November 10, 2004

I think my Remifemin has heroin in it.  I feel too good today.  It's raining, more than a drizzle and less than a typhoon.  The fog is hanging around the trees (day #3) and a fire is ripping in my wood stove.  I've become quite the Fire Mastah.

Today, the Mastah neglected to check and see if the damper was open (what nimrod closes it on me, I'll never know) and managed to flood the room with smoke.  Since you have to leave the stove door ajar when the fire is first kindling, it pretty much rolls out if you aren't watching, which I wasn't.  It's toasty now and decidedly nonsmoky, so all is right in the world.

I went to sleep early, around 8:45 last night, and slept in that really hard, uncomfortable way until Eric's alarm went off at 4:30 this morning.  As it turned out, he didn't have to get up until 6am (I do not have to be up until 6:15am, for all intents and purposes), but hestill had the alarm set for 4:30 and it kept going off every 7 minutes and he'd let it beep and beep and beep until I poked him and he finally hit the snooze again.  I finally told him around 5:30 that I was going to carefully put that fricking clock in his butt if he didn't reset the alarm or get up.  It went off again a few minutes later, so I got up and started the fire (the famous smoking fire) since I didn't have the warming KY handy and didn't want to be  a total bitch about the clock going up the ass.

While he languished in bed, I ran through the check list of the manuscript I'm sending in, making sure I had all I needed, and started the cover letter.  As he was leaving, I packed it all up, sealed it and passed it to him to bless and send out.  About 5 minutes after he left, I saw the cover letter still up in my MS Word program and realized I never printed it out.  I'm debating sending it as is, without one, or calling him and having him wait a day to send it.  Since I have other envelopes, it would be no big deal to send it tomorrow instead of today.  OK, that's it, I'm calling.

All done.  He agreed we should wait for the cover letter.  :)

He is such a joy to talk to on the phone.  That's really how our connection stayed so strong when we didn't live together.  I was in Idaho and he lived in Sacramento (McClellan AFB) when we met.  We had an instant zing and would spend hours talking and talking and talking in person, ignoring everyone around us.  We both cried when he left to go home.  From the time he got back until I got to Sacramento (almost 3 months), we burned up the phone lines, talking about everything in the world until the wee hours of the morning.  We both had to work early the next day most times, so we were dragging.

After I moved to Sacramento, he would call or come over at least once a week and we would continue the process.  Sometimes, he'd stand up his girlfriends just to come over and eat lasagna or fried chicken and talk until late.  I'm telling you, the way to a man's heart (other than through the chest with a sharp instrument) is through the tummy.  Although we were deeply connected, he was having trouble with the age issue (and with the fat issue, if the truth be known) He left for Saudi in September of that year  He was eager to go (the adventure gene was strong in him back then.  I have since beaten it out of him), but we both knew we were going to miss each other in a tragic kind of way.  He called me as the plane was taking off and every day after that.  We also talked by phone quite a bit (it really helped that he was in the Communications squadron and I was a telephone operator for the base).  I found out much later that when he'd visited with his father on his way to Saudi, he told him he was going to marry me.  He didn't mention it to me until weeks later.  His group ended up having the shortest stint in Desert Storm and he was home in seven weeks.  He got home on Monday and we got married on Friday.  We waited until Friday because it was his 21st birthday and he could gamble in Reno then. 

The whole ceremony, I was sure he was going to change his mind.  When we were filing the certificate at the court clerk's office, I was sure he'd change his mind.  Sometimes, I still can't believe he's here.  :)  We still haven't stopped talking, two sons and eight years after we first met. It has truly been a joy.  Our anniversary (and his birthday) is on Saturday and on Sunday, we're going to have a great time in Tahoe, just being alone together and laughing and talking.  It's going to be a blast, even though we don't have much money to spare.  We are both eagerly anticipating this time.

Nathan is afraid to take a bath or pee, specifically in our bathroom.  We have a bulb over the sink and a fixture over the tub that takes tiny fluorescent bulbs.  The bulbs over the tub burned out and Eric hasn't gotten to replace them yet.  He took off the globe to get the bulb for comparison when he was buying the new one  and even though the light is still over the sink, there's something about the shadow over the tub and the exposed fixture that is freaking Nathan out.  I finally got him in there today after three days of no bath, but I had to prop the door open and only run a half tub of water.  At least he's clean now. 

You know, the previews for this Julia Robert, Jude Law movie, "Closer" are gettin' me kinda hot.

I swear, the birds here are just fearless.  I always thought of birds as being timid, brainless little things.  Not so, these guys. They're very bold and very active.  What we thought was a pair of male jays is actually about 4-5, all named Marvin and Ellis interchangeably.  They are completely unafraid of my cats, who are not aggressive hunters to start with, which the birds likely know.    They eat from the side of the road AND DON'T EVEN MOVE WHEN THE CARS GO BY.  They just placidly peck at the bugs, worms and seeds on the road, letting the tailwind from the cars ruffle their feathers.

The deer and raccoons are the same, very bold and sanguine.  Several people have looked at the pictures of the deer in my driveway, eating my icky produce from the fridge and commented, "OH, I'd like to be there with my 12 gauge!" That feels so... wrong.  I don't cast any judgments to those who hunt, having secured my protein loving place at the top of the food chain (although I think animals like lions and alligators would likely argue that claim should I show up weaponless), but even being from Kentucky, where hunting is on par with breathing, I am just not into it.  My carnivorous choices all come in shrink wrap.  No stringing them up by the heels in the back yard. 

I have a questionnaire that gets sent past all prospective husbands and an affirmative answer to any can be a deal breaker, no matter how in love or lust I happen to be with them:

Do you chew tobacco?

Do you hunt?

Are you a violent type?

Do you like sports?

Akin to the previous question, do you even know where ESPN is on my cable line up?

Are you an alcoholic?

Akin to the previous question, are there those who suspect you are an alcoholic, even if you do not suspect you are an alcoholic?

Are you incapable of fixing shit?

Are you thinking you're going to "fix" me in any way?

Do you have a crazy ex?

Do you have a thing for butt sex?  (Sorry, it's an exit)

Are you a neat freak?

Are you a horrific slob?

Do you have any designs on making me the butt of your jokes?

Is your mama perfect?

Is your mama damaged in that kid scarring way?

Do you secretly think you may be gay?

Are you Pagan Unfriendly?

Do you enjoy rap, opera or top 40 music?

Do you consider yourself to be part of the Moral Majority?

Any husband candidates have to offer some mighty strong, resounding "no's" to those questions.  But back to the deer.  The distinct impression I get is that  the animals are graciously allowing us to live on THEIR turf, especially considering that they don't give shit one about deeds or property lines or mortgages.  This is their world and they are willing to living in harmony.  I think if we started some shit with any of the animals, the rest of them would come and murder us in our sleep, but not before letting us know exactly whodunit.

Delena has surprised me by falling head over heels in love with James Marsters, Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, demonstrating some extraordinary man taste.  He's a local boy too, hailing from Sacramento.  I told Delena since his hair is not naturally blonde and his British accent is affected (and quite well, I might add), he could be standing beside her at the Hard Rock Cafe and she'd never know it.  She had a little girl giggle over that and it was a poignantly sweet moment.  

Today feels like a physically active day.  I'll do some time on the treadmill, then get busy on the house.  It looks good, but could use some undercleaning, like Carpets shampooed (I put those off earlier this week) and bathroom cleaning and such.  The rain has stopped and he sun is shining, but it's still cool enough for a fire.  Since Nathan is here in two hours, I guess I should start the active part of the day. 

I hope you are all having a delightful week.  There are so many wonderful and exciting things out there in the world and sometimes, in your own back yard.  Life is good, you just have to be good to Life to notice.

Love & Joy,

November 9, 2004

Is that one hunky angel or what?  I don't mess around with little cherubs and maideny angels.  When I call in my angels, I do it right.  You just can't beat tall, blonde, muscled and gorgeous.  I think we can work around the wings. 

It's good to be back.  I've come to depend so strongly on  writing in this journal that I miss it when I can't get to it. 

We had a wonderful weekend.  This is our second really, really wonderful weekend.  I look forward to a lot more of them.

On Saturday, Eric took off with one of his friends, few friends he's had since I've known him that I actually liked.  He always hangs out with men who are less intelligent and more annoying than he is, which never fails to make me pleased with the man I picked, but still leaves me dealing with guys I don't really want to be around.  This fella is quite nice and seems like a really good guy.  Go Eric!

So he and Jason  went out to forage for wood. When they came back, you could smell the testosterone.  I love manly men doing manly things. 

After they returned, I went to town.  All of the kids were occupied AND I WENT ALONE!  *sigh*  It was glorious.  I met up with a guy who is interested in working with our coven, visited with him for a while over some really good food at the Diamond Springs Hotel (best burger in the world is made there), then on to do shopping. 

When I got back, a full on party was in progress.  Eric had grilled london broil and our neighbor, Steve, had drifted over with his daughters and one they'd borrowed for the weekend.  Delena had a friend over for the night, so there were men and kids everywhere.  The burn ban of the summer has been lifted and the guys had started a bonfire, so the resin chairs came out and everyone stayed around the fire, drinking, smoking and talking shit until the wee hours.  Eric was absolutely glowing, completely in his element.

The next morning, I woke up to find my pristine, perfect, beautiful house was in a shambles.  I tried to be motivated to clean it again, but it never happened.  We spent all of Sunday doing pretty much nothing, which pushed out the cleaning to yesterday.  I didn't get the upstairs perfect, but the downstairs is back up to par again.

I never thought I'd feel so strongly about keeping the house clean.  I know it has always meant a lot to Eric, but it was nothing but a major chore for me.  When I was around the fire with Eric at Halloween, burning off our old crap that didn't serve us any more, I asked that I lose my resistance to cleaning.  Last week, cleaning just wasn't so hard and was something I actually wanted to do.  It just kind of blossomed from there.  I didn't even know I wanted to want to do it or be different than what I was.  I hadn't even planned to burn that off until I was there and then it just came into my head, so I went with it.  I'm really glad I did. 

The difference in Eric has been particularly amazing.  Another thing we burned off was the negative way we interact sometimes.  We dearly love each other.  That has never been in doubt.  It just seemed as though every Sunday, we would fight, without fail.  It would start about the house and what a poor job I was doing of keeping it clean (I wasn't, for the most part, but I definitely did not do the best I could) and proceed onto other things from there.  I was so defensive about it that ANY comment he made about the house, even "I'll help you clean this up later on" would set me off and then it was ON.  No matter what we did, we couldn't seem to break the cycle and it literally went on for years.

Of course, I did everything EXCEPT clean the house better.  It was all laid out in my mind that I shouldn't have to fundamentally change who I was, that the housekeeping was such a small part of our life and shouldn't color how he treated me or thought of me, that I really was doing the best I could and shouldn't be persecuted for something that was beyond my capabilities.  Instead of just cleaning the house, I demanded that he love me in spite of house the house looked.  He did, but he was also very vocal about how he felt.  I was NOT going to be bullied into doing something I simply did not want to do.

After Halloween night at the fire, I started thinking about it in a different way.  Dr Phil says the most insidious form of abuse you can inflict on a partner is to know something they desperately need and intentionally withhold it for your own selfish reasons.  I could twist that to say that I needed to be accepted as I was and he was withholding that acceptance, but I can only control the things *I* do and we were at a serious stalemate for a long, long time.  I thought I knew how much he wanted a nice, clean house (I didn't) and I was intentionally and stubbornly not providing that for him, just because I didn't want to do the work.  I mean, that really is what it came down to.

I decided that I loved him and loved us enough to make a change, stop resisting and bitching and just give him what he wants.  Before, I felt if I did this, I was caving.  I was rewarding his "bad" behavior. 

This time, it was a matter of giving him a wonderful gift and honestly, seeing if he even noticed.

He did.

I was surprised at the very distinct difference that just a little bit of extra effort made.  It's like when you start losing weight and seeing the results and it motivates you further.  When I started seeing how nice the house looked, I wanted to work more.  I was still able to do all of the writing (and more) that I wanted to do.  I honestly gave up nothing more than a little bit more effort.  I did nothing to point out the difference.

Every single night, he thanked me profusely and told me how wonderful the house looked.  He is so relaxed and happy and downright joyful. I don't completely attribute his good mood to a tiny bit of extra effort on the house, but it definitely changed the way we interact.  I don't feel defensive and he's perfectly happy with the house.  Everybody won.  Our whole dynamic shifted with just that one change.  That *is* a happy harvest.

This is what I saw outside my front window on the 5th.

It was a truly amazing sight.  For two days, the mornings have brought very heavy fog, which makes the world look surreal and mystical.  Needless to say, I love it.   :)

Here is a little Halloween picture for you.  I went as a Witch (think of that) and Delena was a vampire:

Delena has her first dance this Friday night.  She's so excited.  I can't believe how fast she's growing up. 

I'm actually starting to drift, so I should likely go sneak in a nap before that window of opportunity closes (meaning Nathan gets home). 

Today, I have to clean the upstairs, print out a book I wrote that I'm sending to a prospective publisher (Tarot) and get it all set to mail and I need to straighten the office/laundry room a bit.  Not bad for a day's work. Dinner is chili and cornbread.

Oh!  This weekend is going to be such fun!  Saturday is Eric's birthday and our wedding anniversary (I had to get him to age 21 before I could take him to Reno and marry him .  Otherwise, he couldn't gamble).  David, my sweet baboo, is coming up to babysit  for us on Sunday while we go to Tahoe.  It's only a little over an hour away.  We can eat at Harvey's buffet (yum!) and play the slots for a while. We always have good luck and break even or better.  It will be a really nice day.  Saturday night, our people come up to celebrate New Moon and it's always wonderful to see them, plus they get to meet the new guy.  I'll go to town early on Saturday and pick up groceries and such, then we'll settle in for the weekend.

Next weekend is Delena's 12th birthday and she is having friends up, so I suspect that will take up a lot of the weekend's focus.  She wants to have pizza and a sleepover.  Normally, she doesn't torture us when these things happen.  Eric will probably make a bonfire for them if it isn't snowing or raining and they can roast marshmallows and laugh themselves silly.

I, on the other hand, need to manifest a few more dollars for that time.  Eric's birthday, the post-dated down payment on the car and Delena's birthday are all piling up on me at once and I need to get some breathing room.  Have I started Christmas shopping yet? I most certainly have not.  Is it already November?  It most assuredly is.

Tra La.

I'll work it out.

Miracle Central is alive and well.  I have complete and total faith that all will be well.

I hope you are all doing well and life is sweet for you. 

I was looking through my old journals and found a poem I wrote almost three years ago on Jan 16, 2002.  Just to show you that menopause is a process that takes years to cruise into:

O Menopause, thy name is truth!
Heap upon me thy wisdom that I
might go forth in its name and
lay waste to oppressors,
thine and mine,
who would forsake me 
and incur my wrath!

O Menopause, thy name is justice!
Be with me as I run raging naked
through the streets of my life and
proudly proclaim that I am
old and balding and crush
beneath my stomping feet
the sour grapes of those
who whine and seek to subdue me.

O Menopause, thy name is power!
Bring upon me the apathy of antiquity
that I might transform the energy of giving a  shit
into simply shit-giving
and metamorphysize my own emotional imprisonment
into taking no prisoners.

O Menopause, I lay claim to my due:
The truth, justice, power and wisdom
that is the hallmark of the Crone
and renders her both fearless and feared.

Take care,