Turns Out It's Take-Your-Child-to-Work Day

...which is awesome, because Neeps's nanny was knock-down-drag-out levels of sick today, and since The Captain is out of town and I didn't have any appointments scheduled, I went ahead and brought The Little Gentleman in with me to the office.  I was feeling a teensy bit guilty about it the unprofessionalism of it all, but then I learned that the Universal Committee for Making Every Day a "Thing" had my back, and I embraced it as something totally planned and on purpose and kicked that guilt to the curb.

Going over some reports.  On Elephants, apparently.

Really it only worked because a) he's such an easy-temperament baby b) he's not mobile yet and c) I was able to work on stuff that was easily-interrupted, like non-sensitive admin maintenance and Continuing Education courses.  I did have a few client calls that required more/all of my focus, but thanks to the aforementioned a) & b), it was all okay.  I have so much respect for those parents who work from home and watch their kids, because I would not excel at that in the slightest.

Puzzling out some data.

 All in all it was a pretty good day, right up until my Katie came by with Rabbit for an unexpected late-afternoon visit, and then it became an awesome day.

Odd End

Whilst out on this afternoon's walk, I came across a tree stump that someone had, well... embellished?

Nuts to you.  And washers, too.

It was so random that I (obviously) had to take a photo of it.  And if I wasn't so tired, I'd make up a story to explain it.  Hell, maybe I'll still make up a story... just not tonight.

A Message From the Universe

Sometimes the Universe sends me exactly what I need:

Will do.

...and sometimes what I need is a dead possum with a balloon tied to it.  Strangely, this was one of those things I didn't realize I needed until I was presented with it.

(I truly wish I could have gotten an actual photo of it, but you'll have to accept this artist's rendition, as I was driving when I saw it on the side of the road, and there was no time to stop.)

A Pig and Her Boy

Neeps can sit up on his own, these days, but who among us could pass up the chance to lounge upon a pigbull haunch?

Not me, that's for damn sure.

The Going to Bed Haiku

before the wolf's howl
echoes into sad silence
the light has vanished

we swarm like mayflies
reborn in silken tendrils
of steam, soap, and scent

our skin clean and soft
we wrap, unwrap, wrap again
protecting ourselves

scoured gleaming white
the blade of a crescent moon
smiling in the dark

a heavy lantern
swinging low among the stars
we move to her song

slowly we spiral
fallen leaves in a deep pool
we drift towards slumber

our whispers weaving
like a wind-born lullabye
wrapping us in love

how high the moon climbs
how deep her watery twin dives
caught between, we sleep

Lilian's Mother

Lilian wasn't sure when she first began to suspect that her mother didn't actually love her.  It had never popped into her brain in so many words, not until she was already quite certain of it.  It was just sort of a feeling, a feeling of... not-quite-right.

It would have been easy enough to discern, if her mother had beaten or neglected her, or been cruel in word or deed, or even been coolly indifferent.  But Lilian's mother had never done any of those things- had always been very careful, in fact, to praise and support Lilian, smile at and pet her, and generally find that perfect balance between strict and fair.  Lilian's mother never lost her temper when Lilian was around, never yelled at her for something that was not her fault.  Lilian's mother was always very, very correct in her actions towards Lilian, exactly as a loving mother should be.

And perhaps that's what finally tipped her hand to Lilian.

As Lilian got older, and realized that most humans erred at one point or another, she began to be unnerved by the fact that her mother never seemed to.  Not emotionally, at any rate.  And so Lilian began paying closer attention.  And that's when she began to notice what she privately thought of as the "cold flash" in her mother's eyes.

The cold flash always, always preceded Lilian's mother being especially kind or loving.  If Lilian saw the cold flash, she nearly always found herself enveloped in a long hug shortly thereafter.  There was nothing menacing or threatening about those hugs, no hint of underlying violence... but it seemed to Lilian that there was a certain sense of desperation.

And so Lilian began to observe more closely still, until she came to the conclusion that it wasn't so much that her mother didn't love her in particular, as that her mother didn't really seem to love anyone, or even anything.  So why was she pretending?  If Lilian's mother didn't love her, why was she trying so hard to make the world- to make Lilian- think she did?

This insight- and the questions it spurred- bothered Lilian right down to her core- but she could never quite bring herself to ask her mother about any of it.  After all, her mother might not have loved her, but Lilian still loved her mother, and she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her by calling attention to the charade.

There came a day when Lilian's mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness and, as so often happens in the end, Lilian found herself keeping vigil by her mother's deathbed.  Lilian's mother sleeps often now, eyes moving rapidly beneath parchment-thin lids.  Every time those eyes close, Lilian wonders if they will re-open.  And every time, the wondering hurts.  Now Lilian sits, holding her mother's withered hand in her own, and she thinks how strange it is that her love for her mother makes this so unbearably painful- and yet also gives her the strength to keep coming back, day after day.

"You can ask me," the voice is soft, but there is no tremor in it.  Lilian's mother is meeting her death with the same calm acceptance she has always met everything.  "I know you've wanted to, for years now.  I could never quite understand why you didn't."

"Ask you what, mother?" says Lilian, smoothing her mother's denuded scalp.  She had had such beautiful hair, before: always braided and pinned so precisely.

Lilian's mother turns her face to her daughter, and opens her eyes.  "Ask me if it's true."

"If what's true?" says Lilian.  Her heart jumps, begins to race, but Lilian tries to keep her fingers light on her mother's, careful not to betray the adrenaline now surging through her system.  She knows, of course, exactly what it is her mother is talking about.  Lilian's mother flutters her hand beneath Lilian's in encouragement.

"This is your last chance to ask, my darling.  And I don't want you to have any regrets in life that could have been so easily prevented.  You already know the answer, I think."

Lilian takes a shaking breath, then looks deeply into her mother's night-black eyes.  "If I already know the answer, why would I ask that question?"

The corner of her mother's mouth twitches with amusement.  "Alright then.  Ask the question you don't know the answer to."

For a long time, Lilian is silent, searching her mother's eyes for the cold flash, or for anything that might explain without her having to ask.  All she gets back is her own reflection, small and haunted in a distorted hospice room.  At last Lilian breathes, "Why?" and she isn't even certain which why she means.

"Because you were mine," the answer is immediate and fierce, and suddenly Lilian sees something uncoiling in the depths of her mother's gaze.  This is not merely a cold flash- no, this is a burning cold so deep and terrible that it carves mountains into nothing; kills entire species; remakes entire worlds.  Lilian gasps, and the mini-Lilians in her mother's icy eyes do the same, unconsciously recoiling.  Abruptly the  eyes close, cutting Lilian off from her reflections, and from whatever it is that Lilian's mother has never allowed herself to be.

"I couldn't love you," her mother whispers.  "But I could protect you.  And I did."

Karial 02

It's my turn again!

***

Past

The day-to-day rituals of the Rift Priestess are not so mysterious as a young novice might imagine, and do not make for a fascinating chronicle- but chronicle I will, as is required.  For if I do not record the mundane, how will the daughters to come have the proper context in which to place and understand the extraordinary?

I rise as the light dies, to fulfill the first and most sacred of my duties; consulting the [oracle?].  This is no difficult task, in fact it does not even require I leave my bed, as I wear the device on a chain around my neck, always.  In this way, if the wheel begins its tell-tale whirling during the day, I might be woken to react appropriately.  It has remained still since my arrival, however, be it during the long hours of bright daylight, or the more comfortable darkness of night, and yet I examine it carefully every time the tide shifts, for that is what the Rift Priestess does: watches the [oracle?] for signs of a coming traveler.

The sister who served before me mentioned that she never was called on to receive a traveler during her time here.  She said it almost apologetically, and I have to wonder what Winial’s reaction to such news would be: relief that travelers are not that common, or concern that surely one must now be due.  I tried to accept the information as I have been taught: to make it a part of myself without spending undue time worrying over the implications.

The consulted, I tend next to the body of the temple itself, scanning carefully for signs of erosion, cracking, or other weakening.  Twice now I have had to coax the [living flame?] to make repairs, although neither instance was more than a hairline fracture.  Still, as my mothers are so fond of saying, even kisses hatch in time[idiom?], and if the temple falls the Rift becomes more unstable still.  Best not to chance it.

After the temple I turn my attention to myself, for how can I guide travelers if I fall ill?  I must be sound in body, mind, and spirit, and so I train each in turn.  I practice the forms, I read the chronicles, and I meditate.  Depending on what my food stores look like, I will hunt, or tend the garden, or perhaps both.  And if I have time enough left before the day grows too bright, I explore.  Sometimes the surrounding areas, but more often the temple itself.  You never know where a traveler might appear, or wander into, and I feel it prudent to be familiar with all potential paths.