Image "Hands of Sorrow" by Carol Munder


Last Updated 20 September 2003

Time: 10:10 pm EST
Date: 20 September 2003
Reading: "Parlament of Foules" Chaucer, "Confessions of a Pagan Nun" by Kate Hornsley
Hearing: Hopes and Dreams by Lisa Lynn
Inspiration: Inspiration, actually

Entry: More Hopes and Dreams

My dreams have finally let up (knock on wood), but I did have a few dooseys for a full week. This one is memorable still:
IN the dream, I'm a brunette and my name is Elizabeth. I've been kidnapped by a general from an alien race (they've been on Earth a while, and they are somewhat a mix between Star Trek Klingons and something else). This general takes me to a house/cave on a mountain in a white van with tinted windows. I know that my fiance, a violinist named Fredrick (and a half-breed of human and these aliens), will find me. He has all the best qualities of both species--humanity and artistic talents, as well as the super-human abilities like telepathy. Whilst in captiviey, I am allowed to watch a scant bit of TV. One of the woman in captivity with me is pregnant and when she has her half-breed baby, she refuses to take care of it. So I do. I ask the general if I can have milk for the baby and he allows it. He is seemingly amazed by the fact that I would voulenteer to take a child that is not my own. I notice his interest and curiosity and try to use it to my advantage. I ask him if I might be allowed to have a newspaper, a link to my people. I explain to him that it is my human qualities that interest him and without the paper I might lose that. He agrees, on the condition that I become his concubine. I agree, knowing Fredrick will come soon and that this isn't only for my newspaper, but also for the child's milk and my life. In the newspapers, I see missing persons bullitins with my name, and eventually, a photograph of the National Information Center where Fredrick is sitting on a bench outside the center, and my name is in the window. He's looking for me and my hope is renewed. I ask the General once before we have sex if I can visit this place, just to see if anyone's looking for me. He agrees, knowing that I won't risk my life by revealing my situation to anyone there. And I know he is right. He blindfolds me and takes me into the area, waiting in the van while I go inside. I ask a male clerk if he knows a man named Fredrick (I say his surname, but I cannot remember it now). He said that he did--a famous violinist who was looking for his missing fiancee--he had just been in yesterday looking for information. I smile slightly in relief (but not wanting the General to see me, I quickly hang my head). He asks me if I have any news, and I say that I do. I tell him that I thought I might have seen the woman in the mountains, at a house that was also a cave. The clerk is taking notes and nodding his head when a femal clerk asks me curiously what MY name is. Beth, I tell her, I'm just passing through and heart that this woman was missing, but that's all I know. I leave quickly, fearing I may have revealed myself. The General asks me if anyone was looking for me, and I hang my head and say that no one was. He seemed pleased as he put the blindfold on me for the drive back to the cave. Later, a month or so, a letter adressed to me comes in the paper, nestled between the sections--Fredrick's handwriting. I read it and hide the letter in the paper again. He's asked me to return to the NIC to meet a representative who will get more information. I know that he means my mother and that I'm to five her a signal as to the severity of my situation. While feeding the baby that evening, I ask the General again to go to the Center, just so I can make certain that no one is trying to find me. He seems suspicious, but he agrees, this time bringing two other men as bodyguards to accompany me. Whe we get there, I order a soda and inquire again at the desk, then find a seat outdoors for a moment. Them my mother arrives in a green minivan (she looks like Florence Henderson). She sits beside me and makes small talk as one of the bodyguards come closer to the table. She asks me if I need anything and offers me her purse. I know my mother has EVEYTHING in her purse, so I decide to take everything that will make me look desperate--soap, a comb, tissue, chewing gum, etc. She quickly takes her purse and goes to her van. As she drives away, the bodyguards grab me and take me back to the General's van. He asks me who that woman was, what she gave me. I show him, saying most of it is for the baby explaining that she was just a nice woman. When we return to the cave, the baby is taken from me, as well as all of my privilidges, and I am placed in a harem where I have little contact with anyone but these insipid concubine. That's about when I woke up, but I still had confidence that Fredrick would come.

We came through hurrican Isabel without much damage. We lost one branch from our maple tree in the backyard, one that was likely loosened from the ice storm last winter. Eric secured the loose tin of our roof so it wouldn't blow away in the 40-45 mph gusts. I got a bit inspired to write a poem about her, my first hurricane. I wish it had been more severe, like a Category 3 or 4. But it was still amazing to watch, track, and experience.

In other news, I made my first Weight Watchers goal of losing 10% of my body weight--18 pounds. I feel so much better, but I'm not through yet. I made my second goal another 10%, that will take me down to around 150 lbs. That will likely take me a bit longer to do, but I'm ready for the challenge. I've made it this far and I'm beginning to reap the rewards of my labors. Wish me luck!

Time: 9:49 pm EST
Date: 10 September 2003
Reading: "The Hous of Fame" by Chaucer, Colonial American Literature, and "Confessions of a Pagan Nun" by Kate Hornsley
Hearing: Coil by toad the wet sprocket
Inspiration: La Bella Luna

Entry: The Moon In My Dream

It's the moon. She's been trying to tell me something for the last few days, and she's been persistant. The first mention I made of her was in an e-mail to my favorite Dr. T. I was commenting on his recent interest with dear Luna, and hinting at the depth of my own obesession with the fair one, not only for reasons of my womanhood, but also out of necessity in my spiritual path. I know when she is full, when she is waxing and waning, when she is dark, eclipsed, and eclipsing. These things are very important. Last night, on the way home from the first Coraddi meeting of the term, she was slowly rising from the horizon, all rosey-golden, flirting still with my eye in her pregnant state as she slipped between the dusk-colored clouds. She mystified me, causeing me to stare in awe and nearly drift into the adjacent lane on the Interstate. I thought I heard her chuckling.... Then today in class, the Chaucer, Dr. T. makes the statement that he has always associated women with water, "Isn't that right, Jennier?" I nodded, and felt that spin of my psyche, notifying me that the next few things Dr. T. was going to say were going to be important to me. And they were, and I felt my head tilting with interest as I became entranced with the way that man and I connect. I could swear he was speaking to my soul, describing his inner-struggles with the desire to be famous and the desire to just go with the flow. I know what he is talking about perfectly well, and it correlated directly with the text of Chaucer's "Hous of Fame" at the same time. That absolutely amazes me. But anyway...this after having a dream that began with the moon and ended with me and Dr. T. I haven't really had the chance to take this one apart yet, but just know that my dreaming is lucid when the moon is nearing full (as she is tonight), and the hyper-reality of the situations in the dreams are sensations I have a difficult time shaking--sometimes it takes days. I know that when my dreams are lucid like that, they are showing me something allegorically, something that I need to dissect and apply to myself spiritually. I'll explain as I relate the vision.

Again, the dream from where I remember it opens with the fat full moon high in the black sky. I am lying on a palett, a really low to the ground bed draped in white that reflects the moonlight. I think I am in white too, now that I recall it, something gownlike and sheer. Anyway, in the dream I know I am asleep, yet I can still see myself on the palett in this field of tall grass and wildflowers. Then I am inside myself again, sleeping. I feel the mattress shift next to me (I am sleeping on my side, which I usually do in reality too) and an arm wraps around my torso, underneath my left arm and rests between my breasts. I am slightly more awake/aware and realize that my hair has fallen across my face in sort of this golden gauzy veil. I can see it in the moonlight against my eyes and cheek, and so I reach up to push it back from my face. As I return my hand to entwine it with the hand at my chest, I hear a sleep-deepend whisper say, "Good morning, Jennifer." I know immediately that it is Dr. T. (okay, now before you all freak out and think, "Ooh, she's hot for teacher!" it is not like that. I consider him a peer of the mind and I value our relationship as pupil/mentor too much to go ruining it with rediculous crap like that. Plus, if I needed any other reasons than that, he's happily married and I'm happily engaged to be married, and the age difference is just too, well, different. I think of him more like my father...but Elecktra went there, didn't she...oh, forget it!) So, I feel myself hesitate, wondering what I should say to him because part of me thinks we should not be this intimate, and the other part knows that it's just as it should be. So, I inhale deeply, as I always do first thing in the morning, and on the release of breath, in a sort-of sultry whisper, I say, "Good morning, Charles." (Now, I never call him that. It is too intimate, and I've told him as much. I feel it is a form of respect to address him by his title "Dr.," but I think that putting his surname after that would be TOO formal, and so he gets to be called Dr. T.) He nuzzles against my neck and ear and groans softly, and I can feel the hard length of his erection pulsing against my lower back (we were spooning, by the way). Instinctually, I arch my back towards him and press into him, his erection finding a resting place in the cleft of my bum. (We didn't have intercourse, nor had we. I knew that in the dream for sure. We were just sleeping together.) The next thing I know, the moon has set, and the sun is a golden light illuminating the sky, still low in the early morning. We are walking together along a fenceline or barbed wire, and I assume that this is his property. I'm walking right beside him, not at all in front of or behind him, and this I noticed with clarity in the dream. His skin looked very tan in the morning light, and I could see my hair looked like fire. He pointed out a tall stalk against the fencepost and we walked towards it. It had delicate leaves and pale yellow flowers, very like those on a prickly pear cactus. When I went to inhale their scent, the flowers closed themselves quickly, and I thought of an e.e. cummings poem for a second. Dr. T. was telling me that this particular wildflower was a hybrid of sage and cactus and a type of tree. I gave him a doubtful look, knowing that it was impossible to create such a thing. But he insisted, and I took it to be the truth because he would know. That is when I woke up.

So, I would be willing to hear anyone else's interpretations of the dream. I'm going to look at my dream symbol dictionary and see what I can get out of it. I'd also like your opinion as to whether or not I should share the dream with Dr. T., since it might mean something for him too considering the depth of our connection in the waking world. Drop me a line cause I'm curious. And yes, you can even call me crazy, but only if you've read about my other dreams.


Time: 8:54 pm EST
Date: 04 September 2003
Reading: Pre-Columbian literature, and "Confessions of a Pagan Nun" by Kate Hornsley
Hearing: Book of Secrets by Loreena McKennitt
Inspiration: Rain Time

Entry: Raining and Time

"The wind is making speeches and the rain sounds like a round of applause."
"Time" by Tom Waits

It was raining earlier, the sort of thundertsorm that makes me love staying here in NC. They are rare, indeed, but the way the thunder rolls and plows through the sky in this continuous timpany is truly amazing. The clouds here are lower in the sky, thick blankets that insulate the sound in the sky until it booms and echos for miles. There is no thunder like this in Colorado. The clouds form much higher in the sky, and the sky there seems more vast for the lack of trees and hills. But one can see the storms coming in the west, one can watch the tall squalls meeting, pressing against eachother and prowling ever-forward on legs of lightning. The air crackles, and the electricity zips through the dry air giving gooseflesh to onlookers. Thunderstorms out west are monstrous when they come, unleashing hail and winds and torrential rains and more lightning than can be followed with the eye. It strobes the sky, illuminating trees and surrounding landscapes in the pitch blackness left from a squall blinded sun. The world becomes wicked and nightmarish, and I LOVE IT! If only the thunder from the east could meet with the furious storms of the west--I would enjoy the best of both. I did desire to run through the torrent this afternoon, but the humidity was still oppressive, and the rain would only make me feel sticky-wet rather than refreshed. It was lovely thunder though.

I cannot wait until I am finished taking French. I do love the language, but this year is quite difficult and I feel unable to grasp the knowledge at the pace our native-speaking professor is taking us. I would much rather take it slow, make sure that I fully understand everything before moving on to another section. I have been studying the chapter on my own, but I got spoiled with my professor last semester. He seemed to really care about the pace of the course, wheras, Prof. Levine speeds through the concepts and delves right in to class discussion of the examples in the book, practice orally rather than rehearse mentally. Perhaps that is why I am a better reader of French than speaker. I still feel shakey when it comes to accessing the vocabulary quickly, and I don't trust myself to come up with the correct sentence or answer to her question as quickly as she demands. One thing I hate is being made to feel stupid or incompetant, and sometimes she does this when she is curt with those who aren't up to speed. I can understand that it must be frustrating for her too, having pupils in this level of the course who still don't understand much of the vocabulary, or the gender of nouns, let alone the rudimentary rules for verb conjugation. I don't fall quite that far down the ladder, but I don't get everything she says, and I am not alone in that. I know that this will be the grade that makes me or breaks me this semester. I will do all the extra credit I can, and keep doing the best work I can in class and in the homework. What will be will be.

I miss my friends. The trip spoiled me to having Marisa around physically, and my ears are empty without James' laughter and his music. My brother and sister are so far away, and my heart aches for them. Sometimes I feel so lonely, and others so blessed. I know that I have said this before, but I don't really have any friends here. It isn't something I'm very good at, surprisingly. I find myself reserved when it comes to introducing myself, because that usually entails a lot of work. I feel I have to share the important things early, including the somewhat controversial things, like my spiritual path. I don't see why this is a problem for so many people to accept coming from me considering that I get to hear about Christians all day long. Maybe that is why I am so cautious. Maybe I don't want the rejection, or the explanation or the snubs. I'd rather feel alone than be hated. I'll stick with Dr. T., as his conversation is intelligent and often enlightening. He has never judged me or my choice of spirituality and in that respect he is just like my two soul siblings, Risa and James. But he is only a peer intellectually, and even then I fall a little short of stimulating conversation for him at times. I guess I just don't DO the same things people do--I don't watch t.v. much, or even listen to the radio. I read when I have the time, but my book choices aren't in keeping with popular literature (if one could call it that). The only reason I know anything about those books is because I work at a bookstore, and the same applies to music. Perhaps I need to find (or form) a Medieval enthusiasts group on campus. Or, if I'm really feeling brave, a group for pagans on campus. But in the latter I know I will get THOSE pagans, the ones that are doing it for the wrong reasons, reading Silver Ravenwolf's books on how to be a sassy witch and turn your ex-boyfriend into a lousy lover. Blah! That was the way Brandon was, one of my friends/pupils (who knows what he is to me now, though we were once very, very close). He wanted to be Wiccan for all the wrong reasons, like scorning lovers and feeling in control of nature rather than venerating it. There were a lot of things messed up in his life and he thought the Craft would fix them for him. He didn't understand that he needed to fix them for himself. I don't know what he is doing now, but I think that he is still in Ft. Collins, probably still trying to keep the faith. I wish him the best of luck, and I don't mean to speak ill of him. I actually miss him too, and worry often about his wellbeing. It is sad the ammount of friends I have lost along the way.

But that is a long entry for another time. For now I am meant to be content in my solitude. I have Eric, and he fills many spots in my life as a lover/husband/companion/friend/fellow seeker. Our connection is deep, though in a different way, and I am absolutely blessed to have him in my life. I don't every feel like I tell him that enough. I will have to do better at that. This morning, when I woke, I curled myself about him like a vine and kissed his face and chest. I miss him when he is at work and I am too groggy to keep my eyes open until he returns from work. I seem to be able to fall asleep without him, but I know that he isn't there beside me in the bed, somewhere deep in my subconscious. As we snuggled, I was so content. He got me a copy of "Whale Rider" in novel format, and his thoughtfullness in that gesture is why I often feel unworthy. He does little things like that all the time, from flowers to just cooking supper on one of my late nights at school. I don't return the gestures enough, I feel (not that I'm really keeping track or anything).

What a strange and rambling entry this is. Thank you all for suffering through it.


Time: 1:37 pm EST
Date: 23 August 2003
Reading: Same as before
Hearing: Various world artists
Inspiration: Catching up

Entry: Still Catching Up

We left James' and that made me sad. I'd only had like five minutes to really talk to him about personal stuff, and I should have tried to make more time. I'm sorry, Brother...there never seems time enough.

We arrived in Colorado Springs around 8 pm Wednesday night. There was a thunderstorm brewing in the northwest and the lightning in the vast western sky and the sunset through the thick fingers of rain made me immediately homesick. It's funny, but I must be homesick all the time I just don't deal with it. All of it comes out at once when I go back west, I get pretty messy. I started getting really impatient and anxious to get home, to just stop driving and settle in for a while. Once at my mother's condo, we did just that.

The next morning, we ran some errands with my mother. She needed to do some shopping for while we were there and we agreed that it would be a good idea. We hit the Super Target and the Super Wal-Mart, both of which are new additions to the Power's corridoor that is constantly being built up. About 2/3 of what we drove past on our way the Target was not there when we were visiting last year. That is bizarre. That town is growing faster than I can keep up with. We had lunch at the Olive Garden before heading back to the house to catch up before meeting with my father and his wife, JoDean, and the rest of the family for supper.

My dad and Jo have this house that is quite old and really amazing. Built in the 1920's by an unique designer, it's whimsical design is one of three in the area by the same man. When we were out last year they had just begun doing some renovations and re-decorating. This visit the entire upstairs is nearing completion and work on the basement level has begun. Dad took us on a tour of the house to show us all of the things they've done. It looks amazing, truly. The fromt room is enough to make your jaw drop; the crown moulding alone is dramatic and quite striking. The dining room has a unique paint finish on the ceiling--almost coppertone. Just lovely and rich with color and other accents, the upper level is coming along nicely. But the work they are doing to renovate the downstairs is awe-inspiring! We descended the stairs to "Barracuda" and Jo's brother, JR, was slinging dry-wall mud in what is to be the master bedroom suite. The innovations and creative solutions they have had to come up with in order to work with and around the pipes is amazing. The master suite will be complete with a reading niche and a huge bathroom including a hexagonal shower, tub with whirlpool and a utility closet that houses the boiler and other storage. There will also be an entertainment/media room and wet bar/snack area. This will certainly be finished by next year. It has inspired me to get cracking on our own home.

After the house tour, we returned to the front sitting room to chat and wait on the other arrivals. Jeremy came shortly before Josh, Linda and the kids. We were shown X-Rays of Analisia, who had somehow managed to ingest a watch battery the previous week. Only in my family.... We drove to dinner at Howard's Pitt BBQ (more BBQ!) on Filmore and Chesnutt. we were seated in the banquet room, called "The Rib Cage." Jo's daughter, Dawn, and her husband Alan were already waiting for us. Jo soon joined us with her parents, who did leave for the lateness and Ernie's arm hurting. We did get some of thier good hugs anyway. Supper was raukous with the kids and Josh and Jer together. The service was a little slow, and Dad and Jo seemed unimpressed with the food, and then the entire experience overall. We managed to get a lot of pictures taken with the whole group and various combinations with the kids. Fun time for all.

Dad and Jo left with Dawn and Alan and Eric and I went to Josh and Linda's to play cards and just hang out. The kid's showed me their rooms and we played some games before my adult duties called me back upstairs (but not before they all showed me how to do flips on the bed). We played Tunk and various poker revisions. There was some drama that I won't get into right now, but we had a good time and some good laughs. Eric and I left around 1:30 am and went to sleep.

Thursday, we hung around the Springs for a time. We left for Morrison (outside Denver, home of Red Rocks Ampitheater) around 3:30 pm. I thought that the rush hour traffic would have been much worse than it was going through the TechCenter, so we arrived for the Tori Amos show quite early. I was content to take a place in line to guaruntee good seats for the show, but Eric walked around the park some. It really is nice up there, and as Eric does, I have some conflicting ideas about the use of natural places like that for commercial use. One can assume that it must have been sacred to the Native Americans at one time. I agree then the the commercialization of it is uncool, but, since I feel music as a form of spirituality and even religion, the use continues in the right vein. As Eric was walking the grounds, I was in bliss listening to Tori soundcheck. I have never been that early to a show before, and it just made my night. When the gates did finally open, we had seats about 20 rows back from the stage, a little left of center. Perfect! Ben Folds (solo) was opening for Tori, and we watched the Chapel Hillian play everything from "Brick" to "Rockin' the Suburbs" to an excellent rendition of "Tiny Dancer." I have gained a greater appreciation for his music. Then Tori played--something about her shows just brings me to another place. The hightlight for me was her cover of "Running to Stand Still," which she said that she'd intended to put on Strange Little Girls, but she hadn't gotten it together until that night. Horray!

We met up with Risa and Kelcey after the show, and as soon as we got to the cabin we went to sleep. The next morning we decided on breakfast at the Omlette Parlor (yumm) before taking a hike up the mountain. Our intention was to go to Crystal Falls but we missed it and ended up in the Garden of Eden. Truly, it was a garden of rocks and wildflowers fed by a mountain spring and full of serenity. It was a great pay off for the difficult hike up the mountain. I took lots of photos and rested my sweaty self while Eric and Marisa took off to scramble some rock cliffs nearby. After my photography, I took a moment to meditate and commune with the spirits of the meadow. That was what I needed to settle in to Colorado, the familiar mountain spirits and the feeling of belonging I get from them. The hike down wen't rater quickly and Marisa and I got a bit of time to talk. That was nice, but not enough. We would have a bit more time later, we both knew.

When we reached the cabin, three messages awaited me on my cell phone. My father had been trying to contact us for supper plans, which we'd missed due to the length of our hike (4 hours). I called him back and we decided to meet at his house around 6:30 pm. We hung with the girls a bit more before heading to pick up some wine. JoDean's parents were there so we got to make up for the time we didn't get to spend with them at the restaraunt. We had snacks and wine out on the back patio and I didn't get bitten by a single mosquito. In fact, I didn't get bitten by a mosquito the entire time we were in Colorado an even Wyoming later in the trip. (There is another reason to move back!) Josh showed up for a bit with the kids, but he was very depressed and distracted, even grumpy. The kids played hide-n-seek in the backyard and somewhere in the neighborhood we heard bagpipes. I ran to check it out. The neighbors across the ally from my dad's house had a canopy set up in their yard and seemed bo be having a party of some sort. Dad joined me and when the song was finished we added our applause to the rest of them. It was a great day.

More again later. I hate doing this in installements, but I have more reading and some cooking to get to for supper tonight. Until tomorrow...



Time: 7:28 pm EST
Date: 21 August 2003
Reading: "Book of the Dutchess" by Chaucer, The emergence myth of the Zuni tribe
Watching: Nada
Hearing: Vasen "Spirit"
Inspiration: Vacation time and slackdom

Entry: So Much To Say

I know, I've been away. For most of you, that was a good thing because I got to see you in the flesh. For others, I do appologize and I intend to make up for all the reading you haven't been able to do with this entry. Without further ado, let's begin now (enter Disney Read-Along Story chimes here).

This is the highlights version, otherwise known as abridged. Details may be further touched upon at a later date. Our first day driving we made Texarkana and stayed at the Day's Inn there. En route to TX, we saw three horrible accidents on the road in TN. That just makes me again recall why I don't care much for driving through that is insane on I-40! I must say that some of the scenery is lovely, especially the pasture land where occasionally you can see well-bred horses grazing and it summons visions of Ireland. We left NC on Friday, August first and on Saturday we drove into Dallas/Ft. Worth to spend the day with James, my soul brother. Upon our arrival, we got reaquainted and settled in. James shared some of his music with us, things he'd been recording into the computer for an upcomming album. It's very good, technical and well put together. I sand part of a song I've been toying with and Julie, James' wife, said that she loved my voice. In the afternoon, after a quick lunch, we met with James' friend April and her beau and headed into Ft. Worth proper to hear a rehearsal of one of James' bands (at the time of this writing, yet unnamed). They had only been rehearsing together about two months, but they sounded great. The lead guitarist, Bo, and the even younger Bradford on drums, sound tight with James on bass as a three-piece. I guess Bo's girlfriend was arriving the following week to act as lead singer/lyricist. James says she's trained classically and that he's heard a recital tape of her voice. He still thinks it should be me, but, for obvious reasons it can't be me now.

After rehearsal, we took the train into Dallas, downtown. We went to see where JFK was assassinated and took photos on the Grassy Knoll. Afterwards, we had a yummy supper at Sonny Ryan's (Texas BBQ) and a 25 oz. pint (now offically dubbed the Texas Pint) of Dos Eqquis. When we arrived, I noticed that they were havine kareoke at 8pm so we decided to come back and check it out. We walked off dinner and a good buzz before returning to the bar. The selection was poor--I only found three songs I felt comfortable doing at all! Two of them he didn't have so I settled on "Love is a Battlefield." After I sang, we left, as the bar was dead and we had to catch the train back. On the train back to Euless, there were about ten really drunk thirty-something women being loud and, well, pubicly drunk. I cannot beleive they were so obnoxious.

The next morning we left for Georgetown (a suburb of Austin) where we met up with Eric's friend from way back, Shawn. We had lunch at a delicious Mexican restaraunt called Dos Salsas. When we returned to the beautifully appointed appartnemt overlooking the river, Shawn's fiancee, Ree (short for Marie) arrived. Ree is an excellent cook, and that night she showed us by preparing an excellent meal of grillend salmon and spinach in garlic sauce, baked potatoes and homemade cornbread. We went to see Tomb Raider II later that evening then chatted at the appartment before going to sleep. Monday, we went to some great antique shops in downtown Georgetown before heading to another great shop called the Candle Factory on I-35. Then, off to lunch at Bubba's Icehouse. The four of us attempted to consume an entire "Bubba Platter." It was an obscene amount of food in general, made worse by the fact that everything was deep fried. Good grief! We didn't finish it, and then Eric and I felt bad for having to waste all the fries that were left. Shortly thereafter, we left again for James', his house being a convienient way to cut another three hours off our drive time to Colorado the next day. We played a game of Life and then watched The Animatrix before sleeping.

Okay, I'm going to end this for now. I have some reading to do for class tomorrow, and my initial estimate of how long this would take was greatly underestimated. I will write more tomorrow. Love and Light to you all!


Time: 8:07 pm EST
Date: 14 July 2003
Reading: "Life's Companion" by Christina Baldwin
Watching: Matrix Reloaded on IMAX
Hearing: Tori Amos bootlegs
Inspiration: Twinkle

Entry: Soul Searching, Little Light Shining

I'm starting a new project. Stop rolling your eyes; just because I don't finish any other projects doesn't mean that I can't start a new one! It is a journal project--yes, another journal. Stop laughing; just because I have 200 other journals doesn't mean that I can't start another one. Let me tell you about it, let me explain.

I'm calling it Lux Viviens: A Soul Catcher. I'm taking a journey, trying to understand the essence of myself. I realize that I could just use my regular spiral journal for that, but it won't be the same. This one will be multi-media! I'm going to have art and other visuals in it, collage and sketches, doodles and even photos. I need a more creative outlet for my journey to Self, my soul search. I think this will be very thereputic and good for me. I plan on leaving this out and encouraging Eric to read/participate in it when he feels the need. If anyone needs to know me, it's him. Not that he doesn't know me--he probably knows me better than I know myself. But I want him to know me as I know me and give me his input or analysis. I will probably let my brothers and sisters have a go at it too, since they are a part of my soul. This is hopefully a first volume of a series of journals that will become keepsakes for my children, grandchildren, and beyond.

With that in mind, I spent entirely too much money on archival quality, acid free supplies at the art supply store. I already have a huge boot box full of magazine cut-outs that I will use for collage, embroidery thread, stamps, pastels, sketching pencils, watercolors, colored pencils, gel pens, beads, memorabila, and scrap papers. Each page will be decorated, a work of art. Most of all, it will be spiritual. This is not to be confused with my spirituality per se, but rather having to do with my own spirit, as it comes to me. So, in other words, this will be a sensual companion to my life, rather than just the summary and description that my daily journal (and even this journal) give you. It will be less mundane because that is what it MUST be. I don't know what will carry over into this space, or my other journaling spaces, I just know it needs to be done. Right now I have a goal of at least one full, decorated page a week. I may be inspired to create more. I may inspire others to do the same. I will keep you all posted either way.

In other news, Eric and I went to see the Matrix Reloaded in the IMAX format last night. This was the third time seeing it, and the transfer to IMAX was not only visually stunning but the sound was fucking awesome! I want a sound system like that in my home! And let me just say, because I don't think I have here, that is an amazing sequel to The Matrix. If you haven't seen it, go. If you haven't seen The Matrix, I don't know what to say to you besides GO RENT IT! Whatever your hang-ups are about the movie, seeing it will change your mind, I think.

The rest of the weekend was spent gardening and doing yard work. I have a healthy dose of poison ivy on my left forarm, a sure sign that work got done. Our garden is producing pounds of veggies, and even our corn is taking off. The tomatos are a bit slow to redden up, but there are a ton of them on the stalk, green and heavy. The herbs are encroaching on each other's space, especially the peppermint and spearmint. There is nothing like cooking with fresh herbs. It turns any meal into a gourmet one. I enjoy experimenting with them, as the flavor is so different than the dried herbs you buy in the grocery.

We are trying to plan out our massive annual road trip to Colorado and other areas of our vast country. So many people live here and they have never taken the time to survey the land upon which they live. North America is truly an amazing continent, vast and diverse, and just lovely to the eye. I cannot wait to travel, even though it means long days on the road in the car. I don't mind because the scenery is often breathtaking, and I have the best co-traveler in Eric any girl could ask for. Plus we get to see family and friends, though the visits are always too short, and create memories and laughter. I'm anxious--I wish it were more than 16 days.

Time: 9:42 pm EST
Date: 08 July 2003
Reading: That damnable book!
Watching: Buffy
Hearing: Lisa Gerrard
Inspiration: The reeling of my mind

Entry: I Think Too Much

Any of you who really know me know that the above statement is TRUE! There is a book that I have seen in the self improvement section at work called "Women Who Think Too Much." I thought, that is me. I wonder if this is a documented disorder? Does that mean that I am normal?

Tonight I sent an e-mail off to my ex-boyfriend, Zac. We'd sort of started communicating again recently via e-mail, but it never really took off. Then he came into the store unannounced (which is his perogative) as I was coming back from dinner. We had a brief chat there in the entryway of the Barnes & Noble, and I felt uncomfortable because it wasn't the right place for the conversation I felt we needed to have. And then he noticed the ring...Eric's engagement ring to me on my left ring finger. "Are you engaged or married?" he asked me. "Oh, engaged." I looked at the ring with splayed fingers and thought a moment about showing him, but then thought again and placed my hand at my side, or behind my back, I don't really remember exactly. "But I want to actually TALK to you about that," I added. That and all of the other things we haven't talked about up to this point. Yes, it will be an uncomfortable conversation, if he even chooses to have it. With the fact that he hasn't contacted me since gives me the impression that he isn't interested in persuing that conversation with me.

I cannot assume his motivation for contacting me again in the first place. I will not assume it was for any other reason other than reconnecting with the only other soul in this state that carries shared memories of the west and laughing winds. We had good times, that is undeniable. We laughed loudly, loved passionately and deeply, shared a major life transition or two. But we had strained times too, times when our lack of communication built the walls that eventually came between us. And even after the shoes dropped for the last time, we never spoke, or rather, he never spoke. I told him a lot on that New Year's Eve night, and he listened. But he never said a word. His tears were enough in those moments, and his disappearance for that night and most of the next day said that he needed his time. Three months later when I moved out of our shared space, no words were spoken still. In times thereafter, there were no words other than plesantries and small talk followed by hugs that would linger long afterwards, stirring memories of how well our bodies did indeed fit together. But time passes, empty spaces fill in with other things more fluid and we adapt. Eventually, sightings became less and less frequent, and the hollows became holy, tender places that we touch and sorrow over, but no longer lament. Then they seem to disappear alltogether, and our memories become less crisp, foggier places where the mind wanders for long moments before shaking off and returning to task or distraction.

In the time that we weren't in contact, I would often wonder about him. Actually, it was more like worry. He drives a motorcycle and a Camero (or did), often too fast, and I carried this underlying concern that one day I woud read his obituary in the paper. Then all of those things left unsaid would surely be lamented, any hope for reconcilliation of our friendship (which was pretty good!)lost under the wheels of some uncaring semi or the unbudging shoulder of a guardrail. I wanted to have a conversation with him again, even if it was the last one. There are things he needs to tell me, I feel--I can see it in those big, liquid brown eyes, undulating in the seemingly ever-present sadness. He may or may not talk. He may blow me off for good. I know that is the risk I took when I said good-bye, but I always try to keep the friendship doors open, as an option. It has not always been accepted, and perhaps that was for the better. We will see how these pages turn, whether this is indeed the final chapter, or if it is the beginning of another.


Time: 6:47 am EST
Date: 06 July 2003
Reading: Still trying to get through "Isolde"
Watching: "Whale Rider," a film I highly recommend
Hearing: Morning sounds
Inspiration: Spiritual cinema

Entry: Indigenous Thoughts

Friday, Eric and I held our first party in our new home. We had an open house housewarming/4th of July BBQ that lasted from around noon to 10:30 pm. Friends showed up at various times throughout the day, which made the day go quickly. Eric's brother, Mark, was the first to arrive, having driven up from Athens, GA for the party (and other things I may get to later). Our friend Michael followed, arriving around one. A few hours later we heard from Jordan on the telephone, who was saying he couldn't make it due to a family emergency in VA. But then he realized we were on the way, and he stopped in for some lunch. We had a lull until about 8 pm, in which time we watched two movies: "Mulan" and "The Animatrix." Then Rebecca and her boyfriend of many years, Mark, showed up, along with Eric's parent's and our Mark (who had gone home for a bit), and we started up the grill again and had a little fireworks display before dessert. Rebecca brought a dessert, a lime cake that she saw in the latest issue of Southern Living magazine. It was divine. I had made a cheesecake that was too fluffy, but the ladies liked it. Eric likes a denser cheesecake, and I think I agree with him on that count. But all in all, it was a good gathering, with Eric S. from work showing up during the fireworks, just in time for dessert. We have so much food leftover! I did too much.

Yesterday, we were still celebrating. Eric's brother is staying in town until later today, so yesterday we met for lunch at Mad Hatter's, before going to catch a matinee of "Whale Rider." For anyone who has the opportunity to see this movie, I highly recommend it. Beautifuly filmed in New Zeland (my new favorite place), the film documents the early adolescence of a girl of the Maori tribe, indigenous the the island. I have always been interested in their mythology, which is based on anscestor worship and many oceanic folktales including whales and water, wind and seabirds, veneration of nature and time. The movie is somewhat feminist, but it is touching and well acted, the lead actress likely to be the next Ana Paquin--a Kiwi with Oscar winning potential. The film already has scored its share of accolades at Cannes and Sundance. The soundtrack is done by Lisa Gerrard of Dead Can Dance and "Gladiator" fame. She is amazing at capturing the tribal essences of a culture and translating it into a score, of all things. The music was very dark and etherial, rather like the film in places. I left the theatre in a spiritual haze, looking at the world through altered eyes.

The rest of the day was full of syncronicity, little coincidences and magickal events happening all around me and my senses heightened enough to actually notice and appreciate them. I will see the film again, and as soon as it is out on DVD I will own a copy. I've decided that I have to visit New Zeland, and Australia, sometime in my travels. And if the WETA Workshop of Lord of the Rings fame will have me, I will stay on and link chainmail there for the rest of my days.

Today, the family is having lunch at Maggiano's Macaroni Grill, which means a lite breakfast and supper for me, as I could easily blow all my points there. I didn't even write down what I did for Friday. I blew Weight Watchers, that's for sure. But was within Points yesterday, and I have plans to remain so today. I discovered that my body needs 96 oz. of water per day. I have been slacking! So that is my goal for today, to drink that ammount of water and stay within Points at the Macaroni Grill. Wish me luck!


Time: 8:45 pm EST
Date: 30 June 2003
Reading: I'm thinking about putting it down actually...
Watching: Nothing at the moment.
Hearing: Streaming Nordic Folk radio--North Waves
Inspiration: Hugs from Marisa

Entry: The Weekend

I thought on Saturday that I wouldn't be able to go visit my friend Marisa and her girlfriend, Kelcey, in Atlanta, GA. But that all changed when Eric got off work early on Saturday night and somehow managed to get out of working Sunday as well. We tried our hardest to leave Saturday night, but despite our best efforts, things were working against us. On Friday, it was so hot in my truck in the parking lot of Barnes & Noble that the epoxy holding my rear view mirror to the windshield melted off. I wasn't going to drive 400 miles without a rear view mirror, so Eric attempted to fix it, and ended up rigging it up to the ceiling panel with a wire hanger. It managed. But we were tired and frustrated, so we called his brother and let him know that we would be leaving very early Sunday morning for Athens (where he lives). We did just that, and arrived in Athens shortly after nine in the morning.

We rested for a bit there, eventually getting in touch with Risa on her cell phone. We were going to meet at the gay bookstore in Atlanta, corner of 10th and Peidmont St., right in the center of the Gay Pride Parade. It was Eric's first Pride, but since Marisa is a lesbian and his brother is gay, we joined the ranks--literally thousands of participants--along the street for the parade. I kept my eye out for Risa, but I haven't seen her in a year, and she tends to be a chamelion at times, changing her look enough to make her hard to recognize at first take. (That is really odd to say too, because when I think about it, I really have her face memorized.) She found me, and we shared the best and longest hug. Marisa and I and hugging go way back. It is such a familar embrace, despite the alterationgs in our heights and body shapes. It is the most amazing feeling hugging her--she fits perfectly in my arms, her head just under my chin, her forehead always kissable. We hugged a long time, and I felt everything flood back, tons of memories and scenes like photographs appearing behind my closed eyes. I realize that I have taken her for granted in the past, even the recent past. So in that moment, I simply tried to pour all of my gratitude at her presence into her through that embrace. I think she felt it--we just have this unspoken connection.

Even though our visit was entirely too short, just a few precious hours, it was totally worth driving nearly twelve hours in total to see her. I would do it again in a second, and in fact, we are doing it again in just a months time. That is enough to keep me going. As soon as the door to the condo that housed the last hour of our time together, I felt this ache. But I'm so used to it normally that I don't realize that it is there. But in this moment, I felt it very acutely and very sharply. I'm leaving my sister again, I said to myself. That is going to have to quit. It's so difficult sometimes, having her over 2,000 miles away from me. Sure, it's just a phone call, but nothing can replace those hugs. Once, maybe twice a year is simply not enough to span the time inbetween them. If there weren't already a hundred other reasons to miss Colorado, there would be that one. IT outweighs the others anyway. I can deal with seeing my family once a year, though I don't like it. I can be a tourist in those mountains when I visit, even though they once were like a second home to me. But that woman and my missing her is enough to make me weep for the homesickness. We are simply too far apart.

But we have our lives. She isn't likely to leave CO for the South, and I have a life here with school and the house and Eric's job at the University. It is merely a matter of time before Eric and I are at least semi-permanently stationed in CO, but that will take some time. I guess for now we'll have to make due with once or twice a year hugs. It just means we have to make them count, fill them with love and power each and every time we embrace so that we have enough of it to last that everlong expanse of emptiness without each other.


Time: 9:18 pm EST
Date: 24 June 2003
Reading: "Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle" by Rosalind Miles
Watching: DockRat movie trailors
Hearing: Tori Amos bootlegs, cover of "Wrapped Around Your Finger" by the Police
Inspiration: My Old Poetry

Entry: Memories Long Faded

I was a bit bored tonight, so I was looking through what else is on this site, because, quite frankly, there is so much I'd forgotten. Some of my old poetry, for example, as well as some of the poetry of my friends. It's funny to look back over them. They are pages of my life, extracted images from moments I will never forget, though they are faded and worn, like good blue jeans. Some of it is quite good. That I can say that now, with a more trained eye, a keener sense of what poetry actually is, is pretty amazing. Granted, they may not win me any awards at school (though a few of them have garnered me a lion's share of high marks in a creative writing class), they are worth more than that to me. I never thought that I could get nostalgic after just a few years away from them, or that I could still be bitter, or sad, or angry. I managed to capture the exact keys in my poetry to invoke those emotions through imagery, for myself at least. Others may read them and go, "huh?" But that is not the point. Most of the poetry I write is for myself, a way to condense my emotions into something manageable, tangible. I haven't written any poetry in a few months. That means one of two things: either I am not having anything to write about, or that I am simply not ready to deal with it. I suspect the latter, but there is no way to force that. It will all find its way in time.

What I found so interesting about reading those old verses was the ammount of boy-influence in them (though there is a fair ammount of girl-influence too, mind you). My earlier work is internally inspired, my early adolescent turmoil and depression, but the later work has been inspired by more external means--men, women, friends, and my relationships with them. Of course, there is a fair ammount of spiritual influence there too, in the very recent work. Is that a sign of my maturity? I daresay aye.

It's amazing how a line of poetry can take you right back to that time, though. I mean, RIGHT THERE. I read a line and I can feel his hand, the slightest reassuring squeeze of his fingers and the rush of blood through my veins in reaction. I can taste a kiss as though it were fresh and fevered, feel that awkward firstness of it all, then melt into the familarity of those long-lasted lovers. I can feel the acrid sting of tears, hear those words that lie, the stab of betrayal, the razors edge of my own words of severance. And the cinema of my mind clatters through reel after reel, every drama, all the laughs, the tragedies and intrigue and the fantasies I made from nothings. There is only one other thing that brings me to this sort of remembering, and it is music. I have songs for every boy, every girl, every thing in my life. If it doesn't exisit, I make it up on my own. If I can't get it out on paper or in music, it will certainly come out in voice. NOTHING holds back my song. Here's to hoping that will always be the case.


Wrapped Around Your Finger
written by Sting

you may consider me the young apprentice
caught between the scylla and charibdes
hypnotized by you if i should linger
staring at the ring on your finger
i have only come here seeking knowledge
things they wouldn't teach me in college
i can see the destiny you sold
turned into a shining band of gold

i'll be wrapped around your finger
i'll be wrapped around your finger
i'll be wrapped around your finger

mephistopheles is not your name
but i know what you're up to just the same
i will listen hard to your tuition
and you will see it come to its fruition

i'll be wrapped around your finger
i'll be wrapped around your finger
i'll be wrapped around your finger

devil and the deep blue sea behind me
vanish in the air you'll never find me
i will turn your face to alabaster
then you will find your servant is your master

and you'll be wrapped around my finger...


Time: 9:10 pm EST
23 June 2003
"Witchcrafting" by Phyllis Curott, "Making Magick" by Edain McCoy, "Green Witchcraft" by Ann Moura
WCPE 89.7, "The Classical Station" streaming
The dying of Lugh

Entry: Watching my negativity wane

This morning I awoke to the lingering smell of burnt sage and no dreams that I recall. Despite my attempts to "purify" the air of its distinct aroma, I burned enough of it in last night's rite that it permeated the sheets and any other snippet of cloth lying about. But inhaling it again reminded me of my reasons for burning such an abundance of it--purification of Self in order to ready myself for the long path ahead. I prayed for strength, determination, and positive energy of my own so that I don't have to keep feeding off of those who are more than willing to give me all that they have and more. I burned away my excuses, my pain, my frustration, my anger, my doubt, my sadness, and watched as they rose upon the thick white clouds of sagey fumes, up like whispers to the Goddess. The rite was simple, but I did what was needed. I felt wholey better today as a result, and my hour long walk this evening added to that good feeling (rather than detracting from it, for once).

Work was good and steady, thought I felt my energy waning around one o'clock. I'd had my lunch and my body just wanted to relax, even nap, rather than shift and unload boxes of books for another two and a half hours. But when the day was done, I rewarded myself with a book I've been waiting for in paperback and a good home cooked meal upon my arrival home. Then I took my walk, a walk with a destination and a purpose. I have been assigned to feel Molly, the Elder Taylor's elderly cat. She simply must not go hungry, though she could stand to lose a few pounds herself. When I came in the door, red-faced and drenched in sweat, Her Loafiness, Queen Molly, comes waddling into the kitchen peering at me through her huge Golum eyes as if to say, "It's about time!" Her "meows" are very quiet, as if muted by her generous portions of fat, but the "purr" you can hear a room away. Half a can of Science Diet Senior later, she is happily purring and excusing herself from my presence--a date with a cat-nap, I imagine. I gulped down some water and grabbed the Taylor mail before heading on my way, back the nearly three miles (by road, though only about one mile as the crow flies) to our house. In those lovely moments after a good work-out, those moments when your temples are hot enough to fry eggs and the trickles are tickling your back and between your breasts (well, mine at least), I had a Zen moment. My body felt light as a feather and absolutely free of sensation in what I can only call a "runner's high." It's incentive to do the same tomorrow night.

I just received a pleasent telephone call from my step-grandmother, Pauline. I had spoken to my father on Saturday and mentioned my paper and my grades, since I hadn't spoken to him about it. I'm glad he's proud, and that he's sharing it with our extended family. It feels good to be congratulated. It's been a long time since I've felt like it's something I've deserved. This time I worked really hard, and I DO deserve it. Now I've challenged myself to do the same in the Fall, and if I do manage it, I will really have accomplished something.


Time: 4:22 pm EST
22 June 2003
"Witchcrafting" by Phyllis Curott, "Making Magick" by Edain McCoy, "Green Witchcraft" by Ann Moura
Life is Beautiful
Fallen by Evanescence

Entry: Litha, Midsummer, or Summer Solstice

Yes, it has been awhile, on all accounts. My old journal at Diaryland is officially defunct. I am using it as a place to store my appology and confession to anyone who wants to read it. Depending on what I feel like, I may convert it to only house my Random Acts of Journaling entries, whenever Elle decices to update that site herself. Anyway, times have changed since my last update. This will be a long entry, I imagine, and some of it old news to those of you who keep in e-mail contact with me. But there might be some news, so read on.

I have made some definate steps towards progress in my RADAR program. I started Weight Watchers and am on the plan until I lose 10% of my body weight (which is about 20 pounds). If I can lose more, I will not be unhappy. I think my ideal weight would take me losing between 35-40 pounds. That will take a while on Weight Watchers (WW), and I may get impatient. I have already had some moments of weakeness and I am still learning how to deal with those, like how to not hate myself and how to not feel guilty for having another cookie (even if it is fat free). Yesterday, I had a really bad day with feeling unattractive, and I had a little breakdown. I'm angry with myself because I don't exercise as much as I could. My reason: I am very conscious of my body when I work out, and I hate that. Not only the bulk of it, but also the awkwardness, the fact that it seems incapable of the things I'm asking it to do when I run or do some positions in Pilates. I know that it takes practice, but practice takes motivation, and I don't seem to have much of that these days. I think there is something else going on inside of me, somthing other than just the weight. I'm too chicken to go see someone to talk to me about that, too afraid of what they will say to me. I don't want to pay someone to tell me that I'm mad, or depressed. I know that for free. But it might be nice to talk to someone about it...maybe just a little.

Sure, I know, most people use their friends for that. But who do I have? Eric, of course, but sometimes I think he gets fed up with the fact that I'm always depressed about the same things, and that I don't seem to do anything to change my situation. That's easy for him to think (allegedly); he's never been overweight, never hated himself, that I know of at least. I know he has his moments of insecurity, but he doesn't let it bother him, or at least, he doesn't let it show. I can't keep it inside, because I know what happens when I do that...I put myself in danger. It's better to talk to someone. Who else...Marisa, my dear sister, who has come back into my life so blessedly. I love her, and I am happy and fortunate to have her ear via e-mail. But she is too far away from me...I miss her so much sometimes. I remember how easy it used to be for us to get together, how much I took that for granted. What I wouldn't give.... That leaves only James, my soul brother, who is also too far away and who has enough things on his mind. I know he will say that he will listen to anything that is bothering me, but I can't go there. I love him too, and I miss him. I don't have any friends I can just talk to, is the point I am trying to make here. Nick and I have fallen out of sync, out of real touch, much to my dismay. Kelly is unreachable, and there isn't anyone at work that I feel comfortable opening up to, not with the knowledge that other things I've told them have spread throught the store grapevine like electricity.

I need a gay boyfriend! That's always worked for me in the past.

In the attempt to keep my mind clear, out of trouble, I've redoubled my studies in Wicca. I've hit the books with a vengeance, remembering a lot and learning even more. I did my first full moon esbat rite in ages on the 14th, and I have plans for a Midsummer rite later tonight. My next big overhaul to this site is the Book of Shadows, Threshold. I've been archiving some stuff on the computer, centralizing my notes for the most part, so that I can re-copy them into a proper book by hand later. This has been very time consuming, as nearly ten years of practice on paper is a lot of typing. I thought that the computer file would be a convienient way of having a fluid copy that is adaptable, something that I can archive in versions/volumes that would concide with a book-length handwritten collection. I seem to keep changing my mind on the order (that is good on the comp, but not so good in a bound book) and the format, so it will be on the computer and online for the time being.

Something that Marisa and I have connected very deeply on in the last month or so has been our parallel spirituality. That is something that we never really talked about to each other before, and now that we are talking about it, it has given me a totally different aspect on her and her life. I feel like I know her more deeply than I ever have before. And the knowledge that we are sharing with each other is simply amazing. She is so aware of things, so conscious of the Earth and her power in it, while I'm stuffed full of book learning and occasional practice. It's very interesting how we are influencing each other right now. We are both growing from the other. There was a time that I used to think of this intertwining less favorably. I thought that I would lose myself to her, like two trees that have become entangled, their trunks wrapping around and around each other until eventually one suffocates from lack of nutrients and dies. (I've always been that dramatic, yes.) But now I see this as more of a symbiosis, like we truly need the other to survive in the world. And rather than suffocating, we have become each others support. It is a very good transmutation of my definition of our friendship. It's beautiful to be back.

So, what else has happened since I last left you? I had a research paper from my Fall 2002 semester English class nominated by my professor, Dr. Tisdale, and submitted to a department-wide contest. I discovered that my paper won in the research category. This means that I am eligable for some plush scholarships in the fal as well as an accolade to place on my academic resume. That and the Eng. Department sent me a lovely check for $100. My grades from last semester placed my name on the Dean's list. I have taken the summer off from school in order to have time to pad my bank account with work and to work on the house while the weather is nice. Eric and I have a huge and prolific garden. Half of the bed is dedicated to herbs alone, mostly culinary in variety, and the other is for veggies and fruit. Even with the rain, everything has taken off and we should be harvesting summer squash and green beans in the very near future. We've already used some of the herbs and shared them with Eric's parents. Other work on the house includes a new paved walkway in front of the house, a shallow garden bed surrounding it, and some renovation on the front porch itself. I beleive the next project is a 10' x 12' storage shed in the back yard for Eric's tools. I will eventually have a potting shed near the garden plot, but that probably won't come until next spring. Things are slowly changing and eventually this house will make us a pretty penny as either a rental property or when it is sold for profit.

So, how's that for an update? I will be keeping this journal current, as it is the only one I have online. Check back often if you wish to keep up on the goings-on of Jenn. Until next we meet...

Love and Light

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