Wake Up In The Morning Feeling Like P-Diddy

So, I've been trying to blog more lately, and I've discovered sometimes I just don't have a whole lot I feel would be interesting to say. Normally my go-to would be a survey and I know how boring those are. So I thought I would look at some survey questions and just write about them so you get more than my general two word, to the point answer. 

This edition is totally family friendly. I will be posting another one shortly that is not- you can avoid it if you like. As always, if you actually have something you would like me to blog about or tell you about I totally will, you just have to tell me.  

I’m a neo-pagan. More specifically an eclectic neo-pagan witch. My religion is very important to me, and I’ve spent a lot of time talking about it. If you look for the Witch 101 and 102 posts you can read more about it. I’m always open to answering questions about my faith, as long as they’re respectful. 

My current URL is a play off of the title of my original blog. My first blog was called “Alecya G’s Plastic Castle.” The title was a throwaway reference to a line in the song “Little Plastic Castle” by Ani DiFranco:

They say goldfish have no memories. I guess their lives are much like mine; and the little plastic castle is a surprise every time. It’s hard to say if they’re happy, but they don’t seem much to mind…

At the time it was really indicative of my state of mind. Over the years, I think we can all agree I’ve evolved into a much happier person.  As I evolved and changed, so did what I wanted from my blog. When I ended my last relationship and my ex was a little bit stalking, I ended up moving URLs for a fresh start. Plastic Castle Tours is my attempt at a nod to who I was and what I want for myself. I’m inviting you to explore my life and my perspective. It was also the first time on my blog I was willing to acknowledge my actual first name, though I still answer to Alecya, even in real life. 

Speaking of nicknames, Alecya, my alter-ego, is probably my longest running nickname, if you can call it that. Originally she represented the side of my personality that was highly sexual, confident and content with who she was. Over the years, that part of my personality has become dominant enough that I don’t really think of that name as an alter-ego. It’s more like an avatar. Every now and again the frightened girl I was intrudes on the life of the woman I am now, but it’s not very often. Incidentally, it is pronounced Uh-Lee-See-Uh. I’ll answer to Panther, which is what most of my friends refer to me by. Kitten gave me that nickname. Other than that, I haven’t a lot of nicknames. I have a few pet names from people whom I am close to, but those are one or two person use only. 

Whenever I am stressed I like to take baths rather than showers. I especially like listening to the radio while I’m in. It’s a good time. I don’t normally put bubbles in, just because the smell is pretty overwhelming and I forget to enjoy myself because I’m too busy messing with the bubbles. I do like a tension relieving bath salt, though. 

I used to dye my hair all the time. I have since I was about 15. Right now my hair is 100% my natural color. That is totally not normal. I’ve been contemplating going back to black or dark brown again, that’s how I see myself in my mind’s eye. 

I like soups better that I like salads. I will eat soup any time of year, including when it’s over a hundred degrees outside. I adore that Kitten makes great soups. My favorite is called 86 the Bean and it tastes like ham and bean soup only there’s potatoes and carrots instead of beans. I don’t know how she does  it but I love it. It is a nice spicy soup and it always makes me feel better about life.   

I don’t go out drinking like I used to. This is mostly because I’ve turned into a home body. I can have a nice glass of wine or scotch at home and not have to cope with strangers. We also get up early, so staying out until 2 am is just too much. I’d rather have my friends over for a game of cards and get to bed at a decent hour.  

I mentioned this earlier this week, but I quit smoking recently. I’m really proud of that. As of this week I’ll have stopped for two months. Habit officially broken. I don’t even have cravings anymore. 

I’ve only ever smoked weed a few times and I didn’t like it. Once I got seriously sick. The rest of the time I didn’t feel much. I did have once where I was high, but it’s not really a PG story, so I’ll let that one be. I’ve always said that if I wanted to be hungry or sleepy I could do that on my own. Now, I don’t condemn people who use it medically, and as long as you’re away from me I don’t care if you do it recreationally, but it’s not for me.  

I used to do hard drugs, but I’ve been clean 12 years now. I don’t have any desire to do them again and it’s a really quick way to get me to stop spending time with you. I don’t like being exposed to it, and I don’t like what it does to people. I’ll always be dogmatic about that.  

I love falling asleep with other people, especially cuddling. It doesn’t have to be a romantic or sex thing. If I am comfortable enough to sleep near you, or close to you, or in your arms/space/lap then I like you a lot and it’s a compliment from me. I feel the same way about people I will let take care of me when I’m sick, because you’re seeing me at my worst and I am really, really vain. 

I don’t sing in the shower but I do listen to the radio. I always like music when I’m in the bathroom. Even when I’m meditating (yes, I meditate in the bath sometimes) I enjoy a little white noise. It helps me to focus. My bathroom is too small and the acoustics too good for me to sing, it upsets the cats and the girls always come running thinking I need them for something. I will, however, sing in the car. I will also dance in the car. Driving or no. The girls get a kick out of this thing I do we call “kitty karaoke” and its when I sing to the radio using cat meows and such. They always laugh, which is why I keep it up, even when other cars are staring at the lights. 

Yesterday I went to the flea market with Bobcat. We had a good time. We picked out antique furniture that we loved. I found a watch fob from the 1800’s that I was in love with, but couldn’t afford the $100 price tag on. I did purchase a set of WWII Paratrooper jump wings. My grandfather was a paratrooper and it meant a lot to me to find that. 

I have never fired a bow and arrow. I do know how to fire a gun and I am fairly handy with a knife. Okay, for most people I’m pretty scary with a knife. I would like to learn archery, but I have zero upper body strength and I’m pretty sure you need a lot of it to be any good at it. 

So there you have it, a brief and somewhat informative about me. 

AGxx

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

Advance warning, I'm going to be chatting about some not so family friendly stuff today. If a TMI post isn't your style...bail now.  Oh, and thank you, I like the new layout too. I was sick of the trees.

So, have you ever had a dream that just left you a little...dazed? I had one of those last night. Well, this morning. Normally my dreams don't phase me. Being a witch, I put a lot of stock into the things I dream and I dream pretty frequently. I don't normally have a hard time remembering what I dream, and I am usually pretty good at telling you what my dreams mean. Anyone in my coven can tell you that, I'm pretty sure I've done dream interpretation for most of them at this point.

This morning...this morning was different. The more I think of it, the more I try to convince myself it was nothing more than a half-lucid product of my imagination...a combination of things that resulted in what I was dreaming about. I tell myself that chatting about a vampire novel last night, plus me chatting about a fantasy novel this morning before I fell asleep on the couch, plus me working on a clothing design project added to me getting kisses from my wife and idly thinking of a couple of my friends resulted in this very weird dream. I can almost tell myself that.

Except it was...more. You know that I am an intensely sexual person. I make no protest over it, I don't hide it. When I'm not being a huge glutton I am walking, talking, thinking and breathing sex. Its the truth. Not in an overt way but its never too far from my mind. And normally a sex dream is just that to me- an expression of my desires. I leave it at that. But when its in the incredibly odd context this one came in, and there was more than just my wife and those others were people I know and not, you know, Robert Downy Jr. or Michelle Rodriguez...it gives me pause. And I'm having a lot of trouble escaping this one.

 The dream takes place in what I can only call an alternate reality because there were beings and things that happened that are not possible on this plain. And before you all start shouting that this was happening in the astral (witch friends I'm looking at you) I'd like to point out that I am relatively certain that at least two of the people in the dream were awake and not meditating so unless I'm really cool and able to call parts of them to the astral while they are out and about in their daily lives...not possible. Also one of the men in the dream was a guy I went to grade and high school with and I've seen him twice since I gradated and I am fairly certain he hasn't thought of me since the last time I saw him. I'd be shocked if he had. (Come to think of it, I saw one of his dad's real estate signs yesterday...maybe that's where he came from.)

Anyway these things that weren't...well, I'd say they were vampires but that's not really correct. I mean, they liked biting and all, but it wasn't a bloodletting thing. It was more a drawing on essence kind of thing, if that makes sense. I'm just calling them Biters. They were very, very beautiful. Very beautiful. It was certainly inhuman.

We're in this, well, rather like an old fashioned circus tent. The canopy is made of this lavish red material and there's goldenrod colored embroidery all over the walls. One side is open and I can look out over what looks like a field. There are very clearly other humans out there, doing strange things in water and on obstacle like courses and they're all very fit. I can recall as I watch in the dream that I've just been out there. Looking back in my mind, I can see that I am also very fit. My hair is longer than usual and its black- this is fairly common, I almost always see myself this way when I dream. I know in my mind that I've done well and I am pleased with how I've been performing. This has something to do with the Biters, but I couldn't tell you know if my motivation was to impress them or to gain their approval or what. But there I was.

At one point I get up and I cross the room to chat with the guy I went to high school with (whom I will now refer to as Mohave Martini) and I make both of us a drink while we talk. Its nothing of consequence that we talk about, I can recall that. He's being pleasant and I am cordial with him. I get the impression he is more concerned about what I think of him, which makes no sense in a realistic, real world context because he was always really well liked in school- popular, really- and I was a nobody. I know in my dream I make him a martini- vodka, in an iced highball glass, extra dry and so dirty its x-rated (hence his name. true story, this is actually how he liked his drinks, that I remember this even in my dreams having not seen him in about 4 years is frightening). When I leave to go back to Kitten and the Biters where I came from he kisses my palm and almost sort of bows, but its more with the neck and shoulders.

Before I get into much more of the dream I want to (1) give you another moment to bail, because its about to get more intense and (2) talk about palm kisses. Still here? Okay. So I love palm kisses. I think they're deliciously sensual and absolutely beautiful. If they show up in a dream its almost always a signal things are about to get hot. To me they're one of the best places to kiss. Generally, we're more sensitive in our hands (psychically speaking) than anywhere else. So for me, there's a greater potential for feeling the transfer of emotion. On top of that, its not a common place to kiss and its a gesture to me that signals not only passion and affection, but respect as well. Truly, if I offer to kiss your palm I admire you very much indeed, and not always sexually, but in a way that speaks of deep caring and fathomless emotion. I can think of maybe a handful of people I would kiss on the palm of my own volition. There's plenty who's fingertips or hands I would kiss, as a gesture of respect....but palms? I have to truly love you to do that.

At this point in the dream I've gotten myself a very lovely palm kiss. I'm aware enough of the dream to know what's happening, its almost like a dreamscape. I head back over to the area I came from which has several fainting couches, what most people now call "chaise lounges" I think. Tacky name. Anyway. There's several of them and a few low lying tables. When I arrive there is a male that I know and am very, very fond of (well call him Fine Sir) and he is standing by these couches clearly waiting for me. He pulls me into a hug and its one of those where you touch from the soles of your feet all the way to your shoulders. I draw his palm to my lips (and at this point in the dream I know beyond a doubt we're lost when it comes to adult content) and kiss it. He responds by kissing the hollow at my throat. These are done almost like a greeting, so I sit down after. I'm sitting with my back against Kitten's chest and we're reclining on one of the benches. Its not terribly innocent either, there's definitely some possessive petting and holding going on. Nothing territorial, but in that way that clearly marks you're around people you don't mind to see you making out.

Kitten, Fine Sir and myself are chatting with a beautiful Biter. Really beautiful. As we're chatting another person walks by and they've got beautifully tinted skin. I remark on it and Beautiful Biter tells me that its very common. Cue typical teasing about the fact that I am out of the loop. I ask how its done and I get a description from Beautiful Biter that indicates it is done by magick. As the biter is telling me, Kitten is stroking my arm and where she strokes a lovely pink and lavender snakeskin patter emerges. I am feeling no small amount of wonder at this. I hold my arm out to Fine Sir in delight and he joins us on the couch, He lifts me gently so that I am sort of in his lap but not- my body resting against Kitten and my legs sort of propped around his waist on one side so that he is very close. Its rather hard to describe. Kitten and Fine Sir are petting me and admiring this new pattern even as it begins to fade.

Beautiful Biter moves over to us, kneeling on the floor and explaining how the magic works, which is pretty well some sort of essence exchange with the biters, and it makes feelings more intense between you and the people you care about. Apparently I've done something that makes Beautiful Biter like me very much and he offers to let me experience the exchange, which gives me some measure of control over this magic. I look to Kitten, who seems not to mind because she nods and so I offer Beautiful Biter my hand. He bites me at the apex of my thumb and first finger, with my palm facing his mouth. The biting is intense, seriously intense and it hurts me for just a moment (honestly, this hand has been sore all day in that spot, its weird). As soon as the exchange starts happening....I honestly lose words on how it feels. What I can tell you is that Kitten gasped and her eyes were tearing up over the emotion she and I were sharing. Fine Sir, who apparently until this moment in the dream really didn't know how much I cared for him, looked down at me with wide eyes. His hands grip my hips and he asked me, "My dear, sweet girl, what have you done?" I look into Beautiful Biter's eyes as Fine Sir and Kitten wrap me up in this glorious cocoon of love and heat and I see him glowing brilliantly and I know I am too. The feeling I am experiencing is so close to ecstasy that I want to cry out.

And that, my friends, is when I wake up. And when I start puzzling about the dream, because really, what in the hell? Nothing super sexual but I swear to god when I woke up I felt like I had been teased to the point of crazy for hours. I mean, I had been sleeping for almost two hours, but seriously...I've been puzzling it out all day and I'll be damned if I can figure out what it means.  What I do know is that it feels like it meant something, but it may have just been a very beautiful, very weird, intensely erotic dream about two people that I love very much with some seriously odd stuff thrown in because that's how my brain works.

I'm at a loss. Any of you witchy sorts, feel free to have a stab at it if you want. Or non-witches. Or you can just laugh at how silly I can be over a dream.

I'm back to telling myself its just a weird sex dream.

Yeah, that's it....
AGxx

These Stories Don't Mean Anything If You've Got No One To Tell Them To

My love of books is something bordering on psychological disorder. Anyone who's seen my house can tell you that. Anyone who's ever looked at a picture of the inside of my home can tell you that. We have a joke in our home about how we used to have a dining room and then one day we woke up to discover that our table was in the kitchen, there was a library where the dining room had disappeared and the bookshelves were marching relentlessly towards the living room (which now has three bookshelves). If you do the math something like a full third of our wall space is covered by bookshelves. The number of books we have has a comma in it, and we acquire approximately 3-10 books a month. You might be able to accuse us of hoarding if it weren't for the fact that we actually read them.

I've also never made much of a secret of the fact that I'm a huge snob. Up until recent years I've sworn I'm a classics girl to the bone. I love Jane Austen on a rainy day. Some Dostoevsky or Tolstoy when I need an escape in the winter is perfect (given my obvious issues with spelling, would it horrify you to know I spelled Dostoevsky without the aid of spell check?). I recommend books like Gone with the Wind to my female friends. I insist that you can find entertainment in Tudor biographies. You can. Promise.

So up until now, well, recently, I was the kind of girl you could sit and have a cuppa with and I would be happy to discuss why certain British authors bore me (really, have you read Dickens?) or why I don't really care for most early American literature (trite) and how The Three Musketeers gets way too much credit for being Dumas' great work, when anyone with half a brain has read The Count of Monte Cristo and know better. I can even tell you which unabridged edition I prefer (the one with the introduction by Lorenzo Carcatera, he wrote Sleepers, by the way).  What you couldn't do was ask me for a recommendation about a romance or fantasy series. I was useless there. Until about a year ago.  When I quit my job and became a housewife.

I am always protesting that I actually do work pretty hard at the house, and I do. But the truth is, I've been trying to work on my writing as well. For some reason I can't recall, I decided I wanted to write a historical romance novel this year for NaNoWriMo. I think it was an inspiration that hit while we were at the Kansas City Renaissance Faire in October. I was sick of trying to write lesbian romances and literary fiction (not together, both are hard enough on their own) and so I thought I would branch out and try something new.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a lot of experience with the field. So I got on my favorite networking site for writers and I asked some of the ladies (it really is mostly ladies) in the forum who their favorite authors were for historicals. I discovered Candace Camp and Eloisa James and Connie Brockway and Alexandra Hawkins and Tessa Dare and would you believe I got so wrapped up in those books I found it hard to write? Its intimidating. The women I listed? They're all college graduates. There's an Ivy Leaguer in there. Let me tell you, they aren't lacking in plot or detail or execution. They write brilliant female characters who love themselves and their bodies (and food, bless them!) and know what they want. They write women who won't take crap from men. They write stories I want to read. Two years ago I would have died rather than admit I read romance, because I didn't know any better. Now I'll freely admit I have one whole bookshelf stacked two deep full of romance novels. I also have several that have taken over Dean Koontz's bookshelf. Its okay, he was getting lonely.

One day right before we left on our trip (the dreaded trip...in which I did, in fact, stop to buy more books- five of them- because I had read the four I had brought along halfway into the trip) I was talking to Felix about books and we got on the topic of fantasy novels. Again, I found myself out of my depth. I've read Imajica (Clive Barker) and I loved it. Of course I've read Tolkien and  Paolini and the Harry Potter series. Otherwise, I'm pretty useless- that's more Kitten's bag and she leans more towards SciFi. But then I remembered while we were talking a book I had checked out of the library at school when I was in 5th grade or so and I remembered liking it. All I could remember was the cover was red and there was a princess in a diamond box on the throne. That's right kids...The Diamond Throne, by David Eddings; the first book of the Elenium trilogy. I'm sure you know how this turned out. I read through it on the trip and was salivating for book 2 by the time we got home. I've finished that series and I'm going to start the Belgariad, which is supposed to be just as good. I've also agreed to start reading Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series with Swisslet and I'm truly excited about it because my buddies on Goodreads have all rated it as one of the best series they've ever read.

Speaking of Goodreads, I have no idea how I missed it before. Its like Facebook for literature nerds like me. I'm obsessed. You know what's funny? I look at the books on my shelves (on goodreads not in my house) and I almost feel bad there's not a wider genre representation on there. I've got tons of other stuff in my house. There's more to life than classics and non-fiction. And I'm learning. Slowly, but I'm learning.

Today is my literary liberation moment. I'm making my confessions boldly and proudly:

I love romance novels. Dashing rakes and silk ball gowns make me happy. I read fantasy and find it engaging and enriching. Yes, I did read Fifty Shades of Grey (it was just as awful as I thought it would be). No, I don't care if you judge me, I do own the Twilight series and I've read it enough times the spines on the books are cracked. Bite me, its a brilliant idea, however poorly edited or executed it might have been. I do read children's series and not just Potter. Johnathan Franzen is not god (even if I want him to be sometimes).  There is nothing wrong with my tastes. I do not have to give up Austen just because I like Seth Graham Smyth's version of Pride and Prejudice. Urban Fantasy is actually a thing.

Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?

I don't care what you read, but read something y'all. Then tell me if its good. I'll read it too. After Swiss and I finish that series...(something like 17 books, you know that, right ST?)

AGxx

Its Been A Long Long Time

So I have been a very bad blogger and not posted for something like two months. I know, I know. Someone I love very much brought it to my attention this week, inadvertently, that my blogging has dropped off, and I think to myself "I should get back to that, even though there's only like, four people reading this. Because, you know, there's four people out there who care about my life. And its healthy for me to express myself."

I have two bits of good news and two bits of not so good news, so we'll cover the happy stuff first so you can bail if you want later.

Good news part one? Kitten graduated. I mentioned this before, I think. She graduated with honors. Her party went well. Everyone was nice to each other (there was some concern about that) and she had a good time. She has a new job in her career field as of last week. It pays much better than her old job, the people are nice, and its not in residential cooling, which was what she was terrified she would end up doing. She did not want to be a lackey for all the window units in this corner of our state. She isn't, and that's awesome. They're going to train her into other fields. They're going to pay for extra education. They're paying 100% of her health insurance. She loves the work already. I'l so terribly proud of her.

The other good news is that as of the day after I posted the blog previous to this one (That is, the 26 May) I have been smoke free. None, nada, zilch, no slip ups or stress smokes or I'm-trying-really-hard-so-I've-earned-ones, not even a its-giving-me-a-migraine one. NO. SMOKING. I'm pretty proud of myself. I was doing between half a pack and a whole pack a day depending, so quitting cold turkey was hard. I am pretty sure I wasn't fun to be around. It may or may not have contributed to the incident that has, in-part, kept me from blogging for the last month.
Which was this

<-------------------------

The vacation.

That's right. It was horrible. I'm pretty sure the smiling happened only for the camera. Well, most of the time, anyway.

For the record, I'm giving you the edited for public consumption version of this tale, because I have some semblance of respect (not a lot, but a little) for my family.

I do think that me not smoking contributed to this awful. Kitten actually begged me three days in to smoke, telling me it would be okay and I could start over when we got back to town, but by then I was three days in and I was damn well not going to give up if I didn't have to. The lack of cigarette, for the first week or so anyway, would be enough to make most people be grumpy.

The other part had a lot to do with KMom. Suffice to say our styles of travelling are different. That was a struggle for me. I'm a "lets have a plan and get directions and go do things like we planned" kind of girl. She's more of a "throw caution to the wind, work without a plan, get directions while on the street (even from bums!)" kind of girl. She's also very set in her ways, because she's lived alone for something like 12 years, she isn't used to compromising. In our household its almost all about compromising so I struggle when someone, anyone, is contrary about working as a team. Even in my coven everyone works as a team and we all make decisions based on consensus, which makes it easy for things to get done and everyone to feel like they're important. Not so with KMom. That was a problem for me. A big one.

When it came to the camping aspect it got worse. Really bad, actually. Again, that has a lot to do with me believing that camping is an act of teamwork and KMom isn't really a team player. Not to mention, despite her protestations to the contrary, she's a sissy camper. She is WAY to concerned with comfort. And she didn't like to help carry things. Or work. At all. Which naturally pissed me off. Especially when she's insisting we repack the truck (again) because she doesn't like how things are arranged (even if we are unpacking it all again in three hours). Or when we were getting ready to leave and I'm sick with a headache so bad I'm stepping off the trail to throw up while I haul coolers and bags and she stops with holding only a pillow and complains to me about how long the trail to the car is and how hot and uncomfortable she feels. Or when she's telling me that I'm making dinner wrong (How, I ask? How?) or not to her tastes. She was cranky or combative whenever we went hiking or did anything strenuous, but insisted on coming along. If it rained she would hide out in her tent. And it rained. It did. Like, a tropical storm hit one of our campsites....that was a real treat.

Here's us camping, by the way- well, k\hiking a trail at our campsite. This was our first site, at Hunting Island State Park.

She also wouldn't stop making fun of my newly discovered phobia of raccoons. It was constant. And it pissed me off.

I know its petty, but seriously. I wasn't afraid of them before. I wasn't. Its just, you know, they were everywhere. And not afraid of anything. Like, there were bear boxes for yours stuff to keep them out. Oh, and I should mention THEY WERE THE SIZE OF AN AUSTRALIAN SHEPHERD. And they broke into our tent. Twice. Once was at night and it tore through the closet on our tent. Not cool. Of course I was afraid. I think this is reasonable. Especially since I was fighting off nicotine cravings and getting next to no sleep between them and the headaches I was having from what turned out to be a tropical storm depression.

Imagine this:

The size of this:

Of course it made me nervous.

There were other things that upset me too, but really, I don't think anyone would like KMom if I talked about it. And honestly, I don't want you all hating her. She's a nice lady, most of the time. She's just set in her ways, and she's still a little skittish about her relationship with Kitten and that makes her a little possessive sometimes.

There were some good parts of the trip, really. Like, you know. The food. I wept over some of the food. I love soul food. I love fried chicken and home made mashed potatoes. I love locally sourced vegetables and fruit. I like veal so fresh that it was just days from gamboling about in some farmer's field. That's good food. The whole trip was like that too- locally sourced ingredients, fresh made honey, hand made desserts. When we were eating out I was not an unhappy person. I was very happy indeed. Even the delis (and god, we had so many sandwiches at lunch because KMom doesn't like heavy food in the afternoon) were really, really good. Fresh bread, hand-sliced meats, local sauces and pickles and such. Yep, the food was amazing.

We went to a zoo. That was fun. We took a ghost tour- actually, we took two. That was amazing. I played in the ocean with Oscelot. We collected seashells at low tide. I managed to impress my ladies with my ability to cook anything in cast-iron- my meals were like we never left home thankyouverymuch. I saw my first lighthouse up close (not impressive) and drove through the Great Smokey Mountains (really impressive). I managed to whittle a new walking staff for myself. Yes, I do whittle. We saw some amazing waterfalls. We hiked in the rain (so that was both fun and awful).

It wasn't all bad. Just most of it. I'm making the best of the memories now that we're here, because I want it to be something Kitten remembers fondly. Hell, a few years from now some of this may seem funny. Maybe.

The other thing that's really kept me off the blog is I've been coping with depression again. Almost from the moment we got home I've been struggling. Some of it, I know, has to do with inadequacy issues brought on by the things that happened on the trip that I don't want to talk about. Some of it, I think, is just old issues reasserting themselves now that they have the chance. I spent the first couple of weeks back sitting in Kitten's recliner alternately weeping and moping.

I;m better now, and I've got my issues sorted out. It was not, however, conducive to me being here and sharing things with you. I credit my speedy recovery to (1) my partners, who totally didn't judge me (2) my coven, who spent plenty of time patting me on the back and letting me be totally weak even though I'm supposed to be leading (3) plenty of B vitamins and an iron supplement and (4) one conversation with one very special person that I hadn't talked to in a while. Talking to him reminded me I've been through worse and I'm tougher than I was letting myself be. It was the linchpin in my recovery.

Now that I'm back and feeling normal again, I'm going to make an effort to actually be a good blogger and put things up more than once a month or so. Maybe I'll even go back to that old blog-every-day habit I had five or six years ago....

I love you all. I want you to know that.

Its good to be home.

AGxx

I Love The Road, and I've Been Blessed, But I Love You Best

I'm leaving for vacation in two days. I can't wait.

I must admit, though, there is no small amount of nervousness involved with going away as well. Part of it is leaving home for so long. I've never been away from home for three weeks before, not without me doing something work or school related. Naturally, I worry about my garden, and my cats, and in general the strange and stormy weather we have this time of year. Fortunately, Sakura, Felix and Spice will all be at the house, taking care of it and making sure all goes well. Of course, money is part of it too...you can't leave home for that long and not be working and not worry a little bit. We've got the money we need put away, of course, but I always think "what if there is some sort of emergency?" I'm trying to let tomorrow worry about tomorrow though.

I've never been camping with Kitten before, nor Oscelot. We'll be travelling with KMom and I've only been on a three day trip with her once before. I worry that we'll get on each other's nerves while we're away. Of course, we're driving, and there's the roads to think about. And all the rain they're supposed to get in South Carolina while we're there. I can live with rain, so long as its not too cold. I hate cold and wet. Warm and wet I can cope with- and by all accounts its supposed to be nice and hot while we're there.

Otherwise, I am truly excited. Its been such a very long time since I've had a camping trip. Not many of my previous partners were big on the outdoors, so this will be an exciting and pleasant change. I'm frankly surprised that Kitten and I haven't camped before. But this will make a great start.

Of course, it won't be camping all the time. We're going to Charleston first, and staying in a proper hotel. We'll be touring the city, visiting museums and I sincerely hope eating at a lot of fantastic restaurants. There's plenty, to be sure, I've looked them up. Charleston seems to be a foodie paradise, and I like soul food. It should be a good time. We'll visit Fort Sumter, of course, and see some of the other interesting civil war sites. I've got my hopes up we'll get a chance to meet EG Coyle, a fabulous photographer that KMom knows from past days. I really admire his work. I'd like Kitten to meet him and his wife- I've got a hankering to do one of his private sessions one day soon.

Once we leave Charleston we're heading off to the low country, and we'll be camping right by a lighthouse, which I think will be a great time. I picked a site right by the ocean, which should be lovely. I've never seen a tide pool, so I'm looking forward to exploring. You can swim in the ocean where we're staying, and that should be lovely too. Of course, you have to watch for jellyfish and coral snakes...so maybe not. But its nice to know the option is there. I do love the ocean.

I'm cooking for us while we're away and I'm planning on making the meals absolutely lovely. I like to eat real food when I camp. I couldn't make it on hot dogs and sandwiches the whole time. I'm making chicken parmesan that first night. We'll be having stews and stir frys and even turkey and dressing. No sir, we won't be hungry if I can help it. That should be nice. I love a good dinner, and by a fire makes it even better, I think. I imagine that I'll be spending a lot of evenings by the fire, playing cards and having a lovely time.

I picked up some books, too, to read on the way down. We have a hard time agreeing on a genre, so I picked up some childrens books, Caldacott and Newberry winners all, so that we could enjoy something light and happy while we drive. The shortness of the books will also be nice so that we can change if we need to, or get bored. Though I don't think that will be a problem. I've got some that they've never read and some that I have been longing to read again, so it should be very nice. Of course, if it gets too boring, I'll pack something more adult, but I'd rather we all be happy, and I think we can with the ones I've chosen.

I'm planning on taking a lot of pictures. Once we get off the coast we'll be headed to a state park outside the capitol city and we'll visit the capitol building and the zoo, certainly. I'm planning on getting Oscelot in a canoe for the first time. I know she'll enjoy it. There will be lots of walks and hiking. I think it will be fun. When we hit the northwest we'll be in waterfall country, and I won't be able to help myself with the pictures there. I bought an extra memory card, knowing I will want to takes hundreds upon hundreds of pictures.

I suppose I am more excited than nervous. I want this to be special for Kitten. Its for her, after all. (She just graduated from college! Aren't we all so proud.) I want her to enjoy herself and make tons of lovely memories for her to have always.

I'll see you on the other side. With lots of pictures of course.
AGxx

Ain't It Good To Know You've Got A Friend?

Dear Friends on Facebook,

By now I am sure you're aware that we're friends. (If we aren't please go unfriend me. Seriously. I don't like strangers seeing my dash.) As your friend, I feel incumbent to remind you a few things. If you know me at all you know I have no problem planning an intervention. Consider this part intervention, part public service announcement and part gentle, loving talk from someone who cares about you. Minus the gentle- because let's face it, if you've met me you know that isn't really my style.

First, I want to establish that the reason you are on my Facebook at all is because at some point in my life I considered you a friend or part of my family. I care about you. I want to know what you are up to. I want to see pictures of your pets and kids and you feeding giraffes at the local zoo. I want to keep connected with you. I want to learn from you, swap recipes with you and tell you what I am up to. If you sent me a friend request, I assume you know me. If you accepted one from me, I assume you know me. If you aren't sure what I like and don't like, you can always read all that nonsense they make us fill out when we get a profile in the first place. I love you. I do. I wouldn't be friends with you if I didn't. But sometimes I think you might forget....well, I know it sounds selfish....I think you forget what I like.

Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you to think of what I like every time you post. I don't. But if most of your friends are like me (if they have similar personalities) then its likely that you're not just pissing me off. So I want to share with you, if I can, some of the things that really get me going. They are the things that make me hide you from my timeline and contemplate whether or not I actually want to be friends with you in real life:

I won't tolerate blatant misogyny or misandry. Its just not acceptable. Yes, I am a lesbian. Yes, I don't want to sleep with men (okay, maybe Robert Downey Jr...but that's a special case) but that doesn't mean I don't know some absolutely wonderful, awesome, kick-ass guys who are excellent examples of what a man really is. It offends me to know end that you feel like its okay to bash men to me, or post those (ADMIT IT THEY ARE) obnoxious E-cards about how all men are stupid, lazy, smell bad and don't give a damn about the women in their lives. This is not true. If you need examples I can always point to here and here and here to get you started, and then if those shining examples aren't enough you can call me and I'll be happy to introduce you to Flyguy and some of my other very awesome male friends. If you are a misogynist- this goes for you too ladies, I know some of you are out there- you can shove it, then go unfriend me. I have no idea how you ended up in my life if you think women are stupid, flighty or incapable. Also, you have never met me, clearly, or any of the women in my life. It still baffles me that in an age where people consider themselves to be modern and mature and open-minded that its still common for people to actively discriminate against women.

Arm-Chair Activism irritates the crap out of me. I cannot tell you how sick I am of people posting stupid pictures for me to "like" if I am against child abuse, domestic violence, if I hate cancer or want to protect my first, second or whatever amendment rights.  I'll tell you something, I probably don't like it and I definitely won't share it. Because it's lazy. In fact, if you post those things frequently, I've probably hidden your pictures from my news feed. Because, of all the people I know who post those things only one (that's right, one) to my knowledge actually does something about it. He and I share very different political ideas and faiths. But I respect him because he actually does stuff that makes a difference before he takes the time to post the stuff about how he doesn't want gun control, or how everyone should respect armed service members. I don't mind that he and I disagree. Partly because even when we do, he can be a mature adult about it and agree to civil discussion and we don't have to come to terms when its over. In part because he did serve in the military, he is a responsible gun owner and honestly, he's a reasonable person. Also, because he exhorts people to actual action, not just sharing his posts on Facebook. If you're reading here, friend, thank you for doing it right. Also, if I had his blog or whatever, I'd throw him in with the links of decent men I know.

Anyway, the point is most of you post pictures about those causes as a way of patting yourself on the back and feeling like you've done some good. I hate to tell you this- you haven't. Not a bit. Here's why. I hate cancer too. I do. But if I don't share your post, and you have shared it, neither of us has done anything to work towards curing it. If you want to raise money for cancer research and whatever, you should probably get in contact with the American Cancer Society .  See how that works? I just gave you a link to a place where you can actually do something to prove that you hate cancer. Isn't that great? Now you can get a team together for the Relay for Life, or volunteer or work as a counselor or donate money or whatever. If you don't, can I say, maybe you don't hate cancer quite as much as you thought you did? I mean, I know you can't work with every charity...but if you hate cancer enough to repost about it- but you ignore diabetes or MS or  AIDS then maybe, just maybe, you should get off your butt and do something about it. If you really, truly don't have time to volunteer but you've got forty seconds on Facebook, skip the picture and post an actual status update like this: "Hey- I know all of you know how much my grandmother having cancer effected me as a child. Well, this month is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I'd love it if you would take the time to go to the American Cancer Society web page and see if there's anything you can do to help, or if you have the money, donate. This spring will be the Relay for Life. I haven't had a team before. Message me if you think you'd like to go, or form a team and raise money with me." Its just that easy. And way more personal than a stupid picture of a pink ribbon. You want to post a picture? Share one of you and your grandma. It will mean more to everyone.

Same goes with the political posts. First- if you didn't vote- I don't want to hear it. I don't. You don't get a say. Second, before you start posting more obnoxious pictures of our president or of guns or whatever- before you really, truly complain, please do me a solid and write to these fine folks (if you live in my state anyway)

Senator Claire McCaskill
Senator Roy Blunt

Or, if you need help, we'll look up your congressional district and you can write to them, or email them or whatever. But I do, as both your friend and a citizen of this country, ask you to please go speak to your representatives about your concerns. Democracy doesn't work when we don't communicate. Also, you look like way less of an asshat if you start complaining about minimum wage going up if you've taken the time to do your homework, write your representatives and maybe volunteer time passing out flyers or heading to make calls for your party office.

As for those pictures you keep posting of children and women with bruises all over their faces and bodies or (worse) the ones with a man actually hitting the woman or the child, I want to be really clear about these. STOP. JUST. FUCKING. STOP. As a person who was a victim of domestic violence, I can tell you that you are being insensitive, rude and horrible by posting a picture like that. I'm sure that you never thought that posting a picture of graphic violence might serve as a trigger to me, reminding me of the horrible things that happened to me. It does. It did. You suck. Seriously. If you were a victim of abuse and you're stronger than me, kudos. But you should know, better than anyone, that that sort of thing sticks with you. If you want to stop abuse or help those who do, post links, or go volunteer. But can those photos. Also, you should know, men can be abused too, but we never see that. I think that's sad. (By the way, if you want to head over there now, I've linked to a site that has all the US states individual child abuse prevention hotlines.)

Finally, my last really big complaint (because let's face it, I've covered E-cards in other posts) is about your religion. Now, I don't have a problem with you having one. In fact, if it makes you happy and gives you comfort, I'm super glad you have it. I don't care if its not mine. That's cool too. Here's what I have a problem with:

I have a problem with these. Not because I don't love Jesus and you do. That's fine. The problem is that you look like a self-righteous prig. I love you, but its true. Let me tell you why. If most of your friends are more like me, you're being an annoying ass by not respecting my religious choices. For example, most of my friends are either pagans, neopagans, agnostics or atheists. Me posting a bunch of stuff that says "Come to Jesus"  would not be me ministering to them. Its me being a pain in the ass. They aren't interested in it, and I know it.  Its plain rude. Not to mention if you actually want to convert them, you should probably do it in person. Now, say most of your friends are Christians. I hope they love Jesus. Maybe you can start a group on Facebook all about it. Get a Bible Study together. I don't care. But they should know  you love Jesus. If they don't either you or they are doing it wrong. So, assuming that everyone knows you love Jesus, and you know you love Jesus, what's the point of these pictures? To me, they annoy your non-Christian friends, they shame your church going ones for not being as religious as you (wow, you're posting about God on Facebook- how daring!)  and give yourself a good solid pat on the back about how many stars you're getting in your crown. I'll say it again you look like a self-righteous prig.

Now before you go getting all bent out of shape I want to point out two things. First, I have another friend on Facebook who is a very devout Christian. (actually, I find it ironic since when we were kids she didn't like church and I did and now I'm a lesbian witch and she's a church going soccer mom...its like fate in reverse. I digress) and sometimes she will post about her Bible study in the morning. She'll give the verse and how she feels it applies to her life. You know what? I like it. I like to see her god working in her life. It inspires me. It makes me happy that she finds comfort. And sometimes (its true!) those verses give me inspiration too. And that's okay. So you know, I single out Christians for a reason. No one else I know tries to convert me. None of my Jewish friends. None of my pagan ones (you heard it here- no one converted me. I came to being a witch all on my own!) None of my atheist ones try to tell me there is no god- though we can sometimes enjoy a lively debate about it without hurting anyone's feelings. None of my agnostic friends try to bring me round to them. I've never been approached by a Muslim looking to convert me (and yes, I do know some). Christians are the only ones I know who make such a huge ass fuss about gaining converts, putting their religion in your face and making a huge butt-hurt deal about you not wanting to go to church with them or listen to how Jesus can set you free or whatever.  Friends, family, I love you. You're welcome to your religion. But I'm not lost, I'm not wandering. This isn't a phase. I've been practicing witchcraft for 15 years now. That's right, since I started high school. No one convinced me. I did it on my own. So I'm pretty sure, now, you see, that its the right path for me. And you trying to convince me otherwise is rather irritating. If you want to know more about my faith, I'll be happy to talk to you about it. But the minute you start telling me how I'm wrong, I'll walk away. Because I've been your religion, but you've never been mine. I made my choice, thanks so much, and I'd appreciate you not posting those "Like if you love Jesus  share if you whatever, keep scrolling if you love the devil" because frankly, Satan is your creation, not mine, I don't believe in him or love him or worship him. Just because I'm not a Christian doesn't lump me into the the pack of devil-worshiping psychos your posts seem to imply we non-believers are.

Its not that I don't want you to post. I don't even want you to agree with me all the time. But there was a time when I would get upset because all anyone ever did was take pictures of their dinner or post pictures of their kids. I'd welcome that now. I realized recently, I follow you on Facebook because I care about your life. I want to know how your vacation went or when you're having a bad day. I'm interested when you go to a new restaurant. I like it when you tell me all about how you beat whatever new video game you bought three days ago.

I like you for you. I like your ideas and opinions. I like your smile and how think and speak. I want you to express yourself in your own words. If that's a clever quip- go for it. But let it be yours. I don't care what other people say. I'm not interested in their pictures. I want to see you, speak to you and hear your voice in your posts. Otherwise, there's no reason for me to want to be connected to you.

Let me be honest. Sometimes I don't mind your pictures and E-cards. Sometimes I don't mind your political posts. Sometimes I actually laugh at the things you post. But go look at your wall. Seriously, open a new browser. I'll wait. When was the last time you posted something that had to do with your actual life that had nothing to do with sharing or liking someone else's idea or picture? When was the last time you posted about what you were up to that didn't involve shameless self-promotion of your new book/album/artwork/gallery show? When did you actually share a little bit of who you are? If I suddenly disappear from your dash, maybe its not because I don't love you, or I don't think of you. Maybe its because its you only think of you, or you never think of me, or (sadly) I want to preserve what relationship we have and I won't be able to respect you if I watch you consistently do the things I've mentioned above.

I love you. I hope I see you soon.

Love,
Me

Make A Wish For Better Days, The End Of Hard Times

When I sat down to dinner tonight I actually took a moment to look around my kitchen, which has a lot of open air shelves around it, and take stock of all the food we have hanging around our house. When I added it up in my head, along with all of the other food we have in the cabinets that do have doors I did a quick estimation and discovered that if I still had running water I could feed our family for almost three months on what I have in our cabinets right at this moment. Then I recalled how when Kitten asked me what I wanted for dinner I thought to myself, "do we even have anything in the house to eat?" and I felt a terrible sense of shame wash over me.

I don't make much a secret of the fact that when I was young and still living in my parents home, we didn't have a whole lot. For whatever reason (and I honestly don't know what it is) we never seemed to have enough to make ends meet. We were certainly lower middle class at best. I remember clothes, until I was in high school, came from my great aunt, my grandmother and at Christmas and Easter. When I was older and I had a job, I bought from thrift stores. We received Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter baskets from churches and charities and I remember them as being a big part of the excitement of the holidays for me, outside of our family gatherings. I don't know exactly to what extent my extended family helped to support us. I have a heavy suspicion that most of my activity fees were paid for by my grandparents.

Whatever the reason, whatever the circumstance, we didn't have a lot. Now, I think about how much I do have and how often I truly take it for granted. I know I do. I mean, I thank Kitten frequently for the hard work she does, and Oscelot too, to make sure that we have food and shelter. We have a decent vehicle. We are all well clothed and well cared for. We get to take trips to fun places on occasion, when we save for it, and they are always special times for us. But on a day to day basis I think sometimes I forget how well off I really am.

Its easy, I suppose. We don't live on an upscale side of town. Our house is probably (okay, is) a little cramped. Its not new, in fact, its about a hundred years old. Our truck isn't fancy, its got a lot of mileage on it. We don't eat out all the time. Whenever its time to get new clothes, we still hit the thrift stores first. Of course, we like the thrift stores...it might be ingrained in all of us by now. Whenever our computer broke down earlier this year and we had to buy a new one, Kitten was genuinely distressed and when the coffee pot (a nice one, one of our few true indulgences) followed shortly after, I remember how upset Kitten was that we were going to drop another 100 bucks for a pot that would probably only last another five years or so.

Still, we don't live paycheck to paycheck. We have a savings account. A couple of them, actually, and we are planning to have more set by in the future. We never want for food. We always have clothes. Our bills are paid on time and we never have to worry about having a roof over our heads or utilities or any other the other things that plagued me when I was younger. In fact, beautiful blessing that it is, for the first time since I was 15 I am voluntarily unemployed and we are still doing okay. We cut back here and there, but we still make it fine.

I say this because I notice lately (and this was brought to my attention by a dear friend of mine) that an alarming amount of the people I know seem really unaware of how lucky they truly are. They are almost always complaining about money and it seems to me that they don't know how good they have it. It frustrates me. I'm not saying I could step into their circumstances and do any better...but I think sometimes they could do better for themselves. I grow tired of people I know complaining they don't have enough money to pay bills when they've just bought a house, or a brand new car (when they could have gotten two decent used ones for the price). I get angry when I have friends bemoaning the fact they can't go do such and such or join in a big vacation because they just spent a ton of money on some other frivolous thing and now they have to buckle down and take care of necessity. To me, you take care of the needs first, and the wants second.

The sheer extravagance of some people I know blows my mind. They complain when they don't get to eat name brands from the store, or when they have to order less than they might want when they go out to dinner because filet mignon is getting pricey. People who eat out every day for lunch and complain when they have to cut back on other things. I think to myself, "pack a lunch."

I know it sounds judgmental  But you're talking to a person who grew up thinking desert (which we have about once a week in my home now, because we're spoiled) was for holidays, birthdays and special occasions. When I was a child The Olive Garden was a seriously fancy place to eat- you dressed up. I learned, both from my mom and my grandparents, how to feed a family a decent meal for next to nothing. Take Lunchables- those decadent schoolday lunch treats- for what one of those costs, to this day I can feed my family a good dinner. And a healthy one. Dinner at McDonalds? I can feed my family for that too. In fact, most coven nights, my goal is to feed my entire coven and well for about $2 a person. Most the time, I come in well under the count. So to me, when someone I know is complaining they don't have any money for food, I think "let me show you how much you can really get for that twenty bucks."

I'm not saying I don't have friends who are in real need. I do. I admire them all the time, because they are making the best of their circumstances and working hard to better their lives. They (as a general rule) don't complain and don't fuss. They do the best with what they have and they never ask for help. But a lot of the time, I think of all the days I spent as a child and in my first year on my own. I think of how I could make $5 turn into dinner for a week (no matter how boring it might get!) and how I knew the feeling, all that time ago, of being hungry, or of worrying there wouldn't be a roof over my head. I remember not having a roof over my head and wondering how the hell I was going to make it better for me. I remember wearing clothes that didn't fit or that were threadbare. I remember making do when there was nothing to be done about it. I think of all the times I passed up things I wanted because I knew I was choosing between that fun thing and helping my family put food on the table. And I think to myself that maybe some of the people I know would have benefited from that experience. The knowing what it is like to really, truly want. To be without.

I would never wish it on anyone I know, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I want to scream when I have a friend who says "Oh yeah, Twinkies were a real treat in my house too. We weren't all that well off growing up either. We were poor too," as we drive away from the quarter million dollar home they grew up in. I hate when someone I know complains about how old their car is when it was manufactured within the last five years. The truck we drive was made when I was a sophomore in high school. The car we have (currently waiting for permanently warm weather so we can fix an oil leak) was made the year I was born. People who tell me they never went anywhere fun, but then tell me all about their childhood trips to New York and Hawaii and Europe, irritate the hell out of me.

Maybe I need to work more on my sense of compassion. Maybe if I grew up with more I would feel deprived too. But I don't. I can't. There's some part of me, always, thinking of the thrill I felt when I got my very own brand new Barbie doll from a Christmas basket and I didn't even have time to be upset about the fact she was a brunette and not a blonde because I was already plotting in my head how I could get scrap fabric from my grandma to make her a nice new dress. There's some part of me that remembers the terror of high school when the groups I was involved in (paid for, by the way, by my nearly full time after school job) would adopt a family from a charity around town and I was just praying to God it wasn't mine, because I knew I wouldn't want to face the pity and scorn of my classmates. There's a part of me that remembers that I would save my lunch money or my clothes money when they did this, and I would go without because I wanted to contribute too, and there was something inside me that had to believe that there was someone out there I could help- even if it wasn't myself. It is this person, the one who knew hungry and homeless and hopeless, that the people I knew wakes up inside me. There is a part of her that screams aloud when I hear them speak, and I listen to her as she tells me all she could be doing with the money they are wasting, to keep her family fed and sheltered.

Hearing her, remembering my own shame and fear, makes me angry. It makes me angry with them. And it makes me angry with myself, because I experience every day a life I didn't have when I was growing up. I wake up, every day, knowing I will be able to eat. That I will be warm. That I will be safe and comfortable. I wake up to love and hope and a future that, while was not what I dreamed of then, is far more than I could ever have hoped for or deserved, had I known what to ask for in my ignorance.

Tonight I am aware of my own hope that I never allow myself to fall into that complacency again. To forget those things is a step to losing what I have- not just the physical, but the emotional fortitude and strength that it took to bring me to this place where I can look back and say, Thank God, I will never feel that way again.

AGxx