The Return To Innocence

Dear Friends:
If you are considering buying me stuff for Winter Holiday, please consider the following:
I don't want a Kindle or Nook or e-reader of any kind, unless it is a full tablet computer device. (I have a Kindle For PC and I am completely happy with it on my laptop.) I don't want random movies, toys, or other things you think I like; I'd rather you ask me first. I have OCD issues with receiving things unexpectedly that I might not want.
I do want things like books, gift cards to book stores like Amazon.com, or DVD box sets of Futurama. Or gift cards to stores like Sephora, The Body Shop, Ulta, Whole Foods, Roots, etcetera. I would rather be taken shopping or given access to shop, rather than be given gifts by surprise. I know that sounds weird, annoying, and complicated, but I would rather warn people now.

Now that all of that has been said, what I would absolutely love would be this:
http://www.6pm.com/ariat-fatbaby-zip-driftwood-brown-brown?zfcTest=mat%3A1
(Size 6 or 5.5)
My old Fatbaby boots are old, so more is awesome.

It has been a strange and interesting past week. Mostly because I barely remember it.

Adam has been working locally down at the Gaylord National Hotel and Convention Center in DC. But he has been home, we have slept together on consecutive nights, it is fulfilling and wonderful as always.

I returned from my appointment at the National Spine & Pain Center in Rockville. New refills. Still need the knee x-rays. Tomorrow will be physical therapy and biofeedback at MedStar NRH National Rehabilitation Network in Rockville. My first biofeedback session. I am excited and eager.

I need to pack luggage for almost two weeks. I need to count out enough of all my medications, I need to make sure my charcoal dress and opaque black tights are folded and ready. I shall bring my prettiest cane, with the best rubber handle.

On Friday, we will leave in the early morning and drive to New Jersey. We will stay with Adam's aunt, Ann, overnight. On Saturday, we will get dressed up and go to his cousin Stephanie's wedding. Adam knows and adores every single cousin, and I haven't met many. Stephanie is very sweet and kind. I'm not nervous about being a wedding guest as a cousin by marriage, but I imagine the amount of people will keep the Klonopin close. Adam has a large and geographically close family. We will see his parents, coming up from Florida, and I shall be thrilled to see them, of course, but will hold back kindly many things.
(Libby is the epitome and encyclopedic definition of Jewish Mother Stereotype. Overbearance, manipulation, martyrdom, powers of guilt trip beyond that of mortal humans. Our wedding in 2005 became her wedding, naturally. Everyone worked to the bone to keep me from shattering under the weight of Libby's machinations, manipulations, and cheerful cluelessness about my attempts to make it more pagan than Jewish. There was compromise. No mention of any god in the vows. The chuppa was adorded with flowers and non religious art. The ketuba was painted by my artists parents with pagan and nature symbols. Adam wore the tallit. We drank the wine. Oh, we drank the wine. I walked down the aisle to the theme to "The Princess Bride." The bridal party walked to Steeleye Span's "Black Swan." Our first dance was to The Waterboy's "Universal Hall", and we danced to pagan songs. I have blacked out most of it, but for the beautiful ceremony, in which Adam and I stared at each other with glazed, crazed expressions of "I love you more than eternity, let's run off screaming." But oh, the love kept us sane enough.)

After Stephanie's wedding, Adam and I shall continue driving north, to New York, to east Long Island, to the Hamptons, to Sag Harbor. We will spent the entire week of Thanksgiving with my parents. During that week, my friends Charlotte and William will come by to check on the cats and the house. From Sag Harbor, Adam and I will leave on Saturday morning after Thanksgiving.
By that time, my mother and I may have driven each other crazy enough to say "I love you to death, now goodbye before I kill you. Mwah." Mom may be an atheist, but Jewish Mother is a powerful hereditary spirit. Her thing is food. My parents live organic with tiny meals and no sweets unless hand made. No bread unless organic. Vegetables from the garden every day. A perfect way to eat, truly. For them. That is fine, that is wonderful, that is not how I live permanently. My mother grills me on my food habits, my weight, my shape, my lifestyle, my sweet tooth, my spending, my wants versus my needs. Her way of control is to keep me in a tight life of maintenance. No wonder when I was a child I would sneak chocolate and candy. See, my mother and I are the Gilmore Girls. We are best friends. And best friends clash and drive each other mad. But I have always done that with her. Push and push back. I love her, we talk on the phone every day, but, well, what's to be done about a mother and adult daughter who know that the daughter is mentally a child and that the mother desperately wants to hover over? Rhetorical question, there.

Oh, why am I writing this? Do I need to vent something? I don't know. So much pain and fatigue and itching and heat these last few days. Heat and itching spreading across my head, ears, neck, face, chest. My friend Crystal gets the same thing as a part of her fibromyalgia. And so I sigh and take antihistamine pills and vitamins and anti-inflammatory supplements.

The cats. Oh, the cats have been marvelous. Watchful, loving, endlessly begging for hugs and brushing and treats and pure love. Rose is perched on the arm of the couch now, watching me, occasionally leaning in to nuzzle my cheek. I am waiting for my nail polish to dry. Sally Hansen Nailgrowth Miracle in Natural Sienna. A deep bronze brown with gold sheen. My new favorite next to Divine Wine, Radiant Rose, Perfect Plum, Wholesome Earth, Mighty Mauve.
And my nails are long, strong. I want to feel as strong.

There is no longer spasticity from the cerebral palsy thanks to the Ultram and Soma, but the fibromyalgia flare attack still lingers. Oh, well. I can work with that.

When Adam was in Las Vegas last week, he picked me up a beautiful fake diamond pin in the shape of an S-curved dragon. She has ruby eyes, a fake pink diamond in her mouth. I could not stop staring at her, grinning, giggling "Shiny" over and over, which pleased Adam. I keep her at my bedside. I have not named her yet. I may name her something that means 'luck' or 'power' or 'strength' or 'hope'.

Oh, Sag Harbor. It stays the same. Shops and eateries and stores may die, new shops and stores may take over. But the little village is always the same.
My parents are the same. They haven't aged a day. My relationship with my mother is surprisingly more healthy than ever now that we can each admit to and discuss our faults. We are still best friends, we are still Gilmore Girls. Less neurotic now, less picky. Also, my being on an antidepressant plus an anxiolytic really helps.
Adam and I have so far stuck to two Sag Harbor visit traditions: eating mussels in white wine garlic sauce at the Corner Bar, and shopping at the organic shop Provisions. We have yet to have pizza at Conca D'Oros, which will hopefully be better than last year's greasy mess.
As always, my husband and father are bonding over stone sculpting and art, and old movies. Mom is giving me her old outfits and jackets, and reminding me to buy jeans with longer hems. Always a fashion illustrator. Hearts.
Tomorrow, our Thanksgiving dinner will be held at the Bailey's for the first time since Adam and I have been coming to Sag Harbor twelve years ago.
Also, twelve years. Holy shit. Today, in fact, is our twelfth togetherness anniversary. It is also six months since our sixth wedding anniversary. Oh, time.
I'm eating one of Mom's brownies and drinking hazelnut milk. My mother's brownies are better than any brownie I have ever had, rich and dense and made so only one small piece is needed. I am also not just saying that because she is my mother. The brownies truly are amazing.
Twelve years. Six and a half years of marriage.
I will raise my brownie to that.

Oh, Sag Harbor. It stays the same. Shops and eateries and stores may die, new shops and stores may take over. But the little village is always the same.
My parents are the same. They haven't aged a day. My relationship with my mother is surprisingly more healthy than ever now that we can each admit to and discuss our faults. We are still best friends, we are still Gilmore Girls. Less neurotic now, less picky. Also, my being on an antidepressant plus an anxiolytic really helps.
Adam and I have so far stuck to two Sag Harbor visit traditions: eating mussels in white wine garlic sauce at the Corner Bar, and shopping at the organic shop Provisions. We have yet to have pizza at Conca D'Oros, which will hopefully be better than last year's greasy mess.
As always, my husband and father are bonding over stone sculpting and art, and old movies. Mom is giving me her old outfits and jackets, and reminding me to buy jeans with longer hems. Always a fashion illustrator. Hearts.
Tomorrow, our Thanksgiving dinner will be held at the Bailey's for the first time since Adam and I have been coming to Sag Harbor twelve years ago.
Also, twelve years. Holy shit. Today, in fact, is our twelfth togetherness anniversary. It is also six months since our sixth wedding anniversary. Oh, time.
I'm eating one of Mom's brownies and drinking hazelnut milk. My mother's brownies are better than any brownie I have ever had, rich and dense and made so only one small piece is needed. I am also not just saying that because she is my mother. The brownies truly are amazing.
Twelve years. Six and a half years of marriage.
I will raise my brownie to that.

A lovely time to consider one's mortality and the possibility of deterioration.
I hope all of you are at least in good lasting health.
Also, I love my husband to the ends of the universe, the end of time, the end of me, and beyond. I wish I could tell him that there is nothing to worry about, but I admit I don't think that's true anymore.
Two holiday dinner parties down, possibly another one tomorrow, a tiny one. It would be awesome and amazing if I felt better, if I felt perfect just for one whole day. I struggled too much up a flight of steep slatted stairs today; when I shook and stumbled Adam actually asked if he needed to carry me. I blamed it on hunger and fatigue. Maybe that's all it was. And those other issues, today and yesterday and the day before, just exhaustion and lack of sufficient calories, and anxiety and cold weather. That's all. Maybe that's all it is. But the things Adam expressed concern about are turning and turning in my head. When Adam says he is very worried about something, that something is to be taken very seriously. My husband is like The Doctor. He's got that carefree nonchalant funny attitude toward life and he expresses an amazing amount of confidence and he is very good with a screwdriver, being a jack of all trades; but when something bothers him or worries him or even scares him, it's really really not good. When my husband gets worried, I feel my heart fall.
I can't start thinking about these things now. The things he wanted to talk about, things I don't know how I want to talk about. And they say "But you're so young!" Life is funny that way.
I'm going think about happy, great things now. A new "Doctor Who" Christmas special airs tonight, for example. That will be awesome. The fact that our dryer stopped working is not awesome, but the fact that we will have a new dryer soon is a very good thing. The cats are wonderful and loving and are still trying to figure out their new bubbling water fountain.

Happy Whatever Winter Holiday You Celebrate. Peace and love and joy and health and happiness.

A lovely time to consider one's mortality and the possibility of deterioration.
I hope all of you are at least in good lasting health.
Also, I love my husband to the ends of the universe, the end of time, the end of me, and beyond. I wish I could tell him that there is nothing to worry about, but I admit I don't think that's true anymore.
Two holiday dinner parties down, possibly another one tomorrow, a tiny one. It would be awesome and amazing if I felt better, if I felt perfect just for one whole day. I struggled too much up a flight of steep slatted stairs today; when I shook and stumbled Adam actually asked if he needed to carry me. I blamed it on hunger and fatigue. Maybe that's all it was. And those other issues, today and yesterday and the day before, just exhaustion and lack of sufficient calories, and anxiety and cold weather. That's all. Maybe that's all it is. But the things Adam expressed concern about are turning and turning in my head. When Adam says he is very worried about something, that something is to be taken very seriously. My husband is like The Doctor. He's got that carefree nonchalant funny attitude toward life and he expresses an amazing amount of confidence and he is very good with a screwdriver, being a jack of all trades; but when something bothers him or worries him or even scares him, it's really really not good. When my husband gets worried, I feel my heart fall.
I can't start thinking about these things now. The things he wanted to talk about, things I don't know how I want to talk about. And they say "But you're so young!" Life is funny that way.
I'm going think about happy, great things now. A new "Doctor Who" Christmas special airs tonight, for example. That will be awesome. The fact that our dryer stopped working is not awesome, but the fact that we will have a new dryer soon is a very good thing. The cats are wonderful and loving and are still trying to figure out their new bubbling water fountain.

Happy Whatever Winter Holiday You Celebrate. Peace and love and joy and health and happiness.

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

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

I saw this floating around. What the hell, why not?

My Top Ten $WINTERHOLIDAY Wishes:
1. A job. In Maryland or DC, Metro accessible. Preferably something with libraries or administrative filing or similar. I am not physically able to lift things over twenty-five pounds without stress and pain. I type sort of one-handed, but I'm very good at it. I like focusing on one task at a time. I can't drive. I can ride the DC Metro and bus system for free with my disability ID. Yes, I've gone through all the various websites for federal jobs and disability jobs.
2. A new Tarot deck, or Caroline Myss' Jungian archetype deck.
3. Fleece blankets or sweaters.
4. Infinity coupons to pet supply stores. I have three cats.
5. A day at a spa.
6. Money to pay off debts and such.
7. A gift card to one or more of the following stores: Vitamin Shoppe, Roots Market, Bark Pet Food or Trader Joe's.
8. A new body.
9. The ability to finish writing the rest of this book quickly without the stuttering brain issues. Maybe I need to find another ADD medication, alongside the gotu kola and DMAE and amino acids and meditation.
10. The energy, motivation, and pain relief needed personally to exercise hardcore. At home.