weirdo

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?

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?...

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!

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...

back out of the saddle

Here is a "Napoleon Hat" clock I put on eBay last night. It's just a plastic one but I think it makes a great Halloween mantle clock! Anyway, it was fun to do.
The writing has not been flowing just recently so I tried taking a break, but I know it's one of those things you just have to do even when you don't feel inspired. Sometimes you have to inspire your own self. Like any art, even something like this clock, sometimes the creativity does not flow on it's own and when that happens you just have to do it anyway. I'm learning that is a rather large part of being any sort of artist. Show up everyday willing to try, as with everything else in life. What more can you expect from yourself?
Lord knows I can't tolerate any kind of giving up. I'll indulge in giving up for a short period when necessary but I always do it knowing I have a timer inside me that will go off and get me back on the horse.


I want to be back on this horse, Whiskey! Every time I greet him I pet his head and say "Hey Beautiful"; it's one of those things you catch yourself while doing and then realise how often you do it.`But he is gorgeous, look at him. Every time I drive out to the farm lately I have a fantasy about riding him which I haven't done in a long time. I look at the fields closer to the farm, all of them bigger now, and imagine riding a horse there.
Bareback, the only way to go. My big sister "taught" me how to ride when I was little, maybe around age 7. She put me on her horse Misty's bare back, slapped her on the ass and yelled instructions to me "Hang on with your legs! Now yell! Yell like you're having fun!" And I did! I remember letting go of the reins and leaning over close to her neck and then rising up with a great yell. We had so much fun and so much more than fun. Wearing just Tshirts and cut offs barefooted and bareback on a sweaty horse, swattin' at horse flies and sweat bees riding through the woods and galloping in the fields. In the worst heat of the summer we'd go out after dark and ride for hours, untethered from everything but us, no cell phones, no parents, no grownups, just sisters on horses. I'd follow her, sometimes I could see her Keds practically glowing in the woods from the faint moonlight, didn't have to do anything, just keep in sync with the horse. The walking on and on to different trails in the woods opening into different pastures, walking and running! Running down and uphill fast! Galloping always causes you to breathe like you are running; you breathe with the horse, and when you come to a stop everybody is out of breath and exhilarated. It is pure bliss.
I got to grow up with hours and hours spent just like that. I am blessed in this and many other ways.



I was raised to have, at best, disdain for saddles and all other superfluous tack.
However I did finally learn how to ride a western saddle when I was 21 in New Mexico, and I can see their value as a tool for a job, being a real cowboy, but all that to ride around for fun out in the country? Bullshit.
Another of my favorite things in life is critters of all sorts! I was standing by the back porch when I heard the squeak of some small creature. It was oddly persistent and I began walking towards it when I saw the cat stalking the same thing. He jumped straight into a big bush of pampas grass and had this little fellow in his mouth. I let the cat do all the work and then stole it from him just to get a picture. So cute! This one is a tiny baby field rat. They look like those cute little rats you see on nature shows that live in the desert and are completely nocturnal. These have the same Kangaroo back legs and long feet, and the hop around the same way. I chased after a great many of them behind Dad's bush hog as a kid. You followed that thing around and you are guaranteed to catch something.
Bran and I found a nest of the "pinkies" when I was about 9 and we "milked" the dog, Buffy, and tried to feed it to them! It seems like there were years that Buffy just had puppies over and over, so she was a good source of milk as far as we were concerned. God bless all our pets, they put up with alot!



On a different note, I am always admiring things I see in the sidewalk or in the road. I was walking in my neighborhood earlier this week (while I was giving myself some time off writing) and the leaves looked like scattered confetti in the street. I always try to take pictures but they don't "capture" what I see; they're never a good enough representation. I had a picture saved in the camera in my phone for a year that I took in the parking lot at a gas station on my way to a Radiohead concert. It was a spit out piece of Big Red next to an abandoned blue comb! It just looked so interesting! That piece of gum came from somewhere far away from where it ended up, and so did the lonely comb...who knows how many miles each had traveled to end up eight inches away from each other at a Sam's Mart parking lot? That's the kind of thought that washes up on the shores of my mind when I'm in a crowd; to imagine how different each of us is, and every single moment in everyone's life has brought all of us together here, purposefully, to be milling about together at this very grocery store, gas station, sidewalk, where ever... Finally I thought "If you didn't know me and saw this picture, you'd think it was very weird", but then I remembered "I don't care!" So much freedom in that thought "I don't care", and yet it so often said to defend yourself when you do care. Think about it. I think everyone has these kinds of weird thoughts, at least anyone very interesting does. Perhaps most people just don't ever consider bringing them up. Yep, you're in my world now, "start likin' it"!
I know an artist here in Charlotte who I just adore and he does these incredible still lifes of things like little dried up dead fish. They are incredible! Oh painting...someday. Someday soon. It frustrates me unlike all my other media. I guess I'm spoiled and I want it to be easy, because so many things I'm good at are easy to me. Well that makes for a lazy artist, I suppose I have to "Just Do It" like the ad says.
Just get back out of the saddle and ride.

I took this picture driving home from the Farm Saturday. Oh how I would love to live in the country! The city life has it's conveniences, but it's not for me. I was discussing this very issue with my sister on the phone today; we are not cut out for neighborhood conformity! We need to let the dogs run around with no neighbors to bother, and no neighbors to expect us to have groomed lawns. As she put it "I'm tired of trying to keep nature at bay", meaning cutting the grass; truly a fool's errand. That and raking leaves, stupid!

I hastily shot this one out the window while driving through Monroe. I am so enamored of older buildings, buildings and cemeteries. Isn't it gorgeous? I'd so rather have a view of this than your average Rite Aid or Exxon on the Run, which are both plentiful in town. Yuck.

When I got home I finished this hot air ballon that's been patiently waiting for my attention. I drew the silhouettes in September and hated them! I hated everything I did that month, just had a bad run of it. When I showed it to Brandi (my personal life coach & sister) she said it was great and I just needed to finish it to sell on ebay and get rich! She says everything with gusto! And really fast! If ever you are feeling uninspired just call Brandi and she'll light a fire under your ass. You'll feel tired on one hand and yet enthusiastic at the same time, common side effects of Brandi.
I had the most fun positioning the skeletons and hot gluing them into place; it's the same kind of fun as playing with toys when you were little. I put a battery operated tea light in the pumpkin basket and wrapped it in hand painted vellum flames! The tea light flickers and casts such a cool erie glow on the passengers. They look to me like they are having fun, but I don't entirely trust them, I'm sure they're up to no good...skulduggery if you will!

I have it listed on ebay and the auction ends Saturday night.

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=250512128859&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT

Today was mildly cold & rainy, weather that I really enjoy. Not good ballooning weather I'm sure...
It is good weather for fires, be they in a fire barrel or the fire place, and good weather for hot tea, taking a shower and curling up in bed.
Since I'm not building any fires I'm going to indulge in the latter...

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.