Blazing trails in the woods

I'm sitting in one of the cafeteria/cafe areas at the college.  The food is mediocre at best.  There aren't enough outlets for all the laptops, iPads, tablets, whatever that abound here.  I may get knocked off the wi-fi in less than fifteen minutes.  There are so many first world problems that I won't even get into them.  Irritating, they are, like that one damned fly that just loves to visit when you need to focus.  Damned fly.

It's been raining off and on.  The sun is trying to break through the clouds.

I've got two knitting projects with me.  A hat for a Ravelry friend with cancer (fuck cancer, as you all know) and a cardigan for me.  I probably need to break one of them out.  I will in a bit.

I should also start one of the two papers that are due in a couple weeks.  I can't make myself care enough to do so.  Instead I'm pondering the quirks of my beliefs.

One of the classes I'm taking this semester is Comparative Religions.  I've always been fascinated by the subject.  What makes this religion so different from another?  How much do they have in common.

This lead me to look at my own beliefs.  I freely admit that I'm a happy little pagan.  I also knew that I had some Buddhist leanings, but until we read up on that, I didn't know how much.  The phrase 'live simply, so others my simply live' comes to mind.

I'm still pagan with a goddess and all that happy horse shit.  But I'm finding more about myself.  This is always a good thing.

PRO-castination!

There's a Netflix commercial (I think) were a guy pretending to be a Mary Poppins-like butler starts singing 'Imagination'.

I've got the word 'procrastination' bouncing in my head to the same tune.  Lucky, lucky me.

It's...annoying to say the least.

My winter/spring semester started last week.  I'm hoping not to fall apart like I did last semester.  Bah.

I've got a pair of fingerless gloves to complete for a friend's kid.  Marfan's and Reynaud's does not sound enjoyable to me one bit.  I offered to knit him some since his hands get so cold and then he can't play whatever game he wants to.

Then there's the scarf I want to knit for myself and possibly two sweaters.  One in a denim blue cotton yarn and the other in some Ssnguine Gryphon Traveller yarn in grey.  I've also got some bright freaking blue yarn for them.  That's yelling to be some sort of cropped cardigan, I think.  I don't know.

And off to homework!  With a damp dog on my bed.  Yay.

Die in a fire. Now.

I said as much to a classmate of mine today in A&P.  This year sucks.  I've given up on caring about much.

Granted, part of it is my depression talking, but I've never been this...Scroogish is how she put it.

And to make matters worse?  There's a good chance that the teachers at my college are going to go on strike after 12th.  So I don't even know if the spring semester will start on time.

Screw this, I'm gonna go knit.  And try to get more than three hours of sleep at night.  Sleeping during the day?  No damned problem.

I can't even describe how cranky this is making me.

Cuppa Peace

I have the windows open.  It's cooler and feels so good.  I have a cup of tea steeping next to me.  When the breeze blows into my window just right, I can smell it.


Tea is a little bit of peace for me.  I've said elsewhere that Quan Yin next to me as a drink.  Buddha stands with me while the water boils.


It's like knitting, I guess.  There's just me and the yarn or tea.  Nothing else matters while I'm there.

Religiosity and the Fuzzy-Wuzzies

My brother goes to a local Baptist church.  I've met most the people there, and I can say that they are good people. 

My son, Imp, has decided he wants to go.  I'm happy for him.  He's been asked to help with the puppets.  I'm proud of him.

But, I'm uncomfortable with church. 

See, I classify myself as a happy little pagan. 

I remember telling someone that, and they did their version of bug-nut crazy, saying that it's nothing but a cult, blah, blah, blah.

Dude, don't force your views on me.  It's rude and inconsiderate.

The way I look at the Divine is that it's just too blasted big to be understood by humans.  If I want to talk to a goddess name Brigid or Morrigan or Allah or Jehovah, then it's my business.  Not yours.

When I was pregnant with Imp over ten years ago, I was asked something; would it bother me if my son didn't choose the same path as me?

Honestly?  Nope.  I said that as long as he's a good person, I will always support him.  I will support him if he wants to become a Catholic priest.  If he wants to learn about Judaism, I will help by finding a synagogue.  The same for Taoism, Buddhism, Islam.  I will help him.

My only caveat on his decisions; if he follows the moronic idiots like Phelps and Falwell and other zealots, I will beat the ever-lovin' tar out of that boy. 

In my mind, hate has no place in any religion.

It's not my place to force any sort of view on my child.  I feel it's my place to guide him into the path that suits him.

I believe that there is no one true way.  Truth is subjective.  Just because I believe one thing, does not mean that someone else has to believe it.  Find what fits you.  I don't care if the Flying Spaghetti Monster noodles you into rapture.  That's for you.

For me, I feel closer to gnostic Christianity, Celtic paganism, with a hefty dose of Buddhism.  It works for me.

Joseph Campbell said it best: follow your bliss.

I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse--Warren Zevon

It's still hard.  It think it will always be hard in some ways.  I walked through the living room one day and smelled mom's cigarette smoke.  She quit smoking true cigarettes almost a year ago.  The other day Imp said something and I could have sworn that it was mom calling me.

Mom would have wanted us to keep going and to smile, though.  Even at the end, when it just plain hurt her to move because of he fibro and OA and everything else, she tried to find things in life to enjoy.  It was hard, but she did try.  Not always successful, but she did try.

I figure that the best way to remember mom is to live my life to the fullest that I can.  To tell the stories of her.  To get the tattoo that she wanted.

The woman that introduced my parents to each other back in '74 was mom's sister in all but blood.  She was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor right around the time Imp was born.  She was given six months to live.  She made it damn near six years.  Mom was devastated that she couldn't make it to South Carolina for her funeral.  It broke mom's heart.

I know that those two women are together somewhere creating havoc and cackling like the two of the three witches for 'McBeth'. 

Right before mom came home from her first and last chemo treatment, I had gotten my first yarn from the people at Sanguine Gryphon.  Some lace weight Mithril in their Red Dragon color-way.

When I saw it, I was thinking of mom's sister:

The picture doesn't really do it justice.  This is red.  Hooker red.  Get in your face, take no prisoners red. 

See, the lady in question could not wear red of any shade.  And it drove her batty because she loved the color.  Mom and I can wear red any day of the week and look wonderful in it.  My aunt (she was married to a cousin, but we called them aunt and uncle) wanted to hate us, but couldn't.  She groused instead.

I don't know why I thought of her when I saw this yarn om the website, but I did.  I've got a pattern in mind.  I'm going to knit it for me, but these two women, the two who taught me that old didn't mean stodgy are going to be in every stitch.

Hey Mom?  Go have fun.