Ravin' at Mabon

Time seems to fly these days. Lammas is barely over and here we come to the Autumnal Equinox, the start of Harvest, or Mabon. This is the celebration of equal night and equal day, heading into the season of the God (which really begins at Samhain – Halloween for you “normals” out there).

 

In times past, I would be holding Circle, either here at home or in Red Bank, NJ. I would have soaked the wheat in preparation of making the corn dollies that mark our particular observance of this turn of the Wheel. We would buy wheat at a craft store, purchase ribbon and thread, soak the wheat, dry the wheat, lug everything up a hill or out by the altar, do the ritual portion of our observance, then settle down to lead everyone in the braiding of the wheat. The resulting “corn” dollies would hold the spirit of fertility during the course of Winter – or fallow months. Traditionally, the corn dollies would be plowed back into the earth when the fields were prepared for planting during the Spring.

 

Yeah. That's what usually happens... but not this year. My Anam Cara is in rehab after having knee replacement surgery. I'm still tooling around the house on my knee walker. There is no one to buy the wheat, and no tub in which to soak it even if we have some. (While I was was at rehab earlier this year, my siblings had my tub removed and replaced with a step-in shower.) No one is capable of climbing a hill any longer, or hauling vats of supplies through the darkness up to a Circle site.

Me and mine have been called part of the Old Wiccan Vanguard... emphasis on the old.

Meh.

So in celebration of the Equinox, I shall consume a wheat muffin with creamed pumpkin spice honey, update this blog, and welcome my nephew, later this evening, for a viewing of “Camel Spiders”. Bad movie night lives!

I have gotten word that my shoe and brace are completed. The tech is coming Tuesday for a fitting, so things are coming along. This is the scary time – when the ankle will be put to the test. If it doesn't hold up, then it's game over. I will loose the leg. So, everybody, keep the good thoughts coming and continue thinking “Biped, biped, biped..” I am rather attached to my left leg; it's been with me 58 years and we have a rather strong bond. I would hate to bid it adieu.

I had a little good news, lately. I learned that an article I wrote two years ago is slated for publication next Fall 2013 in Sage Woman. Wow. Such is the world of publication: time moves according to its own clock. For some magazines, three years wait time is a blink of the eye.

With the coming of Autumn, I decided to start something new for this blog: a selection of classical music for the approach of Samhain. I know a lot of you aren't into this genre of music, but you probably have more exposure to it than you realize. I was going to do the selections in some kind of order, but decided against it. After all, who am I to grade these spooky Masterpieces? Instead, I'll merely offer up my picks in no particular order, ending with my absolute favorite on Halloween.

All of my selections are via YouTube, and I tried to pick those that were animated. I am going to start with a piece that has been used for everything from selling cars to advertising running shoes. It's that wonderful work by Carl Orff who, in 1936, took the manuscript Carmina Burana (poems written during the 11^th and 12^th centuries) and set them to music. The opening song “O Fortuna” has been a staple in films and TV for years.

I present to you two versions. The first shows you the Latin and its translation. It is important for you to know exactly what is being said, because the second version is an animated video based on what some brilliant and creative minds term “Misheard Lyrics”.

Enjoy...and Happy Mabon!

P.S. For those of you in the area, don't forget to come see me at the Para-X in East Brunswick, NJ at the Elks Lodge. I will be lecturing on Wicca, as well as reading the tarot. Event date is October 6^th. Please come and say Hi! I'll still be non-weight bearing on my left foot, so come see how I roll!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Life Gives You Lemons...

Currently, my life seems to be on hold. I'm waiting for my custom shoes to be finished, then I have to wait for the brace to be made, which means I have to wait before I start physical therapy and allow Rufus to come home. I have to wait for someone to help me with groceries, wrapping my leg, emptying the dryer, taking out the garbage. Although I have managed to handle quiet a lot on my own, with one leg and a knee walker, I still can't do some simple tasks like vacuuming my rugs.

This doesn't mean the world stops turning. I still have to do things like renew my driver's license.. in person. So, on a mid-week day (hoping the crowds would be thinner) Gary and I set off for the MVC (Motor Vehicle Commission).

 

New Jersey's old DMV was a nightmare, with wait lines that took hours and mass confusion everywhere. Plus, the rudeness of the staff was legendary. If you hold a NJ license and dealt with these folks in the 80's and 90's, you know the truth of which I speak. The one thing that past governors were able to do was clean up the process. Usually you can go in and out within ½ hour.

The old days, with lines out the door.

Not us. Gary and I got in line for license renewal and, immediately, I knew we were in for a long wait. I can't stay standing on my roll-about for long: my back starts to throb and I need to sit down. There was one seat left, so I headed for that while Gary held my place. I struggled to position myself onto the seat, other folks around me pretending they didn't see me...except for the one gal opposite. She offered help, was very friendly, and knew exactly what I was going through. She had been a nurse dealing with my kind of surgery. We struck up a very comfortable conversation, one Gary joined once my paperwork was processed and we were waiting for my photo to be taken. I actually enjoyed the wait, in the end exchanging names, etc. I even told her about my books.

This year, you can not use your old picture on the new license. You have to take glasses off, and you may not smile. I was not prepared for that. My skin was sweaty, my hair limp, and my face was flushed from moving around on the roll-about. The resulting picture (below) was the BETTER of the two shots they took. I look like the wreck of the Hesperus. You might even see bits of driftwood in the background, for all I know. I look 98, not 58, and felt about that aged. After this, my license goes into the vault of time, never to be shown again unless you have a badge.

It's blurry but... was I telling a lie?

When I came out to wait for my finished license, there were no more seats. I looked around at the males, and young healthy females, all firmly parked in place and said, aloud, “I guess I'll just stand here.” At that point, the young lady behind the desk said, “Miss? Take this chair.” She offered me a spare office chair and then started saying, loudly, “You would think that someone younger would have offered you a place to sit. People are selfish, and there are no gentlemen left in the world. You all should be ashamed!” I laughed to see the bowed heads and guilty looks. Wow.

Later that day, I had to make yet another appointment to get my eyes checked. I gave my name to the clerk, who promptly asked me to spell it. OK, I can see where Katharine can get spelled various ways, but Clark? It's either “e” or no “e”. What's so hard? Yet, time and again I'm told, “No. Spell your LAST name for me.” Really.

Rather than get annoyed, I called my Claude and told her about it.

“Well, I don't know, “ she said. “I've seen it spelled with a 'Q'.”

“That's QUARK, ya git, It's a particle of matter...or a cheese... not a surname!”

“Well, I didn't know, OK?”

I started to giggle. “Next time someone asks, I'm going to tell them I only spell it in Egyptian: owl, squiggly line, ankh, eye of Horus, feather. Some people put an extra owl at the end. I don't.”

We were both in hysterics for a good five minutes.

I think this says "handicapped chariots only"

Late last week, another friend and I went down to Cape May (my first time) to go on a 3 hour whale watch. We had to use not only the leg walker, but also the wheelchair. Crew helped push the wheelchair up the ramp and onto the boat, and tried to maneuver it around the deck, but my chair is very wide. They stored it below deck while my friend fetched the roll-about, and that is how I moved on a speeding ship. Ever try to use the head, get in and out of a cabin, and stay topside on wheels? Every passenger over 400 lbs (and there seemed to be many) insisted on shoving past me and my poor useless leg.

We saw dolphins right before my buddy discovered she gets sea sick on open ocean. Great. She retreated into the cabin while I stayed outside, loving every minute in the sea air, watching wave and sky form the horizon. We never did see a whale (it's called a watch, after all, not a hunt) and so I joined my friend inside for the return to port. The crew not only fetched me something to eat and drink, they also got me off the boat, and stayed with me as I made my way across stone and gravel to the bathrooms. Afterwards, when my friend had pulled up the car and I got myself placed inside, a young boy who was in the queue for the bathroom ran over and helped her get my wheelchair into the car.

Lovely boat, lovely crew..BIG passengers!

So, here is the lesson learned: even the difficult, the annoying, the frustrating provide opportunities for connections. Although there are plenty of “I” centric folks in the universe, there are those who are still wiling to reach out, be friendly or be helpful. Even frustrating phone calls can be a source for cheering up a friend stressed at work. The trick is to relax, see the opportunities for the positive in people, situations, yourself. This is a great big schoolroom, after all.

BTW: Not only did my friend spend the majority of the time having her stomach roll with the waves, but my camera ate the few pictures I was able to get of us, the boat and the pod of dolphins. That's alright. We looked like crap anyway.

 

Till next time... chins up, people!

 

P.S. For the Sherlockians among you, Moffat and Gatiss have reveled the three clue words for next year's season three of Sherlock: Rat, Wedding, Bow. Will they finally write about the Giant Rat of Sumatra? Are they marrying off John? Are they doing a tale from His Final Bow? You tell me!

Go, Team Baker Street!

The Promise of Lammas

We're only a few days shy of Lughnasad, or Lammas. In the Celtic year, where half is the domain of the Goddess and half that of the God, it is the yang in the yin, the celebration of the male force in the season of the Goddess. (The opposite is also true. Imbolc – Feb 2^nd – is the celebration of Brigit in the season of the God – the yin in the yang, as it were).

How appropriate that the Olympics are being held in Brittan at this time, for part of the observance where games of strength. Lughnasad was a time of truce, so that even warring clans could meet together to make agreements, trade goods, and hold handfastings (or marriage rituals).

Lugh (pronounced “Loo” not “Lug”..he's a God, not a bolt) dedicated this day to his foster-mother Tailtiu, who died on August 1^st. Her final wish was that games be held in her honor. Talantiu is the older version of her name, which means “Great one of the earth”. In all likelihood, Tailtiu was another manifestation of the sacred earth itself, a mother who labored to bring forth life. So to, at this time of year, the earth labors to bring forth the grain crops that will sustain her people through the final harvest in the Fall, and throughout the Winter. Strength, courage and endurance is required to believe in the continuance of life and to perform the labor necessary to sustain it. Thus, the games which promote these qualities. The Greek Olympics are old, but the Celtic games are even older. May the Goddess bless the victors, and let the games commence!

These are the official mascots of the London games. What the freak....!?

This time of year is also called Lammas” or “Loaf Mass”. The green wheat was baked into an almost indigestible loaf of bread and taken to the church to be blessed. Later, each member of the family would eat a small piece of the loaf. Again, as with the games, the bartering, the vending and the weddings, it was a show of faith in the crops, a belief that the seeds we plant would sprout, sprouts would become mature plants, and plants would be healthy and strong for the harvest.

At this time of year, it would be wise to contemplate what dreams and goals you set forth in the beginning of the season, what bore fruit (or is in the process of maturing) and what you believe will be brought to harvest in the end. May all your endeavors be successful!

On other fronts... Rufus is back with his groomer and her family for a few weeks while my shoes and brace are being made. They came on Friday (Debbie and her girls). Rufus took one look at them, ran into their arms, and that was it for Mummy. He barked at my door as if to say, “Come on, let's blow this joint”...he would not kiss me good-bye, and the last I saw of my baby was his fuzzy, purple tailed butt as it skipped out the door. Thanks a lot, Rufus. Love you, too.

This week, I will be writing my Fate Magazine piece on Glastonbury. It's time I sat my own butt in my chair and got on with business. Claude and I also came up with an awesome idea for a new project, but I have to run it past a few people first to see if we can pull it off. More on that later.

My readers for “Journeys End” are starting to report back with interesting comments. Chief among the complaints? I can't spell. Well...duh, do you know me? That's why the manuscript for the book on Irish Gods and Goddesses is called “Myth Spelling”. It's not just because we look at the magic associated with each deity, but also as an inside joke.

Anyway...

A final note for the Sherlock Fans.. Martin Freeman confirmed at Comic-Con that the next season will be filming between January and April. Also, Sherlock BBC has been nominated for 13 Emmys. I think that calls for...a little caramelldansen!

(Hey, aren't you all shocked I figured out how to embed something? Moi? The one who's technology runs to hansom cabs and quill pens? Let's hear some kudos, people!)

A Happy and Safe Lughnasad to you all.

Heart and Soul...

I wanted to get back to posting some of the concepts that I've been contemplating, now that I have so much more time to sleep – no – think. One of those topics is something near and dear to my heart, the idea of the anam cara.

Lots of catalogs are now selling jewelry proclaiming “mo anam cara”. The commercial interpretation is “ my soul mate”. This is poor Irish, at best. Anam cara actually means “soul friend”. This is a person who is in a relationship with you, but not one that is romantic or sexual. Naturally, that can become a part of it, if both people desire, but is not implied by the term.

I was always told that the concept developed in the Irish monastic period, where one individual in the community might develop this deep friendship with another. They would serve as spiritual guides for each other, helping each other to achieve their highest good. Now I come to find that it might be older than that, stemming back to Pagan Times. (Sounds like a new theme restaurant chain.)

Ancient or New Age, the idea is that the soul generates the aura which surrounds your body. When your energy bonds with that of another person, you have found your anam cara. Your souls flow together: you accept each other as you really are. The Ancients are said to have believed that finding your anam cara (or anam caras – you can have more than one) is the ultimate blessing. You have someone who sees the beauty of your spirit, keeps your higher good in mind, and often puts your needs above their own.

The writer John O'Donahue says “You are joined in an ancient and eternal union... When you are blessed with an anam cara, the Irish believe, you have arrived at the most sacred place: home.”

I am one of the fortunate ones. I have found my anam cara. Claude (pronounce the “au” like a long “o”. What can I say? She's French) and I have been friends for over 25 years, and everything described above resides in our friendship. I can't conceive of my world without her. It is truly a spiritual bond, which sometimes reaches deeper than family ties. We each have the responsibility of being honest with ourselves and each other... and there is no petty fear that speaking the truth will be met with anger or resentment. That's a sign of absolute trust. The only path to this point is by looking into your own soul and finding your own worth.

Her support has been invaluable during the last six months. I can call her when I'm sad, depressed, bored, and she will point out the error in my thinking and the things I still have to look forward to and celebrate. I do the same for her. Now, she has even moved (with her husband) a few blocks away.

It was all meant to be.

This isn't a relationship that eclipses all others. You can have spouses, partners, children, and a boatload of friends. Having an anam cara gives you insight and stability, and actually improves what you bring to other relationships.

I have recently found out that the Catholic Church has adopted the term “anamchairde” for a bond of spiritual guidance, growth and friendship. Well, why not. They took robes, incense, bell ringing, “easter” eggs, “Christmas” trees, Candlemas, and a butt load of other stuff...why not soul friends? (Hey, you Romans, give back our Brigit!)

If you've been blessed with an anam cara, tell me abut him or her. Drop me a line...I'd love to hear about your relationship.

On the home front, my leg seems to be doing well. There is still a portion of the ankle that has not fused, and may never do so, even using the bone stimulator. That is OK, provided we can keep the foot under the leg. To that end, someone is coming out tomorrow to measure me for a shoe and brace. I'm nervous and excited. This device will allow me to be weight bearing... and I still need to loose lots more weight. That's where that anam cara thing comes into play. Claude and Jack usually pick up things at the grocery store for me on Sundays. I'd say, “I'd like a chicken pot pie and...”

“Are you crazy? That's no good for you! I'll find something better.”

“OK... and Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches..”

“No. Too many calories...”

“Chocolate Underground yogurt..”

“Not good for you..”

Etc. Etc. Grrrrrr! But guess what? She's absolutely right, and she usually finds something else similar but healthier. I'm in stern but loving hands. With a friend like this, I will succeed.

The Rufus is home for three weeks (two have already flown by). He'll probably have to go back with his groomer for a few more weeks, until I'm on my feet, but once I'm walking, I've decided he can come home for good. When he arrived, his tail was purple. Don 't ask me why.

That's it for now. My best to all of you until next time!

Galumphing Back

OK. I'm back. It's my birthday, and I'm not in hospital.

Miracles do happen.

This past week has been a real slice. I was already scheduled to have my external fixator removed on Tuesday morning. Monday, my visiting nurse came to change the dressings for the last time, and what do we find? A broken pin, protruding from a very infected looking pin site. I e-mailed pictures to my surgeon, who decided I needed the ER ...NOW.

                                                                  Yes, I know. Nasty.

NOW doesn't happen all that fast around here. Luckily, Gary was available to drive me, but first he had to get dressed, come to Monroe from Asbury Park, and then chauffeur me to Langhorne PA. In the middle of it all, we had lunch. Sal's makes a mean sandwich and, what the hell, we can't have an emergency on an empty stomach.

Eventually, we got under way. Knowing me and my OCD, Gary launched into a calm explanation of “Why the 'check engine' light is on in the car”. (He's been using the Taurus while I and his Miata are both laid up). After six years of marriage, and twenty years of annulled bliss, the boy has learned how to keep Kat from pulling an ultimate freak-out: “I checked the owner's manual and it says it's perfectively safe to drive. I will take it to your cousin for evaluation tomorrow, but we will not be breaking down on the road...but I knew you would notice the light on the dashboard.” Good lad; well done...except I didn't notice the light on the dash, being preoccupied with thoughts of loosing my leg. Now I had twin thoughts to keep me occupied; my leg's falling off and my car's blowing up. Oh joy, oh rapture.

Once at hospital, the ER was expecting me, and I was assigned a slot right away. IV antibiotics were prescribed with much cursing and gnashing of teeth by the nursing staff. I'm famous at Aria Health for being a “hard stick”. (Humm...I've heard that term applied to me in other circumstances...) and they had to go on a viable vein hunt before treatment could begin. Gary left for home while I waited for a room. The cafe had closed, and so I was sent to 1 South with a turkey sandwich and a carton of cranberry juice.

I was given a private room. I will always have a private room. Somewhere in my past, I had a weird bacteria – now dormant - and so I will be forever isolated with a “STOP! Must wear gloves and gown!” sign outside the door, to scare the “normals”. (And a few un-normals. My sister wandered into my room, one evening, sat down and said “Should we go back outside and get gowns?” Yes, Diane. Do that. I'll curl in a ball now, and hold my breath, until you return wearing a thin blue garbage bag. You'll be fine). So many staff members came to see me on a daily bases that my three rubbish bins looked like smurf burial grounds.

                                                  Fare thee well, oh smurfs of Langhorne

Surgery took place Tuesday morning. My new friend came to pre-op to wish me well, and tell me he knew I'd be just fine. Unfortunately we had no time to talk because I had an OR nurse probing my other arm for a more viable vein. Drat!

The operation went well. The cage was removed, and it was learned that all my bones did not fuse (See? I KNEW I hurt something when I had that shower accident) but the joints are stiff and stable. My friend came the next day with a bone stimulator, which I am to use for 3 hours each day. There is a 100% guarantee of successful fusion, if used properly. He brought his partner with him. Again, no time to talk. (Gerrrrr...)

                                                                     from this.....

                                                                 to this...finally

I found out that I have a low iron count, and a slightly elevated kidney number...things to follow up when I can get out to see my primary doctor. On the happy side, I've lost between 60-65 lbs and my A1C has gone from 13.3 in November, to 5.3. So, who's sitting home eating ice cream and blowing their diet now, siblings? Huh? Sure. Go on. Hide your faces in shame for doubting me. (So what does the oldest sister ask me? “Did you use your credit card to buy anything this week?” Yeah, absolutely. I asked for a medical supply catalog and got myself five wooden legs, a handicapped toilet and a set of rubber sheets. I mean, really? You HAD to ask that? Hello! H O S P I T A L!!)

There is no possible way to rest in a hospital. I had a neighbor in the next room. She was a senior citizen who had fallen, broken her arm and leg, and was in the early stages of senility. She had the unfortunate voice of a smoker on helium, but enough lung power to be heard throughout the ward. She continued most nights with a litany very familiar to me from the rehab centers in which I had been earlier confined. “Help me, help me, somebody help me, let me die, let me die, hello? Anybody out there? Help me, help me...” One night it was so loud, I had no chance at sleep. Being awake, and pumped full of saline, I also had to use the commode. I rang for my nurse – a nice, Irish lad – and asked him, “So, what's the story on the manic munchin next door?”

He simply stared at me.
“Yes, I know. I'm totally going to Hell. But are you listening to her? She sounds like there's a crisis at the lollipop guild!”
The man started to laugh and his hands were shaking. “I have to go in there next. How am I going to look at her and not laugh?”
“Oh, just laugh. Two seconds later and she won't remember a thing.”

The commode was another issue. It had a chamber pot with a handle. When it was emptied and replaced, it had to be placed just so, or the handle could pinch your thigh between itself and the lid. It did just that to me – twice. Skin was broken. I felt it my duty to warn future users that the thing had tasted blood, and will seek blood again, so I posted a sign of my own – on the lid.

I placed another sign beneath, reading “pottius carnivora” alerting all to the fact that here sits a flesh eating thunder mug.

The nurses were amused, even if my poor thigh wasn't.

I was finally fetched back to my little co-op Friday afternoon. I took the weekend to catch up on much needed sleep. Today, my oldest friend came, treated me for pizza, took me for a ride that didn't terminate at a hospital or doctor's office, and gifted me with a few much needed articles of clothing, now that I've lost weight. Tomorrow evening is the family birthday supper. Yum. My brother-in-law makes a mean chicken marsala.

In other news, for the Sherlockians among us, July 7^th is Sherlock appreciation day. Please see below.

And here, also, is the PR on Para-X on October 6^th.

That's it for now. Thanks to everyone who kept me on their pray and meditation lists. So far, you've gotten the ear of god/goddess. You have my gratitude.

Turning A Corner

It's been a while since my last entry. I can't say it's because I'm so busy... I'm home bound for a while. How busy can I be? I think I was drained by the financial pressures. Plus, I had to complete a Social Security form comparing what I use to do with what I can do now.

That's when the defecation hit the cooling unit.

Everything landed on me like a juggler missing a mark – fire batons, Indian clubs, electric saws and hackey sacks (figuratively) rained from the heavens in the form of financial crises, potential amputation, loss of employment, sibling tension (my brother yelled at me. First time in my life. I was heart broken), cabin fever and loneliness.

It got better. My old house sold two weeks ago. (I drove by last week, and they had dug up all my bushes and flowers. A word of advice: if you leave a place, never look back). So far, I've paid off my mortgage, my medical bills, and a good portion of my credit cards. I will soon be broke, but debt free.

My aman cara, Claude, will be moving into the village by the end of the month. That will be fantastic. 

The past few months has given me a lot of time to think about who I really am, what is real about myself and what I just assumed. I've come to realize that I am not as dominant a personality as I once thought. When it comes to the Craft or teaching, I am an alpha female. In relationships, I depend a lot on the strength of others for soothing and comfort. I was raised not to expect that. My mother would frequently tell me as a child, “Keep being who you are and no one will love you.” I guess that's why it's a constant shock and emotional roller coaster when people actually do. It's harder, still, to trust those emotions in others, but the process has now begun.

Also, Claude has reminded me recently that you have to have faith and state clearly your needs – work with the Divine within you and in the universe at large. It's been successful in both big and small things. One hospital's tests showed osteomyelitis and a foot abscess. By the time I got to Aria Health, all the tests were negative. There was no blood clot, the infection I later developed in my foot cleared up in three days. Time after time, when I relied on the power of God/Goddess , the answers came.

And, just recently, someone who whom I thought I had an immediate bound finally called. I had asked to have clarity regarding his interest. (I'm rusty at romance, but I could have sworn he was flirting with me. At least I now know I wasn't delusional!)

Talk about an incentive to keep loosing weight and get my health issues handled. The most comforting thing is this: he has seen me at my worse: tacky hospital gown, unkempt hair, no make-up, feeling like a bloated, crippled tick... and the man was still interested. Obviously he was attracted to more than a “pretty face”. (I am internally laughing my arse off right now.) No matter what happens, it will be nice to have another friend.

So, when the stress and the problems and the challenges weld up, I've learned to hold on tight, ask for help if truly needed, and do the best I can, day by day. Listen to the still, small voice of creation and believe in love. Perhaps soon, I can get back to my Circle.

                                                                       Er---umm....

                                                              Yeah - more like that....

My external fixator comes off on the 26^th of June. Fingers crossed the bones have fused.

In the mean time, my Sherlock novel, “Journeys End”, is being read by trusted friends and editors to catch obvious mistakes, obscure references, continuity problems and the like. While that is in the works, I still owe Fate Magazine 2 pieces, and will be working on yet another one for Circle Magazine. I need to stay busy. I even promised to do a lecture at Para-X this year. It's being advertised in Weird New Jersey, and will feature a Victorian séance in the evening. I'll be posting more on that as the date draws near.

Oh! And speaking of things Sherlock - Season 2 is available on DVD.  It includes the minutes shaved off the Masterpiece Theater version.  For those of you who took an interest in Undershaw, Arthur Conan Doyle's home, it HAS been saved from being made into housing units.  Now if we could only get the money together to restore it!

Keep the prayers and good thoughts coming, dear folks. Every little bit helps!

One More Time, With Feeling...

Well, I'm back. I've been back for a few weeks, but things were so hectic I couldn't blog. In fact, I could even think about blogging.

Life has remained crazy. I am still in my external fixator. I was doing very well until this past Tuesday. My aide was helping me into the shower when my left foot slipped, and the fixator smashed down onto the shower floor. Pin sites were bleeding, one snapped, and a pain went up the back of my ankle. It still hurts. Cross fingers and say a prayer, everyone, that I didn't break anything internally. If I did, it's the end of the line for my left leg.

We are still pending the sale of my house in North Brunswick. Turns out my roof was growing penicillin. How nice. I had my own drug supply and didn't know it. We had to have it remediated for a nice little sum. Yikes! Now, the house is clean – no oil tanks, no mold, no evil spirits. Please, somebody, buy the damn house!

My doctor told me that I could not chase after or take care of Rufus. My little fuzzy boy is now living with his groomer. She said that, when I'm back on my feet and feeling better, he will be returned, but I'm not sure that would be fair to him or Debbie's family. The little bugger grows on you, ya know? But - Gods – how I miss him!

While I was in and out of hospitals and re-hab for 4 months, I wrote a Sherlock novel called “Journeys End”. I always wanted to do this, and can't really believe I actually pulled it off. My friend, Ellen, co-developed the plot, so she'll also have her name on the cover. One of my doctors in PA recommended an agent (his girlfriend, of all people) so I will start the hunt for representation there. Right now, I'm doing the first typing, then we have to edit.

After that, it's back to “Myth Spelling” and my articles due for Fate Magazine. In the meantime, my article “Whipping Up Wards” is appearing in the Spring issue of Circle Magazine, under the regular feature section.

So, as much as I'm just sitting around with my foot elevated, trying to sort through moving boxes, I still have a few things to keep my mind busy.

Finally, the best news of all: Sherlock Season 2 starts on PBS this Sunday. Yes, the boys are back, and friends are gathering at my place for a viewing. The Gods bless Moffet and Gatiss; they have done it again.

Until next time, be careful out there – and watch those step-in showers.

They bite.