases may require some adjusting.

brad, baby jake's father, is coming tomorrow afternoon to help Beloved bring in the cupboard and the table. on tuesday, the countertops are being installed, and next week joe and mike the builder men will begin my shelves. finally... there will be Places to Put Things.

i'm amassing a huge pile of Stuff To Give Away... clothes, books, small household things. (yes, allison - i agree - freecycle is the best!) it feels good to clear things out, even as the mess and the progress of its movement appears glacial at times.

warm milk and cinnamon are making me sleepy. it's time to go back to bed.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

back to blogging

i spent the day mostly painting, and now the living room is a lovely creamy shade of cafe au lait called malton. there's a few spots that need touching up and the trim and ceiling need touching up too, but both main rooms of the house are, for the most part, painted.

i have an idea of a floorplan for the furniture, too, and tomorrow, after the touching up is done, i'll be able to start moving things into place. on sunday, my sister is coming to go through my grandmother's furniture in storage and to take the pieces she'd like. i'm hoping i can get the stuff i want moved over here by the end of the month. it'll be nice to have a piano again.

meg's much better, too... thank you to all who sent me well-wishes and remedies. i'll have to check into feverfew tea. i bet i know someone who either has such a thing, or can obtain it. :)

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

mama said there'd be days like this...

.... there'd be days like this... my mama said.

was she right.

it began ordinarily enough - puppy walks, coffee, debate reviews - when a Little Voice told me that i'd be better off doing my daily chores FIRST, rather than waiting til after four when libby would be home to pitch in.

i didn't understand it, but i've learned enough to go along with the Voices, especially when They offer helpful housekeeping advice, and so i was just finishing up the dishes when the phone rang.

it was meg, with a migraine. you have to help me with jake, mommy. my head hurts too much.

to make a long story short, by one-thirty this afternoon meg and i were on our way to the hospital. she's better now - sound asleep in her own bed while a cold front roars in, bringing with it the high winds and rising pressure that trigger my own bad headaches.

i am so glad i listened to the Voices.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

where in the world....

have i been?

i'm not sure i even know.

somewhere between last monday and this monday, i was swept up into a tide of renovations and decluttering, reorganizing, filing, painting, sanding and polishing of biblical proportions. in between all that, the world teetered on the brink of financial collapse - poor iceland - elmer came off sounding more and more senile when he wasn't sounding snarky; sarah palin got booed in philly (i knew my old stomping ground wouldn't let me down) and the phillies, goddess bless them, mixed it up with manny ramirez.

did i mention baby jake turns one year old today?

all i can tell you is that i think i now know how noah felt when he felt the ark lift.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

what i did for me today

the short answer to the question posed today by another blogger is... not much, or so at first it might seem.

today was one of my day's to take care of baby jake. the chaos of the house adds to the challenge of managing a determined cruiser and so every moment he is up must be spent actively engaged in watching him - unless i park him in the playpen. he's an agreeable baby, for the most part, and so there's actually ten or fifteen minutes scattered here and there throughout the day, where i can do things like walk the dogs, prepare lunch, or potty myself. but the only reason he's content in the playpen is the novelty of the toys within, and so i can't leave him there past the point he becomes bored.

so when i first read dina's blog, and considered her question, what did i do for my body, mind and spirit today? - i immediately thought of all the things i did for other people, besides baby jake, and by the time i got to the bottom of that list, it seemed like there was precious little left for me.

or was there, i thought. i started off the day with some reasonable attention - i had made time for my yin yoga stretches, a drops of oak* bach flower remedy, and the first part of a novena. (my italian relatives want a novena to sell the house - they get a novena.)

so this evening, at supper, under the heading of doing something for my body, i deliberately choose to make a pot of red lavendar tea over my daily dose of caffienated corn syrup, and then another of ginger peach. i missed yellow in my daily rainbow today, but at least one of the bananas i bought at the market will be perfect to eat tomorrow.

i exercised my mind by playing jeopardy - Beloved didn't even try. i nourished my soul by buying flowers for my beleaguered Beloved who has been much buffeted by the winds of the world lately and by making a remarkably simple dinner that everyone enjoyed without complaint.

now that my peach tea is finished, i think i'll run a warm salt bath and soak for a few minutes with the last of the clay mud stuff my dear friend rose makes.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

*the property of the oak flower remedy in the bach flower remedy system is to allow the naturally strong to take a break rather than struggle on without rest. it interested me that i was drawn to it this morning and then to see the topic of dina's blog.

sleepy sunday

i woke in the dark to the sound of falling rain, a sound that augers well for naps, but not a day spent reading cards at the new hartford arts festival. by one-thirty, chilled to the bone, i packed it in. not that i like being a quitter, but as the song says, you got to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em.

around 230, the sun came out and libby and i took the puppies for a deliberate march up and down the drive. now Beloved is putting a new coat of paint on the new dining room and i am thinking that that nap idea i had at 6 AM still sounds pretty good.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

oh happy day

a happy day is one where nothing happens with which i can't cope and where i get things done. today is a happy day ... so far.

i spent my morning writing hours pawing and sorting through the mountain of paper and books on my writing room floor. there's a mess on my desk now, but at least it's a sorted mess and a clean mess and if i don't quite know where it's all going to go, i have high hopes that i will either find an appropriate home for it, or trash it. i spent my afternoon prepping the kitchen chairs and putting the finishing touches on my dollhouse. i haven't posted pictures in a while because the camera broke, but as soon as Beloved shows me how to work the new one, i will post the finished piece. in case anyone has forgotten, here's a picture of what the dollhouse used to look like:



in between, libby and i got quite a few kitchen cabinets cleaned and papered and either emptied or filled. it's such a joy to see there's actually room for stuff in the cabinets. i even have one i haven't designated as anything yet, because i'm waiting to see if there's something i've forgotten about.

then i told libby to take her shower and get ready and we would go do something fun. i dragged her and the puppies off for a walk. we walked along the river and even buddy was well-behaved. what makes you think this is my idea of fun, she asked several times.

how couldn't it be? i replied. we're here on this beautiful day in this beautiful place with our puppies who love us more than god. see the leaves, and the water and the sunshine? this is good for us - it's good to breathe the fresh air and stretch our legs. and look how happy the puppies are.

we could be shopping, she observed. we could be seeing the mall, the clothes, the food. the puppies would be happy - we could bring them a treat.

this is free, i pointed out.

and libby, in whom my grandmother's money-loving castaldi blood runs thick and true, shut up.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

inching in increments

my cozy little corner in my bedroom has made me very happy. i have a place to hide things like hand cream and foot cream, and a place to stack my reading material without it spilling all over the floor. i can snuggle up and read or write at the end of every day and i like that. i even have a place to stash a shawl, an accessory i find increasingly necessary as the evening air chills.

yesterday i gave some thought to organizing the kitchen. i was forced into it, actually, because Beloved is chomping at the bit to put away things in the new cabinets, a dangerous situation potentially. i could very well find him sitting on the kitchen floor at any moment, happily emptying items willy-nilly in a system of organization understood only by him.

one of the first things i did yesterday was to make labels for most of the drawers and cabinets so if he is seized by an uncontrollable urge to unpack, at least he will have some idea of where i want things put.

this morning, i plan to tackle some of the mess in my writing room, as well as continue to re-organize and clean the kitchen. libby has a doctor's appointment at one - and alas i face another argument over the HPV vaccine. it's not that i don't want her protected, its that i don't want her to be in the generation of guinea pigs. after all, can we say "DES?"

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

on fear

a post about fear from a fellow blogger and witchy-friend got me thinking, especially when i consider it's october, the month when popular culture is increasingly allowing all the things that go bump in the night out of the closet.

when you start to notice how many times we are told we should be afraid of things, it's really no wonder that most of us live our lives in a constant state of low-level fear. just a trip to the grocery store, or goddess forbid, a gas station, can stir up terrible thoughts from global warming to genetic modification. when i was married to my first husband, i lived in a constant state of fear because he could be emotionally and physically abusive.

when i left him, i promised myself i would never again live in fear, or make decisions based on fear, or allow fear of anything to rule my life. but even after i'd moved to ct, and we were divorced, he still had the power to terrify me with legal threats about custody and child support. one night, i was upset because i'd been served with yet more court papers. i remember crying and carrying on, and just being so terrified i felt as if i couldn't go on.

and then Beloved pointed out, that as bad as things MIGHT get, there were no nazis at the door. and that everything i was afraid of had not come to be, might never come to be, and i was wasting a lot of time and energy worrying about things that weren't real. i can't say his words immediately changed my outlook, but it marked a turning point for me.

and once the situation with my ex began to calm down, and i was able to apply my outlook to the broader world around me, i was astonished to realize just how much we are manipulated and controlled.... by fear.

the pitch is intensified now, it seems, over the election. time and again i hear from my dear Syster-Wymen how afraid they are ... if mccain gets elected, if the supreme court overturns roe v wade... if we go to war with iran... if if if... the litany of fear runs over and over, a moebius loop of such astonishing proportions it seems we must all be snared in its web, except, of course, for the lucky few - like the buddhist monks and nuns in their monasteries, the ones who've renounced it all.

a few weeks ago, i received a letter from a very kind-hearted and well-meaning individual - a reader of this blog, in fact - who means to save my soul by threatening me with potential hellfire and damnation if i don't bow my head to God the Judge.

this poor soul can't see how she is bound in a hell made of fear, a hell she sincerely wishes in which i should join.

i haven't answered her latest epistle yet, mostly because i haven't quite decided HOW to answer her. it isn't that i simply don't believe her kind of hell exists. it's that i can't participate in her kind of fear. and that's the attitude i'm striving to adopt - in these most tumultous of times.

so what if the worst happens? what if mccain-palin get elected? what if the financial markets collapse? what if roe vs wade gets overturned? what if we blow ourselves up, or worse, poison our world with chemicals and greed, so we all go down in a slimey green sludge?

well, maybe if roe vs wade gets overturned, we will be roused out of our complacencey and finally and forever create a law that "gives" women absolute right to decide what they do to their bodies. the fact we even NEED to articulate this "right" is - or should be - an abomination.

not long ago, i came to the conclusion that anyone who thinks the end of humanity is a bad thing isn't seeing it from the cockroach's point of view. energy is never lost and matter regenerates. a trillion years from now we may all be arguing over the viablity of belief in sentient humanity, even as we chow down on their mountains of rubbish. after all, haven't there been times you wanted an extra pair of hands?

and furthermore the war must end. blessed be.

new moon in libra

"Because of high energy use, rising living standards, the whole world is heavily interdependent. The concept of We and They is no longer. The whole world should be an OUR. The concept of war is eliminated when there is no enemy! With dialogue, just a few words is not sufficient. The way of life should be advanced. Consider others as a brother and sister. Respect them no matter how difficult it is."
- HH The Dalai Lama, Vancouver, 2008

on this morning of the new moon in libra, i wonder, i do, i do.

maybe the dalai lama has never seen siblings fight. we had a doozy of one here, that ended with meg flouncing off to katie's house at nine-thirty at night, and libby retreating to her room with a bad case of the sulks. it's jealousy, pure and simple, the realization that life-is-not-equal, even at home, that rankles so deeply, spurs so much hate. libby's life is not the same as meg's was seven years ago. there's simply no getting around that fact. here on the manor, as Beloved likes to call it, the queen and her last little princess live well. meg, of course, has it easier than katie had it, lo those many moons ago. but meg doesn't see that. all meg sees is that her bratty little sister gets more, is coddled more, has fewer responsibilities than she ever had. it just isn't fair.

i realize that if i have negotiated the tricky shoals of sibling rivalry among my own offspring with any success at all, it's because i know the hard edges of envy's teeth all too well. my children's snarls last night reminded me at the same time of wolf cubs and congress, not to mention me and my brother john.

maybe the trouble with a universal call to brotherhood is that sibling relationships dont always work out well for everyone involved. i remember how, when i was a child, i discovered a deep hatred that existed between my great-grandfather and his brother, who lived two blocks away and had a different last name.

why did uncle leon change his name, i asked my grandmother once. she made a face. "bad blood," she answered. "there was bad blood between them." "what kind of bad blood?" i pressed, sensing a story like a shark after chum. she shrugged, waved her hand, pursed her lips. "it was bad blood," she said. "that's all we needed to know."

deena's teachings, the new moon in libra - the sign of harmony and balance - the words of the dalai lama, the argument erupting between my girls, all swirl and stir around me. the contrast between my morning in sacred space and Beloved's at the edge of the financial chaos stares me in the face. that such a possiblity exists, i think deena would say, would've been unheard of forty years ago. things are changing, she assured us, even though it may not feel like anything has changed at all.

as i dealt with my daughters last night, deena's question - how do we find our way to peace? - echoed distantly. i listened to the ranting and the raving and the farflung accusations and i wondered that myself.

the only tactic i have ever hit upon that seems to work with any success at all is to help them to see each other not as rivals, but as individuals with common needs, wants and desires. and just because we all want the same thing doesn't necessarily mean we have to be in competition for it.

as i whispered a prayer for meg's safety as she stormed off into the night, i realized how slow and deliberate a process this must be.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

tales of a renegade boiler

my delightful day sharing dreams with deena metzger was perforce cut short as i feared by the Nice Man who came to Fix the furnace.

have you considered a new boiler, ma'am? he said, gazing at me with enormous baby blues.

not on the day the market drops nearly a thousand points, i wanted to say.

i shared my dream with the group. i thought it was interesting that deena opened the day by telling us how the women of liberia had dreamed that a war was coming but they did nothing, in terms of honoring the ancient ways designed to avert such disaster.

my dream felt like a similiar kind of wake-up call. after i left the meeting, i came home, and before the Nice Man showed up, i did a small ritual of my own, to honor the energies that came to me in that dream.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

day with deena

today im going off a day-long retreat (at least i'm assuming it will be a day-long retreat, unless the Nice Men who fix the furnace require my presence this afternoon) hosted by nora jamieson's Women's Temple. nora is a Witch in the best sense of the word. deena metzger is a wise-woman Grandmother if ever there were one.

i have a dream to share with the group - oddly, it is a dream about the group and a disturbing dream at that. i am eager to hear what deena, nora and the other women think. it is the second of two disturbing dreams i had the same night, a couple nights after the full moon.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

shades of the shining

for some reason, the heat in the main part of the house refuses to go off, despite a new thermostat that assures the heat is turned off. my suspicion is that it is somehow connected to the fact that new heating was installed in the new addition.

when i pointed out to Beloved that this was a potentially dangerous situation, he pooh-poohed my fear, until i pointed out to him that this was what happened to the hotel in the shining - that ultimately the hotel blew up because the furnace overheated.

now the heater is turned off and the nice men have been called, and presumably, we will have the issue fixed before we really need the heat.

i walked for an hour with my friend cheryl today, and came home to spend the rest of the afternoon creating a corner in my bedroom that was clean and clutter-free. my summer clothes are sorted and put away, my winter things unpacked. the only category i've yet to switch over are my shoes. the rest of my closet and all my drawers are rearranged with my cold weather clothing.

i sorted a few more loose things that had been sitting around taking up energy - my overnight bag, my gym bag, and a basket chest that i have repurposed into a place where i can stash extra candles, my foot cream, my planning journal and my current reading material.

its nice to have a clutter-free space at last.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

the cranky crone considers...

...an outrageously modest proposal to alleviate the current financial mess. go check it out HERE.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

another Blog Stop Book Tour!

today the book on the Blog Stop is Midwife of The Blue Ridge by Christine Blevins. i looked forward to reading this book, for several reasons, mostly because ALL the books on the Blog Stop Book Tour that i have reviewed so far have been thoroughly enjoyable and well-written.

this book.. well... not so much.

the subject matter - midwifery, historical fiction, the native american tribes of the eastern united states - are all subjects dear to my heart. i thought i would love this book.

alas, well...not so much.

the midwife of the title, an orphaned scottish girl named maggie duncan, only delivers two babies in the entire length of the book, and there's little drama about it, nor do the births seem to tie into the story in any meaningful way. it's as if the author said to herself, oh yes, she's a midwife, i better have her deliver a couple of kids. that may sound mean, but i know i've certainly thought that way more than once, so while i understand where the author is coming from, i see now that it's better to show us a character busy birthing babies if you're going to call her a midwife.

and because this book is really a romance dressed up as historical fiction, i lost interest in the plot once i identified the hero.

but the great Thou Shalt Not this author committed, in my very humble opinion, and the reason i could barely force myself to read the book, is that she had the characters speak in DIALECT - heavy dialect at that - the whole freaking way through the story.

and yes, gentle readers, i understand the characters are scottish. yes, i understand they speak with an accent, and i understand the writer wanted to give us a flavor of what she, no doubt, heard in her head as she was writing the story.

however, this writer's editor should have pointed out to her that characters - like real people - only appear to have an accent to people who don't share it. there is no reason to have EVERY line of dialogue reflect that accent, any more than it is necessary to continually hit me over the head with any other kind of information about them. a few "dinna fash yersel, maggie's" or a couple "we better bide a wee's" and i would've happily accepted that these people are from SCOTLAND and would've probably found the dialogue far less intrusive than it was.

so... do i recommend the book? if you like romance, if you like romances set in the early colonies AND if you can tolerate the dialogue - absolutely.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

small steps

i have identified four areas of my life where i hope to make changes over the next three months. the first major area, of course, is the chaos now currently clogging my house.

another is exercise.

now that my shoulder is finally feeling better, i want to get back to yoga. im still not sure downward dog is the best position, but there's other simple poses i know i can do.

and then there's walking. i realized i don't walk as much as i want to because i feel guilty not walking the dogs. and i don't like walking with the dogs - they want to stop and sniff and scratch and search even at the most determined pace i can muster. and so today i recognized the need to take TWO walks a day - one with the puppies, and one without them.

such a small step, but one, i think, in the right direction.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

whimsical wednesday

this post is in honor of my dear friend rose, who offered such a sage observation on my last post. for those gentle readers who don't know about Win a Whimsy Wednesday, i invite you to check out rose's What I Made Today to find out how you can win your very own whimsy. i won one once, and i wanna win another. so on second thought...wait til tomorrow :).

i woke up happy and in a silly mood. tonight i'm offering my workshop, eating... the angel way again and there's something about angels thats light and frothy and, well... silly.

but first i have baby jake for a few hours and i need to tie up a few of the loose ends on my list i didnt find my way to do yesterday - both my hour readings scheduled for the afternoon turned into ninety minutes. and so.. off i go.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

a day to get stuff done

the mire of the chaos is starting to muddle my mind. i can feel it in my more-than-ordinary resistance to thinking in straight lines. and yet, with autumn nipping at my heels like a persistent puppy, i feel an ever-growing imperative to Get Things Done. winter is coming - a season in which i hope to reap the benefits of my fiction-writing fallow of the past six months. but in order to wallow as i would, to truly sink down and settle in, i would like my physical space to reflect the same inner order i envision creating.

and so i toy with the idea of calling in my Mother. my mother is not so much my mother as a Force of Nature - rather like the Faerie Queen. her ability to think in straight lines approaches genius but one dances with her at one's peril. if my father is a big picture person like i am, my mother understands the means by which the big picture is accomplished. but do i really want this Energy - even ever so briefly - in my house, in my home?

i reach for my list, as my mother would. and i ponder.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

making minor headway

Beloved, goddess bless him, painted the kitchen. i helped - i did the older part - the part we painted three years ago when the first phase of the renovation was complete. im sorry to say good-bye to my terracotta floors, but i think the blue slate tile will look better with the countertops. i know that the pale cafe-au-lait color now on the walls sure does. i think the darker shade will look nice in the living room, too. the countertop people called this evening - another encouraging sign. it means that some day - maybe even by halloween - the boxes now populating the living room will disappear like spring snow. (i just hope their disappearance doesn't coincide with the spring snow.)

i had baby jake today, and he was fussy - runny nose, maybe teething, definitely out of sorts. he's not an inconsolable baby when he's feeling bad, just a cuddly one, and so we spent the major part of our day nestled on the couch. i drew the line at disney, however, and so baby jake dozed to the sound of a show about a guy who was a famous novelist and killed his wife. or so said a jury of twelve good people and true...he's appealing his sentence. the most damning piece of evidence seemed to be that twelve or thirteen years ago, another woman he knew died the exact same way. this seems to fall under the "lightning can't possibly strike twice in the same place" school of criminal justice, but then, again, it does seem like an awfully big coincidence. and he ended up as the legal guardian for the woman's two daughters, when they had a perfectly lovely blood aunt. made me wonder, it did, it did.

it made baby jake sleep.

i managed to get enough laundry and other things done that the day didn't feel like quite a total waste. the split pea soup i made for supper turned out well, and we got the food shopping done. it's little things like these i cling to in the midst of chaos... it's so bad i'm thinking of calling in my MOTHER (gulp).

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

chaos in the kitchen

this time last year i was enjoying the pause between the frenzy of moving my grandmother and the baby shower for sixty people and baby jake's arrival. last year, my house was clean, my gardens weeded.

this year i am buried, in boxes and paint cans and construction dust. my world feels chaotic, unspooled. all the artificial structures and spreadsheets i have created to get some fragile fix on the world feel just that - fragile, and utterly unequal to the task of Holding It All Together. nearly three months into this massive project, and i am restless, edgy. i want to get it Done.

and yet, every step i take in that direction feels as futile as a finger in a dam.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

dearly departed

last night, laura and i held our first gallery-style mediumship night in a private home. ten ladies, meg, libby and a host of spirits and assorted loved ones gathered in a new farmhouse on an ancient plot of land. somehow it seemed fitting, beside an old track that winds along a river, deep in the connecticut woods. a last-quarter harvest moon, hung low in the star-studded sky, fat as a gold crescent roll, as i drove home, reminding me that this is the weekend of the equinox. as summer's last twilight crept through the trees, laura and i sat shoulder to shoulder and peered beyond the Veil, into that (as shakespeare described it) undiscovered bourne from which travelers normally don't return in ways readily available to our five physical senses.

we got a lot of good hits, as they say in our business, though i expected that. when laura and i work together, we complete each other's sentences and thoughts. working alone, we are both as good as any of the well-known psychics out there, but working together, we're even more accurate. sometimes we even say the same thing at the exact same time.

meg and libby tagged along - meg because she has to do a project on a cultural experience outside her comfort zone for a class, and libby because she had nothing better to do. (yes, gentle readers, it amazed me, too, that meg could find sitting around listening to her mother talk to dead people outside her comfort zone, but children really ARE like little aliens who land on your doorstep. it was even more amazing libby had nothing better to do.)

yesterday was my aunt babe's birthday, today was my dear friend lorraine's.

my aunt babe is thrilled to have her sister - my grandmother - with her, at last. i felt them all celebrating on the porch at the Big House washed in the Summerland's coppery light. and my grandmother is so happy to Be There - she Gets It now, at last. be happy, nanny, i hear them whisper. live rich, breathe deep. the scent of the beach, of the fumes on tenth street engulfs me, i hear the shriek of the gulls and the screech of the sirens. i lit a candle for aunt babe yesterday.

today i light one for my friend lorraine. i see her sitting in her meadow, with her dog celtie by her side, watching her other dogs play under a cinnamon sun. and inexplicably, sam and buddy begin to frolic like puppies, rolling and snapping and arching and twisting, and i see that we are watching the very same thing, on different sides of the Veil.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

the river, by moonlight

another Blog Stop Book Tour day, dear readers!

this time, it's The River, by Moonlight by Camille Marchetta

Set in a small Hudson river town in 1917, The River by Moonlight is the story of the shock waves set off by the apparent suicide of a young woman who, like Richard Corey, appears to have it all.

In prose as deeply and gently moving as the river itself, ms marchetta creates characters so vividly drawn the reader feels them as real as the neighbors next door. What completely captivated me about this book was the subtle sense of the surreal that infuses it. the author’s deft portrayal of the characters’ own shock and disbelief of this terrible event creates its own little bubble, even as events outside that bubble are carrying the wider world along toward wider tragedies, wider griefs. It’s the other side of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” about what really happens when lives are truncated too young.

The best part of this book for me was the ending – set five years after Lily’s death. It leaves the reader with a sense of peace, if not satisfaction. I highly recommend it – this is another book for a rainy afternoon, a snowy evening, a story to be savored like a hot cup of tea.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

happy birthday, edward david

thirty-three years ago, when my little brother david was born with downs' syndrome, his condition shocked and devastated my mother. i, on the other hand, had known for years.

i was 13 when the Voice told me my mother would have a baby with down's syndrome. the condition was vaguely familiar to me - in gym class in middle school i was often paired up with the special ed kids, a couple of whom had had it. You can't let that happen, i remember i argued with the Voice. i'm not ready.

i am not sure what i had to do with it, but a couple weeks later, my mother miscarried. i knew it was only a reprieve.

but i said nothing. to no one. i had learned by then not to acknowledge the Voice, no matter how right and true the things It told me were. i had also read doctor spock's baby and child care, and i knew that adults called such thinking "magical." i knew if i said anything at all, it would be attributed to such thinking plus sibling rivalry. and i knew this was beyond that.

the following year, on the first day of school, i sat down at my desk in biology class, and opened the book randomly. it fell open to the section on human genetics and what could possibly go wrong. i remember how my eyes were drawn to the phrase "down's syndrome," and i heard the Voice say "That."

i knew the baby was coming soon.

about a year or so later, my mother announced she was pregnant. and i knew what lay ahead. but again, i said nothing. but i remember i told the Voice, "okay, i guess i'm ready."

why didn't you tell me, my mother asked me, years later, when i finally 'fessed up. what was i going to say, i asked, and what difference would it have made? you would never have done anything about it. and it would only have upset you.

that's true, she said. and then she was very quiet. i do remember, though, she said at last, how when i was saddest and most upset, you'd show up, as if on cue. and you always said what i needed to hear. you always had a good answer. i remember thinking then how unusual it seemed.

my little brother david is special to me in many ways. but not the least of which is that his birth was the gateway for my first experience of what i now understand to be Divine Grace. so happy 33rd, wavy davy... long may your light shine.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

the sky is falling

among the first things Beloved said to me this morning - somewhere between "don't forget to brush your teeth," and "do you mind being on top?" - was, "we're in the middle of a world-wide crash."

in the 13 years i've known Beloved, there've been other crashes, other crises. the asian contagion had Beloved getting up at 430 am to catch the market reports from hong kong and japan, and caused me to work my first Spell. i'd gotten tired of Beloved's miserable mien and thus, arrived one evening with a backpack full of magical supplies to find Beloved watching the financial news channel, with what was becoming his habitual pained expression.

what are you doing, Beloved asked, as he struggled to sit up and i began to unpack.

i'm working a spell, i said. we're working a spell, actually.

can we have sex? he asked.

of course, i answered. where do you think we're going to get the oomph?

i think i like this kind of magic, said Beloved.

i don't remember exactly what it was we did, nor how oomphy the sex, but three days later, the asian markets turned around, and there was, as Beloved puts it, lift off.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

on Worldbuilding, or, a question from another Writer

a Gentle Reader was kind enough to leave this question as a comment on one of my recent posts.

I'm interested in writing fantasy myself, but what has me freezing in my tracks is creating a world...a whole world...the Gods must have felt something like the panic I feel when I think of it. Okay so I don't need to create a whole world, just a country to begin with, but still its a scary thought and one that has me struggling to even begin. So if I may ask a question, how did you go about creating a realistic world for your characters to live in?

ah, world-building. depending on your outlook, it can be your greatest pleasure about the art and craft of fiction, or your greatest chore. what's interesting to me about this question, i think, is that the answer doesn't just apply to fantasy or sf, though writers of less colorfully imaginative fiction may not be quite as attuned to the care required to create Believable Worlds.

sometimes this is referred to as Setting, and while not as acknowledged as universally important as Character or Plot, it is nonetheless sufficiently integral to the creation of effective fiction to warrant its own Writers' Digest book.

however, even sf can rely on the Known Science of our own world in terms of groun-rules, short-cuts and What the Reader Knows. in fantasy, you get to make it all up, which is, as so many things are, both blessing and curse.

so where do *I* start, gentle reader? for me, fantasy isn't just a chance to make up cool stories about magical beings who have enormous powers, heroic adventures and mythical sex. i see fantasy is a chance to play with the world views of the characters who live inside the story, a chance to examine a different way not just of living, but of understanding How Things Work. if i lived in a world where jesus had never died, i wonder, what would that world be?

because i grew up steeped in three things - literature, judeo-christian mythology and irish folk music - a great part of the shaping my worlds begins with these three things - what are their stories? what do they believe? and what does their music sound like? for me, the easiest way to any kind of reasonable answer lies in the world's other Mythologies.

the world-view of the celts, for example, was very different from that which we commonly share today. by adopting it in the silver books, i was able to make subtle shifts in such things as motivations that perhaps don't seem very large when first confronted, but which, over the unfolding of the story, adds up to the feeling for the Reader that he or she is defintiely not anywhere near kansas any more.

for example, in silver's edge, when nessa goes into Faerie to save her father from the sidhe, she doesn't go to save his LIFE. she goes to save his SPIRIT, so that he may be free to travel back and forth from the human world to the summerlands. she EXPECTS him to die soon after his return to the mortal world, in fact, because it is well known that being in Faerie and then returning can kill you. but trapped in Faerie, dougal's spirit would be lost to those who loved him forever. this shift in motivation, subtle though it may be, not only shapes nessa and her world, but also illustrates another point of view quite different from the one this culture seems to promulgate: living in the same youthful body forever would constitute paradise.

so my advice to you would be to immerse yourself in mythology - to read as widely as you can about as many mythologies as you can absorb. find the one that tickles your soul, that leaps large on the canvas of your mind. then take your plot and characters and see how they might fit on the foundation of that frame.

the characters in my silver books do not believe everything the ancient celts believed. the mythology that supports the world of the silver books is mine, woven out of the strands of ancient ireland, but sprinkled through with quite a bit of Other Stufff, too. just as an aside, one of the criticisms sometimes levelled at the books by those earnest amateur scholars i call Strict Constructionists, is that the mythology in the book is NOT "real" celtic mythology. "this isn't the way it really happened," bemoaned one particularly offended purist.

to them, i'd like to say: of course it isn't. i made it up all up. that's why it's called fantasy.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

back to bed day

the morning air is soft and heavy as an old blanket, and the gray clouds are puffed and plump as pillows. the trees are still, the muted light soothes. even my coffee tastes milky and warm. buddy snores sprawled across the throw rug, sam curls in the corner of the wing chair under her pink blanket.

Beloved is engrossed in his online game. i think it's called pimp-war. the point of the game is to become number one pimp. i understand the lure of roleplay games, and what i find interesting is that he's working his way up the ladder not by being agressive but by forging alliances within the pimp-world.

cooperation... what a concept. may it flow in any form it can.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

does it pay to write?

every so often, i get emails from aspiring writers asking for advice. this morning, i found this one from a kindred spirit:

Ms. Kelleher,

Seeing an AOL email account in these days of gmail and other free email account means you must be a kindred spirit and myself being from Jersey means you must also have a sense of humor...I am an aspiring fantasy writer and only wish to ask you, as I search for an agent, for your advice. If you could spare me a few minutes I would be grateful.

I have written about 6 chapters of a book over the last few years, tweaking, changing, adding, deleting until I had something I would want to read myself. It may sound strange but I'm very fussy.

I was interested in you mainly because you wrote fantasy/romance. Being a Computer geek for the last 27 years didn't allow me much time to read but I've read Andre Norton, Donaldson, Eddings, Williams, Modesitt and Goodkind so my base is well grounded

I'm new to this and ignorant. Ask me anything about computers and I could rattle off "tech talk" for hours. I've read all the " How to get publish" books and it looks to be a long road.

My question;

In this day and age, does it pay to even start? Seems like there are hundreds of book already out there.My wife and kids think I'm crazy to even try.

- Aspiring Writer

here is my response:

Dear Aspiring Writer:
when you ask me "does it pay?" - i'd have to ask you... what kind of "payment" do you have in mind? :)

writing fiction is not the road to riches. for some, yes, it can be... but the whims of the market and the words of the writer are frequently two entirely different things. if you envision doing this in order to get rich, believe me, there are easier, faster and far less painful methods.

but if you are writing out of a deep need to create, out of a longing to tell your stories in ways that no one else can, if you are writing stories that YOU enjoy reading, or to leave some integral part of yourself that will speak to your children and your grandchildren and your great grandchildren long after you are gone, then i would say it pays in spades.

fiction has not made me financially rich. it hasn't even made me financially secure. but when i see my row of books lined up on the mantel, in five different languages, and i know that a hundred years from now, my great-great grandchildren will be able to (well, hopefully be able to, but i'm an optimist) hear my voice as clearly as if i were in the next room, and i feel that there is some piece of me that (as the roman poet horace said,) shall not wholly die.... then, i feel very rich indeed.

the heretic's daughter

no, gentle readers, not me.

today i am once again participating in the Blog Stop Book Tour - and this time the book is a debut novel called THE HERETIC'S DAUGHTER by kathleen kent.

set in andover, massachusetts, near salem, at the time of the witch trials, the story is told from the viewpoint of one of the author's own ancestors, a ten year old girl named sarah, the daughter of thomas and martha carrier. martha carrier was one of the women hanged for witchcraft, the only one who never confessed, and went to her death protesting her innocence. thomas carrier, a fascinating man in his own right, carries some taint of a blighted past, that the discerning reader (with perhaps some knowledge of seventeenth-century history) will realize relates to the regicide of king charles i of england in 1649.

beautifully written, the story is told in heartbreakingly simple prose as befits the ten year old narrator. although this is one of the strengths of the book, it is also possibly its only flaw, because the child's limited understanding limits the reader's.

but this is a minor flaw in this marvelous story. in bits and pieces, kent weaves the ancedotes that ultimately reveals characters both sensitively and finely drawn, and shows how small things can snowball into larger things, and sometimes disaster.

the most touching aspect of the book for me personally was the relationship between martha and her daughter. strongwilled, stubborn, intelligent and never afraid to speak her mind, martha reminded me more than a little of myself (gulp.) although sarah at first misunderstands the nature of her mother's love, she comes to understand just how much her mother really loves her, when martha gives the sarah the means to save herself, even while she (martha) goes resolute to her death on the hanging tree.

ms kent has not written a light novel for the beach. instead, she has given us a novel to savor on a long slow winter's afternoon fortified with blankets, hot beverages and a roaring fire. this story is an excellent read that will stay with the reader for days after it is done. i highly recommend it.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

grammy's ring

a few weeks ago, i mentioned my Other Grandmother, the one i called grammy. she died when i was ten, so i didn't know her nearly half so well as i came to know the one i called roey. when i first began to open to my psychic gifts, she was among the first three spirits who came to me.

at first, i was confused, because when she said she was "my grandmother," my first thought was... she's not dead. and then the little Voice said: your Other Grandmother is, and memories of grammy came flooding back.

my father was her youngest child. she had four boys all together, and all those boys had sons, except for me. i was her only granddaughter. at various points in my life, i have felt her energy close around me.

this summer, before i went to california, i asked her for a sign. nothing too big, just a little something, i asked, so i would know she really WAS with me. a couple weeks after i returned, i got my sign.

out of the blue one day, my father called. i just got off the phone with uncle joe, he said. he was cleaning out an old suitcase that hadn't been touched in 20 odd years. inside he found an envelope marked "mom's ring." inside the envelope was a ring.

then my dad choked up. you were her only granddaughter. we both want you to have it. we know that's what she would've wanted.

today the ring arrived, a moonstone set in yellow gold, surrounded by little sapphires and diamonds. it fit me perfectly.

you know the funny thing about that ring, my father said, the last time we spoke. i was with my father the day he went to pick it out. i remember that ring. isn't that amazing? of all the pieces of jewelry she had, i remember that one.

so did grammy, daddy. so did grammy.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

when fascism comes to america

i posted sarah palin's list of banned books at www.cafemom.com, where it is currently the number one journal posting, and has ignited a firestorm regarding whether or not the list itself is "accurate."

whether or not the list itself is accurate is immaterial. the truth of the matter is that palin attempted to have books removed from the wasilla, ak, public library's shelves by threatening to fire the librarian when the librarian balked.

what this shows is not just how seriously palin takes her religious beliefs but what little disregard she has for the first amendment.

i'm by no means a strict-constructionist when it comes to the constituition of the united states, but i think the first amendment probably articulates one of the most precious of all the rights we possess as citizens of this nation. as a writer, it certainly articulates one of the most precious of all rights for ME personally.

any candidate who would even consider asking a librarian to remove books from bookshelves in a PUBLIC library has no business being elected to a position where they will be asked to uphold and defend the constitution, because clearly, they don't even understand what that constituition says.

as sinclair lewis wrote in 1935, "when fascism comes to america, it will be wrapped in a flag and carrying a cross." gentle readers, i think it's arrived.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

feeling 90% better

considering how sick i felt yesterday... i'm amazed at how much better i feel today. i don't have a lot of energy, but my cold symptoms - the stuffy nose, the scratchy throat and the phlegmy cough - have all but disappeared.

thank you to everyone who left me get-well wishes yesterday. i appreciated them all! :)

i took it easy today, though - i didn't do anything much at all beyond lie on the couch, lie in bed and write the third chapter of my new book, "Eating the Angel Way: the Rainbow Route to health and happiness" or whatever exactly it was patrice suggested.

i'm still working on her prize. a free copy of the book doesn't seem like quite enough since i'd give one to her anyway. the last time i gave her a plant she looked sort of pained and said, oh, i don't have much luck with plants. lunch doesn't last beyond a few hours.

maybe a little Angel will give me some inspiration.

i checked back over my blog, to see when i was last sick. last winter i was sick twice, for two or three weeks at a time.

maybe there's more to this eating the angel way stuff than i realize.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

sick as a dog

i woke up this morning sicker than i've been since last february. it's funny, because i had just been thinking it'd been a while since i'd been sick. and then whammo... baby jake sneezes in my face, and down i go for the count.

thank you to patrice and kim and kittengoddess who left me well-wishes. :)

this afternoon, i managed to drag myself from the bed where i've spent most of the day cuddled up with sam - buddy prefers to flop on the floor - in order to plant my holly trees ahead of the soaking rain we are expected to get.

as i expected, i've lost four of them already. but nine still look promising - they're green, the berries firm with leaves that cling to the spindly branches as if they'd like to stay there. and so i planted them, three to a pot, in a mixture of tree and shrub soil and vermiculite. i set them under the big pine and asked him to look after them.

when the weather turns cold, i'll bring them inside.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

happy birthday, my Beloved

today is Beloved's birthday and i went to bed sick and woke up sicker. poor Beloved will have to make due with a card and the flowers i bought him yesterday and a couple bottles of his favorite aftershave.

there will be no Big Celebration tonight...sigh.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

Eating.. the Angel Way

hard on the heels of an unexpected downpour, and a splitting migraine, a burst of inspiration overtook me, and in less than thirty minutes, i wrote both the outline and the first chapter of a new book. patrice suggested the title and so i feel she ought to get a reward of some sort.

here're two of my favorite paragraphs:

As humans, we arrive with an innate need to nourish our physical bodies appropriately. A newborn human’s whole life centers almost completely on the need to take in food and eliminate its wastes. However, as we grow, we are frequently taught that the very appetite that kept us alive in those early helpless days is not to be trusted. We are taught to fear our bodies’ desires, wishes and needs. For many people, their appetite – of all sorts – becomes their enemy. And so many of us go to war with this most basic part of our human nature, as if it were something that needed to be controlled, tamed or conquered.

However, the human body is the physical instrument in which our Divine Spark is en-fleshed. A critical part of Knowing the Presence of Divine Spirit in your life is to embrace and accept your own human-ness, which includes the unique beauty of your physical body, as well as the appetite that keeps it alive. I (we) believe that all of us are meant to be Channels of Divine Love and Grace in this world. The more deeply we love and accept ourselves, the more we are genuinely able to love and care about others.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

steps in time

an astute Gentle Reader of my Other Blog noticed that i referred to myself as the mother of four daughters - not three. as this Gentle Reader said to me in an email, which i dont think she'll mind if i quote:

"Just last night, while taking Oldest Daughter out to dinner before
sending her off for her last semester of college in L.A., she and New Husband
and I talked about the "step" prefix, and whether it would ever fall away,
after we've been a family for 20 or so years. They didn't think so. Do you
always make the distinction between steps and your own kids?"

well, no... at least i try not to. i prefer not to. i don't like the bifurcation such distinctions cause in families. blended families have so many issues, the last thing everyone needs, i think, is yet another reminder of the blendedness, which, alas, in so many quarters of our culture, equates to broken-ness.

real families, at least as i think of them, are created by bonds of love, not law, and not, certainly, even by shared DNA, especially when i consider how much i love my puppies. and so, i don't like to put in the steps, the dashes, the little signifiers that tell the world we could in some sense be "broken."

because we are not. in our together-ness, we are healed.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

itchy eyelids

at first, when i felt the pinprick sensations in my one lid, i thought i was merely suffering from sort of allergy. i AM allergic to things like molds, ragweed and the pollens of trees and grasses. so i dosed myself on antihistamines, but the itching didn't stop. i could feel my eyelid becoming more and more irritated, and just a tad swollen. so i smeared it antibiotic ointment, which helped, but not as much as i would've liked, and the itching spread, to my other eye.

a single application of hydrocortisone cream helped tremendously, but burned like the dickens going on. then it occured to me that something in nature's pharmacopiea might offer a better solution. it also occured to me to google the symptom. so i did, and i learned that apparently itchy eyelids is a real symptom of some fairly diverse diseases and conditions. it can also occur for reasons unknown, and some of the postings i found were from people begging for or offering all sorts of advice on how to alleviate this very annoying (believe me) condition.

my dear sister-in-spirit laura mentioned her own homemade brew that is very effective against poison ivy - a simple home remedy based on wild impatiens, or jewel weed, and plaintain, that broad leafed invader of my herb gardens that looks to me like a cross between rhubarb and crab grass, and yet our dear friend rose swears by it.

to freshly cleaned bunch of leaves and stems, i added three tablespoons of olive oil - the googled people mentiond sweet almond oil, but i don't have any - and a few drops of boiling water to kill any beasties that may be lurking in the leaves. three times daily applications of this little concoction, along with warm salt compresses, had me about 95% cured when i gave the rest of it to katie for baby jake's face.

today i woke up with a just a touch of an itchy lid. and it's back to the fields i go.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

sweet september

if a month has to begin on a monday, i think a monday holiday is only fair. i spent the day in the kind of personal reflection achieved while accomplishing - not too many things - but enough to give me a sense of personal satisfaction and justified reward while my homemade rice pudding, redolent with cinnamon - made from leftovers, even - steams and thickens on the stove.

i corralled meg into cleaning up her room enough so that any damage done by the workmen tomorrow when they install her new window should be minimal. i induced libby to spend half as much as she wanted to on a new comforter for her new full-sized bed. i sweet-talked Beloved into hanging up his clothes and sorting out his laundry. i found the prettiest curtains for the new kitchen - a fabric called Laura's Garden - which certainly answers why i've been hearing that. (i was beginning to think i was supposed to go see my dear friend laura and her garden.)

i did two loads of laundry (dark and white towels), vacuumed, changed the sheets and pulled a few weeds. then i checked on the baby hollies and congratulated them on being so brave and hanging in so well. i sorted through the pots Beloved cleaned for me, and filled in the first layer with pebbles. i found a beautiful piece of yellow quartz that almost gleams like citrine.

i ate like an Angel ALL DAY today - beginning with a delicious raspberry-vanilla yogurt smoothie before my three and a half mile hike up the mountain. lunch was another smoothie - this one peach-banana, and dinner was rainbow-roasted pot roast... a pot roast simmered all day long in a positively heavenly melange of garlic, basil, oregano, tomatoes, carrots, purple onions, green beans, wax beans and celery, with red mashed potatoes on the side. i added dried wild blueberries to the rice pudding i made because i thought i deserved it.

i gave some thought to taking some radically new directions for my writing - into the realms of nonfiction, a place i never thought to go. i think the Angel Eating Way would make a good book, as my dear friend patrice suggested. (im calling the massage lady tomorrow.) i think there's other topics i could write reasonably intelligently about. goddess knows i've decided to devote a whole blog to things i write intentionally unreasonable about. and my father - of all people - encouraged me to query Real Simple - of all magazines - because he thinks their readers would enjoy my blog.

but then, my daddy loves me.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

new moon in virgo

according to lisa dale miller , this "New Moon in Virgo and the subsequent waxing two-week phase to the Full Moon in Pisces (the Moon of the Bodhisattvic intention) is a time for serious inner reflection and planning toward becoming an agent of service and healing for yourself and the world."

this is the first new moon of my life without my grandmother in it. she died hard on the heels of last month's new moon in leo, a new moon that coincided with a solar eclipse, and was, according to ms miller, "a metaphor for the personal ego at it’s (sic) most selfish, greedy and narcissistic, overshadowing the critical needs of the many...a New Moon to look deeply at the nature of desire and how it feeds the most destructive aspects of human life."

my grandmother was such a metaphor for me. in the way she lived her life, in the choices she made, or refused to make, the ideas she believed in and the beliefs she clung to, she gave me the gift of showing me how not to live, how not to choose, in what not to believe. it cost her greatly to teach it to me. it made her sad and miserable and angry all her life. it made going to see her like crawling over glass.

but, oh, how well, how thoroughly she taught me.

and so, dear roey, as a new moon rises and the old world turns, and you recede ever further into the mists of time and space, may fire consume you, may water sanctify you, may air purify you, and may earth receive you. may your Spirit know the Peace of all eternity, the Joy of all that is. the memories may be bitter, but the Fruits of the Lesson are sweet. namaste.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

what about writing?

gentle readers of this blog may wonder... and certainly Beloved has been asking... what about writing?

ive been wondering that myself.

i have an inkling where it's gone - buried under a mound of drywall dust, moving boxes, new appliances and my grandmother's old possessions. i am not at all the neat-nut libby is, but i find it hard to think in straight lines when the chaos is unrelenting. at this point, the mess is just spilling everywhere, the detritus of the construction mixing with boxes of kitchen-stuff and my grandmother's old things.

just trying to keep track of where it all is now is making me crazy, let alone trying to decide where it's all going to go.

but its true, what Beloved says - except for this most self-indulgent of wallows, i've been doing no writing at all to speak of for WEEKS.

i gave some thought this morning to why this might be so, and i realized that here i am free to play in a way that makes fiction seem like Work. this is MY voice i hear coming through the screen, echoing back, a voice i only dimly recognize at times. a voice i didn't know was me.

there is an aspect to blogging that feels like not only have i been given one of those giant boxes of crayons... and a huge white wall, but also permission to fill it up ANY WAY I PLEASE.

the Writer-Child in me smiles in glee and with fingers fat as baby jake's continues to scribble.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

and if you have a moment, scroll down and see what your fortune cookie says! mine said i had the best life ever~!! guess i can't argue with that! LOL

an hour of deep content

autumn has invaded, bringing chilly nights and nippy mornings, nippy enough to send me inside for socks on my daily march up and down the drive. three laps of the driveway, from the house to the street, is a mile and i am determined to walk at least seven miles daily by winter.

though if the seasons continue to change at this rate, there will be snow by october.

last night the chill and a loaf of nearly-stale bread, plus a plethora of eggs, inspired me to bake a bread pudding. (lest my gentle readers wonder what the Angels would think, please be assured that the Angels who have everything but physical form, take divine delight when WE savor something as delicious as homemade bread pudding.)

as the oven warmed the kitchen, and the smell of cinnamon and ginger filled the upstairs, libby and i snuggled on the couch. we ate the pudding still steaming while we watched Nanny 911.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

eating like an Angel - day three

the best part about eating the Angel Way is that after a few days, you really don't want to eat any other way. at least that's been my experience, and laura's experience, and a whole host of other people who've tried this approach and liked it.

it's so simple, ruth said.

that's one of the other Best Parts.

so just for the record... (and it's only noon)

i've had -

bkfst - one smoothie with blackberry yogurt, frozen raspberries, lo fat milk and chocolate paleomeal, coffee with cream

mid-morning snack - handful of almonds, handful of cranberries and a cup of coffee with cream

noon - oatstraw and mugwort infusion, handful of almonds.

i've also walked four laps up and down the driveway today. yesterday, i walked two miles - it seems the only form of exercise of my right elbow and shoulder will allow.

this afternoon im meeting laura at passiflora. there'll be steak and more sauteed veggies for supper. i'm certain today will be another two-rainbow day!

these happy golden days

baby jake speaks. his first word, appropriately, perhaps even prophetically, is BALL. we know he means BALL because he crawls after his big green one, yelling BAWW BAWW. he also plays catch, rolling the ball back and forth to a partner with a deep chuckle and an expression of self-satisfied glee.

i can do this, he seems to say. look at me, i can do this.

i am always careful to say "yes, you can...you can do this"...and then i must confess i send him an image of a baseball stadium on a sunny summer day, surrounded by cheering crowds and the smell of cracker jack, and an announcer in the background booming ... NOW PITCHING FOR THE NEW YORK YANKEES... BABY JAKE PERCIVAL...

and the crowd cheers, while baby jake giggles.

i am thrilled to report that my olive oil-impatiens-plantago creation, coupled with the salt soaks, seems to have completely cured my itchy, irritated eyelids. it also had such an efficacious effect on the rash on baby jake's face, that katie called me last night to find out what i had used.

what did you do to jake, mom? she asked.

now, considering that katie is an Investigator for DCF, this question coming from her has a darkly sinister ring that makes even my well-intentioned grandmotherly heart quail. i mentally reviewed his day - catch in the morning, long delicious naps, colorful foods. he did have a poopy diaper when i brought him back, but that was because he did that in the car.

about what? i asked cautiously. sometimes katie forgets she is not my social worker.

his rash... it's almost gone. he's had that for months. nothing i've tried worked. what did YOU do?

just a little green magic, honey, i said. a little olive oil, a lot of love. a few weeds.

weeds?! squeaked katie. you put weeds on jake's face?

clean ones, i assured her. field-grown.

i could hear her rolling her eyes as she hung up with a groan.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.

eating like an Angel

baby jake and i ate like Angels today. we were so good! here's what we had:

Breakfast - scrambled eggs, sliced banana, cranberry juice for him, coffee with cream for me.

mid-morning snack - 6 oz baba for him, i wasn't hungry

lunch - leftover grilled rainbow veggies (green squash, yellow squash, celery, carrots, purple onions) with leftover fettucine, blackberry yogurt, lemonade for me, cranberry juice for him

mid-afternoon snack - 6 oz baba for him, handful of dried cranberries and sea-salted almonds for me, coffee with cream.

supper - half grilled chicken breast, sauteed spinach in lemon and garlic, basmati rice.

after supper - the last of the fudge. im ashamed and embarrassed to admit i scooped out all the fudge crumbs, too! :)

i thought i managed two rainbows today.... (purple onions, blackberry yogurt, spinach, squash, celery, yellow squash, bananas, lemons, carrots, cranberries and tomatos... but now i see im short a serving of orange. perhaps a glass of orange juice might be nice before bed...