Cherished Things

Last year for my birthday wonderful Pob sent a book of poetry I'd been coveting and I thought that today would be a good day for a poem.

Over the last while I've gotten some great books (Charles deLint with Chris' Amazon Gift Cert last year, as well as others) and although I know you know how much I love books, I thought it would nice to make sure you that you all know that a gift you've given me is treasured.

Still.

Dark is as dark does.
      ~~
Something with the smallest wings shakes itself
from under a thumb of bark.

The ocean breathes in its silver jacket.
      ~~
Outside, hanging on the trellis, in the moonlight,
   the flowers are opening, each one
as fancy in its unfurl as a difficult thought.
      ~~
So we cross the dark together.
      ~~
Outside: the almost liquid beauty of the flowers.
      ~~
Now the linnets wake.
Now the pearls of their voices are falling
    in the morning light.
      ~~
Did we sleep long? Is it this life still, or
is it the next life, already? Are we gone, then?
Are we there?
      ~~
How will we ever know?


Mary Oliver

She-bang She-bang

I wanted to name my trip "The Unadulterated Boogaloo Tour" mostly because my ex-boyfriend Mike in Banff had a t-shirt that said that on it and I love/loved it. I actually have a picture of the t-shirt but alas! no scanner, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

ANYWAYS, I looked up "boogaloo" on the lovely 'net and there's the Wikipedia definition and then there's the definition I have in my head when it's paired with unadulterated which is really just out and out unselfconscious joy of life, even though the 'real' definitions don't actually support that in any way - it's just the way those two words make me FEEL.

Which brings me to the point of my story (sad as I think you're going to find it) - Cabot is a nice clean kitty, but for some reason, he just doesn't ever get around to cleaning his eyes, even before Yeti traumatized him by poking him in the orbs repeatedly.

About two weeks ago I inadvertently called him "BOOGER-loo" and now I can't stop.

Seriously, I cannot stop calling the cat BOOGER-loo.

It's very sad. I'm embarrassed. For both of us.

In other animal news, I guess I didn't latch the door properly last night after all that tequila out on the deck cause when I got up at 5:30 to feed the annoying whiny chatty catty whyaren'tyouupfeedingme? poke poke huh? huh? hello? poke poke caterwauling feline boogerloo that ILOVEVERYMUCH the front door was wide open.

Bad idea, in the rainforest, on a farm.

Thanks to Experiment in Anonymity and the fantastic What's That Bug? site, I can now tell you that the SIX monstrous bugs who availed themselves of my open-door hospitality last night were....

...Giant Crane Flies. Okay, now, these things have always scared me cause they have those big EYES and they grow like 2.5 inches long and with a wingspan of a further 3 inches. ICK!

The nastiest thing about them though (that has haunted me for years) is that when they fly near you and you batbat at them, they don't go away.

In fact, they seem to get pissed off and then will repeatedly fly AT YOU until you can manage to wrestle them down and kill them and their huge googly eyes and five foot legs.

Now, I know and you know they can't really get pissed off because they are bugs and they basically have no brains but somewhere out there has to be someone who can back me up on this because I will insist to my last breath that that's exactly what's going on.

Angry bugs. Buzzing the towers in an instinctual move for revenge and relief from their irrational anger towards humans.

To my last breath.

The Tequila On The Island Truly is A Crime Against All That is Good in This World

I'll come back another time and tell you all the nice things about my birthday (cause it was mostly nice even though the tequila I got is BAD and y'all so sweet too!) but right now I'm really missing the Telecom pub crawl in Cow-gary....

...plus my day was so shit-fucking-IhateyouIwanttoquit-horrendous that I'm out on the deck doing tequila body-shots off'n the cat's belly.

Ack. Ack! ACK!

S'cuse me there, got a hairball.

tequila shots
i love that laugh
and those guilty eyes

Once More Around the Mulberry Bush

Just now, asleep and the beep of the cell wakes me, checking to find birthday wishes from T3, just midnight here - the clock flipping over to another year, 3 pm on the farm outside of Perth. Laying in the dark, I hear it begin to rain then steadily increase until now it drums against my metal roof as I can't fall back to sleep, missing far away friends.

Earlier, I was sitting here watching the cat eat the leftovers of *my* leftovers from last night's family birthday dinner. He even ate a cauliflower. Really, I just put it there to see if he'd eat it. One major bonus in having a scavenging street cat, I suppose.

I was thinking that one thing the cat has on Lacey (and I'm not speaking ill of the dead) is that if I'm eating something he doesn't like then he just wanders off but Lacey was so damn cute in her denseness and optimism that she was utterly sure that every bite I lifted up was going to be something different from the thing it just was that she didn't like.

But then again, I think, is that really a good trait, when you get right down to it or in the bigger scheme of things or whatever direction we're going in today?

Everything has been so erratic, emotional, painful, difficult these past couple of weeks I didn't know what this year's birthday post was going to be about, really, until just right now. And so, this year, with this birthday, I have to step backwards into the past to learn again something the Munchkin spent so many years trying to teach me.

Even though I struggle and loathe and fear what is happening lately, I'm striving for the optimism (and denseness) for the surety of mind and heart that the next forkful will be something completely different, something I *like* - instead, as lately, of every bite being something somehow wrong.

My last ten birthdays have been in a city where a million people show up for my party (the Stampede) and it's 35 degrees, 10 days of endless parties and happy people - this year, it's rainy, 18 degrees and there's nobody here. It's wrong.

Last year, I turned 35 and two days later, Matt was there and my heart was lost. This year, it's 36 and I flutter in circles like a bird with one forever broken wing. Still an everywhere in my night and a feeling in my morning Matt has become a series of images. Sensations so strong that I can feel them moving inside of me. Images so vivid that sometimes I am sure the phone will ring and I will hear him say that it's time for one of us to come home.

I said before that this would never feel right, that he could leave and I could let him go but that it would always feel wrong to me. So far, it still does. No matter what the truth of it is for him. My truth is all that is important here - my truth is what needs to be carried inside of me. It may be a belief contrary to all available evidence these days but, if I have to call it faith or even idiocy instead of truth - I shall do so.

The work. It has become an anger without purpose, without any kind of coherent form. Like a huge wildfire that begins by eating the trees, somewhere along the way the fire has taken on a life of it's own as if it doesn't even need fuel anymore. It burns and grows and destroys, not because it needs to but because that's what it does - that is what it is - for everyone involved.

I have to choose. I had to choose. Is it worth it to grovel this out and spend the next 9 months letting it eat me away, this fire that cannot be stopped - because I am the one that has rationally chosen to keep it, to feed it, even by inaction? I choose to stay, when I'm the one who can choose to leave. Is this a battle I want to fight? I believe that the end does not justify the means - not in this case.

I got this far this year by listening to my heart. By following my heart. Lately, I have tried to rationalize and reason through this bit and everything is wrong upon wrong. I have to admit, deep down, that I can't always get to the truth of things through the use of my brain alone, that trying to do that has always steered me in the opposite direction of the path I desire. Conscious reason has its limitations. Sometimes it is my heart that must tell me what to do. And I have to learn to listen when it speaks because it's not shouting, it's not arguing fact and reason with my brain. It is whispering to me and right now it is whispering that returning to reason after making the leap to listening with my heart is the only injustice here. The only injustice and it is the one I am causing.

It is time to choose to continue to be as brave with my heart as I usually am with the rest of me.

The accident. Although I had grown into my face and occasionally suspected I was good looking it was never something I ever felt. I think my 'new' face has the look of something that was broken and healed, something strong, something I can't define. I think it's better than it was. I like it more every day. I still don't think it's beautiful but it now has *a* beauty that feels brave and unselfconscious. It changes me. It betters me.

So, this birthday comes to this - can I show that I am one who will answer for the bitterness of this world with grace? Can I choose the moment to fight and find the moment when it is right to be stronger in walking away? Can I be hopeful, can I find it in me to trust my own heart - to embrace one possibility, ANY possibility than the angry ones I see before me? Hate can be stilled with a tone of voice, silenced with a kind gesture or stunned by beauty and if those things cannot be found outside of me then I must try harder to find them inside of me. If my world has to turn on a single point, then let that be the enduring poetry of hope.

I can't just simply allow myself to fall back into the herd of steer mindlessly lurching toward the big dark barn where the mooing stops. Secretly, but less and less so as I move through these days and nights of uncertainty and fateful things, I think - I feel - I know - more and more - that things will work out. That soon now I can take the world and convince it to do what I ask.

Happy Birthday to me.

but if you have
what it takes
to return to where
all the world
knows your name
then que sera
let's go sailing on
there's a wise man
in every fool

Ten Hours Later

I stumbled out of bed at 4 am to have a you know.... P .... and omigod does my butt hurt.

IT HUUUUUUURTS.

Does it hurt less when you have a meatier butt and you've bounced up and down on a bad saddle with a testy horse for 30 minutes? Or more? Is this pain a symptom of my asslessness? Or is it just a reminder that I am not invincible? (like I need any more of those, thanks)

These are the questions that consume me. Because I cannot get off the couch.

Whoa Nally, You're About to Become Just a Chip!

So, here's the thing. It looks like I'll be in basic training every weekend September through February and I'm pretty sure they won't be liking me carrying a pager so - regardless of whether or not I even wanted to tough this job out - I'm going to have to make a choice in a couple of months.

Which brings me to the planning ahead portion of my life. Which, until I decided on this trip as the direction I was taking - planning has never been a part of my life. I didn't know what I wanted - how could I plan?

So, searching out other employment possibilities, totalling up how much of my benefits are left, math and figures and lists...

One of the things I've been using my extra money for in preparation for next year is paying off the credit cards.

Now, last year, I was finally in a position to GET cards after a very many years and a story I will probably never tell you (not because it makes me look bad, because it doesn't, but because it has no place on my good ship bloggy-pop). Then, there was many vet bills, vacations, flights to see Matt, two months without income and a 1,000 kilometre move.

I've managed to actually make all the payments on them and achieve my little goal of rebuilding the shit out of my credit but, totalling up interest charges the other day almost put me into cardiac arrest. Cause, you know, no credit history = HIGH interest. Like 23%.

So I called my credit union about consolidation and they thought that was a fantastic idea. Except, you know, I didn't live there anymore so they couldn't do it.

I don't live in the city where my bank is so they won't give me a consolidation /personal/ RRSP/ anykind loan.

Should I say that again? It just seems so utterly fucking ALIEN to the century we live in.

Today, I went to my old bank where I opened an account with my high-school sweetheart's mom and where my PIN number is still the size of his... .... .... ... engine and I consolidated my credit card debt.

This seems like such a simple thing, I know. But believe you me, when you've been in a bad /no credit position for very many years - nothing is assured. All of these kinds of things are approached by me with extreme trepidation becuase any time I've thought I've actually been in a good position with a low debt ratio - no one else has. Suddenly, I'm all growed up and financially intelligent! Yay!

It felt really good to cut those babies up though. And watch the teller pay them off.

The pressure of the minimum payments is off, which cuts me some slack for whatever my next decision is and for now, my budgeting plan goes into high gear and I can almost hear the extra payments hitting the books already.

Feels good.

Back on the farm, a new horse arrived yesterday. "I Finally Done It" is his registered name. Nally - for short.

Honestly, sometimes I wonder about people.

Anyways, he's a 5 year old barrel racing quarterhorse who just never grew quite big enough to cut it. Stef and I took him for his first little ride to test the saddle she picked up and to fit his spanking new bridle.

Now, it's been a few years since I've ridden and Stef's just getting back into it and man, we all know the horses know this, right? It's the *wink wink* oh ho! I know that you know that I know that YOU don't really know what you're doing!" It's just one big TEST, innit?

Anyways, the little shit eventually threw me. Well, mostly threw me. Cause I'm tenacious that way.

I couldn't quite get back up into the saddle though and finally, just had to wrestle my feet free of the stirrups (we're gonna have to replace those babies) and endeavor to hit the ground and get clear of him.

In which case, his smaller size is a definite bonus since it probably saved me from a broken leg and quite possibly - a second new face in the space of a month.

I have to say that the last time I was thrown I was only thirteen so it seems I have finally learned something all these years later and got right back on to walk him home.

Man, an adreneline rush from something *good* as opposed to one from job stress, panic or fear for your own life and the lives of others was fantastic though. Wheeeeeeeeeee!

THE BLOOD THAT RUNS IN MY VEINS - WHY I WISH SOMETIMES I REALLY WAS A FAERIE THEY FOUND IN THE DOORWAY ONE MORNING

I've been thinking about this and I'm pretty sure MaJen has never told me I'm beautiful. Not in (almost) 36 years (that I can remember, anyways). In fact, I don't think I've been told I'm beautiful by anyone. Because, well, I wasn't. Cute. Maybe pretty. I had moments of shining brightness, but beautiful? Not really. Now, I'm not telling you this because I'm being all 'ooooo, poor me, poor me' - strangely, I'm quite okay with telling you exactly when I'm looking for sympathy and kind words - but because SUDDENLY, people can't stop telling me how beautiful I WAS.

You know, because it's SO HELPFUL. And way TOO FUCKING LATE.

The latest....

MaJen: "Oh, you'll never guess who I ran into the other day! And what he said about you!"

(I'm thinking, "Oh shit, what have I done now.")

MaJen: "Well, I saw a truck with '**** Signs' written on it and I thought for sure it'd be one of the boys."

(I spent the first 1 - 7 years of my life as neighbors to my 'best friend' Mark and his way older brother Danny before we moved to another part of the city.)

MaJen: "And don't you know, it was Mark!"

me: "Uh, Mom, Mark killed himself last year when drinking himself to death failed - it couldn't have been him. Remember? You're the one who told me that."

MaJen: "Oh yeah, right. Danny then. And I told him what happened with your face and he was saying how beautiful you were. Such a sweet girl and so kind and beautiful."

me: "Mom, I haven't seen Danny since I was TEN and I'm pretty sure he hated me back then."

(and cause she's not even listening to me at this point) "Oh, and his friend he was with perked right up and wanted to know how old you were and I said well, she's 35 but don't go getting any ideas cause she's told me there won't be any grandchildren and I respect that, you just can't talk to kids nowadays but you know, sweetie, he's working for the company with Danny and that's a good job and there's not many good single men around these days....."

The funniest thing about all this is - trauma and all this pain and shit aside - although my nose may always be a little crooked and there might be a bit of a lump on the side of it, the painful mashing of the things around (not pitapat'ing, Sal) seems to be working and as the swelling goes down - it seems to me, the most critical one of all, that I'm a little better looking than I ever was before.

How's that for a kick in the teeth?