To the large woman who walked past me on her way to the specialty grocery store:
You may not ever wear a floral pattern with stripes. Not even if they’re both small prints. Not even if they’re both the same black-and-white scheme.
You may not. Verboten.
The end.
Happy very first birthday to my precious little kittens, who are kittens no more. Nix and Cricket officially enter Cathood today. (Thanks to everyone who fed all our fur children over the weekend, by the way!) They grow up so fast. *sniff* Remember when they were just handfuls of fluff?
I slept over twelve hours last night. In fact, over the past five days I’ve spent an alarming amount of time asleep. Okay, a couple of events down south were extremely energy-draining, which might explain the need to recuperate; but I seem to be careening to insomnia’s opposite extreme in general. (I oughtn’t complain. Paze mentioned last night that a parent is supposed to look not at what a toddler eats in a single meal, but rather at what s/he eats in a week. Perhaps I ought to address sleeping in a similar fashion?)
Neat stuff I picked up south of the border:
– a new thermal mug in stylish black and brushed metal. I’m using it now. My tea will take hours to cool off. Muah-hah-hah.
– a beautiful pale green light wool wrap with Celtic knotwork along the edges. My husband bought it for me while I was gazing at it, all open-mouthed.
– a funky flowy dark red top with three-quarter sleeves, a wide neckline, lacing and embroidery. I love it.
– a jingly anklet. I’ve always wanted one of these. (Yes, this and the previous acquisition point to the bohemian Gypsy streak buried somewhere deep in my soul, which rarely comes to light.)
– my very first MagLight. Whee!
– a stunning, stunning pendant cabochon of green amber in a simple silver setting. This was a mentor-gift from the protege assigned to me over the weekend. We do this to help new people integrate with the group, get to know people other than the ones with whom they travelled down, and to ease the culture-shock they might be feeling as a result of their first private festival. (My Tradition deliberately schedules this private event to get city-bound folk into Nature for at least four days, as well as to touch base with the physical part of the group mind and soul.) I was given this pendant by my protege on the first day of the event and it rendered me speechless. Such an extravagant gift for someone you’ve only just met! But he called it a heart-gift, from his to mine, and a thanks for being part of his new experience. I’m still overwhelmed, but part of the long hard road I’ve been on has addressed learning to accept gifts and compliments in the spirit in which they’re offered. In several ways and for several reasons this gift was appropriate, and I have no right to deny or diminish the love with which it was presented. I’d been feeling rather plain, too, since I’d left all my pendants at home, so I wore it all weekend.
– a clergy certificate. Did I mention that part yesterday? (Okay, okay, I didn’t come home with it, but it’s in the works. I’m proud of it. Let me be proud.)
– assorted candles, etc., as gifts.
After a day of re-adjusting at home, I find that I can’t quite walk a straight line (I appear to be listing to the left), and I still seem to be missing things I reach for. Camping isn’t supposed to relax you this much. I feel as if I’ve passed the point of relaxation and gone right to spaced out. It’s not a bad spaced out, though; it’s more like I’m in a mild dream state, which is infinitely preferable to the strung-out state I was in before we left. (Odd how you don’t realise how tense you were until you’re not any more.)
I should try to bottle this, for future pick-me-up situations.
I can’t exactly provide a more in-depth commentary on my camping experience this weekend, so for now…
I passed my clergy exam. With flying colours, apparently, though numbers will not be released. And I aced the practical, which was ground-breaking and deliberately crushing, apparently in order to make a point to a certain number of my evaluators (I love politics, don’t you?). It was a real high to have people whom I respect as spiritual leaders involved in various impressive paths, traditions and positions come up to me over the weekend to tell me how impressed they’d been with my performance. I have every right to be proud of my achievements.
In circle, you may now call me “Lady Autumn”. I’ve damned well earned it with blood, sweat, and lots of tears: tears of frustration, joy, and anger in various amounts at various times. I’ve taken my oath to serve and to walk the clerical path, and I’ve been warned that it just gets harder.
The theme of the weekend was “Bring it on!” (most of the time – at certain points it was “Don’t make me get Canadian on your ass!”), and you know, after the stunning proof in the pudding (of Friday night in particular and the last five days in general), I can say that with all confidence regarding the rest of my life, now. So, bring it on. I’ve proven that I can deal with a tremendous amount of stress, upheaval, and pain over the past few years, and come out swinging. I’m only human, and I’ll still make mistakes, but by the gods, I can hold my head high and be proud of who I am, who I’ve become, and the choices I’ve made. I can help others survive, and seek, and witness for them throughout the changes in their lives, too.
It’s not what I ever thought I’d end up doing with my life, but destiny rarely drops you a neat little schedule at your birth to paste into your baby book.
Well, that’s it; we’re off to pick up the van, then catch a quick nap, and then away we go.
Just to keep you all going while I’m away, though, you can think about the telephone call I just had with the acquisitions editor at that US publishing company, where we felt each other out, decided we were friends and were equally enthusiastic about the project. We talked about availability, what the position would entail, and so forth. Come Monday when I’m back, we’ll be speaking again to hopefully finalise things since she’ll have actual numbers and projected dates and such.
I’m pretty stunned. Mind you, so is she. Her publishing editor told her she’d never find anyone with publishing experience. Not only did I fit that prerequisite, I also have the educational background for review and analysis, and I’m knowledgeable about the field the series would cover. Both of us are rather impressed that this has fallen into place.
This truly feels slightly unreal.
For all of you who have been asking me (and why me?), the third Potter film is being released next May (yes, a Harry Potter film and the Hellboy film within the same month – it’s too much happiness).
Nifty photos:
Michael Gambon as the new Dumbledore
I was struck by how much older the kids look (yeah, yeah, I know, a year between films) until it was all put into persective for me. Someone at pointed out that if you calculate by the year in the first book (which is 1991), Harry (and Neville, come to think of it) turned 23 last week. Gulp.
Digging through my files for driving directions to our campsite in Pennsylvania (give me a break, we only do this once a year, okay?), I found two things that made me smile.
The first:
Scribbled on the manila envelope where I put last year’s info (complete with all the exits leading to Friendly’s restaurants) I found my Highway Haiku:
Bridge May Be Icy
Buckle Up For Safety Please
Right Lane Closed Ahead
(Yeah, that last one is composed entirely of road signs. And I’d completely forgotten about the three humungous raven statues in the field just over the border, on the west side of I-81.)
The second:
A white envelope that only had my name on it. I opened it and pulled out three print-outs of submission requirements to three major publishers. On top was a sheet of paper with huge letters on it:
The sign was a colleague’s gag at work a couple of years ago, when we were joking about possessed hardware after our network was set up and from the back office he could fool around with printer that sat next to my work station. But it made me smile, because I found it in with those manuscript submission guidelines.
If I make it, they will come, indeed.
Damn. Had a blog post about amusing misspellings on a website, but I can’t post it because it revolves around a gift for someone.
Drat.
But I did find something else: a new liqueur called Absente. It claims to be “a dazzling emerald green spirit, distilled in the tradition of Absinthe, from a potion of botanicals without the wormwood.” It substitutes Southernwood, or Southern Wormwood (same artemisia family, same absinthol oil which gives it the characteristic bitter taste) instead to make it legal.
For all you bohemians out there, the site also provides recipes and serving instructions. (Dear Gods – the Energizer is just scary.)
