Spiders Up my Nose...and Between my Toes! Waning Pink Moon Slumber

"You are not really here..." my husband said to me as we both sat on chaise lounges in the bright sunlight.
"What?" I asked reflexively. I heard him, but that made no sense. Such a Buddhist thing to say. So very much like him. But something felt wrong with me and right with his words.
"You are not really here." he repeated and panic set in my flesh.  He was right. I bolted upright, screaming.

And with this screaming, I awake.  At first, I grip the bed, not sure where I am.  Then I remember and instantly touch my nose.  No spiders! Whew! 

I settle back into the warm covers and look at the stars above. A breeze stirs and the wind chimes play. Next to me, the Buddhist lays sleeping with his mouth somewhat ajar.  I ponder why he does not have fear. Not of the dark night. Not of the lack of a tent. Not of the foxes, skunks, and other nocturnal critters.  Not of spiders. How can he not be afraid of spiders?

I sigh, shift my body, agitated in my restless state, and turn towards him. I imagine spiders parachuting towards us, from the magnolia above.  A flower petal cascades down, as if on cue, and lands near his chest. I imagine an army of super tiny spiders aboard, landing on our sleeping bag beach, ready to storm his semi open mouth and my dangerously defenseless nose.

I sigh again. Turn to the heavens and try to remember why I agreed to this outdoor sleeping without a tent in the first place.  The weather was perfect for it. And despite my groundless spider fears, the insect population after our unduly cold winter was non existent.  Yes.  If ever there was a night to sleep under the stars, it was this one. 

So why can't I relax?  Why I am I sure spiders are coming for me from all angles? I instinctively touch my nose again. All clear. 

Why did I agree to this?

The answer arrives at dawn, when I lay cuddled into the Buddhist's chest, spider free and stunned at the beauty unfolding before my eyes.  A star or two doggedly cling to the heavens, but the sun is on her trajectory.  Everything looks new and dewy.  Birds start to sing "I am awake! Are you awake?"

I smile.  "Yes.  I am awake. Oh yes!!  I am most definitely awake!"

My Pillow; a love story for the Full Pink Moon

My Dearest Pillow,
I've been thinking about you a lot today.  I keep recalling your welcoming embrace as you gently cradled my head and whispered "sleep some more..." and I so wanted to. I wanted my unruly bed head hair to remain nestled in your pocket of protection.  Sleep is the perfect answer.

For a day that seems unremarkable. Plain even.  Nothing going on.

Oh sure, I have things to do.  But I will always have things to do...

So, why not return to your comfort and dreamy illusions of more interesting places? Where I can be both queen and peasant. Both beauty and beast.  Where I can fly and bears can speak.  Why is reality so damn boring by comparison?  Or maybe a better question is why are my dreams so compelling?

The trees are blooming outside.  It is unnaturally warm.  Tonight is a full moon.  And not only full, but a lunar eclipse as well.  Will I abandon my warm sleepy comfort in thy downy fluff for a glimpse of a moon that will be slowly shadowed in red? 

I hope so, but if we are having the dream about the canyon and my spread wings again, all bets are off.

The Moment; peepers are a peeping

You found the email where he had written the recipe. His recipe. Reconstructed from a margarita in Sedona and it feels foreign to you to get down the cocktail shaker, the Reposado tequila, the Grand Mariner. You squeeze the lime, coat the glass edge, run it through salt.  You feel a sensation. Is it anticipation?

You pause to slip on a swimsuit. The hot tub beckons and although you avoid it at dusk when he travels, tonight you can't resist.  Tonight, it is spring. The peepers by the stream are telling you so.  Swimsuit and towel in place, you add ice and shake, being sure to breakdown the agave nectar...beautiful plant honey.

The hot tub cover slides back and you are in.  It is hot, your body pauses, nerves sending data, but then there is a visible welcoming of your body to this heat and you settle in, relax back, and melt.  You had paired the bluetooth speakers to your iPod and the Grateful Dead spills forth, Box of Rain.  The jets are off, and the water has become reflective. You see the stately oaks and locust from the back property line near the stream ripple in the watery mirror. You so often forget that there is a stream. Muddied constantly by a local quarry, it is hardly picturesque.  But the peepers. Yes! The peepers.  Chirping. Chirping. Chirping.

Perhaps the tequila is enabling, but a sensation is building. Sensual. Whole. Healthy. You feel it in your spine. You are quiet. Every part of you is still.  The wind rustles your hair and you laugh. Smile breaks your lips. You are alive. You are here. You are o.k.

You want it to last, this bliss, so you stop sipping the drink; but the water temperature is 103 and you feel your blood boiling. Why can't it last? The pounding starts and you have to flee what once was the refuge.  You quickly do the required maintenance and slip inside.  You sit and write.  Some moments need capturing.  This doesn't do it justice, but you know that what you want to write is Thank You.  So you do.

Thank you for this moment.

You finish your last sip of the margarita and hit 'publish'.

The Hypocrite; My Ethical Chaos

I am a hypocrite. There I said it.  If there was a twelve step program for hypocrisy eradication, this clearly would be my first step.  I can see you all fidgety on folding chairs in some slightly musty church basement, listening to me come clean on this, my fall from ethic grace.  

I would say it with conviction; but half hoping that one of you would step forward and say "No, no, honey...not a hypocrite- just a women making the best decisions she can as information is thrown at her..."

Yes, I would like you to say that, but I would know it is lie.  And not just a lie for my benefit, but one that exonerates you as well.  See, you are here as well in this cramped, unremarkable space.  The smell of coffee and powdered creamer fills the room as the fluorescent light flutter in rhythm to my halted voice. You are here...

The story unfolds...

I like cosmetics. I enjoy wearing makeup. Occasionally, I'll even go as far as false eyelashes. I love the 'sex kitten' softness of that look. Mostly, I just go for a good moisturizer (Estee Lauder 'Idealist' has been my staple for a decade. Cool name too. And coolness matters), and a light foundation (Clinique), eyeliner (Maybelline) and Mascara (Clinique).  Having come of maturity in the late eighties, when animal testing was being abolished in cosmetics, I chose companies that I believed represented my ideals that testing makeup on animals was ridiculous and unduly cruel.  

One recent, fateful night, I spent an evening with my nephew and his girlfriend.  The girlfriend mentioned trying to find a animal cruelty free mascara.  I naively asserted that Estee Lauder and Clinique were animal cruelty free.  She rebutted that my knowledge was wrong. I was polite but undeterred as I was sure I knew better. These companies had at one time been champions in the end of animal testing.  I was curious, though, and an internet search revealed my utter ignorance. Or perhaps not my ignorance, but the calculated misrepresentation of companies that changed their policies and chose not to inform their customer base.

Estee Lauder and Clinique are both entering the Chinese marketplace and as such, they are required by Chinese law to perform tests of their products on animals.  So they are animal testing.  Instead of choosing principles over cash...instead of informing their customers of their change in stance...

But the saddest aspect of this is that they are not alone! 

Products that have been safely used here for years are being retested to sell in China. Insanity. Cruel Insanity.

Let's say I got a dog from a pound, took it home, and kicked it repeatedly to see what happens when I kick it. I know what happens when I kick it from previous kicking. But I'm going to do it again...just to see. Would you care? Of course. That would make me a bad person. Cruel. Mean. The moniker monster might even be dropped.

And that is what I am. Monster. But not because I kick dogs...but because I wear mascara that supports a policy where the Draize eye test is still administered to rabbits eyes until they ulcer and bleed, blinding the the later 'discarded' animal.  

I can't participate in this, so I have been searching for 'cruelty free' cosmetics.  There is great information on the internet and I'm happy to report that I have found new companies to fill my Estee Lauder, Clinique, and Maybelline shoes.

But here is where my ethics get foggy.  Here is why I am before you today as a HYPOCRITE.  My hair dresser uses Redken (tests on animals) and I love my hair dresser.  I use bleach in my white laundry (Clorox tests on animals).  I use razor blades made by Gillette (tests on animals).  That is just the tip of animal cruelty iceburg. From here it gets worse...

I love the sensual feel of leather. Suede is nice too! I love a good steak.  Oh yes!  Bring on the prime rib! Spiral ham brings me unadulterated bliss.  I adore eggs. And butter. Yes. Sweet creamy cow utter butter. Oh, let's not forget ice cream.  So, I am totally OK with some animal cruelty.  Well, not really OK with it, but accepting of it as a cost of what I enjoy.  

Does this make me ridiculous?  Should I abandon the cruelty free cosmetic ideal simply because I show complete hypocrisy in other similar circles?  

I say nay.  Apathy comes from taking the all or none approach.  So, yes, I am far from perfect. A HYPOCRITE. But a conscious one who can take tiny solace that at least her beauty did not cost an animal its life. 

Update:  I have decided to change hairdressers-  Aveda is cruelty free.  Just shows that positive change is always an option.