Stressless Break: Kitty-Cat Updates

Meow Mix gets better and better!


Our rescued cat, Banshee, continues to prove she is an exceptional kitten-mama.  the picture there at left was of kittens a couple days old.  She gave birth last Sunday.

Monday we took the frantic insane acting mama cat to a vet “ER” because she seemed to come completely undone and was almost hot to the touch.  We had been having trouble getting her to eat and drink since the birth on Sunday.

We feared some horrific infection or perhaps a retained kitten in the birth canal.  Thank goodness it was neither of those things or the bill would have been more shocking.  She was severely dehydrated – tho’ fluids we forced before we left for the vet office DID bring her temperature back to normal.  Dehydration had led to sever constipation.  I didn’t know cats got enemas, did you?!  So she was home the same night, out of what must…

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She – Imperfect, But Perfectly Defiant

She was a messy little girl with tangled hair,

She couldn’t wear sandals ’cause her feet were ugly,

She couldn’t keep her white shoes white,

Her knees were too skinned for pretty dresses,

She burned in the sun and was kept indoors,

At least until they found out she was free labor…

She stopped asking “Why?” but said “Why not?”

Her father said she couldn’t wear red or braids,

Older, she ran all her stockings and chipped her nails,

She never cared if shoes, belt, and bag matched,

She wore too much black and not enough make-up,

When she showed pain they said “Don’t act like a woman,”

She wondered what the hell else she could act like…

She became allergic to crying,

She never let them see her sweat,

She chose not to smile and was told to do so,

She braided her hair and wore red lipstick,

She walked through life fixing things others broke,

She cleaned up messes and made things beautiful,

She could organize hell and corral chaos,

She modeled “the right way” and did her share,

And thought she heard jeering laughter.

She got pissed off and burnt bridges,

She cut off her nose to spite her face,

She read books nobody wanted to talk about,

She had children she loved and regretted because the world was broken,

She stopped believing in god and considered goddess instead,

She picked her metaphors and her battles,

She helped the ungrateful and broke her own heart,

She felt like a fool and hated herself,

She kept trying and failing because what else is there?

She fell down and got back up – screaming,

She wanted to die but duty kept calling,

She kept answering that bugle and kept falling,

She choked on tears cried in the dark,

Vomiting up unfulfilled dreams in the night,

She kept her promises and gave herself away,

She still can’t keep her white shoes white,

She is a messy little woman held together by her scars,

She can’t stop caring, fixing, cleaning, fighting,

Though she is broken, busted, hopeless, alone.

She wears too much black and not enough make-up.

She asks the  alleged god of the dead “Why not today?”

But he doesn’t exist and cannot answer.

Kitty Distractions

Meow Mix is more than a cat food brand around here….


Yes, yes – I am watching our alleged leader, the Nazi Cheeto, kissing the ass of Russia’s oligarchic thug-in-charge. And the GOP “notables” (notable spineless asshats?) all expressing outrage. Enjoy that while you can, because it is ALL they will do about the treason of a US President.  Putin is practically boasting that he has Trump by the short and curlies.  I can’t even – too sleep deprived and too distracted.

Because for the first time ever in our marital home, basically for the first time in about 50 years, we have newborn kittens in the house!  In my childhood, we had cats that never saw a veterinarian, much less be spayed or neutered – so kittens were common, though usually the mama-cats ran and hid for the event.  But seeing that suffering?  It made me religiously faithful to neutering or spaying EVERY pet cat in my adult life.


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The Day

A couple months back I rescued a young calico kitty from the porch of a boarded up house. She was lonely and starving. And pregnant.

Today is the day. On Friday the 13th and New Moon and beneath the household sign-light reading “Sub-Rosa”, little Banshee is laboring.

These should, by all rights, be some special kittens!

At Play in the Jewelry Kit Instead of “In the Fields of the Lord”

I have too much jewelry, as everyone saw in my tarot project based on a deck created strictly of my jewelry pieces.  Does that mean I’ve spent a fortune?  No.  I make a lot of my own jewelry, though clearly not all.  And a lot of it is made of odd junk store finds, yard sale recycling, and almost nothing at all.

To be honest, I don’t even know what I am doing most of the time.  I never took a course on any type of jewelry making.  I fluster and flub my way through a sort of creative process that sometimes fails, sometimes delights me.  There is a method to this madness that took me a while to find.  When I am making jewelry, I am at play.. See, a person whose toys were taken at age ten and whose work load even before then was heavy, does not know how to play.  A person who HAD to let her father win every game, a person whose mother delighted in verbal (if not physical) flaying at any failure – even at the first attempt at something?  That person has no idea how to play.  She IS a “queen of swords” – rather dour and mournful.

Craft work, for me, was not play — it was do or die.  Make a wearable sweater or else.  Don’t screw up sewing a shirt, dress, or pants.  But that inner child, the deprived angry little bitch inside me?  She will not be denied.  She sneaked into a box of cheap beads at some point in my life.  She was a girl who was just dying to have a little fun, to fuck up without being beaten or starved.  She said “Fuck that pie in the sky god of yours!” and went for the sparklies!  Like the crows both she and I adore – she wants some shiny things!

I get told my jewelry is “organic” because most of it is not jewelry store fare.  I do like big honkin’ literal rocks, for instance, on leather cords.  But I will make jewelry of almost anything.  For instance, that little bracelet is made from a cotton cord from an incense package and two stray pony beads in the bottom of my box of leftover jewelry stuff.  The green stone in that necklace is aventurine – once half of a pair of earrings.  Now that I regretfully strung it on tiger tail, you know I will find the missing other earring, of course?  The gold tone beads are inexpensive plated things leftover from Labyrinth counting strands – I suspect they are brass over copper.  I love them.  The wire magnetic clasped bit was a $1 find with a hand-written paper glued onto a resin disk.  It says “Fuck fear!”

This was my warm up yesterday.  This was my self-calming behavior; certain things make the storms in my mind stop blowing my brain cells around and get back to normal.  My real task yesterday was a “taking back” of something I loved.  I had a layaway at my favorite jewelry shopping hole, Longship Trade Goods.  I put things on layaway to make a special piece for myself AND a birthday gift for the unhappy woman then living in my garage.  Once that fell apart and she left, I couldn’t bear to think of the semi-paired planned workings.  I took my layaway items and returned almost all of it to their stock.  But I kept two things: a ring I planned to rework and a “hill silver” rose.  I had planned to embed that rose in a choker of massive lapis chunks.

But now, I wanted something simpler and more “me”… so I took a simpler piece at Longship home and took it apart, putting it back together identically except for a center bead replaced by the silver rose.  I loved the stone beads – the soft serpentine green and ivory.  Another necklace from my tarot collection, so to speak, by the same artist is there behind the new reconstructed one.  This is not mere play to me, it is honoring the art others have done.  But that inner child of mine likes it just the same – learning by copying the art of others appeals to her!

I also reorganized a major cookbook over the weekend.  I reclaimed recipes once filed on an iPad to paper — by handwriting them with a fountain pen.  I dropped the ones with allergens – the tomato, potato, legume, etc.  That shortened my writing and reminded me how many beloved recipes I had.  The book with the recipes is three inches thick; some of it I had never committed to untrustworthy electronica to begin with, but I used up two high quality paper notebooks writing out beloved instructions for cooking.

I reorganized my exercise notebook, too.  Yes, when my life has a major bump or explosion, I reorganize everything.  It calms me, it centers me and puts it all in perspective.  It gets me ready to get back into my own game when I’ve felt knocked out, knocked down, knocked over.  So, I don’t need to go to church and pray.  I don’t need to talk to “Jesus” either; I need to pull out a few battered tools and some beads.  I need to bake cookies and plan menus.  I need to toss furniture around like a Klingon in love and just get ON with living.


And Yet…

…depression lingers. Grief and loss do not abate in a week or two.  Nobody is eating much.  Doing menus and the grocery list chore IS a chore.  No recipe seems enticing.  Food is mere necessity, no joy at all.  My diet changes over the last few years and especially since January have mitigated my usual stress response of wanting to pig out on sweets.  But I’ve bought cookies (baking out due to dying oven) more than often for others.

We are all sleeping poorly as well.  Our dreams are disordered messes of conflicting messages and peculiarities.  It is very “three of swords” even as normal operations return to the household.  Every day does bring some bright spot – some bit of ordinary life that had ceased while the inhabitant(s) of the garage looked on with disapproval.

I re-arranged my bedroom to place a favorite rug out of the cat zone.  Oddly, by doing so, I put myself in a kind of “mirror box.”  A mirror box is a common magical device – often used to induce a difficult person to see themselves and their behaviors for what they are in actuality.  Some reflective surface is on three of four sides of my bedroom now.  Was this subconscious on my part?  Or was it intentional – often the one I seek to enchant or disenchant is myself.  I vote for subconsciously intentional!  In other difficult times, I had a mirror panel backing my altar shelf – so whenever I did anything there, I had to see myself.  

Does this mean I am still reflexively blaming myself?  Does it mean I want to look closely (and long term!) at my own motivations?  Does it mean I want to see myself as others do?  If so, will I believe that image of me?  After all, we rarely are capable of seeing ourselves as others do.  I am sure my departed guest never saw herself as being the rude, abrupt, abrasive person others perceived her to be, for instance.  But perhaps I need to acknowledge myself visually to heal, to move onward on several fronts of life.  So if I am forced to see myself suddenly, several times a day – my face sleepy after a restless night, or rising from floor stretches with pain etched harshly, or rising from my desk with tears on my cheeks.

I must acknowledge the pain I would willingly hide from myself.  Mirror, mirror on the wall….




The month of June is almost over. The new propane fireplace is installed and works — prettifying with woodwork by my talented son, Raptor, is all that remains before it celebrates fall with warmth AND beauty.  The failing kitchen stove is likewise replaced.

After the move out of our unhappy garage-apartment residents, the entire house has been shifted about.  Painting ensued. People and furniture were re-apportioned hither and yon.  Things left behind by said former residents, including oddities like abandoned sandwiches and a drawing of the Egyptian god Set, have been disposed of quite properly.  Our rescued kitty, Banshee, is swelling with kittens that we expect before July is over.  A fire for the Solstice was held, a wee bit late – but better late than never.

Like spinning tops, motion is the constant.  We are all exhausted a bit, but moving onward resolutely.  We will welcome new life with the kittens and go on through summer.   Anyone who WANTS a kitten, lol, should contact me ASAP!

A bit of good news elsewhere?  A kitty rescue of extraordinary kind!

Magic to Mute

Sometimes the pain is too loud,

Sometimes the loss too great,

Sometimes the cost so high,

But to be true – you pay and pay,

Magic cannot erase pain and loss,

But to mute the screaming,

To dull the pain to a stiller drone,

To gray the hot pink of vulnerability,

To darken the acid green of dashed hope,

To blend storm gray into too bold a blue,

To tone down the misery to tolerable agony,

Colors can be dulled down,

Bright hard sharp edges softened,

A vat of dark dye and desires spoken,

Widdershins the stir of will and word,

Take back the gift – the poison,

Take back power surrendered,

Reclaim, re-own, recycle the dream!

Feel the shift in shade and meaning,

Spin in the bare crescent’s light…

Returning, returning, returning!

What was mine is mine again,

Memory darkened and lessons minded,

But no surrender and messages sent,

One lost battle is not a lost war!

Another day – will you see me coming in new colors grayed?