Seamstress

Mayhaps next year I can make Ellie something like this? I don't care much for contemporary dresses, but what girl wouldn't feel like a total Bad Ass in one of these? By the pricking of my thumbs something wicked this way comes... And you can bet I will wind up pricking my fingers plenty on a project like this.
So for now I will stick to a very simple pattern with Mom there to direct me. I haven't ever sewn but one dress from a pattern and that was a long time ago. All that left brained instruction getting in the way of my right brained instincts, it could get scary! But every creative endeavor brings me intense sensory pleasure...and apparently makes me a poet.

I didn't realise the sleeves were going to be puckered at the shoulder but I think it gives it an extra witchy look like the Wicked Witch of the West. The Wizard of OZ is one of the three scariest movies EVER including Alice in Wonderland & Charlie & The Chocolate Factory; shudder-gasp don't even get me started. Especially not this close to my bed time, eek!

We picked black chintz for this dress because it has a wonderful hand and it will stand beautifully...and because Mary Jo's had it for $2.99 a yard. I considered using it inside out so it wouldn't be shiny, I loathe shiny loud cutesy Halloween costumes. Wait, no I don't-I love shiny gaudy things, I just don't like my scary Halloween things to get too cutesy'd up, gag. My love for shiny things won out in the end and I'm using it correct side out; you can see the sheen of the fabric in the middle picture where I've sewn the sleeve onto the bodice.

I'll hold it up to Miss Ellie this weekend to see how it's fitting; I may need to take it up. I didn't want it to be too little; what would be more depressing than having your aunt sew a beautiful witch dress only to find it's too little for you? It would not be good for a girl's self esteem.

I'll have to do the same for Miss Cassie Q next year; I won't be party to the little sister getting shit out of something. She changes her mind on Halloween costumes though, sometimes up to the last minute and I knew Ellie would stick to her guns on this one.

I don't usually dress up for Halloween, it's weird. For me the season and the day itself are magical and I love everything about it, I just don't get into doing my own costume. I'll usually just wear Devil horns and an even crazier get-up than usual and call it a day.

Halloween is for kids, it's not an excuse to get all hookered up and go out drinking; you can do that any time. I am so tired of all the "sexy witch", "sexy pirate" and "sexy vampire" costumes. I shouldn't begrudge anyone flaunting what they got one night a year, I'll give 'em all a free pass. All my friends do it!

I love the baking and decorating and either going trick-or-treating with the girls or answering the customary question "Trick or Treat!" from little neighborhood goblins that darken my door.

Every year I lament that I can't do both; it's a Catch 22. But hey, either way I have a blast.

Last year I was too MS'd up to even carve my own pumpkin. I can not remember far back enough to the last time I didn't carve a pumpkin. I did hobble to the door in my Halloween PJs to make candy offerings though.

Even though it was such a shitty time I still made it out with one hilarious story. At that time I was still doing Betaseron injections every other day, and of course last year injection day fell on Hallow's Eve. I had the syringe all prepared (you have to mix the medicine up yourself which was kind of cool) when I heard a knock on the door. I got up and passed out candy and shuffled back to the sofa and my syringe had disappeared, poof into thin air! I thought "Oh my God I am that creepy adult who gives children sharp objects at Halloween!" I mean come on, a drug filled syringe! I'm pretty sure that was during the three weeks of Prednisone which makes you completely mad anyway; it was a riot! Mom & I figured maybe I had passed it out to some of the neighborhood illegal aliens and they didn't want to call the cops. Aren't we awful? Months later I found the syringe, in the sofa or under it, somewhere.

And here I am a year later, and a long year it's been. So much has changed, all for the better. I'll be able to go Trick-or-Treating with the kids as long as they want-show no mercy!

And that's enough. It really doesn't take much for me. All is right with the world.

Tysabri # 11

Today was Tysabri infusion #11 and I almost missed it! I was busy drawing a trumeau with flanking mirrors for a lady when I got a call from Presbyterian asking if I'd like to reschedule. Luckily I was able to go late and it was no big deal. I usually reserve infusion day for resting and soaking up all that expensive Natalizumab, but it was kind of nice not thinking about it beforehand. I happened to have my camera in my purse so I thought I'd take some pictures since people sometimes ask what it's like in there. I go to the Oncology center in the hospital and it's pretty nice & fancy, not all clinical and depressing. I usually just nap anyway.
I read A History of God for the first hour and slept through the second.
Here is the catheter going in the one good spot I have; the nurse started lower down my arm but that one wasn't cooperating; can you blame it? I try to reserve this site but the nurse said it's already showing some scar tissue. Oh well there's always the hand.


Here's the IV bags, the one with the amber colored sleeve is the Tysabri. I always have to watch the needle go in and everything. I don't like it when you have to get a shot in the hip because I can't see what's going on.

Here's where I can see how much time I have left. This was about half way through. Time for some zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

This is the one architectural embellishment outside the building. I think it's pretty; reminds me of some of my visual reference books for drawing up carvings for my mirrors and trumeaus. It's some kind of floral garland swag thing, sort of French or English.

I was in a hurry since I was late so I used the free valet parking at the main entrance just under this shot. As I hurried in line worrying about my schedule and thinking about other "important" things I saw what could only have been a mother with her 7-9 year old daughter getting ready to go in. The little girl was being pushed in a wheelchair by her Mom and they were both bald headed; the Mom's was freshly buzz cut and you could see thick dark stubble but you could see the little girl's was bald as in fallen out from chemo bald. They were both so beautiful. I've heard of this kind of thing before; a person loses their hair due to cancer treatments and their friend, parent, sibling, spouse shaves their head in a show of support but this was not on TV, it was different witnessing this in "real life." It always wakes me up and reminds me of what is real in life when I see a display of unspoiled love and affection such as this. I would love to shave my head for someone, I don't mean that to sound flip but for years I've been tempted to do it to liberate myself from the bondage that Hair is to a woman, and what a sacraficial ritual to take part in, very tempting.

If I were more pushy, or friendly, or something else I'm not quite, I may have found a way to politely ask for their picture; but I just admired them from afar and felt love for them. You could say I prayed for them.

I always wince a little when I find myself in need of telling someone I am praying for them; it's so awful but it always sounds a bit...false in my ears. Not that I don't pray because I do! I think it's because I don't go to Church, I am not a Church person. Sure my family went when I was little and I'm glad, seems I'd have missed something important if we had not.

When I was about 8 Dad asked me and Brandi if we wanted to go to Church on Sundays, or go to the Farm. Heathens that we were it was no contest; Farm! Church didn't stand a chance (you might even say "Church didn't have a prayer" but that would be blasphemy and I'm not quite that bad!) We would float around the pond on inner tubes and Dad would tell us Bible stories, sometimes cool Old Testament ones; Lot's wife turning into a pillar of salt and such, good stuff. And hey, Jesus himself said "wherever two or three of you gather in His name, He is in your midst" Matthew 18:20-Google it!

I thought about my aversion to saying things like "I'm praying for you" or "I'll pray about it" in the Oncology center while reading about God. The book covers the God of three main religions, Judaism, Islam and Christianity...and let me tell you I have alot to learn, this little heathen has been out of Church long time!

Why does it make me uncomfortable? Why do I feel like an impostor? I am a believer in God, and I do pray. I think it is because my experience with Church goers leaves me feeling like an outsider; I don't believe everything that Christianity demands of you which is ironic because I can go along with the teachings of Jesus himself...it's a bit of a quandary.

Then there's the contemporary non-dogmatic-religious-speak such as "I'm sending you love and light" and "I'm visualizing (insert your intention here)" but those are too wordy and just a touch cheesy too aren't they? I usually just go with "pray"; everyone accepts it and has an understanding of what it is that is more or less accurate for my purposes.

When I was a child and I prayed the way I was taught to in Sunday School it was different. You remember, hands together in front of your heart, head bowed, eyes closed, then you asked God for whatever. "I pray The Lord my soul to keep", or was it actually "I pray Thee Lord"? No I think that's Shakespeare.

When I "pray" now it's either nothing like that or pretty much the same thing, I'm not sure which. Isn't it just as simple as having a thought, forming an intention? I visualize the object of my prayer, health or what have you. Doesn't it say in The Bible to pray as though your prayer has already been answered? Isn't that the same as "visualizing"?

I will spend the rest of my life studying God, Spirit, The Universe; it's one of the most basic human needs. We want answers, we want meaning, we want there to be an order to things.

I am so grateful to have been raised with God in my home but no religious zealots.

As I said I'm not a Christian but I "sure as Hell aint no atheist either!"

Now for a little more studying the History of God before bed. I'll let you know when I get it all figured out.

Night Owls

Ellie spent the night with me Saturday night. It was a short but fun visit. I would have loved to be able to go sleep over at my Mimi's or Aunt's house on a regular old weekend! Growing up 600 miles away from your extended family has its pros and its cons, one of which is not spending as much time with them as you'd like.
(Then again I wasn't complaining when Mimi & Pop got divorced; that was a time to hit the deck!)
Here is the little Angel still groggy on Sunday morning. She takes my breath away, I wish the photo quality was better.
That sweet smile, gentle brown eyes, alabaster skin and thick mane; she won't know how gorgeous she is now until she is all grown up. We seldom do, do we?


She absently pets Roxi while comparing her to Roxi's brother Angus, who is her dog! Ellie is a talker, she has alot to say and she will say it. No time for an awkward silence with this girl! A cheerful chatterer, she makes good company for all who she meets. I love spending time with Ellie; I'd always wanted for more time with my aunts when I was a kid and this completely makes up for it. I get to be the cool aunt!
She once told me during a sleepover that I was her favorite grown up to hang out with; the highest compliment in the land if you ask me! I am honored and really intend to spend more time with her, and Cassie. It's good for kids to get members of their family all to themselves. I so vividly remember wanting just to be with my parents when I was little. It's an easy thing to do, and an easy thing to allow time to take away.
Let me write somethings down in my calendar right now...

This morning was drippy and drizzly and I did not go out for a walk with Roxi in the wet, but I did run out to do a few errands. I thought I'd leave Roxi out of her cage for an hour or two and see what happened. This is what happened!

I keep reminding myself she is a puppy, ten months old. She is still trouble! I resort to this refrain of the pet owner and parent "Can't have shit"! Nothing to be done but throw away the casualties of foam scattered about; the shrapnel of a Roxi bomb.

"What happened in here!" ..."Well it appears as though a Roxi Bomb detonated in the vicinity"
Ugh! Well, aside from that it was a good day. Just after sundown I decided to take her out for the walk we'd missed earlier. It had pretty much quit drizzling and was cool and balmy, perfect weather. It was the first time I've gone on a night walk around here but it was early and there were lots of other people out and about afoot in the 'hood. It was perfect. It reminds me of the short time I lived in Wilmington, 13 or 14 years ago. Wow. I started walking, and I don't remember why but I always did at night, by myself and it was a wonderful indulgence, like it is now. I remember at Christmas time so many people had their porches and yards decorated for the season; colorful lights are so cheery and exciting against the bright and darkening blue sky. I know other countries accuse us of being tacky this way, and we are but it is fun!

I am a night person, biologically, medically, spiritually; in every way. I can't help it, it just suits me. I come alive at night and the creative juices get flowing and I just want to stay up and work on whatever until 4 or 5 in the morning, as long as I go to sleep before the sun comes up; that's just depressing.

I try to get to a normal human schedule, in bed around 10 and up around 7 or 8. I did pretty well over the summer and enjoyed getting as much sunlight as I could. But now after the Equinox as the dark comes earlier each night, I want to be up later and later! Can't help it.

I try to get to a normal human schedule, in bed around 10 and up around 7 or 8. I did pretty well over the summer and enjoyed getting as much sunlight as I could. But now after the Equinox as the dark comes earlier each night, I want to be up later and later! Can't help it.
I feel I have the world to myself during these late hours. It feels like time stops and I can finally open my eyes, to the world as I like to see it; dark, still, quiet, peaceful. All the nocturnal animals are my totems; the bat, the 'owl, the raccoon and best of all the dear 'possum. They don't concern themselves with what goes on in the daytime when all the other animals are scurrying about busying themselves with survival and competition. They make a nice living on Mother Nature's night shift and they seem to live life at their own pace. Plus they all have a delightful mystique about them don't they? And if you are thinking 'possums are gross, you Sir or Madam just don't know what's good.

I love the sky early at night when it has this electric dark bright glow about it; when you can see the trees in silhouette but still make out some of their own color and values...

...and further into the winter I have the bare bones trees to look forward to; shed of all their leaves they look like delicate black lace against the electric blue sky.

Ah, the changing seasons and the growing night. I can feel everything shifting already!

Isn't it so exciting?

Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings...

A fine place to fall off

Below is what we affectionately call "Pasture #1" at the Farm. When I was about 8 we numbered them, the surrounding pastures we frequented on the horses. When I was a kid it was more isolated out there, paradise. It still of course takes my breath away and the changes are thus bearable and sometimes even nice.

I broke my arm twice in this particular pasture, my sister broke one arm in it, and collectively we busted our happy asses more times than I can count! Every injury a happy memory! As a competent horse rider I don't believe you've really ridden until you've sustained a few close calls and fairly serious injuries. After all if you don't get back on after you fall, how do you know you're serious about it? No "fair weather" riders in my family.
We would fall off, break a bone, ride the scolded horse back home, go to the hospital to get x-rays and casts, come home and sleep it off then get up the next day and get right back on! I remember holding my broken arm up and away from my body to try to lessen the shock from the bumpy gait of Judy's prissy trot or the smoother motion of an all out ass-hauling. I also remember laying in bed that first night after the injury, plaster cooling rapidly as it dried with that throbbing dull pain and swelling like a sausage inside that new white plaster, wondering how I'd ever fall asleep.
Falling off was always an interesting demonstration of the relativity of time; my experience of time changed in the few seconds it took place. There's always a point at which you realise you have lost your seat and can not recover. In that time you weigh your options, once you've decided you can't regain your balance you quickly shift to damage control mode; can I fall clear of the thundering hooves, can I roll out of the way as soon as I hit the ground? Every plausible option is considered and weighed in a matter of what must be split seconds. Then you find yourself falling slowly, the ground coming closer to your face as you think to yourself (or maybe scream at the top of your lungs?) "Oh nooooo!"
As soon as you make contact with the ground you seem to bump and roll and be tossed about, sometimes catching a hoof as the obnoxious and victorious horse makes haste away from the crime scene. The bumping seems in slow motion too but as soon as you are stopped you look up to see the horse a half a mile away from you hauling ass on thundering hooves and it seems like the whole event took five minutes. The worst is when you get the breath knocked out of you and can't cry because you have no air in your lungs! Then your sister makes her way back around to you to ask if you are okay before heading off to retrieve the offending animal and asses the damage. I always knew when a bone was broken instantly, sometimes replying to the question "are you okay" with a simple one word response: "broken". Then it's off to look for a good spot to get back on the horse and take an easy slow walk back towards home to deal with the consequences.
Of course more often than not it went pretty much like that minus the broken bone; still no fun, but always fun after in the retelling! Usually when no bones were broken it all ended in hysterical laughter! Everything we did was fun.
Oh the stories I could tell, and will, but right now it's time for the Sand Man to sweep me away to dreams I hope will take place in this pasture; free barefooted and bareback on a pony and a simple bridle to direct her. Maybe a switch picked to discourage unruly behavior and to swat pesky horseflies off her rump where her tail can't reach and wearing nothing but cut off jeans and a tank top; versatile clothes for spontaneous activities like riding the horses into the pond for a quick dip. We traveled light, I don't even remember carrying water! On occasion we'd bring a dollar tucked into a pocket to stop in Jack or Jimmy's store for a cold Cocola on a hot day.

Now that would be a good commercial for Coke. "Perfect for carrying along riding bare back on your horse".