Archive | December 2012

Baby, Send Me Over That Physcal Cliff!

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One minute to midnight, one minute to go . . . .
One minute to say good-bye, before we say hello!

Let’s start the new year right, twelve o’clock tonight,
when they dim the light, let’s begin . . . .
kissing the old year out, kissing the new year in!

Let’s watch the old year die with a fond good-bye
and our hopes as high as a kite!
How can our love go wrong if we start the new year right?

(Remember to enter the giveaway today to win Lily Does Sweden.
Because after you fall off Cliff, who knows what will happen.)

Soul Searching Solstice or All Out Apocalypto?

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Personally, I think if the Mayans knew about foretelling the future, they’d have seen themselves dying out 400 years ago. So I’m not too worried that tomorrow might be the end of the world. Besides, as a Christian, I live in a continual state of “the end is near.” It’s sort of who we are as a people. And we actually look forward to the end of the world. Go figure.

For those of you planning on sticking around over the Winter Solstice, I’ve convinced my publisher to give away some free ePUBs. It’s 4 different books with 3 different giveaways running on Dec 21 (Seat At The Feast), Dec 25 (A Goose Is Cooked), and Dec 31 (Lily Does Sweden). The last book (The Extra Man) is given to people who write reviews on any one of the other giveaway books.

I refer to them as the Apocalypse Giveaway; The Reason to Live Giveaway; and The Fiscal Cliff Giveaway. My publisher might have other names, not sure. Don’t really care. If you’re interested in some free ePUB format books, bounce on over to the giveaway page and check it out. The entry page is only live the days of the giveaways.

For great books and art on all things pagan and soul-stice, check out ecoechantments (a great showcase of amazing British artists and artisans). Or, head over to Wendy Andrews place and pick up a copy of her magical Luna Moon Hare. Yeah, that’s right. Christian and Pro-Pagan!

To Walk Upon The Soft Earth

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I find it something of a miracle to walk outside after a winter rain and feel the leaf-strewn earth give, without sound, under my feet.

There is a sensousness to that which is indescribable and cannot be understood except by those who live in a hostile, sun-flayed land.

 

 

 

The wet air, clinging to my skin. The heavy silence. The gleam of silver dew. The smell of wet soil. Oh, what bliss! What heaven! What surpassing joy!

 

Santa Lucia! The Gift of Light!

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I was gifted a set of 8 Smart solar lanterns recently. They’re small with only 1 LED bulb, but once charged they last 12+ hours and produce a very usable, charming light.

Technically they’re for hanging outdoors. And I did think of setting them in the garden so the dog (still alive, but partially blind now) had a guided path. But in the end, I lined the hallway to my bedroom with them.

I know what you’re thinking. But in truth, I did it to keep people from thinking exactly that.

Lately I’ve been the subject of much scurrilous speculation at holiday parties. Mostly due to the fact my cocktail dresses do not hide the rug burns on my forearms, knees, and other exposed body parts.

One can only explain so many times that one’s solid black dog lays in the dark hallway and when one trips on said dog . . . Viola! Rug burns! And it’s hardly with the effort to explain, given my honesty is met with nothing but giggles, arched brows, and smirks of disbelief.

I suppose I’ll have to stick to formal gown and glove events for a bit. And invest in some night vision goggles.

The Paperwhites

 

 

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So Winter Fling (think Aragorn, but with less of an accent) brought me a plastic bag stamped Home Depot the other night. Romantic? Yes.

 

It contained a box of paperwhites (Narcissus papyraceus to be exact), a plastic pot, and a ball of coir medium. Home Depot/science project/ daffodils? Fling totally gets me. Bless him.

Paperwhites are the perfect flower for indoor winter growing. They bloom in a few weeks, and fill your home with a wonderful musk scent. When they die back, you can plant them in the garden for next spring. Short-term pleasure; long-term joy.

 

 

 

 

I may have to keep Fling past New Year’s. Maybe till the start of Lent (Feb 13th)? But, then what about Valentine’s Day?

Oh, why does love have to be so complicated! Why can’t I just force it to bloom when I want and then when I’m done with it bury it out in the garden!

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In Loo; Of Art

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Most people believe other people think they’re weird (or would think that if they truly knew them). It’s not true. Most people aren’t weird. But they think it. As for me? I’ve never thought I was weird. But other people will stop and tell me I’m weird. Although, generally they use the word unique, but weird is what they mean.

A very good friend, pondering her own rather complicated life, once said to me, “I think I need to climb out of the box.” To which I replied, “There’s a box?” She laughed.  “Well, you . . . ,” she trailed off with a smile. But I knew what she meant. And I smiled too. We both understood it was a compliment.

However, my complete reversal of most people’s reality can be a bit confusing for strangers. My art collection is a perfect example of this. Most people hide their bad art in their bathroom. I keep my finest piece in my bathroom, where I (and my guests) can see it. And my very best piece is right across from the toilet, so one can s[-]it and admire.

The art of the 2nd degree, I keep in my bedroom. It’s more personal art. Something only close friends and lovers can have a peek at.

Art of the 3rd degree resides in the formal dining room. It’s there to give people something to look at and remark upon when conversation goes flat, stalls, or explodes. It’s still good art, it has meaning for me. It’s pleasing to me, but I think of it as 3rd degree art from the perspective of a viewer.

Art of the 4th degree, which I believe almost anyone would consider lesser art, is actually to me the finest art I own. It’s all the work done my family members over the generations. It’s filled with rich warm happy memories. And so, of course, all of that goes in the front room where everyone can see it all the time. Because that’s what I want people to know when they walk in, they are home. They are not guests I am trying to impress. They are welcome to be themselves from the moment they cross my threshold.

Art of the 5th degree is kept in the studio. It’s my personal art. I rarely show it. I’m the opposite of many professional artists I know. They hang their art everywhere, in every room of their house (often to the dismay of spouses, partners, and children). I’m more like an actor. I typically look at an old work with a frown and think, hmm, I’ve definitely grown since then; I could do it better now.

Although, once I walked into a friend’s house after some years between visits and commented on the quality and beauty of a work of art on hanging on his wall. To which, embarrassingly, he informed me it was a gift from many Christmastimes ago, and . . . I was the artist! We both laughed.

There’s probably a box I’m in somewhere, but it’s probably the size of the universe so I’m not going to worry about trying to get out. Today.