Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Stop to Smell the Basil

I have the scent of fresh basil on my fingers; I noticed this while retrieving a phone message from one of my many lost friends.  I had picked the basil in a hurry, my husband's slippers too big for my feet, running down the steps to the herb garden. I was cautious of night spider webs, my scissors a weapon I held closed, but at eye height.  As I typed that, I could only think "Jeez woman, you were running with scissors..."

But back to my friends...All seem to be mired at this moment in pain, life's bitter tears, and the ultimate kill joy, death.  Not to mock death, goodness no. I just caught Anubis reading over my shoulder once again and I want to assure him that I take death seriously. Yes. Very seriously.  I take my friends seriously, too, and offer what I can.

My friend pool is mostly my age and therefore, what we all share in common these days is the demise of our parents.  One minute, they were our favorite annoyingly earnest antagonists and now they have grown subdued.  So subdued, that my husband and I have buried three. Such is the way of life. If life is Yin, Death is Yang. (Anubis frowns and I laugh, flipping him the middle finger. I'm terrified of a frog, but Anubis?  No. What's he gonna do, kill me?)

What Anubis won't admit is that his job is most satisfying when the living fight eventuality.  But tough shit, Anubis, I am not living in fear of the end. No.  So, I run with scissors in the dark to get a bit of fresh, herbaceous goodness to make my margherita pizza shine.  The mozzarella is fresh and drying a bit, the garlic is chopped and whipped into some salt to assuage its bitterness, and you can't beat New Jersey tomatoes in late August. So, I celebrate.  I breathe in the scents. Taste. Feel. Love.  

I am alive.  Smell the basil. Yes.  I am alive.


Monday, August 19, 2013

I am One of You; The Full Sturgeon Moon

The Sturgeon Moon is very pregnant as I type this.  Technically, that makes it waxing gibbous for those of us impressed by scientific knowledge.  This moon is always problematic for me as the Algonquin tribe name does not resonate. Sturgeon are large whiskered fish that Whole Foods does not sell; nor are they cooked in lovely dishes on Top Chef.  In short, I have probably never eaten a sturgeon in my life, but maybe my Buddhist has.  He did fish a bit in his youth, mainly in the muddy waters of the Raritan or Millstone Rivers; but occasionally in Lake Champlain in Vermont. He may have caught one once.  Maybe.

But eating sturgeon isn't on my mind; swimming with them is.  I have flirted with the notion that I might eventually find my school, so to speak.  I seek to swim among like people, who live in a similar way, holding similar beliefs. I even dare to think that there might be friendship. Yet, it alludes me and my forays on the internet in search of it only produced the sense that I do not belong.  Isolation at the touch of a mouse. Drowning in plain sight.

Sites like Facebook, Society6 and Deviantart function much like high school; there are popular people who enjoy the attention and then there are the rest of us whose purpose seems to be to keep the popular people 'popular'. After all, you can't be popular without a throng of groupies, can you?  I have realized that I am krill in a larger food chain and I am tired of only being fuel.  I could conclude that I am not talented, interesting, or otherwise shiny, but that isn't truth.  I see teems of talented krill swimming aimlessly over themselves and each other trying to find their place. "I am one of you", I scream.  But the words get muted in the murky waters and so instead, I stumble around, clicking 'Promoted' or "Like".  And none of it gets any more real.

So, I'm done with the internet socializing for a bit. I'll stay here, writing out my heart's song, hoping that something resonates with someone someday...

Friday, August 16, 2013

I've Got Rings / Frog Harmony

She covered my back in Almond Oil and Eucalyptus...

The Frog returns daily, hopping back from either the stream where my husband gently introduces him or the tall grass where I lazily fling him.  Thus, is the difference in our spiritual practices. My spouse is a Buddhist; a simple soul, seeking to find peace in his own head while I am more fierce at heart, a goddess wannabe who craves adoration, affection and Frog-free STUFF.  Hubby does not crave; I cling to desire and pout. He is attentive; I am needy. It is pure co-dependency that functions...most of the time.

The massage feels nice and I am loving the attention. She suggests we start at my shoulders and try the gentlest suction. The encounter was my idea as I was needing something "new"; my day to day had become commonplace and I crave experience like a crack addict craves Heisenberg.

After my last blog about Frog, I receive an email from my resident Buddhist.
I just read your blog, don't you think the frog is a lesson of some sort?
I sigh and roll my eyes. How did I know this was coming?  The frog, though a real frog with pulsing blood in his Frog veins, is also a metaphor.  I have acknowledged this from the start, but my fear is as real as my comical exit from Froggy hot tub.  Frogs terrify me. They could hop on me.  Yup. That is my true terror. THEY COULD HOP ON ME...

I feel something cling to my back and then tugging.  She moves the suctioned cup up and down my scapula and I wonder why I think pain is a better alternative to boredom.

The Frog is a lesson in fear.  I have groundless fears. Irrational Fears.  Fears based on gossip and tall tales. The Frog has begun to break down some of these fears and so I reflect on what other ones might need to go. Each day, as I gently cajole Frog into my net, I find empathy for this small but determined creature.  I note his coloring matches the hot tub finish perfectly and I can understand that my hot tub is simply a very large warm rock that suits his camouflage.  I do my best to not injure him in our daily migration.

I am surprised at how much this is hurting; but she says that it is a sign it is much needed..  That is classic Chinese medicine logic. I suck in breath as she reminds me to breathe. She explains how cupping works as backwards massage; the muscle is pulled up instead of pushed down and the blood is exchanged in the tissue.

I seek to remove Frog so he has no chance to hop on me.  A true sign of growth would be to just slide into the hot tub as he clings to the top edge. Could we co-exist in some sort of harmony?  Could I be brave enough?

Six cups are on my back now, theoretically sucking up toxins from my core.  I am always seeking the easy fix; seeking spiritual renewal through exchange of cash for services.  Later, as I wait to purchase my hipness at Starbucks, unaware of the purple bruised rings easily visible on my shoulders, I will conclude the experience to be worthwhile.  No gain without pain, right?  

I open the hot tub cover and go on Frog patrol.  Frog free.  Ahhhh! I slip into the hot water, hoping to erase the Duplo block 'tattoo' lingering in purple on my back.  The cupping session was days ago, but like ripples in a lake, I've got rings.

I settle back, ease the tub jets on and wonder where my persistent pal has gone...




Monday, August 12, 2013

Frog and the Female Warrior Wannabe

#firstworldproblems #whining #lostinmiddleclassamerica

There was a frog in my hot tub.  Not so much in, as on the edge; but still, I know you are gasping right now at the obvious severity of this situation. I gasped too; my leg half in, balanced like a pelican and frozen in time as my eyes met the frog's.  More accurately, my gasp was a loud gulping mew.  After a sort of hop dance flop, I was out of the hot tub. The frog just stared, holding his ground, the clear victor in this first round of stand off with female human.

I blinked as I made a tally of who was home that would be willing to remove the frog for me.  Husband? Nope.  Daughter? Home, but no more comfy with amphibious creatures than me.  Daughters boyfriend? Nope.  Cats?  LOL. Yeah. Right. My big voracious hunters had grown into fussy old nappers. No.  There was no assistance. Sigh.

I reached for the green net that I had moved to the hot tub's edge for removing debris. Frog shifted.  I braced for my battle advance, moving the net over the frog.  He slipped into the hot, chlorinated water and immediately hopped out nearby.  I smiled and heard myself utter out loud "See dumb ass frog, You don't want to swim in this water."  Frog blinked but remained steadfast on the hot tub edge.

Despite my fears, I knew I had the upper hand (literally).  A few more attempts, a few more frog baths, and Frog was finally willing to go for a net ride to the back tall grass. I held the net out in front of me as if it was radioactive waste. I was vigilant for any leaps towards me.  My heart was racing and I didn't dare breathe along this dangerous quest.  At the tall grass, I didn't so much release Frog as drop the net and run away.  Oh so Brave! the valiant woman warrior!  The earth connected, nature loving goddess...

My husband would have taken Frog another fifty feet to the stream; but I was terrified and barefoot. Besides Frog was a frog. How fast could it move? Wouldn't it forget all about the warm steamy place under the plastic ledge-like cover where it could be safe and cozy?

Of course, the next day, Frog was back.  But this time I had company; the daughter's boyfriend picked it up in his hands and carried it to the stream.  Like it was a puppy. Like it was not a gross, nasty, terrifying chunk of leaping, croaking frog flesh...

I slipped into the frogless hot tub, took a good look around just to be safe, and finally closed my eyes dreaming of my fearless nature loving warrior escapades...
in some fantasy place...
where frogs do not exist.