Sunday, October 30, 2011

Great Place for a Pimple

I have really sensitive skin...It's so sensitive, that any time I accidentally touch my face a pimple will break out there by morning.  Ugh.  You can imagine how often I try to not get bored at work and touch my face.  My poor husband is faced with the bob-and-weave wife every time he goes in for a sweet smooch on the forehead or cheek because I know where that will lead!

Growing up, my mom used to get pimples in the weirdest places -- in her ear or on her bum, for example.  I always thought Gosh I hope that doesn't happen to me!  I always thought I was safe.  I had great skin compared to other friends as a teenager (Great skin = no more than three pimples at once usually found on the chin or forehead.)  So, now that I'm in my mid-thirties STILL getting pimples, it really shouldn't surprise me that I have the genetics to get them in weird places...

Like, in my nose.  I don't even know what to say about it except a good, loud WHAT THE CUSS?! I haven't had a cold, there's been no tissue blowing, snot dripping or nose picking.  Yet, here I am, with a painful, red abscess of a pimple on the right side where I can't do anything to treat it or relieve the swelling or anything.  I just get to deal.  And TRY not to touch it and make it worse.

Ugh.  Oh well...I guess it can compliment the skin-colored mole growing on the left side of my nariz for All Hallow's Eve.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

The Symbology of Symbols

Yesterday, I was informed that my "house cleansing" was a very Wiccan thing to do.  Apparently, I even grabbed the "right" color of candle to do it with.

First, I will say that symbols only become such to someone who has attached a meaning to it.  This works for everything from burning incense to obscene hand gestures.

Secondly, if you are reading this, you should know that my religious beliefs are what are commonly known in the media as "Mormon".  This means I am a seeker of all truth and light in all places and forms that I may find it.  The fact that I intuitively knew a truth that has been handed down and given another name does not surprise me because I have done this before.

Lastly, I have observed that there are as many interpretations of truth as there are degrees of glory. This is why agency is a such a powerful gift and judgement such a waste of our time.  "Choose you this day whom ye will serve, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

Monday, October 17, 2011

Cleaning to the Corners

It's autumn time and this post could be about cobwebs, but it isn't.  Lately, I have felt myself struggling to make check marks on the calendar and, per the usual "mom-is-on-the-back-burner," I have spent less and less time within myself spiritually.

Yesterday, I'd had enough. 

I could feel the spiritual grime...the anger, frustration, hormones, fear, uncertainty, bitterness...all of it seeping down my walls and creaping up and out from floor to ceiling.  It was 11:00 pm.  I was lying in bed.  My husband had shared a brand new skeleton from his family's closet (not his own, he'd only just been told himself) and I lost it.  I was so angry and afraid that somehow this would become a part of our story that I said some things that should never be said.  Then, while I heaved in and out for breath trying to calm down and sleep, I knew exactly what I needed to do -- the calm was instantaneous.

I walked upstairs, found a candle, lit it and walked from room to room calling on the powers of my Creator with all of my faith to clean each room to the corners, to give it purpose, light, and peace.  My prayers were powerful and personal, but, when I was done -- there was no darkness left within the walls of our home besides that which night itself brings.  Even my husband felt differently when I was done.

We underestimate who we are and what power we have over our own spheres.  Rise up priestesses.  Bring peace and power and light to your lives.  Do it physically and spiritually as one being.  Use a ritual if it helps you to feel your own strength.  Bring a candle or burn incense, move your arms to direct the energy if you do not yet know how to trust in stillness.

I have never blessed my home this way.  I know that my sphere will never be the same because I have and will continue to do so.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Extra Helpful Email

Has anyone noticed that your email accounts now give a list of other "possible friends" you might want to send said email to because they are somehow associated with the friend you ARE emailing to?  Does this bug anyone else?  My contact list is MINE.  If you want an email address for someone ASK for it. The fact that our computer's are being so ultra helpful and following our shopping and search history is bad enough.  When it comes to personal contact information BACK OFF.  Oh, wait.  Nothing is personal. Your relationships are probably a matter of national security. 

Big Brother anyone?

Out with the Old

I've decided that doing the stuff you used to have fun at hoping to rekindle the fun is a bad idea.  Especially if you're cramping out the first day of your period.  Keep moving forward, kids!  However it was in the beginning does not come back.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Hot Chocolate

One of my coworker friends brought me the gift of Starbucks cocoa in a can so tall there are probably 18 ounces in it.  Holy WOW.  Makes me wish I didn't have to skirt 10 feet around every Starbucks in the vicinity to avoid passing out or throwing up from the coffee smell...can you imagine what would happen to me if I went INSIDE?! 

Anywhoo...I just got cocoa on my nose and felt all sorts of little girl giggly inside.  I love a good rainstorm (even one that is cold enough to keep snow around its edges) and I'm learning to love the parts of my job that allow me to get to know the people here in the office.  I really love when I go home and Sam-man wakes up from his too late nap to snuggle on my lap for as long as I'll let him.  Last night, that was a long time.  I didn't even get up to finish dinner or wash dishes and there is still flea and tic powder (yes, the dog has flees) to vacuum out of the carpet. 

I promise I won't become a slob (the smell is too distracting), but for now, I'll keep the chocolate on my nose, thanks, and waif for the boss to wonder if he's hired a brown-noser.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Wings of a Dove (1997)

First, I should say this isn't intended as a movie review or a critique.  I wouldn't even recommend this period piece with an intriguing plot after it's total comtamination at the end-scene.  (Seriously, Hollywood, I don't want to watch other people having sex!  When we tell people in real life to "get a room" we extend that to our film watching and are hoping you will close the door...)

This movie made me wonder about the political movements of the world.  I wonder just how many plots have been spun by the mind of a woman whispered into the ear of her lover.  Greek literature, Shakespeare, in this case, Henry James...was even the dreaded Genghis Khan fulfilling his lover's fantasy of power -- she wanting to share the bed of a god who ruled the world instead of just a general?  There are little details of influence we will never know, but it causes me to pause and remember my own influence.  What twists and snarls can I weave in the hands of fate under blinking lashes?

The second thing was the art and the body of a woman...in this movie, the three main characters bump into each other at a museum  featuring the art of Gustav Klimt -- so much color and nakedness.  Last night, in my bacterial infested brain -- thanks cold and flu season! -- three things kept playing around.  One, Helean Bonham Carter's (Kate) bony, pointy body curled up in a fetal position on the bed.  Two, the rounded edges of a woman in the same pose depicted by Klimt.  Three, me...and my thirty pounds. 

When I was a girl, even as a young mother, I weighed in at a bony, pointy edged 120-125lbs.  It took a huge family and a broken coccyx to slow me down enough.  Staring at Kate's thin frame and desperate face, all I could think of was hunger -- the kind that aches in your belly, to the back of your heart, and whittles away at your brain.  How can love be offered from a place of desperation?  I wonder if that is why painters have told the story with curves...curved shoulders, rounded hips, swollen breasts...fullness, softness, and plentitude...as if the love would never run out.  Why is it our culture still spends so much time trying to be "skinny" and not enough time just being at peace with ourselves and our journey anyways?

Yes, cold medicine + odd movie = strange dreams.