Do you ever find yourself being...unusual? Maybe unusual isn't quite the right word. I just step outside some of my thoughts sometimes and wonder if other people find the same weird thing.
Tonight I noticed (not for the 1st time) that while I am doing an ordinary task I get excited in the part of my mind I'm not really focused on about something I've had an idea to do. There's always a point at which I recognise this and yet can't remember the thing, I only remember that I know I was looking forward to it...
I remember feeling this way, it's familiar. It usually winds up with me remembering what I was so looking forward to doing and feeling like a total dork for getting all "excited" about such random stuff.
For example, I will be putting away clean laundry (yes, I have a system! 60% of the time it works all the time). As I'm finishing up Irealise that I can now do that thing I was looking forward to, only I don't remember what it is. "No problem" I think, knowing it will pop into my head later, and it does. I am suddenly a little embarrassed to remember I was all "jazzed up" to sharpen my pocket knife, polish silver or try on my favorite leather gloves that have been lying lonely and nearly forgotten in the back of the sock drawer since last winter? Seriously?
Someone please tell me I'm not the only one.
When I discover someone who "gets it", I feel an immediate bond with that person on a level that transcends normal social barriers. It's not like an "Id follow you into battle to die" kind of thing, but it's friendly, unique and genuine.
I met a woman in a jewelry making class (for real jewelwry making, not like with beads, glue and wire). Her name is Jennifer and in the beginning of the class and the teacher was taking us all around the studio and showing us the tools we'd be using. When he got to the Mandrel, as in small steel tapered rod that you can form rings on, I made a comment that I was planning on renaming it the "Barbara Mandrel". Jennifer laughed out loud with me and said "That's exactly what I was thinking!" After that we'd say "Can you pass the Barbara?"
Any of my friends reading this will know that this is one of my favorite bonding experiences.
One more; this is one of my favorites and was introduced to me by my brother in law Jim.
Somehow we got on this topic one day and he askeddo you ever see something, maybe while laying down and think "what could that be? I don't recognise it at all. I could move my head around to get a slightly different perspective to figure it out, but I won't! I'll just be still and keep staring at it until I know what it is". We were delighted to discover we shared this common (or uncommon) experience.
Having a similar sense of humor about the value of such weird things makes for a strong bond with me. But maybe it's not so weird.
Maybe you do it too?
The Gospel According To Dusti
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Shooting a Grizzly
Lord the dream I just had. I was out in pasture #1 with Dad. There was a whole bunch of long business preceding this with some other people, but it is hazy and unimportant.
I was in pasture #1 and it was much bigger than ever and Dad was building a series of fences with small 5'x10' cage like sections with gates where you go open a gate, lock it behind you and then open another gate to go in another pasture, one of 3 or four that connected there. I wondered why this elaborate system, remembering the days where fences were fewer and farther between and could be jumped over on horseback at an old low spot, or one person could dismount and step on rusty barbed wire and lead their horse gingerly over it. But the fences he was building were serious; all perfectly level some had small hog wire, where a dog wouldn't be able to get through, and some were the kind we had for the horses, unbarbed wires strung about a foot apart.
Ellie was there with us. Dad was just finishing up and there were a few things in the "cage" he'd just built on the grass, a heavy and serious Colt .45 revolver under a denim jacket and I had my puny .38 with me as well. The "cage" didn't have a top and there were places you could climb over it, there was 2 1/2" dark orange metal tubing and where it ran horizontal you could climb it. At some point I had a discussion with Dad about how he may as well build steps at all these pasture junctures to climb up and get back on your horse since it seemed elaborate and time consuming and I could just picture the frustration that would come trying to get Whiskey to cooperate and pull up right where I wanted him and hold still long enough for me to work the various mechanisms. It'd be easier to hop off to do all that and a few horizontal rungs inside each pasture entrance would make getting back on easier.
He asked me if I had told Mom the story and I hugged him good bye saying I wanted him to tell her because I would screw it up by myself somehow. I guess we were talking about explaining the new fences.
Ellie was with us. Dad left, headed back to the house and it was just Ellie and me. Ellie was about 100 yards away off in the direction of the old haunted house (a real place) and about another 100 yards off in the opposite direction was the old cedar covered fence line (used to be a real place but has recently been sheered off and turned into more open pasture). A Grizzly bear appeared near Ellie was and I instructed her to come here to me in the new fence cage. She grabbed a huge blue pool float and carried it over her head. I thought maybe it was a good idea, maybe it would make her appear bigger to the bear. When I lived in New Mexico in a canyon there was a resident Mountain Lion who would quietly stalk you as you walked a long and dark mile to the turnaround to your car. We were told to carry stuff on your head to make you look bigger and he may think twice about "getting" you.
She made it back to me in the relative safety of the cage but before she did I saw the Grizzly stand up, all 9 feet of him in front of her only about 12 feet away, and fall over like he'd had a heart attack! It was so weird. But then as so often happens in the dreaming world, he reappeared 100 yards away in the trees at the old fence line. Ellie was asking me questions about him but my mind was singularly focused on only one thing now that she was behind me. This bear was going to rip the cage apart, reach in and knock our heads off our shoulders with one swat if I didn't get him first. I remembered reading about Grizzlies during my time out West; if you have to shoot one in self defense don't even bother with anything smaller than a .45, and even that is likely to simply piss the bear off. I read stories of Grizzlies running miles after being shot in the heart. This thought coursed through my veins as I braced my arms against the corner of the fence and got him in the iron sights. I had a few things going for me; he was at least 100 yards off so it would take him at least a precious few seconds to cover the ground between us, I had a clear view of him, he was only slowly ambling around, I had something to steady myself against and thank God most importantly I had the sheer luck of being in possession of a .45 revolver! Had it been an automatic I would likely have been too scared to remember the unfamiliar series of tasks required to shoot it.
In the waking world, the gun I'm most familiar with is a Smith & Wesson .38 Chief's Special, one of the easiest guns to shoot. The Colt in this dream was pretty much like this one above. The cylinders in these doesn't flop out to the side to load but there is a little thumb sized piece that swings open to drop the shells in and turn the cylinder each time to drop in another until it is full. This was was already fully loaded; I had 6 shots. I thought I could get all 6 in him before he reached me. I knew I had to shoot him because he was looking at us like we were lunch.
The most vivid part of my dream was the way he looked at me, right into my eyes. It was like he was reading my mind; no, he was reading my mind. I could feel him reading my thoughts, I knew he was aware that I was just waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger and it was terrifying. Finally I inhaled and slowly squeezed the trigger and I exhaled. "Tink", a squib! Son of a bitch, what are the odds? I fired again, same thing! I took out both squib loads and inspected them in the bright day light, there were tiny indentations in the primers where the firing pin had struck. Every once in a while this happens at the range, but it's rare. Dad has explained when we're shooting the "Hog Leg", a gorgeous Colt Officer's Model 10 that I dearly love, that sometimes, especially with hand loads because it's old the spring is weak and the firing pin doesn't always strike the primer hard enough.
I looked dumbly at my cell phone which never works out there and in any case even if it did it would take too long for anyone to get to us. But I tried to call Dad anyway except I was so full of adrenaline I could neither remember the number nor push the tiny keys right. I have also read about trying to shoot in self defense and the terrible chain of events that takes place in your body when you go into fight or flight mode; adrenaline courses through your veins rendering you clumsy, and all the blood rushes to your head adding to the new sausage like quality of your fingers but also possibly protecting your hearing. That's why people sometimes report not hearing the gun go off in their own hands, or not knowing how many shots they fired; there is just too much going on and time changes just like when you're in a car accident or when you fall off your galloping horse.
Anyhow it was a terrible let down to say the least, especially since I had such a clear shot and I really should have been able to hit him right in eye or base of the skull. There was no guarantee that he would drop, not by a long shot, but I could hit him and at least disable him. I've never had any desire to kill a bear, I've never really had a desire to kill anything but I do love to shoot and I like to think I have a better chance at defending myself because of this.
Finally after a long stressful night of body aches and bad dreams I woke up in the dark and decided to write it down before I forgot too much of it. I'm sure I left some parts out, but you get the jist of it.
And it just now occurs to me that today is Ellie's real birthday. What does it mean that in the wee hours of her 11th birthday I dreamed we faced a Grizzly Bear together?...
I was in pasture #1 and it was much bigger than ever and Dad was building a series of fences with small 5'x10' cage like sections with gates where you go open a gate, lock it behind you and then open another gate to go in another pasture, one of 3 or four that connected there. I wondered why this elaborate system, remembering the days where fences were fewer and farther between and could be jumped over on horseback at an old low spot, or one person could dismount and step on rusty barbed wire and lead their horse gingerly over it. But the fences he was building were serious; all perfectly level some had small hog wire, where a dog wouldn't be able to get through, and some were the kind we had for the horses, unbarbed wires strung about a foot apart.
Ellie was there with us. Dad was just finishing up and there were a few things in the "cage" he'd just built on the grass, a heavy and serious Colt .45 revolver under a denim jacket and I had my puny .38 with me as well. The "cage" didn't have a top and there were places you could climb over it, there was 2 1/2" dark orange metal tubing and where it ran horizontal you could climb it. At some point I had a discussion with Dad about how he may as well build steps at all these pasture junctures to climb up and get back on your horse since it seemed elaborate and time consuming and I could just picture the frustration that would come trying to get Whiskey to cooperate and pull up right where I wanted him and hold still long enough for me to work the various mechanisms. It'd be easier to hop off to do all that and a few horizontal rungs inside each pasture entrance would make getting back on easier.
He asked me if I had told Mom the story and I hugged him good bye saying I wanted him to tell her because I would screw it up by myself somehow. I guess we were talking about explaining the new fences.
Ellie was with us. Dad left, headed back to the house and it was just Ellie and me. Ellie was about 100 yards away off in the direction of the old haunted house (a real place) and about another 100 yards off in the opposite direction was the old cedar covered fence line (used to be a real place but has recently been sheered off and turned into more open pasture). A Grizzly bear appeared near Ellie was and I instructed her to come here to me in the new fence cage. She grabbed a huge blue pool float and carried it over her head. I thought maybe it was a good idea, maybe it would make her appear bigger to the bear. When I lived in New Mexico in a canyon there was a resident Mountain Lion who would quietly stalk you as you walked a long and dark mile to the turnaround to your car. We were told to carry stuff on your head to make you look bigger and he may think twice about "getting" you.
She made it back to me in the relative safety of the cage but before she did I saw the Grizzly stand up, all 9 feet of him in front of her only about 12 feet away, and fall over like he'd had a heart attack! It was so weird. But then as so often happens in the dreaming world, he reappeared 100 yards away in the trees at the old fence line. Ellie was asking me questions about him but my mind was singularly focused on only one thing now that she was behind me. This bear was going to rip the cage apart, reach in and knock our heads off our shoulders with one swat if I didn't get him first. I remembered reading about Grizzlies during my time out West; if you have to shoot one in self defense don't even bother with anything smaller than a .45, and even that is likely to simply piss the bear off. I read stories of Grizzlies running miles after being shot in the heart. This thought coursed through my veins as I braced my arms against the corner of the fence and got him in the iron sights. I had a few things going for me; he was at least 100 yards off so it would take him at least a precious few seconds to cover the ground between us, I had a clear view of him, he was only slowly ambling around, I had something to steady myself against and thank God most importantly I had the sheer luck of being in possession of a .45 revolver! Had it been an automatic I would likely have been too scared to remember the unfamiliar series of tasks required to shoot it.
In the waking world, the gun I'm most familiar with is a Smith & Wesson .38 Chief's Special, one of the easiest guns to shoot. The Colt in this dream was pretty much like this one above. The cylinders in these doesn't flop out to the side to load but there is a little thumb sized piece that swings open to drop the shells in and turn the cylinder each time to drop in another until it is full. This was was already fully loaded; I had 6 shots. I thought I could get all 6 in him before he reached me. I knew I had to shoot him because he was looking at us like we were lunch.
The most vivid part of my dream was the way he looked at me, right into my eyes. It was like he was reading my mind; no, he was reading my mind. I could feel him reading my thoughts, I knew he was aware that I was just waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger and it was terrifying. Finally I inhaled and slowly squeezed the trigger and I exhaled. "Tink", a squib! Son of a bitch, what are the odds? I fired again, same thing! I took out both squib loads and inspected them in the bright day light, there were tiny indentations in the primers where the firing pin had struck. Every once in a while this happens at the range, but it's rare. Dad has explained when we're shooting the "Hog Leg", a gorgeous Colt Officer's Model 10 that I dearly love, that sometimes, especially with hand loads because it's old the spring is weak and the firing pin doesn't always strike the primer hard enough.I looked dumbly at my cell phone which never works out there and in any case even if it did it would take too long for anyone to get to us. But I tried to call Dad anyway except I was so full of adrenaline I could neither remember the number nor push the tiny keys right. I have also read about trying to shoot in self defense and the terrible chain of events that takes place in your body when you go into fight or flight mode; adrenaline courses through your veins rendering you clumsy, and all the blood rushes to your head adding to the new sausage like quality of your fingers but also possibly protecting your hearing. That's why people sometimes report not hearing the gun go off in their own hands, or not knowing how many shots they fired; there is just too much going on and time changes just like when you're in a car accident or when you fall off your galloping horse.
Anyhow it was a terrible let down to say the least, especially since I had such a clear shot and I really should have been able to hit him right in eye or base of the skull. There was no guarantee that he would drop, not by a long shot, but I could hit him and at least disable him. I've never had any desire to kill a bear, I've never really had a desire to kill anything but I do love to shoot and I like to think I have a better chance at defending myself because of this.
Finally after a long stressful night of body aches and bad dreams I woke up in the dark and decided to write it down before I forgot too much of it. I'm sure I left some parts out, but you get the jist of it.
And it just now occurs to me that today is Ellie's real birthday. What does it mean that in the wee hours of her 11th birthday I dreamed we faced a Grizzly Bear together?...
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Coffins!
I finally got to go to my friend Jason's Halloween party that usually falls on the same day as out party, It was so fun! I don't really do a costume for Halloween, I just wear lots of eye makeup and throw on my trusty Devil horns and viola, The Halloweenstress! I am trying to get comfortable taking pictures of myself, as it seems normal people do and here is another push to overcome camera shyness. And I survived!
Jason now owns a coffin! What more can I say? Through a friend of a friend he lucked into getting this very stylish retro coffin for free, I am immensely impressed, and supremely jealous. I was on this funeral home owner friend of his like white on rice to get the second old one they are thinking of getting rid of. We will see which way my luck goes on this matter; but I must say coffins have been in the air lately and I would be surprised if this opportunity is just a "coincidence."
Don't misunderstand me, I am not a weird "Emo kid" or anything like that; I just have an acute interest in all things funerary across all cultures. It's the same thing as people who are all about babies and just love all of them and think they are the cat's pajamas, but the opposite side of the same spectrum!
This interest goes back just about as long as I can remember, to my great Grandmother "B-
Mama's" funeral. I had to have been about three years old, my Mom took us to her funeral in these beautiful little dresses and Brand and I walked up to the casket, kneeled down and bowed our heads to pray. I remember that part vaguely, but I can picture it, and I guess we thought we should say a prayer, and that was how it was done. I remember standing by the open casket holding my mother's hands and her telling me very gently that she was old and had died and was now not in there, that was just her body. I wanted to touch those big veins on the tops of her hands, but Mom told me her skin was very thin and I couldn't touch it because it could break open. Well that got my attention! I just didn't understand, but I was completely 100% taking her word on it. Of course now it sounds weird, Mom doesn't remember it and I don't even think it sounds like something she'd say. But that's exactly how I remember it. I swear!
I also loved stopping at any and every old graveyard I could get my parents to stop for to walk around and look. It was just so much fun, and they did, often. Graveyards are just a magical place to me, well I should be more specific; beautiful old ones, primitive and ornate ones alike thrilled me.
I don't think I have a weird "macabre" fascination with funerary things, I think it is very different and much more than that. I love reading about plagues in the dark ages, and all the lore about the Victorian era phenomena of the widespread fear of being buried alive...because it was common! You know that's where the phrase "saved by the bell" comes from; you could be buried with a string tied to your toe going up through casket & ground attached to a bell, so if you "awaken" in a coffin you could ring the bell to alert people you were "not dead yet!"
Or how about ancient civilizations like the Egyptians and their pagan worship and belief of the afterlife where you needed tombs filled with physical things or representations of things you would need in the afterlife. Legions of handmade warrior statues under a foot tall, great works of art and the finest example of fine craft of their day all laid out in elaborate Pyramids...Inspiring to imagine all of these different ways mankind has made sense of the inescapable and incomprehensible ultimate reality and final experience of every life, death.
I just find it all endlessly fascinating and beautiful. It truly is the great equalizer; everyone born into this world will leave it, only question is when.
Here is Mr. Jason in his "steam punk" costume all made by him, the talented and fabulous artist. Apparently this is a sect of coolness the kids are doing these days, and it looks awesome! I wish I could have gotten a closeup of the detail on his hat. He took a gyppy party store costume hat and dyed it a deep Burgundy/purple, made a hat band out of a thrift store belt, and made an unbelievable embellishment out of a configuration of brass gears from the guts of an old clock, and some small brass tubing. Sheer genius! I'll have to get together with him and get some good pictures, as soon as I replace my camera!
And here we are way past my bedtime. I have to get lots of sleep which I've been needing so much of lately, naps in the afternoon, sleeping late and everything. But if this is what my body demands, it is what I will give it. I take much better care of it these days; despite my interest in death, I can wait as long as possible to learn first hand what it is all about.
Jason now owns a coffin! What more can I say? Through a friend of a friend he lucked into getting this very stylish retro coffin for free, I am immensely impressed, and supremely jealous. I was on this funeral home owner friend of his like white on rice to get the second old one they are thinking of getting rid of. We will see which way my luck goes on this matter; but I must say coffins have been in the air lately and I would be surprised if this opportunity is just a "coincidence."Don't misunderstand me, I am not a weird "Emo kid" or anything like that; I just have an acute interest in all things funerary across all cultures. It's the same thing as people who are all about babies and just love all of them and think they are the cat's pajamas, but the opposite side of the same spectrum!
This interest goes back just about as long as I can remember, to my great Grandmother "B-
Mama's" funeral. I had to have been about three years old, my Mom took us to her funeral in these beautiful little dresses and Brand and I walked up to the casket, kneeled down and bowed our heads to pray. I remember that part vaguely, but I can picture it, and I guess we thought we should say a prayer, and that was how it was done. I remember standing by the open casket holding my mother's hands and her telling me very gently that she was old and had died and was now not in there, that was just her body. I wanted to touch those big veins on the tops of her hands, but Mom told me her skin was very thin and I couldn't touch it because it could break open. Well that got my attention! I just didn't understand, but I was completely 100% taking her word on it. Of course now it sounds weird, Mom doesn't remember it and I don't even think it sounds like something she'd say. But that's exactly how I remember it. I swear!
I also loved stopping at any and every old graveyard I could get my parents to stop for to walk around and look. It was just so much fun, and they did, often. Graveyards are just a magical place to me, well I should be more specific; beautiful old ones, primitive and ornate ones alike thrilled me.
I don't think I have a weird "macabre" fascination with funerary things, I think it is very different and much more than that. I love reading about plagues in the dark ages, and all the lore about the Victorian era phenomena of the widespread fear of being buried alive...because it was common! You know that's where the phrase "saved by the bell" comes from; you could be buried with a string tied to your toe going up through casket & ground attached to a bell, so if you "awaken" in a coffin you could ring the bell to alert people you were "not dead yet!"
Or how about ancient civilizations like the Egyptians and their pagan worship and belief of the afterlife where you needed tombs filled with physical things or representations of things you would need in the afterlife. Legions of handmade warrior statues under a foot tall, great works of art and the finest example of fine craft of their day all laid out in elaborate Pyramids...Inspiring to imagine all of these different ways mankind has made sense of the inescapable and incomprehensible ultimate reality and final experience of every life, death.
I just find it all endlessly fascinating and beautiful. It truly is the great equalizer; everyone born into this world will leave it, only question is when.
Here is Mr. Jason in his "steam punk" costume all made by him, the talented and fabulous artist. Apparently this is a sect of coolness the kids are doing these days, and it looks awesome! I wish I could have gotten a closeup of the detail on his hat. He took a gyppy party store costume hat and dyed it a deep Burgundy/purple, made a hat band out of a thrift store belt, and made an unbelievable embellishment out of a configuration of brass gears from the guts of an old clock, and some small brass tubing. Sheer genius! I'll have to get together with him and get some good pictures, as soon as I replace my camera!
Alas, a good time was had by all, and Jason had every nook and cranny of his gorgeous house full of all sorts of Halloweenery. To the nines!
And here we are way past my bedtime. I have to get lots of sleep which I've been needing so much of lately, naps in the afternoon, sleeping late and everything. But if this is what my body demands, it is what I will give it. I take much better care of it these days; despite my interest in death, I can wait as long as possible to learn first hand what it is all about.
Sweet dreams...
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