The Winds are Changing...Oddly, No longer Haunted

I'm here, and yet not. I mean, I am present, and yet not entirely showing you myself. When I first ventured here, I was spurred on by mysterious uncanny events, only eluded to, and only addressed in one post, which quickly returned to draft form.

I am not longer haunted by those events. And yet I am a bit haunted I realize, in terms of this blog. A bit of a see-through version of myself. And that's "flimsy", not "transparent", mind you. I have been finding my way here. I am glad. But my anonymity, blamed on the mysterious and not so mysterious, and on trying to claim a bit of place for my own little self, I realize now has been part of a process of becoming. I am becoming, am moving forward, am different.Like the characters in Enchanted April, in coming here, I removed myself from "friends and family affection" only to find that in the restorative afterglow of so magical a place, "I must share!" So it has been good. And this is a good place still, for sharing the thoughts I've come to enjoy expressing!

But now I feel I am ready to own the synthesis of self which has occurred and which is occurring, which I wasn't looking for, but which began nonetheless. My other parts shall not be anonymous...

I couldn't have done it without all of you! Without your presence, interaction, (dare I say friendship?) and certainly INSPIRATION.

I'd like to take a moment and highlight just a few special examples, very cool bloggers who've warmed my heart in the blogosphere...

Ms. Kathleen: Co-author of the WHAT DID YOU HAAAAAAVE FOR BREAKFAST Show, who inspired me to begin my own blog, and my oldest dearest friend in the world. Thank you, my sister. I need to be a better friend to you my dear one. Need to bridge the distance. Life is too short! (Congratulations to her on her new Photography Business, too!) xo

Amanda: Whose poetry is both literally and figuratively haunting, and whose newfound friendship is a miracle of the Internet.

Ciara: Whose blogging is transformative of place and inspiring of spirit. Her multifaceted talented & artistic heartfelt approach is one I greatly admire & certainly aspire towards.

Lisa: Whose artistry in great food posts, film spoofs and more are food for the soul . Besides I want her "Ladybird". Which is not in any way related to a Unicorn. (I don't think.)

Noreen: Whose approachable, open, heartfelt dedication to healing is inspiring on it's own. Her posts so often seem to be just what I need, so I count her as a miracle.

Puanani: Whose poetic views into life and into her garden are restorative, and whose approach to peace is an inspiring example.

Pamela: Whose posts in my opinion should really be gathered in a lovely hand bound book, rather than on any computer screen. Edward would deliver the updates just before dawn, or in early afternoon during tea or coffee.

Peter: Who as far as I know, has never visited here! But who has always been more than solicitous of my visits to his place, and whose humor and whose beautiful photographic chronicling of his England & perhaps attempts to halt time passing are a real draw for me. Thanks, Mr. A.

As to the Where, you are all welcome. Where I'm going if you like. If you want to know my identity, new "location", feel free to ask.

I will likely visit you from either place, whether you do or not. In that case, in some instances, some of you may or may not know me, know that it's me then. That's okay.

Circe will stay here. And though I will go on, newly blogging as myself, I will still "inhabit" her here. How could I give up this magical place with you all still in it? You who have as much as I, made this place and experience what it is for me? No longer haunted... but definitely ENCHANTED.

Thank you ALL! Thank you Amanda, Ciara, Lisa, MS. K! Thank you Pamela, Tutta, Miss Pine, Peter! Thank you, Bary, Ashliegh, MAGDELENA! It's in part because of all of you that I feel free to move onwards fullstop.

Sheesh...
I'll be around! Still Haunting you could say...

I just wanted to say Thank You.

The ORACLE has spoken!! ;)



:)


XOXO


Above image: Circe by John William Waterhouse

On my Plate... Up Stethoscope

The light, the air, balm to my soul and spirit. To dare to speak of a seemingly trite subject: We have had remarkable weather. All summer and into fall. Low humidity, sun filled days, beautiful changing skies, insane changing clouds. I feel blessed. Protected. Watched over.

And so it aids me as a worrier and a Mom with all that has gone on this year, and is going on currently at home here. Not to worry. To find a moment of pause. To try to be grounded. To have faith and peace. Even when confronted with things that normally would have sent me over. Into stress and freaked me out. Those catalysts are with me. But I am more at peace, more able to watch and wait. To be still and try to know that God is God.

My handsome teenager, with the lightening fast paparazzi palm, always blocking my attempts to capture his image, whose frequently requested Heath Ledger/Joker impression is eerie and uncanny, whose fine face the other night after removing as much of the test Joker/Halloween makeup as possible and who in the residue of white face, red stained lips, black ringed eyes and tousled too long hair looked startlingly like Mr. Pattinson as Mr. Cullen....

My asthmatic anaphylactic son has had pneumonia. Again. Back out after years relegated to the upper shelf are the stethoscope. The nebulizer. The illness that gave me gray hair, the illness that was not my own, but which left me gasping for breath in empathy is with us again. Am I more mature. Am I more able to cope with life. I'm not sure. Could be. Is he stronger? Probably. Am I needing to, already, on a nearly daily basis, step into a place of peace, to find quiet, to find spirit, to breathe, to wait, to pray. Yes. And does this prepare me more for what would have completely shaken me years ago? Perhaps. It was surprising to me to find that people were/are praying. While I was trying to maintain here, while I wasn't really able to reach out, to let people know what was happening, people from all over were praying. I am grateful. Thankful.

I still have my moments. I still freak out. But I'm revelling in the positive. He is on the mend now. We can all breathe easier now. For now. I am silently more vigilant than before. Whether or not that does any good. We all need to be this season. This year in particular.

Blessings and Health to you all.

xo

Twilight* Tuesdays & BONO: Toi aussi? U2.... 360 THE EDGE ROCKS IT ! MUSE opens at TWILIGHT!

Above: The Edge, inspiration embodied, author of U2's unique guitar sound, and in my opinion, underapplauded. If you have the chance, see the documentary film, "It Might Get Loud". Funny: It really isn't that loud! But very very good.

An amazing night, the clearest evening we've had, desert arid autumn as though Arizona or maybe New Mexico, somehow reminding me of an illfated day in September 8 years ago, too perfect, unnerving electricity in the air. But luckily this buzz and crackle was due to an entire community anticipating what was proclaimed THE concert event of the season. U2. Every news cast and traffic report made reference and seemed to include and circumvent the coming event.

We had tickets. A gift. In a private box in an outdoor stadium. Catered beautifully and freely. An intimate event. I feel so lucky. Grateful.

We planted ourselves in the front row of the box, where the wall size plate glass windows had been raised. As the sun faded from the sky, leaving a smouldering glow, a delicious chill quickly came into the uncharacteristically crisp air.

The others hung back, avoiding the cool, and not appreciating the unknown to them opening act.

The opening act, frequently credited by Stephenie Meyer as her inspiration for and while writing, and featured on the Twilight Soundtrack, who's Supermassive Black Hole has been played by me COUNTLESS times VERY loud... (play it!#86 on Player @ bottom of page)
>

*MUSE? I said. Are you SERIOUS? Excellent! Stunned gazes that I should somehow know this band, with a smattering of appreciating nods-- "Good, maybe they DON'T suck", perhaps, possibly on their minds. Then later enjoying the shared joke that the drummer from MUSE really was channelling Dana Carvey. Party on, Garth! Party on, Wayne.

The evening was magical, beginning with the trek over the new bridge, somehow avoiding every iota of snarled traffic warned of for hours prior on the radio, by going against our better instincts, taking the route which normally has the WORST traffic (thanks, iPhone!). Clear night, clear sailing, clear inspired musical genius. Am I making my self crystal clear? Ringingly so, you say? I wish it were true. Wish I could capture the essence and deliver it to you.

And what was amazing to me was that while I shouldn't have been surprised, I was. Joyfully so. The music if anything, after all these years, only gets better, they perform without a hitch, without a dull moment, with precision, and while remaining true to what we love about the songs, not morphing them into something new and unrecognizable in an attempt to keep their attention or ours, nor playing merely by wrote, bored but placating as they so easily could. Their passion is in every song, and it crackles and zaps and reaches out to you anew in ways you never anticipated, though you already love the songs fullheartedly. This is not the advent of crowd hysteria, fan worship crackling through. This is unmitigated U2. Fresh. Alive. Heartfelt.United.Distilled. Delivered. Their take on the songs, not yours. Their hearts and souls. Evolving imperceptibly there in front of you, asking you to join their consciousness, to hold hands for this one night.

And in this sense they are unique and unsurpassed: they do all this, Bono does all this, as a platform for world change. It is not hidden nor does he hit you with it. It is done with such hope energy and joy that it is edifying of spirit. Even if heart wrenching. Inspiring. While sending you on a reality trip. And you don't mind a bit. They are the spoonful that makes the medicine go down. The spoonful like no other, while they are the medicine themselves. Wellness. For one. For all. For ONE.

REALITY CHECK. While making the experience so brilliantly real you don't want it to end.

For example, they dedicated a song to Aung San Suu Kyi. Of Burma. I refuse to call it Myanmar.
I don't know how many of the 80,000 in attendance knew who she was. I did. But what I didn't know, hadn't considered in years, was that she is STILL UNDER HOUSE ARREST. It has been nearly 20 years. I was so sad, yet so glad to see her remembered, hoped for, and I'm sure, prayed for.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aung_San_Suu_Kyi

Another way Bono breaks to mold is to call it like it is. One example. Who today in America would boldly proudly publicly thank (amoung others) GEORGE W. BUSH for ANYTHING? Very few. Not I. And yet Bono did. For the alleviation debt slavery in Africa, for the saving of millions lives through aids antiviral medications. "God bless George W. Bush." he said. And whether you wanted to or not, you sort of agreed. "God bless America." And you wanted to cry, and to thank Bono for that. If you can't understand why that should be, just know, it is hard to be an American these days, hard to be one with an expanded Worldview, knowing what the world thinks of us, has thought of us. Especially these days. It's good to feel proud of our essence as a Nation once more and to have someone honestly and outside our system be the one reminding us, instilling and okaying it.

Mega Music Mojo & More

What more could one want?

(contented *sigh*)

;D

http://www.joinred.com/Home.aspx

I want the kicks: http://www.joinred.com/Shop/shop_converse.aspx?prod=3 these are designed by The Edge, but there's something for every ONE.

Prodigal Summer

The other night, whilst we looked at the stars, and felt a rare cooling breeze, and experienced the purple black velvet of night, and also the Edison yellow of the porchlight, and listened to the mellow and lively strings of John's guitar, a luminescent Luna Moth flew over our heads, with a definite determined lean to his flight, and seemingly on purpose, catching the light just right.

I cannot find out who designed the gorgeous endpapers to the wonderful book Prodigal Summer, by Barbara Kingsolver. The Moths remind me of my childhood, and all the varieties seen and hoped to be seen, from a little book of butterflies and moths, beautifully hand illustrated that sat on the coffee table of our livingroom growing up. What a rare treat to see some of these. So thrilled and privileged I feel when I hear a rustle and a tap on the window at night, to find some rare ephemeral beauty looking in at me... often oddly and startling large, their visits unique brief and singular, thus sometimes defying identification, fluttering for a few moments, and then away to other adventures.

I am okay with Fall's arrival. For once, I can hope and embrace it without loss for Summer. Perhaps because I know now, in my bones, though fewer will be granted me than before, that Summer will indeed come again. It is seemingly eternal, if not everlasting.

So I wave goodbye, to Summer, as if on the platform, knowing the timetables and that it's return will come even quicker than it did this year.

private concert

(somehow, the post lost this lovely image- a painting by artist Paul Keysar, so I have reposted. Please do check out his work. Link below.)

lights... stars... flashes, fireflies

fountains of applause

single guitar, but full soul, beauty, love

one man band

for me

led zepplin merged with ocean blue

andre segovia

every instrument represented

within one.

cool metal chair easing the muscle cares of the day

cool blue notes easing the cares of my heart and mind

fingers flying, like one constant everchanging caress

flashes

someone else's lightning lighting the north night sky

like paparazzi bulbs

from some lost Hollywood

before the mid century

insects playing their Samba whistle,

their bossa nova

stars twinkling before their super nova

western sky a redline, along the treeline

some Hollywood skyline

remembered

the stars the lights

but the music

fills my soul and my embodiment

played near to me, near to my heart, just for me.

my true love

mellow

mellowing

intensifying

crystallizing

in beauty

purity

unity

Image above:

Cloudy Night by Paul Keysar

available at http://paulkeysar.blogspot.com/

absent-blog-minded

No, I've not fallen off the face of the Earth just YET...

Just been in the storm before the storm before the culmination of so much...

Hope to be back before fall, after the burial service next week.

xo

Ink Drawing

image found at: rachelcreative.wordpress.com/page/7/

Squashed flatter 'n a Bug

That's me. And no reanimation in sight. And yet, here I am, dead on my feet and scurrying around anyhow, as there's no way around it.

I took an all day class today; 8.5 hours at once. It was silly, but I didn't somehow realize until a day ago or so that I needed to read the entire textbook (and learn it) before I attended. And did I have time, even when I did realize? Not even a smidge. So I started late last night. And finished a bit before 3. AM. Boy did it bring back memories of cramming. I used to be the queen of cramming, when I only had myself to worry about the next day, and didn't realize that sleep deprivation is equivalent to being intoxicated. I didn't sleep well... keep dreaming that I was in the class, and woke about every 10-20 minutes... which is fine because it let me get up before the alarm at 620, and so my hubby could slumber undisturbed.

Why is it that as a wife and mother, even when I'm doing something "for myself", I cannot completely detach from duty? It was unnecessary for me to do laundry, housework and make breakfast for sleeping family before I left for the day. I mean, what do they really care? I would be better served to actually style my hair for once, to iron my shirt instead of splashing it with water or spraying it with wrinkle releaser. And yet...

And yet there is so much to do that will not get done, though it must. Tomorrow, I hope to catch up. Somehow. And Friday is an eighth birthday for my sweet little one, and a day spent with some friends, evening with family, (don't forget the not yet incarnate gluten free birthday cake)and somehow we should be ready to leave for the beach for 8 days the following morning. Not so bad. I guess. Except... except... I am the one readying everything. And everyone. Including the cat. The house. The garden. The special foods to transport for food allergic and gluten avoiding us. Why not do all this tomorrow too? Because.... because... more laundry, housework, so many emails, phone calls, contractors, repairmen, family who need help and information that pertains to their travel here in a few short weeks, and are waiting for my response, arrangements which will not be able to be done for a week, but cannot wait until we get back.

When we get back, finally, after an embarrassing number of years (hem) the bathroom will be tackled. The shower will work. The plywood backing which was NEVER code will be replaced with water appropriate board. The cracked floor will be replaced. The tub will no longer leak. The toilet will not sit in the middle of everything, but have it's own little 3/4 wall. We will have a master bathroom. Will will no longer need to run past the upstairs picture window to shower or de-shower to and from the kid's tiny bathroom. I'm sure the neighbors will either be delighted or disappointed. I hope they don't let me know. ;)

Then, with much much much much much more readying, the family will come. Every closet needs attention. Every room. Every weed. *sigh* Some will stay here with us. There will be big family gatherings, here, and in Annapolis, in Arlington. With the hope of honoring Dad.

Having a burial so long after the funeral, aside from obvious logistical and other difficulties one likely would choose not to think about, presents other challenges. It keeps things in a sort of hard real unyielding limbo state. I'm not complaining. It's just a different kind of hard. I feel Dad is around, is around me at times. I feel so lucky. I never felt that with my Mom. I always wish I had.

I really hope to post some things I've written. EVERYTHING feels incomplete; even the posts I write and have written. I have a poem of sorts, but no illustration, I have pictures (which I cannot access). It's okay, though. I also have enough. Of everything. Everything I need. And lots of stuff I probably don't! It's all good. I just hope I feel this same okayway tomorrow... when I'm hopefully no longer "intoxicated", when sleep has come and gone, and maybe, just maybe by the end of tomorrow, all my boxes will have (the correct) checkmarks in them.

:)

Image above actually a cute bookmark:

http://www.7gadgets.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/deadmark_06.jpg