Brain Matters

Jun. 10th, 2013 12:41 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
Well, now that I've learned how to properly pronounce "Hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy" I can do more thorough research into how the brain lesions from periventricular leukomalacia damaged those particular sections of my brain.
As cerebral palsy is a static encephalopathy, yet always comes with co-morbid and co-existing disorders that are progressive, cerebral palsy can sometimes be confused with a disease that progresses. But no. The damage has already been done and cannot change. However, the extent of that damage can spawn syndromes and conditions over the years that can still cause permanent and progressive damage to the brain and the body. Which basically means that I get to smack anyone upside the head who insists that I can be completely cured. Because it's funny.

Also, this is accurate:
**
Periventricular leukomalacia (PVL) is a type of brain damage that involves the periventricular white matter of the brain. Damage to white matter results in the death and decay of injured cells, leaving empty areas in the brain — called lateral ventricles, which fill with fluid (a condition called leukomalacia).
The brain primarily consists of white matter and gray matter. Gray matter has neural cell bodies, which can initiate nerve impulses, while white matter transports impulses between gray matter cells. The periventricular white matter that surrounds two horseshoe shaped cavities in the brain is primarily responsible for the transmission of nerve impulses that control motor function. Damage in this area can result in spasticity and intellectual impairment.
Myelin is an integral component of white matter that coats and essentially insulates cell pathways, promoting speedy transmission of nerve impulses. Damage to myelin slows and impedes nerve transmission, possibly impairing brain function.
Approximately 60-100% of infants with periventricular leukomalacia are diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Four to 26% of premature infants placed in neonatal intensive care units have cerebral palsy. In severe cases, postmortem examinations have discovered that 75% of premature infants who died shortly after birth had periventricular leukomalacia.
Experts believe intrauterine infections are the underlying factor for periventricular leukomalacia. Membranes around the fetus are affected by the release of toxins, which travel through amniotic fluid to selectively injure areas of the developing brain. These toxins can also cause premature rupture of the membranes and premature birth.
**

In conclusion: Whenever someone thinks they're insulting me by telling me I am brain-damaged, I always say "Thank you! I am brain damaged! I'm impressed you noticed!" Which confuses them so much that they just stop talking altogether. And then I feel happy.

SCIENCE!
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Growing up spastic

Sep. 19th, 2012 10:52 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
All those doctors, therapists, and specialists who have told me how well I am doing with the cerebral palsy are very sweet, and they know what to look for.
But people who don't know what they're looking at sometimes get this very interesting expression on their faces and in their eyes. They can tell something is not quite right, and are often very surprised when I explain that I was born with brain damage that led to mild cerebral palsy. There is that old oft-repeated phrase "Oh, but you don't look disabled!" Or, occasionally, "Wow, your CP looks nothing like what I usually see!"
And sometimes I get tired of this or maybe slightly annoyed. I know I shouldn't. Everyone says that having mild cerebral palsy is a good thing compared to severe, and I know that. But I do wonder if people even consider the deep, deep, deep mental, psychological, emotional, neurological, and developmental scars CP has caused. The monsters may be very small, but the claws have been digging and ripping very intensely all my life.
I often have to explain myself in a simple, laughing, "Hey, I'm just stupid and I forget things" sort of way, especially when I am scolded for making a mistake that I should have known not to do. I often have to remind people that my left side really cannot handle certain tasks, and that I must rest, and that I can regularly feel the broken, dead neuromuscular connections as I do the most basic of tasks. Brushing my teeth or hair with my left hand. Picking up coins with my left hand. Picking up, well, anything with my left hand.
My left side sometimes feels ghostly. It's not numb, I just forget it's there. Oh, I will use it, it will be quite active... but I am rarely aware. It took the first ten years of my life to understand simple things like walking, running, skipping, jumping, dancing, even crawling, as well as swinging my arms when I walked. I still can't tie shoes. That doesn't matter anyway.
It is so hard for me to reach out to others with mild spastic ataxic left side hemiplegic hemiparetic cerebral palsy with hypertonia, because I don't personally know anyone with that specific combination. I try to join forums and communities to discuss all the associated physical, mental and neurological disorders left in the wake of cerebral palsy's rampage - sensory processing disorder, epilepsy, synesthesia, dysphasia, poor eyesight, muscle and tissue disorders, fibromyalgia, nerve pain, joint pain, respiratory problems, growth problems, ADHD, depression, light bladder leakage, failure to thrive, hypersensitivity, emotional and mood disorders. The list could go on.
In my childhood, no one thought to question what would happen when I grew up, because they were focusing too much on just exercising my body and teaching me mental exercises. And sometimes I wonder what would have happened if someone had decided to monitor my progression into adulthood.
My random disability thought for the day, I guess.
  • Current Mood: pensive
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I was a telepathic porcelain doll on a quantum shelf in another life in another world.

Jun. 11th, 2012 04:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was six years old, my mother bought a beautiful antique doll with thick wavy red hair, deep blue eyes, and a penetrating stare. Mom and I sat at in our tiny Brooklyn, apartment at our big kitchen table, wondering what to name the doll. After several long minutes of pure silence, I looked my mother in the eye, smiled, and said, "Why don't we name her Mary Ann?" My mother turned white and stared at me with a mixed expression of awe, disbelief, and excitement. "Annie," she said quietly, using my nickname, "how did you come up with that name?" I shrugged and said in my squeaky child voice, "I don't know, it just came to me, like it floated in my head." My mother, the skeptic atheist skeptic, composed herself and said, "Because I was thinking that exact name just before you said it out loud." I smiled very widely and said, "Oh, then I read your mind, Mommy! Isn't that fun?"
Nearly a decade later, my mother said that in the 1960s and 1970s, during the height of the New Age movements of those eras, she wished for a daughter with ESP so they could communicate telepathically. Close enough?
Also, this is probably nothing but coincidence, but when I was fifteen, my mother started painting an adult woman with wavy red hair and felt that it might be me, so she began dying my wavy chestnut hair various shades of auburn and dark red until I went to college. Before I was born, she and my father had assumed I would inherit her deep gray-blue eyes. I did inherit the penetrating stare, though.
Anyway, Mary Ann still lives at my parents' house, now in the Hamptons, surrounded by other old dolls, one of which looks exactly like me as a child, who is of course named Annie.
My mother has occasionally admitted to sensing things outside reality, and my father has long been a known psychic, although they both suppressed those skills decades ago. There may be a reason I don't buy antique dolls when I go to thrift stores. It's the eyes. We know each other too well.

  • Current Mood: weird
Tags:

I was a telepathic porcelain doll on a quantum shelf in another life in another world.

Jun. 11th, 2012 04:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was six years old, my mother bought a beautiful antique doll with thick wavy red hair, deep blue eyes, and a penetrating stare. Mom and I sat at in our tiny Brooklyn, apartment at our big kitchen table, wondering what to name the doll. After several long minutes of pure silence, I looked my mother in the eye, smiled, and said, "Why don't we name her Mary Ann?" My mother turned white and stared at me with a mixed expression of awe, disbelief, and excitement. "Annie," she said quietly, using my nickname, "how did you come up with that name?" I shrugged and said in my squeaky child voice, "I don't know, it just came to me, like it floated in my head." My mother, the skeptic atheist skeptic, composed herself and said, "Because I was thinking that exact name just before you said it out loud." I smiled very widely and said, "Oh, then I read your mind, Mommy! Isn't that fun?"
Nearly a decade later, my mother said that in the 1960s and 1970s, during the height of the New Age movements of those eras, she wished for a daughter with ESP so they could communicate telepathically. Close enough?
Also, this is probably nothing but coincidence, but when I was fifteen, my mother started painting an adult woman with wavy red hair and felt that it might be me, so she began dying my wavy chestnut hair various shades of auburn and dark red until I went to college. Before I was born, she and my father had assumed I would inherit her deep gray-blue eyes. I did inherit the penetrating stare, though.
Anyway, Mary Ann still lives at my parents' house, now in the Hamptons, surrounded by other old dolls, one of which looks exactly like me as a child, who is of course named Annie.
My mother has occasionally admitted to sensing things outside reality, and my father has long been a known psychic, although they both suppressed those skills decades ago. There may be a reason I don't buy antique dolls when I go to thrift stores. It's the eyes. We know each other too well.

  • Current Mood: weird
Tags:

I was a telepathic porcelain doll on a quantum shelf in another life in another world.

Jun. 11th, 2012 04:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was six years old, my mother bought a beautiful antique doll with thick wavy red hair, deep blue eyes, and a penetrating stare. Mom and I sat at in our tiny Brooklyn, apartment at our big kitchen table, wondering what to name the doll. After several long minutes of pure silence, I looked my mother in the eye, smiled, and said, "Why don't we name her Mary Ann?" My mother turned white and stared at me with a mixed expression of awe, disbelief, and excitement. "Annie," she said quietly, using my nickname, "how did you come up with that name?" I shrugged and said in my squeaky child voice, "I don't know, it just came to me, like it floated in my head." My mother, the skeptic atheist skeptic, composed herself and said, "Because I was thinking that exact name just before you said it out loud." I smiled very widely and said, "Oh, then I read your mind, Mommy! Isn't that fun?"
Nearly a decade later, my mother said that in the 1960s and 1970s, during the height of the New Age movements of those eras, she wished for a daughter with ESP so they could communicate telepathically. Close enough?
Also, this is probably nothing but coincidence, but when I was fifteen, my mother started painting an adult woman with wavy red hair and felt that it might be me, so she began dying my wavy chestnut hair various shades of auburn and dark red until I went to college. Before I was born, she and my father had assumed I would inherit her deep gray-blue eyes. I did inherit the penetrating stare, though.
Anyway, Mary Ann still lives at my parents' house, now in the Hamptons, surrounded by other old dolls, one of which looks exactly like me as a child, who is of course named Annie.
My mother has occasionally admitted to sensing things outside reality, and my father has long been a known psychic, although they both suppressed those skills decades ago. There may be a reason I don't buy antique dolls when I go to thrift stores. It's the eyes. We know each other too well.

  • Current Mood: weird
Tags:

I was a telepathic porcelain doll on a quantum shelf in another life in another world.

Jun. 11th, 2012 04:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was six years old, my mother bought a beautiful antique doll with thick wavy red hair, deep blue eyes, and a penetrating stare. Mom and I sat at in our tiny Brooklyn, apartment at our big kitchen table, wondering what to name the doll. After several long minutes of pure silence, I looked my mother in the eye, smiled, and said, "Why don't we name her Mary Ann?" My mother turned white and stared at me with a mixed expression of awe, disbelief, and excitement. "Annie," she said quietly, using my nickname, "how did you come up with that name?" I shrugged and said in my squeaky child voice, "I don't know, it just came to me, like it floated in my head." My mother, the skeptic atheist skeptic, composed herself and said, "Because I was thinking that exact name just before you said it out loud." I smiled very widely and said, "Oh, then I read your mind, Mommy! Isn't that fun?"
Nearly a decade later, my mother said that in the 1960s and 1970s, during the height of the New Age movements of those eras, she wished for a daughter with ESP so they could communicate telepathically. Close enough?
Also, this is probably nothing but coincidence, but when I was fifteen, my mother started painting an adult woman with wavy red hair and felt that it might be me, so she began dying my wavy chestnut hair various shades of auburn and dark red until I went to college. Before I was born, she and my father had assumed I would inherit her deep gray-blue eyes. I did inherit the penetrating stare, though.
Anyway, Mary Ann still lives at my parents' house, now in the Hamptons, surrounded by other old dolls, one of which looks exactly like me as a child, who is of course named Annie.
My mother has occasionally admitted to sensing things outside reality, and my father has long been a known psychic, although they both suppressed those skills decades ago. There may be a reason I don't buy antique dolls when I go to thrift stores. It's the eyes. We know each other too well.

  • Current Mood: weird
Tags:

When someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes.

Dec. 24th, 2010 12:34 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Going to expand on something I said to a friend in my last post.

"Of course, by the time I was seven I knew my parents and other people bought all my presents, but I decided to see Santa Claus as a mythological demi-god who approved of humans giving gifts (I was obsessed with Greek mythology for a while as a kid)."

I had nearly forgotten about all that.
So, I have always known that Christmas, as a Christian holiday, was not a thing I wanted to take part of. When I was a very small child, my atheist parents took me to a wedding in a huge church, and at some point I found myself faced with a giant wall hanging of the cruxifiction of Jesus, merrily painted in bold colors, with the man's eyes bulging out; it was rather horrific. Mom quickly grabbed me away and explained the whole thing in a respectful secular way, and I found myself comforted by the thought that, "Oh so they're like the Ancient Greeks, only with weirder crazier rules, and with only one God."
See, I was having an obsession with Greek mythology. All world mythology, really, but I really latched on to the Greek stuff.
Backstory: One day in school, some classmates asked me what my religion was. I blinked that them a few times and said "I don't know." They asked if I believed in God. I said, "Which one?" And they got kind of upset and huffy and grumbled, "Well, the only one! The real God!" And that got me all confused and thinking. I went home and asked my mother, "Hey, Mom, what religion are we?" She said, "Well, my family is Jewish and Daddy's family is Catholic, but Daddy and I are not religious. I'm atheist and he's agnostic. That means that I don't believe in any god, and Daddy isn't sure if any gods exist or not. You can pick any religion you want, or not." And then she hauled out a giant heavy book titled "World Mythology and Religions" and plunked it down on the dining room table.
I devoured that tome. And I don't know why, but the Greek myths grabbed my attention the most.
So. Then.
I decided to be agnostic. Later on, my father would reveal that as a young man he was naturally psychic. He had a talent for precognition and clairvoyance and an amazing thing with Tarot cards. He would give me his old beloved Tarot deck, and the energy radiating off that deck was epic. Mom would later reveal that she had a few abilities herself. This was actually after I decided to become pagan. Eclectic pagan, actually. Polytheistic. Also, I was having dreams and things.
So. Then.
Back to Santa Claus.
Long before I was pagan, long before I was agnostic, long before I understood all the different religions, I believed that Santa Claus was a demi-god of giving and sharing. That he gained power when humans would buy presents for each other, help out those in need, etc. I decided that Christmas was just some random Christian holiday that got stuck on after some pagan ones, and after some research I decided to see what Sol Invictus was about. Sol Invictus sounded awesome. And hey, Roman history.
Much later, I would decide that the best way to celebrate the winter festival on or around the solstice that heralded the Death and Birth of Various Sun Gods would be to throw a bunch of parties, put up lots of lights, make a lot of food, pass around a lot of toys, and be nice to plants. The logic behind this was the following. Celebrating the fact that we made it through all those long dark nights. Feasting maniacally, because hey, food, we're here to enjoy. Lighting up the whole damn neighborhood because, well, it's extremely dark outside. Toys because some of our loved ones may have needed stuff, so we were nice and sharing and got them their stuff just in case they couldn't, and hey, the various Sun Gods would have done the same. Plants, because any plant that stayed green during the long harsh dark winters deserved some mad respect, so let's dress all our plants up and be grateful they help give us oxygen. Also, more pretty things to look at while it's cold and dark and miserable outside. And all those various Sun Gods and that one demi-god of giving and sharing would be happy and smiling with us, because dude, it's a party. Have some beer.
And then I learned who Santa Claus actually was, or rather all the theories, especially the one with Odin, and I thought, "Well, okay, I was kind of right, maybe."

http://therealtemple.blogspot.com/2008/11/saint-nicholas-truth-behind-santa-claus.html
http://www.mysticvoodoo.com/santa-claus.htm
http://www.economicexpert.com/a/Tomte.htm
http://www.tasteoftx.com/holidays/xmas/santa.html
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2106196.Santa_Claus_Last_of_the_Wild_Men
http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/The+History+of+Santa+Claus
http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/noel/angl/cultes.htm
  • Current Mood: cheerful
Tags:

When someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes.

Dec. 24th, 2010 12:34 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Going to expand on something I said to a friend in my last post.

"Of course, by the time I was seven I knew my parents and other people bought all my presents, but I decided to see Santa Claus as a mythological demi-god who approved of humans giving gifts (I was obsessed with Greek mythology for a while as a kid)."

I had nearly forgotten about all that.
So, I have always known that Christmas, as a Christian holiday, was not a thing I wanted to take part of. When I was a very small child, my atheist parents took me to a wedding in a huge church, and at some point I found myself faced with a giant wall hanging of the cruxifiction of Jesus, merrily painted in bold colors, with the man's eyes bulging out; it was rather horrific. Mom quickly grabbed me away and explained the whole thing in a respectful secular way, and I found myself comforted by the thought that, "Oh so they're like the Ancient Greeks, only with weirder crazier rules, and with only one God."
See, I was having an obsession with Greek mythology. All world mythology, really, but I really latched on to the Greek stuff.
Backstory: One day in school, some classmates asked me what my religion was. I blinked that them a few times and said "I don't know." They asked if I believed in God. I said, "Which one?" And they got kind of upset and huffy and grumbled, "Well, the only one! The real God!" And that got me all confused and thinking. I went home and asked my mother, "Hey, Mom, what religion are we?" She said, "Well, my family is Jewish and Daddy's family is Catholic, but Daddy and I are not religious. I'm atheist and he's agnostic. That means that I don't believe in any god, and Daddy isn't sure if any gods exist or not. You can pick any religion you want, or not." And then she hauled out a giant heavy book titled "World Mythology and Religions" and plunked it down on the dining room table.
I devoured that tome. And I don't know why, but the Greek myths grabbed my attention the most.
So. Then.
I decided to be agnostic. Later on, my father would reveal that as a young man he was naturally psychic. He had a talent for precognition and clairvoyance and an amazing thing with Tarot cards. He would give me his old beloved Tarot deck, and the energy radiating off that deck was epic. Mom would later reveal that she had a few abilities herself. This was actually after I decided to become pagan. Eclectic pagan, actually. Polytheistic. Also, I was having dreams and things.
So. Then.
Back to Santa Claus.
Long before I was pagan, long before I was agnostic, long before I understood all the different religions, I believed that Santa Claus was a demi-god of giving and sharing. That he gained power when humans would buy presents for each other, help out those in need, etc. I decided that Christmas was just some random Christian holiday that got stuck on after some pagan ones, and after some research I decided to see what Sol Invictus was about. Sol Invictus sounded awesome. And hey, Roman history.
Much later, I would decide that the best way to celebrate the winter festival on or around the solstice that heralded the Death and Birth of Various Sun Gods would be to throw a bunch of parties, put up lots of lights, make a lot of food, pass around a lot of toys, and be nice to plants. The logic behind this was the following. Celebrating the fact that we made it through all those long dark nights. Feasting maniacally, because hey, food, we're here to enjoy. Lighting up the whole damn neighborhood because, well, it's extremely dark outside. Toys because some of our loved ones may have needed stuff, so we were nice and sharing and got them their stuff just in case they couldn't, and hey, the various Sun Gods would have done the same. Plants, because any plant that stayed green during the long harsh dark winters deserved some mad respect, so let's dress all our plants up and be grateful they help give us oxygen. Also, more pretty things to look at while it's cold and dark and miserable outside. And all those various Sun Gods and that one demi-god of giving and sharing would be happy and smiling with us, because dude, it's a party. Have some beer.
And then I learned who Santa Claus actually was, or rather all the theories, especially the one with Odin, and I thought, "Well, okay, I was kind of right, maybe."

http://therealtemple.blogspot.com/2008/11/saint-nicholas-truth-behind-santa-claus.html
http://www.mysticvoodoo.com/santa-claus.htm
http://www.economicexpert.com/a/Tomte.htm
http://www.tasteoftx.com/holidays/xmas/santa.html
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2106196.Santa_Claus_Last_of_the_Wild_Men
http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/The+History+of+Santa+Claus
http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/noel/angl/cultes.htm
  • Current Mood: cheerful
Tags:

When someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes.

Dec. 24th, 2010 12:34 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Going to expand on something I said to a friend in my last post.

"Of course, by the time I was seven I knew my parents and other people bought all my presents, but I decided to see Santa Claus as a mythological demi-god who approved of humans giving gifts (I was obsessed with Greek mythology for a while as a kid)."

I had nearly forgotten about all that.
So, I have always known that Christmas, as a Christian holiday, was not a thing I wanted to take part of. When I was a very small child, my atheist parents took me to a wedding in a huge church, and at some point I found myself faced with a giant wall hanging of the cruxifiction of Jesus, merrily painted in bold colors, with the man's eyes bulging out; it was rather horrific. Mom quickly grabbed me away and explained the whole thing in a respectful secular way, and I found myself comforted by the thought that, "Oh so they're like the Ancient Greeks, only with weirder crazier rules, and with only one God."
See, I was having an obsession with Greek mythology. All world mythology, really, but I really latched on to the Greek stuff.
Backstory: One day in school, some classmates asked me what my religion was. I blinked that them a few times and said "I don't know." They asked if I believed in God. I said, "Which one?" And they got kind of upset and huffy and grumbled, "Well, the only one! The real God!" And that got me all confused and thinking. I went home and asked my mother, "Hey, Mom, what religion are we?" She said, "Well, my family is Jewish and Daddy's family is Catholic, but Daddy and I are not religious. I'm atheist and he's agnostic. That means that I don't believe in any god, and Daddy isn't sure if any gods exist or not. You can pick any religion you want, or not." And then she hauled out a giant heavy book titled "World Mythology and Religions" and plunked it down on the dining room table.
I devoured that tome. And I don't know why, but the Greek myths grabbed my attention the most.
So. Then.
I decided to be agnostic. Later on, my father would reveal that as a young man he was naturally psychic. He had a talent for precognition and clairvoyance and an amazing thing with Tarot cards. He would give me his old beloved Tarot deck, and the energy radiating off that deck was epic. Mom would later reveal that she had a few abilities herself. This was actually after I decided to become pagan. Eclectic pagan, actually. Polytheistic. Also, I was having dreams and things.
So. Then.
Back to Santa Claus.
Long before I was pagan, long before I was agnostic, long before I understood all the different religions, I believed that Santa Claus was a demi-god of giving and sharing. That he gained power when humans would buy presents for each other, help out those in need, etc. I decided that Christmas was just some random Christian holiday that got stuck on after some pagan ones, and after some research I decided to see what Sol Invictus was about. Sol Invictus sounded awesome. And hey, Roman history.
Much later, I would decide that the best way to celebrate the winter festival on or around the solstice that heralded the Death and Birth of Various Sun Gods would be to throw a bunch of parties, put up lots of lights, make a lot of food, pass around a lot of toys, and be nice to plants. The logic behind this was the following. Celebrating the fact that we made it through all those long dark nights. Feasting maniacally, because hey, food, we're here to enjoy. Lighting up the whole damn neighborhood because, well, it's extremely dark outside. Toys because some of our loved ones may have needed stuff, so we were nice and sharing and got them their stuff just in case they couldn't, and hey, the various Sun Gods would have done the same. Plants, because any plant that stayed green during the long harsh dark winters deserved some mad respect, so let's dress all our plants up and be grateful they help give us oxygen. Also, more pretty things to look at while it's cold and dark and miserable outside. And all those various Sun Gods and that one demi-god of giving and sharing would be happy and smiling with us, because dude, it's a party. Have some beer.
And then I learned who Santa Claus actually was, or rather all the theories, especially the one with Odin, and I thought, "Well, okay, I was kind of right, maybe."

http://therealtemple.blogspot.com/2008/11/saint-nicholas-truth-behind-santa-claus.html
http://www.mysticvoodoo.com/santa-claus.htm
http://www.economicexpert.com/a/Tomte.htm
http://www.tasteoftx.com/holidays/xmas/santa.html
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2106196.Santa_Claus_Last_of_the_Wild_Men
http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/The+History+of+Santa+Claus
http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/noel/angl/cultes.htm
  • Current Mood: cheerful
Tags:

When someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes.

Dec. 24th, 2010 12:34 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Going to expand on something I said to a friend in my last post.

"Of course, by the time I was seven I knew my parents and other people bought all my presents, but I decided to see Santa Claus as a mythological demi-god who approved of humans giving gifts (I was obsessed with Greek mythology for a while as a kid)."

I had nearly forgotten about all that.
So, I have always known that Christmas, as a Christian holiday, was not a thing I wanted to take part of. When I was a very small child, my atheist parents took me to a wedding in a huge church, and at some point I found myself faced with a giant wall hanging of the cruxifiction of Jesus, merrily painted in bold colors, with the man's eyes bulging out; it was rather horrific. Mom quickly grabbed me away and explained the whole thing in a respectful secular way, and I found myself comforted by the thought that, "Oh so they're like the Ancient Greeks, only with weirder crazier rules, and with only one God."
See, I was having an obsession with Greek mythology. All world mythology, really, but I really latched on to the Greek stuff.
Backstory: One day in school, some classmates asked me what my religion was. I blinked that them a few times and said "I don't know." They asked if I believed in God. I said, "Which one?" And they got kind of upset and huffy and grumbled, "Well, the only one! The real God!" And that got me all confused and thinking. I went home and asked my mother, "Hey, Mom, what religion are we?" She said, "Well, my family is Jewish and Daddy's family is Catholic, but Daddy and I are not religious. I'm atheist and he's agnostic. That means that I don't believe in any god, and Daddy isn't sure if any gods exist or not. You can pick any religion you want, or not." And then she hauled out a giant heavy book titled "World Mythology and Religions" and plunked it down on the dining room table.
I devoured that tome. And I don't know why, but the Greek myths grabbed my attention the most.
So. Then.
I decided to be agnostic. Later on, my father would reveal that as a young man he was naturally psychic. He had a talent for precognition and clairvoyance and an amazing thing with Tarot cards. He would give me his old beloved Tarot deck, and the energy radiating off that deck was epic. Mom would later reveal that she had a few abilities herself. This was actually after I decided to become pagan. Eclectic pagan, actually. Polytheistic. Also, I was having dreams and things.
So. Then.
Back to Santa Claus.
Long before I was pagan, long before I was agnostic, long before I understood all the different religions, I believed that Santa Claus was a demi-god of giving and sharing. That he gained power when humans would buy presents for each other, help out those in need, etc. I decided that Christmas was just some random Christian holiday that got stuck on after some pagan ones, and after some research I decided to see what Sol Invictus was about. Sol Invictus sounded awesome. And hey, Roman history.
Much later, I would decide that the best way to celebrate the winter festival on or around the solstice that heralded the Death and Birth of Various Sun Gods would be to throw a bunch of parties, put up lots of lights, make a lot of food, pass around a lot of toys, and be nice to plants. The logic behind this was the following. Celebrating the fact that we made it through all those long dark nights. Feasting maniacally, because hey, food, we're here to enjoy. Lighting up the whole damn neighborhood because, well, it's extremely dark outside. Toys because some of our loved ones may have needed stuff, so we were nice and sharing and got them their stuff just in case they couldn't, and hey, the various Sun Gods would have done the same. Plants, because any plant that stayed green during the long harsh dark winters deserved some mad respect, so let's dress all our plants up and be grateful they help give us oxygen. Also, more pretty things to look at while it's cold and dark and miserable outside. And all those various Sun Gods and that one demi-god of giving and sharing would be happy and smiling with us, because dude, it's a party. Have some beer.
And then I learned who Santa Claus actually was, or rather all the theories, especially the one with Odin, and I thought, "Well, okay, I was kind of right, maybe."

http://therealtemple.blogspot.com/2008/11/saint-nicholas-truth-behind-santa-claus.html
http://www.mysticvoodoo.com/santa-claus.htm
http://www.economicexpert.com/a/Tomte.htm
http://www.tasteoftx.com/holidays/xmas/santa.html
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2106196.Santa_Claus_Last_of_the_Wild_Men
http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/The+History+of+Santa+Claus
http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/noel/angl/cultes.htm
  • Current Mood: cheerful
Tags:

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.

Feb. 5th, 2010 06:42 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Husband has made it home. Cats are being snuggly. I have finished my Rich Chocolate Ovaltine Maple Honey Mocha. The snow is sticking. Shoveling is imminent. I can only hope that my little neighborhood's streets get plowed decently tomorrow, unlike last time.

Anxieties have flared up for no real reason. They really need to stop.

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.
This is still not as bad as the snow storms my childhood in New York (Brooklyn/Manhattan and The Hamptons). Maryland newscasters are calling this one of the top storms of all time. I am flashing back to the Long Island NY snowstorms of 1985, 1989, 1996, and 2001. Augh.
I remember when I was six during the 1985 storm, playing in the backyard of the apartment complex in Brooklyn, sunk so deep into snow that my father had to lift and carry me several times. Our Siberian husky, Nico, left the most beautiful paw prints as she bounded across all that snow.
I don't miss that snow. I don't want the snow now. I don't like snow. But it is here, and I will go and shovel it.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.

Feb. 5th, 2010 06:42 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Husband has made it home. Cats are being snuggly. I have finished my Rich Chocolate Ovaltine Maple Honey Mocha. The snow is sticking. Shoveling is imminent. I can only hope that my little neighborhood's streets get plowed decently tomorrow, unlike last time.

Anxieties have flared up for no real reason. They really need to stop.

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.
This is still not as bad as the snow storms my childhood in New York (Brooklyn/Manhattan and The Hamptons). Maryland newscasters are calling this one of the top storms of all time. I am flashing back to the Long Island NY snowstorms of 1985, 1989, 1996, and 2001. Augh.
I remember when I was six during the 1985 storm, playing in the backyard of the apartment complex in Brooklyn, sunk so deep into snow that my father had to lift and carry me several times. Our Siberian husky, Nico, left the most beautiful paw prints as she bounded across all that snow.
I don't miss that snow. I don't want the snow now. I don't like snow. But it is here, and I will go and shovel it.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.

Feb. 5th, 2010 06:42 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Husband has made it home. Cats are being snuggly. I have finished my Rich Chocolate Ovaltine Maple Honey Mocha. The snow is sticking. Shoveling is imminent. I can only hope that my little neighborhood's streets get plowed decently tomorrow, unlike last time.

Anxieties have flared up for no real reason. They really need to stop.

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.
This is still not as bad as the snow storms my childhood in New York (Brooklyn/Manhattan and The Hamptons). Maryland newscasters are calling this one of the top storms of all time. I am flashing back to the Long Island NY snowstorms of 1985, 1989, 1996, and 2001. Augh.
I remember when I was six during the 1985 storm, playing in the backyard of the apartment complex in Brooklyn, sunk so deep into snow that my father had to lift and carry me several times. Our Siberian husky, Nico, left the most beautiful paw prints as she bounded across all that snow.
I don't miss that snow. I don't want the snow now. I don't like snow. But it is here, and I will go and shovel it.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.

Feb. 5th, 2010 06:42 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Husband has made it home. Cats are being snuggly. I have finished my Rich Chocolate Ovaltine Maple Honey Mocha. The snow is sticking. Shoveling is imminent. I can only hope that my little neighborhood's streets get plowed decently tomorrow, unlike last time.

Anxieties have flared up for no real reason. They really need to stop.

Oh, snow. Snow everywhere.
This is still not as bad as the snow storms my childhood in New York (Brooklyn/Manhattan and The Hamptons). Maryland newscasters are calling this one of the top storms of all time. I am flashing back to the Long Island NY snowstorms of 1985, 1989, 1996, and 2001. Augh.
I remember when I was six during the 1985 storm, playing in the backyard of the apartment complex in Brooklyn, sunk so deep into snow that my father had to lift and carry me several times. Our Siberian husky, Nico, left the most beautiful paw prints as she bounded across all that snow.
I don't miss that snow. I don't want the snow now. I don't like snow. But it is here, and I will go and shovel it.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

...and then, it started to rain

May. 9th, 2008 11:11 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was growing up, in 1980s Brooklyn, NY, there wasn't a whole lot of entertainment outside of my imagination. Our apartment was tiny, and luckily we had a huge backyard with trees and gardens, and my father was the superintendent of all three connected apartment buildings (Quentin Road on Kings Highway), and I was the only child in all three buildings, so I got to come and go in that yard as I pleased. All the neighbors knew my parents as artists who painted murals on local buildings, and they all babysat me at one point or another. My television watching was limited to Saturday mornings and movies I watched with my parents. I had books. I had lots of books. My parents read to me every single night, sitting on my bed surrounded by stuffed animals (I refused to sleep without every single stuffed animal with me; my bed was against a wall and that wall was lined with toys). When I got old enough to read with them -- at age three -- it became a game. Dad or Mom would read one chapter, I'd read the next (We had a lot of fun with Dragonworld, which was nearly 600 pages of epic fantasy, and I was six years old). We played lots of games. One of those games was modified by my cousin Luciano, son of my oldest uncle Luciano. I was still the baby of the family. Cousin Luciano would visit or we'd visit him and his wife, Wendy, a famous entertainer. While Wendy made me hats and costumes out of paper plates, we'd all sit around telling "And Then..." stories. Someone would start out with a story, and after a certain point, would turn to the next person and say, "And then..." and the new storyteller would pick up with "and then..." and continue the story. Cousin Luciano and Wendy started the idea of interjecting into every story the line "And then... it started to rain. And it rained, and it rained, and it rained." No matter what the story was about (and it was usually fantasy, because I was obsessed with unicorns and dragons and faeries), at one point or another, someone would start with the rain. It always rained.
I didn't need television, really, because of the "And Then..." stories. I miss that.

Last night, storm clouds piled on top of one another, trying to blot out the sun.
And then... it started to rain.
And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.
I was alone in the house, with the cats. Lightning makes me nervous and paranoid, although rationally I know I shouldn't panic so much during rainstorms, because the rain would put out any fires. But I'm paranoid about fire. Thankfully, Adam shares this paranoia, which is why there is a long, thick rope tied to our bedroom window, and why Adam eventually wants to build a sort of fire escape. Meanwhile, all I think about is how to get the cats out that window safely.
As thunder crashed and lightning flashed and rain lashed, I sat up in bed unable to sleep. Jupiter hopped up onto the bed, with a plastic bottle cap in his mouth, asking to play fetch. I played with him for a bit, until he settled down by my feet and curled up. A few minutes later, Luna came into the room, jumped onto the bed, walked onto my chest, nuzzled my face, and settled down next to Jupiter, curling up against him. I finally managed to fall asleep just before midnight.
And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.
Still raining.

It's raining in Brooklyn too. I wonder how Luciano and Wendy are doing.
  • Current Mood: nostalgic
  • Current Location: work
Tags:

...and then, it started to rain

May. 9th, 2008 11:11 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was growing up, in 1980s Brooklyn, NY, there wasn't a whole lot of entertainment outside of my imagination. Our apartment was tiny, and luckily we had a huge backyard with trees and gardens, and my father was the superintendent of all three connected apartment buildings (Quentin Road on Kings Highway), and I was the only child in all three buildings, so I got to come and go in that yard as I pleased. All the neighbors knew my parents as artists who painted murals on local buildings, and they all babysat me at one point or another. My television watching was limited to Saturday mornings and movies I watched with my parents. I had books. I had lots of books. My parents read to me every single night, sitting on my bed surrounded by stuffed animals (I refused to sleep without every single stuffed animal with me; my bed was against a wall and that wall was lined with toys). When I got old enough to read with them -- at age three -- it became a game. Dad or Mom would read one chapter, I'd read the next (We had a lot of fun with Dragonworld, which was nearly 600 pages of epic fantasy, and I was six years old). We played lots of games. One of those games was modified by my cousin Luciano, son of my oldest uncle Luciano. I was still the baby of the family. Cousin Luciano would visit or we'd visit him and his wife, Wendy, a famous entertainer. While Wendy made me hats and costumes out of paper plates, we'd all sit around telling "And Then..." stories. Someone would start out with a story, and after a certain point, would turn to the next person and say, "And then..." and the new storyteller would pick up with "and then..." and continue the story. Cousin Luciano and Wendy started the idea of interjecting into every story the line "And then... it started to rain. And it rained, and it rained, and it rained." No matter what the story was about (and it was usually fantasy, because I was obsessed with unicorns and dragons and faeries), at one point or another, someone would start with the rain. It always rained.
I didn't need television, really, because of the "And Then..." stories. I miss that.

Last night, storm clouds piled on top of one another, trying to blot out the sun.
And then... it started to rain.
And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.
I was alone in the house, with the cats. Lightning makes me nervous and paranoid, although rationally I know I shouldn't panic so much during rainstorms, because the rain would put out any fires. But I'm paranoid about fire. Thankfully, Adam shares this paranoia, which is why there is a long, thick rope tied to our bedroom window, and why Adam eventually wants to build a sort of fire escape. Meanwhile, all I think about is how to get the cats out that window safely.
As thunder crashed and lightning flashed and rain lashed, I sat up in bed unable to sleep. Jupiter hopped up onto the bed, with a plastic bottle cap in his mouth, asking to play fetch. I played with him for a bit, until he settled down by my feet and curled up. A few minutes later, Luna came into the room, jumped onto the bed, walked onto my chest, nuzzled my face, and settled down next to Jupiter, curling up against him. I finally managed to fall asleep just before midnight.
And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.
Still raining.

It's raining in Brooklyn too. I wonder how Luciano and Wendy are doing.
  • Current Mood: nostalgic
  • Current Location: work
Tags:

...and then, it started to rain

May. 9th, 2008 11:11 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
When I was growing up, in 1980s Brooklyn, NY, there wasn't a whole lot of entertainment outside of my imagination. Our apartment was tiny, and luckily we had a huge backyard with trees and gardens, and my father was the superintendent of all three connected apartment buildings (Quentin Road on Kings Highway), and I was the only child in all three buildings, so I got to come and go in that yard as I pleased. All the neighbors knew my parents as artists who painted murals on local buildings, and they all babysat me at one point or another. My television watching was limited to Saturday mornings and movies I watched with my parents. I had books. I had lots of books. My parents read to me every single night, sitting on my bed surrounded by stuffed animals (I refused to sleep without every single stuffed animal with me; my bed was against a wall and that wall was lined with toys). When I got old enough to read with them -- at age three -- it became a game. Dad or Mom would read one chapter, I'd read the next (We had a lot of fun with Dragonworld, which was nearly 600 pages of epic fantasy, and I was six years old). We played lots of games. One of those games was modified by my cousin Luciano, son of my oldest uncle Luciano. I was still the baby of the family. Cousin Luciano would visit or we'd visit him and his wife, Wendy, a famous entertainer. While Wendy made me hats and costumes out of paper plates, we'd all sit around telling "And Then..." stories. Someone would start out with a story, and after a certain point, would turn to the next person and say, "And then..." and the new storyteller would pick up with "and then..." and continue the story. Cousin Luciano and Wendy started the idea of interjecting into every story the line "And then... it started to rain. And it rained, and it rained, and it rained." No matter what the story was about (and it was usually fantasy, because I was obsessed with unicorns and dragons and faeries), at one point or another, someone would start with the rain. It always rained.
I didn't need television, really, because of the "And Then..." stories. I miss that.

Last night, storm clouds piled on top of one another, trying to blot out the sun.
And then... it started to rain.
And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.
I was alone in the house, with the cats. Lightning makes me nervous and paranoid, although rationally I know I shouldn't panic so much during rainstorms, because the rain would put out any fires. But I'm paranoid about fire. Thankfully, Adam shares this paranoia, which is why there is a long, thick rope tied to our bedroom window, and why Adam eventually wants to build a sort of fire escape. Meanwhile, all I think about is how to get the cats out that window safely.
As thunder crashed and lightning flashed and rain lashed, I sat up in bed unable to sleep. Jupiter hopped up onto the bed, with a plastic bottle cap in his mouth, asking to play fetch. I played with him for a bit, until he settled down by my feet and curled up. A few minutes later, Luna came into the room, jumped onto the bed, walked onto my chest, nuzzled my face, and settled down next to Jupiter, curling up against him. I finally managed to fall asleep just before midnight.
And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.
Still raining.

It's raining in Brooklyn too. I wonder how Luciano and Wendy are doing.
  • Current Mood: nostalgic
  • Current Location: work
Tags:

Flight of Years

May. 6th, 2008 03:47 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Last night, Adam and I made brownies and ate them while watching "The Flight Of Dragons," which is one of my favorite movies ever. When I was a kid, I copied it on a blank VHS cassette and watched that tape to death. I did that with all my favorite 1980s fantasy movies (The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, Legend, The Last Unicorn). Now we can just download movies. VHS to Bittorrent in what feels like a blink, sometimes. Sometimes the speed at which technology moves frightens me, especially how readily the current generation has adapted. But that's true of every generation.
I still get a thrill out of seeing VHS cassettes, really. And anything from the 1980s. Wait, not everything. Certain things. Not fashion. Just televsion. And movies. And music. My parents still own a VHS player and all their old tapes, plus an old record player.

Damn. Those years. It all flies by.

Adam will be flying to LAX in California, where he will make the transfer to fly to Vancouver. He'll try and call me from Los Angeles, because with the three hour time difference, I may already be asleep by the time he actually gets to Canada.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

Flight of Years

May. 6th, 2008 03:47 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Last night, Adam and I made brownies and ate them while watching "The Flight Of Dragons," which is one of my favorite movies ever. When I was a kid, I copied it on a blank VHS cassette and watched that tape to death. I did that with all my favorite 1980s fantasy movies (The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, Legend, The Last Unicorn). Now we can just download movies. VHS to Bittorrent in what feels like a blink, sometimes. Sometimes the speed at which technology moves frightens me, especially how readily the current generation has adapted. But that's true of every generation.
I still get a thrill out of seeing VHS cassettes, really. And anything from the 1980s. Wait, not everything. Certain things. Not fashion. Just televsion. And movies. And music. My parents still own a VHS player and all their old tapes, plus an old record player.

Damn. Those years. It all flies by.

Adam will be flying to LAX in California, where he will make the transfer to fly to Vancouver. He'll try and call me from Los Angeles, because with the three hour time difference, I may already be asleep by the time he actually gets to Canada.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

Flight of Years

May. 6th, 2008 03:47 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Last night, Adam and I made brownies and ate them while watching "The Flight Of Dragons," which is one of my favorite movies ever. When I was a kid, I copied it on a blank VHS cassette and watched that tape to death. I did that with all my favorite 1980s fantasy movies (The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, Legend, The Last Unicorn). Now we can just download movies. VHS to Bittorrent in what feels like a blink, sometimes. Sometimes the speed at which technology moves frightens me, especially how readily the current generation has adapted. But that's true of every generation.
I still get a thrill out of seeing VHS cassettes, really. And anything from the 1980s. Wait, not everything. Certain things. Not fashion. Just televsion. And movies. And music. My parents still own a VHS player and all their old tapes, plus an old record player.

Damn. Those years. It all flies by.

Adam will be flying to LAX in California, where he will make the transfer to fly to Vancouver. He'll try and call me from Los Angeles, because with the three hour time difference, I may already be asleep by the time he actually gets to Canada.
  • Current Mood: okay
Tags:

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