Stay Human

You already know my husband calls me "his viking woman," a high compliment meaning thick, strong, tough, resilient, pagan, bold, and adventurous. He laughs when I walk out into the twenty degree weather, take a deep breath and say,"Oh, yeahhhhh," while he is shivering and hopping from one foot to another. I grew up in the cold and snow, and I genuinely love it. I get more excited watching skiing videos than I do watching porn. Scary, but true.

I feel happy in my blood today because it was about 25 degrees out, with five inches of fresh powder on the ground, and a blindingly happy blue sky. Winter doesn't have to be grey and dripping. Winter can decorate every surface with diamonds. When I have a new home, I'm going to decorate the whole thing in white and sky blue. I want to live in a Tiffany's box.

I took the girls and a friend to the big sledding hill behind the college. There were between fifty and one hundred people there, bundled in boots, snowpants, parkas, hats and mittens, festively throwing themselves down the most perfect sledding hill in the city. I haven't been sledding in at least ten years, but I took a turn at the back end of a toboggan with my older daughter sitting in front of me. We whooshed down the hill, and I felt so happy that I thought I might bust. The sled disintegrated under us. It seems that over the summer it was dragged behind a bicycle over the concrete, allegedly carrying one or more neighborhood children. I hypothesized that such treatment might compromise the integrity of said structure. On the next downhill glide, the other sled crumbled. It was also subjected to summertime abuse. What can you do? There were still snow angels to make.

The biggest news around here is that my husband's wrestling ring ARRIVED. It came on a big truck from North Carolina, all 18 feet of metal and rope. It is beautiful, black and shiny, with a black vinyl apron reminiscent of Batman's cape. He tightened the turnbuckles and bumped the ropes, and suddenly he seemed in focus. He has been in a million frenetic pieces lately, and they all became aligned into harmonic order. I saw it. I hope it is a good sign. He still sleeps only three hours a day, eats shit, and smokes like Dennis Leary. It pisses me off to no end to watch him dangle from a spider's thread on a daily basis, but he has to do this, it seems. I feel peripheral because, well, I am peripheral. This is his thing. I am proud, scared, powerless, nervous, and jealous.

An elf told me that I am getting some of the tattoo equipment I need for Xmas and my birthday (which are sort of the same thing since they are only two weeks apart). That scares me to death. My mentor took the wind out of my sails, and I am not feeling so confident after being away for three quarters of a year. Tattooing takes A LOT of self confidence and nerves of steel. I will practice on myself at first. I'm ruminating about the lyric I heard..."Every flower has the right to be bloomin'...stay human." Sorry about the dirty hippies in the video, but this is the best version of the song.

I want to work on single needle work that I can style more like a pencil. Hurts like a bitch, though, that fine line stuff.

Tomorrow is the Solstice. I can feel a schism in the field right now...maybe schism isn't the right word. A lot of thoughts and information floating around in my head without a focus, I try to grab them but I feel too heavy. Tomorrow the light comes back.

Ancient Origins: Solstice: "'Shall we liken Christmas to the web in a loom? There are many weavers, who work into the pattern the experience of their lives. When one generation goes, another comes to take up the weft where it has been dropped. The pattern changes as the mind changes, yet never begins quite anew. At first, we are not sure that we discern the pattern, but at last we see that, unknown to the weavers themselves, something has taken shape before our eyes, and that they have made something very beautiful, something which compels our understanding.'

--Earl W. Count, 4,000 Years of Christmas"

Blessed be!