Friday, December 20, 2013
Like the strands in celtic knotwork, a path and my own had crossed many times, but carried on, never remaining together,
until this day, thrice three years ago.
Thrice Three Years Ago, something truly happened.
The orlæg of she who's had only crossed before, had merged with my own. We spoke our Oaths to one another, splicing the threads of our lives,
on this day, thrice three years ago.
Thrice Three Years Ago, something amazing happened.
My Life became More. My Self became More. My Future became More. It all started renewed
of a morning this day, thrice three years ago.
Tuesday, November 05, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Tonight is Halloween, and already I have seen several references to the tradition of
Trick 'o Treat as
giving candy to strangers,
getting candy from strangers (dependent upon perspective) or one of many other variants on different social media sites. The phraseology exposes some problems in our current society. Namely that either the tradition has evolved to include strangers, we no longer know our neighbours, or both.
Up until the last decade or two, we knew our neighbours. These were people we interacted with on a daily basis. Our kids all knew each other, and the parents knew each other as well. We knew the elderly across the street. When a new family moved in, we would introduce ourselves, even if not right away. On Halloween, the kids would go from door to door seeking treats, not from strangers, but from people they knew. Parents stayed home to meet the neighbourhood kids at their own door to treat them. Even if they weren't sure exactly who was behind the mask, it was the child of on of the neighbours, someone you knew.
At some point, though, we became reclusive. We stopped trusting our neighbours. Not because they became less trustworthy, but because we stopped interacting with them. We ceased introducing ourselves to the folks who moved in. We became surrounded by a sea so strangers. Suddenly, the kids weren't safe to go out by themselves on Halloween. Not because of any increased danger over yesteryear, but simply because we didn't know. The majority of doors knocked upon were those of strangers, through no fault but our own. Who is the child behind the mask? It could be anyone.
So, not realising what caused the problem in the first place, we began to come up with solutions. The most simple and best solution, getting to know your neighbours and community, was out of the question, why, those people could be anyone, they could even be <insert scary thing here>. So instead we broke the tradition further inventing things like
Trunk or Treat, where parents drive their children to a predetermined location and the kids go from car to car collecting treats, always under the watchful eye of the parent.
Or, worse yet, we drive our kids to the so-called
good candy neighbourhoods, a feat of which I am guilty myself. Though, at least in my case, only to neighbourhoods where I well knew at least one resident, and only because the area I currently live in is
Halloween Dark, not many children here, so all the houses are dark and without many (if any) treats for any costumed kiddos, though we still visit the few neighbours that do have treats.
How can we fix this? Over the next year, get to know your neighbours. Build community. If you have a garden, give away your surplus (food is a great get-to-know-you). Have cookouts and barbecues. Someone has to start, don't wait for it to be the other guy. Your neighbourhood isn't scary, even on Halloween, unless you don't know your neighbours, and the only way to combat fear is knowledge.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Odd dream last night. Nikki and I had just moved in to our new house (still making it livable) and we walk away from the hallway we are working on and when we returned, we had additional children: triplets, a red-headed girl and identical twin blonde boys, around four or five, but with the articulation and abilities of seven or so years of age — they were painting the hall (the parts they could reach anyway). We now had four children, as we knew they were ours, even though we'd only had the one an hour ago.
The children were ours, though the twins didn't speak often, and we only had them from the autumnal equinox to the vernal. During the other half of the year they did not exist. In the dream we raised them, they were our children after all, and watched them grow up along with our year-round child. Though we did not remember them in the warmer months, when they were with us, we realized we only had them for half a year. We begged and prayed to keep our children, all of them, for the whole year, but our request fell upon deaf ears. Whatever being had placed these additional children in our life was only allowing us the half year we had, and no more.
The faechilder walk my dreams, and though I have washed the sand from my eyes the shadows of their footprints are still upon my heart. Hopefully, the dawn will burn away those shadows, as it often does the shadows of dreams. For all I know, I raised three fae last night, and if I did, I wish them well, and hope they remember the lessons they learned in that time.
Be careful what you wish for, what you say in passing, and rhetorically request, for the fair folk are all about us and always listening and should they find you worthy, just might grant you what you didn't even realize you were asking for. Their gifts may not always come with a price, but those that don't are far more complicated than they seem.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
was my birthday, and some very momentous things happened that had a very real effect on a lot of people, but, like my birthday, it had absolutely no affect of most folks.
I'm talking, of course, about the SCOTUS opinions published that day. Centering around Proposition 8 in California and the definitions of ‘marriage’ and ‘spouse’ provided by the Defense of Mariage Act (DOMA).
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Below is a micro-story I wrote back in September of 2004 on my LiveJournal (Original Link). It was referenced today, so I figured I would repost it somewhere easier to find.
For those wondering, the [lack of] backstory post is here. Basically, there is no backstory, not officially. It was kept open to reader interpretation. The story came from what flashed through my head when I heard
Bodies by Drowning Pool and tried to figure out what would take me to that level.
He walked into the house at a near run. On his way to the stairs he shouted to the man on the couch that the girls would be home soon and he needed to fix them something to eat. All he got in reply was a grunt from being forced to wake too early.
Once upstairs, he grabbed the small duffel he had sometimes used for short weekend trips. He put in a white sheet from the linen closet, then made his way to the closet. Pulling various things from the shelf behind the clothes, he strapped them onto his arms, legs or belt.
Before he left the room, he grabbed the necklace that bore the ring she had worn so many years before. Putting it on, he did run now, catching a confused look from the man, and answering it with a look to which the man could only nod.
By the time he made it back, he did not hear, and could only barely see. He dropped the bag, kissed her, and he squeezed her hand. As he stood, his eyes faded from the deep forest green they had been to a dull grey. He saw little except for the flash of a red bandanna on the kid running behind the building. They were the reason he was here, and they knew it.
He started with a slow walk. The first one still had the look of shock on the face that was, along with the rest of his head, severed from his body. He did not think, he only acted. One of them thought to aim a gun at him, only vaguely did he wonder if that one had felt the small throwing knife sink into the soft place in his throat. They were shouting at him, but he did not hear. Those that came to him were dead before they realized they didn't have the upper hand. Those that ran were followed, or fell from a knife in the knee or tendon.
One by one, those with the red bandannas fell. Knives, and other blades were discarded when they were no longer necessary. The last one tripped over her, the end result of their deed, and fell to the ground, tears streaming from his eyes as he prayed to his God and begged for mercy. What he got was the hilt of a seventeen-inch dirk sticking out from between his eyes where the blade had been driven home. Twenty-three had worn the bandanna. Twenty-three had done the deed. Twenty-three corpses were now in the backstreets and alleys they had once claimed.
With the white cotton sheet he pulled from the duffel he wrapped her lifeless form and lifted her from the ground. After carrying her back to the garden they had grown, he placed her on the bench they had placed there.
Pulling his last clean knife, a sgian dubh with their clan crest on the butt, he cut her a longstem red rose and placed it atop the sheet, already soaked with a red deeper than the petals of the rose.
He stepped inside the house and found his girls at the table with Tim cooking grilled cheese sandwiches not far away. Kneeling down, he hugged the two close, "Mommy won't be coming home, and Daddy's going to have to go away for a while." He ran his hands through their hair and kissed their foreheads. "Uncle T will take care of you until I get back."
He took the sgian dubh and placed it, along with the ring, on the table before the eldest of the girls, his First-Born. "Never forget who you are."
He collected his things and walked towards the front door. "Take care of my girls, T, they are all I have left of her." With that, he opened the door and walked out, bag in hand, shutting it before the children could notice the red and blue flashing lights.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
In an online "discussion" (link) on taxes, food stamps, "fair share", government spending, and other semi-related things that typically get brought up in such "discussions", I came across someone making the statement that
Eating fresh, healthy, unprocessed food is expensive and a luxury.
It does nott matter if you fall to the left, right, or centre when it comes to fiscal matters; that someone would make (and believe) such a statement is wrong on many levels. Including in those levels the fact that government subsidies (such as those for corn) has driven the cost of "junk food" well below where it should be. Further, people have forgotten how easy it is to grow "fresh, healthy unprocessed food", and even if you include the cost of preserving it for later use, it is still far more inexpensive to grow and store your own food than it is to purchase it from the store; at least for the items you can produce on your own.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
At the grocery store tonight I got stuck behind a Couponer. I was reminded of what it is I dislike about the whole "Extreme Couponing" phenomenon. It perpetuates the illusion(delusion?) that how much you are saving is more important than how much you are spending.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Somewhere in those 0z40 days I'm going to have to write a post as to why I prefer dozenal over decimal, but for now, just understand that dozenal ages make for great milestones.
- At a half-dozen years, I started the first grade, and, more importantly IMO, Cub Scouts.
- At a dozen years of age, I was given my first [pellet] rifle and taught to shoot.
- At a dozen and a half years of age, I graduated High School, became recognised as a legal adult and eligible to vote in elections.
- [Incidentally, the legal drinking age in this state is one and three-quarter dozen years old.]
- The Good:
- I'm married to the love of my life
- I have a smart, handsome son
- The Bad:
- I'm broke
- Over $40k (decimal, not dozenal) in debt
- No House
- Currently living with / renting from my mother
- Car that constantly needs fixing
- The Ugly:
- I'm obese (I weigh well over two gross pounds, and I consider two gross too gross)