An End of a Decade

The first birthday card of the year arrived in the mail four days early. My first guess as I reached into the cavernous mail box, fingers searching for the small envelope was, “Ah, must be Mom.”

I was mistaken. Ripping it open right there in the driveway, I was pleasantly surprised to be gifted with a lovely homemade card with beaded accents. Within was “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” stamped in a calming teal ink. Hand-written was, “Best Wishes From The Audubon Society.”

How very, very cool. I’ve only been an official member for less than a month and the kind birding fanatics remembered my birthday. Even before my own mother. *chuckles*

It occurred to me this morning, as I poured my very dark, very rich, and very caffeinated coffee into my Cedars mug, that today is the last day of my 30′s. Not simply the last day of a year, but the final day of a decade.

Whoa.

My pre-java-jolted brain wheeled from the significance of just how much time has past. Ten years of learning, stumbling, growing, hurting, loving, and coming into one’s own. I started my 30th year in pure Wonder Woman fashion — literally. Red, blue, white, and yellow streamers decorated my old apartment as Seasons 1 and 2 of the TV show played in the background. One friend brought a specially made WW cake, while another brought his muchly coveted Bennie Berry Juice. The party was filled with friends from all aspects of my life: childhood, dance club, wiccan, and other. I loved introducing them to each other and sitting back to watch the freaky geek sparks fly. The evening eventually ended up at the EMBERS where my dancing friends partied with me until I was the last one standing.

Thirty feels like so long ago. My third decade was when I became an ordained Priestess, loved three men, and watched my father die of prostate cancer. I nourished fledgling friendships and had two of them crash and burn before the decade was out. I made tons of mistakes, but was also gifted with just as many revelations. I wrote first drafts of four novels. I ballroom danced. I got corporately laid off three times and fired once. Now I am curious where my new career will take hold. I learned it was okay to be honest and to say “No”. I learned who my real friends are. I learned that all the rebirths I’ve done from the ashes is not a punishment but what I am meant to do to be who I am. I gained weight and lost it and gained a little of it back. I grew hips on this once stick-straight body and grew my hair long. I reveled in being a redhead and embraced my inner geek. My sass has grown sharper and my heart stronger. I’ve learned I can be tough when the need calls for it, and be compassionate when others won’t. I’ve learned what I am and what I’m not and have accepted both. All of this in just my third decade of life.

Forty will be awesome. There will be burning, there will be flames, there will be a Firebird spreading her wings; soaring over her old shell as she shines vibrantly in all that she is. And there may even be a margarita or three. Whatever this decade brings, I will not shy from it, I will not cower. I will look it proudly in the eyes and say, “Let’s rock.”

The State of Your Friendly Neighborhood Mutant

Life has been a tad stressful, so my daily blogging and daily photos have had to take a backseat.

My job hunting has intensified as my UI benefits slowly dwindle down to zero. I’ve lost count to how many resumes I’ve submitted with nary a response in return. Fortunately, I did attend “Ignite Portland” last week and made a few connections thanks to a friend, as well as, received a few leads as to who is hiring.

Inside the Bagdad Theatre, location of Ignite Portland 8.

Secondly, my adorable furrkid, Jameson, decided now was the opportune time to develop a nasty case of diarrhea. Two vet visits, two prescriptions, and about $400 later we still do not know exactly what is wrong with him. Popular theories are either an Irritable Bowel Disease or a food allergy. As the meds were screwing with his appetite, the vet recommended two days ago I take him off them. I did. And he wouldn’t eat. Finally, this morning, his hunger overwhelming him, Jameson took to a plate of dry prescription cat food (Green Peas and Rabbit) and started eating again. I am thrilled. Nothing is more nerve wracking than a pet that will not eat.

Thirdly, I’ve been in a bit of funk the past two weeks. Nothing specific, just everything and nothing. When I’m in a funk, my creativity takes a dive and my motivation is full of blah. Jameson feeling better has relieved some of the stress, but I will feel more sure and secure once I find that elusive job.

In the meantime, let me share with you some photos I took in February at the Audubon Society’s Wildlife Care Center Open House. My first venue in volunteering will be this month as I help maintain their sanctuary and hiking trails.

Clickenzee to biggenzee.

Aristophanes, Common Raven

Finnegan, Peregrine Falcon

Julio, Great Horned Owl

Hazel, Spotted Owl, sees what you did there.

Syd, Red Tailed Hawk

Buried Nuts

While opening my bedroom window, I was treated to a show by our resident Squirrel. He was brown/gray with a blue silver tail and a VERY big boy. No other squirrels dare mess with him.

Because I was out of his view, I had the luxury of watching him dart, twitch, and search around a nearby bush for a nut. Little paws dug here and poked there. Finally, success. Squirrel darted to the base of a pine tree and cleaned all the dirt off the nut in a rather OCD fashion. It was really cute. Then without further ado, he popped it into his mouth and carried it up the tree which then met with the local Squirrel Freeway System (aka neighbor’s fence) and he bounced off. Not darted, not skittered, he actually boingy’d along the fence line.

Quite entertaining.

On a completely different, though perhaps similar note, I was lucky enough to capture this shot of a local Red-Tailed Hawk. He’s been hanging out by a environmentally protected marsh area near the local library. I had the fortune of having my camera on me, so I pulled over, took a few pix and this was my favorite.

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Note to Self — Self, when you have the funds to get a new camera, make sure the zoom capabilities knock your socks off.

Lacey Prayer Shawl

Last week was our Knitting Guild’s first meeting of the new year. As is per their custom, it was time to show off projects which encompassed the theme of 2009: Lace. They had two categories for entry — Novice and Experienced.

“Do they mean our knitting skills in general or are they referring to lace experience?,” I whispered to Suz.

“Lace experience,” she answered.

We both submitted our entries into the Novice category and to my surprise, out of the 80-90 members of the guild, only 30 women participated. I assumed there would be more as Lace was quite the popular technique to learn last year.

Once all the entries were on display it was time for the vote. Neither Suz or I won, but we weren’t expecting to as there were some amazingly GORGEOUS lace creations. Some were very intricate, others used bold displays of colour, and the Novice piece which won was a blanket with pineapples on it. The Experienced winner was a luscious brown lace shawl with beadwork. Stunning.

Finally, they also offered a drawing to those who participated. They wanted folks to feel they had a chance to win something. Three drawings, three prizes. Guess who won the third and final prize? Yup! I was beyond stunned as I approached the front of the room to unwrap the last gift. Out of the tissue paper I pulled out a skein of scrumptious sea green mohair yarn and a scarf lace pattern called “Fallen Feathers”. How perfect! *laughs*

My prayer shawl in full length is roughly 5′ – 5′.5″ feet long.

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Close up of the intricacy.

Even closer, and crappier, shot of the draping effect of the shawl.

All that is left to do is attach tassels and it will be ready for a ritual or festival.

Happy Birthday Jameson

Two years ago today as I was reeling from the loss of my furrkid, Embers Grand Dame, I found myself at the Humane Society searching for a new purry companion. Three hours and seven cats later, I was empty handed and heavy hearted as I made my way to the door. Suddenly, in a playroom, I spotted a scotch coloured cat sitting rather Buddha-like, squinting, and mouthing a meow. I could not hear him due to the room’s windows, but seeing made me think, “Aw, what the heck. I’ll break my rule and look at a young, boy cat.”

The volunteer tossed us into a room together and I waited, seated upon the floor with my back against the bench. After one pass around the room to make sure nothing dangerous was within, Rufus (for that was his name back then), hopped up onto the bench and squinted at me. “So there, buddy. Would you like to come home with me?” His response? A loving squint and he touched his nose to mine. I cried.

From that day forth we have been best buds ever since. I love him, I adore him. He makes me laugh and he has kept me sane. Jameson, thank you for picking me. Happy Anniversary and Happy 3rd Birthday buddy!

The Henna Experiment

Roughly a month ago, I had discovered the hair colour I used for the past few years had been discontinued. L’OREAL Feria’s Bright Red Copper gave me the intensity and radio-activeness I had desired for years. When it was taken off the shelves because it simply didn’t sell as well as their more “mundane” Power Reds, I went on a search for the perfect replacement.

I Googled, I searched, I inquired, and I sought. Like the Holy Grail of hair colours, I was bound and determined to find it again. Most folks may not understand what the big deal is, but for those of you who colour your fine tresses — you get it. Your hairstyle is a definite marker of who you are. It is the first thing people notice (in my opinion) and it’s a representation of the spirit you possess. There’s a reason why so many former blonds, who went brunette, go back to blond — it suits them. Any other colour feels like one is wearing a business suit two sizes too small.

After a few days into my mission, I found a possibility – HENNA. Henna? I tried Henna over a decade ago and it barely made a reddish dent into my stubborn cowlick hair. The site I visited was Mehandi.com. What caught my eye was not only the intensity of the red produced by their henna, which is a translucent dye, but that it was body henna. Apparently henna marketed for hair is not really 100% henna afterall. Huh.

The next two weeks I read through their forum, jotted down notes, and decided to order a few samples. I concocted mixtures of three different kinds of henna to see which had the dye I desired. Results? Punjabi Prime won by a landslide.

Last week I ordered my 500gms of Punjabi Prime and a dozen plastic gloves. I did some samples on my hair: one batch with water/lemon juice/henna, the other apple juice/henna. Henna is an amazing thing. When one first rinses it out of their hair, all they see is ZOMG BRIGHT ORANGE. Fine for me, I’m used to vibrant colour. Yet over the next one to three days, as it oxidizes, it darkens and reddens. Plus, and THIS part I love, it does not fade. The intensity stays so much so, that every six weeks rather than having to redo my whole head to recapture the brilliantness of it, I merely have to do the roots.

Back to the hair samples — turned out the one in lemon juice gave the henna a more orangey, brassy colour. However, the apple juice sample still gave the coppery colour, but it was more rich and intense.

Last night I took the plunge and mixed my 500gms of Punjabi Prime Henna with 6 -8 cups of apple juice into a bowl. I let it sit overnight, roughly 12 hours so the dye could release, and at 10am this morning, I started applying the paste. It was smooth and creamy like whipped mashed potatoes. And after all the hub bub I read about the smell? I didn’t mind it actually. The coolness of the henna against my scalp felt wonderful, like a mud mask. It took me roughly an hour to apply the paste to every inch of hair I could find and then some of the spots I missed. Next I wrapped my locks up into some suran wrap where I looked like an anime alien character and I let it sit for about 5 hours. I’m sure 2 hours would have sufficed, but as this was my first attempt at Henna, I didn’t want to take any chances of it not being long enough and having to re-do.

Next came the part I dreaded. In the Henna For Hair forums, many women warned of how dry henna makes your hair (or more specfically, the acidic compound you use to release the dye: lemon juice, oj, apple juice, etc.) and one would have to use A LOT of conditioner to get it relatively normal. That and getting the henna out took forever. Well, I followed one poster’s advice and let my head soak in the tub for 10 minutes. It was lovely actually, laying there in the warm water as the scent of henna eased my muscles. I started to swish my head back and forth like a washing machine, and I could feel my once plastered hair give way and float in the water. The henna was all out. No clumps. No major mess. No picking any remnants out of my hair. It merely started dissolving and turned the bath water a deep reddish brown.

I flipped on the shower and applied two large helpings of conditioner. Let it sit for two minutes and rinsed. Done. No trauma, no straw-like hair, no extra conditioning.

When I stepped out the tub, the first thing I saw in the mirror was the bright orange roots. “Yes!! I’m back!!” Combing it was a breeze and my hair feels the healthiest it has in years.

Yeah. This henna is damn good stuff.

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How do you pimp your altar?

One of my favorite LJ communities to watch (and occasionally participate in) is pimp_my_altar. They showcase stunning, creative, and endlessly inspiring altars, shrines, and magickal work spaces. You name the religion, they have it. I’ve seen serene Catholic shrines, vibrant Hindu shrines, simple college altars to the elements, elaborate Samhain altars, expansive Voudoun / Hoodoun work spaces, elegant Etruscan altars, and so much more.

They have been as small as a bedside table, to one altar taking up the entire width of a living room with numerous shelves and fireplace mantles to boot!

So with that in mind, I thought I would share with y’all my current working altar. Because I just feel like it and on some level I hope it inspires you to create a little altar in your home. It doesn’t have to be magickal “perse” or even religious. I know of folks who have a small shrine set up for a departed pet, or a simple stone next to a pen for a writing altar, or candles and flowers near the bird bath outside to honor the coming of spring. Whatever works for you because that is the essential factor: what works for YOU. Not the neighbor down the street, not your MOM, not even your spouse / partner in crime.

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What I love about altars is they can be so eclectic and so original. No two are alike. Altars and shrines help connect us to energies we wish to have in our lives. Think of them as conduits. The more energy, thought, and intent you put into them, the greater the benefits.

For me personally, I have several altars all through out my home. I have two traveling altars (one for writing, one for magick) made out of Altoid tins which I wrote about last month. I have a small shrine to my Embers Grand Dame. I have an outdoor shrine that is simply a fae statue and a bird feeder to honor the creatures of Air. I have a goddess shrine set up in my closet due to lack of space, but She doesn’t mind.

My working altar is comprised of an old wooden china hutch an ex of my best friend gave me. Of course, when they split the bastard demanded it back (I use the term “bastard” politely because this guy was a true piece of work and deserves a much harsher moniker), I advised him it had become part of my altar and was infused with four years worth of magick. He changed his mind. Smart man. Atop is some black shelving innowen handed down to me and it fits perfectly with my hutch.

Along the top is my Universal Life Church Clergy Certificate, yes I am a legally ordained minister. A certificate I waited to get until I completed my 3rd degree of tradition studies and was earned the title Priestess. I figured it would have more weight for me personally if I waited. There are also candles (real and LED), a wooden Spirit egg I got on Ostara, Dark Mother statue and picture, images dedicated to my totem, objects I’ve found in nature, a firebird figurine / card, and an incense bowl.

Within the hutch is all my magickal supplies right there for my convenience. Last year I did some spring cleaning and, WOW, I had no idea I had accumulated so many items. I placed the ones I use on rare occasion (but still need) in storage, and the rest I donated to the pagan community.

On the second shelf is where I house my current tarot deck, ritual jewelry, and shamanic items. The lower shelf is where I house my BOS, lighter, and incense bowl when not in use.

To the left are tokens I have received at all the festivals I’ve ever attended. And to the right are my drums, a brass cauldron full of incense, walking staff, and a chest full of powdered incenses and herbs.

My altar has grown and shifted along with me over the past 14 years as I’ve walked (stumbled) on this path. Once it was only a little coffee table. Then it was a three level shrine in my living room as I used an old gardening work station to create it. Now I’ve pared it down to the bare essentials and so far I’m really liking it. I know some who have even smaller ones and those who have GINORMOUS ones. Yet I love checking them out all the same (with permission of course).

So tell me. How do you pimp your altar?

I Left It Around Here Somewhere…..

The rain started to soak through my rain “resistant” hoodie by the time I made it to the front door. Huffing underneath the cold clouds, I took pride I was able to accomplish another 2.7 miles in my morning ritual. Alright, every OTHER morning ritual. As I breathed in the wind, I felt exhilarated that I could accomplish just about anything I set my mind to today.

Inside the cozy blanket of my house, I brewed a cup of caffeinated ambrosia and began shifting through the emails. I received notice that yet another person had removed me from their Friends List. Earlier this week it was on Dreamwidth and that person was more of the dark, artistic vibe. I was cool with that, but apparently she wasn’t cool with my day to day sundries.

Today’s came from LiveJournal and whereas I was initially bummed, in the long run no harm, no foul. She was well within her rights to take me off her list because, let’s face it, she was very into writing about her shamanistic experiences. Me not so much. Our interests diverged and whereas I read her entries, I never commented. I did leave her a comment wishing her well and that I completely understood.

Then I started thinking about my blog and the entires it contains within its virtual pages. Lately, I have NOT been writing about my spirituality or shamanism because I’ve felt there’s really been nothing to write about. I feel like I’m in limbo. Not dead, mind you, I still have some amazing dreams. Why just recently I’ve experienced some with me climbing up hills, soaring / flying down hills, opening doors / portals to other realms others in my dreams are unable to to, etc. It definitely has been interesting, so why have I not been sharing?

Somehow, somewhere, I have misplaced my Voice. I want to share, but I’m conflicted as to how. In my mind, I want to manifest my blog into something truly magickal and inspiring. But unlike other blogs which have a running theme (crafty, shamanic, opinion, political, etc), I realized mine lacks one. My interests are all over place and I have several fingers in different pots. I possess no masterful expertise in simply ONE thing; just intermediate know-how in dozens.

Jill of All Trades here. Pleased to meet you.

Do I wish to write my blog with “Slice of Life” pieces or opinionated rants? Quirky humour or deep intellectual thinky thoughts? My day to day shamanic stumbles or my inner revelations which I’ve finally grasped? Some blogs are scholarly, others are artsy, many are hilarious, and a few are quite the hidden treasure chests only if you know where to dig.

I spoke of this limbo to a dear friend of mine and she confessed to be inflicted with the same dilemma. Where is our Voice? I laughed and being the smartass I am said, “Great. We are both experiencing metaphysical / creative laryngitis. Do they have a lozenge for that?”

We laughed.

“Do they make an app for that?,” I asked, “Perhaps turn an iPhone into a dowsing rod so we could find our misplaced Voice? Like looking for one’s car keys?” We laughed some more and, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if some genius out there does program such a nifty tool.

In closing, I suppose all I can say is bear with me. Some days will be dreadfully dull to read my blog, yet others will surprise you as I continue to search for my individual Voice. Perhaps I left it in the icebox?

January 13, 2008

From an old journal entry two years ago.

A few minutes before 12:00PM on Sunday, January 13th, 2008, my beloved furry companion Embers passed on into the Summerlands.

Last night her condition took a turn for the worst as she had become very quiet and very still and even winced a bit at some pain. But as she was one who never played by the rules, she lived through the evening, to be greeted with a perfectly sunny day (SUNday).

Since Friday evening she had stopped eating and drinking all together. And I believe her kidneys were starting to deteriorate. Plus, in one week she dropped more weight and weighed in at 4 lbs.

I had promised her and myself, that when she began to shut down, I would take care of her and end her discomfort. My intellect knew I was making the right choice; however, my heart kept pleading, “just one more day, just one more day.” But I could not be that selfish. It was time to let the furry love of my life for the past thirteen years go.

All I can say was the vets were very sympathetic and professional. I got to spend quite a few moments giving Embers my peace, something I had done at least 10 times in the last 2 days. I thanked her; I honored her; and I cherished and loved her completely. I asked Great Spirit to take care of her. Then we let each other go.

The last thing she felt was my gentle scritching of her chin. The last thing she saw were my loving blue eyes.

Now my apartment feels hollow without her. No sounds of her squeaks and chirps. No feeling of her paws padding my thigh while I sit typing at the computer. No smell of her soft fur under my chin. My baby is gone from this world and it feels incomplete without her in it.

EMBERS
ADOPTED 10/1994 at 7 years of age.
PASSED AWAY 1/13/2008 at the age of 20.
FOREVER BURNING IN THE HEART OF EMBER

Embers “Grand Dame” left my life in body but not in spirit. I still cry for her. Her regal presence continues to be a part of my family as she watches, like a sentinel, from her own altar.

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J is for Jameson

Long day.

Almost forgot to post.

My bad.

Here. Have some cutez.

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