It occured to me, having been on the topic of split apart souls and bits left behind, that a very large chunk of me is in Newfoundland.

It surprises me that I didn't see this before because ALL the signs have been there. The biggest one being that I can't listen to the music from there any more without seriously crying, I mean broken heart crying. When I left St. John's I didn't know it would be for good ( or as good as good gets). I left with the hope of bettering my self, betering my ability to work and make money to live. To please my parents and to get away from the past. ( which past is still the unanswered question becasue moving TO St. John's was a move to get away. Looking back it seems I was always moving to leave something else.

So, if a very large chunk of me is still in St. John's, I have to ask why? What is it there that I am so afraid to let go of? St. John's is where much agic happened, some bad stuff, but mostly incredibly good things. It is the place I feel closest to the Earth to. The place where I have roots that go very deep, even though I was not born there nor did I grow up in the city. But it is home. in my heart, when I dream deep and travel back, it is home.

So the question is how to step beyond my past, gather this bits left clinging to the side of the cliff, hanging on for dear life scared to let go. I am pretty sure I can do this on my own. I have the tools. I have gone dream-side travelling many times... the dream time... I have a spirit guide as well, in fact I have a cuople, a long with a pretty over worked guardian angel ( At least that is what Marc tells me)

My Celtic heritage calls to me...but so do the sounds of Didgeridoos so what does that say?  Well, I thinkit is an elemental thing. All I knwo is when I play my Great Big Sea, or Irish Descendants cds I always end up crying. You know that sort of gut wrenching heart torn out crying that happens when that one you loved OH SO MUCH just walked out the door forever? Makes me wonder if I have unfinshed business there. I don't think so. I think it is just where my heart resides. Hard winters, short summers, lot sof fog, smokey pubs, live bands and a lot of kinship and love.

The city on the edge of forever. There is not another place on this earth that calls to me the way newfoundland does. Not even Halifax and I love Halifax. Halifax is my playground.

But now I live here in Switzerland, a billion miles and lifetimes away. Yet if I close my eyes I can conjure it all up, the scents, the sounds the shops the windy hilly streets. It is so real that sometimes i am certain when I open my eyes again I will be there not here. Switzerland is a good place though, and for reasons which elude me, I feel a sense of familiarity here, neither good nor bad, just like a comfy shoe... It is a good place to be biding one's time as I feel I am.

In the mean time here are some bands that stir the soul

Great Big Sea (Newfoundland)
Irish Descendants (Newfoundland)
Brother ( Australian)
Clannad ( Irish) 
Figgy Duff (Newfoundland)
Capercailie (UK)
Loreena McKennitt ( Canadian)

that's what's on my mind....guess I need to go soul piece fishing   *grin*

until then be excellent to each other....

“Yes, yes.”  Kernow said to the crow impatiently circling above his head. He clicked his tongue and urged Thaede, his horse, onward. The forest was dense here, old and unfriendly. Bare trees dark against the silvery grey sky, everything in shades of black or white. No green to mark the coming of spring. Nothing moved. The only sounds came from the horse and rider, the bit of the bridle and the creaking of leather from the saddle, and the sound of a crow, its cries echoing through the woods without end.  No one came here, as a rule but today something, someone that did not belong had fond their way into this forbidden, lost and forgotten place.

Kernow stared down the pathway that led to the river, down the hill, steep and difficult for a horse, even the most sure footed. Stones and wet leaves from last autumn’s shed made the path slippery and treacherous. Dirty snow half eaten from the most recent thaw clung to the ground. He had to duck his head to avoid the braches of the trees that seemed intent of poking out an eye and snagging his hair. It was as if the forest did not want him here, did not want him to find its latest prize or victim.

“Behave.” He whispered to the woods, but the whispers did nothing except echo about him, not even the trees listened to him any longer. Thaede skidded on wet stones and shied. Kernow nudged his knee into Thaede’s side, urging the horse onward, they were almost there.

She was by the river, lying face down, her clothes soaked with water and blood. Kernow sighed as he dismounted, sliding from the saddle, his heavy black boots sinking into the muck and dirty snow. The horse tossed his beautiful head and snorted loudly, white mist of his breath floating in the cold, early spring air. Kernow patted the animal’s neck, whispering words to ease the fear. The last thing they needed here was a dead mortal, especially a young woman.

He knelt down, by her side, the wet and cold of the ground soaking through the cloth of his pants to his knees. His hands grazed over her body, she had been terribly wounded, and he wondered if that had been what had killed her. She had been a pretty young thing, unusually so, her white hair, long and spider silk fine, must have once been beautiful but was now matted with mud and blood. Her hands were covered in cuts and scraped and her nails were broken and bloody. She had fought something hard but hadn’t won. The crow that had led him to her landed near and hopped about her in agitation.

Kernow looked at the bird with a flicker of annoyance. “Be still Tadwyr!” he commanded. The crow bobbed its head and stepped away from the body of the girl making soft gurgling sounds.

Kernow stroked some of her hair away from her face, and carefully turning her about and cradling her shoulders in his arms he began to lift her but almost dropped her in surprise when she moaned softly in pain. Kernow looked at Tadwyr, suddenly angry.

“She lives!” he hissed, taking off his coat and wrapping it about her frozen body. The crow cawed back at him loudly.

Kernow shook his head, “Impudent bird, you did not say she lived.”

Tadwyr flapped his wings in annoyance and hopped away, sulking. Kernow lifted the girl as gently as he could up onto the Thaede’s back, and mounted behind her holding on to her with one arm wrapped about her waist.

“Home, Thaede.” He said and the great black horse turned his way home, sure footed hooves fringed with long hair found the treacherous path hidden in the snow and mud.

“Tadwyr!” called Kernow. The crow flew to the man’s shoulder and settled there. Kernow whispered instructions in the bird’s ear, repeating them only once until Tadwyr nipped Kernow’s ear to let him know the instructions were understood.

“Go then.” Kernow said and the bird flew up, a flurry of black feathers into the wintry looking sky.

“Do not deviate!” Kernow called out. He was not sure how much longer this young woman would live and while his powers were great and his magics strong, he did not have the skills needed to heal such hurts. He was grateful it was not far to the House.

what crows REALLY think!

For as long as I can remember water has played a HUGE part in my life. I lived most of my younger life nextto the Atlantic ocean. In Scotland we holidayed every summer on the Island of Arran in the Firth of Clyde. Long sandy beaches and salt water. When we moved to Nothern Newfoundland the ice cold Atlantic yawned into theharbour I saw from my bedroom window, it was almost within arm's reach. It was always there, murmuring and whispering in my ear, in my heart.

I cannot recall now, what the story was that caused me to do this, or even what side of the ocean I was on when I did it but there was a story, a tale that stated if one's blood mingles with teh ocean that was it, you were forever tied to the Sea. I liked this idea of being bound to something ever so much greater than I was so I cut my hand and bled into the ocean, swearing fealty to an underwater King. (I was somewhere between the age of 8-13) I believed in these things and it never occurred to me that such a binding might just not be such a briliant idea. It never occurred to me I might actually not live by the ocean.

This proved to be problematic when I left the East coast to go inland and live in Ottawa. That was three unhappy oceanless years. The sea called to me, and I ached for it. I won't describe the despondancy that came with missing that part of my soul. When I would go home, one of the first things I would do would be to walk out to the Point and sit. This was land's end. I used to sit on the rocks under the light house and watch and listen. Often in the dark. The crash of the salt sea, ice cold and indifferent against the black, ice covered rocks. the scent of cold salt in the air a purfume I could never breathe in deeply enough.

I would comb the rocky shores for small treasures and keep the fiercely guarded but always throwing something back that I had brought with me, a coin usually. The ocean does not give up her treasures easily and usually demands payment. I always had a gift to give back.

My first experience with sailing came at the age of 19. I joined up on a boat called the Heptarchy, skippered by a man named Crispin. I recall it was a rude, rough awakeing. I discovered I get very sea sick. Among other things. But I kept a journal on this trip and when I go back and read it now, I don't read about my misery, I read about the wonder I experienced as we sailed the East coast of a hard assed island that was as unforgiving as the ocean that surrounded it. We pulled into to places long abandonded because there were no roads. met the kindest of people, ended up weathering out a terrible storm, and I discovered something amazing. That despite the ungodly hell of feeling sick, I loved being on the water.

I have had many since adventures on boats, mostly tall ships and Catamarans. It would fill pages to describe the wonders one sees at sea.  And oddly enough though the topic has been on my mind now for a while, at this moment words fail.

Now, I live in the mountains. pretty far away from any sea. But sometimes when the wind blows up from Italy I smell the salt from the med on the wind. It has a way of finding me. Letting me know, it is still there with lullaby whispers and salty kisses. Sometimes I dream of it.

I have salt water in my veins, bound by a promise and pact made as a child when I didn't understand what I was doing the sea calls. I miss it and there are no words to describe that.

Maybe I'll dig up my sea faring journals and post some of those words I think they will be more apt to describe what it is that I am missing now.

in the meantime this poem tha my high school friend C. Lee sent me sums a lot of it up.

Down at the Docks - Isabel Eccelstone MacKay  

DOWN at the docks–when the smoke clouds lie,
Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky–
Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales,
Tar and the gear of forgotten sails,
Rusted chains and a broken spar
(Yesterday's breath on the things that are)
A lone, black cat and a snappy cur,
Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir,
Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!–I swear
I love every blesséd smell that's there–
For, aeons ago when the sea began,
My soul was the soul of a sailorman.

Down at the docks–where the ships come in,
And the endless trails of the sea begin,
Where the shining wake of a steamer's track
Is barred by the tow of the tugboats black,
Where slim yachts dip to the singing spray
And a gay wind whistles the world away–
Here sad ships lie which will sail no more,
But new ships build on the noisy shore,
And always the breath of the wind and tide
Whispers the lure of the sea outside,
Till now and to-morrow and yesterday
Are linked by the spell of the faraway!

Down at the docks–when the morning's new
And the air is gold and the distance blue,
There's a pull at the heart! But best of all
Is to see the sun shrink, red and small,
While the fog steals in (more surely fleet
Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet)
And clamours of startled calls arise
From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes;
The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout,
The little lights on the shore blur out
And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully
With a secret tide to a secret sea.

--- 

 Until then, be excellent to each other.

I love this song. I am working on a story about the Water King... This song reminds me of sailing on tall ships, Robert and chances taken. It also reminds me of magic pure. Think of this as a teaser ...

Cascade- by Peter Murphy 

We have no image
We're just called the good friends
We call the madmen back
As they fly to the ant hills
We never know, we never know
We sleep in satin nights
Throwing energy like bluebirds
In twilight

We call to stillness
As we kiss the water king's hand
We hear the one same name
As the darker the land gets
We never know, we never know
We're fueling for the light
Cascading like the rain
In twilight

Waiting for you, you look so close, we walk
a thousand stairs
Aching for your hand, our love a distant
voice, we have no image - we are light

We are not asking
No favors from the dead
We wash with moonlit hands
On the shores of our island
We never know, we never know
We sleep in satin nights
Throwing energy in silver curves
In twilight

Would you carry it around till the far edge of time?
-cock robin-  

When I was 19 I moved to Ottawa to go to university, not because I really wanted to but because my dad insisted I go to univeristy. I chose Ottawa because it was the school furthest away from him that accepted me.( we'll never know if this was a terrible move or a necessary one...but I am still paying for it.) During my first semester I ended up in a course on African and Oceanic art. ( I eventually majored in Art History) and this course opened up some interesting doors for me, spiritually speaking.

It was during this time that I have an extraordinarily vivid dream of death, a journey through an underworld and rebirth. To this day I can still see this dream as though I were re living it. After much study I learned that dreams of this nature were very symbolic of passing through into the spirit world, of touching one's magical side if you like. It was a journey that would be Shamans under took to gain their acceptance into that world of spirits and power.

At the time it scared the crap out of me because western culture always teaches us that dying in a dream was bad. And in my dream I died. But that's not always the case. After discussion with friends and people who were studying Wicca atthe time I learned that this dream had other meanings that were significant to what ever journey it was I was on. For almost exactly a year after this dream I stopped having vivid dreams of any sort. Then a year later I had an extraordinary dream of rebirth and life, light and with vocal guides. That one I, too can to this day describe. Technicolour with dolby surround sound and when I get 'those' sorts of dreams I know they mean something. Death itself, doesn't scare me, I experienced it once in a dream, vivid and real butthe journey to get there does.

My family, from my mother's side, is touched. We, as they say, have the sight. Somewhere on her side of the family we come from gypsy stock. So that stuff is in the blood. I pay great attention to my dreams ebcause when I ignore the subtle and sometimes not so subtle warnings all manner of holy hell breaks loose in my life and I pay the price.I have always 'known things'. That subtle anxious push to meet someone, or be at a certain place at a certain time. The sensation of bits of a puzzle falling into place. Knowing I have met a person before just not in this life-time. Accepting what comes next... When I was in my twenties magic of all sorts was very real for me. I never stopped believing that anything was possible. But some where along the line I stopped being whole. I know this happened because I stopped drawing, my art stopped. I stopped being an artist and tucked that side of me away. I stopped for almost ten years.

I suppose, losses such as deaths of close ones, broken hearts , betrayal from peple I thought were friends all adds up and since I have a nasty habit of NEVER letting go, all these negative things push out the positive things. According to Fulvio my energy blocks shift all the time and he should know he spends an hour trying to unblock them.I just move them about, sort of like shifting that really butt ugly bit of furniture you really aught to toss out but somehow can't bring yourself to do.

Well, now I am wanting to get rid of the unwanted baggage but it's hard. I have forgotten how to breathe. I wonder if I have forgotten how to love as well because I am scared now. become a shell of a person trying to find all the missing bits and glue them back together. I wonder if it is even possible to do this.

These sessions with Fulvio are a wonder and I mean that in the absolute truest sense of the word. Because I feel when he works his magic, I feel things I have not felt in years, that sense of mirth.As much as I cry, I also laugh. There is a lot of work to do and I am only just starting to figure this out now... kinda rough for a 40 year old in a land where the language isn't one I speak. So I guess the first real job I have aside from the daily exersizes Fulvio has given me ( breathe and stop clenching my jaw so tightly me teeth start to ache) is to learn Italian. I fight this the way I fight him. It's weird. I have been here a year and a half and I work against myself. Fear...it does the weirdest things to avoid what ever it is that is causing the fear. Italian should be easy for me. I have a background in french, I learned to speak German as an adult in about ( collectively added up) a year and a half. It should be easy, but it isn't because I fight it.

It feels like coughing up furballs. but as an 'old soul' there are a lot of old furballs tucked away. *cough cough, hack hack*

So I guess this is the start of the next step really, actually facing this crap and talking about it and opening up to possibilities.  Working through the blocks one brick at a time. I guess it's time to dig out my medicine bundle, find some sweet grass and go travelling again.( spiritually speaking) sweet grass will be a problem... but I am growing my own sage. :)

will keep you posted on how this all goes... it's like a bad new age movie with no end!!!

until then, be excellent to each other.

I went to see Fulvio today. Fulvio does Cranial Sacral therapy among other things and he is extraordinary. he does massage terapy and other stuff. I can't begin to describe it actually. in Short he is a healer.

It often happens that I go expecting one thing and we end up dealing with other and how he touches me, puts pressure on certain parts of my skull, my spine my body initiates a wellspring of emotions.

Often fear and sorrow. I carry a lot of these two things around with me. He likened it to carrying around a huge stone in my gut and he's right. many 'traumas' in my life and I cling to them, I cling to everything, I feel everything.  What ever he does triggers emotions and I cry. It's good, it's very unnerving and I am a mess. We established that today. I am a big mess.

My questions are not what is it he does that triggers this it's why. Why do I feel this eternal sorrow? What is it I carry around in side of me that makes me so scared of the world, so scared of letting go? Why am I so sad?

It's a strange question and I grapple with it all the time.

 There are no answers. but I want to get past this because I getthe unnerving sensation that what ever is coming next will require me to be not sad, will require me to be whole.

When I was 12 I met a girl from the US called Betsy, while I was on holiday with my dad and my brother in Newfoundland. We got along right from the word go and the next summer her family invited me to spend the entire summer with her and her family in the US. It was the  trip of a life-time and it changed me forever.

I think we visited twice more with each other and we kept in touch until I was around 18 or or so. I remember a phone- call about a swimmer and a popstar. We were both intense. That was my last clear memory of my friend.

She has been on my mind a lot though. This year a lot more than normal and I have tried to find her via Google but to no avail. So, as fate seems to want us to connect again. I got a letter this morning and I knew without opening that while the last name had changed, this Betsy was my Besty and she had found me.

I am a firm believer in the there are no coincidences rule of thumb. Everything happens for a reason. You connect and disconnect and go around in strange large wobbly circles but things all have meaning and now my childhood friend has found me. In my mind's eye I see her as I knew her at 13, tall, slender and beautiful. Fiercely brave with a sense of whimsy. She is the one who introduced me to Tolkein, CS Lewis, Lloyd Alexander and best of all Susan Cooper, starting me on a path I never looked back from. I write because of Betsy.

So here I sit, a strange well of emotion as I look at the beautiful photo of her and her family. And I get that eerie sensation that things are shifting once again. (Cath knows what this means for me she'll be shaking her head and saying 'oh oh'.) but I don't think it is a bad thing, it is just time and space moving about.

In the last year many of my friends from my past have found me ( I am pretty easy to find on Google, through both my birth name and the internet persona name)  and we touch base. It is an odd sensation, but also a good one. A kind one.

Life is just strange this way...

until then, be excellent to each other

it's hot.

I am running in a deadline now so computer time is at a minimum.Scrolls scrolls scrolls... 

not much else to say.Lots of thoughts but  can't type fast enough...

more later when it's cooler and I have this scroll almost done.

 Those of you reading dote2... I know it's meandering but there is a point...trust me.

until then be excellent to each other...

To answer the questions...

yep Marcus made it home safe and sound yesterday at about 11am. Max says he was well behaved and ate all his veggies! ( good to know don't you think?)

After a little nap we BBQ'd and then watched some more of season 2 LOST.  Gotta lovethe high tech DL stuff.

so thanks for the asking!
he's home safe and sound just where he belongs!

xxxs and ooos

There was a some sort of British comedy act, I saw on TV years ago that did this skit about the end of the world...
one of the on going lines was "Will this wind...?" the question was never fully asked until the end of the skit ( won't give it away because it's funny).

I am an Aquarian, so I have air and water as my elements and I love the wind. I know people who don't. It uspets them, makes them uneasy. I must admit I never understood that. Wind, the stronger the better, even when it scares the hell out of me.

Well, it was windy last night, my favourite kind of wind of all, strong enough to rattle the house in gusts and warm enough to be a blanket, full of those mysterious scents that night winds tend to carry when they rush down from the mountains with their stories and their secrets. I find wind comforting but I could never tell you why. Perhaps because after we left Scotland to lived n Newfoundland, I realised that when it was windy, especially in the summer, there were no blackflies to feed and feed on my tender skin and sweet scottish blood. In the winter wind brought storms, flying horizontal snow and then after the fact wind packed snow to make igloos out of. It howled through the electrickery lines and rattled and shook the old wooden house we lived in. It roared through the coniferous forest that was basically our back yard and whipped up the Atlantic into a bitter cold frenzy.

When I moved to Ottawa to go to University I discovered a different kind of wind. Ottawa is in a region of fairly flat land so the winds there move and whisper differently. There is also no ocean so there is no salt to taste, no sea stories to hear. I missed them but I learned new things. I learned about nightwinds that rustle throughthe feilds of wheat and barley, that snake their way about with the marsh mists and the night fogs. In the summer these winds were warm, really warm and carried the powerful scents of sweetgrass and peppermint... mingled in for good measure was a often a healthy dose of skunk, which I never thought  was that bad, it was just strong. Whenever I smell sweetgrass on the wind I think of my time in Ottawa which was among the worst in my life but also the best in some ways. It was in Ottawa that I learned about true friendship. Where a few astonishing people taught me that friendship is about being there when the chips are really down and accepting help was not just the polite thing to do it was the ONLY thing to do. My friends Susan, Michelle, Shelly and Marc saved my life ( figurativley speaking) on more than one occasion. And it was in Ottawa where I met a woman named Joan Woodward who became the person I desired to be like. It was also in Ottawa were I knew that magic happened if you truly believed enough and I got dragged kicking and screaming into the SCA. In Ottawa that I learned I was not going to be a sales clerk for the rest of my life and that realisation shattered the way I did things from then on and locked me into a very long some times bitter battle with my dad. Sometimes a job is not just a job, it's a life sentance.

Ottawa's wind is something entwined with my memories of my friend Marc who would take me out for long drives in his car late at night up and down the Valley. Sweetgrass and peppermint remind me of him and those memories are kind because he was kind. It was he who taught me this: Money is immaterial, it is time that is the real thing of value.

He said, that he chose to spend his precious time with me and that was his gift. Taking me ( the starving student) out to dinner or a movie or what ever was just fun stuff and it was just money, but his time was something he could never get back and once it was gone it was gone. Time was precious. He taught me to treasure it. I have told many people this and they all get the same strange look of 'oh your are so right' in their eyes as if they had never considered this before.  I think about it a lot. It was an important lesson to learn. I think I was twenty.

When I lived in St. John's I learned about savage weather. St. John's is an extraordinary place that was never meant to be. The oldest city in North America ( not previously settled by a native population) it was a fishing area that by law could not be settled. But people did anyway.  I could spend years describing this place but maybe you shoudl just go and visit. St. John's is where my heart of hearts resides.

St. John's

There are two types of winds for the most part that slap you around there. The Nor'easters  and the South westerlies. The first of these is a brutal, crisp sharp tongued wind that whips its way off the water towards the land. It brings storms and bad weather. In the spring it brings the peppery scent of ice and makes a day that should be 16 degrees warm 5 degrees cold. It is the wind that rattles the bergs and has sailors watching the sky. This wind stirs up the forthy whitecaps and brings the lashing rain. Sometimes a Nor'easter will creep up on you in the night, starting slow with a moan to gather strength when it thinks it's being ignored to become a howling gale, yanking on tree branches and shaking the wooden houses until their teeth rattle. Other times it is a bad-tempered turn around. One moment a soft breeze out of the south then a sudden lull and then a smack in the face as the temper tantrum starts.

The South westerlies are also strong but in a gentler way, they bring warmth in the summer because they come off the land, rushing down the hilly streets, gathering the scent of city to replace the tang of tuckamoore and pine. This summer wind was partly responsible for the 3rd great fire that wiped out nearly 2/3rds of the city in the 1800's. That and no water pressure. This wind is a bit of a trickster, while it is warm and teasing it doesn't know when to stop. It took the fire and it played with it, as wind is wont to do.  This is the wind that one often feels when the sun goes to bed. It whistles through the screen doors and whines amongst the powercables. It's warm in the summer, and sweet but with just a hint of malice. This is the restless wind, making people edgey and aware that something in their lives is missing. I often felt the ache of lost love or the drive of unfulfilled lust when this wind teased my soul and played with my hair.

Now I live in the moutains. or at the foot of them anyway. And here we get a winds with a name. Föhn ( foon) A strong wind that comes down the mountains. If it were a cold wind it would be called catabalic but this one, like the chinook or the santa annas is warm and very dry. This wind would desicate you if it could. Suck the very life moisture from each and every pore. This is the wind that tells us, on the other side of the mountains the weather is REALLY sucky. It rushed down on us like an out of control semi. It makes something on the roof of our house rattle the way the coffee maker rattles when the last of the water goes through the filter. I always know when the Föhn is coming because I get really edgy, as though something was shifting out of the corner of my eye that I can't quite see. Lucky for me, unlike many, it doesn't bring migraines. It does make me restless though and when the Föhn show up, you'll often find me on the huge bow shaped balcony pacing. It reminds me a lot of a widow's walk. It's a familiar sensation and I am quite certain that in a past life I have done that pace the widow's walk before. Waiting for someone to come home, much as I did last night.

In the winter the Föhn brings warmth when the rest of the country is wrapped up in winter's icy touch. It brings a sharp clarity to the world and the skies are as blue as blue can be. It is a colour unreproducable by any means and it will steal your heart away. It is a colour that suggest the sky never ends and it will break your heart. This wind sweeps away the haze and brings everthing into a sharp focus. You see the world for what it is, rugged mountians, soft hills and brilliant colours. The house keeper of winds, tidying up all the left over moisture.

Föhn winds

I love wind. It stirs up the world around us, sometimes in a good way sometimes in a very destructive way but no matter what if you listen closely you'll hear its stories. Pass them on.

Until then, be excellent to each other.

That rubber band, that stretched and stretched out, making time grow long and slow has pinged forward. It's Friday. Tomorrow  the other side of my soul comes home and in this world of sorrow and tension I will be grateful. I have no doubt in my little brain that I am incredibly lucky. Safe, with fresh water and food and no one is trying to obliterate me off the face of the planet.

I wanted to post lyrics of a song by one of my favourite musicians, Lawrence Gowan called Guns and God but then decided what was the point? The people who will read it are not the ones who need to.  

-----

Last night I watched the last 3 episodes of LOST and I have to tell you my head feels as though it's gonna explode! What a show. Can it get and weirder? Oh don't answer that... I do love a good brain twister though. So Now we have to wait for season 3 to find out what happens next. and all I can say ARGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

-----

So we get to toys and I want to tell you about Rudi. When I lived in Germany I had a friend called Tanya. She was our nextdoor neighbour, and her boyfriend and their two cats Pupsi and Horst. Tanya and I sort of found one another in a time of lonliness and stay at homeness. Anyway she knew how much I loved crows and just before one of my return trips to Canada, to go back to school, she gave me Rudy.

Rudi is a raven. He's a popular figure from a children's TV show. He's very precocious for a young Raven. He pals around with Max and Sam but sometimes his antics get a bit much, he's a bit of a trickster... stealing shiny things and hiding them, taunting the Crow boys and pulling my hair when I sleep.

      Rudi likes the camera, it's shiny.

I no longer live in Germany and Tanya and I went our separate ways for too many reasons to put here. It happens sometimes that friendships end. But I still have Rudi and every time I look at him I think of her and think about what a good person she is and how much we did together.

Sometimes we leave people behind when we move on with our lives but the memories stay with us.

Until then be excellent to each other... and have a nice weekend!

This is a doll I have had for as long as I can remember. He used to be my mother's. I don't know if he has a name and he used to have a hat. His uniformalso used to be a dark navy blue but the sun bleached it a bit. He has a soft body and a papermache head. He's from England, where my mum was born and raised, but he was schlepped all over the place and he, in true sailor ashion, has crossed the Atlantic many many times.

   he's old but still has his jolly smile.

until then, be excellent to each other

as promised yesterday pictures of the boys.. 1st up is geddy-bear.

next are the boys from lef to right, the brothers grim, Jack, toby and love bear.

Then here are Bill and tabsig,

For a while, I call it a misplaced mommy complex, I was rescuing teddy bears. We have many bears  most of them are mine. When marcus and I first met it was platonic and he asked if he could visit me and visit North America...as he'd never been to the continent. Well shortly before his trip, we both realised that this was more than just a friendship ( LONG story won't tell it here) and things began to get 'interesting'. I tld him before his visitthat I had a perfectly decent couch for him to sleep on but if he wanted to share my bed he'd have to ask the bears ( collectively known so) He pronounced it Beers at the time because being German his english wasn't so hot.

Much to my delight this is exactly what he did. My friend L. told me that any man willing to ask the bears' permission is a keeper, I guess she knew what she was talking about. But I am getting ahead of myself...

Before we were serious and I was living in student digs subletting while I got my ducks in a row after getting back from 6 months in the caribbean I spent too much time online in the Imperial Order chatting with the boys. On one day I had been to the local drugstore and seen out of the corner of my eye the cutest cuddly bear I'd seen in a while. He was large, with huge paws and soft brown fur. I didn't think much about it but he obviously had some serious telepathy skills because many hours later at 11:45pm I suddenly wrote to all the guys on the IO chat room. 'Gotta go, gotta rescue a bear.' That was that, I grabbed my purse and dashed to the little mall and shop and with five minutes to spare, bought ( rescued ) the bear. Naturally the shop girls thought I was a bit of a loony, after all I was in my frigging PJs.

The bear is named 'Geddy Bear' after the singer from rush Geddy Lee ( I just love the name) and the guy who created the IO , Ged, and it is a play on the word Teddy Bear. He ( the bear) wears sandalwood tibeten prayer beads around his neck and likes to sort of hang out on the couch behind me.He's terribly laid back. He is the one who tells me not to sweatthe small stuff... after all I got the message didn't I?

He is of course right.

That summer I think I rescued something like 12 or so bears. They hang out in the bedroom for the most part chatting to themselves...
here are a few of the crew:
Tabsig ( sad and mopey wee bear who has a hard time even sitting up straight, his motto is ' who knows , who cares, why bother?)
The Brothers Grim ( two old fashioned stiff bristle bears small of stature but large of opinion, do not engage in conversation unless you have many many hours)
Bill ( The big arsed polar bear whose twin is called Ben and lives with my sister)
There is also Theo, Simon, little Toby and Jack but they declined an interview saying it was too hot.

So there you have it, Bear rescue... lately no bears have asked to be taken home, my guess is they know we have a pretty full house and are waiting for a more needy boy or girl. Never underestimate the power of a Teddy!

if I can get around to it I'll post pictures of geddy-bear...

Until then, Be excellent to each other!

Something Florence said made me think about my life in general. I can no longer count the number of times I have moved and started over. reinvented who I am, leaving the old skin behind to take on a new one. While I thinkthe very heart of the soul of who I am hasn't changed too much ( at least this is what my friend Marc has told me) I know that I have changed a lot and much of it was concious.

I sit here amidst the chaos of terrible news from BBC which I had to turn off and the pretty decent hard rock/ alternative music that Delta Radio from Hamburg plays pondering the last 30 years or so. How many friends have I left behind, how many have left me? How many lives have I walked away from? Many, many is the answer. I remember leaving Ottawa with a vague sense of relief. In Newfoundland I found outmore about who I was and who I perhaps wanted to be. I listen to my inner voices, my dreams and my instinct. I know this annoyed the crap out of my father who ( I thought) never understood that part of me, or perhaps he understood too well and that was also the issue... I'll never know, he's not around to ask anymore.

My inner self has never been wrong and it was usually when I ignored the 'voice' that things in my life went dramatically wrong and the lesson learned was painful. I have since learned to pay attention in that etherial class and so far things are okay. I am pretty sure that 'I have a bad feeling about this' sensation is not a joke and if more people paid heed the world would be a better easier place. When the issues are forced to go 'our' way... then shit hits the fan.

But I guess I was always a bit flakey this way.

So I look back on the people who have made an impact in my life for good and bad. Some I still keep in touch with on a peripheral sort of way and some no longer exist in my world, and have their own to deal with. Some left with bad feelings and some just drifted away. Distance, age and time being the largest culprits. I have a hard time letting go though, so sometimes I go through this phase of trying to track down my past. Like my first BF, or that teacher who was so inlfluential...sometimes I even manage to keep tabs on people I no longer like but I am nosey that way. Just a link to a past life I disgarded along the way in favour of something kinder, better. These people taught me valuable lessons, not all of them pleasant, but life isn't always pleasant and we all do and say things we wonder if it would have been better not to have done so.

I do not regret a thing in my life because everything I have done said experienced has led to me to where I am today and I like this person I have shaped into. Even the negative things have their place, my arrogance, my impatience, my tendancy to be unforgiving and set high standards... without these things I would not be who I am, trying to improve. It is the journey rather than the destination that is important.

So here I sit... on the cusp of the next stage what ever it is. My tendancy for despondancy is a difficult one to fight against. I have a bad habit of letting the rest of the world in. Fulvio says I feel everything and carry it around with me on my back and he should know he's the one who has to absorbe this neg energy when he does his Cranial Sacral thingy ( I call it magic). All I know is that bit by bit he is helping me heal. I am learning how to breathe again.

My amazing frioend Brooks sent me a Belly dance dvd the other day ( well actually 2) and one of them was rachel Brice's yoga and isolation drills. Now this is an amazing thing to watch. I think i will run through that dvd today and try tolimber up a bit. As Rebecca the Wrecker has pointed out on her blog, computers are not good for one's health and typing is NOT a sport. Iused to dance 3 times a week and do all kinds of sports now i sit a lot and type and think, and all that gets me is tense and edgy frm lack of motion.

So I'll end this scatty post on nothing in particular with one of my favourite poems. I like this one it sums up my life somehow...

Keeping Things Whole

In a field
I am the absence of field.
This is always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

 ---Mark Strand---

While I was at NSCAD, the Nova Scotia College or Art and Design, I got lucky enough to take a Bronze casting class without the pre rec. While I don't recommend this to people, I shoulda had the fore runner class it would have made things easier, it was a good opportunity to get my hands on the art of 3d stuff.

One of the projects we were assigned was to go through the whole process of designing an installation. that is proposal, maquette and final product... as if we had been given a commission.

My project was crows. The idea was to provide Bronze crow statuettes to high end restaurants and hotels as a pigeon deturrent. You see these ugly plastic raven things all over Germany as a pigeon scare so i figured nice bronze crows... what could be better?

The project was a BITTY more than i had bargained for especially since I was making a rubber mould to produce many... alike but not alike.

Will not get into the process but it took longer than I thought and there were complications as there are always complications still in the end I produced three crows.

1st I made a single template from plasticine.
2nd I created a rubber mould over the plasticine,
then there was a plaster casing.
then ther was the Wax positive which would be sprued and covered in a silicon shell, the wax woudl be burnt out so that the negative space in the shell woudl be replaced by molten bronze.

The crows had to be done in two parts, feet and lower body, head and upper body. Sandy welded them together for me afterwards. When they were finished they were so well balanced the stand on their own two feet...

I think it was sarah A. who named them collectively the Crow Boys.  The name sort of stemming from a picture in a book on corvids of three juvenille crows. Well my juvies are rascals. They get up to all sorts of mischief including scaring cats and lizards.

They have graced my apartment in Canad, the balcony and studio in Germany and now they currently and happily reside on the HUGE balcony off the second floor of the house we live in here. They don't give away their secrets easily and have to be coaxed to chatter with me. They love jokes, especially the practical kind and the will steal shiny things if you give them half a chance.

you get the idea... they are very cheeky.

here is what they look like today... They adore being photographed and are not in the least bit shy...They told me to tell the girls at NSACD they miss them and the treats...

When Marcus goes away, the first few nights I don't sleep very well. I suppose a person gets used to another being sharing the bed... the movement, the snores, the warmth, the blanket stealing...So last night was the first night I slept all the way through... but I wake up early, o6:30 early. This time I figured I was still sleepy enough I could rool back and sleep more ... well 40 minutes  and a backing up oil truck later that was not the case. Real life's sounds intruded enough that ... I'm up!

Yesterday was a very weird day. Long, and stretchy, like a rubber band ( merlyn talks about this rubber band effect so I won't) It was like the day that wouldn't go away. Not bad just unbearably long. I should probably explain a little about here, and maybe abut me. I tend to be a bit of a homebody recluse these days. We moved to Ticine a year and a half ago and we live in a TEENY tiny village called bedano. Everyone here speaks Italian ( not me not yet) and I also don't drive the car yet either though I had my first session with it last weekend. I go for days without actually leaving the house, no real reason to leave, or seeing another human being ( apart from chance glimpses of the neighbours) and I have no friends here to 'play' with. Almost all of my really good friends live in another country some where. Not exactly phone up and come round for tea easy, if you know what I mean.

I don't write this so people go awww poor you, or jeeze stupid twit... it's just the situation I am in, I create and am fairly happy with at the moment. Most of thetime I don't notice and I don't feel lonely until the one peson who is my anchor isn't here. Then I realise jeeze...this is fun...not.

I have a hard time making friends now. It didn't used to be that way, but language barriers and cultural differences along with the fact that at some point in the 34 or so moves I have made I kinda gave up. I don't get that close any more because it hurts to leave or be left. It's like that one guy who utterly breaks your heart and you just know, that after that no one will ever get that much of you again. (M.V-J.) My world used to be huge, vast like the Atlantic Ocean I once sailed in a rolly tall ship, but now it's a tiny island that I rarely get off.

I tell people, that unless something extraordinary happens I won't move back to North America ( Canada) because I like europe too much. I like the diversity and the languages and the age of the place. Most Europeans are at ease with themselves. The various cultures all seem to enjoy life ( Even the taciturn Germans although they don't want you to know this) I could list the good things till the cows come home...but these are just a few. North America seems to uptight to me now, like prudish mädchen scared to death of being kissed. It struggles with cultureal diversity and language issues ( esp Canada) in a way that makes me tired. I look at how the French /English thing works in Canada and I think jeeze you culd sure take lessons from Switzerland, a country probably not much bigger than Newfoundland but has 3 official languages and 4 in total and for the most part most people don't squabble about it all. I suppose these language securities are helped by the fact that each region is borderd by the country whose language it is the regions speak. ( ie ticine borders Italy ) etc... but still, one doesn't get the sense of one upmanship here. None of the superior culture thing. ( of course maybe its the size thing and not the language thing...eh???)

So I like living here but damn I miss my friends. Here's the rub... even if I did go back home, none of my friends actually live there any more ( Halifax in specific) so it doesn't matter anyway. My friends, my life, my family even are a bit like chaff on the wind, picked up and scattered wide. But I miss them all. It's like having tiny holes in my heart some days. So, I shut off from that missing you thing. I've done it my whole life. I never felt settled. I don't know what it is like to have roots and feel at home, utterly , completely at home. Maybe that's why I have so much stuff, my stuff is my home? lol Truth of the matter is, it used to be that where ever I was was home but now it is also where ever WE are (marcus ) so when he is missing my home is a bit of a muddle.

So...it's tuesday, it's early, it's noisy outside and the air smells like heating oil. I am half way through the scroll work I am doing. The scroll itself isn't huge even though the award is, but the second add on one is very large. LOTS of calligraphy. Good practice for my Batarde hand.

Here are some earlier examples of this particular hand.

Later on.. because I just know I will be bored and need a break from calligraphing, I'll do the toy post... on today's meet the toys are The Crow Boys ( Who aren't really toys but rank the same with such huge personalities)

so Until then... be excellent to each other!

My new internet /blog/ on the otherside of the world friend, Florence makes toys.  You should check out her site... especially the Tom and Lilli stories...VERY COOL!

Lilli and Tom

The conversations that have been flying back and forth have gotten me thinking a lot about toys, especially dolls and stuffed animals. So I thought I would talk about two of my favourite non breathing family members. 

Sam and Max.

Sam is a small, baby polar bear teddy bear. Made by RUSS. He looks cute and innocent. And always has this delightful 'who me??' look on his wee face...it's a great ruse let me tell you! He used to be gleaming white but now he's not even though he does bath on occasion. Sam's story is a fun one. Marcus and I were in San Francisco wandering around toyshops looking for a new companion to rescue. See, one of my missions in life is teddy bear rescue ( one day I'll write about geddy-bear) We vistied many expensive toy shops and found most of the bears snooty and disinterested to leave their rather high end living accomodations... no big deal.

Then by chance we found ourselves in this tiny,dark little toy shop off some small ally way. As we wandered about the small store I stopped to admire a wall of plush toys only to have this small white bear suddenly leap into my arms. One look and that was that. I cradled him in my arms and showed him to Marcus who immediately agreed he needed to come home with us, after all he had chosen us.

We named him Sam after Sam Spade who was invented by Dashiel Hammett... there is a serious San Francisco connection here so that's why Sam is called Sam. I am a huge film noire fan and an avide Dashiel Hammet and Rayomnd Chandler reader.

Sam is a cuddle bear, he usually sleeps on my chest. When he gets too grubby he goes to the magical spin machine and gets a big bath, then hangs out on the balcony to dry off under he sun. Sam goes with us when we travel together but when it's just Marcus, Sam stays home and looks after me.

Max...

Max has been with me for a while. I discovered him hiding in the Pan Handler store in Halifax. I always introduce him this way. "This is Max. Max is a lemur." I've known him almost as long as I've known Marcus.

Max is a "Wild Republic& quot; stuffed animal who is a black and white lemur. He had long lanky arms and legs that stick toegther ( velcro) and very starey golden eyes. He's intense. He's Sam's best friend.

I ended up with Max because while browsing in the shop he whispered to me that he would make an excellent flying fear repellant and so after some serious negotiations he decided that we were right for each other and Max came home with me. He has travelled all over the place. Hung out in airports, planes and hotels galore. He enjoys hotels because the Zimmer mädchen ( housekeeping ) always make a big fuss over him. Often we come back to our room to find him posing. He enjoys the attention.

Max has also recieved a decent art education as he accompanied me to many of my art classes ( mostly Gary's photo classes because Gary put up with my weird sense of whimsey.) When Marcus travels max is his companion. Last trip thoughMarcus forgot Max and there was a dreaful flurry of bad feelings and homesickness until Max explained he was a little worried about me and stayed behind to make sure I wasn't too sick. Still that wasn't a good scene.

Right now Max is in the United Hotel in Taiwan enjoying air conditioning and the attention he gets as a handsome, single lemur abroad. Sam is being lazy in the bed. Who knows what he gets up to...He's a polar bear...

I'll post pictures if I can find any, they are both a bit camera shy.

Until then, be excellent to each other.

my inspiration....I thought I'd share...

Bubble bath bottles...
my desktop
my crazy star wars reference library...

We squabble like small selfish children. Except instead of stones we hurl rockets at each other, instead of just hurting one or two we hurt hundreds and thousands. I don't begin to pretend to understand the intricate workings of the hatred that sparks these conflicts. I don't get it at all.

So, like most people, I watch the news, tears in my eyes and wonder when, if ever, we are going to learn to get along despite our differences. When will hate be replaced by temperance? When will the instant retalliation of violence be replaced by something less violent? When will we learn to mediate our vicious desire to be top dog, because it seems to me that it all comes down to power.

What do all men with power want? More...

Is this what it comes down to, power? Whose god is bigger? Whose guns are more deadly? Whose dick is longer?

When seen from space, this little world of ours looks peaceful, like a little blue-green marble swirling in the vastness of the universe. As one of the astronauts from teh shuttle said, 'It's all we have' 

But humans don't seem to care. We are short sighted and selfish. We damage our planet with poisons and bombs and everything in between. We kill each other without thought, our minds only on the goal...but what is the goal? Who wins when everyone is dead? It reminds me of that old joke... He who dies with the most toys wins... When is enough enough?

Does it really matter who a person prays to? Are not all the the religious teachings basically saying the same thing, just with different words? When will we learn that violence incites more violence?

I have no answers for any of these questions but I ask them anyway. My heart goes out ot the familes of the innocent, caught in the middle bystanders. People just living their lives, getting by.

Have we not learned that by trying to force an issue we make those we try to break more stubborn, more decided and definately more dangerous. A peson with nothing left to lose is dangerous. When you back people or countries into a corner they will fight back to the bitter end... but to what end?

How many people must pay the ultimate price for the selfish desires and stupidity of a few?

It just makes me sad. It makes me wonder about everything. Switzerland requires that each house have its own bunker. Yes, we have a bomb shelter in our house, up until today I never considered the possibility that it might some day be used for its origional purpose. That little What if... what if this escalates? What if it spills over into the next country and the next? What happens if we can't get our ducks in a row and stop hating each other over stupid things and religion is probably the stupidest thing next to race that I can think to hate.

I guess it starts when we are small with  My daddy is stronger than yours... but people? Where does it all end?

these are my thoughts. It's not a happy way to start a day.

Until then, be excellent to each other. 

So... I went to bed last night knowing I would wake up this morning to tackle a computer issue. On the DOTE1 site the pdf files are not down loading right, and it's not all of them just a couple. They cause a problem which causes adobe reader to close and I can't figure out why because the origional files open up just fine on my system.

My resident expert on such problems is now in Taiwan till next saturday and I am feeling a bit cross about this. The problems I don't know how to fix always show up when he's off someplace especially when it is for his work. His company isn't winning any popularity contests with me right now but I will not be getting into that.

So here I have PDF issues... I was very happy to get the chapters uploaded in the first place so that anyone who wants to read the first book can read it the right way around not backwards as one has to do with the blog. While the blog format is great for the regulars it sucks for the first timer. Daughter of the Empire is just over 500 pages long. That's a long of reading to scróll up through.

I am geeky enough that I sort of demand perfection or as close to it as I can get with my work. I don't like doing a sloppy job. :( so these technical issues annoy the bejeezler out of me.

It's a major accomplishment to have actually finished the first book at all really. I mean I have been trying to tell this story for nie on ten or so years now...afer the sci fi con where I met David Prowse and where in a drunken discussion circle with friends it was decided the worst job a person could have was Vader's PA. And then I joined the IO. and the rest is history.  But for reasons I can't figure out I could never get past a certain point no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it was time and experience who knows... a story comes when it wants to. Now it wants to. and boy does it want to. I write most days for at least in total 6 hours maybe more. and I love it. I am a little afraid of what comes next when book 3 says the end because for the last year and a half this story has consumed my life. Although.... the next one totally Star wars UNRELATED is niggling in the wings...

of course I have been writing stories since for ever and when I wasn't writing I was illustrating them...and when I wasn't doing that then I would tell them to groups of people both large and small...Just ask Cath about the Fiddler's Tales some time. I stopped doing that here becasue Drachenwald has a really crappy bardic way about it. And coming from Newfoundland where the oral tradition is about as huge as a kitchen party, I can't stand how it's dealt with in this SCA kingdom. It's a strange place this kingdom but I won't get to that subject today either...

Maybe we shoud do a 'rant' week?

So here I sit in the computer room alone. Normally I share my morning coffee dutifully brought to me in bed by my husband every morning ( Unless I am really awake then I do it) He sets the cup on the bedside table and smiles at me saying 'good morning my princess'. When he's not here I set the coffee machine up to go the night before because I am not awake  enough first thing to make coffee the last time I tried that without waking up first I forgot to putthe caraf back in it's place... thankfully we have one of theose newer machines that has a depress button when the caraf slides under filter... so there wasn't groundy coffee everywhere... still lesson learned.. Now I am just me and it feels weird but it's also a reminder that I had my own life before I met him and it was incomplete. We both knew the very first moment we saw one another that this was it.

strange really.

now I am more awake ...maybe I will go hunting for solutions to my pdf issue. Too bad wanderhomies is down because there are enough gurus there someone cuodl help out.

Until then, be excellent to each other.

I am alone for 7 days. You would think I'd be used to this, after all when I fist met my other half we were on opposite side of the Atlantic and communication was limited to bandwidth, time-zone and the sufferance of roomates. Right up until nearly 4 months after we were married ( so nearly 3ish years) we did not live on the same continent. We flew, we emailed, we chatted and after the first time we met face to face we started to telephone which at the time was damned costly.

As the time went by so did the ease with which to communicate. Rates went down, Germany discovered flat rates, phone costs went down and airfare was still affordable. But it was hard. Each meeting was punctuated by a parting. Each parting held the uncertain promise of another meeting. How many tears did we shed for that aching loss of separation? This journey became and art project. A photo journal or sorts.... A lot of what I experienced in the three years of Atlantic ping pong was turned into art. Separation became an art form.

Now we live together on the same continent, in the  same country, sharingthe same house and everything that goes with being happily married. But every now and then his work dictates a serious separation. Getting in the car, driving to the airport and stepping into a rather large aluminium can and being projectiled through the atmosphere to land on another continent in another time zone.  Separation is not just about space, it is also about time.

He gets into the car and I wave, as I do each and every morning after I have closed the garage door for him so he doesn't have to. But unlike each and every work day this is a saturday, normally OUR day and I loath that he is leaving. That familiar ache which clogs up my solar plexus, the distinct and unwelcome prickle of tears which are deturmined to undermine my desire to be brave. I'll be back, you know, he says to me. It's only a few days. But I am rather like a dog in that he leaves and he is gone. Gone is gone. And there is nothing but time and restless air to fill in the gap wher his physical being used to take up space and push atoms aside.

I was once asked why I am the way I am. Some what pragmatic about things in general. My answer was I live in the now. The past happend it's gone can't get it back, can't fix it or change it... it is what it is. The same can be said about the future which hasn't actually happened and so is subject to any number of variables not the least of which is choice.So I live solely in the now. And now he is not here.

I filled my time today by majorly messing with the dote2 site. slowly i am relearning my basic html skills. In between I read. I finished the SW NJO book called TRAITOR and wept when I did so. Poignent and touching. It's been a while since a book did that for me so it was a pleasnt surprise. Now I have 7 or so days with which to get stuff done... ( liek gut the kitchen since I don't cook and he does, it's not that I can't either I just don't...too lazy.) I talk to myself a lot when he's not around. Well more like I become a cast of many and play out my story in loud verbal dialogues.

Those discussions and arguments between Thrawn and Merlyn, or Vader and Merlyn... well the walls in this house have heard them all. I am certain the neighbours believe I am quite mad. maybe I am but since there's only me to do the diagnosis... the doctor is out!

So anyway... that's my heat induced babble for the day. It's hot and sticky and the computer cpu fan is complaining in the most annoyingly whiney way. I need to scavenge some supper...

Until then, be excellent to each other!

pretty amazing.... you should watch the video as well.

the brain plug

It appeals to my geek-side in that it's very William Gibson!

will probably write more later either here or over at the Ghosts of Flesh and bone blog ( The lj one)

until then, be excellent to each other!

I've known about this since it started but to be honest never paid it much mind...

well the guy got his house and my response was 'how about that...'

one red paperclip

check it out, it's very cool

When I was about 8 I distinctly remember theorising that if I watched the world from behind a pane of glass ( ie window) it was not the same as watching it unfettered by something divisive. So as you can imagine the thought of getting glasses upset me for a very long time. From behind my glasses the world was no longer real.

Define real. I can't. Just like glass isn't a stable thing ( anamorphic actually) reality is elusive and subject to change.

So... here I sit in the blistering heat of Ticine, my back hurts and my brain is deciding if it aught to follow the computer's frequent example and do a lock up - shut down due to processor overload thing. In three days Marcus goes to Taiwan. As always I get a abit weirded out by the now your are here and now you are there thing. I don't like him leaving but once he's gone he's not here and that's that. It's the transition that kills not the absence. Which is why I quite ballet lessons at the age 6.

So ... as I sit here at 11am and it's already around 30 degrees INSIDE. The computer is whining and itunes is belting out Augen Auf by Oomph. ( German hard stuff) My summer playlist of hot ,hard and sexy music. Anything to shake up the sludgy nature of my over cooked neurons. phew!

So... it would appear that the theme for the rest of the week is geekdom. ( thanks Florence) As a kid I was a nerd and an outcast. We moved around a lot and I never found my niche so to speak. I was either not born in the right place to belong or my accent marked me as 'not from here' or my ideas were ' oh my god Fiona you are so weird.' I was born a geek, I think. The first TV show I ever recall seeing was star trek. I was about 2ish. After I read William Gibson's Neuromancer I wanted implants.I wanted to jack straight in and fly cyberspace. At the age of ten Star Wars hit the world and I was a Die Hard Darth Vader devotee. Come on he was cool! Not much has changed in that department. I married a guy I met over the internet in a star wars chat room for a star wars gaming platform (TIE fighter). I do medieval recreation complete with pavillion and rope bed. I know I was among the first people to start LIVE action RPG and one of the guys I played with who helped re-design the D&D rules for liva action now works for Steve jackson games. We threw flour at each other when we were casting a spell. The joggers of Point Pleasant park were not amused.

Compuers fascinated me. They still do.

I am an expert disassembler.

I collect CPU chips and Eproms :)   ( amongs a tub load of other disused computer bits...(Borgie bits we used to call them)    .... and I make art out of them.

I spend at least 8 hours daily infront of my computer.

I am a gothic geek goddess! what more proof does anyone need????? 

so...back to laundry and words and heat.

Until then, be excellent to each other!

It is so hot. Today was the first day this summer I felt sick because of it and at my husband's insistance had to stand under the coolness of running water. When your skin is hotter than your tea you know you are in trouble. Now it's nice a coolish breeze-ish outside and the crickets are rivalling delta radio which is live streaming from media geek.

Despite the oven like qualities of the day it was an accomplished one. I did 4 loads of laundry and everything dried...who needs a dryer when we have the lack of ozone? And i wrote... not that this is a new thing it is how I have spent the majority of my time for over a year now. But i also templated out scrolls so I can start the calligraphy tomorrow morning before it gets too hot to work.

So it's the writing I wanted to babble about. This chapter-snip was supposed to center on the whole Kyle Katarn blowing up the Arc hammer.... those of you who have played Dark Forces know the story, those of you who don't looking up on the wookieepedia ( link on the left side bar) Instead it was a chapter of Vader- merlyn conversation. Normally I would not actually think twice about this, after all she had been working for him for over three years now, they do talk. But what struck me about this conversation was how easy it flowed. I don't actually recall the typing of it all and when I re read it I can hear them actually talking. They are quite fun to write and funny together. Sacrilege , I know that Vader should actually have a sense of humour but I think he does, after all Anakin did, that sort of smart assed sarcastic snappy come back kind of humour. I suppose one would venture to say almost dark humour ( ha ha ha)

It was one of those sessions that just flows and happens unexpectedly, as though the characters themselves have decided to take a time out and relax. Like they conspire together and say okay you enough bombs and ships and disasters we want quiet time. Life starts to get interesting from here on in, Vahlek comes back and then some time after they meet up with Thrawn , the whole Hoth thing happens ( you know that Empire strikes back bit) so hangon to yer hats...

Also the promised PDF files for book one will be available soon. In case anyone cares.

So that's it. Today was productive and hit and full of pain ( yar my back is out again! Pesky lack of disk between C6 and C7... it does tend to hurt a bit when te bones rub and slide out of alignment! Better living through pharmacueticals...too lazy to go look up the spelling ...

yep... off to have a cuppa tea now...
Until then, be excellent to each other! 

who lost one of his beloved 4 legged friends :( 

This was the title of a spam email in my mail box today. I'll say this for the spammers, they do get inventive with their titles sometimes. However, no matter how well hung you are as a male I cannot imagine anyone really actually wanting to use that particular piece of anatomy for that particular purpose. It made me laugh though and brought up some rather disturbingly funny images.

 Today was a sort out the den and clean the boy's bathroom and listen to rocking tunes louder than possible. I figure if mad Italians can keep me up all night with teir fireworks and horns blaring they must suffer the sounds of Nelly Furtado, Black Eye'd peas and so on.... the play list is as varied as it is LOUD. Good sexy summer songs to make you want to sweat to if you aren't already...

At long last the writing is back on track, though the last two or three bits have been a bugger to write. I find the conflicts really difficult to do. The sex scenes are easy and so are all the dialogues, especially between Merlyn and Vader. Mostly they make me laugh. Now we start to get into, 'side trip' , Empire Strikes Back territory so this will be fun. I have a vague-er idea now of how things will progress after Endor and then some 20 odd years ahead during the Vong war, but that's just wishful note making at the moment. I had only planned a trilogy but the words are bound and determined to continue.

The SCA front is okay, I have managed to survive yet another reign and the third last one begins with a decent good start. It is tiring though and I will be glad to step back and hand it off to someone else, not that I don't like the actual job , but the people make it difficult. I am SO not a people person at all. Nor am I a political player. That Elegant Dance is not one I will ever learn the steps to I am afraid. Got some scrolls to do that I look forward to. I hope the heat subsides a tad though, it's difficult to work on scrolls when one's hand sweats, and that's VERY unusual for me so you know it is hot!Don't even want to know what that will do to the sugar gesso. bleah.

So...now we wait for guests to arrive for a BBQ ( yum) and that will be fun after a day of cleaning and writing. So folkses... enjoy the summer...

Until then, be excellent to each other!

I have a list of things to do. When I have a to do list I fight it and get edgy and angsty. It's as if the numbers on the clock face slide off and wiggle about, marching around me whispering that I am definately running out of time for my TO DO list. I usually don't make todo lists at all but my brain doesn't lose track of the things I have to get done.

I am suppose to write a paper fopr the SCA on something scribal. It tears at me actually because what the hell do I know about this subject other than what I have learned from books already written on the same damned subject. I know nothing, really..a drop in an ocean and it bothers me that I shoudl some how be expected to impart knowledge I got from some place esle to people who might just as well read the origional book. It's like cheating. :(. Funny thing is I don't know why it bothers me now because in university I did this paper writing thing so many times it was routine, read, quote, regurgitate, footnote..blah blah blah. *sigh* but this paper is on my list. and it's niggling me, the way an itch bothers... I want to do a good job but I know I will fail. Not because I cannot do a good job but because I let my frustration and anger get in the way. ( Merlyn has gone to the Dark side ladies and gentlemen, and it only took 3 years!)

I procrastinate which is the largest part of my problem and I want things to be perfect which is not only the grand impossibility it's terribly presumptious of me as well. Perfection does not exist.

I am tired of burocracy as well. Tired of trying to do a job with no thanks and little help. It feels like trying to swim against a rip tide and after nearly 3 years I can very firmly say I have had enough. Why bother? When the leaders who lead do not care enough to even impart any sort of information or thanks or anything, why bother? why? It makes me sad to think that I cannot do the job I really wanted to and almost no one really cares either. Every man for themselves I guess. Tired. That is the word that really comes to mind. I am so damned weary of this crap it's not funny. I'd walk away now if the consiquences were not so difficult.

It doesn't make it any easier working in the too warm computer room, the computer struggle and so do I. I don't deal well with 30+ degree heat any more. That is annoying. I get older and feel it.

Common courtesy...it aint so common any more.

So there you have it. I throw in the towel today. fed up, giving up and walking away. Will get the job done and then it's kseeyoubye. Melancholy, that's what the heat makes me...and peevish.

Until then be excellent to each other...