Today we went to a family gathering on the Richey side of the clan, which of course meant Lots of People. Truth be told, it was kind of on the smallish side for a Richey Gathering, which meant that it was only slightly larger than the largest gathering I've ever been to on my side of the family...
Anyway, one of the neatest things about it was the range of generations there... everyone from Nathan's oldest uncle (late sixties) down to a few cousins-once-removed just a few months old. And then, of course, we also paid a visit to the patriarch and matriarch of the clan, Nathan's grandparents (both in their nineties). We don't get to see them very often- specifically because they're so elderly that they don't get out anymore- so it was nice to be able to spend a few minutes visiting with them (they also don't have the energy for a lot of people, or long interactions). The whole experience got me thinking about the shifting family dynamics of age and generation.
Unfortunately, my brain is not organized enough to make a good post out of those thoughts, because I just woke up from a four hour nap. Sorry about that... but I will say that I had a moment of pure panic when I thought I'd missed a post- the first time I would have done so in the over-six months we've been doing this. Fortunately I was mistaken...
Anyway I guess what it primarily comes down to is that I refuse to buy into our culture's fear of aging. I will do my damnedest not only to age gracefully, but to actively look forward to and appreciate each new stage of life, and the opportunities it brings. I think too often we as a society forget that there is value at all ages, not just the twenty years in the middle (yes I'm starting around age 16 with that generalization). And that's about as coherent as it gets for now...
7.03.2010
7.02.2010
In My Palm
it was not love at first sight
but when it was love
oh- what a sight!
brilliant flash and sparkle
artificial star-bursts
blinding my vision
some may have thought
(we may have been among them)
that that was all there was-
a brief spectacle
beautiful and exciting
and most of all fleeting
but one of those shining sparks
fell down, down to earth...
...and caught.
tiny, stubborn ember
buried beneath years of ash
smoldering on against our wills...
eventually we dug it up
and used it to kindle
a different kind of light:
fire in the hearth
keeping us warm;
keeping darkness at bay.
it may not be flashy
but it is magic enough
for us.
(Richochet)
but when it was love
oh- what a sight!
brilliant flash and sparkle
artificial star-bursts
blinding my vision
some may have thought
(we may have been among them)
that that was all there was-
a brief spectacle
beautiful and exciting
and most of all fleeting
but one of those shining sparks
fell down, down to earth...
...and caught.
tiny, stubborn ember
buried beneath years of ash
smoldering on against our wills...
eventually we dug it up
and used it to kindle
a different kind of light:
fire in the hearth
keeping us warm;
keeping darkness at bay.
it may not be flashy
but it is magic enough
for us.
(Richochet)
7.01.2010
Incoherent, Enraged Ranting
I have been full of rage all day today: my idiot-tolerance seems to be at an all-time low. Many things have set me off since nine o'clock this morning, but I choose to vent about the most recent. I was listening to the radio as I drove home from second-job, when on comes this woman who wants "America to decide" who is right in the argument she is having with her husband. Leaving aside my feelings about people who air their marital problems in a national forum, let us consider the disagreement:
The woman home-schools their children (a lifestyle choice I am theoretically supportive of). But this woman also gives her children all A's, whether they earn them or not. Her position? That she's helping them out, "because in this economy you need any edge you can get", and she's "helping them get into good colleges so they can get good jobs and make good money". Her husband, unsurprisingly, thinks this is a bad idea.
Um, you think?
For the second time today I found myself choking with rage over a lack of basic logic. Who is this woman?! Why doesn't her brain work? Does she earnestly believe she's helping her children by giving them A's rather than making them learn the material? Seriously?! I wanted to scream at the radio- more than that, I wanted to take this woman's children away from her before she screws them over for life. Does she not understand that you don't get into college based on GPA alone? Does she not realize that even if they did manage to get into college after she fakes their grades, they'll never be able to stay there, because they never learned the proper study habits and discipline necessary to actually carry a 4.0? ARGH!
I swear, if I could make one class required teaching in every school in the world, it would be logic. If A, then B; if B then C; therefore if A then C damn it it's not that hard. Logic, and moral responsibility, damn it. My favorite Heinlein quote is, "I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do." I truly believe that if more people were taught this from an impressionable age, the world would be a lot better off. But oh no- instead our society teaches them nothing is their fault, because of their crappy childhoods, and everything should be given to them because they "deserve" it. I hate that word so much. Soooo much. I wish I could take it right out of common vernacular, because of the way it gets so utterly abused.
("Bad credit? It's not your fault! Come see us and get the car you deserve!" This is literally the wording of a commercial around here and it makes me want to vomit and bitch-slap people every time I hear it. I hate the world sometimes, I really do.)
I ought to be in a better mood- I worked out this evening, so where are my friggin' endorphins? I just don't know.
In more cheerful news, I read the book Zahrah the Windseeker today, and I liked it a great deal. So at least there are talented authors in the world, which is something. ::sigh:: And actually, I've started Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix again (my mom and I are going through all the HP books for our re-Reading Club) so possibly my surly mood will make me more sympathetic to Harry this time around...
(PS because of today I've had to change my position on home-schooling to, "It's a great idea to home-school your kids if you're actually smarter than a goldfish. Which you are probably not.")
The woman home-schools their children (a lifestyle choice I am theoretically supportive of). But this woman also gives her children all A's, whether they earn them or not. Her position? That she's helping them out, "because in this economy you need any edge you can get", and she's "helping them get into good colleges so they can get good jobs and make good money". Her husband, unsurprisingly, thinks this is a bad idea.
Um, you think?
For the second time today I found myself choking with rage over a lack of basic logic. Who is this woman?! Why doesn't her brain work? Does she earnestly believe she's helping her children by giving them A's rather than making them learn the material? Seriously?! I wanted to scream at the radio- more than that, I wanted to take this woman's children away from her before she screws them over for life. Does she not understand that you don't get into college based on GPA alone? Does she not realize that even if they did manage to get into college after she fakes their grades, they'll never be able to stay there, because they never learned the proper study habits and discipline necessary to actually carry a 4.0? ARGH!
I swear, if I could make one class required teaching in every school in the world, it would be logic. If A, then B; if B then C; therefore if A then C damn it it's not that hard. Logic, and moral responsibility, damn it. My favorite Heinlein quote is, "I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do." I truly believe that if more people were taught this from an impressionable age, the world would be a lot better off. But oh no- instead our society teaches them nothing is their fault, because of their crappy childhoods, and everything should be given to them because they "deserve" it. I hate that word so much. Soooo much. I wish I could take it right out of common vernacular, because of the way it gets so utterly abused.
("Bad credit? It's not your fault! Come see us and get the car you deserve!" This is literally the wording of a commercial around here and it makes me want to vomit and bitch-slap people every time I hear it. I hate the world sometimes, I really do.)
I ought to be in a better mood- I worked out this evening, so where are my friggin' endorphins? I just don't know.
In more cheerful news, I read the book Zahrah the Windseeker today, and I liked it a great deal. So at least there are talented authors in the world, which is something. ::sigh:: And actually, I've started Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix again (my mom and I are going through all the HP books for our re-Reading Club) so possibly my surly mood will make me more sympathetic to Harry this time around...
(PS because of today I've had to change my position on home-schooling to, "It's a great idea to home-school your kids if you're actually smarter than a goldfish. Which you are probably not.")
6.30.2010
Snow Storm
"You must get rid of her," hissed the mirror. "She is a danger to everything we've striven for."
"But you yourself said I'm still the fairest in the land!" I protested, not wanting to believe my husband would indulge such... appetites, especially with me still at hand.
"Oh my queen, you are the fairest, but she is the youngest. If it were any man but the king, there would be no competition, even if she wasn't his blood. But he desires youth more than beauty, more than anything. Get rid of her before he gets rid of you."
The mirror was right, of course. She always was and I knew she always was, but how could I do such a thing? Murder a girl who looked to me as a mother, never mind that I was only four years her senior. I began to cry.
"Stop that at once!" The mirror commanded. "The last thing you need is to ruin your complexion with pointless weeping. No one says you have to murder the girl. I will tell you what you must do..."
I had never been with a man other than the king, but with the mirror's instruction I found it almost laughably easy to seduce the head huntsman's assistant, a young man only just one year my junior. Once he was in thrall to me, I gave him his orders- to take the young princess into the woods and slay her.
"And to prove you have done this, you must bring me her heart in this box," I said, keeping my voice even. I saw his eyes widen, and I knew he would protest, for he loved the girl (we all did, sweet thing that she was) but I told him this was the only way I would believe he loved me.
Men are stupid for love.
He did as I commanded, and brought the box back to me, smeared with crimson and betrayal. And then I killed him- for how could I allow such a monster to live? He who would murder a little girl for nothing more than a woman's favor...
The king mourned the mysterious loss of his daughter, and of his huntsman, and I gave him comfort, and quietly had any woman beneath the age of forty dismissed, and life returned to normal. But I did not talk to my mirror for a long time... I felt wrong about what we had done, although it was only what I had to do, to save my own life. I spent many hours meditating on the box, warm and heavy in my hands. At times I felt as though I could feel it pulsing, and sometimes at night I could make out a faint beating from the shelf where I kept it.
The moon had waxed and waned three times before I returned to my mirror. I was lonely, and I missed her companionship. I believed that she missed me, as well- but when I pulled the curtain back the look she fixed on me was one of fury.
"You fool," she spat. "You complete and utter idiot. Do you know what it is you spend your days mooning over? Do you know what is in that box?"
"A... a heart," I stammered. "My daughter's heart!" The mirror laughed unpleasantly.
"Oh it's a heart, alright, but not one that ever belonged to a human. That is the heart of a doe, and your so-called daughter's heart remains in her still-living chest!" At first I was filled with panic- still alive! But then I realized-
"What does it matter? She is far away from here, and no threat to me. I am glad she's not dead- although now I feel bad about killing the huntsman."
"Glad, are you?" She sneered. "Will you still be glad when she finds her way home, back into her father's loving arms?" I could not reply with words, could only shake my head in denial and grope for the heart box.
"We shall try again. And this time you cannot give the task to anyone else, for it's just as your father always told you- you cannot trust anyone but yourself."
"But you yourself said I'm still the fairest in the land!" I protested, not wanting to believe my husband would indulge such... appetites, especially with me still at hand.
"Oh my queen, you are the fairest, but she is the youngest. If it were any man but the king, there would be no competition, even if she wasn't his blood. But he desires youth more than beauty, more than anything. Get rid of her before he gets rid of you."
The mirror was right, of course. She always was and I knew she always was, but how could I do such a thing? Murder a girl who looked to me as a mother, never mind that I was only four years her senior. I began to cry.
"Stop that at once!" The mirror commanded. "The last thing you need is to ruin your complexion with pointless weeping. No one says you have to murder the girl. I will tell you what you must do..."
I had never been with a man other than the king, but with the mirror's instruction I found it almost laughably easy to seduce the head huntsman's assistant, a young man only just one year my junior. Once he was in thrall to me, I gave him his orders- to take the young princess into the woods and slay her.
"And to prove you have done this, you must bring me her heart in this box," I said, keeping my voice even. I saw his eyes widen, and I knew he would protest, for he loved the girl (we all did, sweet thing that she was) but I told him this was the only way I would believe he loved me.
Men are stupid for love.
He did as I commanded, and brought the box back to me, smeared with crimson and betrayal. And then I killed him- for how could I allow such a monster to live? He who would murder a little girl for nothing more than a woman's favor...
The king mourned the mysterious loss of his daughter, and of his huntsman, and I gave him comfort, and quietly had any woman beneath the age of forty dismissed, and life returned to normal. But I did not talk to my mirror for a long time... I felt wrong about what we had done, although it was only what I had to do, to save my own life. I spent many hours meditating on the box, warm and heavy in my hands. At times I felt as though I could feel it pulsing, and sometimes at night I could make out a faint beating from the shelf where I kept it.
The moon had waxed and waned three times before I returned to my mirror. I was lonely, and I missed her companionship. I believed that she missed me, as well- but when I pulled the curtain back the look she fixed on me was one of fury.
"You fool," she spat. "You complete and utter idiot. Do you know what it is you spend your days mooning over? Do you know what is in that box?"
"A... a heart," I stammered. "My daughter's heart!" The mirror laughed unpleasantly.
"Oh it's a heart, alright, but not one that ever belonged to a human. That is the heart of a doe, and your so-called daughter's heart remains in her still-living chest!" At first I was filled with panic- still alive! But then I realized-
"What does it matter? She is far away from here, and no threat to me. I am glad she's not dead- although now I feel bad about killing the huntsman."
"Glad, are you?" She sneered. "Will you still be glad when she finds her way home, back into her father's loving arms?" I could not reply with words, could only shake my head in denial and grope for the heart box.
"We shall try again. And this time you cannot give the task to anyone else, for it's just as your father always told you- you cannot trust anyone but yourself."
6.29.2010
Prequel to a Snow Storm
When I was ten years old, my father gave me a magic mirror.
"For a princess must, by necessity, trust no one but herself," he warned. "This mirror has no interests of its own, and will therefore give you sound counsel. It will also give you someone to tell your secrets to, to keep you from being too lonely on the high path of your destiny."
I did not want to believe my father that a princess could trust no one- but I knew he was right. I had once had a best friend, a pretty girl from amongst the staff. Our friendship was secret, of course- our stations must never be seen to fraternize- but we loved one another dearly. At least, I loved her, until the day I heard her telling stories about me to Cook in exchange for a few tarts. So even at the age of ten, I had experience with betrayal, and I accepted my father's gift for the great boon it was.
At first it was difficult to talk to the face in the mirror- she looked exactly like me, so how could she possibly be any wiser? But time and again, she would give me information or advice that would turn out to be very valuable, indeed. It was she who pointed out to me the power held by the women of the court- power over powerful men, power that resided in their beauty. And when I confessed to her that I, too, longed for such power, she smiled a wicked grin and told me if I would listen to her she would ensure that I was the fairest in the land.
The mirror gave me complicated recipes for potions to use on my hair and skin, to become soft and fragrant. She told me I must give up the sweets I loved, and breads, and yes, even the meats- I must eat only fruits and vegetables, and those sparingly, for at eleven I was too full of baby fat to ever be appealing to a man. She told me how to instruct my women to sew special clothes for me, clothes that would be tight in all the right places, and padded in others. She taught me ways to look, ways to laugh, how to pitch my voice. She told me it did not matter that my brother would inherit my father's throne- for we would find me one of my own.
When I was fourteen the monarch of a powerful neighboring kingdom finally come out of mourning for his dead wife, and announced that he would be holding a ball, to mark the occasion. The mirror hissed with glee at this, for she said that the occasion would really be about him looking over the available royal daughters- of whom I was most decidedly one. He would be in the market for a new mate.
"Am I ready?" I asked nervously, my hands running over the jutting bones of my hips. I felt I was still too rounded in the belly, but a corset could hide that, as well as make the most of my budding breasts.
"My lady you are the fairest in the land," she replied, and her eyes narrowed like a cat who has been at the cream. "And you will certainly be the youngest, which can only be to our advantage. They say this king likes them tender- his dead wife was getting a bit long in the tooth for him, already midway into her twenties. They say her death might not have been an accident..."
"Why would I want to marry such a horrible man?" I cried.
"Because, you idiot girl, he is powerful- which means you will be powerful. And you will not be so stupid as the former queen, to lose your figure to childbirth and let your face fall to ruin. With my help you will remain the fairest in the land, and his eye will never wander."
And then the mirror instructed me on how best to dress, how best to do my face, what jewelry to wear, what scents to apply. I saw my reflection in one of the non-magic mirrors, and it took my breath away- no, he would not be able to resist me.
And he did not.
We were married shortly thereafter (for the mirror was absolutely adamant that I not let him touch me beyond a kiss to the hand, and the man was so hot for me he could not bear a long engagement) and it wasn't until we had exchanged vows that a member of our household introduced me to his daughter.
She was perhaps four years younger than I- about the same age I was when I received the mirror, but far lovelier than I had been at that age. For some unknown reason this disturbed me, but I pushed it from my mind. After all, the mirror continued to reassure me that I remained the fairest in the land, as did the lust in my husband's eyes.
But then came the day, six years later, when I came across him watching her from a distance, and I recognized the look on his face. I remembered the rumors of his past wife's demise... remembered his preference for the young, for the tender (and our white-skinned daughter exemplified both). I watched him watching her with heat in his eyes, and my blood ran cold.
"For a princess must, by necessity, trust no one but herself," he warned. "This mirror has no interests of its own, and will therefore give you sound counsel. It will also give you someone to tell your secrets to, to keep you from being too lonely on the high path of your destiny."
I did not want to believe my father that a princess could trust no one- but I knew he was right. I had once had a best friend, a pretty girl from amongst the staff. Our friendship was secret, of course- our stations must never be seen to fraternize- but we loved one another dearly. At least, I loved her, until the day I heard her telling stories about me to Cook in exchange for a few tarts. So even at the age of ten, I had experience with betrayal, and I accepted my father's gift for the great boon it was.
At first it was difficult to talk to the face in the mirror- she looked exactly like me, so how could she possibly be any wiser? But time and again, she would give me information or advice that would turn out to be very valuable, indeed. It was she who pointed out to me the power held by the women of the court- power over powerful men, power that resided in their beauty. And when I confessed to her that I, too, longed for such power, she smiled a wicked grin and told me if I would listen to her she would ensure that I was the fairest in the land.
The mirror gave me complicated recipes for potions to use on my hair and skin, to become soft and fragrant. She told me I must give up the sweets I loved, and breads, and yes, even the meats- I must eat only fruits and vegetables, and those sparingly, for at eleven I was too full of baby fat to ever be appealing to a man. She told me how to instruct my women to sew special clothes for me, clothes that would be tight in all the right places, and padded in others. She taught me ways to look, ways to laugh, how to pitch my voice. She told me it did not matter that my brother would inherit my father's throne- for we would find me one of my own.
When I was fourteen the monarch of a powerful neighboring kingdom finally come out of mourning for his dead wife, and announced that he would be holding a ball, to mark the occasion. The mirror hissed with glee at this, for she said that the occasion would really be about him looking over the available royal daughters- of whom I was most decidedly one. He would be in the market for a new mate.
"Am I ready?" I asked nervously, my hands running over the jutting bones of my hips. I felt I was still too rounded in the belly, but a corset could hide that, as well as make the most of my budding breasts.
"My lady you are the fairest in the land," she replied, and her eyes narrowed like a cat who has been at the cream. "And you will certainly be the youngest, which can only be to our advantage. They say this king likes them tender- his dead wife was getting a bit long in the tooth for him, already midway into her twenties. They say her death might not have been an accident..."
"Why would I want to marry such a horrible man?" I cried.
"Because, you idiot girl, he is powerful- which means you will be powerful. And you will not be so stupid as the former queen, to lose your figure to childbirth and let your face fall to ruin. With my help you will remain the fairest in the land, and his eye will never wander."
And then the mirror instructed me on how best to dress, how best to do my face, what jewelry to wear, what scents to apply. I saw my reflection in one of the non-magic mirrors, and it took my breath away- no, he would not be able to resist me.
And he did not.
We were married shortly thereafter (for the mirror was absolutely adamant that I not let him touch me beyond a kiss to the hand, and the man was so hot for me he could not bear a long engagement) and it wasn't until we had exchanged vows that a member of our household introduced me to his daughter.
She was perhaps four years younger than I- about the same age I was when I received the mirror, but far lovelier than I had been at that age. For some unknown reason this disturbed me, but I pushed it from my mind. After all, the mirror continued to reassure me that I remained the fairest in the land, as did the lust in my husband's eyes.
But then came the day, six years later, when I came across him watching her from a distance, and I recognized the look on his face. I remembered the rumors of his past wife's demise... remembered his preference for the young, for the tender (and our white-skinned daughter exemplified both). I watched him watching her with heat in his eyes, and my blood ran cold.
6.28.2010
Stone Age = Sweet Age
I am not feeling my best today.
I left work a little early, got someone to cover my class tonight, and came home and went to bed. Bleh. Now I'm sitting with Nathan in the living room while he uploads today's photo, watching some show about a stone-age fellow.
It never fails to blow my mind how truly sophisticated ancient peoples were. We kind of get this arrogant idea that people in earlier times were so hopelessly backwards, but the truth of the matter is that they were amazingly smart and resourceful. Not all of them, obviously, no more so than all of our current population, but enough of them. Clothes, weapons, all of their technology in general... just amazing. Especially when you consider what a large percentage of the population was able to create most of these things. Maybe not with the skill of a master artisan, but well enough to get along. How many among us can build a car? Or a house? Or even a pair of pants?
So here's to you, prehistoric peoples. Way to be freakin' sweet.
(and now my aching head and I are back to bed...)
I left work a little early, got someone to cover my class tonight, and came home and went to bed. Bleh. Now I'm sitting with Nathan in the living room while he uploads today's photo, watching some show about a stone-age fellow.
It never fails to blow my mind how truly sophisticated ancient peoples were. We kind of get this arrogant idea that people in earlier times were so hopelessly backwards, but the truth of the matter is that they were amazingly smart and resourceful. Not all of them, obviously, no more so than all of our current population, but enough of them. Clothes, weapons, all of their technology in general... just amazing. Especially when you consider what a large percentage of the population was able to create most of these things. Maybe not with the skill of a master artisan, but well enough to get along. How many among us can build a car? Or a house? Or even a pair of pants?
So here's to you, prehistoric peoples. Way to be freakin' sweet.
(and now my aching head and I are back to bed...)
6.27.2010
Witches Stitching With Heart Strings
I was in a bit of a Mood yesterday evening... really quite restless. I'm kind of annoying as hell when I get that way, and I know it, which in turn makes me feel even worse about it. It's one of those moods where even tho' I have plenty of things I could be doing, I don't want to be doing any of them. I hate that mood so much... but then out of the blue it struck me that what I really wanted to do, damn it, was some cross-stitching.
I hadn't done any stitching for quite a few months... not since I started this blog, I think. But I pulled out my shoe box marked "X-Stitch" and rooted around until I settled on a project. I got to work and let me tell you- I was one seriously Soothed Artist. There is something so... well, to re-use the word, soothing about making all those find little stitches. Very meditative, very calming. Settled me right down. (Nathan was relieved.)
The truth of the matter is that I am absolutely fascinated by the fiber arts- and highly envious of the women (and men) who do them well. I've dabbled in many of them- quilting, crocheting, knitting, embroidery... even mending (which if you don't think is an art then you haven't ever had to do it yourself). I'm not exactly hopeless at any of them, but I'm pretty sure I'm not overly gifted, either. Nonetheless, I always feel incredibly satisfied when I start plying needle and thread. (I have much the same relationship with with clay, actually, but that's another- and messier- entry entirely).
I think one of the things I like best about stitching is the way you can really put intention into every pull of the thread. It occurred to me last year, as I was making a "muse focus" for a friend of mine (in the form of an embroidered handkerchief); each color I laid down I imbued with a certain trait: Now I'm sewing in courage, now loyalty, now empathy, now joy, now love... It's a process that lends itself well to magic, I'd think. Not flashy magic, but secret magic: women's magic... a magic primarily used for protection, crafted with needle and heart-string.
(By the way, young adult author Tamora Pierce happens to agree with me [or perhaps I agree with her, since she is my elder]. She has several instances of thread-based magic in her books, and I love what she does with them.)
I hadn't done any stitching for quite a few months... not since I started this blog, I think. But I pulled out my shoe box marked "X-Stitch" and rooted around until I settled on a project. I got to work and let me tell you- I was one seriously Soothed Artist. There is something so... well, to re-use the word, soothing about making all those find little stitches. Very meditative, very calming. Settled me right down. (Nathan was relieved.)
The truth of the matter is that I am absolutely fascinated by the fiber arts- and highly envious of the women (and men) who do them well. I've dabbled in many of them- quilting, crocheting, knitting, embroidery... even mending (which if you don't think is an art then you haven't ever had to do it yourself). I'm not exactly hopeless at any of them, but I'm pretty sure I'm not overly gifted, either. Nonetheless, I always feel incredibly satisfied when I start plying needle and thread. (I have much the same relationship with with clay, actually, but that's another- and messier- entry entirely).
I think one of the things I like best about stitching is the way you can really put intention into every pull of the thread. It occurred to me last year, as I was making a "muse focus" for a friend of mine (in the form of an embroidered handkerchief); each color I laid down I imbued with a certain trait: Now I'm sewing in courage, now loyalty, now empathy, now joy, now love... It's a process that lends itself well to magic, I'd think. Not flashy magic, but secret magic: women's magic... a magic primarily used for protection, crafted with needle and heart-string.
(By the way, young adult author Tamora Pierce happens to agree with me [or perhaps I agree with her, since she is my elder]. She has several instances of thread-based magic in her books, and I love what she does with them.)
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