Category: Musings

Dream On, It’s My Dime

One of the ways I handle current tensions & strife is through laughter. You might say I’ve had a lot of titters in my life lately, if not outright guffaws. Fortunately, I have a lilting little chuckle which engages others into at least a smile.

Once again, I dreamed of being outdoors naked. From the waist up, this time. I was carrying an open paperback in front of me, so I didn’t immediately notice. A paperback didn’t quite cover this, tho – I needed a big ole “Look” Magazine (too obvious?) or a classic edition of “Life” – not that abbreviated, shrunken offering now available.

Sadly or strangely or whatever, the man I was walking alongside of didn’t notice either. But glancing down, I realized my situation, lilted a chuckle & turned around, heading back toward the upstairs apartment where I was staying with total strangers. I did mull over, along the way, if anyone was noticing my bare-naked, be-moled back & thinking: “that woman has nothing on from the waist up.” No one tapped me on the shoulder or leered an “O Miss!” or “O Ma’am” at me. I was just bemused & wondering why no one had said anything when I exited that apartment – after all, the residents were friendly, not relatives & had surely noticed my déshabillé. Non? I felt a bit better when I spotted a cyclist who also seemed naked from the waist up, until I saw she had large flesh-covered straps criss-crossing her back. Ok, so I was the only one on this street in this state (undressed, not of the union.)

I find the older I get the more focused I am on looking young. This oxymoron can rule a life  if not taken firmly in hand – since nothing else is affixed to one place anymore, at least I can allow my beliefs to be so. When a friend treated me to a cupping demonstration which delineated how to firm up the face once again by the use of an extremely small traffic-cone-shaped item, (which resembles a thimble for a giant who cannot get the hang of sewing) plus varied accessories made appropriately of smooth stone, I was eager & embarrassed to attend. It’s unexpectedly effective in a reverse kind of way, & I find that I now have a few more wrinkles under development than before. Perhaps I’m not using it correctly? This is one where I thought I didn’t need to read the instructions but maybe I’d better find the booklet before I become a historic road marker. Although I could achieve THAT anytime I just made my dream come true…

On the 19th this month, I have a hairdresser appointment. Which leads me to wonder at the vagaries of a language where we strip our clothes but dress our hair. Before the dream of walking downtown topless, I was dreaming of my hair & woke to a call of nature picturing a great add-on I need to share with my tolerant stylist. Since I plan to have the sides clipped in closely, I may get lightning bolts shaved out over my ears. This would refute the girlfriends who are dismayed by my idea of a perm at my age. Perhaps they are picturing a senior perm – wispy gray strands over a pink scalp, unevenly curled & wavering. This is not my hair, folks. My hair has an aspect of “OMG, is that a toupee?” about it. One could upend me & mop the floor with the growth I have. It’s not a complaint, but rather a brag that I say this. However, lifelong growth patterns dictate that my hair grows only out the top of my head in any comb-able fashion. The sides tend to bush out, so it looks like I’m wearing earmuffs, but not so nicely as Leia affected in “Star Wars.” I’m serious when I say earmuffs. Recall the fuzzy kind Mom used to buy in winter? Where your entire scalp froze painfully to the wire connector, but your ears stayed warm?

I am a firm contender in the argument that VANITY, not hearing, is the last sense to depart the body. If you dispute this unscientific finding, I remind you that one of the activities of the undertaker, after gluing your mouth shut, is to apply makeup. You’re dead! What need here? It might be the only opportunity you had in your life to be out in front of friends without a big fuss on how you look. Really, what do you care? You’re supposed to be signing up for harp lessons, or getting the folds in your robe right, or learning how to artfully arrange your wings upon sitting on small gold throne-stools. But, sigh, what do I know? For me, it may be my last chance to float in out of people’s heads, trying to understand them better than I do now.

Because if age has taught me anything, it is that I will never understand people no matter how much they & I agree or nod together, or tsk-tsk together about the neighbors.

So, let’s wander out of this delightful little ramble through my head & maybe rummage in the fridge for a breakfast egg, or a bacon slice to cook up. I’m supposed to be taking my walk right now, but I have a mysteriously sore foot. And it might be chilly out there to start, so that by the time I get home, (almost) all the layers I started out with will be tied around my waist with the pocket my keys are in dragging along the ground.

I wonder if I have any cheese left for an omelet.

 

 

Changeling

Every day I am restored by the grace to begin again. Actually, every moment is such. All the large beginnings: leaving husbands, letting go of lives so carefully gathered & nervously lived, turning away from daughters & lovers whose love for me was as real as my love for them…

I am who I am because each relationship began & ended. I am free & unbound & if I had hair, it’d be blowing in the wind of my life now passing by.

I am here to start dreams – though this means my expertise rises from endings. For all passages require one closed door & one that’s opening. Doorways equal transitions (which is why we forget what it was we wanted in the other room as we pass through them.)

Walking from one door to another requires a special energy that gathers as desire rachets down tightly, curling upon itself until the tension binds into a release. All else is wished away. The “New” laps around me like a litter of puppies, soft, round, happy, panting & yipping in eagerness to be experienced.

Even from this, I remove myself at times. I wonder about me. Every month brings a new moon & a full, the bright rebalances the dark. I initiate by becoming an initiate following an initiative.

I have done harm, yes. The landscape is littered with what I probably should have done. But I picked my way carefully through the detritus I’d made of my relationships, through the hash made of my relationships by the others in them. I clawed out of the spoils to that bright new day of welcome opening for me, as though I was the only pure thing it would ever see.

I trust with a full heart. I unfold as though the sun will shine forever. I keep believing, as all the songs say I must do. And when the fear sends me scurrying for the coat pockets to check for lost, linty money, or shaking the piggy bank for funds to finish the month, I live with it. I recover my joy whether there are enough coins to rattle or one single jingle.

In coming this far, I have taken the journey home. There is no arrival for I am always where I am: at home. There is wisdom here, and courage. There is heart-mind, order & determination. “All the time I’ve wasted is given back to me”* I’ve learned it’s okay to draw a blank at first. Sometimes a close encounter with a rhino & subsequent clean-up is the best I can manage. Whatever.

I don’t flicker anymore. I burn. People are singed near me. I have gone Samurai, a world-warrior forged by life’s forgiveness. Each place I have halted, I have gathered more.

If I seem part of a crowd, it’s only because I’ve stood still & the others have caught up. I can wait for them to pass me. Living alone is not my fear. Alone is one letter off of God: All-One. And I am all-in-one now.

I’m accustomed to the unexpected; I accept the occasional maladroit gifts I offer. Things usually come up right though it may be by a longer route.

Dreams always come true (at least mine.) If it isn’t in my life, I haven’t dreamed of it. I have come to view this as choosing, not limiting. Days march past on the calendar like ants, purposeful, fulfilling, each carrying one burden to release at the end of the day as a pearl of sustenance. Every before becomes an after. I sleep in my dreams like silk pajamas.

The unexpected turns into synchronicity.

It’s taken some time, but I believe in me & that is only because I’m a fragment of my own imagination, burning candles kindled at both ends. The light’s better that way, when seeking blessings.

“It happened without a fight

Something is new about me

I feel it with each breath

There’s a majesty about me

A majesty about me…

I feel it in my self

A new heaven a new earth

Is all that I see” *

—————————

*lines from “I’m Changed” composed by Ricky Byars-Beckwith.

I’m Changed sung by Angel Travis

 

Solar Flares, CMEs, EMPs

I keep hearing one of these is going to happen. While humanity could use a dynamic, mobilizing shot in its energetic arm, the mildest result of one of these events could “set us back 20 years.” Well, that sure beats sending us back to the Stone Age! (I might mention here Stone Age in New Mexico is relative…I say this as I’m attempting to lay a mini-labyrinth in my backyard & a bit overwhelmed with the thought of moving even more stones into what seems already to be a bona fide Rock Sanctuary. Can you say “redundancy?”)

What was happening 20 years ago? I used some “today tech” to look it up. Twenty years ago, Apple was introducing the iMAC, inflation was 13.58% & a new house cost $68,700. Gas cost $1.19/gallon & a new car to put it into around $7,200. Men’s suits cost $ 89.95 & had slim lapels. Mr. Potato Head ($4.99) was considered a good kid’s toy & Cabbage Patch dolls were gaining popularity.

The U.S. defeated the Soviets in hockey. Post-It Notes were introduced – do you remember paperclips? CNN was launched, along with the Rubik’s Cube.

There were bad happenings as well. Iran-Iraq went to war; John Lennon was assassinated, & the Mariel Boat Lift was our most worrisome immigration problem.

The national question was “Who shot J.R.?” Olivia Newton-John top-listed audio charts with “Magic” & Pink Floyd ruled the toker population. “Nine to Five” & “The Empire Strikes Back” brought long lines to the movies. (I remember driving from Cherry Hill to New York City to see the former upon its release! Really?)

So, 20 years back sounds incredibly mellow. I hear a rewind tape whirring, a loud click to stop it & another to start the pinwheels rolling forward again. We might or not re-elect Ron Reagan. We might have made a note of Kosygin’s name as leader of the Soviet Union…or not. For me, Soviet leader names didn’t stick between Kruschev of the handheld shoe &  Gorbachev with that strange mark on his head, but a great smile.

Carl Sagan wrote Cosmos. Stephen King wrote Firestarter. Roald Dahl wrote The Twits. Aliens were still a problem for the future while actively hovering over military bases, turning off nukes. Today, you can see on YouTube people like Captain Robert Salas “coming out” from under their 20-year NDA’s to tell us about the discs in the sky flipping switches in hardened silos.

All of this sounds so mild compared to stressors of today, no?

What were we preparing for then, that’s happening now? In Arizona, the Hopi say God gave them First & Second Mesas to farm because He didn’t want life to be so easy the people forgot to pray. Even in the places where the living has been easy, we’ve needed prayer to get us through each day. Situations escalated, shortages developed, plans failed & dreams were silenced by circumstances beyond control. In leveraging a balance, babies were born, more dreams fulfilled, happiness acquired, goals generated & achieved. All of this in the name of progress.

If there’s an EMP event, we’ll have mammoth changes overnight. I have enormous faith in human nature & creativity. We might see exercise bikes wired to toaster ovens. We’ll be determinedly searching through all the stuff in the shed for an old campstove, maybe Mom’s afghans, once-tacky wind-up toys & anything that can be bartered for something more useful. I see people coming together as we do in the face of any emergency. Yes, there will be harm done; but I believe our development level to be upward. Our mindsets must expand to overcome obstacles & bring the children forward. Some fraying will occur in the seams of the social fabric with seniors & babies eased from the picture, but many were out along its fringes anyway.

What I’d rather see is thorium balls nested in a living room basket to provide the household’s energy needs. The wires obstructing our view of clear skies will all be dismantled, the telephone poles used for romantic fireside fuel, & those ugly metal towers made over into roadside sculpture.

I refuse fear on general principle. Fear forces chi downward, & I’ve said before I’ll take to my knees for no one. Living rightly means being prepared for a future that is variable. I read many dystopian novels, yet I stubbornly believe improvement will occur under any circumstances, once the initial shock of the event notches into practical responses to it. Again, mankind is endlessly adaptable to change; however, we must channel this positively. No make-do stuff – pure-D, certain improvement must become the order of the day.

All the websites say to prepare: have water, dry food, keep cash on hand. I’ve got news – it’s the barter available in those sagging storage cardboard boxes that’ll keep the worst at bay. I have some great books to read in reserve on my shelf & standing in line is a decent place to peruse these. I’ll be that Rod Serling character who moves into the city library when the rest of the population rides out of town looking for something else.

I love how the establishment gives us impossible standards while polishing their collective, elected nails to a fine gloss. Why aren’t they preparing? Why aren’t they hardening communications, stocking up comestibles the public will need? Hell, why aren’t they even stacking cigar boxes in the much-lauded back rooms to use for cash registers? Could it be because they’ve already skimmed the best parts off both top & bottom for themselves, while pointing our minds in the opposite direction from sane, responsible survival?

I don’t want to be facing the other way when the world ends. I want to see it coming square on, standing up as tall as my 5’2” allow, ready to adapt, to help, to live as well as I can in a different way. Pretty much what I do daily, actually. Some of those unread books are on prayer…maybe I need to put these atop the read pile for my own edification, education & improvement. What I’ve already done is put aside the angst about what the future will bring. I figure if mine’s not shining like a new city on the hill, it may be time to let the mortal coil go, springing like a Slinky down the stairs & out the physical door.

It takes so much effort to engender positive change. It takes pulling our heads out from all the mainstream programming – flat screen tv’s aren’t even decorative, let alone useful in Dystopia. To be prepared isn’t a slogan. To be mentally fit by using our hearts in place of our brains is the new world order. We know society is going to change. What shape do we wish it to assume? Where will our dreams (and what will our dreams) be when the time comes to live them?

I have this feeling that change will sweep over us from above rather than seep into us from below, but either way, it’s unstoppable. But, then, so are we!

Labels

I derive from a generation which kept its labels tucked away from sight.

Not so today. Levis puts their labels along the seams, so they protrude like the tabs on pinafores for those old stick-the-clothes-on cardboard dress-up dolls. Reebok simply prints them over your left breast. Nike swooshes everything, from farmlands to billboards. As though they didn’t make enough after sweatshop profits! These manufacturers are what the nuns used to sneeringly call “brazen articles.”

What if people wore labels? “Wash in warm water only.” “Dry clean, do not iron,” And the worst would be the size tag jutting out from your neck, like a shark fin: “Size 16!” Mine would prob’ly just say “fatty, fatty, boombalatty” in the interests of exactitude & accuracy.

  • Thinker?
  • OMG!
  • Leave Me Out Of It
  • Needy
  • Coffee Now Or Else
  • Donate below

When we speak of transparency, I’ll lead the line on many topics. Actually, my face is of itself an LED display; everything I think flits across it. This can be dangerous in mixed company – I stay home a lot. If I flew a personal flag, it’d likely be the Andy Warhol soup can for “over-salted.” Still, I’m not attempting any Human Barbie look. Too many old dolls wind up headless / armless / legless, riding dust bunnies in odd corners. Oh, yeah, & naked.

My other labels, I hope, would read “funny,” “bright,” “sensitive.” Although I have the feeling they would read “sarcastic,” “smart-mouthed,” “ticklish feet.” The one on the back of my head would read “Does she really mean that?” And, um, yeah, I really do.

This is an age when secrets keep like milk left out in July sun. Of course, there’s a valid argument to be had that they never really did. Remember that old saw about a secret being kept only if one of the holders is dead? But it is different now. Egregiously so. Our vitals are sold off without even being bid upon. I recently read Google makes $12 for just having my stats. Do the math, everyone.

Does it ever run a chilly frisson of up your spine when the form you’ve just called up on the screen self-populates with your address, age, car make & favorite dinner? Mine even note I wear sweatbands doing massage, with the notes:

  • Wannabe human
  • May not have another book in her
  • Would rather be a cat smirking atop the bookcase

It can be handy when the speller suggests how to spell vinaigrette correctly. But other than that, I’m not as much into “arty-ficial” intelligence algorithms for the price of a vowel.

I want you to take a minute to think over your labels – your body language, your obvious attitudes, your words, all the niches you fit into by appearances, ideals & lifestyles.

Above all, don’t worry about any of ‘em. They’re self-populating, comprised of artificial stupidity & usually not at all what you see in your mirrors.

We are far too complex to be trivialized. It’s comfortable for everyone else to label us. Just like it is for us to label them.

Murder Disincorporates

Something interesting happened yesterday as I observed. My friend giggled about a story her husband had “made her listen to” of a woman witnessing a blood sacrifice in the basement of the Vatican. The gang laughed it off with head shakes & grimaces. Everyone “knew” her husband well: he’s a town character. I opened my mouth to begin the long tale of Reptilians, Annunaki in mitre hats, Vatican alliances with evil, ritual sacrifice…& slowly closed it again. Across town, there’s a discussion group where this topic would’ve engaged animated, interested debate. But I was at this coffee, not that one.

I continued sipping my smoothie silently, nursing my own thoughts. I know what I believe. I am interested in hearing their beliefs. What’s the level of disclosure to be reached here? Can conspiracy flourish in a group of upstanding “Christian” believers who entertain discussion with Jehovah Witnesses at the front door while pressing their literature into the trash as they close it?

I’ve learned to choose my battles. I want to see where the line of “getting along” divides & where I might tiptoe over. I’ve defended ideas in this group before. It can take lots of energy to get past the double-sprinkle donuts & open, yet strangely exclusive mindsets. Global nightmare is possibly not to be addressed in a friend’s living room at 8 a.m. over banana bread. But the converse continued on to gun control & how, since we knew no one personally & tragedy has not happened intimately, might be a topic dismissed with a trite, “what’s this world coming to?” platitude.

But really, I see both sides as being of paramount conversational importance…we are not a diverse group, but we are all seniors who have seen war, peace, history & we follow the current news, though not avidly.

We all know on some level that situations mirror each other. I look for “teachable” moments where I can cross over the acceptable lines to engage in fencing ideas with others. We did get to talking about how society seems to be going “kablooey” with opiods (causing mental illness), lousy nutrition (causing physical problems resulting in the “need” for opoids), consuming adrenalized beef products (causing increased aggression), demonic influences (causing claims “the devil made me do it!”), Mercury Retrograde & more.

The only real item of note; however, is how the story ends. Death is a disincorporation – a removal of the physical as the energetic lives on, Too many claim the power of death over life because they own a gun with which they only plan to defend themselves. Violence begets more of itself when viewed in the long-range. Just as many here would attribute the power of handling firearms to only those authorized to bear them. These individuals are supposed to be wed to the idea of defending life through the capability to deal death. And there has been much of note recently as to how this power is brought forth in society, whether amok in demonstration or peacefully marching down Main Street. The results can be dismaying in their sameness when guns are in the extant crowd, no matter the hands or hip holsters in which they reside.

The boundaries become indistinguishable when subsumed into the power of dealing death with the crook of a finger.

There used to be a largely acknowledged absolute that said, “Thou shalt not kill.” But that already was weak in a society that slaughtered animals for food. And yes, there are any number of rabbit holes to travel down with a statement that general. But it does involve a death which comes under the topic of discussion here.

Killing of any kind will never be a viable response to continuing to live well – individually or as a society. Dealing in death doesn’t pay off in affirmative life. But I nibble at this gargantuan topic with a toothpick & a salad fork. It just gave me pause for where I engage life, how much I am given to do so, why I choose my belief systems & how each individual fits into an overall scheme fringed all about, ultimately, with death.

Look Both Ways

At the two ends of my days, I still my mind & whisper inside it, “Thank You!”

The mornings sing with promise & the evenings with premise. When I have slept & awaken to the expectation of another day, I choose to have it be orderly & full of life. When I lie down to sleep, I breathe in the now-deflated activities to bestir them once more. In that minute, I can see the what & how of my day’s deeds. Usually I achieve clarity on situations which set of the railroad crossing arms, clanging internal bells, & bringing down barriers in the moments they unfold.

This is where the proverbial “shoulda/coulda/woulda/if” dragon rears to flicker its tongue inside the brain. The witty reply you should have made, the idea you could have brought forth, the best possible behavior you would have taken to settle all once & future doubt…we don’t even have to consider the “if” because you have already experienced it as you’ve mentally closed out this sentence.

A recent example of this is a fella I met who told me he felt the people he met here in T or C did not get when he was being “jocular” (his word.) My midnight consideration of this pronouncement brought up his continual smile. Do you assume someone is joking when they only smile? Is that accurate? Perhaps as accurate as his feeling we were all too serious. My midnight consideration put together many later facts that emerged: He grows marijuana & makes a living selling it. The rapid speech, the soft voice, the simple grin were probably all indications of his being under the influence. Am I wrong? I could be; but this made the most sense to me in my retrospective of the situation. I have little respect at this point of my life for dope dealers. They interfere with life.

The shadow & the light are at play right now, as in some cosmic tennis match. We are served illusion & disinformation as a matter of course. I keep hearing that I should be discerning, but I’ve lost the meaning of the word. Each time I tune into something in which to believe, an equal, opposite case is made. So, I reserve judgment, observe my perception of reality & live by my truth.

In the movie, “What The [Bleep] Do We Know”, Joe Dispenza introduces his idea of creating your day. Here’s a link to a transcript: “I Create My Day” (Joe Dispenza)

If you don’t care to read all the words, a video interview is available: Interview with Joe on topic.

Singer/songwriter Peter Mayer says, “the gift is to realize that everything is a gift.” This is neither simple nor easy to do. It takes a suspension of current events (kind of similar to what it feels to smoke marijuana), to reinvent the world into Divine Order. Or it takes simple faith. Faith can be impossible until you are no longer hungry in body, mind & spirit. Hunger in any of these inhibits that cosmic flow we are to go with.

It seems that society itself is “jumping the shark” – a phrase I had to look up today online as I was not familiar with its true meaning. It means a kind of exaggeration to the point of losing the point. As soon as I read the definition, I realized it was familiar: I used to call it “bringing in the dinosaurs.” When the story line ran out of plausible situations, dinosaurs were written in & it was time to surrender the series to rightful oblivion.

Don’t let the dinosaurs get to you. Don’t let situations become so unstable & ridiculous that you are squeezed out of your own reality. Have that faith in what you have created. Investigate the causes of your emotional switchbacks along the mountain. Observe your thoughts. Did you think these before? Are these what you surround yourself with daily? You may be living yesterday today & offering up your tomorrow to the same discomfort.

Break the routine of being yourself once in a while. It pays off…and if the new becomes more fulfilling, you’ve won big.

I try to do this though I love my comfort zone like Wimpy loved hamburgers. (Remember his line: “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today”?)

I highly recommend the video “Stroke of Insight” on YouTube as an example of a singular, incredible example into change.

Let’s go for the new thoughts together & re-create this old world into the reality most satisfying to ourselves, most productive for all, most protective of that which is precious & most loving in sheer gratitude for what it can be, as we make that what is.

A Blessing:

“For food in a world where many walk in hunger

For friends in a world where many walk alone

For faith in a world where many walk in fear”

And so it is.

 

 

Coming Out of Your Shell

Hullo, sending you love. I’ve made some notes about your desire for changing up your life & feeling it may never happen…
I know so well that the longest  time is before the departure when our dreams have changed & on the inside we have moved almost too far away to come back, to ever even exist in this now, the one without the changes so much of us has already made. We are our new selves in old clothing which no longer fits & in which we canNOT get comfortable no matter how we pull, tug, pin, zip.
But it happens that we often do not listen to what is going on until the time for it to happen is past due & then the realization comes in that we should have been gone earlier, that we have waited what seems to long for change & it now will not come.
It is not just you. The whole world has been tapped on the shoulder, and shrugged it off over & over again. Things got worse. MORE tapping, this time on our head; we shake it off. (Oh, hearing things again) then the tapping comes upon our hearts & this time we think, no! not my heart, OMG I heard this before – it was on my shoulder, it was on my head, is it too faint now to hear when  it is on my heart?
There’s a reason every time an angel appears to a human the first words said are, “Fear not!” For all change is fear to the human, our safety lies in sameness. Until it doesn’t, until we realize we needed to be safe elsewhere to be happily so. Then we divorce, then we have a child, then we move to another neighborhood, start school, take a new job. the idea is to pay close attention to hearing always in our heart first. the words are always “fear not” and the rest of that is “I am with you, always.”
Through every change, in every new idea, with every gift given & received, we live again, We gain with the new, the experience, the emotion around it, the idea of it…till suddenly nothing fits & all must be relied upon as gifts to the spirit/gifts of the spirit.
We live again through this movement TOWARD which is always movement AWAY at the same time. It is how the balance is maintained. We are never given one that we are given so many more & the choices are profuse. I seek always the place where I can hear my heart beat, for it is here my truth resides. The truest tapping of all – that which becomes a drumbeat the heart, head & feet cannot resist until we march on into the newest of dawns.
It is your spirit calling you out of your life, telling you to re-new your life, dust off the wings, shake off the shoes, we place ourselves where the powers of love can find us, take us up into heaven, escort our walking on water, comb out our wings, move us, move us, move us.
So consider these days the winding of the clocks which will spring you forward into exactly where & when you being asked to SHOW UP as your best self. Allow these moments to pass in grace & love & know you are moving even tho all is still. Listen to that heart of yours beating, feel the tapping on your soul, be ready. For it shall change in the twinkling of an eye & the now will be a faint echo of “then” soon enough.
All my love, alle-allelulia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lhz1En2rAzo&list=RDrUXhiD2HChU&index=24

SSSSSnake Alert!

My roommate came to find me earlier this week to say there was a snake at the back door. She was heading to our tiny patio there as the dryer is across it, in the former garage. I was immediately intrigued – A Snake! I grew up in Jersey where about the worst predator was a crab scuttling at you sideways on the beach. Or a jellyfish alert from the lifeguard on duty. So, a snake was a teaser I couldn’t miss.

Just outside the swinging back doors, like an inch outside, was a small grass snake lying quietly. I got the feeling he (for the sake of not knowing how to sex snakes), was waiting politely for an invite into our (only slightly) warmer back room. Or maybe he had heard about the latest mouse in the pantry (our third in as many months.) I told G. I’d be right back & zipped to the fireplace for the shovel. I scooped the snake up on it & winged it outward – attempting to deposit it upon the bordering back ledges in the yard.

I have unerring, almost Freudian aim when I throw things. I once hit our cat in a tree she used to climb, far to the left of our house in Cherry Hill. I was aiming the tennis ball at the roof – a pretty broad target, kind of like the side of a barn. I threw a curve ball that bounced on the branch where she was often adventured. I have no idea how I did that, to this very day. I even threw left-handed…which is how I play Skee Ball, tho I’m really a right-hand gal. (As to why I was tossing tennis balls on the roof, if you’ve ever tried to exhaust a Golden Retriever puppy, rolling balls off the roof sometimes works & may also contribute to an understanding of why Jitters was in the tree.)

I have thrown pebbles into car windows accidentally (windows open only a couple of inches) when I wasn’t aiming anywhere near the car. I’ve thrown shoes or sock balls or any number of things during a long life of playing with pets. I’ve rarely landed any item near where I aimed. In fact, it was almost legendary that when I picked anything up & “rared back” with it, an alarm sounded over town & all ran for cover. I am not embarrassed to say I never hit anything in my sights – but what I did manage to clobber proved pretty damned funny over the years.

So, as you can see by the photo above, I missed the back ledges because there was a black walnut in the middle of the yard & I managed to wrap that poor, cold, stunned snake around a branch of it. I think he did a pretty good job catching on, myself. And there was only one thing taller than me in the area, which was the tree. But, really, what are the odds? He hung out there long enough for me to grab a couple of snaps with my phone to send to friends.

Two of these returned the email with an identical question & comment: “Snake is Messenger. Did you ask it for a message? Hmmmm.” And my abashed answer was “nope” because while I know much about animal totems & their meanings, I haven’t encountered Snake before. So I’ve not consulted the animal totem books for this particular reference.

Well, it made me wonder what the encounter may have been about. Aside from a passing thought, “If I were Eve, we’d need a very small fruit here, like maybe a cherry tomato,” I didn’t think about a message at all.

Two days later, an even smaller grass snake was “ssss-ing” its way across the front entry hall by the door. (If you’ve ever seen a snake moving along, it makes an “s” out of its body & somehow accordions from one place to the next.) This guy wasn’t cold; wasn’t slow; but was a little confused about being indoors, I think. My two shopping carryalls were right there, along with our Maglite. It was about 11 in the morning of a beautifully sunny day, the Saltillo tile steps outside were warm, dry & easily climbed. The screen door had a 1” bend in the frame along the bottom & all of this contributed to his entry. Plus, we have not yet caught the mouse who is dining on Ramen Beef soup packets every evening. And leaving mouse poops in trails … necessitating wiping out the pantry frequently. (While snakes “s” along, mice poop along. I think, like old cars that go putt putt putt, they go poop poop poop.) What did I say in a very recent blog about shit happens, but that doesn’t make it decorative? Gotta be more careful here!)

I ran for the trusty fireplace shovel, but this guy wasn’t into hanging around to be shoveled out & I will say I backtracked quickly when it slithered at my flip-flopped feet. But touching it with the shovel brought on a quick u-turn which I was able to exploit by lifting the bags it hid under & touching it once more when it curled up next to the Maglite. I guess snakes have second thoughts & the better part of finding a warmer nest turned into essss-cape out that inch of exposure. One more touch to its tail-end sent it to gone. It was a relief not to have to try to scoop up a fast-moving skinny little guy for a toss out the door. This is likely a good thing as I didn’t land it on any neighbors walking their dogs nearby – a real risk given my targeting handicap.

My roommate was only slightly more freaked this time around, when I told her. She said, “I’ve never had snakes near the house! What is going on here!?”

And then I remembered I should have asked this one about a message – take two & I was gripping the shovel, clueless to cues. I looked wistfully out the door & around the rain barrel, just in case Snake had hung out to fulfill its mystical duty. But sadly, it was not around; tho I admit I didn’t look too hard. I think I am getting messages differently these days, like email & by phone. Just not used to natural Western Union.

Snakes also are about transformation since their highlight is shedding skin. But I’m still me, still can’t throw worth a hoot (evidenced shortly after this by tossing my flipflops in my room & one landing on the bed, one landing under it.)

What could it have been, this message? “Aim better in life?”  “Don’t mess with fireplace shovels?!” “If you ever trap the mouse, we’ll be out here?” “Not today, but in a couple of days, you’ll be up at 2 a.m. writing blogs about us?”

I will never really know.

But I’m ready for #3 now! Just hope they don’t send a rattler as an exclamation point!

O Vanity (or, on Being Beautiful)

Every day I carefully sift through my closet to put together an outfit that’s coordinated, spiffy & “interesting.” I sigh about being on old lady, but I dress it up anyway. I fix my hair (wear it front or back?), I dress for the weather (long sleeves in New Mexico can be too much at any given time, even midwinter, given our 360 days of sunshine), I select footwear: shoes or can I still get away with sandals? I dig out makeup (a bit of eyeliner to paint under the epicanthic folds gravity is kindly manifesting for me), I bring in the magic 10x mirror & sit it in front of the light-filled window & pick at the salt n pepper facial hairs determinedly darkening my complexion (oh to be fair! But then, I never was in this lifetime.) I defuzz by degrees after the initial shudder at the ever-visible moustache line.

I tried whitening my teeth & that worked pretty well, tho expensive & sensitizing to gums. I try to walk each day after stretching out on the yoga mat through a warm-up routine tho I never quite get to full count on anything abdominal. I use three-pound hand weights when I walk – got biceps? I do! But who sees these? I can’t walk around all day flexing like some gym rat checking the bod in a hundred mirrors. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to, though. This is my first time in life with real biceps, after all.

From a distance, I look pretty good. It’s only up close & when I smile that you see the parentheses of wrinkles crinkling everywhere. My throat has a kind of sun-ray pattern to it which I find interesting, but which keeps me from wearing necklaces I once loved, as I don’t want to call attention there. And as I smile & the wrinkles appear & the collagen-depleted skin rearranges, guess what emerges from the little valleys between the crinkles, like some 3D kiddie pop-up book? More hairs.

I have read that hearing is the last sense to go in the body. But I have news for you – it’s Vanity. What’s the last thing done to the body? The undertaker puts make-up on you! Right? And as we age, our ears begin to once more grow (they also [OMG] clump bunches of hair). Our noses become visible from space. Our triceps assume the consistency of slackly drooping clotheslines. Our necks crepe up, our eyebrows figure it’s time to finally meet one another across the nose bridge…on & on. We should probably light candles to the great god Gravity, but Gravity, having brushed every appendages down in a bland assurance that nothing is where it started, has left the building & is out somewhere holding down trees & cars & waiting for apples to fall.

I see my mother’s hands when I look down at them typing. I see my Mom’s hair, the little waves all about. She used to put a touch of olive oil in hers for shine & control. I use a kind of sticky power-gel in a vain attempt at total control. We lived by the ocean & beach hair is a phenomenon of itself.  Before I left Delaware, I started seeing t-shirts saying “Beach Hair, Don’t Care!” so I know it’s not a private matter any longer. Now it’s advertising.

So, after all is said & done, all the zipping up & pulling down, all the blow drying & insertion of earrings, the careful selections & accoutrements of fashionable accessories, I make sure I stand far enough back from the mirror that the details blur out a bit. I tell myself, “Just look at how beautiful you are!” And I walk, loose-limbed, straight-backed, smiling my face into its road map & head out. Today I wore a mostly red tie-dye shirt, a red hoodie vest, a red & purple scarf, carried a flowered Laura Ashley bag & wore lipstick. It paid off!

In the Wal-Mart, as I headed for the SmartPop white cheddar mini-bags – my latest sugar avoidance go-to (tho to an Italian, cheddar roughly equals chocolate) – I heard a voice behind me say, “I love your clothes!” And I turned, beaming, to the four-year-old fella holding to granma’s shopping cart to say, “Thank you, dear!”