When It Rains, It Pours...

FINALLY! It's thunder storming... my absolutely favorite weather.

Is it odd that rain cheers me up? Aside from the fact that our state has been on fire; I think not.

I'm always able to think more clearly when it rains.

Yesterday I made cookies with the following (all organic or all natural) ingredients: Irish butter, salt, raw sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, almond milk, coconut flour, brown rice flour, oatmeal, raw pecans, dark chocolate chips and loving, kindly intentions.

They came out very well, though I have to say I like "The Good Life," brand of vegan dark chocolate chunks the best for baking.

Tonight, my plan is  to make veggie soup with (again all organic and all natural) sweet vidalia onions (my favorite onion), salt, pepper, cabbage, cauliflower, red wine, vegetable broth and mushrooms. I will begin with coconut oil for my simmering fat, but I may add butter.

I go back and forth about butter-- but one thing's for sure, Irish butter is my FAVORITE-- to cook with, spread on biscuits, you name it.

We'll see what happens.

I've been feeling rather blue lately, and I'm not entirely sure why. Most likely, it's because I've been shirking my writing projects; thus I feel the need to mentally flagellate myself, which I know is in and of itself counterproductive.

However, I am only human.

I keep mulling and spinning all these ideas in my head. I owe you an entry on "The Type of Grandmother I Hope to Be," very soon.

I also owe you the first few pages of my second book writing project.
I'm still nit-picking through my edit phase of the previous novel (the first few pages of which I posted here).

I am currently attempting to get back to basics.  I henceforth dub myself a writer, and I will treat my projects with the respect that I owe them; that is to say that I will dutifully work on them as though I were getting paid for my services--- because, in fact, I am.

The amount of pleasure I gain every single time I work on them is HUGE.

Why then, have I not touched them in two weeks, you ask?
The answer is because I am afraid of the dual nature of both failing and succeeding.

For now, it is time to make soup, write, drink tea, and eat lots of vegetables, nuts and fruits to feed my soul and nourish my brain.

Speaking of amazing food finds, "Outside the Bread Box," is a CO brand that has made the most delicious toasting and sandwich bread I've ever had in my life -- Vegan, Gluten-Free Oatmeal Bread. It has no egg-replacer, no crappy canola oil. It is made with identifiable ingredients and olive oil.

Be still my blessed, beating, gluten-free heart --- I can have SANDWICHES and TOAST again!

Thank goodness for small favors... and awesome people.  I actually called the bakery the first day J and I tasted this bread. I rang them up and thanked them profusely. A sweet, indulgent lady with a lovely warm laugh told me to pop by the bakery the next time I was in Colorado Springs.

You can bet your BUTTONS I will.

I hope everyone has been well, and that there are still folks out there reading! :-)

Love, Hugs and RAIN to you all!
May your puddles be jump-worthy, your rain barrels be splashing full, and your summer nights full of stars that remind you of years gone by, and years to come.

<3

Am I that which I am in Dreams?

For as long as I have living memory, I have had dreams.

Day-dreams; blissfully poetic and fantastical, yet sometimes completely ordinary. These are passing fancies of fantasies that swirl and shift and gleam.

Night-dreams that are always vivid, intricately detailed with plots, scenes, settings, motifs and intense feelings and emotions. These are the dreams that inspire me, that leave me with a distinct feeling all day long, sometimes all week long.

Night-terrors/Nightmares that are absolutely terrifyingly real and serious. These are the gory, fear-ridden, beyond waking up and feeling "okay," experiences, and these are the reason I didn't want to fall asleep as a child, and occasionally, as an adult.

I almost always remember my dreams.

Apparently, this isn't the case for a lot of people.

Everyone has had the experience of waking up with a fleeting feeling of their dream; the wispy threads that float before their eyes beckoning to them to listen, recall and remember.

Most of the time... in fact, I would venture to say 99% of the time, I can always vividly recall my dreams.

I remember dreams I had when I was an imaginative and energetic child; an awkward and delicate pre-teen; an angsty and joyful teenager; an excited and intense 20-something.... these are the years I'm finishing up.

Soon enough I'll be dreaming my way into my 30's, and I have a feeling that it's going to be the same and different; I'll be having dreams I've never begun to imagine before.

Though I'm a full-fledged adult (and I beg to differ by the way that most folks, despite the fact that they've survived 18 years, are by no means at all ready or fit to claim the title) I often wonder what happened to the earlier me?

My sense of self has often shifted with my dreams.

I also have warning dreams -- some would call them premonitions, but really, I just think of them as the 'deja' before the 'vu'. In these instances, my waking life intersects with my dreams; what I've seen, heard, felt and witnessed before.... all very true visceral and intellectual reactions--- all entirely familiar.

Sometimes my grandmother talks to me in my dreams. Sometimes I dream of danger, and I awake with an urgent feeling to check in on a friend and loved one. Most of the time this happens, I don't necessarily tell them about my dream, I simply send them love and well wishes.

Whatever the reason for my dreams, I am eternally grateful and thankful that I have them.

I do not know who I would be, or how I would have developed without the stirrings of my subconscious.

Dreams have helped me survive through my past formative years and into my present ones.

I have no doubt whatsoever that they'll be an immensely important role in my future formatives.

No matter what anyone says, dreams that a person remembers serve a purpose.  They are often a mark of time, emotion, transition, transformance or simply part of a process.

Never let anyone dash them, criticize them, squash, squelch or suffocate them.

In fact, I think that most dreams who have been ill-treated come back louder later. ;-)


Remember, "We are such stuff that dreams are made on," -- Prospero. "The Tempest," IV.I. L156-7.

Silence.

My vocal chords are not vibrating,


No worthy sound escapes their shaking,


For in the mountains I did find,


That which I wish I'd left behind,


For coughing, wheezing, gunked up hacking,


In-between my cough-drop snacking,


Is all I have to post of now,


It's simply not enough somehow,


Today I'm writing, clacking keys,


My laptop warming both my knees,


I caught up clients, e-mails too,


Phone-calls, messages old and new,


I'm editing my novel's pages,


Hoping to complete in stages,


That which I have not attempted,


A draft that once my voice has mended,


I shall read aloud to hear,


Every part to change and clear,


All the words that issue forth,


Weighted with a worsted worth,


Woven tightly, as a cloth?


Or loose and holey as a moth-


-eaten fabric; needs repair,


Who will read and enter there?


Can I do it? Will I see?


A writer I'm supposed to be?


Is this project fancy-mine,


Something worth the loving time,


Will it be a well-read book?


With the effort that it took?


I won't know until I'm done.


I must finish all this fun.


I have pages, newly written,


They can sting as though I'd bitten,


Into a lime with salted skin,


Dancing through the light within,


My progress slows, will it lift?


Back to quick, and fast and thrift?


Is the story too far-fetched?


Time and space are aptly stretched.


Readers, if you're in the ether,


Shall I post another chapter?


A novel for adults this is,


But also for some teenaged kids,


I don't know what happens next,


Now I must return to text.

Hiiiii, I'm not DEEEEAAAAD!

So, it's been a while.

How've you been? I've missed you.

I'm still at 50 pages and holding on my book.

Between extra music rehearsals, hands-on sessions and working on the radio station schedule, my time to write has been compromised.

That's right, non existent. Though I did find time to edit those 50 pages a little...

But now, I am back.

I am rededicated, and it's only May 21st, so I guess that means I've been MIA for... fifteen days... that's a day and two weeks... that's TOO DAMN LONG!

J told me that his friend C told him that HIS lady friend wanted to know when I was going to post more of the novel.

Well... if I knew anyone was reading this lil' blog o' mine, and I knew that the readers like some posts more than others.... I'd know to put more of whatever you like up here. As it stands, I have no idea if this is just floating around the ether, collecting dust-like-particles of electrons, being read regularly by 4 people and 4 people only...

Back to my business. My busy-ness more like...

The book is taking a few different directions. I'm fairly sure I could happily write more than one novel with where I'm going...

Perhaps it will just be a LOOOOONG book... Terry Pratchett style, with everything coming together to resolve at the end.

Or, maybe I'll write one story and then the others in sequence, as in the Pellinor series.

However, mostly what I've been doing lately is: not sleeping; drinking lots of tea; not stretching; not dancing; singing a lot; making a lot of phone calls (ugh); forgetting to cook; remembering to cook; cleaning; driving to the airport; washing things; and performing.

Yay. Me.

Anyway, I'm back now.

Fear NOT!

If you want some more of the 50 pages I have thus far, let me know and I'll post a book update.

I have nothing witty to say today, I admit it.

Nothing. Witty.

I DID miss you though.

Cross my eyes and tongue to my nose--- I did.

So, HAPPY MAY and more to follow.

Cheers!

ARMAGEDDON and Other Incapacitating Sounds...

Two people are asleep after a very, long and good but exhausting day. 
Two cats lay at the foot of their bed: each respectively warming the feet and calves of their human charge. 
Suddenly, a piercing noise slashes through the air. 
One of the people sits bolt upright. 
The other curls into a ball. 
J identifies the noise as the fire/smoke alarm: the new mandated ones that are the latest thing-- hardwired into the electrical system of the house, and connected together. 


Surprised and frantic, J realizes that now ALL of the detectors are going off because if one alerts, they all sound. 


From J's perspective, the noise was scary at first, then irritating and it made his ears ring a little bit. It wasn't pleasant, but he could handle it.


These are not your "normal," annoying beeping machines. No.


 These are decibels above that. 


These are not clanging bells that can be refuted with hands over your ears, or pillows, or earplugs.


 These are louder than a ship's clangon, as loud or louder than a bullhorn.


 These are distractingly, disorientingly, ear-drum bursting if you're over exposed loud. 


I cannot handle it.


J found me curled up in a ball, not able to hear him clearly or speak to him well. 


I didn't even realize that I was crying until the noise had been stopped for a few moments.


Until he'd gotten the ladder from the garage, climbed up to reach them on our 10.5' ceiling heights;


Until he'd opened the cover and removed the unit from the hard wiring in the wall;


Until he'd had to come back to each unit a second time to remove the battery because they were still going off even though disconnected;


Until then with the batteries bouncing next to the units, he'd taken everything OUT OF THE HOUSE to the garage in a bag because they were STILL holding a charge and pulsing.


All I could see were flashes of red and white. All I could hear was the ear-splitting noise and scream. All I could feel was PAIN. 
Pain in my head, behind my eyes, in my jaw, in my throat.
Searing immobilizing pain down my spine.
I couldn't THINK.
I was unable to COMMUNICATE.
I was completely IMMOBILIZED by these alarms.
I couldn't hear properly for the rest of the night after these alarms went off, and my ears were still hurting/ringing/fuzzy the following morning.


And there wasn't even a fire.
No smoke.
No danger.


What set them off was a small water leak in the basement that we would have found the next morning anyway. It set the combination fire/radon detector off when it got wet. 


The worst part is, we had to pay for our electrician to come back, check over the system, and reinstall them. It's the law. It's the fire and safety code. 


Except that I'm not safe.


I was outside the house on the front porch when he tested the units. 
It didn't matter. I still cried, felt horrible pain, and couldn't move. 
Even though I was three rooms, two doors and a porch away.


J and I don't know what to do about this, because if I'm alone in the house and there IS a fire, there's probably no way I'm going to be able to get out. 


What if after we're married we have children and these alarms go off? How am I going to be able to save them and myself if I can't move or speak?


The only solution we can see, is that we're going to find an auditory specialist and have my hearing checked and diagnosed with hyper-sensitivity, or whatever this phenomenon of sound is. Then we're going to look for an alternate alert system that can be installed.


The problem is, that from what I've been reading, even the systems that vibrate under your pillow (for the hearing impaired) still have an auditory component-- and it's LOUDER than the "normal," units.


Smoke and fire alarms have been getting louder and LOUDER over the years.


J and I think is because there are so many false alarms --- in schools, office buildings... we're taught as children to line up quickly and quietly single-file to evacuate the building in case of a fire.


But can you remember a time in your school when there WAS a fire, and not a drill? I remember people enjoying fire-drills because we got to get some fresh air outside, and take a break. I remember the alarms going off so much in high school that we were told to ignore them (an impossibility for me... I've always been mildly disoriented, felt pain and cried). I know that frequently people do ignore them because they're a nusiance. 


Therefore, louder and louder... but a smoke alarm at home used to be different from a siren at school.


The fire safety experts tell you to practice in your own home. To go over and over what to do in case of a fire-- have your own drill. 


Let me tell you. If those alarms go off, it won't matter if I'm drill-team perfect on evacuation. I won't be able to move.
Or speak.
Or hear.
Or communicate at all.


I will be curled up in a crying, muscle tensed ball, feeling nothing but pain and seeing nothing but flashing white and red. I will be hearing Armageddon. 


And right now, there's nothing I can do about it.


I hope the auditory specialist has a doctor's note and ideas for us. 


I hope there's an alarm system out there that can calmly alert us at a NORMAL decibel level to evacuate the building-- a stern voice saying "There's a fire/hazard in the kitchen/front bedroom/office/back bedroom/basement/whatever. Please leave through the nearest exit as quickly as possible. There's a fire/hazard in the..." 


Otherwise, we'll just have to live without fire and smoke alarms; which is a pretty scary thing to a couple who's wanting to have children some day. It's also illegal. All we can do is have them installed and then uninstall them after the electrician leaves.


It doesn't matter that I'm a musician, auditory learner, light sleeper and that I have always had sensitive ears and better hearing than most (higher and lower range). That's why this issue is mildly concerning. The real problem is...


I've been afraid to go to sleep and walk under the alarms.
I'm scared that a thunderstorm will set them off, that they'll go off again for no reason (they did this the first time they were installed, and again 3 months later, and again 4 months later...).


If I'm in a building other than my home, all I can do is hope that when I stop moving and hit the floor, someone will drag me with the rest of the single-filers out of the place to safety, because I sure won't be able to save myself. I just hope I don't block the stairwell and risk other people's lives too.


I'm frightened that if there IS a fire in our house, I won't be able to move. Not because I wasn't alerted in time, but because that very same alarm is going to KILL me if I'm alone.


Right now, there's nothing I can do about that fact.

Cambrics are delicious and so is the Tattered Cover...

"May I help whomever's next in line?" the light voice spoke cheerfully over the counter of the coffee shop, a sweet round face surrounded by dark curls appeared above the shiny rows of danish, cakes and other pastries in the large case.

"Would  you mind telling me how you make your cambric?" I asked politely, secretly hoping that I would be assured of a high quality delicate earl-gray and steamed milk tincture...

"Well, it's traditionally Earl Grey tea, but we can do whatever you like, and that's with your choice of steamed milk."

"Lovely, I'd like a cambric with soy milk, and I've brought my own cup," I replied.

The woman behind the counter, who was standing on a box so that her chin could've rested on top of the food display glass, but not much else, gave me a winning smile as she took my mug.

I adore bookstores and old libraries. I do. I love them, and often I wish that I could live in one. They're wonderful and delightful places most of them.

J and I have been building a lovely library in our house, and I wish it was bigger. As it is, we only have two real bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a tiny office and what would be the dining room had we not recently transformed it into the library.

It is one of the three places in our house that the ceilings are slightly lower (as opposed to the 10'5' or 11' that make up the rest of our dwelling) and it is painted in gold, with scales fanning out and gleaming like a fish undulating above our heads.

We have put shelves on every wall. One is currently covering part of our intake vent: our HVAC fellow told us to move it, but we have apparently conveniently forgotten, or we're being stubborn because it's in our library. We can't mess with the library.

Back to what I was blathering about before: The Tattered Cover is an especially wonderful bookstore because of the warmth of the atmosphere and the expanse of the building.

I was supposed to do massage sessions all day for some students on J's research research team.

However, their esteemed (and really nifty and nice) professor neglected to ask his lab partner professor if such a thing would be accepted, so now I sit down the road from J's school in a delightful setting, preparing myself for a lovely day of writing instead of massage (though both are fun for me).

Mmmmm... cambric delicious cambric....

Is 8:00 AM too early for dark peppermint chocolate?

I think not.

Now, back to work.

What's the story Morning glory? What's the tale, Nightengale?

Dust. The smell of clean earth, blown in a cool wind across the shade trees of the plains.

 Mile after mile along to the horizon, the bright-blue sky highlights white fluffy clouds and open fields dancing in the breeze, bordered by rows and alcoves of shade trees.

Oak. Elm. Black Walnut. Redbud. Soapberry.

The plains are open without being desolate. The open space is vast, expansive and comfortable to the mind, soul and body.

The wind often howls and whistles on the plains: true.

Dust is blown around in swirls, the same as autumn leaves in the gusts of their season.  Mini whirlwinds twirling and spiraling; lifted up around and over the heads of the children, on the playground which smells of gravel.

Then the leaves settle again, floating down to their bright-eyed, disappointed features.

Thunderstorms that boom and rattle the shelves and the windowpanes. Lightening that crackles and splits the night sky in charcoal, gray, white and purple bruises. Sweeping rains that dance and sing their lament on the roof; drumming so loudly that one must place one's lips to a companion's ear to be heard.

The scariest of all: tornado.

Sirens screaming and blaring through the silent still before the storm.

The calm that isn't.

The richness of the shadow that builds, smelling fresh and exciting and electric.

The seemingly unnatural dark that floats over the land, which should be impossible given that the sky is lit gently from within; glowing, like a light-box covered in opaque paper, brighter shades where the cover is thin-- but we on the ground looking up are still in shadow, though our eyes are bathed in the eerie, muffled, glow.

Water is the most important on the plains.

Shade is too.

Without water the heat lightening storms that ravage the land and the people will strike fires in the tinderbox of the plains.

Drought happens almost every year, but some years are worse than others.

Here in Colorado, we're always on water conservation watch. There are whispered words of ice-flow,  snow pack...

Rain-barrels are illegal in Colorado, which even though I've lived here a number of years, still seems stupid to me. As long as the rain in the barrels is used on the lawn, it's IN the water cycle. There is no danger.

In Oklahoma and Kansas rain-barrels are an absolute.

In Colorado, wild-fires are the scariest of all things. The air is dry, the altitude is high, and the conditions are ripe.

In Oklahoma and Kansas, there is also danger of fires, but tornadoes as well, and flooding when the rains finally arrive... though some years, they don't.

In Oklahoma and Kansas, a season's crop can make or break a farmer and a family.

In Colorado, a fire can destroy too many, too quickly.

In Vermont we worry about flash-floods, washed out roads, mud-season, ice and snowstorms and the elements; freezing to death.

In the plains, we worry about surviving the summer and the storms that come with it. Also about the ice-storms that can destroy trees and ground lines and close highways.

In Colorado, we worry about FIRE.

Every place on the map has its worries. Every region has hazards of its own particular and peculiar nature.

I love these wild places I've lived, quite dearly.

Nature is fierce; and she serves to warn, comfort, ravage and release us.

Above all: We must respect where we live to survive.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
In OTHER news...


I have about 40 pages of the book written.

YAY!

I've been taking a break these last few days, because I'm not sure where I want things to go. J tells me to "keep writing and see what happens, then revise after you get it all out," but being the proofreader enthusiast I am, I go back and correct little things as I go.

Today though, I'm back letting the word flow as soon as I publish this post. :-)