To Sleep

...Perchance to dream-ay there's the rub."

  I haven't slept in years, decades really. I don't know precisely how come, and neither does anyone else. Ever since I can remember I have been awake at times when everyone else was not. It was scary when I was a small girl, attempting sleep in a narrow and growling basement. Even more so since my bed was placed facing a hall closet. This closet was home to my Mothers most beautiful dresses, each one of them was long and full. So full in fact that when the hour was right, and in a manner most sinister, they would seem come free from their hangers on a mission to devour me. Soon I would learn much about the placement of closets and the presence of things that are to keep me forever wakeful. But in the mean time I decided to make the most of the hours. I sneaked chocolate chips from the kitchen drawers (they were the quietest ones to open.) and if I was feeling brazen, I would help myself to a handful of my Fathers Wheat Thins. Armed with snacks and my beloved books I faced many a dark night and uneasy feeling.

 I knew early on that I was not alone in this basement. Not counting my snoring smaller sister I had company. I tried my hardest to ignore it, or get to sleep before it wanted to come out and play. However most nights I was unsuccessful and at the mercy of the unwanted antagonist. It seemed to be concentrated in the center of the house and interested only in me. It was loud and heavy and didn't show until everyone else was asleep. For a long time I never saw it, I could only feel something scary. Then one night my life was changed forever.

 Laying in my bed, my sweet dog sleeping at my feet I woke up with an overwhelming feeling of dread. Upon opening my eyes I discovered I was surrounded by a thick, heavy red mist. It was everywhere suffocating me and enjoying it. I was trapped in my bed, unable to move or cry. I reached down to get a hold of my dog, hoping that would shake me out of my nightmare. Finding her I was in for a shock. She turned to me with bright glowing red eyes and snarled, nearly biting my hand. I quickly covered my head and hid in the sheets. It seemed as though the mist was laughing and taunting me. This was the longest night of my life.

 The next day I tried to tell my parents about it, they dismissed me as someone with an over active imagination. Nobody believed me, so the thing in the basement continued to harass me. It did so until we moved. I never brought it up again while we lived there, and the mist only reappeared twice. 

 Years later my husband and I bought our first house, a block away from my childhood home. One summer night I took my dogs for a walk past the house. I was sure that whatever was there had to be long gone. But as the dogs and I got nearer to the house they began to bark and growl. Determined to face my fear and triumph I walked through the gate and looked into the windows (the house was again for sale).

I felt the thing. It resides there still, and it remembered me.

  

Channeling

 
  I didn't know how often it would come into play. I had no idea what my mind and soul were capable of building. Nor did I realize how deeply it would impact me. I suppose that everyone does it from time to time. Some on a more conscious level than others.

  I notice it when I am painting, and working with stained glass. Or when I garden and smell the vegetables growing under my care. Or when my daughters and I are singing at the top of our lungs. Even when I am cursing and saying things a bit to plainly I feel Them. But it took someone saying to me "That is where you get it" to realize what I have at my disposal.

  My first passion (artistically speaking) is stained glass. It was a neighbor who turned me on to this beautiful form of transparent art. I fell in love pretty fast and knew it was something I would do for the rest of my life. What I didn't know was that I wasn't the only person in my family to see this challenging art form as something to pursue.  I remember mentioning it to my mother and she told me to talk to Granny. So I did, and soon after she came to my house with an astonishing revelation and a box full of tools and patterns. Granny, (who gives NOTHING away) wanted me to have these things. They belonged to my grandfather.

 Painting is a more recently acquired passion. My home is full of original art. Paintings, drawings, sculpture. It has been my good fortune to know many gifted artists who share their talents with me and my family. Due to the nature and depth of their talent I have always been hesitant to try my hand at those mediums. All the art in my home means something to me, but one or two pieces have a higher place in my heart. In my bedroom I have a painting hanging that is the first thing I see in the morning and the last at night. It is a sunset on calm water  with small waves breaking against rocks. And in the sky are two birds, one of which was slightly smeared. This is one of my dearest treasures. It was painted by my Nanna. She found this passion late in life and painted until she died.

 The girls and I sing, a lot. Loudly. We sing everything from The Dixie Chicks and GLEE to Disney tunes and Blue Oyster Cult. In the morning the ipod comes on and is on all day. We sing in the car and the shower. My Dark Hair got several smiles when we went to a pool and she laid in the shallow end singing quietly to herself. (She is the one with that fantastic alto voice) Ocasionally a song will come on and the girls will start to sing, they will harmonize and groove and I will start to cry. As I watch them dance and listen to the sweetness of their voices I see my little sister smiling and dancing with them. She had a voice from heaven. She died before they were born.

  In so many ways every day I channel the spirits of my loved ones. When I pick up a brush and glance at Nanna's painting, when I break glass and use my grandfathers tools, when my daughters sing and dance. I feel them, I hear them, I smell them. They come to life again.

This is true immortality.

Airborne

  Those thoughts that travel faster than the speed of light. No need to breath, these waves spread like wild fire. Then they infect my brain and spread into my life. Not all of these thoughts are bad, nor are they all good.

Quilting, climbing, painting, driving, Sanctum.

They fly faster into my head when I take off the Yoda Hat.

On goes the hat then as I walk out the door. Keep your thoughts to yourself~

No Rainbows

  I have always watched the sky. Since I was a small girl and bought my first telescope I have starred upwards as far as my eyes could see. Day or night it didn't matter and it hasn't yet. I feature the sky in most all of my paintings, I also have both the sun and moon tattooed on my body. Over the years the heavens have taught me many a cunning trick to grow my plants, and have shown me tell tale signs of trouble on the horizon. Often I may be caught gazing as if day dreaming, when in truth I am watching for signs. 


  This year the one spring sign I am missing is rainbows. My collection of rainbows is vast. But here we are, near past May and my portfolio remains empty as I have yet to catch sight of  a sensational stripe across the blue. Shimmering in the rays to show me that rain has surrendered. Raised as I was the absence of my beloved rainbows in combination with current meteorological, geopolitical, and astrological events gives me pause. 

 Perhaps we should hold tightly to something/one.
                                                                    

Far Away

They are so few those moments of bliss. Those fleeting seconds when eyes meet and hearts beat. When breath and time are both suspended. When for mere moments we are completely exposed. Our naked souls starring at one another.


I live for those sweet seconds.

Growl~

It stings.
 
What's so wrong with me?

 Am I rude?

 Do I look angry?

Is there an issue with my outfit?

 Do I stink? 

 Then why are you not smiling in return?  Why must you whisper and cast sideways glaces? Why when I speak do you look at me as though I am from Mars? I strive to be time, reliable, helpful, even polite. Yet the attitude I am continually met with lacks authenticity and reeks of yikiness. . 

Why is that?

 It's because I am the something hiding in the sheep that is always a threat.

I am the Wolf.

The N-Word

We all have said it before.

 It's the heat of the moment.

 It's anger and horror that makes it come out of our mouths. Hatred, fear, sorrow, love, the same reasons we say every other word we say.

 We weren't thinking.

Never.

 Oh it's a biggy. A dirty, cursed, five letter word. And it doesn't get the respect it deserves. There are parents out there who aren't teaching their children about how this word really works.

  Nearly every Never I ever said has come true. All but a handful. It's a scary thing, the dawning of the power of this curse. When you start to see those Nevers that other people cursed themselves with. The; "I will Never buy a white car. It looks like an appliance driving down the road." And those; "I will Never wear skinny jeans! They are so 80's." Then there's the; "I will Never smoke again, those things kill you." "There will Never come a time when we are not friends.""I would Never make my kids wear a uniform to school."

 Ya right.

 Then I find myself married to a guy who is 5'6, and is named D***. Two Nevers, one shot. Uhuh, I am starting to see a trend here. Move back into my old neighborhood, have twins, and not one small dog, but three, and am planning another Vegas trip. (I will Never go to Las Vegas) It's true, these are the more benign consequences of this curse. The other side is the many other darker Nevers. The Nevers that came when I was severely angry, hurt or scared. Those Nevers give me shudders still. For I have learned there is no taking back a Never.

 So mind you count your Nevers, and teach your children to be mindful to Not Ever use the word Never.