1. Wearing: The everpresent jeans and sneakers. Plaid silk noil buttondown, short-sleeved. Bright red plaid socks. Really, it's not as bad as it sounds...
2. Pondering: What's for dinner. Also, trying to figure out where the *&^%* this whole spiritual revelation is taking me. Right now with about equal attention.
3. Reading: Blogs. Somehow bringing a book into work I feel guilty about, but blogging, not so much. Never claimed to make sense...
4. Dreaming: Of financial freedom. And a garden. Also a bit of surety in my life.
5. Eating: Just finished a bag of small candy-coated Hershey's kisses. Typed 'bad' instead of 'bag' the first time I did the previous sentence; well, they're certainly not any good for me.
Grateful for a nice quiet Friday Five after the last one.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Very belated Friday Five: Surprised by Joy
From RevGalBlogPals, which I, err, seem to have joined.
This is a particularly appropriate day for me to finally get round to this post. Half of yesterday and all of today I've been buried under a crushing 'cannot do anything' depression; I have the feeling that it's a crash from the up-and-down emotions of the weekend. Not surprising on reflection but I wish I'd realized it might happen.
I've been forcing myself into a semblance of usefulness anyway. I'm at work, and have done most of the things the boss wanted me to get done today (saving a bit of pricing, as I can't find the bloody pricing gun). I did a logo for my mom earlier, and a bit of jobhunting. So not a day entirely wasted, though at times it feels like I'm dragging myself through molasses to move; at times I have to remind myself to breathe.
So why joy, on a day which doesn't hold much joy for me? Because I need the reminder. It's good for me to think about what is good, at this moment when it feels like there is so very much that's not good. So herewith my five.
1) Shanti, who came into my life entirely unexpectedly. Back when I worked in Boulder, Tim and I were outside taking a smoke break (well, he was smoking, I wasn't) and saw, trotting across the field, a beautiful long-haired black cat. I made pss-pss-pss noises (I am rather a sucker when it comes to cats) and she ran over, crying, and began to rub furiously against my legs. I bent to pet her, and found that she was skinny, and her fur was terribly matted down her sides.
Needless to say, I now have a lovely, long-haired, spoiled, well-fed, frequently-brushed black cat. She walks between me and the monitor, and then lays down on my wrist rest so that I simply cannot type. She's nearly shredded her way through one of the two window screens in my bedroom. She's escaped upwards of fifteen times, never longer than ten minutes at a time since she usually runs a little way and then lays down. She's not a lap cat, won't lay down on top of me or on my pillow when I'm in bed, but consistently lays curled up next to my pillow. She goes for walks with me, on a leash, and if I'm not going to the apartment office anyway she'll drag me there so the apartment ladies pay attention to her. She poings. She zooms. She tries to chase birds, dragging me clumsy and loud along behind her, and I always scare them off. And then she'll come back to me and rub against my legs just to let me know she loves me anyway.
2) The people I've met, mostly here at blogspot and more generally through my blogs here. Hedwyg and her daily gratitude posts, reminding me that there's still joy to be had. Plain Foolish who brought me here in the first place and never fails to make me think. Wulfila for reminding me that you can be Christian and something else at the same time, and make it work. Brian and his inspiring, and fascinating, quest for equality and understanding. Mother Laura for constant encouragement and the occasional well-placed provocation. And so, so many others; check my blogroll, and I know I'm missing people who should be in that list, too.
3) Ray. I knew what I was going to get from Tim when I moved out here, more or less. We'd known each other for years, after all; talked online incessantly, met for brief, intense and all-too-rare flings a few times a year. Ray and I? Had met once, talked on the phone a few times. Only knew each other through Tim. I had very little idea what to expect and I don't think he did either. And we drive each other nuts, we've had our snippy moments, days of avoiding each other, total lacks of understanding. And we've also had moments of encouraging each other to keep moving, days when each dragged the other out of the house for a bike ride or to go work in the garden. Shared laughter and sometimes tears, worked on dinner together. Joined forces in jollying Tim out of a bad mood. Walked the dog, and chased Shanti across the parking lot. (Repeatedly; Ray no longer walks into my apartment without crouching down to catch the cat). It's been a lot of frustration, some heartache, but mostly? A lot of fun.
4) All the many, many things I can do on my own. Go grocery shopping and plan meals. Make a budget and stick to it (more or less). Make the money to pay the bills. Decorate an apartment, and keep it clean and livable, and change things around when I like, or when it makes sense to. Get to work on time and work until the work is done. Get car insurance, investigate health insurance, do my own taxes. Get my own apartment in my own name after discovering that my credit score was not only not craptastic, but actually really, really good. Keep that credit score good.
All really basic simple life stuff, right? And stuff I hadn't done on my own before, much of it stuff that scared me white at the thought of doing it by myself. Nobody else to do it for me, though, and so I'm doing it, pushing myself out of the house to get things done at times, but doing it and getting it done.
5) Faith. I'm still not entirely sure what I believe in, or at least all of what I believe in, but I've come to realize that yes, there are things I believe in, and that still comes as a total shock to me, miss skeptic, miss unbeliever, miss Created Without Faith. But I believe that both Ganesha and St. Michael are keeping an eye on me; I believe that there's a Something out there behind them, there's a light beyond the darkness. How it expresses itself in my life is still up for debate (a lot) but that? Is okay.
And the mental repetition of 'I only ever wanted to come inside' has been replaced by 'Domine, non sum dignus' with the occasional reply of 'neither's anyone else; your point?'. I keep wanting to look over my shoulder to see who They're talking to, but Tim rolled his eyes at me, so.
Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." He said to them, "Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. (John 21:5-7)
Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5b)
This week I've been watching parents of the young people slain at Virgina Tech trying to make meaning out of the lives of their lost children, and each one seems to begin by focusing on something joyful about that child. It's a gift that most humans have brains wired to respond in that way. For some of us it can be harder to work our way out of dark places, but I believe joy remains the key. It is the spirit of resurrection.
Tell us about five people, places, or things that have brought surprising, healing joy into your life.
This is a particularly appropriate day for me to finally get round to this post. Half of yesterday and all of today I've been buried under a crushing 'cannot do anything' depression; I have the feeling that it's a crash from the up-and-down emotions of the weekend. Not surprising on reflection but I wish I'd realized it might happen.
I've been forcing myself into a semblance of usefulness anyway. I'm at work, and have done most of the things the boss wanted me to get done today (saving a bit of pricing, as I can't find the bloody pricing gun). I did a logo for my mom earlier, and a bit of jobhunting. So not a day entirely wasted, though at times it feels like I'm dragging myself through molasses to move; at times I have to remind myself to breathe.
So why joy, on a day which doesn't hold much joy for me? Because I need the reminder. It's good for me to think about what is good, at this moment when it feels like there is so very much that's not good. So herewith my five.
1) Shanti, who came into my life entirely unexpectedly. Back when I worked in Boulder, Tim and I were outside taking a smoke break (well, he was smoking, I wasn't) and saw, trotting across the field, a beautiful long-haired black cat. I made pss-pss-pss noises (I am rather a sucker when it comes to cats) and she ran over, crying, and began to rub furiously against my legs. I bent to pet her, and found that she was skinny, and her fur was terribly matted down her sides.
Needless to say, I now have a lovely, long-haired, spoiled, well-fed, frequently-brushed black cat. She walks between me and the monitor, and then lays down on my wrist rest so that I simply cannot type. She's nearly shredded her way through one of the two window screens in my bedroom. She's escaped upwards of fifteen times, never longer than ten minutes at a time since she usually runs a little way and then lays down. She's not a lap cat, won't lay down on top of me or on my pillow when I'm in bed, but consistently lays curled up next to my pillow. She goes for walks with me, on a leash, and if I'm not going to the apartment office anyway she'll drag me there so the apartment ladies pay attention to her. She poings. She zooms. She tries to chase birds, dragging me clumsy and loud along behind her, and I always scare them off. And then she'll come back to me and rub against my legs just to let me know she loves me anyway.
2) The people I've met, mostly here at blogspot and more generally through my blogs here. Hedwyg and her daily gratitude posts, reminding me that there's still joy to be had. Plain Foolish who brought me here in the first place and never fails to make me think. Wulfila for reminding me that you can be Christian and something else at the same time, and make it work. Brian and his inspiring, and fascinating, quest for equality and understanding. Mother Laura for constant encouragement and the occasional well-placed provocation. And so, so many others; check my blogroll, and I know I'm missing people who should be in that list, too.
3) Ray. I knew what I was going to get from Tim when I moved out here, more or less. We'd known each other for years, after all; talked online incessantly, met for brief, intense and all-too-rare flings a few times a year. Ray and I? Had met once, talked on the phone a few times. Only knew each other through Tim. I had very little idea what to expect and I don't think he did either. And we drive each other nuts, we've had our snippy moments, days of avoiding each other, total lacks of understanding. And we've also had moments of encouraging each other to keep moving, days when each dragged the other out of the house for a bike ride or to go work in the garden. Shared laughter and sometimes tears, worked on dinner together. Joined forces in jollying Tim out of a bad mood. Walked the dog, and chased Shanti across the parking lot. (Repeatedly; Ray no longer walks into my apartment without crouching down to catch the cat). It's been a lot of frustration, some heartache, but mostly? A lot of fun.
4) All the many, many things I can do on my own. Go grocery shopping and plan meals. Make a budget and stick to it (more or less). Make the money to pay the bills. Decorate an apartment, and keep it clean and livable, and change things around when I like, or when it makes sense to. Get to work on time and work until the work is done. Get car insurance, investigate health insurance, do my own taxes. Get my own apartment in my own name after discovering that my credit score was not only not craptastic, but actually really, really good. Keep that credit score good.
All really basic simple life stuff, right? And stuff I hadn't done on my own before, much of it stuff that scared me white at the thought of doing it by myself. Nobody else to do it for me, though, and so I'm doing it, pushing myself out of the house to get things done at times, but doing it and getting it done.
5) Faith. I'm still not entirely sure what I believe in, or at least all of what I believe in, but I've come to realize that yes, there are things I believe in, and that still comes as a total shock to me, miss skeptic, miss unbeliever, miss Created Without Faith. But I believe that both Ganesha and St. Michael are keeping an eye on me; I believe that there's a Something out there behind them, there's a light beyond the darkness. How it expresses itself in my life is still up for debate (a lot) but that? Is okay.
And the mental repetition of 'I only ever wanted to come inside' has been replaced by 'Domine, non sum dignus' with the occasional reply of 'neither's anyone else; your point?'. I keep wanting to look over my shoulder to see who They're talking to, but Tim rolled his eyes at me, so.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The weekend, and a lot of babbling.
When we left our hero, she was about to go find a local church, therein to kneel and pray and in general try to come to terms with my baptism and confirmation. With my belief, or lack of same, or unsureness about it, or...whatever state I'm in, which I'm not sure about. To pray for what I need to become who I need to be.
What I hadn't considered was the difficulty of finding an open church at seven on a Saturday evening. Apparently they lock the things these days, which I have to admit surprised me, though it shouldn't. People are as likely to steal things out of a church as anywhere else, after all.
I tried the one closest to work, and then another down the street; both were locked up tight. So I sat down on the back porch of the second one, where if I leaned up I could look in the window and at least see the altar, and got started.
The prayer was for transformation -- Let us look within ourselves to see that which needs to be transformed so that we may become the people God has called us to be, and fitted to perform the work He has called us to do. I hadn't thought at all, ahead of time, about what that might be; and as I finished the prayer and started to think, the thing that came to my mind was 'faith'. I need faith, and that's what I prayed for.
And wound up, to my total surprise, sobbing. Bawling my eyes out. I don't cry too much, see, as I mentioned recently. So, yeah, erm. What?
And what kept going through my mind was 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked.'. The door was locked. I wound up kneeling in front of the back door of the church, crying, and repeating 'I only ever wanted to come inside, I only ever wanted to come inside'.
This is the point where, if this were a Chicken Soup story or something in Reader's Digest, there would have been a click, and when I tried it again, the door was mysteriously unlocked; or the kindly minister came up, held me while I cried, and unlocked the door for me. This is real life, so none of that happened (and I did try the door again, just in case). What happened was I cried for a while, and then stopped, wiped my eyes, and said okay, this is what I have, now let's see what I can do with it.
I prayed the closing prayer and went back to the car. Blew my nose a couple times, called Tim to let him know I was on my way and he could start the pasta. He asked if I could pick up wine to go with dinner; I told him I had some at my place already, and that I'd grab it before I came over. I'd kept my voice level up until then, and the crying had mostly retreated, but I almost burst into tears again -- at the image, fleeting but powerful, of my hands, pouring wine.
By the time came to actually pour wine I was fine and the whole thing was retreating into fuzzy memory. Dinner and wine helps with that sort of thing, too. I didn't get a chance to tell Tim about it that night, so I locked it all away and figured I'd just see what happened at church the next morning.
--
Got not-quite-enough sleep, decided to eat breakfast because it was going to be late by the time I got out of church and I didn't plan to go up for communion anyway. Changed what I was going to wear five times, settled on a simple black linen skirt and a light blue sweater. Got the directions and drove.
The congregation shares the building with the local Lutheran church, who has their services at ten-thirty. Usually there's a pretty good gap between the two, but the Lutheran congregation had two baptisms that day and ran late. So I milled around with people heading out and people heading in, confused and feeling very out of place, quietly hoping someone would come up and say something to me. Eventually someone did -- an older woman, part of the Lutheran congregation, who asked me if I was with Light of Christ and apologized for their service taking so long. I hesitated a bit before I answered her question. I don't know if I'm with Light of Christ yet, but simpler to say 'yes, I am' than to launch into explanations. And besides which, I had an image of Peter denying Jesus three times and not wanting to do the same.
Odd...
Mass was...I don't know. I guess I want a little more joy in my worship. There was music, a two-member choir, a few members of the congregation who specifically spread out around the room to support the (rather quiet) singing. But it was still quiet, the choir looking more businesslike than joyous, the lady who read the lessons solemn. Perhaps it's just that they're small. Maybe they got thrown off by the other congregation running late. I don't know.
The gospel reading was strong, and I liked the sermon. And then communion. I like how they do it; everyone goes up front and makes a circle around the priest while he does his thing (sorry, tired and not remembering of proper words). One of the ladies who greeted me waved me up, but didn't push when I shook my head a little. I appreciate both. I did wish that I felt as if I could, but...I didn't feel that way. I wanted to go up. I just didn't feel right doing so.
After Mass I asked to talk to the priest when he had a moment. He said yes, of course, cos that's his job; on the way to his office we talked a little about light stuff, where do I live, he's moving up here soon with his family, they'll be moving close to me...
And when we got to his office, I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say. I finally stumbled through it all, the baptism and confirmation, the fact that I didn't believe but said I did anyway, that that I didn't feel right coming up for communion because of it. That I wasn't sure that they counted.
He talked about the Sacraments, told me that for all we try to understand them, they're a mystery, we can't entirely understand how God works. Did they count? Only God knows, but it was his belief that surely they must. He told me about his confirmation, that the only reason he did it was so he could stop going to CCD. I chuckled a bit; sometime later, I'm sure, I'll ask him how he came to the priesthood.
He said that of course I'd've been welcome at communion, and I reassured him that I didn't feel that anyone there would have kept me from it -- it was something internal to me, something I had to deal with before I felt like I could receive. Something I had to make right, and I wasn't sure how.
He smiled at me. "I don't know how this will work for you," he said, "and I don't mean to push, but I think you just did."
I thought about that one for a while. And, you know? I think he's right. Confession is a powerful thing if done right, and though this wasn't a formal confession (I don't even know if the ECC does them) I think it helped me a lot.
So...that was that. No huge revelations, but I did leave with a good feeling about things.
--
Gardening that afternoon, and then dinner, and finally got to telling Tim about it all pretty late Sunday night. Told him about 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked' and 'I only ever wanted to come inside' and my hands, pouring wine. Told him about mass and how I might change things there if I could. About talking to the priest. And the whole time he has this little smile on his face.
Told him about the dream I had a few weeks ago and blamed on Mother Laura, in which I got ordained. Still that little smile. Musing, now -- about belief, about faith. He tells me that Ray's nervous about my whole turn towards religion, worried he'll say something wrong and offend me. That Tim's not so worried about Ray offending me as he is that the Awakening that Ray had planned for my Mage character might just mess with my head, given my fairly fragile mental state when it comes to religion.
I'll skip the details cos I don't figure most of you do any roleplaying and simply say that what Ray had planned for my character was something involving archangels. I chuckled and told Tim, hey, I might not be entirely sure about this whole God and Jesus thing quite yet, but I know where I stand with Michael. I'm good with the archangels; no danger there. He chuckled and said, yeah. That's because you have faith.
I think I blushed; I know I threatened to whack him on the head. But whatever; I guess he's right though I certainly never expected anything like faith to appear in my life. More musings; I told him about Mother Laura confessing to me in comments on another post, and my discomfort with that -- not with her telling me about a thing she felt she'd done wrong, just with the format of it. I can't hear confession, I'm not... but I'd always been good at counseling people, a good listener; it's always been one of the things I do. Never felt any urge to go into social work or become a psychologist or anything much like, though, and what else is there to do for someone who's a listener at heart?
Still smiling. Verging on a smirk.
What do you think, I asked him (and I blush to even type it here; it seems so presumptuous), this is leading to? I dream of ordination, of pouring wine; am I heading towards...I couldn't say it then, I can't type it now. It just feels so improbable...
Pretty much, he said, he's been waiting a few years for me to figure it out.
I really did almost hit him that time.
Right now? Really have no idea where, if anywhere, this is going. It might fade in a couple weeks, never to be thought of again (though Tim expressed his opinion on the likelihood of that). I figure I'll find out as I go, and I'm okay with that. I'm...serene, heading into the unknown. It's been a long, long time since I've felt that way. It's gonna be a good journey.
What I hadn't considered was the difficulty of finding an open church at seven on a Saturday evening. Apparently they lock the things these days, which I have to admit surprised me, though it shouldn't. People are as likely to steal things out of a church as anywhere else, after all.
I tried the one closest to work, and then another down the street; both were locked up tight. So I sat down on the back porch of the second one, where if I leaned up I could look in the window and at least see the altar, and got started.
The prayer was for transformation -- Let us look within ourselves to see that which needs to be transformed so that we may become the people God has called us to be, and fitted to perform the work He has called us to do. I hadn't thought at all, ahead of time, about what that might be; and as I finished the prayer and started to think, the thing that came to my mind was 'faith'. I need faith, and that's what I prayed for.
And wound up, to my total surprise, sobbing. Bawling my eyes out. I don't cry too much, see, as I mentioned recently. So, yeah, erm. What?
And what kept going through my mind was 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked.'. The door was locked. I wound up kneeling in front of the back door of the church, crying, and repeating 'I only ever wanted to come inside, I only ever wanted to come inside'.
This is the point where, if this were a Chicken Soup story or something in Reader's Digest, there would have been a click, and when I tried it again, the door was mysteriously unlocked; or the kindly minister came up, held me while I cried, and unlocked the door for me. This is real life, so none of that happened (and I did try the door again, just in case). What happened was I cried for a while, and then stopped, wiped my eyes, and said okay, this is what I have, now let's see what I can do with it.
I prayed the closing prayer and went back to the car. Blew my nose a couple times, called Tim to let him know I was on my way and he could start the pasta. He asked if I could pick up wine to go with dinner; I told him I had some at my place already, and that I'd grab it before I came over. I'd kept my voice level up until then, and the crying had mostly retreated, but I almost burst into tears again -- at the image, fleeting but powerful, of my hands, pouring wine.
By the time came to actually pour wine I was fine and the whole thing was retreating into fuzzy memory. Dinner and wine helps with that sort of thing, too. I didn't get a chance to tell Tim about it that night, so I locked it all away and figured I'd just see what happened at church the next morning.
--
Got not-quite-enough sleep, decided to eat breakfast because it was going to be late by the time I got out of church and I didn't plan to go up for communion anyway. Changed what I was going to wear five times, settled on a simple black linen skirt and a light blue sweater. Got the directions and drove.
The congregation shares the building with the local Lutheran church, who has their services at ten-thirty. Usually there's a pretty good gap between the two, but the Lutheran congregation had two baptisms that day and ran late. So I milled around with people heading out and people heading in, confused and feeling very out of place, quietly hoping someone would come up and say something to me. Eventually someone did -- an older woman, part of the Lutheran congregation, who asked me if I was with Light of Christ and apologized for their service taking so long. I hesitated a bit before I answered her question. I don't know if I'm with Light of Christ yet, but simpler to say 'yes, I am' than to launch into explanations. And besides which, I had an image of Peter denying Jesus three times and not wanting to do the same.
Odd...
Mass was...I don't know. I guess I want a little more joy in my worship. There was music, a two-member choir, a few members of the congregation who specifically spread out around the room to support the (rather quiet) singing. But it was still quiet, the choir looking more businesslike than joyous, the lady who read the lessons solemn. Perhaps it's just that they're small. Maybe they got thrown off by the other congregation running late. I don't know.
The gospel reading was strong, and I liked the sermon. And then communion. I like how they do it; everyone goes up front and makes a circle around the priest while he does his thing (sorry, tired and not remembering of proper words). One of the ladies who greeted me waved me up, but didn't push when I shook my head a little. I appreciate both. I did wish that I felt as if I could, but...I didn't feel that way. I wanted to go up. I just didn't feel right doing so.
After Mass I asked to talk to the priest when he had a moment. He said yes, of course, cos that's his job; on the way to his office we talked a little about light stuff, where do I live, he's moving up here soon with his family, they'll be moving close to me...
And when we got to his office, I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say. I finally stumbled through it all, the baptism and confirmation, the fact that I didn't believe but said I did anyway, that that I didn't feel right coming up for communion because of it. That I wasn't sure that they counted.
He talked about the Sacraments, told me that for all we try to understand them, they're a mystery, we can't entirely understand how God works. Did they count? Only God knows, but it was his belief that surely they must. He told me about his confirmation, that the only reason he did it was so he could stop going to CCD. I chuckled a bit; sometime later, I'm sure, I'll ask him how he came to the priesthood.
He said that of course I'd've been welcome at communion, and I reassured him that I didn't feel that anyone there would have kept me from it -- it was something internal to me, something I had to deal with before I felt like I could receive. Something I had to make right, and I wasn't sure how.
He smiled at me. "I don't know how this will work for you," he said, "and I don't mean to push, but I think you just did."
I thought about that one for a while. And, you know? I think he's right. Confession is a powerful thing if done right, and though this wasn't a formal confession (I don't even know if the ECC does them) I think it helped me a lot.
So...that was that. No huge revelations, but I did leave with a good feeling about things.
--
Gardening that afternoon, and then dinner, and finally got to telling Tim about it all pretty late Sunday night. Told him about 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked' and 'I only ever wanted to come inside' and my hands, pouring wine. Told him about mass and how I might change things there if I could. About talking to the priest. And the whole time he has this little smile on his face.
Told him about the dream I had a few weeks ago and blamed on Mother Laura, in which I got ordained. Still that little smile. Musing, now -- about belief, about faith. He tells me that Ray's nervous about my whole turn towards religion, worried he'll say something wrong and offend me. That Tim's not so worried about Ray offending me as he is that the Awakening that Ray had planned for my Mage character might just mess with my head, given my fairly fragile mental state when it comes to religion.
I'll skip the details cos I don't figure most of you do any roleplaying and simply say that what Ray had planned for my character was something involving archangels. I chuckled and told Tim, hey, I might not be entirely sure about this whole God and Jesus thing quite yet, but I know where I stand with Michael. I'm good with the archangels; no danger there. He chuckled and said, yeah. That's because you have faith.
I think I blushed; I know I threatened to whack him on the head. But whatever; I guess he's right though I certainly never expected anything like faith to appear in my life. More musings; I told him about Mother Laura confessing to me in comments on another post, and my discomfort with that -- not with her telling me about a thing she felt she'd done wrong, just with the format of it. I can't hear confession, I'm not... but I'd always been good at counseling people, a good listener; it's always been one of the things I do. Never felt any urge to go into social work or become a psychologist or anything much like, though, and what else is there to do for someone who's a listener at heart?
Still smiling. Verging on a smirk.
What do you think, I asked him (and I blush to even type it here; it seems so presumptuous), this is leading to? I dream of ordination, of pouring wine; am I heading towards...I couldn't say it then, I can't type it now. It just feels so improbable...
Pretty much, he said, he's been waiting a few years for me to figure it out.
I really did almost hit him that time.
Right now? Really have no idea where, if anywhere, this is going. It might fade in a couple weeks, never to be thought of again (though Tim expressed his opinion on the likelihood of that). I figure I'll find out as I go, and I'm okay with that. I'm...serene, heading into the unknown. It's been a long, long time since I've felt that way. It's gonna be a good journey.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Transformation
Tonight my dear friends in the Order of St. Michael at the Order's annual Retreat will be doing a ritual of Christian Transformation. Though I can't make it to West Chester to be with them, I'm planning on attending in spirit.
I've come a long, long way since the baptism and confirmation I was stuck with. I didn't agree with them, then, but didn't see a way out -- but I've gone through that elsewhere and don't need to rehash it yet again. I'm guessing that my repetition of the whole thing is a bit of guilt over the lie of it; tonight I'm hoping to inch closer to making it the truth.
Because I don't feel right taking communion while that lie is still on me. And the only way to change that is to make it the truth. And that's going to be a long and slow process; but tonight, I think, will help.
So will tomorrow. Mother Laura found me a local Ecumenical Catholic Church which looks very welcoming and has services late enough on Sunday morning that I might actually be not only conscious, but actually dressed. And I'm going to go. I emailed their outreach lady, so now I can't wuss out. Again. Like I've been.
I'm nervous as anything. You'd think I'd got a date with the hottest guy on the football team. "The level of 'OMG what if I say the wrong thing and he hates me forever' is, uh, pretty high.
Because yeah, I'm going to church. And I could dress conservatively and go up for communion and not say much of anything, and nobody's notice a thing. But I'm not (well, I am going to dress conservatively, but). I'm going to ask, after the service, if people aren't too busy, to talk to the priest and see if I'm really welcome there. Yep, bisexual. Polyamorous. Currently, in fact, in a relationship with two men. Interested in Hindu spirituality and not planning to change that (in fact, my next move after this will be to find the local Hindu temple and make a similar exploratory trip). And then I'll see what he says.
It's about seven; about nine Eastern. Time for me to go, and see about that transformation.
I've come a long, long way since the baptism and confirmation I was stuck with. I didn't agree with them, then, but didn't see a way out -- but I've gone through that elsewhere and don't need to rehash it yet again. I'm guessing that my repetition of the whole thing is a bit of guilt over the lie of it; tonight I'm hoping to inch closer to making it the truth.
Because I don't feel right taking communion while that lie is still on me. And the only way to change that is to make it the truth. And that's going to be a long and slow process; but tonight, I think, will help.
So will tomorrow. Mother Laura found me a local Ecumenical Catholic Church which looks very welcoming and has services late enough on Sunday morning that I might actually be not only conscious, but actually dressed. And I'm going to go. I emailed their outreach lady, so now I can't wuss out. Again. Like I've been.
I'm nervous as anything. You'd think I'd got a date with the hottest guy on the football team. "The level of 'OMG what if I say the wrong thing and he hates me forever' is, uh, pretty high.
Because yeah, I'm going to church. And I could dress conservatively and go up for communion and not say much of anything, and nobody's notice a thing. But I'm not (well, I am going to dress conservatively, but). I'm going to ask, after the service, if people aren't too busy, to talk to the priest and see if I'm really welcome there. Yep, bisexual. Polyamorous. Currently, in fact, in a relationship with two men. Interested in Hindu spirituality and not planning to change that (in fact, my next move after this will be to find the local Hindu temple and make a similar exploratory trip). And then I'll see what he says.
It's about seven; about nine Eastern. Time for me to go, and see about that transformation.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
The joy of dirty hands
I've been wanting to get my hands in the dirt since it started to get warm. This being Colorado, that's been intermittently all winter.
Well, readers, I finally got my chance last Sunday. I'd gone to the CMU Extension to see if their community garden had space; it didn't, but when I asked if they knew about any others in the area, she said 'Yes, there's one, it's organic, and the lady you want to talk to? Is right there.' and pointed to the Master gardener on duty for the day. So Derice the Master gardener and I had a lovely little talk, and last week (was it that recently?) Ray and I went over to Second Start Community Gardens to pick out a couple of plots.
We got two big ones, right next to each other, good soil well-worked by the former residents. We also inherited chives, blackberries, strawberries and a lot of irises. The irises might wind up going to good homes to give us more space, but the rest is staying.
Thus began the planning. What to grow? What varieties? How much could we eat, and were we going to can the rest? Turn it into sauce? What to buy now and plant inside, what to buy now and plant outside, what to wait to pick up later?
I traded some of my bath salts for four tomato plants and five peppers later that day (yay for barter!). Then Sunday, the only day we all have off from work, we hefted our tools, put on hats and sunscreen, and trooped off.
Except for the tools, because we didn't actually have any. But there's a lovely locally-owned garden place, with a wide variety of tools, furniture, statues, fertilizers, and so, so many plants.
We got off fairly lightly, I think, at under a hundred dollars, but: hand tools, kneeling pads, more tomatoes, more peppers, brussels sprouts, four kinds of lettuce seed, five kinds of carrots (including purple ones), basil and more basil, nasturtiums (edible!), leeks, asparagus, and three kinds of onions.
Then off to the garden itself. I learned the proper method of weeding, which doesn't involve pulling out each damn weed with my hands but using tools (because, as Tim says, I have thumbs; use tools!). A properly-wielded hoe and rake make things go much more quickly. So does having other people to work with. I've so rarely had help in the garden before and it was pure joy to work with people.
We got one plot almost entirely weeded, then double-dug a long trench (with well-aged manure mixed in as we dug) and planted the onions, leeks, and asparagus. A lesson learned: those onion starts want more space than it looks like they will; dig another trench right away. As it stands, the onions are all too close together and will have to be thinned, and we had to dig another patch for the asparagus. But we got a lot of stuff in the ground and a good time has had by all.
We also (for a definition of 'we' which means 'Tim' since I was exhausted and Ray was already in bed) also planted lettuce, spinach, and pepper seeds in a little tray that night. I'm not sure but I think some of them are sprouting already
Monday Ray and I were going to go over and do a little more work, but I found that nearly nothing on my body wanted to move without pain and so I spent the day doing a whole lot of not much. And so back to the garden next Sunday, methinks, there to dig and double-dig, mix manure, plant carrots and carrots and carrots oh my. Purple carrots!
I was still cleaning dirt from under my fingernails on Tuesday. My muscles only just stopped aching sometime yesterday. And I am simply as happy as I've been in a long, long time.
Well, readers, I finally got my chance last Sunday. I'd gone to the CMU Extension to see if their community garden had space; it didn't, but when I asked if they knew about any others in the area, she said 'Yes, there's one, it's organic, and the lady you want to talk to? Is right there.' and pointed to the Master gardener on duty for the day. So Derice the Master gardener and I had a lovely little talk, and last week (was it that recently?) Ray and I went over to Second Start Community Gardens to pick out a couple of plots.
We got two big ones, right next to each other, good soil well-worked by the former residents. We also inherited chives, blackberries, strawberries and a lot of irises. The irises might wind up going to good homes to give us more space, but the rest is staying.
Thus began the planning. What to grow? What varieties? How much could we eat, and were we going to can the rest? Turn it into sauce? What to buy now and plant inside, what to buy now and plant outside, what to wait to pick up later?
I traded some of my bath salts for four tomato plants and five peppers later that day (yay for barter!). Then Sunday, the only day we all have off from work, we hefted our tools, put on hats and sunscreen, and trooped off.
Except for the tools, because we didn't actually have any. But there's a lovely locally-owned garden place, with a wide variety of tools, furniture, statues, fertilizers, and so, so many plants.
We got off fairly lightly, I think, at under a hundred dollars, but: hand tools, kneeling pads, more tomatoes, more peppers, brussels sprouts, four kinds of lettuce seed, five kinds of carrots (including purple ones), basil and more basil, nasturtiums (edible!), leeks, asparagus, and three kinds of onions.
Then off to the garden itself. I learned the proper method of weeding, which doesn't involve pulling out each damn weed with my hands but using tools (because, as Tim says, I have thumbs; use tools!). A properly-wielded hoe and rake make things go much more quickly. So does having other people to work with. I've so rarely had help in the garden before and it was pure joy to work with people.
We got one plot almost entirely weeded, then double-dug a long trench (with well-aged manure mixed in as we dug) and planted the onions, leeks, and asparagus. A lesson learned: those onion starts want more space than it looks like they will; dig another trench right away. As it stands, the onions are all too close together and will have to be thinned, and we had to dig another patch for the asparagus. But we got a lot of stuff in the ground and a good time has had by all.
We also (for a definition of 'we' which means 'Tim' since I was exhausted and Ray was already in bed) also planted lettuce, spinach, and pepper seeds in a little tray that night. I'm not sure but I think some of them are sprouting already
Monday Ray and I were going to go over and do a little more work, but I found that nearly nothing on my body wanted to move without pain and so I spent the day doing a whole lot of not much. And so back to the garden next Sunday, methinks, there to dig and double-dig, mix manure, plant carrots and carrots and carrots oh my. Purple carrots!
I was still cleaning dirt from under my fingernails on Tuesday. My muscles only just stopped aching sometime yesterday. And I am simply as happy as I've been in a long, long time.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Well, despair didn't work...
...so I'll try joy.
Least that's what Christy's saying over at Dry Bones Dance. An excerpt:
I think a lot of people could use a good reading of this message; I know I needed it.
Least that's what Christy's saying over at Dry Bones Dance. An excerpt:
I think I am just increasingly seeing joy and hope as acts of defiance in a violent world. Life is uncertain. Bad things happen. Joy says, "Well, I'm here today, and if the world spins off its axis tomorrow - and it just might - it won't help matters to suck all the life out of right now." I think I'm beginning to figure out that me being miserable and weighed down by the sorrows of the world just adds one more bit of pain to the already enormous pile. Maybe being reasonably happy would create some sort of cosmic ripple in the universe.
I think a lot of people could use a good reading of this message; I know I needed it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Okay, shooshing now.
Lyons, Colorado is the kind of little town where on any given day there's a fair chance you'll be able to stand in the middle of Main Street for upwards of several minutes without worrying about a car coming past any time soon. Which is exactly what I just got back from doing, because bang over Main Street, perfectly circling the little church a block away, was a rainbow.
Those worries in my last post? Less worrying now. Because if I don't take this hint, then next one will likely involve a brick to the forehead.
Those worries in my last post? Less worrying now. Because if I don't take this hint, then next one will likely involve a brick to the forehead.
Desirous of communion
A nice little quote from Quaker Pagan Reflections:
It occurred to me that it's been a long, long time since I've felt comfortable enough in my skin to allow that kind of reaction to something emotionally powerful. I can't blame it entirely on Lewis, either, though it certainly got worse during that time; it started before I was with him. In fact, I'm not entirely sure when it started.
It's starting to ease, though. Little by little, bit by bit, as I heal. I cried like a little girl over a lovely compliment someone gave me recently, and I can tear up a bit at the sun over the mountains, or a touch of welcome rain, or snugglings from my kitten.
I'd like to get to the point where I can feel that in worship. I don't know if it's possible; Christian or pagan, worship services have generally elicited more eye-rolling than eye-tearing in me. The pagan ones, especially, always felt ... silly, I suppose, though that's not entirely the right word. And I've enough bad history with Christianity (or, at least, people who call themselves Christian) that it's hard to feel comfortable at a Christian service.
At the same time I find myself wanting the Eucharist very, very badly. Is it tacky to say 'I want it so bad I can taste it'? I remember the taste and the feel, the crisp little bit of not-much that took just long enough to melt away that I always chewed, and then wondered if I was supposed to or if I was breaking some obscure point of canon law. But it never felt, never tasted, like communion, like the body and blood of a God made man who gave his life for all of us (which concept I am only now beginning to really understand thanks to some dear friends of mine). It only ever tasted like thin, stale bread, unfilling and unsatisfying.
I want more than that. I wanted more than that, even then, and the lack of it was a lot of why I drifted away from the church. There were plenty of other reasons, mind you; reasons I've mostly worked through in the years since then. But this one? I don't know if it'll change. I want it to, badly.
And it's not that my church experiences have all been without meaning. Christmas Eve services at the church I grew up in were always lovely -- the candles, the singing, all of the energy focused on the return of the light -- I found them very moving. Even in my least-Christian phases I always enjoyed Christmas, and not just because of the presents. The birth of the Son, the rebirth of the Sun, however you wish to put it; it meant, and means, a lot to me. Maybe that experience will help.
I keep not actually going to church, though. I was telling myself it was because I'm usually up late on Saturday night (it's the only day none of the three of us has to get up, so we tend to stay up late the night before) but honestly? I think I'm nervous. Partly that I won't be accepted; I was baptized and confirmed, yes, but I've rather fallen apostate since then and frankly, neither baptism or confirmation meant anything to me. I only went through the motions because my mother wanted me to. Partly, though, it's worry that the experience won't be what I so desperately want it to be, that it'll again be dry, tasteless, unfilling.
I've told the tale before, in my Livejournal: how I wanted to believe, and couldn't find it in myself to do so. It's my Letter of Intent for joining the Order of St. Michael, and I'd locked it so that Lewis couldn't read it. He's got issues with Christianity, it seems, and despite the fact that he's got plenty of friends in the Order, he 'preferred' that I didn't join, because somehow the good people he knew individually became Bad when gathered together as a group of (mostly) Christians. I joined without telling him (his 'prefer' is more 'I will blame the next six months' worth of problems on you not listening to my wishes on this if you join') and only now had the nerve to unlock the thing.
So now? Kinda nervous. What if it doesn't do anything for me...again? What's left to me?
I'm trying to remember in whose blog I read, recently, about a woman who found herself crying in meeting when worship gets deep for her, and I was so glad to read it. She wrote, too, that she wishes she didn't--she said she chooses to sit in the balcony in her meeting so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, and the tears that come make her feel painfully visible. It was freeing to read this, because I feel that way, too. Not always, but often enough I also find tears running down my face. (They were during Beethoven's 9th today, for sure.) And I always feel awkward about it, as if it is some kind of boast of specialness, or posturing for attention.
It occurred to me that it's been a long, long time since I've felt comfortable enough in my skin to allow that kind of reaction to something emotionally powerful. I can't blame it entirely on Lewis, either, though it certainly got worse during that time; it started before I was with him. In fact, I'm not entirely sure when it started.
It's starting to ease, though. Little by little, bit by bit, as I heal. I cried like a little girl over a lovely compliment someone gave me recently, and I can tear up a bit at the sun over the mountains, or a touch of welcome rain, or snugglings from my kitten.
I'd like to get to the point where I can feel that in worship. I don't know if it's possible; Christian or pagan, worship services have generally elicited more eye-rolling than eye-tearing in me. The pagan ones, especially, always felt ... silly, I suppose, though that's not entirely the right word. And I've enough bad history with Christianity (or, at least, people who call themselves Christian) that it's hard to feel comfortable at a Christian service.
At the same time I find myself wanting the Eucharist very, very badly. Is it tacky to say 'I want it so bad I can taste it'? I remember the taste and the feel, the crisp little bit of not-much that took just long enough to melt away that I always chewed, and then wondered if I was supposed to or if I was breaking some obscure point of canon law. But it never felt, never tasted, like communion, like the body and blood of a God made man who gave his life for all of us (which concept I am only now beginning to really understand thanks to some dear friends of mine). It only ever tasted like thin, stale bread, unfilling and unsatisfying.
I want more than that. I wanted more than that, even then, and the lack of it was a lot of why I drifted away from the church. There were plenty of other reasons, mind you; reasons I've mostly worked through in the years since then. But this one? I don't know if it'll change. I want it to, badly.
And it's not that my church experiences have all been without meaning. Christmas Eve services at the church I grew up in were always lovely -- the candles, the singing, all of the energy focused on the return of the light -- I found them very moving. Even in my least-Christian phases I always enjoyed Christmas, and not just because of the presents. The birth of the Son, the rebirth of the Sun, however you wish to put it; it meant, and means, a lot to me. Maybe that experience will help.
I keep not actually going to church, though. I was telling myself it was because I'm usually up late on Saturday night (it's the only day none of the three of us has to get up, so we tend to stay up late the night before) but honestly? I think I'm nervous. Partly that I won't be accepted; I was baptized and confirmed, yes, but I've rather fallen apostate since then and frankly, neither baptism or confirmation meant anything to me. I only went through the motions because my mother wanted me to. Partly, though, it's worry that the experience won't be what I so desperately want it to be, that it'll again be dry, tasteless, unfilling.
I've told the tale before, in my Livejournal: how I wanted to believe, and couldn't find it in myself to do so. It's my Letter of Intent for joining the Order of St. Michael, and I'd locked it so that Lewis couldn't read it. He's got issues with Christianity, it seems, and despite the fact that he's got plenty of friends in the Order, he 'preferred' that I didn't join, because somehow the good people he knew individually became Bad when gathered together as a group of (mostly) Christians. I joined without telling him (his 'prefer' is more 'I will blame the next six months' worth of problems on you not listening to my wishes on this if you join') and only now had the nerve to unlock the thing.
So now? Kinda nervous. What if it doesn't do anything for me...again? What's left to me?
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Six Weird Things
Again in response to Mother Laura, who challenged me to name Six Weird Things about myself. Here goes...
1) When I'm standing, especially when I'm leaning against something at the same time, I have a tendency to lean to my right. A lot. To the point that I'm off-balance and my right leg hurts and I'm sure it looks awfully silly. No idea why; years of trying have only begun to break the habit.
2) For years, my food couldn't touch my other food. I made dams out of mashed potatoes so the gravy wouldn't get in the corn, and despaired when the juice from the corn got in the mashed potatoes. If I went back for seconds, I'd rinse my plate off first. Eventually my family gave up, and gave me divided trays, like you get in the cafeteria in school. This made me happy.
3) Ever since I moved out to Colorado, that little bit of obsession has nearly entirely gone away, along with my mushroom allergy, my insomnia, my popcorn allergy (not corn...just popcorn), the remains of my dog allergy (which in fairness was going away anyway), and my intense dislike of green beans and cooked carrots. However, celery is still The Evil.
4) When I dress like a man, I move enough like one that my (gay) boyfriend says I could pass as one easily. This is still the case when I dress like a woman, to the point that I worry whether or not I'm 'passing' as a woman...even though I'm entirely biologically female.
5) Did I mention the gay boyfriend? No, I'm not sure how it happened, either, but I try not to think about it too hard in case it stops working.
6) I blow things up in my spare time. But only under very specific circumstances. (The gonnes are in the style of the early 1400s and yes, they really do go *boom*.)
Not even sure who reads this who hasn't already been tagged, so consider yourself tagged if you like, and if not, not.
1) When I'm standing, especially when I'm leaning against something at the same time, I have a tendency to lean to my right. A lot. To the point that I'm off-balance and my right leg hurts and I'm sure it looks awfully silly. No idea why; years of trying have only begun to break the habit.
2) For years, my food couldn't touch my other food. I made dams out of mashed potatoes so the gravy wouldn't get in the corn, and despaired when the juice from the corn got in the mashed potatoes. If I went back for seconds, I'd rinse my plate off first. Eventually my family gave up, and gave me divided trays, like you get in the cafeteria in school. This made me happy.
3) Ever since I moved out to Colorado, that little bit of obsession has nearly entirely gone away, along with my mushroom allergy, my insomnia, my popcorn allergy (not corn...just popcorn), the remains of my dog allergy (which in fairness was going away anyway), and my intense dislike of green beans and cooked carrots. However, celery is still The Evil.
4) When I dress like a man, I move enough like one that my (gay) boyfriend says I could pass as one easily. This is still the case when I dress like a woman, to the point that I worry whether or not I'm 'passing' as a woman...even though I'm entirely biologically female.
5) Did I mention the gay boyfriend? No, I'm not sure how it happened, either, but I try not to think about it too hard in case it stops working.
6) I blow things up in my spare time. But only under very specific circumstances. (The gonnes are in the style of the early 1400s and yes, they really do go *boom*.)
Not even sure who reads this who hasn't already been tagged, so consider yourself tagged if you like, and if not, not.
Thinking Blogs
I received a lovely compliment from Mother Laura at Junia's Daughter today -- she named mine as a blog that makes her think (see here for the origin of it all) and challenged me in turn to name five blogs which make me think. So, herewith:
1) Just Plain Foolish, who makes me think, and makes me cry.
2) Helwen, with her clear, cogent and inspiring thought on making her life simpler and more sustainable.
3) Earthchick, at the Seven Things Project, who's also simplifying her life and has provoked me into attempting to do the same.
4) Is it tacky to name the person who tagged me? Laura, I'm doing it anyway, because you make me think, make me feel, you've helped me come back to the Christian perception of God/dess, and I think it's your fault that two nights ago I had a dream about entering the priesthood.
5) Dee, at Devi Shakti, who's done much the same thing for me when it comes to Hinduism that Mother Laura has for Christianity (except for the 'coming back' part, of course, having never been gone".
And many others, of course, but I could go on all day and not name them all or even come close. Please check them out!
1) Just Plain Foolish, who makes me think, and makes me cry.
2) Helwen, with her clear, cogent and inspiring thought on making her life simpler and more sustainable.
3) Earthchick, at the Seven Things Project, who's also simplifying her life and has provoked me into attempting to do the same.
4) Is it tacky to name the person who tagged me? Laura, I'm doing it anyway, because you make me think, make me feel, you've helped me come back to the Christian perception of God/dess, and I think it's your fault that two nights ago I had a dream about entering the priesthood.
5) Dee, at Devi Shakti, who's done much the same thing for me when it comes to Hinduism that Mother Laura has for Christianity (except for the 'coming back' part, of course, having never been gone".
And many others, of course, but I could go on all day and not name them all or even come close. Please check them out!
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Why can't things go smooth...
Why can't things ever go smooth?
One of these days I'd like to get a look at my character sheet. I suspect some poor fool somewhere took the 'Things Don't Go Smooth' complication from the Serenity RPG.
That job I had? Don't have it any more. No, it wasn't my back; no, it wasn't my left knee. My right thigh, of all things, decided to act up and now I can walk for anywhere between ten minutes and a half hour before it starts to ache. Which doesn't work so well with a job in a warehouse.
I went to a doctor, of course, who told me that a nerve was compressed and here, take these pills. If they won't work in two weeks come back and we'll see.
Well, in two weeks it was enough worse that I quit my job and can't afford to go back to the doctor. Fortunately Linette has saved my ass, at least temporarily, with a part-time job at her lovely little store in Lyons. About thirty hours a week will keep me going for a little while, at least, and it's quite a bit of fun. Nice thing about it is when I'm done cleaning/straightening/rearranging and there aren't any customers in the store, I can pretty much do what I like. Which has been a lot of jewelry-making and a bit of writing. Plus a lot of messing around online, but I'm working on keeping that down.
I have several sets of jewelry out for display here at Linette's. Nobody's bought any yet but I've had several people interested. I'm also looking around or other places I could put jewelry out on consignment; this is a great area for that kind of thing.
Also doing herbal stuff. I mean, I was making bath salts for people anyway. I pick up cool little glass bottles at the Salvation Army and such, fill them with bath salts, and put them out for sale. Again with the looking around for consignment places, and again I have several in mind. Soon comes the lovely day of packing up samples and trying to sell my stuff to all these lovely little shops.
The ladies at the apartment office have already offered to buy some of the bath salts and such as drawing prizes for summer parties. And they'll put my fliers in the new resident packets, once I print them up. Which would involve coming up with a company name and advertising stuff. Ack!
Wasn't I trying to get out of sales?
Really, I'd rather just make the stuff. In fact, I've decided what I want to do when I grow up: make stuff. Tough making a living that way, though, hence the sales bit. Hopefully I'll be better at it when I actually like the stuff I'm selling. Though if there's anyone out there who has a clue about marketing and such, I wouldn't mind a bit of advice.
In other news, I have persistently failed to go to church, mostly because Saturday night is the only night that both Tim and I can usefully stay up late; thus, we do, and then it's noon on Sunday and church is over. I might take advantage of the extra services most churches have during Holy Week to make it in for something, at least.
Just sold about a hundred and fifty bucks of stuff right at the end of the day -- yay! And the one lady was very interested in my jewelry, though she got distracted by buying her wedding dress.
Off to gaming night!
One of these days I'd like to get a look at my character sheet. I suspect some poor fool somewhere took the 'Things Don't Go Smooth' complication from the Serenity RPG.
That job I had? Don't have it any more. No, it wasn't my back; no, it wasn't my left knee. My right thigh, of all things, decided to act up and now I can walk for anywhere between ten minutes and a half hour before it starts to ache. Which doesn't work so well with a job in a warehouse.
I went to a doctor, of course, who told me that a nerve was compressed and here, take these pills. If they won't work in two weeks come back and we'll see.
Well, in two weeks it was enough worse that I quit my job and can't afford to go back to the doctor. Fortunately Linette has saved my ass, at least temporarily, with a part-time job at her lovely little store in Lyons. About thirty hours a week will keep me going for a little while, at least, and it's quite a bit of fun. Nice thing about it is when I'm done cleaning/straightening/rearranging and there aren't any customers in the store, I can pretty much do what I like. Which has been a lot of jewelry-making and a bit of writing. Plus a lot of messing around online, but I'm working on keeping that down.
I have several sets of jewelry out for display here at Linette's. Nobody's bought any yet but I've had several people interested. I'm also looking around or other places I could put jewelry out on consignment; this is a great area for that kind of thing.
Also doing herbal stuff. I mean, I was making bath salts for people anyway. I pick up cool little glass bottles at the Salvation Army and such, fill them with bath salts, and put them out for sale. Again with the looking around for consignment places, and again I have several in mind. Soon comes the lovely day of packing up samples and trying to sell my stuff to all these lovely little shops.
The ladies at the apartment office have already offered to buy some of the bath salts and such as drawing prizes for summer parties. And they'll put my fliers in the new resident packets, once I print them up. Which would involve coming up with a company name and advertising stuff. Ack!
Wasn't I trying to get out of sales?
Really, I'd rather just make the stuff. In fact, I've decided what I want to do when I grow up: make stuff. Tough making a living that way, though, hence the sales bit. Hopefully I'll be better at it when I actually like the stuff I'm selling. Though if there's anyone out there who has a clue about marketing and such, I wouldn't mind a bit of advice.
In other news, I have persistently failed to go to church, mostly because Saturday night is the only night that both Tim and I can usefully stay up late; thus, we do, and then it's noon on Sunday and church is over. I might take advantage of the extra services most churches have during Holy Week to make it in for something, at least.
Just sold about a hundred and fifty bucks of stuff right at the end of the day -- yay! And the one lady was very interested in my jewelry, though she got distracted by buying her wedding dress.
Off to gaming night!
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