Dreaming of Spiders

Revived by Spiders!

To revive this blog site, I want to start with the most recent dream that took me by surprise and woke me suddenly, provoking me to check my skin for signs of parasites.  The back story to this dream is I suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, so keeping to a regular routine of exercise is not only important, it's downright necessary for me to lead a normal life, yet it's very difficult to motivate myself to do it everyday.  I'm not awake enough to keep to a schedule!  So dreaming becomes my everyday activity, and when I sleep too much, I'm constantly worrying about dying in my sleep.  When I am more active, my favorite activity is to get out in nature, yet being the worry wort that I am, I fear I might get a tick or bug bite -- heck, I'm even very afraid of that happening while I am asleep, too.  I live next to a nature reserve.  It may be part of the city, but we have all kinds of bugs, especially big crawly things, like spiders.  Spiders that decide to share my home with me!

Don't get me wrong.  I love spiders.  They eat all the things I really hate.  Plus the symbolism behind them is majorly wonderful.  However, I don't want them crawling on me or biting me.  I've experienced their bites, not fun, don't recommend getting one.  So...  I think what provoked this dream was my discovery of a bug bite of some sort on my right ankle after I gained the energy to do some long walking.  I was SO happy to finally be walking again.  Yet some asshat bug decided to attach itself and take a little taste of me then leave a nice welt.  Most likely a mosquito bite, it itched like one, and it pissed me off because I thought it was too cold the morning of my walk in question for their to be those buggers around.  You never know in October, however, since the weather flashes from freezing to summer heat temperatures, sometimes in one day.  I digress...

After going through a manic amount of hiking, walking up to twice a day for at least two miles, I came back home the nice kind of sore, but then that eventually grew to my usual debilitating swollen type of sore where only bed rest can help me recover.  In comes the dreaming...

The Broken Jar Spiders Dream, night of October 14th, 2015

They didn't "attack attach" onto me until I tried to leave a warehouse full of movie posters where my hands were full of art supplies, and I had to pass through a narrow passage with fragile porcelain jars filled with milk. I accidentally knocked into the jars, it started a chain reaction, releasing many species of spiders someone collected for science.

I couldn't leave, but people came to my rescue, yet they, too, got full of the critters. One of my rescuers was a friend who recently passed away, Joyce. She worked fervently to pick things off me, like a monkey pinching off fleas from my back. She forced me to lie still, even though I tried to squirm underneath her in that panic anyone feels while you feel alien things crawl all over you. And I could feel them tickle-assault me, knowing at any moment one could sink fangs into my skin and I might die.

Eventually I looked at my hands to find some weird things were biting me but they weren't spiders! Weird bugs, one a white worm that kept sinking back and forth from out of the skin in between my left ring and middle finger, the other a strange pink beetle puffing out steam on my right wrist. They were removed with tweezers by a rescue team come to re-collect the spiders and safely put them back into more sturdy jars.

The rest of my dream was all about getting onto a bus where I sang and danced with some young people in what I can only describe as a demented, perverted version of Glee. We were on this very crowded bus where I could barely breathe. Outside the dream, I think I may have been suffering from short breath due to my asthma as this is the time of year colder, drier air does hurt me. But as I dream, my mind tends to play things out dramatically, creating these narratives that prove entertaining like this.

Then somehow I ended up walking home from Partner's Pub (the closest bar near my home) in a flashback from my early college days with a group of friends from that era while it was raining. I broke away from our group and I noticed I had lost weight, my legs were very muscular, and I was wearing only half a red dress (or it was only a mini dress, not sure). It wasn't like me to wear something so revealing, but looking down at this leggy body, yeah, I think if I had improved myself like that, I'd show it off. Next thing I knew, I was alone and carrying a load of wood -- big 2X4's of the kind you'd get from a warehouse -- after waking from this dream, I realize this bookends it with a theme of me, once again, carrying a burden and attempting to make my way through a narrow passage. Because I walked up to what would normally be a wide sidewalk, but in the dream it was blocked by a fence, leaving only a narrow area between the fence and a very large willow tree where once was a few small pine trees. When I got to the fence, I noticed on the other side was a dumpster. Relieved, I threw away my burden!

Next, I grabbed hold of the willow branches to discover that they were very elastic, thick, and strong. I climbed very high up into the tree and, for no reason other than the dream taking over me, I proceeded to make love to the tree. The willow responded by hugging and swaying with me, even making lovely humming, sing-song noises. Soon it was no longer sexual, but more sensual, in the sense it was an emotional attachment. For one moment I looked at my hands grasping the tree, seeing spiders crawl and quickly dart over my fingers, but, most of all, I was no longer gripping the tree or its branches to hang on. With a start, realizing I wasn't hanging on to anything, I woke up.

Sleep Study

Last night I took part in a sleep study. Almost every inch of my face and head were hooked up to wires. I felt like I was entering a science fiction world. A camera recorded my every moment and a nurse talked to me via some electronic device. The room was very white, the sheets and bedding were off-white, but the place was far from a sterile hospital room. More like a hotel room but without all the perks. I had hoped to record a dream, yet with my skin all stickered up with wires and what-not, it was hard to concentrate. Luckily I brought with me a deck of Tarot cards and just meditated on the Strength card to get me relaxed enough to sleep. Before long I forgot I was hooked up to machines. Forgot I was being videotaped. I had hoped that when I woke I'd be told that I talked in my sleep or got up and walked around in a trance, something interesting like that. But not me. I did, however, remember vaguely a dream about walking with Katy Perry through a faerie-filled woods. For some reason she had on big fluffy white bunny ears and she talked a lot. A lot a LOT. Chattering away like a chipmunk on crack. The smell of strawberries and lavender made her fade away and then a crackle of the nurse's voice from that electronic machine woke me up. She told me to try to sleep on my back. I don't like sleeping on my back, but the doctor wants to see how well I sleep on my back. So I did so and couldn't easily fall back to sleep. I damn well tried, however. And just as I was about to fade away into another dream -- a dream I hoped would be worth writing home about -- the pain in my lower back and neck made me fidget. The nurse told me to go ahead and sleep back on my side. I'm a side sleeper and love to hug a pillow, but in that hospital room I didn't have my huge pillow collection from home surrounding me and made do with clutching the blanket. The blanket was thin, not fluffy, slightly old-fashioned looking, but not as comforting as a granma-type quilt like the ones my Aunt Madge would've lent me when I used to sleep at her house. Thinking about my Aunt made me a little sad. Sleep overs at my Aunt Madge's house were interesting and strange sometimes because I usually found myself surrouned by family hand-me-downs and antiques. Aunt Madge had a country house, her kitchen walls were lined with collections of decorative plates. After she died last summer, I inherited her bedroom furniture -- a faux French Provencal vanity dresser set from the 1950s that suites my tastes well -- thinking about my Aunt Madge's old bedroom with its rose pink walls had me sighing, homesick. And just as I thought of Madge, I thought of my mother. Sleeping in the hospital room made me remember how times were like when my mother lived in the nursing home. I never thought her hospital bed looked very comfy. I wanted to shower her with blankets and pillows, but she already had friends from church who donated her a lot of those, some I still have but I don't snuggle up to them. My mother's handmade blankets and pillows are relics now, still too infused with her perfume and presence, and I'm still not completely used to her being dead. As I fell back to sleep, I remembered the way in which my mother was hooked up to oxygen and machines, shrinking away in her little hospital bed as she died. I couldn't help but dream of how that must've felt. I started to feel afraid, worried that my sleep test results would reveal some kind of deadly disorder that would foretell my own death. But, no. I woke up and the nurse told me I showed no signs of sleep apena or any other kind of sleep disorder. This is good news! Now I can be home and fall asleep, safe in the knowing I'm close to normal.

A Funny Dream Happened While I'm Healing

While I've been gone from this blog site, an impacted wisdom tooth on the bottom right side of my jaw chipped and became infected.  I had it extracted on the 13th of April.  Yet before then I lost some very dear friendships.  Healing from both things has proved to be harrowing, but I'm managing to get better.  I think from now on this blog site will feature just a log of my dreams.  Now... back to recording this weekend's most twisted dream!

Yesterday the right side of my cheek and jaw were swelled up so much, I felt like I was turning into a hamster. Yeah. Imagine that, me a were-hamster! I couldn't sleep or rest my head very well, so I ended up spending much of the day watching reality-based medical mystery dramas while leaning my cheek on a pillow of ice. Now. Watching medical shows that feature autopsies was not really the kind of entertainment that makes me comfortable while healing from surgery! Yet, nothing else was on on a Saturday afternoon. I was feeling pretty damn miserable and worried that my swelling was a sign of further infection. I was happy, however, to re-read my take home instructions from the dentist and note that the worst of the swelling was supposed to be experienced on the third day after surgery anyway. Anxiety aside, I finally did get to sleep while watching ghost stories on Bio channel and had some very adventurous, mood-altering zombie dreams. Yeah. I dreamt of zombies! Some people may think that zombies are the stuff of nightmares, but I have a fondness for them. Sure, if I saw a reanimated dead person in real life I'd freak out like anyone else, but cinematic zombies I enjoy.

The zombies in my dreams last night were all of people I once knew. We all first started out barracaded in a hospital with a group of children. We were trying to protect the kids at all costs, but somehow a reanimated corpse that had been crushed somehow crawled its way through an air vent and infected the children while they slept. A helicopter crashed on the roof, sending the whole hospital on fire and we all tried to escape into a big white van, but the double whamy of fire and the group of zombies outside proved to be too much. One by one the children were wiped out and only the adults remained. We were forced to go back inside the burning hospital, but by the time we got back a sprinkler system kicked in and all was safe, yet very wet. I thought only one child was left. He had a little smoke inhalation, but doing well. I had not realized he was slowly turning into a zombie until one friend of mine (who ended our friendship in real life) went up to him to wipe off his face. The zombies had targeted the children for a reason and this particular outbreak of undead fever had evolved -- the younger the victims, the better and more pure the zombie infection. As my ex-friend touched the boy, his face began to melt and he cried out. Before I could warn her that she was about to be bitten, his features mutated, his mouth opened up and he sucked at her head. She yanked herself free only to have broken her own neck. As she slumped to the floor, the zombie boy was sucking at a piece of her bloody scalp. That's when my friend Nadine sprung into action and just started bludgeoning the boy into a pulp. When it proved to not kill him right away, I helped her. Together we kept at it and, horrified, realized that destroying the brain was no longer the key to killing the zombies.

There was a stringy mess coming out of where the spinal column was. I figured out that the key to destroying these new kind of zombies was to sever the spine. But the guys disagreed. Even when Nadine and I pointed out that our way of killing the zombies was most sound, they were determined to waste their bullets on exploding some heads. On our second attempt to escape from the ruined hospital and fly off the roof using a small plane, we managed to not get on the aircraft and watched the men battle it out for their lives, only to witness them lose. Eventually even Nadine could not survive. She slipped on some guts and fell off the roof. I raced downstairs and encountered Michelle who hatched a plan to escape underground. She told me that everything in the basement area was cut off years ago and that there should be no one alive or dead there. All we had to do was find the way down.

This is where the dream gets silly. We found a shaft to climb down into the basement, but on our way down, a purple-headed blob-like bodied creature that floated in the air like a giant cupcake and demented smiley face all in one, whistled at us and attempted to seduce us. It had HUGE bloated lips -- like Mick Jagger with a collagen injection if you can imagine that -- and it smacked them, making kissey noises and lude sucking gestures. There was no way to avoid the creature. It took Michelle first, trying to suck her entire body. I managed to get it off her but it took me instead and carried me back into a laboratory. As Michelle escaped, I let the creature basically "rape" me and watched her back. Once she was gone, I grabbed a piece of broken glass and stabbed at the creature but it just kept replicating itself. I woke up in mid-battle rage, my heart racing, and yelped to consciousness.

I can figure out what it all means, symbolically representing the struggles and grievances I've had over my relationship difficulties, plus my anxiety about losing any more friendships. It's not fun to be mourning the relationships I've had for so many years online while fighting an infection in my mouth and healing from surgery. The hospital, zombies, and purple-headed monster are all symbolic of what is going on in my body. I think it's a sign that my mind is telling me I'm stronger than I think I am and that not all is at a loss. Yet I still worry, as any human would, whether or not I've been a good friend. For now, the most healing thing for me is to be a little Hermit and concentrate on getting better.

A full moon in Libra is coming and I'm looking forward to its gentle, emotionally cleansing, relationship-nurturing energy.

My Cloak Sewing Experiment

Every now and then I have to give myself a challenge. If any of you have been following my blog for some time now, you know that I draw and paint well and I'm a pretty confident artist. But could I be a good seamstress? I don't know. I can sew things together like pillow cases, sachets, scarves, ponchos... yet I have no clue how to sew from a pattern and have never learned how to use a sewing machine. Hence I have no sewing machine. I sew from hand. I don't trust sewing machines anyway. Why, you ask? Because I had a bad experience when I first attempted to use a sewing machine... I accidentally sewed (or sown?) thread into the tippy-top skin part of my right thumb and it hurt like crazy. Let me re-phrase what I just wrote: I don't trust myself with a sewing machine. I make crazy miscalculations all the time. I don't think like a seamstress or a craftsperson, I just get an idea and do it until I'm beating my head into a wall! My latest planned disaster-for-now? I decided to creatively recycle two old patchwork skirts of mine (they were torn and not even good enough for Goodwill but the material is so pretty, I couldn't throw them out, even after 15 years!) and sewn them together, cutting the top half of them into a hood, and made something like a cloak.



I often like the idea of a challenge more than the attempt at making it an actual goal, and sometimes I sign myself up for a goal that is "too big for me to chew" but I hack at it anyway, determined to make a mess into success. My attempt at sewing a cloak has become an epic experiment that has proven to be a big headache as mid-way into executing the project I realized that a rectangle does not match a circle pattern... The old mid-1990's style skirts are circular and flare out on the bottom. The velvet I picked for one side of the cloak was cut a rectangle and did not flare out at the bottom and therefore did not cover the lower half. I had to cut V-shaped parts out of the velvet and had to cut the velvet rectangle in half completely. So now, after two days of hand-sewing the garment, I am left with a lop-sided, sloppy-looking cloak that needs a helluva LOT of work. My idea can still work, but I am going to be left with a different-looking cloak than I at first imagined I'd make.



I knew it wouldn't be that simple to make, and that I was taking some chances, especially working without the consultation of any friends who are more handy with sewing projects than I, but I WILL make this look somewhat decent. I still have plenty of material to work with and may add some black lace to flare out from the velvet. What I have yet to do, too, is make the hood more sturdy and sew the skirts better to the velvet to keep the velvet from sliding around. The happiest thing about this is that this project will keep me busy and distract me from winter depression. I long to make the cloak into something that I can really wear at festivals OR for Halloween. At this point, I have some work to do... and I've only just begun.

Check out some of my results below and let me know what you think:



Notice the little "spirit orb" near my face? Neat, eh? Maybe it's a sign I'm going to need some divine intervention to finish this project!







In the last photo here you can still tell that my cloak is basically two skirts sewn together over bits of wine-red velvet. I'm not sure exactly how this will turn out or where I'm going with it, all I know is that I'm going somewhere... and hopefully at the end of my experiment I will have a nice Gypsy-esque-Steampunk kind of garment. Stranger things of mine have been created out of whimsey.

Regarding the Fine Art of Eating MY Own Foot

Watch what you say? Believe it or not, I do all the time, but most usually AFTER I've said something! I've spent countless hours, days, YEARS remembering the things I've said and what someone else has said that I didn't mean, or that they didn't mean, or remember, but the difference between what I remember and what was said/written in a blog, or in a few lines on Facebook, is that the latter can IMMEDIATELY come back to haunt me. What is posted in a few moments of heated passion can bite you back in the ass, and keep on biting you for a long while, especially when other people who may or may not know you well, express themselves just as heatedly back at you. It may seem some people's common sense is impaired when they, time after line written in anger, forget that (to quote my friend Michelle) "the internet is open ended" and have their angry words echoed back to them on a platter of verbal backlash with a side order of embitterness.




I'm a very outspoken person and very emotional, I tend to express myself loudly all the time and, no matter what, people react just as loudly back at me. Sometimes they don't react right away and let their angry back lash brew until they pop a vein and spit their veniom at me when I least expect it. I don't mind a healthy back lash, but some people need to back off and just let someone spill their guts if they want to. Even though I realize the internet is "open-ended", I still relish my freedom of expression and will speak loudly, perhaps even more daringly so than I usually would offline, online. In my experience, I have discovered that whether what I write is nicely and politely said or not, someone out there is going to take offense or make unfair judgements upon my character based on what I say as easily as they would offline. Except when what I say is written down for everyone to see online, I am inadvertantly inviting anyone and their mother to react just as loudly to me online, and they will, especially so when they misinterpret what I have said as an attack. With the advent of the internet, people are safe in their own homes on their laptops to let their opinions fly out and let their ignorance and hatred show more so than they ever would let out in their lives offline. It's also extremely easy to hop on the bandwagon of opinions and "gang up" on whomever voiced the most unpopular opinion. The more passionate and stubborn the voice, the more tenacious the protest against that voice. But don't forget -- sometimes the outspoken person has something to just get off their chest and, even though it may prove to give a knee jerk reaction to someone else's nerves, it is just their opinion based on their feelings, right or wrong -- you can't force someone else to think or feel the way you do and we have no control over what they will think about us. What is the most important thing is what we think and feel about ourselves, and once you find your confidence, you will revel in the freedom you have to speak your mind and heart, and NO MATTER how much everyone and their mom hates what you have said, they can't hurt you.




Even though I have been unfairly bullied by the opinions of others, I will never trade a day of silence, never go back to the times I let others make decisions for me or talk over me -- the uncomfortableness I feel today when even the closest of friends disagree with me over what I believe is NOTHING compared to the pain of suffering in silence. It is a good thing to express yourself openly and brutally honestly than sit back and let other people speak for you (or speak all over you if the case may be). If someone is feeling angry, or has hatred in their heart, or are depressed, they will find it easiest to let it out online; but the freedom to express yourself comes with a double edge to it, speech is like a sword -- what we say can cut others down just as easily as it can cut through the clouds and clear the air. If you don't know how to use your sword, you'll end up cutting yourself more and getting it stuck in the ground when you use it to just randomly attack anything out there. To use your sword correctly, you have to take the time to really think before you speak, really polish and sharpen it... We also have to realize when NOT to pick up the sword -- that we just as easily have the freedom to ignore what someone else has said and to let it go if we don't agree with what is said because sometimes no matter what you say, nothing will produce a positive change.




Over the years I've been accused of taking things too far or going over the top with my words, but truth is, it is only MY opinion that proves to be unpopular and I don't shut-up or "behave" when others disagree with me (maybe this is why I'm accused of being so difficult). I'm stubborn and passionate, but at least all my friends know what time it is with me. I am quick to speak up and protest something, especially when I feel that someone is being unfair to me or someone else. Occasionally I have been wrong in my assumptions of others and I have expressed "sorry" to them, because usually I'm being misunderstood. When you live what you believe and feel "out in the open" your views will be questioned, protested, and taken the wrong way. I'm used to having to fight for any love and acceptance I can get; sometimes I forget to be softer, more gentle towards others. I'm not always prepared for the negative reaction I recieve from people who do not know me well. And even if they DO know me well, I can taken off guard when a friend lashes back at me. Even though I don't like it, I can be proven wrong, it's just when they don't stop to really listen to me and attack me out of a misunderstanding, I am forced into a corner. I don't back down easily because I've learned that, when I do, I get stomped on! I invite people to disagree with me, but there comes a time for us all to shut-the-fuck-up, listen, and then ask for clarification. Too often we're so busy getting out what we think and feel, we forget to take into consideration what someone else is going through -- I'm guilty of that, too. It hurts no matter what side you're on!




I've long tortured myself over the way some people have reacted to what I say, and I'm not giving in to that anymore. I have realized that I have no control over what other people will think about me, but I can put it out there that anything and everything is open for discussion with me -- equally and doubly so on the internet. Just don't hit me upside my head the moment I say something you don't agree with. If you're going to "fight" with me, I invite you to do so in an intelligent, peaceful, adult manner... even if the subject we're disagreeing on is stupid -- especially so if it's stupid! Because a disagreement over something stupid is not worth the loss of a friendship.




I've put both feet in my mouth occasionally, and have the lingering bad taste in my mind to prove it, and I don't mind admitting when I am sorry. I just don't think some people are prepared for the onslaught of negative opinion and reactions they will get when they post their inner most thoughts online for everyone to comment on. And...

If you invite me to give you my most honest opinion, and you don't like what I have to say, you shouldn't feel like you have to end our friendship when we disagree. That happened to me not too long ago... someone asked for my advice and opinion time and time again and I didn't back down, but when I did finally back off and chose to express my anguish online, that's when I was attacked by her and her mother. Next time I will simply ask those who ask me what I think, whether or not they really want to hear what I have to say. I try to be careful about what I say, but I am only human. I've been wrong and I've been sorry yet I will never NOT tell you my truth! This means I may come off intimidating, but this is only because I have the confidence to speak what someone else may not have the courage, or nerve, to say.



Yet am I brave enough to thrust my foot into my gaping, non-stop talking mouth? Sure. As long as these feet are clean.

I Miss Writing

Happy year 2011, all.  I haven't blogged here or anywhere else much lately, partly due to having a lot more distractions in my home.  I remember now why I haven't had cable TV in so many years, and it isn't just simply because I didn't have the income to pay for it, it's because I can turn into a TV zombie.  I'm catching up on shows and news so much, before I know it the day is half gone or it's too late at night, and especially after watching a gazillion news shows, I start to feel heavy, like I'm sedated, totally put into a mood where I don't want to move.  Then as I try to sleep, I close my eyes and keep seeing flashes of faces, a residual effect from watching too much TV, I'm sure. 

The other little problem I've been experiencing lately is that even though I have immediate access to the internet, now that I have a computer hooked up at home (yay!), there are times I just get online to vegitate some more.  I get on Facebook and just play around, take a few quizzes, and before long hours have gone by, my eyes get tired, and then the ennui robs me of my creativity.  I head back into my bedroom and want to draw, but my mind is so tired, so bored out, emptied of ideas, just bleh.  I've given myself a "creative migraine" out of this -- my imagination has pooped out sludge and before long each time I sit down to draw, I just sit there, and to get my mind off it I turn the TV back on or start up the computer.  I log into Mindsay or Blogger and just stare at the blank pages.  It doesn't help that I no longer have the social rapport that I once had here.  Whether or not I blog here, the old friends I once came here to blog back and forth with aren't all here anymore, and it seems like there's a general lack of interest in blogging by others.  I've noticed that in just the last two years, activity on blogs seems to have dwindled.  People like the instant gratification of Twitter or Facebook -- and even I have fallen for it, too.

Writing a blog is, well, about writing.  Journal writing, to be exact.  I keep several handwritten journals at home.  Blogging is public journal writing, so I tend to put more thought and energy into what I want to say for everyone to see.  Sometimes I get online to just react immediately, and even though I don't always write what is the most thoughtful thing to say (and possibly what I wouldn't naturally say in person), I will examine and re-examine what I've written.  In any case, the point I'm trying to make is that blogging, to me, is basically essay-like and can be a kind of chore.  I have to take more time to write a blog.  Checking Facebook is a breeze, but ultimately I don't get as much joy out of it as I do blogging.  Because Facebook is like candy; it doesn't feed my creativity like the good ole ritual of writing does.

I don't often make new year's resolutions, because such promises we make at the turn of a year don't get kept, but this year I really want to channel my energy into writing more.  Not just blogging.  Not just getting online to play with Facebook applications.  Not just to post hundreds of photographs.  I need to get back into the writing, really give myself assignments, really kick out the words I've got collected in the back of my mind, and stop myself from sinking into apathy.

Writing to me is like drawing...  I have a lot of stories to show and tell, writing is just another way to draw things out of my imagination.  I'll always keep a general blog out of my general need for self expression, but I want to stretch out and make writing itself a goal this year.  There are several areas/subjects I want to focus on: write my Witchcraft autobiography, write an on-going online poetry journal, write and revise my ficitional vignettes (I've got notebooks full of them that I could make into short stories), and write a book on Tarot and about my experiences as a reader (amongst many other things that aren't coming to mind right at this moment).  Like the sketchbook goal I made last year (I filled up four sketchbooks-full of drawings), this year I'm just going to let my words fly via keyboard and pen.  The goal isn't about getting my writing published, it's just about writing, just getting the words out, and not necessarily filling up several notebooks or blogs full of my words.  I just want to, and owe it to myself, to get back into writing so I can help myself break the habit of just sitting here and not accomplishing anything.

I want to write just as much as I draw.  Let the words flow...

Snuggle Attack!

Have a wonderful New Year filled with love, from me and Mr. Snuggles!

My first Christmas without Mom

I'm not used to the social pressures of Christmas -- usually I just spend a quiet Winter Solstice at home, maybe volunteer to help out friends with their gift giving/buying, and just order take out for dinner, but this year is the first Christmas without my mother and my aunt... they celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ at this time of year. After someone dies in your family, the holidays become more important and more emotional. I look forward to spending time with my relatives, yet I am stressed that giving gifts isn't enough to really show them I care. Over the last twenty years I spent most of my energy exerting my independence and time away from them, all the while trying to get them to understand why I'm different, expecting them to accept and tolerate what makes me different from them, and then just drifting apart from them because, despite our blood ties, how could they ever accept me? I owe them much more than a trinket or stocking stuffer or whatever -- they are my blood, my life, our connections go deep -- so this holiday season all I really feel like doing is being a shoulder to lean on or asking for one to lean on myself. I haven't always been the perfect daughter, or niece, or cousin. I'm awkward.
I don't ever really fully "fit in" with the crowds of like minds I hang with, too. I forget birthdays, don't always have the money to spend on gifts, and most of the time I'm too self absorbed to remember to wish anyone else anything! And when I do remember it's never in the timely fashion it should be. During the holidays I often find myself apologising to people! I liken this to the way I often have a hard time keeping house -- I just kinda spaz out on the normal social rituals other people practice and I just let too much go til it gets so gone it's nearly impossible to salvage. Ms. Suzy Homemaker I'm not -- and etiquette? What's that? I live in a world where I follow my own flow and, even though I really do care about my friends and family, I'm so used to being alone I lack the "nice" behavior everyone else is clued in on. What stresses me out the most sometimes is when I am invited to a holiday party or family get-together and everyone is expected to "do something" and yet I'm never sure what I'm in for. The last two times I felt so completely inept socially was during a friend's wedding and, most recently, a friend's birthday -- both times I forgot to wrap a gift or present it properly and everyone but me is passing the gifts to the friend-in-honor, taking photos, and handing out gift cards -- I just sit in the sidelines, the only one not following protocol. You would think that it's due to a lack of social training in my family upbringing, but this is not so. You'll see what I mean in a minute...


Christmas with my mother always meant she'd bake a cake and decorate it up for Jesus. We'd sing the "Happy Birthday" song to Jesus and the rest of the night consisted of singing carols or watching films like "The Greatest Story Ever Told", "Spartacus" or "The Ten Comandments". There was always an exchanage of gifts between family members, we'd attend Church, volunteer at homeless shelters or half-way houses, and then Christmas night was spent with friends and another exchange of gifts. It was a time to remember everyone else, never a time to indulge too much in what you wanted. There were Christmases that we went without toys, not because my Mom couldn't afford them, but because we were too busy making sure other people were getting taken care of. My mother was very social, too -- in the house and in church and at work -- busy all hours of the day baking and cooking, keeping and collecting gift cards, always making sure the right people got thanked and were told "I love you" and above all we had to think of God. "The most important things to remember to tell other people is 'I love you' and 'thank you,'" She instructed me from age one, "because you may be the one person in their lives that will ever tell them that." She would also make sure we remembered to wish Jesus a Happy Birthday because He was the reason for the season. It wasn't just a simple well-wishing, it was something very serious. Christmas was fun but mostly, for our little single parent family, it was all about the Jesus. She spent most of my life separated from her family and, when we were reunited with her brothers and sisters after my Aunt Sandy died from breast cancer in 1986, a whole new monthly ritual of birthdays and anniversaries began. The most important of these was Christmas.


Christmases were always spent at my Aunt Madge and Uncle Orley's house. This meant gift giving and cooking became more complicated! There were more people to remember to give gifts to and cook for. I wasn't always prepared to know what exactly to get my relatives for Christmas and oftentimes I was surprised to get a gift I really wanted from an aunt or uncle! My mother made sure she taught me to remember to thank God, but my aunts and uncles and cousins made sure to teach me to remember to appreciate each other. Christmas with my extended family could be just as stressful as the holidays I spent with Mom at church. Gift giving and holiday cooking was like religion. If you didn't do it right or often enough it meant you didn't care, so you had to get going with the ritual to make sure everyone knew they were loved and appreciated. Jesus' birthday was like celebrating everyone else's birthday, too. As an adult looking back on this, I liken it to recognizing God in each other. You saw a desire or need in someone you love and you fill it, pass it on, keep the love flowing... It was hard work to keep up with it! My Aunt Madge was the very matriarch of holiday protocol. While my mother was busy with the religious duties of taking us to church, my aunt was making and keeping a list all year long, both of them always prepared to make sure the kids and everyone else was remembered. Whenever I got gifts for my mom or aunt, I never felt like what I gave them was good enough -- they worked SO HARD to make sure everyone else was having a good time that my efforts to make sure they had a good time seemed so small.

It wasn't like they were hugely strict, it was because they were so powerful in my mind, how could I ever carry on what they did? Even at age 39 I feel like a child. I never was all that interested in the Christian religion like my mother was. I had other ideas and experiences. I don't like to cook or bake. I just wanted to be left alone. I experienced an epic fail one Thanksgiving day in the year 1990 -- it was my turn to cook the turkey and prepare a meal for my mother and brother and I -- but, not being all that talented in the cooking department, I forgot to thaw the turkey! So, no turkey dinner! And Mom was so unhappy she cried and cried and screamed and screamed at me for being so thoughtless. It was not long after that I lost interest in participating in family holiday celebrations altogether. Not because I didn't love my family, it was because I just didn't feel like my contributions would be good enough and that I would no longer be accepted because, after a lifetime of being forced to follow along with Christianity, I found a religion that perfectly fit in with who I am and didn't expect me to be anything I wasn't. I turned my back on my mother's religion, NOT on my mother, but rejecting something that was very important to her, something she believed in with her whole heart and soul, was like me turning my back on her forever. I always felt I failed her, but I would never lie to her. I always made sure to share with her who I am. I wanted to make sure she knew that what she taught me made me the woman I am today and that she was a good mother. But religion would be the one thing that kept us separate.

No matter the tolerance I maintain, I still find it difficult to forgive Christians for convincing my mother that I was going to Hell. The Christian religion separated us. After telling her I was a Witch, there was nothing I could do to make it up to her. She hit a brick wall whenever I shared with her what I believed and why I believed what I believed. For a couple Christmases after "coming out of the broom closet" to my Mom, the ritual of Christmas itself became more stressful. Every Christmas I found myself explaining and feeling obligated to educate, enlighten, and take all the fun out of celebrating the holidays with Christians. I eventually found it far less stressful to spend more time with other pagans and witches. Eventually it was harder to even visit with my mother altogether. It wasn't that I was rejecting her, in fact I had complete respect and perfect love for her and NEVER expected her to believe what I believed. I accepted her for who she was, my mother, and that acceptance went beyond religion. Simple matters of religious rituals aren't that imporant to the God(s), the Divine doesn't care what we call Them, what matters most is that we be excellent to each other!

Every Christmas I am reminded of the "silent night" carol -- the whole peace on earth theme -- and what that really means for us all, regardless of our individual religious affiliations. If we spend too much time focusing on "being right" we forget how to treat each other right. I hate having religious debates, especially when no one can seem to reach a common ground. The key to having world peace is to understand and tolerate our differences and still practice what we believe is right. With that said, I don't feel now that I failed my mother, but I still feel guilty every Christmas because now, after she's dead, I can't get all the holidays I missed with her back. Not just the holidays, but the days and nights we could've been better friends... if only her religion had permitted her to let go of that horrible belief that everyone is going to suffer eternal damnation if they aren't "saved" by letting Jesus into their heart. The last few years I've spent with my mother I did everything I could to please her and make her feel comfortable. This meant having to bite my lip and "wish Jesus a happy birthday" like we used to when I was a child. She could share with me what she believed, but I dared not share what I believed or practiced (even though she would repeatedly tell me she wanted to know more about me). Whenever I did share, she would cut me off, my brother would tell me to shut-up, and so for the last five Christmases I've had to constantly police myself and make sure all the Christians around me were respected. I "turned the other cheek" more times than perhaps they ever have. And every Christmas I would get depressed.




On the other hand, for the last two Winter Solstices I've had a loyal group of friends to celebrate with. While Christmases remained blue ones for me, Yule has become this explosion of social happiness -- the good kind of stress -- ! But now that my mother has died, my holiday stress isn't over... I'm hoping that this Christmas will be an emotional uplifting of the restrictions I felt I had to comply to with my mother. And yet... I feel the burden of her loss, made all the more intense because my aunt passed away this year, too. Will my little gifts wrapped with care be enough to soothe the hearts of my relatives? Gathering with them for Thanksgiving was a nice welcome after so many years being apart. I think this Christmas will be the same, but... there is still a nagging hurt in my heart.

I'm rediscovering that my family loves me (it's something I should've never forgotten). That makes this season more special than ever before. The emotional separation I had with my mother is gone, but now dealing with the physical separation is made easier reconnecting with the rest of the family. Yet I can't help still feeling like an insensitive dork when it comes to not contributing food I hand-cooked and giving only small, inexpensive gifts (some of them I hand made) -- yet do I really have to "go all out" to show I care? Would my Aunt Madge approve of the way I saved money or spent money or whatever? I remember one thing she told me after my Uncle Orley died when I expressed to her how sorry I was for not being around enough to help out. She said, "You're here now, that's what counts." Maybe that is the answer I've been asking for: just "being there" is the gift my family needs.



No matter what the holiday or differences in religion or lifestyle, WE are the GIFTS our family really needs.



I smile after writing that line. Thank you, Madge. Thank you, Mom. I'm here now.

My take on the "Happy Holidays" debate!

First of all -- HAPPY SATURNALIA everyone!

You wish me a Merry Christmas, don't be surprised if I wish you a Happy Yule or the generic "Happy Holidays" -- it's not politically correct, it's about each other wishing happiness for the other, no matter what your faith or culture!

I don't hate anyone who is different than me, and I don't make it a practice to push my beliefs on others, but sometimes being different makes it more difficult to be on the same page with other people. The only way to land on that page together is to start opening up and create a common dialogue. When you take the time to learn about what makes each of us different and find out what we have in common, the better we can fully appreciate and respect each other. But before you can reach that understanding, you have to have confidence and self respect as well. If you worry and obsess over what to say to others, you're caring more about what they think and believe in the wrong way! To give respect, you have to have respect.

Want to grasp the key to world peace this holiday season? Don't get politically correct, don't just generically assume everyone should consider your feelings,
and don't make it mandatory that what you believe should be the universal standard! If you are truly a good, spiritual person and practice a faith that preaches good will to all, you not only owe it to your fellow human being, but also owe it to yourself to reach outside of your comfort zone and really put that good faith in practice and really, truthfully and honestly, wish with all your might and heart for a stranger to have a happy holy day (the root of holiday is holy) REGARDLESS of what you or she may or may not celebrate.

I don't have to make you study my religion to get you to respect me during the holiday season! I find it equally crass and rude to hit your more conservative Christian relatives over the head with a detailed description of what Pagans celebrate. However, it's equally rude for those conservative Christians to assume that their "reason for the season" is the one and only origin of the season! The celebration of Christmas has its roots deep in ancient paganism. If you want to get deeply specific about the origins of Christmas, you have to realize that Christianity is not the only religion in the world that celebrates the virgin birth of a demi-God (a son or daughter of a God) during the longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice. But I don't want to play a religiously correct who-can-piss-the-most contest during the holidays! Wicca is also about giving good will to all humans this time of year, something that everyone lacks all year long, so it is best to let someone wish me a Merry Christmas because it's the right thing to do. It's not politically correct. It's just RIGHT to let someone wish you happiness and it's WRONG to make something as simple and good as a wish for happiness into something poltical, something selfish...

When someone assumes you celebrate what they celebrate, just smile and wish them the same. Wishing someone happiness should be something that is sincere. The winter seasons are harsh. The sunlight is shorter. People are more prone to becoming depressed from lack of sunlight. To reach out to someone and wish them happiness during a normally bleak season reflects genuine good will. It's not just politically correct to be "nice" during the holidays, it's a sentiment that should be practiced all year long!

I'm not Christian and I used to hate it whenever everyone assumed I celebrated Christmas. So whenever anyone wished me a Merry Christmas, I would turn around and say "Happy Yule!" If people want to get specific about what holy day to wish for someone, I usually felt obligated to wish them MY happy holy day! *snickers*

I find it MUCH more insulting when people assume Pagans and Witches don't celebrate a holy day like Christmas. We celebrate the same essential holiday but it centers around the Winter Solstice. If you want to know more about what Yule is, you can check out the description at Wikipedia, or go here to read up on the ancient origins of Winter Solstice holiday traditions, or go to Circle Sanctuary's page on Celebrating the Winter Solstice for extensive information on today's pagan holiday traditions and ancient pagan celebrations and visit Wikipedia for information on what happens during the Winter Solstice. I don't have to go into huge detail myself about what I celebrate because in our day and age so much information is already out there. And yet each Witch celebrates the Solstice differently. Everyone has their own individual celebrations. Winter is so dull and we're all stuck indoors because it's too cold, so no wonder the season itself seems to beg us to have a party! If not to stay warm, to just keep our spirits up.

After practicing Witchcraft for 20 years, I'm no longer so sensitive about who wishes me what -- I realize that when someone wishes me a Merry Christmas it's the same thing as wishing me happiness for the season. We shouldn't have to get so annoyed or hateful or political when it comes to wishing happiness for others! It's all the same wish, no matter what the holy reason for each season. I don't like it when Christians get political about Christmas and nor do I like it whenever people push on everyone a generic holiday greeting as not just a suggestion, but as a law.

I've worked retail jobs all my life and it's never just been a suggestion, it's always been a professional policy to wish customers a generic holiday wish "Happy Holidays" because you don't want to make the assumption that everyone has the same faith or belongs to the same culture. You don't want to isolate yourself from a paying customer, you want to make their holiday shopping experience to be positive -- not just to be nice, but to make money! If a customer feels you truly respect them, they will tend to not only buy more but recommend their friends and family go to your store to recieve the same positive experience. Shopping during the holidays can be a terribly stressful time. The more you appeal to strangers and get on their good side, the more they will spend time in your store to escape the hurry-and-scurry of holiday shopping.
Also, working at retail stores that sell holiday items and candy meant getting educated about each holy day celebrated by North Americans -- there's literally dozens, if not hundreds, thousands(?!) of holidays and other special occasions to buy gifts for year round. One of the best jobs I had was at
Godiva Chocolatier! I learned that to make a big sale was to get the customer to tell me what the occasion was they were buying chocolate goodies for -- if you know more about them, the better you can individualize the sale and the customer feels you have genuinely respected them.

I don't feel ill will whenever someone wishes me a Merry Christmas and I no longer abrasively, pridefully wish them back my "reason for the season!" I think most people realize you are wishing them happiness, pure and simple, and it's meant to be a nice gesture, not a political issue.

I believe that the average person knows better anyway, that it's not that big of a deal, and yet it is a big deal to wish someone happiness all year long!



But if you really want to wish me something exoridindarily happy holiday you could say something that most pagans and non-pagans alike don't often say on the Solstice: AVE SOL INVICTUS! Meaning "Hail the Unconquered Sun!" Because after the longest night of the year, the sun is "reborn" and unconquered by the darkness -- we can look forward to the return of longer days and shorter nights -- we welcome the warmth, acknowledge that the winter will not last, and that happier, sunny days are ahead. Yay.



There should be no debate on that!

My Ronni Chasen Dream

I had a very intense dream about Ronni Chasen coming at me with a big silver gun. She accused me of sleeping with her lover and shot to kill me but the bullets burst into glass and shattered all around me like diamonds. It was a beautiful nightmare.

It started with me being in the body of another woman -- I looked eastern Indian with a long nose and wide eyes -- I spent a large part of the dream staring back at myself in a mirror as I applied make-up. In a room next to mine a couple was arguing and throwing things at each other. I was in a fancy apartment/condo building and when I went out of my flat to investigate the fight, I heard the couple whispering loudly at each other to shut-up, as if they were trying to calm down so they wouldn't attract the neighbor's attention.

The next thing that happened was I left the building in the middle of the night. I was dressed in an elegant grey coat and high heels and crossed a busy city street to arrive at a stylish all-nighter cafe. I sat behind a man who looked a little like Niel Patrick Harris. We were in a secret love affair with each other. I didn't know he was involved with Ronni Chasen until she showed up and made a big physical display of their love. When Ronni left to "powder her nose" in the ladies room, the NPH-look-a-like turned to me and asked to meet me at a nearby hotel. So I paid my check and left.
Once outside the cafe I was chased down by a black limo. Inside the limo was Robert Loggia playing the role of a jealous Mob boss who demanded I get in the vechile with him. "Come on, lovely!" He cried, but I ran away down a narrow alley where the limo couldn't follow. I soon came to a hotel surrounded by tall palm trees and lit by red lights. It looked like a cheap hotel you'd see in the B-movies set in southern California. I quickly ducked into the closest open room.
The room inside was decorated in vermillion brocades and silks. I laid in bed with a dark-haired man with an incredibly tiny penis. I pulled on it to wake him and he cried out in pain. The door to the room opened and in walked the NPH-look-a-like. "They've discovered us, we got to leave!" he said and proceeded to start to pack a big black plastic bag full of clothes. Before we could leave, bullets from an automatic machine gun exploded through the room, killing the men but leaving me still alive. I escaped through a tiny window in the bathroom and found myself at a city crossroads in broad daylight riding a half-horse/half-sheep.
The creature took me up into the air and then flew up to a magic/New Age store. I found myself in a new female body -- this one with red hair and I was dressed in a green silk gown. Rebekah was there and she carried a big green book -- it was a book that was part of a series of workbooks full of spellwork and so on -- and apparently it was written by me, Valentina. I felt self-conscious because I soon realized the entire store was filled with people wanting me to autograph these books. I told Rebekah she didn't need to ask me and I asked her to help me escape. She pointed to a hidden door and I took off.
I found myself back at the fancy condo, but this time it was early morning. The interior was a lot like the historic Bradbury Building but the Italian Neo-Renaissance architecture was all green marble. As I headed outside the front glass doors, I saw Ronni Chasen dressed in a virgin fox fur coat and she held out a large silver gun, pointed it at me, and fired. As the bullets flew and broke all the glass, she was screaming that "it's all your fault" and "this is for sleeping with HIM!" and my last memory was the bullets themselves changing to glass into diamonds. I woke up with a start almost believing I had died!
It really freaked me out.

In The Moment

I'm not sure how to begin, so I'll keep this all in the moment...

My friend, Rebekah, likes to post songs for each day on her blog, so I'll start with the song I'm playing on my music player right at this moment: "Birthday" by The Cruxshadows. In fact... while I'm at it, I might as well embed my favorite Vampire Freaks music player here to give you a taste of how "life in my world" sounds! Skip ahead to song #3 (that's the one I'm listening to right now) and I apologize ahead of time because the first song has lots of naughty "f" word language. If you like this music player but you want to pick your own playlist, the folks at Vampire Freaks let you do just that. If you love gothic and industrial music, Go check it out!

What I've been drawing



Godwin and Findlay are timetraveler fops, or gentleman time floppers, or maybe they're just my fantasy boyfriends. Whatever the case, I've been dreaming them up for some time now and I'm still not quite sure how the story will be told. I want to draw them true to their time period, just like old fashioned 18th century cartoons, but set them here in our time and interact with people -- I imagine them teaching "us children" how to dance, love, make merry, and embellish ourselves with beauty... properly.



I love old photographs. When I look into those faces from a previous century I'm compelled to imagine what their lives must've been like. Then I want to draw them, to really touch who these people were and bring them back to life by drawing them into our age... While drawing them I re-interpret them. They become new characters. They spin stories in my mind. We have a sort of conversation between us. Unheard. It's wonderful.

What I did today

Doctor visits. Running in the rain with a garbage bag on my head. Daydreaming. Waiting. Being surrounded by students. The dark comes too soon, but I love it. People watching. Catching people with my camera lens...


I didn't bloody well care what people thought of me this morning wearing this garbage bag for cover.  I forgot my umbrella and someone was kind enough to let me grab a bag to keep myself and the equipment in my bag from getting wet.


The rain came down cold, hard, heavy.  I am happy I didn't get soaked!


I didn't get a chance to talk to the girl waiting beside me.  She seemed both tired and sad and very busy texting.  She was interesting.  So were the other people around me...


I'm always hyper-aware of the people around me, keeps me on edge all the time, and photographing my surroundings and the people in them has given me a sense of control over my environment.  I am dealing with agoraphobic tendencies lately and this self-given photographic assignment has helped me get out the door and saved me from constantly re-scheduling appointments I need to keep to keep track of my health.


I've taken to photographing my feet -- a sort of therapy where I place myself in the moment and kept my anxiety at bay.  My life seems to be all about being too sensitive -- emotionally, psychically -- and my duty to myself to constantly balance, practice peace, and meditate, be in the moment, strive to calm.

I love taking walks in the rain-soaked air and delighting at the sound my shoes make on the wet pavement, how my soles sink in the muddy grass, looking up at the sky and wondering when we are going to get a blanket of snow.





Time spent in the doctor's office is not my cup of tea...


BUT I found out today that my a1c levels have dropped by one. I am crawling closer to my goal. My blood sugar has become lower, too. And (bonus!) I don't (yet) have to take a fast-acting insulin -- that means less injections. Yay! I'm getting healthier. Now... if only I could have a smaller belly and less double chin. I don't mind being fat but I do want to have more room to move myself around in, if you know what I mean.

How I Woke Up Today

Early mornings annoy me. I'm a night owl. But there are times when I really have no choice but to get up in the wee hours, especially on those days when I have to fast 10 hours and run to do some blood work at the hospital lab so I can check on my progress. I'm doing battle with diabetes. I am determined to overcome. Even though my body was aching and hungry, I rose up like the undead...



What's New in my Apartment



A lovely red, black, and gold mask. Over the full moon I'm going to give it a name. He perfectly matches the color scheme I have set in my livingroom. And speaking of my home, I'm doing a little re-arranging and re-imagining of my space. My Uncle Doug is giving me a computer at month's end and I haven't yet decided where we will put it. I think it will go up in the loft... but then I pussy-foot around about it.  I won't know how things will all fit in my space until we get them all together in one place.

I don't usually decorate for the holiday season, but I am thinking about buying some white string lights to brighten up my livingroom and want to get a daylight lamp for the spider plant I now have growing in my home.  The plant once grew in my mother's nursing home room.  I feel most obligated to keep it healthy, however, I'm a dunce when it comes to taking care of plants.  So far the plant seems to not mind the low light and the blossoms that sprouted while it was at my friend Dala's store are still there, and thriving.

What I'll be doing Next

Painting watercolor portraits of Chix and Sundance, my cousin Terry's lovely horses. Gotta go grocery shopping for a small Thanksgiving dinner I'll eat with my brother on The Turkey Day (it's not exactly an American Indian holiday but we do celebrate the harvest). I also plan on starting a "secret lost diary" of my own creation on Tumblr, but then again... I keep changing my mind. I also want to start a blog focusing on the teachings of Witchcraft ONLY -- a sort of witch's journal. I don't know! but you know what's most important at this very moment? I have to go home and get some supper and CLEAN MY KITCHEN because my recycling garbage has reached epic porportions again. Plus I am going to take up bellydancing again!

Love you and thanks for reading about what's in the moment right now in my world.

Peek into my World

I've been hidden away in my own little world again. And I'm so drowsey, tired, hungry... winding down like a dying clock... I only have a few moments of energy left in me to post an illustrated essay of what I have been up to. Take a peek, leave your two-cents worth, and thanks for visiting. I really need some company these days. I want to have a tea party. A mad hatter kind of tea party. I want to take a nap. I wish I could blog in bed. I need someone to turn my crank. Wind me up (or is that WIND me up? as in "wind" the sort of thing that breezes by or blows? heh)... oh, sometimes the words come out into little planets spinning around and before long I'm stuck on a dream.

Where was I?


I can't stop drawing big costume epic characters. The stories come out of the faces. I feel like my drawings are alive. Or maybe it's because I've been so manic lately? I hope that at some point in my life what I do will no longer be hidden. I want to be known.

I don't want to be a mystery.



Melusine is, by far, a character -- nay, a goddess -- who I can honestly say is a familiar mystery, my kind of patron fairy godmother. There's not a moment I don't think about her and how I'm going to draw her next.

I imagine her with wings of flesh -- petals of flesh -- and her scales are also like human flesh but also chameleon-like. I see her gliding in the midnight wind -- the sound of the wind in naked tree branches during November may very well be the sound of her passing by...

I would like to introduce you to her, if I could. So far this is the best I can do.



In a previous blog post I had this drawing above barely finished. It took the entire month to flesh it out. I just kept coming back to the images -- erasing, editing, scribbling -- mostly drawn in bed while I was tummy sick.

And anxiety sick.

Just simply depressed sick.

And everytime I want to be outside, want to socialize, want to do SOMETHING I get sick. But I'm doing something about it. I am conquering it. I am producing images. Making my own world. And sometimes... just concentrating on drawing is all I need to combat anxiety.



My head is always in the clouds.

Really. It is.

What am I talking about? Sometimes my "crazy" slips in in very creative ways. I'm always exploring myself, wondering why I am who I am, and discovering the beauty I don't always see when I look in the mirror.







I am starting to fall asleep and it is only 3:30pm! The days and nights blur into each other at my house. Someday the clouds will lift, the pain will die, and all the poetry -- the great desire I feel -- all the passion brewing, boiling, bursting will be released from me onto an unsuspecting world. Or maybe I'm just taking myself too seriously.

Maybe what I need to do on the walk home today is just simply play.

I shouldn't plan it, I just should let it happen.

I'm not sure what else to say. Maybe I should just leave you with one more image and let it explain the way I feel right now, let it reveal what I've been dreaming about, let it swell in your head for a little while...



This is home right now. If you were here with me we could sit underneath this elm and share hot cups of tea. Ahhh... so sweet. I am in love with the idea. Where ever you are touch something (or someone) warm and you'll know what my heart feels like.

Watercolor Spirits

I've had a lot of time on my hands.  I've been sick and full of panic and home seems to be the best place to hide from the outside world.  However... it can also be boring.  While home recovering from an illness, I am at a constant battle with boredom, therefore I am always coming up with creative ways to express myself.  While my stomach grumbled and I couldn't sleep, I let my paints spill me out some images of unknown figures, images needing stories, and faces of loved ones dripped from my brush quite unexpectedly.

I also had run out of masking tape and am nearly out of paper!  Oh, dear.  Yet my urge to paint spoke louder than my poverty -- I ended up cutting the two pages of watercolor paper into bits and stretched it using scotch tape!  The paint bled in the corners where the clear tape wouldn't take, altogether creating some pleasant effects.  Sometimes using so called "mistakes" can accentuate the finished image.  So these are watercolor rough drafts.  Will they ever be finished?  No. 

This painting is very blurry, drippy, blowsey, but I like it.  It seems to be suggesting movement.  The female figure is drifting or walking deliberately into mist.  She is surrounded by faces -- or memories of faces -- watching her, looking away from her, kissing and looking straight at the viewer.  I wasn't keen on adding the faces because it just seemed "tagged on" -- pasted -- but then, upon closer inspection, I realized the face at the lower left corner seemed to be my friend Rebekah and in the upper right hand corner the face looks a lot like Josh.  Conclusion?  I was subconsciously missing my friends, I think.  Or their spirits just left an imprint on my painting that day.  Who knows?  The effect is there and I let it be.


You can tell it's getting closer to Halloween -- my favorite time of year -- when many of my painted images are coming out undead-looking!  With this painting I used only the murky used water after I did the painting above.  I also used a silver metallic watercolor pencil.  I wasn't sure the effect of the silver was going to show up, but here it looks just swell.  My favorite part of this painting is the little dribble of reddish-pink just off the lower lip, as if this ghost or zombie just got done having a midnight snack.

Which gets me thinking... Ever notice how often vampires in popular media (paintings, posters, games, etc.) are shown with blood dribbling off their lips and chins?  I've never liked that look.  I want to see (or create) more images of vamps who are neat eaters -- like they were smart enough to bring some wet naps or something -- because most of the time I'm pretty sure I'm looking at a vampire and don't need another artist to show me that a figure is a vampire by making their pretty faces blood smudged and smeared!  *giggles*  At other times I look at a painting of a vampire with a messy face and think they just got done eating some barbecue ribs!


Top hat man.  Man in a hot top -- did I just type that?  Yes, I did.  Hot top.  Might as well just say he's from Hot Topic!  Jeez... 

My friend Miya said:  "I like him. I see him as a fey creature here to woo an unsuspecting female... He gives her love and and a muse's creativity in exchange for slowly absorbing her life. He's beautifully dark."

I really love her assessment of this painting and can't say anything better about it.

I miss doing art assignments like I did in college, it gave me a goal to work toward each week.  I remember one assignment Rob Stolzer gave my class: draw and paint a series of big images in tiny space, then do a series of small images in a big space -- basically use the most of what little space you have to work with and don't over use the abundance of space you have.  It's an interesting drawing experiment.  I had the memory of that assignment in my mind when working on all three paintings here.

I like giving myself new things to do based on old idea.  It's an ordinary challenge.  A start that works me toward a goal.  And yet I still feel I don't paint or draw enough.  I've always got to do MORE.

Why I Wore Purple Today

I want to tell you that you are not alone.  You are loved.  More loved than you'll ever know.  I'm sorry they pick on you.  They can't understand you because you're not like them.  They bully you to get you to conform, to beat you into submission.  But you are better than their cruelty.  No one should hate you for who you are.  And who's to say anyone else knows but you?  I am proud that you are different.  I salute you.  Purple is my favorite color.  I'll wear it everyday to keep you in this world.  When you see me in purple it's my way to say I care and that I love you.  Let my love shield you, heal you, keep you safe.  I know what it's like to walk the world and feel like no one cares.  I know it is hard to ignore rejection, hard to face hostility on a daily basis, hard to hold your head up...  but there is a whole 'nother world out here waiting to embrace you, to encourage and celebrate you.  Don't give in to that sadness that overshadows you at times.  Work your way through it.  They may never get over how different you are and that is their problem, not yours.  You are special.  I love you.  I love all of you.

If only wearing my favorite purple dress today -- you know the one that is so vibrantly purple people stop and stare at me and give me double takes as I walk past them? -- would get you to see how much I support you or get you to smile for just one more day and laugh away the pain, then maybe dying my hair purple will show you even more how much I'm your fan, I'm your girl!  But, uh, dying my hair purple, well... it ended up coming out really dark today.  So my hair is deep blue.  The deep blue, if anyone asks me, represents the deep well of tears I've cried for you, the tears I've cried for myself back when I was your age and didn't feel I belonged anywhere.  I, too, tried several times to die, yet you'd never know it now.  I'm different like you.  And I'll stay different in my eye-catching purple and tragic blue hair for love of you.

Look at me and know I'm here for you.

If you are crazy enough to try to die than you are crazy enough to survive.
 

My Card Decks

The very first Tarot deck I ever dared to illustrate was a simple black and white one but my skills hadn't yet developed enough for me to really make a marketable deck.  I also happen to be a Tarot reader myself and whenever I set out to create a card deck, I consider the many beautiful decks I have used as a professional psychic.  It's easy to illustrate a card deck that is very personal but what about one that everyone can easily interpret?  It's not an easy task.  One that takes years.  Over the past five (or is it six?) years I've been busy painting and designing card decks for divination and for healing, using traditional and contemporary methods and iconography to illustrate my own unique take on the Tarot and playing cards.  I'm not satisfied with each painting and I could use some feedback.  I apologize in advance for so many images here!  It may take you a long while to page through them.  I don't have many moments to describe each image and why I created it.  I want to do several Tarot decks, but for now, this is it!  Take a peek at what keeps me home on my lonesome for days and nights on end...  and keep in mind each of the three decks here are still unfinished.

Fairy Godmother Healing Card Deck 2006-10:
What if all Fairy Godmothers in fairytales were really drag queens with magical powers? Each one of the  faces you see below is a Fairy Godmother who can grant you a special wish that corresponds with each of their personalities and supernatural abilities.  Each one has their own name, magical spell, and unique form of luck that will be granted to whomever recieves a card with their face on it.  I would like to make this very special card deck coincide with a charity and have the cards distributed to people who need a boost of humor and luck while they are sick or dying.  I think there's a real need for something like this in the world.  I would like to collaborate with a real drag queen (or a group of them) who can contribute their own take on each Fairy Godmother (or sponsor them) to make them official.


The above image is the opening painting that will open the book of the Fairy Godmothers.  Each face painted here is one of the Fairies who rules for each element.  See if you can guess which one controls what!

There are over 100 Fairy Godmothers now.  The last 32 I painted were done while my own mother was dying during the week/end of March 23rd.  The very last Fairy Godmother was created right after my mother's funeral.  He is the classic sacred clown figure -- a Fairy Godmother of such special mystery, he coyly shushes your questions with his finger on his lip.  Two other Fairy Godmothers are of famous personalities John Waters and Divine.  I would like to include other famous queens, but that would be permission pending -- heck I'd have to really write to John for permission, too -- so I didn't go out of my way to make any of the other Fairy Godmothers after famous people.

   
   
    
   

 

   
 

 

 
   

  
   
   

   
   
   
   
   
   
   


The Valentina Tarot Deck, 2004-6:
I've always wanted to paint a dramatic Tarot deck worthy of my own imagination, but would it sell?  Would psychics like it?  I have put so many personal icons in this deck, I fear I may have to make it more commercial, more impersonal, more professional (?).  I was going through a lot of personal inter-relationship drama during the period I painted this deck -- some of that drama seeped through.  Some of my old friends may recognize themselves or others in this deck.  The next Tarot deck I create I plan to make things a bit more traditional.   For now this fully painted deck remains on the back burner... 

This was to be the back cover image for each card:

But I felt it might be a tad bit too presumptious to include more than one image of myself in my own deck.  I was even clueless as to what to call the deck!  So I just named it after myself.

The Major Arcana
The Fool, The Magician, The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor

The Heirophant, The Lovers, The Chariot, Justice, The Hermit

The Wheel of Fortune, Strength, The Hanged Woman, Death, Temperance

The Devil, The Towers, Star, The Moon, The Sun
 
Judgement, The World

 
The Minor Arcana: Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles
The Wands

The Court of the Wands
Child of Wands, Jack of Wands (Jack Kerouac), Queen of Wands, King of Wands

 
 
The Cups 

The Court of the Cups
Children of Cups, Jack of Cups, Queen of Cups, King of Cups
 
 
 
The Swords

The Court of the Swords
Child of Swords, Joan of Swords (Joan of Arc), Queen of Swords, King of Swords
 
The Pentacles

The Court of the Pentacles
Child of Pentacles, Jack of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles (myself), King of Pentacles

Valentina's Mlle. Lenormand Fortune Cards 2005 -7:
Inspired by the 36 card Lenormand fortunetelling system, and based on traditional playing card decks, the following original card designs are referred to by their images and meanings, not just by their suit or number. 
Hearts
Ace of Hearts: The Gentleman, Jack of Hearts: Heart or New Love, King of Hearts: Home, Queen of Hearts: The Stork
   

10 of Hearts: The Dog, 9 of Hearts: Chevalier or Courier, 8 of Hearts: The Moon, 7 of Hearts: The Tree, 6 of Hearts: The Star or Diva

    

Diamonds
Ace of Diamonds: The Sun, Jack of Diamonds: Scythe, King of Diamonds: The Fish, Queen of Diamonds: The Crossroads

   

Ten of Diamonds: The Book, Nine of Diamonds: The Coffin, Eight of Diamonds: The Key, Seven of Diamonds: The Birds

    

The Spades
Ace of Spades: The Lady, Jack of Spades:  The Child, King of Spades: the Lillies, Queen of Spades: The Roses
   

Ten of Spades:  The Boat, Nine of Spades:  The Anchor, Eight of Spades: The Garden, Seven of Spades: The Letter, Six of Spades: The Tower

    

The Clubs 
Ace of Clubs: The Ring, Jack of Clubs: The Rod, King of Clubs: Clouds, Queen of Clubs: Serpent
   

Ten of Clubs: The Bear, Nine of Clubs: The Fox, Eight of Clubs: The Mountains or Journey, Seven of Clubs: The Rat,  Six of Clubs: Cross

    

And here's a sample of how I once imagined they'd look like as a traditional playing deck.  I want the cards to be black, not white, to make them stand out.  This isn't perfect-looking, but you get the sense of where I was going with this.



I look back at each one of my "babies" here and realize I still have a long way to go in developing a true deck of cards.  In the next few days I will be doing a lot of reviewing of my artwork as I try to determine where in life I belong and how best I should allow the world to use me. 

If an image or two really speaks to you, please let me know.  I am working hard to get my act together and make these cards available for publishing and sale.