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Tuesday, January 31

This is terrifying

So it begins, already.
Just sit back and watch the bull-dozers do their work here in Georgia.
You will see just how fast legislation can fly.

Monday, January 30

The stars cried out for surrender

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I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.


Sonnet XI ~Pablo Neruda

I lie there waiting. The smell of candles and perfume from the bath filling the room. The window has been more than cracked, it has been opened to the cool night air. The breeze blows cold into the room raising gooseflesh on my still damp body.

I lie in anticipation.
Waiting for you.

I have waited so long. The anticipation has turned to hunger and I know you see that in my eyes. You come to me then. Sliding between my thighs, whispering words of love and passion in my ear. I am wrapped up in the smell of you. Fresh from the shower, hair still damp as I run my fingers through it.

I love your lips.
I love the way the soft flesh surrenders under my exploring tongue. I love the taste of you in my mouth.

I want your lips on mine. Want to get as close to being inside of you as I can. I turn over and climb on top of you.

Tonight, lover, you are mine.
I feel your heat rise. The sweat pours from us as the cold wind attempts to invade and hush the rush of my desire, but your stroking only makes the tantalizingly cold air more delicious, my body and skin more taut for your touch. This cold winter night is not enough to cool me, not nearly enough to silence my passion for you. It only raises my desire to excruciating heights.

Tonight I will not be satisfied with just once.
I want you again and again.

Is this the passion of Ares and Aphrodite, Eros and Psyche, Catullus and Lesbia?
The passion of Tristan and Isolde?
The passion of years?
Yes I think it is.
The passion of lovers who know each other well. Hands that need no guidance. Fingers that know exactly where they are going in the bare light of a candle. At the very least this must be the passion of the ages. Locked forever in each strand of DNA that has been passed down, all of those strands colliding have led us here.

To this bed.
On this cold winter's even.
The only world that exists for us tonight.

Sunday, January 29

A place to write your heart

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As most of you know, if you have visited here for any amount of time, this blog was started as a place for family. My father and sisters all pop in from time to time to add pictures and notes on what we've been up to. It has been a place to come together to share our photos and to keep in touch because we all live so far apart.
It will continue to be that. A place for my family to share our gifts across the miles.

I have decided however to move to a new location.
A place of my own so to speak.
I've enjoyed the friends I've made here and will email everyone with the new URL so we can continue to keep up with one another.

This change is not happening today, nor tomorrow. I'm still looking at what to move and what to keep. And of course, how to move it. That seems to be the problem. I have the new URL, but not much time for moving, so for now I am firmly planted.

I'll keep everyone notified of changes.

Have a great week.
Talk to you all soon.

Friday, January 27

Wuthering

Today was bright and sunny. I spent the majority of it out running errands. I needed that. Getting out, taking in the sun's sweet rays, made me feel so much better.


As the sun descended and the sky began to turn to wintery gray bleakness I headed for home looking forward to a night of relaxation. I can't express how much the thought of a glass of wine and a warm fire, a bit of soft music, appealed to me at that moment whilst sitting in traffic. Just thinking of the chores I need to do around the house, ticking off my weekend 'must do' list, getting myself organized so I can thoroughly enjoy what promises to be a great weekend brought a feeling of contentment. This simple routine, then time to relax and watch movies, read a bit, and hopefully, go out for drinks with friends.

I arrived home just in time to be greeted by the beginning of the night's chill. I shivered and ran into the house, my mind already consumed with thoughts of starting stew, a perfect warming concoction for what would prove to be a brutally cold, clear night. I seasoned the water and added the chicken to my stock. The house took on a wonderful smell as the stew began to simmer in the formerly cold kitchen.

I stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and humming. The words to one of my favorite songs filling the space all around me. A warm blanket of music that always softens the turmoil of the day into a wisp that evanesces in the comfort of home that surrounds me. Soothing my restless soul as we romantics say.

**I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that’s where I belong
Yet I’m running to her like a river’s song


As the words rolled over me like waves of yesterday's warm breeze, I felt that longing once more. The longing for arms around me. Arms strong in my times of hurt, soft and gentle when I must have something to rail against. Yielding when I push. Strong enough to hold me when my knees fail under me. Arms that know just that moment when they are needed desperately.

**And when I come to her when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief


And now I am settling into read. Wuthering Heights. A book as stormy as my personality. As wuthering as the beating of my own heart. A book I know well and that has known me in all of my stages of growth and self-revelation.

Have a lovely weekend x

**I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic


** My favorite artist - ever

Thursday, January 26

The good news

Hi all,

I hate sending out a bulk email like this, but SAVANNAH GOT THE CALL!!!!!!!!!

She's on her way to CH right now, and will get her new liver in the morning. Pray for her to be strong, healthy, and for this to be her perfect liver.

Also remember the family who lost their child.

I'll update as I can, as Renee should be updating on Savannah's site regularly within reason....

http://www3.caringbridge.org/nc/savannah

Love,
Angi

Now, this message affected me deeply.
The last time we went through Savannah's transplant and it was rejected my heart broke.

She gets another shot however and that is wonderful news for both Savannah and Renee.
This message does leave one weighing the good and bad however, that a child was lost and that loss is giving Savannah a chance at life. I think Angi speaks volumes here in asking us to also remember the child who was lost. A moment of mixed feelings, the somber and the joyous. It amazes me the strength this family must have to be so generous in their own grief.

Blessings to you.
Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

Please go visit and send Renee warm hugs to get through this... again.

HNT - k!ss my @ss

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I have opted to draft my rant for today.
I don't want to use HNT for purposes of getting my own opinion out there as I have seen others do many times. Using someone else's platform to deliver their own message.
I will re-post it at a later date.


Happy HNT!

Osbasso

Friday, January 20

Thoughts of Home


Today I walked the streets, cobble-stoned and cracked from years of horse-drawn carriages and heavy trucks. These were not the streets of my life today, but the streets of my memories. The austere facades and gothic edifices of New England as I remember them. I carry them with me now like mental snapshots in the photoalbum of my soul. These are the streets where I still live in my heart. Where my imagination took flight and time ceased to exist between the past and present.

Needless to say, this is the birthplace of my passion for the sea.
A passion that will be with me always.


THOMAS POINT SHOAL LIGHT
Location: Chesapeake Bay just north of the mouth of the South River, south of Annapolis, MD
Date Built: Original shore light – 1825, Re-built shore light – 1840, Current screw-pile – 1875
Type of Structure: Hexagonal screw-pile
Height: 43 feet above mean high water
Characteristics: Flashing white
Foghorn: Yes
Appropriation: $35,000
Range: 11 miles
Status: Standing and Active


Outside it is bitingly cold.
The wind is actually whistling through the loose moldings around the windows and making the curtains move and dance. I wrapped up in my blanket and layed around a bit, watching movies and enjoying my day off. Not much left to clean up around here. Some dishes need doing but they will wait. The fireplace is burning bright and I cannot help but let myself be drawn into the flickering red and yellow flames. It makes me home sick as always. The longing never seems to leave me these days.

In watching this fire I find myself longing once more for the warmth of our old fireplace. Woodburning fireplaces are a must to actually warm the room. Gas is nice, but I love the smell of a wood fire.

This is the time of year that my father and I enjoyed to spend time together. We both enjoyed dancing stupidly to Neil Diamond and Abba songs. One thing I learned from my dad was that different types of wood give off different smells when you burn them. I know that's obvious to an adult but not to a kid. I was totally enthralled as my father brought home different types of wood and burned them. We would stand outside in the dark backyard smelling the scent as the smoke rose from the chimney. Before long the entire neighborhood would take on the smell of our special wood for that night.

Ash and cedar are two of my favorite woods to burn for smell, but nothing can beat the fruit trees for giving the house a holiday smell. My father burned pear and apple during the holidays and I would smell it all the way from the path I took to and from school. That wood smell, along with the baking my mother always did during the holidays gave our house a special aroma, comparable only to the smell of my grandparent's house. Tonight I may head out to search out some nicer wood and throw some pumpkin bread in the oven.

That is as close as I can get to cobblestone and burning apple branches tonight.
It might be enough to stave off the homesickness for one more night.

Tuesday, January 17

The Gift of Words


Some have the gift to take mere words and turn them into images, vivid and alive. More like a memory, created in that moment that eye meets page, than something newly formed. They touch something in us, forgotten perhaps, but longed for still. We attach some part of ourselves to the words and they, in turn, become a part of us that we carry in our own minds. All the more potent when they are written with a heart full of shared longing.

"Soon as I had heard those injured souls I bowed my face, and held it down, until the Poet said to me, "What art thou thinking?" When I replied, I began, "Alas! how many sweet thoughts, how great desire, led these unto the woeful pass."

~Dante
Canto V


Words shared are their own form of intimacy.
Therein lies their power over us.


The World Is Too Much With Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreath├Ęd horn.


--William Wordsworth


I have been reading. Devouring. Writing.
Turning. Twisting. Inspired. Renewed. Remade.
The passion for words has fallen upon me.


The Art of War:
Did I mention that I love playing 'RISK'?
Something that we spend, not hours, but days playing.
I have met some great strategists and learned from the best.
Probably all of those years in military training.
I miss the challenge. I have met my match.
"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war,
while defeated warriors go to war first
and then seek to win."
~Sun-tzu, The Art of War. Strategic Assessments


Mr. B - Sun-tzu would not approve of this.


I have a friend in Boston.
A professor of Literature.
We have been locked in a dead heat in our Scrabble competition.
The forum has once again fallen into shambles as she and I have become consumed with the competition.
*I don't have the Q*
Ha!

Sunday, January 15

Night's Chill

I sat and watched the rain pour from my window.
The sound, a bit like music, created and conducted by the winds howling outside.
The leaves, lonely reminders of warm days past, were beating a rhythm of their own against the glass. I looked out to watch the swirling clouds racing across the moon. A dance of nature that never fails to inspire awe.

I lit a roaring fire and settled down to write.

Friday, January 13

Happy Friday the 13th!




Today we have been lashed by rolling thunder and wild winds. Nature was raging, screaming to be noticed, needing to be felt.
Quite appropriate for Friday the 13th I think.

I have never made but one prayer to God,
a very short one:
'O Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.'
And God granted it.

Voltaire

I hope everyone is having a wonderful day today.
Mine has been spectacular.
Full of rain and thunder.
I love stormy weather.
I always have.

There is something about the raging about me that makes my world feel just a little more insulated. A little more like a haven against the cold.
Protected.
Safe.
Warm.

It is a wonderful day to spend with the ones I love.

Monday, January 9

Bon Voyage to the Honeymooners



Tragic Saturn and Doc are off for their honeymoon.
What a beautiful bride.
What a romantic journey.
My best to you both.

Hope you have a wonderful trip and don't forget to pack this.

Troy and I are still working on it ;-)

Saturday, January 7

You know what today was?

Yeah, that day.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh
We are letting it roll gently by.

One of my favorites, by one of my favorite poets.
Since it is my day, I get to pick the poem.
Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,


They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


~Maya Angelou~

Thursday, January 5

HNT Cherry Pop

My first HNT!

It's all about my belly button!
Besides, some people like me in polka dots.

I have a small confession to make.
I hate my belly. Shhhhhh




45113638_202b79dc11

Happy Half Nekkid Everyone!

Osbasso


The Lost comments.
Beaten into submission.

Monday, January 2

An Open Letter to Seamus

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The Road Goes Ever On
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.


-- J R R Tolkien

Dear Seamus,

You have no idea how good it felt to burn my spirit box: those little notes, quickly scrawled in a desperate attempt to purge them once and for all. I had so much bitterness to let go of and, although it was only paper and cardboard this year, it was a huge part of my heart that went into that pyre. I let go of some of the anger I was hanging onto over my brother's death, but, far more powerful, I was able to let go of some of the hope too.

I know you understand this, but that must sound sad to someone on the outside looking in. It's been 2 years of holding onto hope that they would find his killer. It was like dragging around a two ton anchor of hope. That anchor was necessary to keep me grounded at one point, but now it had become an unmanageable weight.

A terrible burden that I was afraid to let go of.
A terrible burden that it felt wrong to let go of.

But it went up in flames last night. And like you, I took that time to reflect upon just how important it really was.

My conclusion, honoring him and living well would be what he would want for me, not holding out hope on some resolution that may never come. A lifetime wasted on unconsummated vengeance, discouraged, disenchanted. He would not have wanted that to be my road.

And so my tears washed my soul a bit as the flames took my hopes and sent them to the spirits above. And I felt that release. Letting go of my burden and giving it to the Goddess I rely on to watch over my family.

I gave it to God, and the Goddess and all of the spirits above and around me, and I swear to you, I felt them receive my burden. I felt their hands so willingly take it up and away. My heart was lifted along with that weight and I felt the warmth of arms enfolding me.

He's in a better place now, and in much stronger hands than my own. I couldn't and shouldn't ask for more.

I have you to thank for the peace that enveloped me last night.
A symbolic gesture, true, but the only real sense of empowerment I have had in a long time.

I hope this new year brings you and yours peace and fulfillment.
I wish that for myself and my family also.

Sunday, January 1

Seamus' Spirit Box

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I loved reading this.
Written by Seamus, it expressed my feelings far better than the words I wrote on the subject myself.

"What’s a Spirit Box? I’m glad you asked! Some refer to them as God Boxes, but basically they are one way receptacles for notes offered to the Spirit or Spirits – God or Goddess. It’s a sealed container and constructed of some flammable material – could be wood, cardboard, etc. with a slot to slip the notes into. It has become a ritual to allow myself to offer these thoughts to the universe and not try and maneuver them, or better known as “let go and let God”. I no longer know what has been inserted other than recent entries and THAT my friends is the point – letting go! It’s not all “peace and light and love” but it is also “concern and anger and general bitchiness”. I love the symbology and I also love that it makes me think as I’m slipping the note through the slot – “do I really want this” or “is this what I really think” or “how important is this”. Part of the ritual is building the box itself and the effort that goes into it is a purge of sorts - there is a lot of power in building with purpose."

Here is tonight’s sacrificial box created by Seamus' own two hands... wow!
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"Sunday update: several of you have expressed concern over burning the box and really that is part of the ritual, to be able to let things go (pretty though it is) to allow for new to happen - maybe we should call it a Phoenix Box. Some of the boxes of years past have been very elaborate and their form is often dictated by available materials. So the ritual has two parts - offering and release. It's going to be a GOOD YEAR!"


Okay Seamus, late, but then it's never too late right?
That's one thing I learned from you.


Thanks to the geek girls for the template.
You rock!