The Appraisal

NYE was My 3rd anniversary of moving into the house. I put the minimum down and have been paying an objectionable amount of PMI. The bank predictably has been many forms of subtly discouraging, but I pushed and am having the house officially reappraised. Recent comps of essentially identical houses (unimproved) are running a third above My purchase price, so I figured now is a good time to do this, JIC talk of a low-rate driven housing bubble turns out to be true.

So the nice appraiser guy came. When I bought it, the appraiser never even came to neighborhood, but now nixing PMI requires a visit, measurements, inside photographs. Supposedly this is driven by Dodd-Frank, who knows. So the guy comes and is very complimentary of the considerable work I have done, the choices I have made. We had a nice visit and generally hit it off, which I worked at of course, in hopes that wherever there may be discretion in the calculations, he might exercise it in My favor. Meanwhile boy t is sitting in the living room working remotely and obviously collared, but the guy seems not to notice and boy t is careful to not interfere with the important visit. As the appraiser is at the front door preparing to leave, a comment is made about the election and 2016 and hopes for a better year in 2017. 

I really don't know how the conversation turned exactly, I was just being nice and exhibiting a humane interest in the guy. But somehow goodbye turned into a 90 minute crisis therapy session. In between apologies for being unprofessional and wondering aloud why he is telling us all this (boy t's face is clearly transmitting a degree of amazement), the appraiser says the following:

- he's former military guy who used to have his life together

- then 2008 happened which triggered Dodd Frank, which cut his fees by 50% and increasing his workload, so his appraisal business is now unsustainable

- he was raised Catholic but can't go to church any more because the abuse scandals have to ruined it for him

- then his SEVEN closest friends all died in the space of about three years... he feels morally responsible for one of the deaths and was present for two others

- now he is depressed, struggling with meds, seeing a psychiatrist, messing up his marriage to a very hot Estonian woman, and wondering if his five year old daughter might be better off if he were dead

I quickly realize this is one traumatized, unmoored guy and though he is on meds, clearly he is not yet on the right meds cuz he's still toying with the question of whether to live or not. I'm of course not a therapist, and he seems to have given up on therapists because one of them told him something he wasn't ready/ willing to hear... that the always successful, heroic person he wants to be isn't the whole story, that this Other broken person is also him.  I can't in good conscience just kick him out after spilling of his guts to Me. I also have to wonder how stable he might really be, whether he is going to be calling Me, and in retrospect, maybe I should have seriously considered whether he had a gun under the jacket. Ours is the kind of state where people do wear such things.

So I tried to keep him calm, let him vent, showed concern and compassion, and offered resources: some books, a website, a CD, and a male counselor I have confidence in. I prompted him to write these things down. I shared some of My story, enough to say "I've been there, I made it, you can make it, your daughter needs you, you can do this."  I tried to validate his feelings while gently pointing out how his thought patterns reinforce his negative perceptions, closing off alternative interpretations. I gently nudged him to consider those alternatives. But it was like playing whack-a-mole, as it so often is when talking to someone who is deep in depression. The narrative and the judgments are so strong, everything is so locked down. I was glad boy t was getting a front row seat with someone so clearly demonstrating things I have said in our past conversations, about how we create a story to explain our lives and often get stuck in the story. I advocate choosing to believe stories that help rather than hurt us.

I also I thought, how interesting. This guy need someone to talk to right now, he must need it really badly to break professional decorum. How interesting that I am here on a weekday morning which is surpassingly rare; boy t is here which gives Me physical safety with a stranger in My home, even rarer; how interesting that I have something this appraiser needs which somehow connected without trying; and how interesting that I have all the time in the world to give him.

At one point the appraiser apologized for all he was saying, and expressed some bewilderment. I looked at t and said, "Tell him, boy."  boy t then looked at the appraiser and said, "Don't worry, things like this happen with Her a lot."  And it is true. As Master I spend quite a bit of time helping various boys unpack their baggage, so really I was not phased to have a man I barely know on the verge of tears in My living room. It does happen.

So I just rolled with it until about noon, which was 2.5 hours after he arrived. Eventually his phone pinged and he jumped up saying he was late for his next appointment, thanked Me profusely, and quickly left.

I didn't fix any of his problems. I do hope, though, that I gave him just a little bit of hope, a little bit of a feeling that there is somewhere he can turn, maybe a little sense that someone could care what happens to him, that he is not entirely bereft.  I hope that I was able to be for him the way-pointing Presence that several people were for Me back when I was lost and not yet found.

When I bought the house, it was a sick house. The home inspector even said so, "I cannot recommend you buy this house, it is unhealthy."  But three years later, My house has apparently healed quite a bit, healed enough that it now wants to try and heal people who visit it.

How interesting.

Christmas Gifts

All is quiet as Christmas draws to a peaceful close.

Being home is always a trigger to reflect on My dominance. This week's epiphany is that most of My family tops from tha bottom, or is, as john pithily pointed out, simply passive aggressive. Dad is too often cranky and takes it out verbally on mom, who has learned and taught us, with varying degrees of success, to run his words through a neutralizing filter. When he referred to her as fat and told "funny" story about being unable to lift her out of the new, deep jacuzzi tub, all I could think was: wow, in My life, boyfriends have died for lesser crimes. He does not mean to be cruel, and he did give her the deluxe version of the requested suction cup handle thing to help her in future. I know, because he gave it to Me to wrap.

We attended three church services in 18 hours, which was a bit much and I even skipped the first one. Unfortunately, the big midnight service was not as wonderful as in the past. The choir seemed only half full and the church was not packed. One suspects some combination of the major renovation under way, the new-old preacher, and different music director, is responsible. Personally, I felt the level of musicianship has dropped off. One wonders if there is now a replacement somewhere for this service which has been My go-to for 20+ years. High notes seemed thinner and unsustained. The tempi seemed hurried and insensitive. The congregation's "Thanks be to God!" felt formulaic and uninvested. It was warm and uncomfortably humid and the couple next to Me talked through the entire organ prelude when all others were sit-aware enough to keep quiet. Then dad drove home at midnight through through foggy rain at what seemed - to Me - an excessive rate of speed, as I slipped and slid around on the smooth, bench backseat, with the seatbelt pressing at My throat. It wasn't the uplifting Christmas Eve service that I expected. But I kept it to Myself.  Christmas morning service was amateur hour, so I didn't get My sacred fix there either. But I was pleased to see the parents so comfortable and at home in the congregation dad resisted for a decade. Chilly Calvinist doctrinal disagreement finally yielded to the Christian love of the people in their weekly Bible study.  Dad was all excited to show Me the church food pantry where they often volunteer assembling bags for the needy.

The strategy to serve cocktails daily is working a charm. We aren't much for drinking and though we enjoy the taste of wine, neither mom nor I likes how it makes us feel. john's cocktails are being put to good use and successfully so. It is now clear that My freakishly cocktail shaker and a bottle of Brazilian rum need to make the beach trip when parents, sister, nieces and I gather in a few months. On one level, I disapprove and cling to thinking we shouldn't need lubrication to get along; on another, I cannot argue with empirical results. We are a testy, perfectionistic, and anxious bunch... but one cocktail smoothes much of that away. I learned tonight that they have always liked cocktails, they are just "too lazy" to make them, opening a bottle of wine is easier. Ho-ho-ho! I can relate to Lazy Domme behaviour. Challenge accepted.

Christmas gifting wasn't extravagant -- lotions, chocolates, yoga props, and My requested shoe stretchers. Until I opened a little box and found a check that shaves six months off repayment of My student loan. This is another of a growing number of moments (three dots make a line!) when I look at My parents and wonder who they are. It wasn't just the check, it was mom saying that their thinking was that getting out from under the student loan seems to be My top priority. And I thought, wow, they are LISTENING!  

Of course, I have to consider that the feeling of being un-heard may have been a matter of joint responsibility. I see the chaos that ensues from everyone topping from the bottom in the family, not being clear with themselves or others. Perhaps, just perhaps, in the years I have identified as a Dominant, perhaps I have learned something. I remember at many points that the hard thing about being a Dominant was being clear about what I want, and cleanly, clearly, directly, kindly communicating it. Maybe, just maybe, that is having spill over effects into the most vanilla sanctum of My vanilla world, the parents. Maybe the years of being unhappy with My parents seeming checked out were partly My fault. Or not. Much has happened to change them, and they are mellowing noticeably.  But it is nice to think that kink can pay such unexpected dividends.  That kink has allowed Me to do things that ultimately are healing for the family.

My brother divorced before he died. My sister is divorcing now. I am single. My father asked Me this year, in a fit of genuine introspection, what I think he did wrong as a parent that none of his children are successfully married.  I couldn't bring Myself to say what I believe is the nakedly truthful answer to that specific question, and I don't think any good would come of it. We come from a long line of hard people. A shaman doing divination with Me (oh, why not?) once told Me that I effectively have no ancestors in the spirit world I can call upon because they are all so deep in their own pain that they are unavailable. That really resonated. There is indeed tremendous pain and trauma all over the family tree. It would be easy to beat up My parents for their flaws and mistakes. But I choose to look at My grandparents and notice just how far My parents have come, to notice how the things I fault them for is also a reaction, a conscious choice, to do better by doing the opposite of what their own parents did, to emphatically not repeat their parents' mistakes. 

I told My father that fundamentally, I don't know why none of his kids is happily married, but I can tell him that I'm OK. I'm happy. I'm happier than at any point in My life. He doesn't need to worry about Me. He can focus on My sister, and her kids; I will let him know if something changes with Me. I think it was the best answer I could have given. It just kind of popped out, but I heard in that moment the emotional content of his question. Like any good parent, seeing his children in real pain is excruciating for him. So I focused on his pain more than the abstract question posed, and I let him off the hook, I absolved him of some of that pain. He did - does - the best he knows how to do. Notwithstanding their human flaws, My parents have always been My home, My anchor, the center of gravity of My universe.

And in this moment of great generosity, I feel that in middle age I am at last getting the parents I always longed for. Parents that I can connect with sometimes. Not always. Not in many areas of depth. By no means on demand. But a good bit, much more than many people enjoy. And I do enjoy them, esp. one on one. Observing My boys and their families of origin, their marriages, their kids, other friends who lost their parents early or were adopted, all these have been a great help in developing a sense of perspective and proportion, a sense of being lucky, a sense of gratitude. I suddenly feel that right now is the sweet spot with mom and dad. The tide will run away from the beach one day, a day I cannot contemplate without immediate tears. A day I dread beyond all dreading. A decline will come, may indeed be well under way. But these days... these days are for savoring.  To know that, to know that *while* it is happening, to be *able* to savor it for as long as it lasts... that is a gift.

Merry Christmas

Emergency Drive-By Soup

boy m was in the neighborhood this morning, and when he learned I'm sick, detoured his route to include the Whole Foods and Me.  Thirty minutes later he was on My doorstep with soup, fresh squeezed juice and a baguette, as requested. I unpacked while we chatted, then he threw himself to his knees and offered Me a gift. This caught Me completely by surprise as I stood there, sniffling, snorking, coughing, looking - and probably smelling - like a homeless person. I'm more than a little out of it right now. Still there he knelt, with a smile of joy on his face just for being in My presence. And I was so touched by feeling... raised up by his joy and enthusiasm for being with Me, though I had nothing to give. So surprised to feel one moment like a bum and the next like a Queen.  I'm not a finDom but I do love pleasant surprise gifts, and as he knelt there he extended to Me a small flat brown paper bag, which turned out to contain a generous gift card, maybe so I can amuse Myself shopping online while I recover in bed, maybe cuz he knows I'm lusting for a particular something, but I suspect it was more simple and less specific than that. I suspect he just wanted to give more than I had asked for. I was really touched and even slightly stunned. It kinda doesn't fit in My head to look and feel rotten and at the same time be treated so well. I think most people have an impulse to withdraw when sick or wounded, I certainly do, and I have learned to make a conscious effort to fight it or at least announce it. A good sub understands that when the Dominant is weakened, that is the greatest opportunity for service. And boy m gets it.

Yes, I struggle with his availability, but damn, when he shows up, when he is with Me, he does not disappoint. Sometimes I am in awe of a good subby boy, this is one of those days. I am very privileged to have three wonderful boys in My life. I wish I had more of their time, but truly, I am a lucky woman.

So the day has gone like this: boy leaves. Rest. Put one tree in a stand he assembled. Rest. Put second tree in stand. Rest. Finalize tree placement and watering. Rest. Clean up pine needles in bathroom and tub. Rest. Eat. Rest. Shortly I will drag the dirty laundry pile downstairs, start a load, take a shower, then apply tree lights. With luck boy m will succeed in keeping our planned visit tonight, making it quite the two-fer day.

I Have Ennui

I know this because I have been streaming Gilmore Girls and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The snooty Frenchman in GG sometimes has ennui and today I am slumping about just like he does. I also know because I wanted to attend a holiday performance and abandoned the effort in the seat selection process. And because I have had two small Christmas trees soaking in the tub of My only bathroom for several days while I strive and fail to assemble crap Chinese tree stands for them. I have vague intentions of housekeeping, of cooking, or freezing what I did cook before it molds in the fridge, of shopping and mailing gifts in time, of packing to get on an airplane. Ain't none of it really happened. The solstice is a mere 3 days away and this snow bird is headed south for a week. I'm sick, also, possibly probably a factor. In short, this likely is the low point for the year.  My clock had wound down.

Ten days from now boy t will arrive. he will arrive the day before I return and he will spend the time Mary Poppins-ing My house. he will give Me a jump start and together we will break the log jam.  It will be fine. Then in a few weeks it is My birthday and then a trip to the Gulf and then WinterFire and by then spring is within reach.

I'm doing some specialized yoga for My old injury and sometimes in class, tears start running down My face. I'm not in pain, I'm not upset or thinking about anything sad. It's just energy release, unblocking the energy locked up in the spasmed tissue. I let it pass thru. It takes patience and bravery and I have to talk Myself out of making up a story about it. Then I reward this high level of self care by walking a block down the pretty street to the custard shop, and l have even invited another human being to join Me, and successfully made chitchat throughout.  These are accompishments.. I'm going to continue with the class in the next 6 week session, it's useful and fascinating. Maybe I am ready now to do a series of rolfing bodywork. I hear it is painful, and I don't welcome that, but I can see that this connective tissue work is effective. I'd be stupid not to do it. I'm too young to have a body that feels this old. I had to turn down a playdate recently cuz I just can't give 200, 300 full wind-up, full force large paddle whacks these days. It used to be a nice workout. Now it's simply a terrible idea to try at all. I used to be the only Domme that could meet that guy's need for heavy play. Now I'm out in such a big way it no longer brooks any discussion.

But a rolfing series of bodywork would probably release a lot of stuff, like the class is doing and more, maybe that's too much processing for January. Maybe I wait for some spring. But then, My sibling died a few years ago in a freak accident, and younger than me. I shouldn't assume it's always possible to do it later. I should make an appointment.

I'm frustrated with the married boy. I can't have anything like the relationship I would want in the time he has, we can't get to the vast majority of what I want to do with/to him in a 90 minute visit. I thought once he knew Me and decided we were a match, that he would make Me a priority, he would make more time. But he doesn't. he would say he simply can't. That's a disappointment and an irritant. Married boys are like that. I'm annoyed at Myself for hoping otherwise; this was a preventable collision and as the Dominant, it is My fault. It's deep meteorological winter though, and I don't know quite trust My grumps to make the right choices. he is delightful when he does appear, it's possible I could focus on that part of it if I were in a better headspace generally. I'm not horny, that's another indicator of being at a low point. Patience. 

I did love declan's blog When The Tears Come. That was very hot and so very up My alley. And john's ruined orgasm post reinforced the vibe. So thanks to declan and john for those big shafts of light. Hehehe. See what I did there? 

Patience. Tea. Soup. Yoga. Netflix. And a cozy bed. Hibernation is a completely normal and natural instinct in mammals. I come from a Northern peoples, this wiring runs deep in us. Spring will come.

Thanksgiving Day 2016

Like other things with Napoleon, this one proved a blind alley and resulted in another unpleasant interaction. Still, it was a useful exercise, giving Me opportunity to picture other paths forward, re-opening My mind to the reality that waking up each day in My bed in this house is an affirmative choice. I am CEO of My life. I run it, it does not run on its own. It's handy to be reminded of My agency in financial matters occasionally. Not much of a silver lining but it's there.

Now I am visiting My best-friend-forever (BFF) and her two daughters, one of whom is My god-daughter and special needs. I had tasked boy t with providing a wakeup call at 4:15 to ensure I did not miss My 6am flight to get here on, what else, a non-refundable ticket. When the phone roused Me from an light and unsatisfying sleep, he seemed bizarrely alert for the hour and I soon learned why. Fearing he would fail in his mission, he chose to forego sleep entirely and had stayed up through the night. That, friends, is what we in the M/s community call the slave heart. I was very touched by the depth of his commitment to My needs. M/s circles talk about alignment of the /s with Master, and he certain works hard to keep himself in alignment with My goals. It's not flashy of course, but it is really a privilege to receive such service, to have someone who believes Me worthy of that level of dedication. It inspires Me to ensure I indeed am worthy.

So with that as backdrop, I just cleaned My BFF's kitchen, including the stove. She is a single mom and works heroically on many fronts, I thought she would enjoy waking up to some Mary Poppins action, things magically in their place, which otherwise never happens. So My slave got Me here... so I could do someone else's dishes. 

Makes Me chuckle.

Anything Can Happen, Sometimes Does

I had a wonderful trip visiting john and Madame. Bliss. Idyll. Flawless. A small mountain was hiked. A lovely B&B was inhabited. Fine food and drink and laughs and of course orgasmic fun times were had (not always at top volume). A ferry was taken, and island was explored. Naked photos were staged, beaches combed, shells collected. It was fucking delightful. And I came home feeling for the first time that I can picture a life for Myself elsewhere. Twenty years I have lived in this city and always said I couldn't think of anywhere else I could see Myself. Until now.

The logistics of Elsewhere are a worthy challenge. I own a house. I am still working the Get Out Of Debt ("Good") job to pay off student loans. I made a 10 year plan five years ago to get the damned things paid off before I turn 53 (yes... fifty three) and there's five years to go. But there are days I don't know if I will survive the remaining five. The personal toll of the GOOD job is terribly high some days.

Back in August I had a wicked problem with the neighbor on My downhill side in our block of rowhouses. He hired a questionable waterproofing contractor, and they sought a building permit to dig out his dirt crawlspace to become a man cave. The city put a note on the permit application saying that before the permit could proceed through the process, they needed My written and notarized consent -- mind you, not merely written notarized consent to proceed with the project, but My consent as to all of the design, engineering and implementation specifics. Why? Because their plan was to dig under our shared structual foundation wall and chimney (digging about 6" over the property line into My property), and undercut the existing 2' foundation on dirt to build an additional 8' foundation wall beneath it. I reviewed the extremely sketchy, conceptual, and un-official plans with a lawyer friend and an architect friend, and obviously, said no. The neighbor - let's call him Napoleon - then didn't speak to Me for two months, and when he did, near shouted at Me the following accusation: "It's your fault I have to buy an $800,000 house!". It went downhill from there and we had a very tense talk over the fence for half an hour, in which he told Me I was the worst neighbor ever, a bad person generally (so controlling!), he was done with Me, and I should no long speak to him as he certainly won't be replying. Napoleon ominously wished Me good luck getting along with the future renters. After departing, I felt inspired to text him and say that if he really doesn't want to live next Me, I could be persuaded to sell for the right price. He replied that would not be necessary, and for a time there were signs he might be fixing the joint up to rent.  Yet today several weeks later, he unexpectedly texted to inquire what my sale price might be.

So now suddenly My mind is whirling with pros and cons, hopes, risk calculations, math. I need to come up with a good number to open the negotiation with and get clear about My negotiation floor. I need to grapple with the emotions around possibly leaving My wonderful sturdy sheltering home before I feel ready, before the planned date some years hence, before it ever got finished.  I love this place, My snug foothold in the world. It means so much to Me. At the same time, it was always meant to give Me financial freedom, get Me out from under the student loans. If...if... this actually worked, I could be free within weeks rather than 5 years from now. That's extremely enticing. I need to grapple with selling a house, about which I know ZERO, figure out the FSBO thing, and the wackiness around him paying Me well above appraisal as an inducement to move (mid-winter!), which likely will make it impossible to get a mortgage so the inducement might need to be a separate side agreement. Oh, and the tax implications of all of the above.

Part of Me wants to push for the biggest number I can get, since I would be foregoing the benefit of the very smart decision to buy in this place at this time for the price I paid. That was a near genius move it's not likely one could repeat on demand. Part of Me is ready to be done with the downsides of homeownership, but not the joys. I love My land, My garden, My lawn chairs, My garden. Part of Me wants to blow up My life and move to the delightful land I recently visited, total reinvention of mythic Phoenix scale. Part of Me could be happy with just killing the student loans and working the same job for a while, without the psychic burden of having to. Each of those pieces is a different part of Me and manifests a slightly different, conflicting philosophy of life.

The poet David Whyte speaks about the compassion of the universe and how it will not let us get too comfortable, just when one's home is done, the finishing touches barely completed, the Universe gives us the boot. I can attest to a feeling lately of being nudged, even pushed, out of My current configuration of life, My comfortably uncomfortable zone. The election results are a factor but by no means the whole story. There are moments it feels like I'm dying, which is scary, and I must work at reminding Myself to think of that metaphorically, to think chrysalis and butterflies. It's sort of an intuition, it's sort of like being able to look at the sky and know that snow will come soon. It's a seeing of things not visible except through My eyes. It's an uneasy feeling and one I haven't often trusted, but the older I get I trust it more. I both don't want to sell the house and feel compelled, I don't know how exactly the mechanics of the transaction might happen, but there's a level on which it has already happened. Very quantum.

I have a number for Napoleon. It's big and roundish and scary, and he will hate it. He will kick and scream. He will be unpleasant and tell Me I'm bad. I don't care about that really. Whether he can make the number, I seriously doubt. Whether I would come down, and how much, I do not yet know. But there iis a number floating like a ghostly apparition about 6 feet off the floor in front of Me now as I walk around the house. It's not as big as some have suggested it should be. It's not as much as I would ideally like. But it is, I think, viable. Time to sleep on it and commence research.

Horses, Not Zebras

I was all fired up to blog in late August when news of the incredibly reckless Fusion sun-branding debacle hit the scene. I was really, really upset and invested a lot of time in a draft post, then felt I should cool off and give it another read before putting it up. Cuz I was hot about it, hot. Still am. Then Master-slave Conference arrived, i helped with packet stuffing, flirted with the hotel manager, and boy t visited from far away, plus boy c decided to accept My strong suggestion to attend, and two other friends went for the first time at My suggestion, and of course seeing out of town friends, going to classes, that all was a whirlwind. I started a blog about *that*, esp. the last day when I participated in a BDSM research study. Then event drop hit and/or I got something flu-like for a few days, and ever since, well, I've just been in an inexplicable fog. There was some very serious nonsense-drama with a neighbor who wanted to dig under My foundation, and that took a lot of bandwidth for 10 days. Somewhere in there I feel like I've aged rapidly, I feel must stoopider, slightly grasping for or mis-using words, making regular typos and other did-I-really-do-that? mistakes, clumsy, I'm low energy, kinda bummed out and grumpy, even got weepy at work last week which I try to make sure never gets noticed by the male boss (failed), and hey, can always be attributed to PMS or perio, one never really knows. And I'm staying up later and sleeping later and muzzy-headed during the day. Chocolate and caffeine and carb consumption is up, veggie/ salad consumption way down. Thankfully, having My boys around gives Me the ability to notice these things more easily than I might on My own. They give Me a baseline of comparison. I've really been a little perplexed about what's going on, and it even crossed My mind that I should go see a doc to rule out a brain tumor. Brain tumor! Thought I had a damned brain tumor.

But as they like to say in medical circles, when you hear the sound of hooves, think horses not zebras.

Yesterday I looked up at the end of a work day, which is not infrequently about 7pm, and it was fucking NIGHT time out there. And I realized we just had the autumnal equinox (and I again missed the chance to stand an egg on its end, dammit). And I went... DOPE!!!  Of course. It's happening again. It's the changing of the light.  If I had stopped and written all those changes down, I would have put it together. But they were just passing thoughts, dots not connected, which is itself another manifestation of impaired mental clarity. In short, I let it sneak up on Me again.

Also not unlike PMS, this happens on a fairly regular cycle but I somehow manage to not remember/ notice each time. At one point I had light-change alerts set on My phone calendar but they were lost in an upgrade or reboot, leaving Me once more to re-discover what I have learned so many times already.

So it's time to brief the boys more fully about how I need them to be supportive. It's time to re-stock the herbs and vitamins, make up sets of portable packets, and go back to taking them something more like religiously, as I did until some point late last spring. It's time to turn on the sunbox at the office when I arrive and mull over getting one for the bedroom (the timed lights are a nice stopgap though). And time to buy a ticket to Florida in early February cuz man, I can already tell I'm gonna need it.

I really should live closer to the equator. I'm a northern-raise girl with northern genes and frankly, I consider it a genetic defect. Humans left Africa dark skinned, got to northern climes, lived in sod hovels, lost their melanin (think people = white asparagus), turned lily white, and in My case, lived on the northern oceans so they developed freakishly small respiratory equipment that lazily assumed the ocean would always be there doing most of the work to clean and moisturize the air they breathed. Not a fantastic combo for 21st century urban living successful.

The Celts didn't think in terms of four seasons. They had two, the Light and the Dark and each commenced on a solstice. I apparently run on a Light/ Dark two-season cycle too but it turns at the equinox. From here to March is My Dark season and I need to be vigilant. i'm like a clock that slowly winds down, then winds back up.  I mark My calendar and watch the weeks tick toward the winter solistice, then I count the number of weeks the solstice has been receding in the rear view mirror. 12 down. 12 up. Late January is hardest. If ya can make it to WinterFire-is-coming, you're in the home stretch. Yes, there will be wicked WF drop and it will be stupid cold or a blizzard or some such nonsense, but at that point, it's time to start planning the garden.

In fact, I should be doing that now. Fall gardening. Get that dwarf lilac in the ground and buy some interesting tulips to replace the mountain of 'em the sneaky squirrels got last year. And throw down a bunch of crocus if at all possible... Somewhere.  Yes, I should bestir Myself, sit Myself up and go outside every chance I get. *yawn* get Myself up off this couch, out of this bed. *yawn* This is why I have never...had...fall...*yawn*...shit... Crops. Time for more lunchtime walking or at least sunshine sitting.  

Time to get serious about My winter, which has already begun.