Love-Hate-Texas

I totally thought Texas would have more of these...
Picture from here. Where are my cowboys!?

I love autumn. I love the smells, the deep sweet decay of leaf mould, and the spiced apple cider that I make practically every night until winter. However, I’m far from my beloved Virginia this autumn, and I’m discovering that September in Texas is a very different environment indeed.

For starters, it’s almost October and it’s still bloody hot.

Take a walk down memory lane with me now, if you would. Way back in February 2011, when I was choosing my Post, I was sick of snow. It had been an especially snowy and miserably cold winter in New York, and if I never dug my car out of another drift I would call it a win. Thus, when we were choosing where we wanted to spend the first three years of our post-graduate careers, I figured somewhere down south looked pretty darn appealing. Tequila, Mexican food, sunshine, cowboys (and I mean the manly type in jeans and Stetsons and boots, not the sports team)…yep. I wanted to go to Texas.

So fast forward to the present, and I’m not regretting my choice by any stretch of the imagination—I still firmly believe that I am in the precise right place at the right time to be leading the right people—but I am becoming increasingly aware that what I envisioned of my future when I pulled that little piece of paper off of a wall was somewhat wrong.

And it’s not easy for me in all my Type-A Virgo awesomeness to admit I’ve been wrong.

The weather here in the morning and late at night is perfect. I love it, even. It’s warm and cool at the same time, with a slight breeze, and although it’s a little too humid for my hair to thank me (yay frizz!), it makes me want to go find a forest to frolic through in the twilight. But mid afternoon? I don’t believe in 90+ degree weather after Mabon. There is just something not right about that. This late into the year I should be comfortable in jeans, not sweating! I don’t like sweating unless I’m actively engaged in a workout.

Either way, it seems to be a love-hate relationship I have with Texas weather. I can live with that for now.

Dragons, Costumes, and Ghosts! Oh My!

My Mother of Dragons costume! If you
use this photo, please link back!

First and foremost: Happy Equinox! I had a lovely little private ritual last night, offering wine and berries to my deities and the local spirits along with some fall-themed poetry and prayers. There was, of course, lots of candle burning and meditating on the turning of the wheel and singing to the moon that I love so much.

And now, for some updates…

After weeks of late night creative strain and busy weekends with sore fingers developing calluses from all the sewing, I am finally done creating my Daenerys Targarian costume! To include, of course, a baby Drogon. Creating the dragon took the most time, but getting the leather vest right for the outfit was difficult as well. The skirt turned out pretty easy, but I’m still very pleased with the overall look. I have some more work to do on the wig—namely, making it a paler white-blonde and braiding a few bells into it, Dothraki style—but it’s a start. I’d like to lose a few pounds before I parade around Texas on Samhaine bearing my midriff, but I’m still a lot thinner than I was a year ago and way more in shape. My running times have shed minutes, and my endurance is way up. So while I may not be model-thin, at least I know I’ll stand a fair chance during a zombie apocalypse.

Rule Number One: Still Cardio.

Let me know what you think about the costume preview ☺ once I have someone other than myself who can take photos of it. The camera in the bathroom photo sorta diminished the effect of the outfit + dragon combo somewhat, in my opinion.

In other news, I’ve been asked by a friend to be part of a local paranormal/supernatural investigative group. Because of my ridiculous schedule, I couldn’t commit fully, but I did agree to help out and serve as a part-time consultant with a Pagan perspective. It’s a newly formed group, so they’re just starting to dip their feet in the ectoplasm, so to speak, but the crew seems to have promise and I’m looking forward to working with them. They’ve also expressed interest in trying to contact the ghost I share my apartment with (who has been rather quiet as of late, and I’m beginning to wonder if he’s finally moved on), so if that actually pans out, I might have something of more substance to blog about.

In the meantime, may your fall be blessed with a full harvest and lots of fun!

Why Yes, I Am Alive. Sorta.

Completed Freya Statuette! Available for purchase now
from the Shoppe Between the Trees! AKA Etsy.

I can always tell I’ve been too long away from my blog when it asks me to retype my password instead of just remembering who I am. Tonight was one of those occasions. As I sit in the guest bedroom of my apartment, which also serves as my art-music-bejeweling-crafts-sewing-reading-etc room, with a glass of Aglianico wine (a particularly ancient grape, originally grown in Greece and then adopted by the Romans and found mostly now in Italy—albeit much less famous than their Chianti—which possesses dark, fruity, and smoky flavors of which I am particularly fond) in one hand and a mug of gunpowder green tea in the other, and having just finished reading another Daenerys chapter in the Storm of Swords (the third installment of the Game of Thrones books), I thus contemplate my lack of blogtacular ponderings of late.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve referred to myself as busy; safe to say, every time I start to think that surely I am as busy as I’ll ever be and soon this business will diminish and I’ll be able to return to my blogtastic awesomeness, I’ve been wrong. I only seem to get busier and busier as the weeks and months progress. If I’m not at work from 0500-1900 every day, only to return home with the minimal amount of energy to feed myself something that resembles dinner before plunging back into work for a few hours before finally collapsing in bed, then I’m working on one or another creative project. Or, when I lack the energy and functioning brain cells to do naught else, I’m reading a chapter or two of George R. R. Martin’s addictive, dragon-and-incest-riddled prose.

Incidentally, I’ve determined that this year’s Halloween/Samhaine costume will stray from my previous few years of Xena-esque Warrior Goddess while keeping with the hot-female-badassery theme by donning a white-blonde wig, leather, silk, jewels, and a dragon, and calling myself Daenerys Targarion. So far: skirt complete, wig purchased, leather vest half-complete, boots picked out (already owned them), and dragon half complete. All my baby Drogon needs still is a torso and wings.

Further updates on my life (before I plunge back into gods-only-know-how-long of silence):

1) Etsy Shoppe is still up and running, albeit low on purchase power at the moment. Perhaps I should go back to running ads so that my jewelry/paintings actually show up on searches.

2) My Soldiers seem to really like, respect, and want to emulate me. I’ve noticed the lower enlisted females have started wearing their hair the same way I wear mine, and at least half of my Platoon has told me on one occasion or another that I’m the best Platoon Leader they’ve ever had. Melts my heart :)

3) Still a single, raging feminist, suffering from an utter lack of male attention (Army doesn’t count. They have to listen to what I say; also I can’t date any of my subordinates) and wondering if ever there will come a time that I am capable of loving someone who loves me.

4) Still writing depressing poetry, angst-filled song lyrics, and painting chicks with swords and dudes with horns in an attempt to rid myself of afore mentioned angst. Oh. And I’ve finally started recording again.

5) Still Pagan. Yep. Definitely still Pagan. If you need further proof, check out the latest statue I *finally* finished painting! Yay Freya!

Freya, Casper, And How Is It Only Tuesday?

Photo still from one of my fav childhood movies:
Casper, the Friendly Ghost. I might have one.

Despite lack of communication in the blogular sphere lately, I’ve been relatively artisticly busy lately. The disconnect—evident by lack of posting—is not for lack of thoughts, material, or otherwise lack of anything other than my cord that connects my camera to my computer. I molded, fired, and painted a lovely statuette of Freya, Norse goddess of Love, Sex, Beauty, the Hunt, and general Badassery. I snapped several fantabulous photos of said statuette. But unfortunately, I am unable to either post pics here or list the item for sale on my Etsy Shoppe. Sad day. Perhaps once I finish cleaning my apartment (starting with my living room) I’ll be able to locate the runaway camera cord. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll just have to tweet a few pics from my phone. Not nearly as high quality, nor nearly as exciting.

In other news, I’ve been running around like a headless chicken these past few weeks trying to get everything in order job-wise. You know, that real job that I have but rarely blog about because, let’s face it, there’s a bazillion Army Officers out there, so who wants to hear about what I do? Of course in the same respect, there is a growing Pagan population, not to mention the colossal numbers of amateur artists, writers, musicians, and other creative-type folks. So perhaps I’m not as original as I once thought. On the other hand, perhaps my originality lies in the blending of all these things…but oh wait, we already have a phrase for that: Jack (or Jill) of all Trades, Master of None.

But such is life.

Perhaps it’s the encroaching full moon that has me so introspective, or perhaps it’s the lack of sleep (wait, what time is it? why am I not still working? oh yes, waiting on an email), but something just has my head spinning lately. Even on the rare occasion I’ve been able to finish my work (my real, Army-type work) before midnight, I’ve been unable to fall asleep right away, left instead to muse in circles, awake and pissed that I’m still awake. Tonight I’m upping my usual nightly dose of one ginormous mug of Bedtime tea (two leaves & a bud to the rescue!) to two ginormous mugs of Bedtime tea. Of course, with my luck, this will only result in my sleeping through my five alarms and being late to PT formation. Let’s keep our fingers crossed, shall we?

And in keeping up with the fine tradition of I-might-be-crazy-but-please-don’t-tell-anyone-as-I-post-publicly-and-only-slightly-anonymously-online-about-my-own-craziness, I think my apartment is still haunted. I’m not particularly astute when it comes to detecting entities of a ghostly nature, but in that half-waking, half-dreaming state of early morning semi-consciousness, I’ve been able to perceive a presence. I’ve done some research in ghosts—Walking the Twilight Path, Monsters: An Investigator’s Guide to Magical Beings, A Witch’s Guide to Ghosts and the Supernatural, and several other more generic examples of Pagan lit, and of course I’ve trolled all over the internet—and based on my interactions (such as they are) I have determined several things: My ghost is the spirit of a 13-15 year old boy, a victim of drowning some 200 years ago (surprising that his ethereal body has maintained this much cohesion, but water-deaths tend to do that, apparently), is totally OK with calling my Casper, and in fact might have a slight crush on me.

Oh yeah, and he also makes a great alarm clock. No joke. He yells at me in the morning when it’s the last possible time for me to get out of bed and still by chance make it to formation on time. Seriously. This has happened three times now. The first two times he poked me, the third time—just last week—I actually heard a young, male voice say, “You have to get up! Like right now!” So I did. He seems content so long as I acknowledge his presence, and he’s been thus far VERY well behaved whenever I’ve had guests over.

So either I’m crazy, or perhaps ghosts really do exist.

Road Trips and Deployment Poem

Basically what I looked at every day for four months.
Yay empty desert and camels. Picture found here. 

I love road trips. I love getting to see the country in between here and there, wherever I happen to be going at the time: the roads that twist and wind through the mountains, shaded and dark no matter what the time of day; the roads that stretch on forever, straight and flat and open; the highways with a billion lanes and cars driving at reckless speeds. I love it all, I really do. With music blaring I’ll sing along obnoxiously, not caring who sees me or what they think. I’ll be rocking my aviators, dancing in my car as I drive. Sometimes I’ll reach my destination only to realize I’ve lost my voice in the process because of all the singing…no one else can hear me—there’s no one to judge me—so I can sing as loud as I want.

There have been quite a few roadtrips in my rearview mirror over the past year or so. I drove from Virginia to New York and back multiple times, Virginia to Missouri and back twice, Missouri to Texas, and now Texas to Virginia. I’ve got another roadtrip around the corner, but this one I won’t be driving myself. The family is heading up to Pennsylvania for an annual summer reunion. It’s always a lot of fun, mainly because we eat and drink and laugh and watch Star Trek and ride horses and just have a riot out in rural (and when I say “rural,” I mean rural) Pennsylvania. It’s a blast. Then shortly after we return, I’ll have to start heading back to Texas. It’s a two-day trip, and I usually take a break with a friend who lives along the route.

It is, as always, good to be back in Virginia. Everything here is so green right now! The trees are definitely dressed in their summer finest. There’s been a lot of rain this year, which likely accounts for the intense greenness. Even the grass, which is usually a little brownish by August, is a bright emerald. I went for a run yesterday morning along my favorite running road—well shaded, not so well trafficked, and winding lazily next to a creek—and just couldn’t get over all the green. Perhaps it comes as such a shock of color after spending so long in the colorless desert. Speaking of, as promised, here’s a poem I wrote while deployed, titled simply “Hell.” Enjoy!

There’s something buried here.
There’s a vengeance; there’s a need,
buried underneath the sand
     and piles of debris.
It rumbles with the wind;
it clings to our clothes,
and if it rears its ugly head,
     this desert may explode.

There’s something buried here:
an ancient, angry grief
under pebble-crusted dunes,
     swallowed whole,
          buried deep.
It stirs the blood of Soldiers,
chills the wary to the bone,
infiltrates our dreams with thoughts
     of never going home.

There’s something buried here,
and that something wants us gone.
It says, “You never should have come,”
     but we’ve known that all along.