The night I was held hostage by a roach.

My friends, I don’t know how many posts I’ve written about my roach phobia and how I need to do something about it. You OG readers are probably tired of reading about it. But I was reminded of it again during our recent heatwave when I came home several hours after nightfall and it was a refreshing 108 degrees outside. I pulled onto the driveway, turned off the ignition, and was about to get out of the car when I saw something moving quickly and erratically on the front patio. I sat still in a vise-grip of fear-induced paralysis as my brain interpreted what my eyes were seeing. There’s only one thing that can scare me enough to freeze me like that, anyhow.

My eyes had fastened onto a huge roach that was covering my front patio helter-skelter at 500 miles per hour, running, flitting, zig-zagging its way from one end to the other, partway up the side of the house, then down, partway up the steel screen door, back down again, and around and around. There was no way I could get out of my car, much less walk onto that patio and open my door. I was stuck.

I called my friend who shares my roach phobia, and she graciously stayed on the phone with me for 34 minutes. The roach eventually slowed down and stumbled over the edge of the patio immediately to the right of the front door, and there I could see frantic yet static motion. I realized that the roach had crossed the invisible line of Creepy Crawley’s magic potion (laid down around the perimeter of the patio the day before), and so it was in the process of dying. The behavior I was watching was the roach’s physical response to the substance. When I say it’s nontoxic, I literally mean that there’s no poison involved. It’s an agent that instantly dehydrates the insect, sucking the moisture out of it. Death occurs fairly quickly. In the case of a large roach, it occurs after about 30 minutes.

Let me tell you, the turbo-charged panic and then death throes of a huge roach made for quite the spectacle to have to watch, and I had to watch it, because I had to keep track of where it was. I was going to have to get out of my car and go into the house eventually. I had to know the location of my enemy.

At any rate, I won’t bother recounting my eventual entry to my house. You can imagine that I was half-dead before I made it in.

Thus again I feel the need to overcome my phobia, though all the overcoming in the world could never convince me that it’s a good idea to attempt side-stepping a monster roach running amok on the front patio.

Meanwhile, in the backyard, Salem’s absence is allowing birds to eat dying roaches. I had the occasion to witness this ghastly extravaganza one morning as I was breakfasting. Birds that were clustered on the back patio drew my attention to a large roach that had also encountered Creepy Crawley’s solution. It was past the berserk stage and well into the disabled stage, and I couldn’t help but watch as two of the birds took turns pecking at it. The roach got smaller and smaller as bits of it disappeared down the birds’ gullets.

Salem is making sure that I won’t have to see a dead roach on the patio.

And if I ever actually embark on a roach-phobia-curing adventure, you’ll be the first to know about it.

Happy weekend eve, Everyone!

Dressxx.

I recently (last week) decided that I want to start wearing dresses again after decades, like, just casually around town, so I picked one out at the Goodwill that I thought was cute and out of my gothy comfort zone because I thought it would be fun and brought it home to try on after washing it, and the try-on started out okay as I slipped the dress on over my head with my arms raised up so the sleeves could fall over them and the right sleeve went on first but then my arm on that side got stuck while the left sleeve was halfway on and also getting stuck at the top of my left forearm so then I had one arm completely stuck and the other arm halfway stuck as my upper body was contorted due to my upper back and shoulder also being wedged tightly at an awkward angle into the upper body part of the dress that was made of 100% polyester with no give in the fabric at all and thus ensued my frantic attempt to escape, and I live alone so there was no one there to help as I blindly wriggled and careened around the bedroom trapped in a dress with my arms in the air and my head covered and my upper body twisted and bent, thinking of how I was going to die and this was how my body was going to be found and I wasn’t even wearing nice underwear.

When I finally got out of the dress I tried to take a deep breath but it hurt so I couldn’t and I realized that I pulled a pectoral muscle on my right side, and all night it hurt to breathe and I couldn’t take a deep breath and the discomfort reminded me that I actually injured myself trying to get out of a dress I probably had no business putting on in the first place, and then I thought of the movie Slaxx about the jeans on a killing spree and I was thankful that the dress didn’t murder me, because it could have.

WAY more out of my comfort zone than I’d thought it’d be.

I’m taking it back to the Goodwill this weekend.

The big brown wall: Inside an Arizona dust storm (aka Haboob).

Me at 4:00pm yesterday: I wonder which stars will be visible later tonight?

The sky at 11:00pm last night:

Late-night dust storm in NW Tempe (Phoenix), July 9, 2021

Yes, my friends. It’s that time of year! A fantastic dust storm, aka haboob, rolled in late last night, and Yours Truly stepped out into it, as I like to do before things get too crazy. There’s something strangely mystical about dust storms. They don’t come empty-handed. They bring with them a special, wild energy. I took pics and recorded for almost a minute, and I’m posting the video here in case you’ve ever wondered what the world looks like inside of a dust storm.

It always starts with one of these blaring on one’s phone:

The video:

We didn’t get any rain with the dust storm last night, at least not where I am, but some fleeting monsoon action kicked up a little while ago tonight: thunder, lightning, strong blowing dust, and rain. It lasted for, I don’t know, 15 minutes? 20? That’s been it so far, but there’s still time for the monsoon to return. I hope it does. Monsoons bring the drama, and it’s the good kind.

Well. I must say that I had quite a time trying to get this video to display in a reasonable size, and while it’s still large, it’s the best I could do… and now it’s glitching! I’m going to post this now before anything else can happen. I hope it shows up and stays in place at this size. Sheesh!

(I do love an opportunity to use a vintage exclamation.)

Be well, my friends.

First roach sighting of the year, check.

I saw a roach on the back patio the other day. It was early in the morning, and I spotted it through the sliding-glass door as I was about to step outside to feed Salem. It was at a glance and without my glasses, but there was no mistaking the narrow, orangish-brown oblong shape on its back with its legs tangled in the air and long antennae flat on the concrete. The sight of it threw me into a panic. I wouldn’t be able to avert my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to walk around it and pretend that it wasn’t there. It was right in front of Salem’s bowl. It was exactly where I’d have to crouch down to scoop out her food.

Here in Phoenix Metro, this is how we know it’s officially summer. It gets hot, and the large roaches come out at night. This one was dead because I have Creepy Crawley come out regularly to spray. Not that it matters. They freak me out when they’re dead as much as they do when they’re alive. As far as I’m concerned, roaches are nature’s abomination. Something has to be, right?

I stayed in the house and thought about what to do, and then I braced myself to carry out my plan, which would be to sweep the roach away from the area without looking at it. I knew that some amount of looking at it would be necessary, but I figured if I could glance down quickly, just once, just enough to position the broom where it needed to be, then I could follow through with the sweeping motion without looking.

It’s internal chaos with this paralyzing phobia. I could feel my heart pounding my stomach into knots as I stepped outside. My lungs were afraid to breathe, and the crawling sensation on my lower legs made it hard to move. But my baby was hungry, and I had to get ready for work. There was no time for messing around.

I gripped the broom with both hands and stretched my arms out to their fullest extent so I could stand as far away from the roach as possible, then glanced down quickly, lowered the broom to where I thought it needed to be, and swept. It didn’t work the first time, but the second time, I stepped back and bent forward to get a better reach with more accuracy (should I take up golf?) and executed a more forceful sweep. The roach went flying out of the patio area and onto the path leading to the back gate.

Sitting off to the side, Salem, who’d been watching me intently, followed the roach’s trajectory with her eyes and pounced on it. This actually gladdened my heart. Another sign of Salem’s transformation from feral to domesticated! She’d been playing with her toys in the laundry room for months. I’ve found them all over the place, even outside of the laundry room, but for her to actively engage with me while playing would be taking it to the next level. It would be another milestone in her development!

With this thought in mind, I was able to feed Salem with a little happiness to take the edge off the horror. But dismay lingered in my mind for the next few days as I contemplated the issue of roaches outside on the hot summer nights.

Because my habit is to go out to the backyard every night to be with the stars and the moon and the planets. Going outside at night to gaze at the celestial bodies while bonding with Salem is the highlight of my day. How was I going to manage it with the roaches out there, too?

At first, I thought I’d just have to stop doing it. I couldn’t see bonding with the stars and the moon and Salem AND THE ROACHES. The idea of standing out there with roaches skittering around was pure nightmare fuel.

But in the end, I was not going to let the roaches keep me inside and away from my beloved night sky and sweet daughter of the night. And that is why there’s now a pair of combat boots in the basket by the sliding-glass door. I have an official uniform for summer nighttime skygazing: jeans tucked into combat boots with whatever t-shirt. It makes me feel safer.

Salem seemed disappointed when she found a roach rather than an actual toy, but when I got home from work that day, the roach was gone. Either she’d deigned to play with it, or a bird had come to take it away. Either way, good riddance.

Apologies for my eyes (that won’t stay open).

Nah… let’s not blame my eyes, which are innocent. It’s me with my terrible time-management skills. [::shakes fist at self::]

In lieu of a post tonight, I thought I’d drop in with an apology for not having a post tonight. I know I’ve been delinquent in getting my mid-week posts up, and this is not how I would like for things to be. Lest you think otherwise, I do plan to continue with the mid-week posts!

I had one planned for tonight – a much-requested and long overdue “garage gym” (read: living room) post – but it’s not going to happen until next week, unfortunately.

This Saturday, now! I’m beside myself with anticipation of next week’s lunar event, so I’ll be writing about that for Saturday night.

A sneak peek:

–Next week, on Wednesday, May 26, May’s full moon will rise in Sagittarius while we are in Gemini season.

–It will be the second supermoon – and the last – of 2021. This supermoon will be slightly more “super” than last month’s; it will be the largest, brightest moon of the year.

–It will be the Flower Moon.

–And it will be a Blood Moon. Why? Because we’re going to have a total lunar eclipse. The supermoon will be reddish in color.

It will be an ideal time for us all, if we are mindful of the opportunities for growth the cosmos is going to set before us. The total lunar eclipse Super Flower Blood Moon in Sagittarius during Gemini season promises to be one of the most spectacular celestial events of the year, if not the most, not to mention one of the most powerful times!

There’s so much going on, and I can’t wait to get into more detail when I post this weekend. For now, though, I’m going to crawl into bed. This is where I call it a night.

I hope this finds you all well!

I was just passing by… (and feeling blah)

Today started strangely, with my brain enmeshed in fog. When I left work an hour early with stomach cramps, nausea, and other intestinal discomfort, I thought it was possible that the brainfog was related. But I believe that it was something I’d eaten at lunch… maybe a bit of bread that’d gone past its time. It wasn’t anything as dramatic as food poisoning, but it was definitely a stomach-disagreement situation.

I can power through colds and even pneumonia, but I crumple when it comes to gastrointestinal maladies, no matter how mild.

So I came home early, and the afternoon turned to dusk. I wasn’t hungry until I was, and then, with my sour stomach, all I could think of eating was bland crackers. Luckily, I had some on hand (for just such occasions). Then I began to crave peanut butter and jelly and more peanuts and also dates, so I ate all of those. That was dinner. I recoiled at the idea of anything salty, oily, or acidic (e.g. my favorite things). No salt, olive oil, tart fruit, or apple cider vinegar? Yeah, something was off.

The obvious downsides of feeling unwell included having to skip my workout. On the up side, I got to see Geronimo and spend a good amount of time with him. I usually just miss Geronimo when I get home from work at my normal time!

Now it’s super late, but I’m feeling better. Hopefully, it was all just a reaction to the bread. I think that it was.

Speaking of bread:

Nenette being a loaf in an actual bread basket…

…on the dining table, where she’s not supposed to be. This was a first! I put a firm end to it. Well, what I actually did was put something uncomfortable in that basket. That solved the problem nicely.

Happy Friday and weekend, my friends!

Beltane blessings! (May Day!)

Greetings to you on the 2nd of May!

Yesterday was a holiday. It was Beltane, the last of the spring celebrations in the wheel of the year. It’s all flowers and maypoles and passion and honeybees… and, above all, fire. Beltane is a fire festival. It is the fire festival. There’s usually a bonfire somewhere in Beltane celebrations, but any fire will do if a bonfire isn’t possible! I kept candles burning all day.

A bit of background, for anyone who’s unfamiliar: Outside of the religions of Wicca and Paganism, Beltane is celebrated as May Day on the 1st of May, just as Samhain is celebrated as Halloween on the 31st of October. Beltane and Samhain are the two times of year when the veil between worlds is the thinnest, so both holidays involve traditions around protection from spirits… the spirits of the dead at Samhain, and the spirits of nature and the Fae at Beltane. The two holidays are not only direct opposites on the wheel of the year, but they’re also opposites in essence: Beltane is about celebrating life and fertility (of all beings, and of nature), while Samhain is about honoring death.

A part of my Beltane celebration was spending time outdoors in nature with Geronimo and Salem. Another part was baking. It was while I was baking that a bird hit the living room window. Again.

I hurried out of the kitchen to look through the guilty window, and I saw the little gray bird lying on his side on the patio, struggling. I didn’t know what to do. I went back into the kitchen, then returned to the window about 15 minutes later. There was no movement that time. The bird’s spirit had left his body. Suddenly, my day of celebrating life had been punctuated by death.

I felt responsible. (Why did I ask for a picture window in that huge window space?) It wasn’t the same kind of sad as Salem’s dove kills in the backyard. I wasn’t facing the disposal of days’-old, torn-apart pieces of large bird remains. It wasn’t nature that killed the little bird in the front yard. It was my window.

At dusk, I went out to the front yard and dug a tiny grave about a foot and a half deep. I tried to collect the bird gently, but his little head was stuck to the concrete with his dried blood… I believed that he’d broken his skull. I had to slip my fingers beneath it and work a bit to loosen it. (Yes, I was wearing disposable pandemic gloves.)

When I laid him down to rest in his grave, I said a prayer before covering him up, telling Mother Earth that I was returning to her the body of one of her children.

After that, I did some (alchemy) workings in the Beltane energy, then ate a Simple Feast of (vegan) vanilla cake, fresh strawberries, and ginger ale sweetened with extract from the stevia plant. Stevia.

It was a beautiful and magickal day overall. Even though.

Now, to end on a cheery note, I want to share these pics I’ve taken recently of the flowers in my yards. I’ve got a plethora of them!

First, the ones that are not in my yard:

Gerberas – flowers in the daisy family (which is associated with Beltane) obtained at the grocery store a few days ago.

Beltane colors are fiery and botanical: reds, yellows, greens, colors that happen to be in generous bloom all over my front and backyards.

Starting with Geronimo’s hibiscus! These plants are exploding! I’ve never seen so many blooms at once on all of the hibiscus plants.

Even this one by the back gate is loaded with flowers this year. It’s always been sparsely flowered.
Prickly Pear in bloom in the front yard, which is entirely carpeted in golden Palo Verde pollen.
Back to the backyard! The red hibiscus behind the burrow of a certain desert tortoise that I know.
Desert willow
Ruella
Verbena? Lantana? One of the two. I never know which.
Mesquite
Fig tree doing nicely!
Desert rose also doing nicely!

This desert rose looks like a Dr. Seuss flower, doesn’t it? What a wonderful character it is.

Happy Beltane Season to you, my friends.

Love your mother. (Earth Day 2021!)

Happy Earth Day 2021, my friends!

In recognition of Gaia, the ancient Earth goddess….

She is the first Goddess, Gaia,
our mother, Mother Earth.
She is our Ancient Mother, and she needs us right now. This is her time of need! Sadly, it’s been her time of need for a very long time, and she’s worsening.

What, as an individual, can I do for her?

I already recycle. I’m already vegan. I already keep my driving to a minimum. I plan to go solar one day… that’s on the long-term list.

What I can do right now, I realize, is resolve to limit my use of synthetic resources. There’s more to this than bringing reusable bags to the grocery store, which I already do. I mean, I already do, but…
but then I’ll sometimes reluctantly ask for plastic bags, and I’ll put them inside my reusable bags. This is my Earth Day walk of shame for all of you to see, my friends: I ask for plastic bags at the grocery store every so often because I use them for the waste that I scoop out of Nenette’s litter box.

A couple of week ago, my feelings of wrongness regarding this finally got to me, and I purchased a hefty packet of brown paper lunch bags. I didn’t know what else to do. When I looked up “eco-friendly kitty litter bags,” I found bags designed for the purpose. The problem is that I’m not confident that they’re okay. They’re made of plastic, I believe, and technology aside, plastic is synthetic. Maybe I’m not understanding it; I’ll do more research. All I know for now is that I’m using up the plastic grocery bags I have left, and then I never want to see a plastic grocery bag in my house ever again. I’ll use the paper lunch bags until/unless I find a better way.

So there’s my Earth Day confession and intention.

To close, I’ll leave you with my movie recommendation in honor of Earth Day! Allow me to suggest Seaspiracy (Netflix Original Documentary).

The End… but not.

Thank you for reading, as always! Merry mid-week and HAPPY EARTH DAY!!

Paranormal encounter at work? (Possible ghost story.)

Greetings, my friends. I have a story to share with you. I actually meant to post this last night, but I couldn’t stay awake. Typical!

Something unexplainable happened at work last week Friday: I heard footsteps approach and pass as I was fixated on the task before me, and they didn’t sound right. I mean, they didn’t sound familiar, much less right.

(I wish to relay the story without workplace details, so please to excuse the vagueness henceforth.)

The footsteps sounded odd, like a sort of shuffling and gliding at the same time, and they were swift. They were gone within two seconds, as that’s how long it took for them to shuffle-glide past me.

My reflexive glimpse almost missed it completely; it was just at the outer edge of my peripheral vision that I caught an impression of black footwear and dull attire, some kind of pale neutral fabric with mottled dark patches. It looked dirty.

But it was the footsteps that made the back of my neck prickle. The way they sounded. The quick and light shuffle-glide. It was a walking cadence that I hadn’t heard before, at work or anywhere.

A chill went through my body. I had to take a deep breath.

I took a long step sideways to look around the corner, and I saw no one. Then I quickly moved to where I could see the expanse of space between my location and the front. I was afraid of what I would find, but I had to look! Sure enough, I saw most of my co-workers at the front end. Not only were they nowhere near me, but the footsteps had gone in the opposite direction.

Three co-workers were missing from my view, so I thought there was still hope for a logical explanation. One co-worker was on the other side of the space. It couldn’t have been him. Another one was on the side that I was on, but toward the front. It couldn’t have been him. When I ran into the remaining person, he said that it wasn’t him, and I believed him.

None of my co-workers shuffle-glided past me in old black boots and pale clothing dirtied with fading black splotches. Someone did, though.

Now, we all know how I love horror and all things spooky, but I’ve looked at this situation from every objective angle and can’t convince myself that I conceived of it somewhere in my subconscious. I do believe in ghosts and in the supernatual, in general.

Could it have been a ghost? Absolutely, especially since a couple of people had told me before that the place is haunted. I wasn’t thinking of this on Friday morning, though. My brain wasn’t set on high alert for ghosts, and even if it was, my body reacted to the incident in a fraction of a second, before I could formulate thoughts around the lore of hauntings.

And there you have it.

I don’t have a ghostly pic to share, but I have this pic of a spookyish corner of my bedroom:

Cozy corner

Merry Friday and weekend to you all!

When the dark side of the moon is also the brightest. (New Moon!) (In Aries!)

A new moon will rise tonight.

There won’t be a moon to see, of course. The moon is new when she’s aligned herself between the Earth and the sun, with her dark side facing us; new moon night is a dark, moonless night. Planting crops on the night of the new moon boded well for farmers, as the darkness allowed their planting activities to go unseen by plant-eating wildlife. I love this mental image of farmers working in the dark of night, planting their crops in secrecy.

So there won’t be anything to see, but there will be a lot to feel. We have an exciting and momentous occasion with this new moon, because the sun is in Aries right now!

The new moon marks the beginning of a new lunar cycle (there are 12-13 new moons in a year), and Aries, being the the 1st of the 12 astrological houses, opens the new astrological/solar year. The new moon is about goals and intentions. Aries is about springing to action. New moon energy is charged with potentiality to begin with, so imagine the new moon in Aries!

Aries is one of the three fire signs in the zodiac, and it’s the one that means business. This fiery sign is about doing. The new moon is about planning. If you want to change your life, now is the time! The new moon in Aries is the moon that lights the fire under our asses. The new moon is the catalyst, and Aries is the fuel.

We’ve been thinking, planning, preparing. Now is the time to start the doing, to take our plans and set them into motion. Aries encourages us to get out of our comfort zones, take risks, and dare to make changes, large or small.

Common examples:

Quit smoking or drinking or (fill in the blank). Change your dietary lifestyle. Start an exercise program/routine. Pursue new employment opportunities. Open a savings account and pay yourself every month (if you aren’t doing it already). Mark your calendar with the Ironman Triathlon (or whatever event) date and plan your training strategy! Change your hair color, your name; reinvent yourself. Re-decorate your home, or re-arrange your furniture. Start learning the instrument or the language or the (fill in the blank) you’ve always wanted to learn. Start school. Start writing your novel. Start auditioning for roles. Change your career path. Re-locate. Seek out new friends, whether in person or online; socialize more or in new settings or both. Start whatever new habits you’ve had on your “to start” list. Change your relationship status, if you’ve known for a while that you should. Work on yourself. The new moon in Aries is a tremendous time for self-improvement goals, in particular.

Whatever the case, we’re well-positioned to begin working toward our goals with focus, care, and intent.

(Note: If we set goals and intentions during the new moon – any new moon – and apply dedication and drive as we move forward with them, we should see signs of fruition at around the time of the new moon’s corresponding full moon… about six months down the line.)

All that said, Happy New Astrological Year! Let’s make the most of the new moon rising under the energetic influence of Aries!

50% vaccinated, 100% wiped out. (+Happy Easter!)

My plan yesterday was to go to the V.A. hospital after work for some prescription re-fills, and I did. My plan did not include getting the COVID-19 vaccine, but I ended up doing that, too. They were taking V.A. patients as walk-ins, and I was right there! Pfizer vaccine injection #1: check. My second shot has been scheduled accordingly.

Everyone’s different as far as vaccine side effects go. In my case, it’s arm pain much worse than from other vaccinations, capital-F fatigue, and an occasional stab of pain in my head. Mild nausea this morning. Mild body aches as we speak. I finally took some Tylenol for the arm pain toward the end of the day, but Tylenol can’t alleviate fatigue. It’s a strange feeling to be this lacking in energy.

So I’m heading to bed. No doubt I’ll be back to myself tomorrow.

Speaking of! Happy Easter to you who celebrate the holiday. I’m still reveling in Ostara, the vernal equinox, so I’ve been celebrating spring for a couple of weeks now.

I don’t want to take my Ostara wreath down, so it’s staying on my door for another little while.

Love the colored eggs in my wreath! Love the Germanic folklore behind the Easter bunny. There exists many versions of the pagan story and countless endings for it, but they all arrive at a bird who was turned into a rabbit who can still lay eggs. The egg-laying hare was created by Eostre, the German Goddess of Spring, so we have her to thank for our Easter traditions involving the Easter bunny.

With that, I’m signing off to get ready for bed so I can pass out in the appropriate place.

Until mid-week!

Tonight’s Worm Moon, the first full moon of spring.

With the thawing and melting away of winter, earthworms can emerge from the soil. Here in North America, Native Americans named the first full moon of spring the “worm moon” for this reason… and this year, it’s not just any Worm Moon!

The treat we’re in for this evening at moonrise will be a “Super Worm Moon,” because in a couple of days, the moon’s orbit will bring it as close to the Earth as it gets (perigree). If we’re lucky, we’ll chance to see the large orange sphere close to the horizon.

2021’s Worm Moon rises tonight, and I have plans.

I’m going to celebrate this powerful lunation with a blessing ritual. The Worm Moon marks an auspicious time for new beginnings and fresh starts in any year, but this year, there’s a unique circumstance lending added importance to “new beginnings.”

It’s been a year.

It’s been a year since shit got real with the pandemic. I’m looking at my 2020 planner and remembering that social distancing began on Monday the 16th, and we went into full lock-down on Monday the 30th (here in Arizona).

It’s been a year and we now have a vaccine available to the general population, but we haven’t returned to BeforeTimes normal. I don’t believe we ever will. As we level out into our new normal at this vaccine stage of our year-long virus ordeal, I’m feeling a special reverence for the Worm Moon and its correspondence with new beginnings and fresh starts.

As above, so below.

I obviously don’t have a personal pic of tonight’s moon to share with you, but yesterday I took a pic of my not-so-feral-anymore daughter and partner in all things magickal in the Realm of the Outdoors:

Salem

Because she’ll be with me tonight under the full moon, as always. She’s such a blessing. We’re all so blessed!

Merry meet again, my friends.

Good times in the spring.

It’s been a productive and relaxing weekend, which translates to mundanity when it comes to summing it up, I’m afraid.

Mundanity can be invigorating, though. It can make you feel victorious. Yesterday I surprised myself and spent more than four hours cleaning out and organizing nine drawers out of the 15 that I have between my bedroom and bathroom, plus my closet.

I didn’t premeditate this act of violence. My original idea of organizing just one particular drawer blossomed, and next thing I knew, I was surrounded by the inner chaos of these eight other drawers that had been in my back-burner sights for too long. I took everything out and piled it up on my queen-size bed and stepped back to regard and assess it. There could be nothing more motivating than spreading out and looking at the evidence of my negligence. It was an egregious display of wasted space.

I vacuumed out the drawers and wiped them down with a delicious apple cider scented natural cleaning spray before putting anything in them.

Then I went through my closet ruthlessly and purged it, too. (Again, yes.)

Finally got around to freshening my hair color at 10pm last night.

Laundry this morning involved a little bonding with Salem. She’d been napping in the laundry room (aka Salem’s Lot – her room), and I felt badly about flushing her out with my insistence on doing laundry. I fed her and we spent some time together and it was sweet. I took a few pics.

 

Salem this morning

 

Also Salem this morning

 

We’ve been in the throes of a cold spell, but the energy of the equinox vanquishes! Doesn’t it always? That’s the beauty of this season, and the reason why I love it. Spring is when we come alive, along with everything else on Earth.

My neighborhood is even livelier now, and it’s not just the spring birds. The people across the street moved out, and the next day, new renters moved in: an ASU bro-squad of three.

[Sidenote for any of you keeping track from posts of yore: Now there’s the five bros in the (now unofficial) bro-house next door, and the three new ones across the street. The two bros in the house next door on the other side are the long-term renters who are actual brothers (their father bought the house for them to rent while they’re in school).]

[/University neighborhood demographic status]

Anyway, the new people across the street have been feeling celebratory, and so they’ve been celebrating. They’ve been adding to the spring bird symphony, only theirs has a pretty sick bassline.

Good times energy is good.

 

 

Not single. Solitary.

I realize that there’s been something of a mystery here for you longer-time readers, and some of you have asked me about it: “The Mystery of Callaghan.”

You’ve noted that in recent months I’ve mentioned living alone, that I never talk about “we” anymore, and that my personal life/domestic life ramblings are in the singular.

Yes, we broke up. We separated a year ago, and he moved out last summer, and it was the best thing for us both. (He knows that I’m writing this here, so there’s no blindsiding with this post.)

I don’t consider myself to be single, because “single” implies that I’m available and open to meeting people, and I’m not. Rather than single, I’m solitary… happily, purposefully solitary. It’s my choice now to walk my path without a romantic partner, as I know that it’s a path best walked alone. At long last, I see this. I think I would have always made this choice had it occurred to me. I don’t need to be with anyone. Finally I’m at ease, free to be myself.

I’m experiencing a personal revival of sorts. I am blessed.

 

[09 March 2021]

 

 

The late afternoon sun struck oddly when I took these pics in the backyard yesterday, but the desert wind blowing my hair in every direction made everything feel magickal. Elemental. The ghostly wave of light coming up in the lower-right corner of the pics was created by the synergy of my crystal pendant and the sunlight as it struck from its particular angle. This isn’t the first time this has happened. My crystal pendant and the sun have a connection, and the camera picks up on it.

I’m so excited for my 60th birthday that I wish I could wake up to it tomorrow, but I have to be patient and grow as I need to in the next eight years before I reach that milestone. There’s an infinity of knowledge to be gained through experience, and I want to take as much as I can into my next decade.

Blessings to you all!

 

 

The grass is always greener on the other side of midnight.

This week has been a strange one, a week of mundane evening obligations mostly of a domestic nature. Things that “came up.” Someone coming to repair something. Spontaneous but urgent and necessary errands to run. I’ve actually missed workouts! I didn’t work out on Tuesday, Wednesday, or today.

Neither have I been online much these last few days.

Pain developed in my right eye yesterday afternoon, making screen-time impossible as the evening progressed. I shut my laptop and played one spread of Quiddler solitaire and tried to get to bed early. I turned off the lights just after midnight. I was actually tired, and I fell asleep feeling victorious!

The previous night, I got to bed just before midnight, and it was a fail. I was tired, but I wasn’t ready to sleep; trying to force sleep when I’m not passing-out tired never ends well. I become a hostage in a compound of anxiety, and the morning alarm rings brutally too soon after I fall asleep.

But it’s been a good week. I do feel the need to ponder my relationship with sleep yet again, recognizing that I’m a night owl by nature… nothing is going to change that. There must be a way to reconcile this with the fact that I need to get up early!

Before I go, I thought I’d share Nenette in her own sleep haze the other night when I (inadvertently) woke her up:

 

I woke her up. She still loves me, though.

 

Happy Weekend Eve, my friends!

 

 

Tonight, I come bearing cat pics. (Nenette’s horrible camera ordeal.)

I took some pics of my office for an upcoming “office updates” post this evening, and I tried to capture Nenette in the process. Since I know you’re all totally about cat pics, I thought I’d do the magnanimous thing and share a few!

Given Nenette’s unwillingness to have her picture taken, these seven pics constitute a whole extravaganza. Let us rejoice.

Here’s the caveat, though: Nenette’s loathing of the camera is apparent in these pics as her expression and demeanor change in each one. She’s more about attitude than action in these pics.

 

1). WARINESS.

 

Bloody hell, not this again…

 

2). ANNOYANCE.

 

MOM.

 

3). INCREDULITY.

 

Seriously WTF!

 

Then I had the audacity to get closer.

4). ALARM.

 

WHAT.

 

5). REFUSAL.

 

Here’s a plant leaf. I can hide.

 

6). IMPATIENCE.

 

MUST I?

 

7). RESIGNATION.

 

Fine. Here’s a pose. Now drop the camera and back slowly away.

 

The End. (Says Nenette.)

Until Saturday, then; the aforementioned “office updates” pics are forthcoming. I hope you’ll all staying well!

 

 

This is what it sounds like when doves cry. (Cleaning up after Salem.)

[Started writing last night; fell asleep….]

It’s been an interesting week as I went into it determined to stop procrastinating. I had a situation in the backyard to address, and Monday was the day.

At the end of the day, I started my Monday evening workout with a slight headache after spending more time than I should have picking up dead bird parts. They’re not going to pick themselves up, I’d reminded myself firmly when I got home from work.

Such as it was that I found myself crouched in the shade of the hibiscus late that afternoon. I was there with a pair of disposable gloves and a plastic bag. Salem had been feasting on white-winged dove, and mommy finally got off her ass and went out to clean it up.

I found that she’d decapitated the dove and eaten almost all of its body.

Native birds of the Sonoran desert, white-winged doves are as common in my backyard as the hummingbirds and the grackles. They’re large, and they’re beautiful. Their cooing melodies are beautiful. My (also beautiful) feral feline daughter is delighted with them, too. What’s dangerous for them is the watering hole, actually a large plant plate, from which Salem drinks. Birds congregate in it, on it, and around it in the hot months. It’s warming up now, and the doves are starting to visit. It’s going to be murder and mayhem around here all summer, I fear.

 

Salem at the watering hole. [10 Feb 2021]

 

 

I collected one large white-edged wing still attached to the sparse remains of the dove’s body, and its iridescent head – hues of lavender and teal shimmering on the bluish dove gray – from its resting place a little further away. Smaller chunks of bird lay here and there, and there were so many feathers. Feathers, and a carpet of down impossibly adhered to the large gravel, stuck to the sharp edges of the rocks. But I gathered up what I could, tied up the bag, and took it out to the dumpster in the back alley (which is also an apartment complex parking lot).

And that should have been the end of that.

But it wasn’t. It was only as I was coming back in that I noticed the rocky gravel at the back gate looking fuzzy, like the ground had gone out of focus. I stepped up to inspect and found the carnage of a second feast splayed across the threshold of the back gate, where Salem often lounges.

It was a birdplosion even more dramatic than the one behind the hibiscus. Again, a patch of large gravel rocks blurred beneath a mass of soft gray down and feathers. Another white-edged wing, mostly intact. I went into the house and got another bag.

Two birds, many stones.

Oh! One thing is for certain: the mystery of Salem’s lethargy and lack of appetite last week has been solved. I actually thought that I might lose her the day I came home and she wasn’t waiting for me at the sliding-glass door.

Every day when I come home from work:

 

Salem at the sliding-glass door. [10 Feb. 2021]

 

 

The day Salem didn’t come to the door for her dinner, I found her huddled against Geronimo’s burrow. She blinked “I LOVE YOU” at me, but she could barely raise her head. She wasn’t interested in eating. I set her plate down and went inside (perplexed, trying not to worry) thinking that she’d come to eat eventually. She didn’t.

I admit that I was quite worried. What was I supposed to think? She didn’t want to eat. She was slumped against the burrow, barely moving. She managed to lift her head and blink at me before putting her head back down, her face resting against the mound of dirt. If you knew Salem and her habits, you’d be alarmed, too. I naturally thought that something was wrong. Anyone would. Turns out that she was just in a food coma.

So the yard is clear now, and I’m relieved. Geronimo will come out of hibernation soon, as tortoises do, and the last thing I want to see is my scalebaby plowing through dead bird remains and coming out covered in feathers and down.

I hope you’re all having an accomplished week, too!

 

 

I’m going to bed early tonight. (This is not a joke.)

You’re not going to believe what I’m about to do. I’m about to get ready for bed.

It’s 9:35pm (21:35).

I’m wiped out. I did my Body Combat workout half-asleep this evening, though it was still intense. What do you call a half-asleep hardcore workout? Adrenaline.

I’ll be back tomorrow night!

Stay safe, my friends.

 

 

The post that wasn’t. (Isn’t?)

[:Ahem::]

If you could see the inside of my head right now!

I’ve been at odds with my own schedule since circumstances have taken me out of the norm these last two weeks, and today capped it off in grand style as a perfectly chaotic Saturday that had me running all over Phoenix metro (aka tarnation). It wasn’t bad, but it was stressful, and it was a lot. Thus I come to you empty-handed tonight. I do have apologies in hand, though. Everything should be back on track starting next week.

Keep taking care, my friends. I’ll see you on the flip side!

p.s. I do want to share this video with you, though. It’s the sound of snow falling on a lake. It’s almost weirdly lulling….

 

 

 

 

2020 – YEAR IN REVIEW.

There’s nothing I can say about the retreating year that everyone isn’t already thinking, but I’ll put it forth anyway since this is my 2020 “year in review” post:

2020 said, HAHA let’s start off the new decade with a shitshow! Its brightly anticipated, shiny-new-thing luster dulled quickly, as if we’d been sold a fake. After just three months, we couldn’t see our reflections in it anymore.

Then 2020 combusted in a raging dumpster fire that wouldn’t go out.

So now it’s 2021, but dumpster fires are disagreeable and rude, and this one’s no exception. It’s not about to be extinguished with the flip of a calendar, and it hasn’t. 2021 is 2020’s Act 2. If we’re lucky, the final six months of the new year will return us to normal, whatever that even is, so we can at least look forward to that.

For me, personally, though, 2020 was a wondrous year (despite starting out with pneumonia), and the fact that such a year could take place concurrently with a dumpster fire kind of says everything about my life, if I’m going to be honest and self-absorbed about it. The virus is scary and relentless and saddening, but it’s only because of it that I’m happy. I’m myself. I’ve settled into a state of contentment overlying a subtle frequency of thrill, like an energetic zen, and I’m in better physical condition than I was in the Before Times.

And no, I still have no plan to sign up for a gym membership once the All Clear is sounded. Taking my workouts from the gym to the living room made an amazing difference, dumbbells in my private space proving to be just as effective, if not more so, and the whole circumstance opening up a plethora of workout options that I can take whenever I please.

What I want to do in 2021 is to write more poems and to sleep more. Broken-record aspirations. I’m leery in the suspicion that these two things might be mutually exclusive. Maybe they aren’t. I hope they aren’t, because I’d really love to achieve both.

On a lighter note, I thought I’d scroll through the search terms that brought people here to my blog in 2020 and then share some of them with you. If you’re here because you found me using one of these search terms, thank you… and thanks for sticking around!

2020 TALC search term hall of fame:

1). body disposal scene with acid
2). ezema ginka porn
3). what do you get when you cross a flamingo
4). dinner short horror
5). does hydroen peroxide kill flesh eating bacteria
6). palm tree roaches
7). hydrogen peroxide vs flesh
8). aisian naked blog
9). veloceraptor save doors
10). bodycombat geronimo 69 (<– my personal favorite)
11). does hydrogen peroxide eat away at your flesh
12). yoga crotch shot
13). panic at the disco panic at the costco lyrics
14). flavor that comes from an insect
15). orange is the new black asian
16). victor the cleaner point of no return acid
17). reacher’s creatures
18). bradley cooper jack reacher
19). is body combat good for martial arts fitness
20). henry cavill

I love that someone found my blog when they searched for Henry Cavill.

I’ll sign off with this pic that I took when I turned around in my desk chair last night:

 

Spooky gothic evil garden votive candle holders on the left and right (courtesy of my job). In with the new!

 

I hope that your new year is off to a good start!

 

 

 

What you don’t remember won’t kill you. (After-the-fact birthday post.)

Sunday felt like a good day to have a birthday, and coincidentally, it was my birthday. So it worked out well. It was good.

For breakfast I had chocolate cake (that I made). Friends and family texted, messaged, and called. Caroline and I discussed Alice in Borderland, which we were both watching raptly on Netflix.

And Jessica gave me a Slytherin necklace that she crafted herself, which was funny because I’d been looking for a Ravenclaw necklace to give to her for her birthday.

And she also gave me a print of Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia, because she knows of my obsessions.

And I had veggie fajitas with extra guac and Mexican rice, and also a vegan New York cheesecake, complete with candles.

The day was a mystery in some sense. It was different than last year when I woke up on my 51st birthday feeling ever more slightly like an undead being than I did the year before, refreshed in the wake of the full half-century disappearing like vapor behind me.

On Sunday, I turned 52 and woke up in quiet surreality.

I feel like a stalactite made of lava, suspended and piercing. Or like a splinter of glass, crushable and dangerous. I don’t feel older, though it’s not an age or a span of time that I’m feeling. It’s a jolt.

Remembering how I proclaimed my satisfaction with past decades when I was in them. I liked aging in an abstract way, is what it was, and now what’s left is hindsight exposing the gruesome underpinnings of those years.

My 30’s, for instance.

Saying in the moment that I loved my 30’s even as I hated my high-paying job and woke up every week day already stressed out and unhappy about going in. Resenting Sunday because it forced me to think about going back to work the next day. Sick, sick, sick with autoimmune bullshit riled up by stress. Way too thin. I think back on it now and feel absurd. “I love my 30’s.”

It would be in someone else’s dream, if anyone’s at all, that I’d choose a radically different sort of job at 51 and love it and look forward to going to work every day because it’s fun and not a grind and not an infestation. It can’t be real to enjoy getting ready for the work week on Sunday, and yet it is. I used to suppose that everyone disliked Sunday for its portent of Monday. My experience now is the opposite, so I know that this isn’t true.

This (job) is one of the few great things that happened in the year that I was 51, this past year, 2020, which will otherwise go down in history as damned.

Quiet surreality.

52 and rid of the expectations that weighed like some obscene diamond-encrusted piano on parchment throughout my previous decades.

30’s: too old to qualify as a young adult, too young to qualify as an older adult. 30 being a milestone birthday heralded either by keen anticipation or foreboding doom. One way or the other, everyone feels some kind of way about turning 30. It’s a big deal to exit your 20’s.

I can see now that with my 30’s came a shadowy trickster of expectations of various sorts. And uncertainty and self-doubt and wondering is this it and shouldn’t I be doing (fill in the blank). And all kinds of clocks, each one telling time through the perspective and ideals of others, muddling my own sense of being in relation to the concept of time, and what I really wanted, and where I was in my life. My life.

For me, 50 was the more (most) impactful milestone birthday, and this decade isn’t terrible, as an ageist society might have you think. My (big life) decision-making skills are still (somewhat) lacking, but I’m proud of my survival skills, grateful for good luck (which I’ve needed due to said not-great decision-making skills). And it’s a relief to be an older adult now, no longer an adult in limbo. No longer an adult under scrutiny.

At 52, the expectations of others have mostly dispersed. I’m past the age….

Well, for me (as for most women), the big expectation was the having-babies one. Now I’m in my 50’s and people ask if I have kids and I say “no, not human ones” and it ends there, no follow-up questions. (But you DO want to have kids someday, don’t you?) At 52, I don’t have to explain that I had my spawning parts removed long ago, or why. At 52, there’s no need for clarification, no sequel of assumption or indignation, because there can’t be. “OH. Dual Income No Kids.” Or “You don’t want kids? WHY NOT?” As if living a childfree life was a sin, or at least a personal affront. Such judgment has ceased to matter. The question of babies was a bomb that finally fizzled out when I turned 50.

52, safely in my fifth decade and enjoying the fizzling-out of such questions and comments. Aging out of the window of expectations has been freeing.

Freedom in unexpected forms comes with being an older adult, I’m finding. That’s what they don’t tell you about aging. That things start to make sense. That you can develop more of an indifference to what others may think of you. That the way out is through. My 50’s are my reward for getting through my 30’s.

So my birthday was good. I got a lot of love. I didn’t hear from certain immediate west coast family members, but I couldn’t say that I was surprised, sadly, and overall it was too gorgeous a day to be crushed by the not-hearing-from.

And I’m continuing to work on my decision-making skills.

Like that.

Happy belated Birthday to me.

~~~~~

A couple of b-day selfies on my way out!

 

52nd birthday, makeup-less in the morning, in bed. I woke up late. [27 Dec. 2020]

 

 

I look like a floating face. ^ haha

 

52nd birthday, outside on the shaded back patio, early afternoon. [27 Dec. 2020]

 

 

Next time I come back here to post it’ll be January 2nd, so Happy New Year, my friends! 2021!!!

 

 

‘Twas the post before Christmas, and all was random.

It’s not the night before Christmas, but this is my post before Christmas, so I mainly want to wish you all a merry one. Christmas day marks one week before the new year, so we should have a merry one, indeed. It will be the dark before the dawn. 2020 is dying down at last, and I love a dark Christmas.

I’m in the honeymoon phase with my new desk, meaning that it’s still clean and orderly. I’m enjoying it while it lasts. I know that a person of the literary persuasion is stereotypically too engrossed in their craft to think of tidying the desk. A neat and clean desk in the office of a writer is suspicious. I promise that I’m a real poet and writer; I’ll declare my desk a disaster soon enough.

I’m in a good mood.

Sometimes all it takes is the memory of a quirky coincidence, like the time I drove home for lunch behind a pale-colored pickup truck with a white washing machine in its bed, secured with ties and facing me, and then, 15 minutes later, I drove back to work on that same street and found myself behind another pale-colored pickup truck transporting another white washing machine facing me. What are the odds that I’d drive down the street staring at a washing machine, and then drive back staring at a different-but-similar washing machine tied down in a different-but-similar pickup truck? Weird random coincidences like that. I only take one street to and from work, and that day, the universe said that I’ll make the short roundtrip lunchtime jaunt behind some pale pickup truck transporting some backwards-facing white washing machine or another. (No, the universe was not telling me to do my laundry. I’d done it recently.)

Outlook makes the difference between inane observation and amusing coincidence, is what I’m saying. If the washing machine thing is any indication, my outlook is positive these days. These months, actually. The washing machine thing happened a few months ago. Yes, I’m easily amused, BUT.

I’m in a good mood, and I’m also feeling somewhat restless. I have big feelings about big things that I can’t talk about. I want to share everything with you, but I have good reason for keeping certain things under wraps for the time being.

Today I went to the V.A. to have my annual mammogram, which revealed the cold hard truth that I’m never going to be a contortionist.

Also at the V.A. today, I went to the pharmacy to pick up some refills along with a new medication. I’m now being medicated for OCD. It’s official. I figured this day would come. If you have OCD tendencies and serve in the armed forces, you know that this day will come. Dress-right-dress and all that. I could never shake it. It just intensified. My case is mild, though, thankfully. I’m okay with it.

I miss the Army.

Oh! I was browsing “best of Craigslist” tonight, and I saw that on January 20, 2020, an Arizonan posted a Craigslist “for sale” ad for a white hearse with purple flames on the sides and “the last ride” inscribed on the back beneath a graphic of a bowler hat. One year from that posting, January 20, 2021, certain keys will change certain hands.

Also in 2021, I’m going to be a ninja armed with a boxcutter for Halloween.

I’m getting way ahead of myself, though. I’ll stop dwelling on Halloween for just a minute to say Merry Christmas and everything that you celebrate!

See you on the flip side, friends.

 

Christmas playlist for your dark holiday mood. (Eight days away!)

Season’s greetings!

Tonight, I have some darkly festive sounds to share with you. Pursuing the Christmas spirit while mourning the end of Halloween season, I looked to music to bridge the two. Keying “spooky Christmas” into Spotify’s search bar brought up a playlist called exactly that. (Thank you, litchen78!) I just now added my favorite Christmas carols from that list into my own Christmas playlist, and I thought I’d share it with you before I slink away to bed.

To my ears, the music on this playlist is as beautiful as it is haunting. I’ll be listening to it on repeat for the next eight days:

 

 

Until we meet again, as they say.

 

 

Sharing a couple of new things. (New desk and evil grandma dress!)

Witching hour greetings from a barstool at my kitchen peninsula! There’s currently no desk in my office. I finally admitted that the time was nigh to invest in a new desk. It’s arriving tomorrow, so I’m temporarily stationed here in the kitchen.

My old desk is still so loved, and I’m going to be a little sad to see it go. It’s just too small and too completely devoid of organizational storage space. It has a couple of shelves underneath, and nothing in the way of drawers or cabinets.

I liked my set-up with the small, low bookcase perpendicular to the desk, but I’ve been feeling crowded into that corner as of late. The makeshift L-shaped desk situation invited clutter. My new desk will be large enough to hold my printer, so I won’t need another little piece of furniture for that purpose.

This is the desk that I chose:

 

Desk from IKEA

 

Though I ordered it grudgingly, I’m excited about this new desk. The improvement will boost my inspiration receptors that are already on high these days.

This sounds sad, but it’s not: I pretty much live at my desk when I’m at home. When I’m not in the living room working out or in the kitchen cooking and baking, I’m in my office, at my desk. I do everything there! I eat at my desk, watch Netflix/Hulu/Prime/Shudder there on this laptop, play Quiddler there, and, of course, I write there.

Thing 2:

I’m also excited about this dress that I got on clearance (me? excited about a dress?!) that’s totally timeless and ageless. Actually, it’s not ageless. It looks like it’s meant for a specific age. It looks like it belongs on an evil grandma, like the Victorianesque Flowers in the Attic grandma. It’s black, mostly cotton, with long sleeves that button at the wrists. It buttons down the front, too, all the way down from the throat. The shoulders have a design detail with a lace panel in between. It’s difficult to describe, so here’s the retailer’s pic:

 

Dress from Killstar

 

It’s called the “Wake The Dead Shirt Dress,” which is clearly a euphemism for “Evil Grandma” dress. I’ll grow into it, as it’ll look better on me the older I get. I can’t wait to be a spooky elderly lady wearing this dress. Haha! Until then, I’ll wear it as my go-to Christmas party dress, if we can ever have Christmas parties again.

Whatever the case, it’s definitely an occasion piece. If you know me, you know that I don’t like to wear dresses, in general.

Those are the two new things I thought I’d share with you tonight as I sit here in the kitchen. The desk was a necessary expense. The dress was a frivolous early birthday present to myself.

Enjoy your day or night, whatever it is that you’re doing!

 

 

Magic all around.

Last night, I slept while I’d usually be writing and posting here. It was involuntary, so much-needed, for sure. I felt so much better today!

It was a magical sleep. I wanted to listen to the sound of rain when I went to bed, but my favorite rainfall sounds are captured in a certain YouTube video, and I didn’t want to risk the possibility of ads interrupting the rain. (Plus, I don’t need to know that the McRib is back.) I didn’t fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain, but I did wake up to it. We had a gentle rain this morning, and it continued on and off all day. The rich scent of creosote saturating the air put me in an especially good mood. I will never get tired of the smell of rain in the desert.

Creosote fragrance in the rain is magical.

It was magical to wake up to gentle rain after falling asleep thinking about it.

It was rain, and it did magical rain things, such as replenishing us here in the desert. It rinsed my dirty car and watered my yards, and at work, its cloud-cover insulated us from the cold. It felt almost cozy at work today while it rained! I wore the hood on my hoodie and felt like I was at home.

 

After work today. [10 December 2020]

 

 

I’ll share a couple of videos before I sign off! Here’s the rain one that I love, to give you an idea. Maybe you’ll enjoy it, too. It’s a rain forest sort of rainfall:

 

 

And here’s a video that made me cry laughing. Did you hear about the humpback whale spotted in the Hudson River on Tuesday? A Late Show did a thing about it:

 

 

Happy Friday Eve!

 

 

Waking up in the dark and the cold and not loathing it.

SUCTION CUPS, guys. Those are suction cups lining the octopus’ arms/tentacles. In my last post I’d written “tentacles” even though I knew when I wrote it that they were suction cups. Have you ever done that? You write something incorrect and you know that it’s incorrect but you just go on your merry way intending to fix it later, only to forget to do it until after 900 people have received it in their inboxes?

I promptly made the correction. No one called me out on it! Either you didn’t notice, or you hadn’t read the post yet. (Or you let me slide.)

Still can’t stop thinking about that film.

It’s dark and cold when I get up now, and quiet and still. It’s peaceful, and I’m grateful for that. I’m not a morning person, though. Neither am I a winter person or a cold-weather person. First thing I do in the morning is a thing that makes the day feel welcoming: I light the two front rooms with pink light and candlelight. There’s a pink salt lamp in the living room and a triple-wick candle on the dining table in the other room, and it’s nice because I can see into both rooms from the hallway, on either side of the partial wall that separates them. The glow from candlelight on one side and pink salt lamp light on the other makes the front rooms cozy, and I can ease into the day without feeling like I was jarred awake by an alert.

May your early mornings be filled with peace, too.

 

Sharing my interior morning view.

 

My bleeding fingertips and I are heading off to bed at this moment. November Favorites coming on Saturday night!

 

 

“Safe” is the happy common denominator.

It would be pleasing to write for real right now, but I’d need all two of my thumbs to operate the space bar, and I can’t. I have a tiny open wound on the tip of my right thumb and I rubbed acetone into it when I was removing black nail polish, and now I can’t touch anything with that thumb, and that’s the absurd situation. I washed my hands and coated the wound with pain-relieving Neosporin and loosely applied a Band-aid and took two Tylenol, but idiocy isn’t that easily undone.

I wanted to expand upon this: If you live in the States, have a happy and safe Day of Expressing Gratitude! If you live elsewhere, have a safe day.

 

Burning down to the dregs in the deep fall. (Mood.)

Fall cleaning took place today, finally, and now my freshened house smells like sweet, warm spices and apple cider. It’s been years since I’ve been much of a candle person; I cycled back around to candles this season. Currently I’ve got a “pumpkin muffins” soy candle burning on my dining table, along with a couple of tea lights.

 

Burning down to the dregs in the deep fall.

 

You wouldn’t know it from my last post (which I edited for brevity), but my mood for the month has been super chill. Now that October is over, I back-burnered my Halloween Spotify playlist and created one for November. It’s what my house would sound like if you were step into it at any given time these days, and I thought I’d share it.

Warning: Four of the 13 songs contain explicit lyrics. I should add that I’m not about the lyrics in the case of this playlist. I love its lilting, slow tempo and its soft roundedness and occasional edge. I keep it on in the background for the melodies, for the vocals whose sounds I find gorgeous in and of themselves, and for the lulling effect of the beats. Nine of these tracks are old favorites, so there’s a bit of a nostalgia factor here, too.

 

 

Also in the vein of seasonal festivities, I confess that the winter holidays ahead have me envisioning Michael Myers’ return to the front patio sporting a Santa hat and a lei of colorful Christmas light bulbs around his neck. It’s a whim and a fairly potent temptation, and I’m already shrugging my shoulders at whatever anyone night think. I feel that my neighbors think I’m strange, anyway… even more so now that I’m free to be my strange self.

I’m that neighbor, I guess. I won’t yell at people to get off my proverbial lawn, but I’ll put a mannequin out there dressed like a classic fictional serial killer.

Not to get ahead of ourselves, though. Thanksgiving is coming up this week in the States! I’m going to spend it safely with exactly two people, both of whom see me on a regular basis. I’m prepared. I’ve secured a tofurky – a minor triumph, as they sell out so quickly – that’s hunkered down in the freezer. I have the Martinelli’s sparkling apple cider, a Thanksgiving must. My Sunday baking tomorrow will include pumpkin scones with raisins and walnuts that’ll keep in the freezer until Thanksgiving Day, as well.

Happy autumn holidays to you!

 

 

In lieu of an actual post,

I’m just popping in here to apologize for having been zombified by sleepiness and general fatigue since around 6pm today, meaning that tonight’s post will happen tomorrow night. I hate to miss my posting time. Alas, it can’t be helped. The energy has been fraught all day, and I’m feeling it.

Tomorrow night is a new night. Until then, my friends! And thank you for being the understanding lot that you are!