Humanity

Foxy, foxy.

Dia de la Muerta figures UnwifedMotherExpletive

There’s been a fox in my yard lately, sniffing around my chicken ladies.  They are safe, particularly at night, if, in fact, they are in their coop. But. and there is a large BUT, they don’t know enough to stay there. And I’m torn. Do I tell them? Do I cage them? Am I responsible for derailing their one wild life?

Its hard out there, for sure. Being solo in the wilderness is not a long story. Predators are, in fact, designed to defeat your precious freedom.

(I’m not an idiot. I’ve made a pen for my ladies, as they are the meagre survivors of a brutal season of bird, fox, automobile that affected their ability to safely free range. I’ve never seen anything like it. I buried a lot of chicken hit in the road. WTF. )

(and, far far too many jokes.)

but as i consider my life as a grown woman, and what freedom i have to choose… the gross amount of privilege i enjoy, the way in which i am forever tied to my family of brood, i am highly aware of the foxes out there.

Some of it is as simple as feeling shame for living on alimony and child support.  Its an entirely social construct, a pen, if you will, and i can live in it while throwing myself against the walls, or not.

some of it is as complicated as a new man in my life. LM still. but how much do i rely, how much do i allow, how much of merging is a loss? i’m going slow, slow, but these are things and thoughts that are real real.

sigh.  Fox medicine says that

If Fox has chosen to share its medicine with you, it is a sign that you are to become like the wind, which is unseen yet is about to weave into and through any location or situation. You would be wise to observe the acts of others rather than their words at this time. Use your cunning nature in a positive way; keep silent about who and what and why you are observing.

If i’m to be like the wind, cunning and clever, (and silence is, frankly, already out the door… ) i’m just going to keep on keeping on, watching and waiting and letting it ride.

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Humanity

Soup is on.

Today i did a writing prompt about the things I tend, what i turn towards, how I tend. I’m sharing it here, because I like the change of pace, and the soup is really smelling up the place now, as well as the bacon that I had to add… ah, bacon. you make my heart sing.

I have added to and edited here, though this news will break the hearts of those who forgive me my ways. (capitalization is just not a thing, for instance.)

  1. Today was the day of the oil change. The making-sure the car makes it through the winter, though i suppose there is no guarantee against calamity, or trees. 
  2. I’m in love with the word TEND. I took a class called that, just for its name… only to run out of money in the end… but i lose a bit of my bonechill every time i see her writings. Women are pretty fucking great. of course it is a woman. Tend? c’mon. 
  3. I’m making a soup today as well, which is not a completely normal happening, but it will be potato when it is done with its time in the crock. I’ve been working at a farm stand and am thrilled to say that my reason, ‘to be closer to food, to cook more real food’, has come to pass. (also, people. and payment) These potatoes are almost fully personified in my mind. They are giving me their pleasure, and sustenance and i am chopping them to chunks and bits. (look away.) I also peeled their skin off. 
  4. The things i turn toward are colored amorphous blobs. Memories, smells… sounds or tactilities, these are the scenes i go towards. I’m so fully centered in my body, but there is all this space around the molten core of me, and i seem to want to fill it with yarn and sweaters knit by people who can, food smells, tacos… you see. It is escaping my typing fingers, what it is i tend towards, how it is i move into and out of the world outside my quiet body. I don’t even know how i have sex, out there, but i do… every once in a while i get a glimpse of a spark shooting off into the darkness, my fling towards connection. 
  5. i feel so insular, my molten core bringing all the self-sufficiency. (hello, they say no man is an island. but what of woman? )
  6. I tend to warmth, there are hats, there are blankets and there are never NOT those things. We have wood for the stove, we have pasta for the storms. It is always tended to. Always. 
  7. I’m not able to, or rather, it taxes me too dearly to slow down my writing brain. It must flow as it does. I tend to fly. 
  8. More colors to tend to in this dying light of Fall. the book i haven’t read, that i probably need to read, maybe. It is green-ly bound, and yellow at the heart. I think my chakras are interested by this.Books Yellow and Green UNwifedmotherexpletive
  9. I tend to personify. 
  10. I tend to leave space, for all the meaning and the worth that come from another. The shared experience that really isn’t. And is, too. 
  11. A season of tending outdoors has ended, and the wrapping up of it into storage, decay, decomposition, is a slow decay in an of itself. I start off strong. Always curious to see what is left to survive the elements, or not. That one hulahoop left by the shed. You see.

 

Humanity

Mess: O Princess, Damsel, Virgin

**Myss, Caroline Myss.. no mess, beyond mine.

i’m not done learning about the archetypes yet. not by a long shot. looks like i still have 9 hours of listening to do. today’s lunch learning was princess, damsel, virgin.  hmph. light. i don’t happen to carry these with me, though i have a recognition of damsel, ‘needing to be rescued’… but the princess, ‘someone will take care of me’ is not in me. i can point at my friends who have this one right now, easy-peasy, because i recognize it, but don’t understand. its a perpetually young one, almost naive… that is waiting for her prince, her ‘one’… in order to evolve she has to face and break her own helplessness, evidently.

hmpf, again.

as for damsel? I’ve had a wild desire to be rescued, i’ll admit. I’ve wanted to be airlifted right out of what was going on and let someone else do all the work. i just don’t believe anyone can do that for me.  so what does that make me? cynic?

mm.

the virgin, my friends, has little to do with sex.  think, more along the lines of ‘virgin territories’… uncharted waters.  the person who has the Virgin archetype is one who is more clean and free than the rest of us, unencumbered by the mess and weight of the past.

Myss says we carry 12 plus archetypes in us.  I don’t think i’ve got these, beyond my glance at Damsel.  You?

Zinnias and Dahlias Unwifedmotherexpletive

Humanity

mean old bastard

there’s a piece of me that is a hard, flinty old man. the man who cuts up the tennis balls that land in his yard, to show those young’uns what ‘respect’ means.

you wouldn’t know it to look at me, but it is there, and it is strong. it is most assuredly NOT the strongest of the bunch, but he does show his head often enough that I know him. He’s really quite reactive.

If I’m cold, he comes out ranting about how I can’t start a fire because it is too early in the season and I’ll run out of wood when I need it most. And I can’t turn on the heat because I’ll run out of money when I need it most.

If I’m lonely, he runs out into the yard to wave his stick at all my faults, including my introversion, which is a bit of a mind-bender.  “If you weren’t so damn picky, you’d have more friends. If you go out with those people, they will really learn about how weird you are.”

curmudgeon. filled with fear and lack… not-enoughness.

UnwifedMotherExpletive on the Beach

I think most people know it, certainly have seen it in others.  its a whole way of explaining American culture right now. I hate you because you might take what I have, someday, somehow, because I really don’t have enough, and I’m scared.

And how do I address that mean old bastard? The more I respect the pieces of me that have developed, the more I realize I can let him rant, and fling his fear around. I can. no big.

as long as I don’t do more than that. I can let him, I don’t need to burn down his house.  I may not want to have him over for dinner but I don’t need to ‘become him’.  I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t work. So, i’m just going to go to the beach and pick up pretty rocks and use a hanky to save the world.

and he can rant, and I can let him. and when he is done, I might bake him some apple crisp.

but guess what? he’s lost his teef.

more for me.

-uwmofo

 

Humanity

hot apple cider

today i’m very strange. full warning.

  1. hot apple cider, available at the coffee shop. not coffee. and boy, when you ask for it plain, you get a look. however, this is new England and hot cider is a required force on a fall morning.
  2.  cider smells like breast-fed baby poop. i’m happy about that. also glad that it doesn’t TASTE like breast-fed baby poop.
  3.  I ran out of my kitchen (at 8:30 am) because my tenant was there. she lives there. I don’t have any problem with her. I just ran away, because.
  4.  I am afraid to talk to people at the ‘real’ health food store. because I feel guilt for fast food, and high fructose corn syrup and not enjoying cooking, and so I feel a fraud, or like I have to confess. Makes for an awful lot of drama. Sneakers at Coffeeshop Unwifedmotherexpletive
  5.  So many people here are still wearing flipflops, or sandals of some sort. I don’t care about toes but I do care too much about warmth and chilly-ness. too much, I know. but hats are imminent, people!
  6.  there’s all these women with babies under 6 months old. some mommy and me class must’ve just finished somewhere.
  7. plus, its gone from before 10 am to after 10 am and the place is hopping. who lives these lives? I wish they would all stop by my table and tell me. (not really, maybe. maybe.)
  8. I’m too distracted by my phone. memes can be really funny. i’m still tired of snark though.
  9.  I don’t ever want to be around pumpkin spice. i’m a purist. apple cider. i’m going to make a flag for my pickup.
  10. maybe they are nannies. this one does not have a body which has carried a child. are nannies a thing here? maybe i’m in the wrong end of town.
  11.  I have to go back home to take a walk, and to hear me some more Mother Teresa. because. what else would you do while waiting for the work to roll in, right?
  12.  I think a dozen is a pretty good place to stop. I imagine my Lionness getting down with the apple cider too.

(seriously, where the hell are all these babies coming from? there are SO many babies here! a meet-up?)

shitcakes and fuckery. I wrote that this week in a shared space and made two women laugh. and man that feels pretty great.

also wrote that I was a zipper in the wash.

love love love,

uwmf