Ephemera (Story Track #14)

We spent the cool morning moments chatting on the immeasurable quality of the night bloomers.

Awash in the scents of heady locust bean blossoms and lilting honeysuckle.

He pondered on the magic that makes these ephemera uncatchable to my folks' chemistry.

Oh sure we humans can simulate these ghost scents. But true Mock Orange is like a sugar spun treat on the tongue.  Filling the lungs and bring ecstacy then forever gone on the exhalation.

Jasmine becomes a lead bludgeon in our hands that beats the faculties to numbness in a cloud around each crisply dressed elder woman.

Synthetic Gardenia is a razor that slices deeply into the sinuses and carves its initials into your thoughts.

Our synthetic renderings can mimic the top notes sure. But they fall cloying and heavy upon the pallette;  linger like yesterday's fish fry; and induce not bliss but skull splitting rebuke.

So instead of debate his point of view , which I find all too correct to rebut. I sat with him and just breathed in my favorite memories: part morning mist, part locust bean bloom, part honeysuckle,  and part quiet company.

An Un-normative Mother's Day

As you know, historically Mothers Day (pre kidlet) was a day of exquisite pain and loss for me. A day of constant reminders of broken ties and broken hearts.

Then I had my daughter. And while the sentiment of Mother's day was not one I actively sought or engaged in I found comfort and peace with the day.

This year was different for me. Unexpectedly so if I am completely honest.

My kidlet,  now a big kid in school, became obsessed with the idea of a day long mom fest. Something I never wanted or needed before. The secretive planning with her Dad. The hinted breakfast in bed and Mom is awesome activities were whispered and giggled over for the last 2 weeks.

I found myself actually looking forward to her excitement and her pride in having me as her Mommy. She couldn't wait on Friday to gift me with her school made treasure.  I cried at the sweet handwriting and the adorable card claiming that we like to clean together.  What? Seriously? Cleaning?  Okay baby. I love you too!

I had to hide myself away during the Lowe's build Saturday morning and walk eyes shut so I didn't ruin my surpise for the next morning.  And I did so happily. 

I was a kid waiting on Santa. Heck the tooth fairy visited Friday night. Magic was afoot! My Grove's Beltane was a truly mystical Saturday afternoon and I was poised to tip over into the full on Mother's Day mode! I wanted it badly, embarrassingly so. Who have I become?!

Let me caveat that I do not begrudge any woman her joy in Mother's Day. I do not find fault in the happiness and closeness it brings many. I also deeply and intimately know the pain of those, motherless,  childless,  alone, and grieving who find MD a yearly reminder of sadness and anger and loss.

But for me looking forward to Mother's day is unheard of and unexpected.  I was joyous to no longer dread the day. That was gift enough for me.

So when my child asked to leave me alone yesterday to go off with her Dad and Uncle to finally fish I had to say an emphatic Yes! (It must be noted the men in my life thought it would make me happy to have a me day. They were being thoughtful and I appreciate that effort. )  She has longed for that moment for a whole year. She and her Daddy got their first licenses Saturday night and the pride and joy radiated of my kid like waves of heat from a pot belly stove. Not a chance in hell would I stiffle that enthusiasm.  No matter how strangely sad it made me.

I spent the whole day alone. And truth told a goodly portion sad and hurt. I cried over my own broken maternal connections.  And I missed not being able to get breakfast in bed.

I was happily given my hand made card and wooden planter so lovingly made by my daughter and husband.

I was proudly shown the carefully selected geranium and lavender plants that were my motherly honors. And I love them!

Then without a wave goodbye they left.

I know that I did the right thing.  I know that if our vehicle could carry 6 I would've been right in the thick of it yesterday. 

I would've watched the near misses and the first casts and the boredom of fishing in the hot sun. They had a ball. I am so grateful for that and to the amazing fathers who made that experience possible!

They took the cousins home then came back hot and content.  I was hungry and trying not to be hurt (I could've said no way to the fishing after all. But that would've been so wrong of me to do.)

We quarreled over dinner and I got to have what I wanted only by default and then we fussed and cajoled kidlet through her meal so we could take her mini golfing. (A promised event from Saturday she didn't get to do because I was selfishly socializing still at Beltane.)

So I was feeling like an ass by this point of the day. Angry with myself for being upset. Angry at myself for being selfish.  And frustrated that on the day of celebrating being a mom I felt like the single worst mom ever. (A feeling I often have as I suspect most moms carry.)

And then magic happened.  We went mini golfing.  We played and laughed and argued and corrected and enjoyed each other.  We revelled the families around us. All of us with our small kidlets. Spending that hour engaged washed away all the negative impact of Mother's Day for me.

I wasn't wallowing in past pain. I wasn't kicking myself for feeling adrift. I wasn't doing anything more that playing mini golf,  badly, and enjoying every minute of being together.

We haven't felt like that in a while. I haven't felt connected to them in a while. And I know that has been my own fault.

I've been disconnecting.  I've been tied to my electronic escape or my artistic endevours or my religious pursuits or my 'free time'. And I recognized my own feelings of guilt about being so aloof and distanced.

So lots to think upon. Lots to process.

May your days be filled with small connection.  Don't feel sad when others share their happiness.  Try to embrace it.  It can help sometimes to soften the edges of your own pain. Don't let expectations ruin a perfectly good afternoon.

And enjoy Mother's day if you want to. Insulate if you need to. Rage and mourn if it is what you must. Respect that for some the tidal wave of all things warm and motherly is hurtful but we don't begrudge you, your happiness.

Most of all be gentle with yourselves.  No matter the origin of Mother's day nor it's commercial aspects we all can make of it as we will.

I'm looking forward to another year's worth of perfecting my role as Mom. I fall and I rise. I  succeed and I rejoice. But at the heart of all of it is a child, that we created, who just needs a mother's love and guidance. And for her I'd stay home alone forever if it meant her happiness.  I'd eat dry toast and know it a feast.

I guess it was a happy Mother's Day after all.

Hemlock Owl (Story Track #13)

Hemlock Owl spirit don't give a....

Hemlock Owl drinks the nectar of death. It don't matter to him that Socrates or Plato or one of those fucks died.

Hemlock Owl rides the wave and tames that pony.

Hemlock Owl is so bad ass he doesn't even hide himself like other dryads or pansy faekin.

He's all: "What!?" And "That's what I thought."

Hemlock Owl needs nothing.  Well maybe he needs woodpeckers.  Those cats eat 4 times their weight in bugs a day. But thats it!

Trichotillomania and me

*This began as a Facebook status but is important enough to share here.*

I have been having a bad time with my Trichotillomania.

That is an obsessive compulsion to pull out one's own hair.

On YouTube I found a beautiful British Channel 4 documentary titled: "Girls on the Pull". 

It's in 2 parts and though I cried through most of it, I see what those girls are going through and realize how lucky I am. And so happy that those women found Lucinda Ellerby, the salon owner who specializes in helping those with Trichotillomania. 

I have had Trich since age 11, so for 31 years it has been my companion.
I have many times stopped and restarted the pulling.

As life and anxiety drag on my resources the trich becomes a means to buffer myself from that anxiety. I have come to see it as a gentle reminder to self care and revisit my therapeutic toolbox.  But I do not berate myself for the relapses.

My last restart began, unsurprisingly,  with the miscarriage last year. And has ramped up lately with the dual upheavals of kidlet's school problems and home worries. Nothing earth shattering but honestly I have pushed my own needs/self care to the back burner and the Trichotillomania is a wake up call to take better care of myself.

My lovelies I am sharing this not because I am in any way in crisis.  I am not. But because of the stigma and self loathing that trich can imprison a person. Obviously not me as I rarely wear make up anymore and am open about Trichotillomania.

I didn't know what Trichotillomania was until I was in college. It was that dirty secret I had to try to hide because it embarrassed my family. Too many who have trich feel this way.

I have since accepted my pulling as the act that it is. It is my body's way of processing high levels of stress and fear.

So if you see me with less eyebrows or notice my bald spots and want to talk about it- I am ALWAYS willing to do so.

4% of the population has this disorder.

That's a lot of folks under a lot of heavy-duty shame and stress (for the most part).

What I can say is it can get better. Self love and care can do so much. But science do not understand (yet) what causes Trichotillomania.  There are no cures (yet). There are some therapies that may work but there's not yet something that medicine and point to and say: that's why it is and this is what causes trich so here's how we combat it.

But it can get better.  Not everyone loses the hair forever.  Some never can grow back what is lost. Some find that after their first bout they never experience it again. For some it's constant. For me it's situational. 

But know I am using my toolkit to counteract the behavior.  Somedays I am amazing at keeping myself trich free. Sometimes years! Sometimes months, weeks, days, hours or minutes.  Each is a victory in its own time. Celebrate those victories!

If you have Trichotillomania and want to talk. Message me. If you do not have trich and want to talk, message me.

And again: I Am Not in Crisis! I am working through the issues that are behind the behavior and doing amazing at removing the triggers. (I have a lot of triggers. Lol) So don't worry.  I am alright.

If I was hiding my trich. You'd know I was in over my head! I love myself too much now to ever feel ashamed of my body.  I have worked hard to see myself as the beautiful soul I truly am. So if I have pencil brows it's because I want them not because the trich must be hidden. I wasted decades in my youth on such self destructive behavior.

And I recommend: "The Gifts of Our Compulsions" by Mary O'Malley.  It has helped with a lot of my compulsive behavior management/recovery.

As always be kind and find the beauty of this day!

Lucinda Ellerby

Myst (Story Track #12)

In the foggy glow I arrived tense and focused. 

What might step sideways through the grove and join me? My imagination ran wild and free.

Grey cloaked sprites and gossamer frilled monsters?

Honey-tounged bards from long lost ways?

Crow folk to gather me in their rainbow wings and secret me deep into their mysteries?

Soldiers lost on their way from one plane of existence to another?

Ethereal wisps readying to lure me to boggy death?

Ships of thick cloud that carry lost souls and pirates across the cosmos?

Ancestors with a secret quest?

War kittens?

In the end does it matter?

As now not just I have traveled and wondered and imagined but so have you.

Polite Ultimatum (Story Track #11)

As I strolled through the park grounds on a lovely spring morning an icy chill ran up my spine.

That feeling of being watched, nay stalked clenched my bowels.

Eyes pryed away my outer selfhood and left only my primal core. But no matter where I looked only semi-bucolic normalcy was to be spied.

Then as I reached the front door step I found the note:

Dear Human Fe/male (you all look and smell the same),

The food dispensing machines have been broken for years! Fix them post haste.

Full suet goodness is expected immediately upon your receipt of this message.

Now fill the baskets and back away slowly. We expect your compliance and your kat to be locked safely behind the invisible forcefield by no later than 0800.

In Antici.......
............
Pation,

The Squirrels,  Erm, we mean the Robins!  Yeah. The Robins that's the ticket.

Something Adorable This Way Comes (Story Track #10)

"Of course it's a changeling!" the nurse maid replied. "But it's a might bit cuter than the Lordship's babe. That I'd swear 'pon my mother's grave and before the rack!" she inadvisably exclaimed just as the Master of House rounded the top stair.

Lord Alistair thought to himself: "The drudge is correct. The imposter is much more handsome and better mannered than my brat! Not that truthfulness willl save her from getting the boot. God let the wife not notice!"

And in this revere Alistair went to fetch the good doctor to increase Lady Sylvia's laudanum and then to locate the head butler to sack the uppity nurse maid.