woodnotwood
Friday, April 28, 2006
Transient
Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,
Were it worth the pleasure,
We never could learn love's song,
We are parted too long.
Could the passionate past that is fled
Call back its dead,
Could we live it all over again,
Were it worth the pain!
Roses and Rue ~~Oscar Wilde
There is something about Spring that always makes me feel up-lifted. Not just for the joy in the blossoming new growth nor the awakening of color around me. The spirit of this season seems so fragile. There is something transient in every newly awakening bud. Something that is so ephemeral that I want to take a moment and capture it, knowing that these tender beginnings are only temporary, as life springs forth from the daunting, hard-packed visage.
It is misleading in some ways, this proof all around that the world is changing, and I cannot help but wonder how much it is changing indeed. This time is so fleeting and I feel the need to hang on to it just a little longer, to try and make the cool mornings stay cool, and the evenings chill stay chill, I know that is not possible. Soon the sun will settle upon us all and begin to usher in the heat, the need to stay indoors, the need to roll up the car windows and blast the air-conditioning.
But for now, windows are rolled down and I love listening to the cacophony of so many different types of music blaring at each red light. Before we all head indoors to escape the heat there is a certain amount of physiognomy that occurs in the Spring as in no other time of the year. The opportunity to look upon one another and appreciate the qualities we can so rarely access from behind rolled up windows and closed doors.
I have planted container gardens and even shared some with my neighbors, those beings I rarely see in the heat of Summer unless we are having a barbecue or out sweltering doing yardwork.
I am going out tonight, a late dinner with friends whom I have missed since I fell ill. We'll drink too many Bahama Mamas and eat a lot of lobster and crabs-- you know how much I crave the foods of my home. The weather is perfect for sitting on the balcony and enjoying the view whilst listening to the sound of laughter and music around me. That is what is Spring is for after all.
Blossoming.
All of the lilac and dogwoods are tenderly opening for me.
The small yet hardy daisies that I adore most of all are bursting forth as am I.
Have a wonderful weekend everyone.
I'll see you soon.
Go Home!
Thursday, April 27, 2006
HNT - Recovering
There were nights when it seemed as though the sun would never rise. There were mornings when the sun peering in through the blinds seemed to pierce my eyes with a pain as sharp as stilettos. The headache was unbearable and the pain in my ears seemed, at times, unending.
The nights fever wound itself around me and pulled me deep into dark dreams. Those dreams that meander through places dark and unfamiliar, that make the heart pound as scenarios change unexpectedly and the fog grew over rolling hills. I wandered in mist, somewhere between the sleeping and waking worlds, never distinctly in one or the other, but seemingly trapped somewhere betwixt the two.
I wondered along to the sound of a voice and the roll of the oceans tides, the thunder of waves crashing on the beach. I followed, being led by a voice, far off and faint, yet calling me persistantly, until I finally reached a place where light could penetrate and so began the slow ascent out of darkness.
And so I was found once more. And felt warm hands reaching for me, guiding me into a sweet embrace that held all of the heat and passion needed to sustain me. I went into that embrace and sought my comfort there.
Warm. Protected. Sheltered from the dark.
This week has taken its toll, but I am reviving again.
Dark circles still evidence the battle, scars that are fading as I strengthen. Soon I will be whole again. And hale.
I am feeling stronger with every whispered caress.
HHNT everyone.
And good health to you.
OSBASSO
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Sunday, April 23, 2006
Amorphous
I count my innumerable deaths
as birds dance along
the invisible thread
of her thoughts.
Her mind steers away from mine,
leaving a glowing wake
of unspoken words and unfelt emotions
in the space between our beings.
I may never find the bottom
of this wind, which seeps
through shrouds of dead leaves
as if trying to wake them up.
Blades of grass reflect her steps,
but not mine, a sure sign
that I was not meant to follow her.
She nods below clouds on fire
to the pulsing husk of the skies,
each eye a galaxy of little suns.
And no silence is the same
anymore.
Poems for Angels ~~Piero Scaruffi
Tonight I sat outside on the steps alone.
The heat of the day has left its mark here. The plantlings I just put in were wilting, their blossoms withdrawing in desperation to escape the suns cruelty. Their withdrawal as loud as any silence I have heard. That silence that screams for notice. I set about watering them, ending their misery, for this moment at least.
By tomorrow morning they will be outstretched and beautiful once more.
Amazing what the smallest amount of attention does in the face of such neglect.
Tonight I will retire, still spent from overcoming a bitter bout of illness, and dream the dreams that have been haunting my nights of late. Some part memory, some part illusion. And I will hear that voice that has been my healing; strong, vibrant, amused by my need and violent in the face of dejection. I will wrap myself inside what has for so long been my haven. The voice of my other self. And I will rest there peacefully. Rejuvenating, growing strong. Because we have battled and our battles have finally come to an end. We have come to a place of shared understanding.
Finally.
I can rest easy.
Go Home!
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Please Let Me Go
Welcome to Musical Monday brought to you by WDKYLONDON.
Rather than adding something from the long list of already published artists I have decided today to introduce you to one of our own blogging musicians. I had a blast introducing you to Tree so much that I decided to introduce you to another friend of mine. I hope you enjoy his singing and writing as much as I do.
Bud Buckley
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He sits alone on the stage, a wooden stool and his guitar are the only props visible in the spotlight.
His voice is a little ragged, a little worse for the nights long session, and yet as his voice rises above the din around us I feel his power. I feel that magnetism that draws a woman to a man. Something in the expression on his face; lost in the words he has written, lost. He is back in that place where his mind had gone in creating the words and I watch in fascination as those long fingers find their marks, deft and slender. Teasing the cords, drawing his passion out of his instrument. Playing it like the strings of my heart.
I am mesmerized, and then I am lost too.
Lost in the words, lost in the emotion, his beautiful climax.
I love the words to this song.
I think they say so much.
I hope you find something special in them too.
They are amazing.
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Saturday, April 15, 2006
Happy Easter Menu
Here is what you will find gracing the table on Easter Sunday in woodnotwood.
EASTER SUNDAY BRUNCH BUFFET
Center Piece
Basket Full of Egg Shaped Sugar Iced Cookies decorated with cut flowers.
Rolled Omelet
2 C. milk
8 eggs
3/4 C. all-purpose flour
seasonings to taste
1 1/2 C. filling of choice: (fried bulk sausage, finely chopped ham, chopped bacon, peppers, tomatoes, etc.) (optional)
1/2 C. grated mild cheddar cheese
Preheat oven to 400°F. Line large cookie sheet with foil. Grease well.
Beat ingredients and pour into cookie sheet. Bake about 15 minutes, or until edges are slightly brown, and eggs are puffed. Remove from oven. Using a knife, loosen egg mixture at narrow end of cookie sheet and roll up like a jelly roll. Slice, and serve with cheese sauce.
Cheese Sauce
1 T. butter
1 T. all-purpose flour
1/2 C. milk
1/2 C. grated mild cheddar cheese
Using a medium microwave safe dish, stir milk into flour until smooth. Add remaining ingredients and heat in microwave on high for 45 seconds. Stir, and heat 45 seconds more.
Serves 8.
Make Ahead Breakfast Eggs
1 dozen eggs
1/2 C. milk
1/2 t. salt
1/4 t. pepper
1 T. margarine
8 oz. sour cream
12 slices bacon, fried and crumbled
1 C. shredded sharp cheese
Beat eggs, stir in milk, salt and pepper. In skillet, melt margarine and pour in egg mixture. Cook 'til set but still moist; cool and stir in sour cream. Put mixture in buttered 12 x 7 pan. Top with bacon and cheese. Cover and refrigerate overnight.
Bake at 300°F. for 15-20 minutes.
Ricotta Pancakes
4 large eggs, separated
2 C. ricotta cheese
2/3 C. sour cream
1 1/3 C. all-purpose flour
1 T. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1/2 t. baking soda
1 1/2 C. milk
Melted butter
Maple syrup
Fresh fruit, if desired
Whisk yolks, ricotta and sour cream in large bowl to blend. Combine flour, baking powder, salt and baking soda in another large bowl. Add flour mixture to yolk mixture; mix together until blended well. Stir in milk.
Beat egg whites with electric mixer in separate bowl until soft peaks form. Fold beaten egg whites into batter.
Heat griddle on large flat skillet over medium heat. Brush with butter. Working in batches, spoon two tablespoons batter onto hot griddle for each pancake. Cook until golden brown, several minutes per side.
Serve with butter and maple syrup; garnish with fresh fruit, if desired.
Makes about 40 small pancakes.
We are feeding an army!
Then we hit the park for a Brazilian BBQ.
Music, dancing and huge cuts of steak just made to be eaten with your fingers.
Happy Easter all.
I hope you have a wonderful holiday.
Go Home!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
RaveningPast are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.
I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
~~Edna St. Vincent Millay
During the courtship period the Black Widow is as tender, loving, and sensuous as could be expected of a female spider. The male is instinctively aware of his danger, so while she is in a passive mood he often ties her legs with web silk to immobilize her and then proceeds with the business at hand.
I have been bound. My hands tied and feet shackled. Love is a gruesome thing.
My love is pernicious. I am greedy and draining. Damaging and addictive. Ravenous.
And this is how you would have me?
Bound for your protection? Perhaps for my own?
You have asked for submission and I have acquiesced. But for how long, I must know? Your arrogance is astounding. Accusatory and demanding. Loving and voracious.
You want one minute, then no more.
And yet you come back. Unable to conquer the aching need.
And you break.
You bend and promise.
But always, underneath, you are predacious and desperate.
Your fear - of losing the one who would devour you whole.
When loss has made you insatiable.
Go Home!
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
HNT Aubade
There is much more to consider though, when we touch. There is a loving look that needs me and reflects my own need and love of you. Or maybe it is our heat that is invigorated and infected by each other. Then there is your aroma, your perfume, that changes with each season of your emotions.
But when you let my arms encircle you in a lovers embrace, to protect, to strengthen, the whole outside world is compressed into something that we can shut out so there is nothing that remains for me, except you.
The clock strikes its melancholy tune and pulls at us, until finally, like a wave frozen before reaching the shore, we are left unfulfilled. My eyes grow faint as the moon, like a shroud, descends. Shadows course over me, you eclipse as you rise above and away. Your voice growing faint as distance turns your screams for me to whispers wafting in Nights breeze.
And I am left undone. Hands outstretched and wanting.
I become indistinct. Nebulous. Liquid.
No more than a blur of flesh tones that have no form.
Waiting to be quickened once more.
Osbasso's Birthday is coming up.
Lets make it a special day.
HHNT
and...
Happy Birthday O!
Osbasso
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Monday, April 10, 2006
Chelsea HotelWelcome to my first Musical Monday brought to you by WDKYLONDON.
Rather than adding something from the long list of already published artists I have decided today to introduce you to one of our own blogging musicians. Someone you might not get hear otherwise. And she is so talented. At writing and at playing.
I hope you enjoy her music as much as I do.
TREE
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In the Chelsea Hotel we laughed and we drank.
The wine intoxicating, the smell of cigarettes and perfume filling the air around us. Her eyes smiling at me from over the rim of her wine glass, her hair filtering the sun to red. She is beautiful.
Her voice raspy from no sleep and laughing. I sat and listened as her fingers played the song. Her voice, always melancholy when she sings for me. Deep, husky, expressing all of the emotion that a woman can feel.
The most beautiful voice I have ever heard. Full of pain and longing unfulfilled. The sister of my soul. A girl Crush so divine.
I want to be like her. I want to be her friend.
I love her for all of the ways she is like me. I love her more for the ways she is not.
My soul sister.
Tree.
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Saturday, April 08, 2006
Success!
Spring has truly sprung around here and it is beautiful.
After a night of raging storms there are power outages and trees down in the roads, but Mother Nature has come to the rescue and brightened the day quite nicely.
The garden is in bloom and I'll be spending the rest of the day working on it. Something I enjoy doing very much.
Someone was asking me a while back what my work area looked like. Said they thought with my taste it must be a very interesting place. Yes it is! So here you go.
My desk.
Had to blur A's pictures. She's shy.
I hadn't said anything earlier, due to my tendancy to be superstitious, but at the end of the week we finally closed on our first sale. That meant Wednesday and Thursday were hectic with running around (my apologies for not finishing my comments on the last post and I swear I wasn't ignoring anyone, just not much time to visit), but Friday - we sat in a conference room and signed all of the documents. Then off to Starbucks for celebratory Coffees. And whilst sitting outside of Starbucks with three other agents I was approached by a very nice gentleman who saw my name tag and just happens to be in need of an agent! We sign early next week to buy and sell.
More running around but this is more fun than any office job I've ever had.
However - there is nothing more surrealistic than going grocery shopping and seeing you and your mother on all of the shopping carts. Ha!
And onto more good news.
As some of you know my kitty Izzy got bitten by a Brown Recluse a few weeks ago and they had to remove the necrotic flesh and staple his cute little face back together.
Well the staples are out and he can see again. Nothing worse than a vicious bunny killer who has no peripheral vision. Although I admit it was amusing to watch him try.
Here he is stapled together.
Poor little guy!
I'll post a new pic soon.
Right now he is no mood to be fussed with.
And Spooky is doing well. Cheyenne has turned him into a Lemur and he dances to 'I like to move it move it' to entertain us. He is so adorable.
I should have more time for visiting this week.
Things are slowing back down again, thankfully.
I'll see you all very soon.
Go Home!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
AtlanticOutside tonight the wind is howling.
The storm is raging all about me.
Yet all I can think of is how warm I would feel in your arms.
How you would wash all of my fears away.
You are the strength I have longed for.
When I was little I was afraid of storms. I used to hide under our dining room table and try to block out the craziness outside. I grew up in the tornado plagued mid-west so most of my childhood was spent being afraid of bad weather.
Then I lived in Texas for a while.
Hot, dry, electrical storms. The lightning would streak diagonally across the sky leaving the smell of ozone in the air behind it.
My dad's job forced us to move around a lot, so I didn't really develop any roots until I was a teenager. Then it was the East Coast. I grew to love the weather there. The storms at sea and the wind whipping on the beach were so close to my own restless spirit that it was like finding MY place. I really wish I hadn't left the coast. I miss the cold Atlantic waters and the smell of the salty sea air.
I got this from spcknght a while back and have been meaning to post it.
| You Are Emerald Green |
 Deep and mysterious, it often seems like no one truly gets you. Inside, you are very emotional and moody - though you don't let it show. People usually have a strong reaction to you... profound love or deep hate. But you can even get those who hate you to come around. There's something naturally harmonious about you. |
you are very emotional and moody - though you don't let it show
Yeah. Right. Sure.
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Sunday, April 02, 2006
ScribeThere were always in me, two women at least,
one woman desperate and bewildered,
who felt she was drowning and another who
would leap into a scene, as upon a stage,
conceal her true emotions because they
were weaknesses, helplessness, despair,
and present to the world only a smile,
an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.
~~Anais Nin
MAENAD
She sits on my chest and playfully runs her fingers through my hair. She pulls at my mind, offering challenges that I know not how to answer. For these questions were always in me perhaps, yet separate from me. As though her essence and my essence were housed within these same walls and yet... she is a stranger to me.
Among the unbound fragments
found after Emily Dickinson's death
is a small slip of paper that reads only,
"Ought not the amanuensis to receive a commission also --"
-Lumivox
She pulls herself out of me. She is no stranger to my darkness nor my joy. She has ridden every storm by my side. My constant. My companion. And she remembers. She remembers all of the things that I have long forgotten. Those things I pushed away from myself in my need to escape them. She has held onto them.
There are times when I feel I am merely at her disposal, I am no more than her draughtswoman. I have the fingers that her shapeless form lacks. I am her scribe. Her words fly. They are fast and ferocious. Faster than my fingers can respond her words run and flow and I am at a loss to keep up.
But her world is dark. Her world holds a darkness that makes my fingers hover over the keys, as I see the words forming and I want to beg her take them back. Sometimes.
And she is revealing. There is nothing that is sacred in her mind. She would have me bared for the world in all of my bitterness and betrayal. She would take the deepest parts of me and open them, peel them away layer by layer, and leave me naked. Undone for the world to gaze upon. And she would have no shame.
Because she is insatiable and debauched. She is filled with fear and a vile desire. But she is in me. Through me. I see her in my mirror and know her well. Her smile. Her voice. Her hand upon his knee.
And she is frenzied. Intoxicated. Uncontrollable.
Broken and lost.
Her words say that to me.
Go Home!
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Thanks to everyone for playing alongI'd like to give a great big hand to our lovely cast and crew.
BatGirl
SuperGirl
The Joker
The Caped Crusader
And last but not least...
A special award for 'valor in battle' for jumping into the fray without a script.
Mr Rogers!
Happy April Fool's day everyone!
Hope you had fun too.
Go Home!
Once upon a time there were two superhero chicks who decided that we needed to break away from the whole 'men in tights scene' and find ourselves a real man to play with.
So it began...
Supergirl and I ditched Superman and made our way down into the depths of the bat cave.
There we found him.
Dressed in black, his cape open, and Lo and Behold!
The man was a wonder to my pretty blue eyes!
And he had a fast car.
Supergirl and I took up residence in the backseat.
When who should appear but the ever enticing ...Batgirl!
Go Home!
| Truth is a Matter of Perspective Site Ring Ring Owner: Seeker Site: Truth is a Matter of Perspective |
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