Raven – Fall ‘08 003-2

Originally uploaded by chinagrrrl

Oh…and I forgot in my last post. That was a photo from about 8 years ago! That little girl in the pink mirabou sweater…well she’s now 15 and on the left of this (more recent) photo!

Ugh! Angie, I don’t know how you do it!

Angie & Raven at Aroma

Originally uploaded by chinagrrrl

This is my girl Angie! Her birthday is on April 5th so HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGIE! She’s became a single mother about four year before I took the plunge myself and has been an absolutely priceless resource to me in the “doing it on your own” category!

Yay Angie! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

2005…doing masters work in Psychology. I received an assignment to answer the question “Why?”

http://blog.chinakrysdarrington.com/2005/12/homework-why/

Why?

When my homework assignment came and I was to respond to “why,” I immediately thought of the Matrix Reloaded movie in which the Keymaker, an Asian-looking program who was held hostage by the Merovingian, seems to spout off very direct information about the “whos and hows and whats and whens” of saving Zion. As it seems, only “the one” can do it, and only in a small window of time.

When Niobe asks; “How do you know all this?”
The Keymaker replies; “I know because I *must* know. It is my purpose. It is the reason I am here. The same reason we are *all* here.”

I know because I must know.

It is my purpose.

It is the reason I am here.

The same reason we are all here.

(Sometimes I forget things…) Go read it all here:

Found this in my blog entries from 2006: http://blog.chinakrysdarrington.com/2006/01/chaos/

During chaotic times we can be stripped of many superficial things. It is here our dreams become clear and give us renewed focus.

Two statements to say before falling asleep to help with “invisibility”:

“As my ba flies forth to interact with the bas of the sleeping men and women of my city, it casts invisibility in the eyes of those who would hinder me.”  

“As my ba flies forth form my body tonight to interact with the sleeping men and women of my city, it draws to itself those who will give it happiness, prosperity and mystery.” 

From Don Webb: http://edred.net/community/members/103/blog.php

Aging Manson ‘Family’ members long for freedom

• STORY HIGHLIGHTS
  
• Recent release of Charles Manson’s prison photo rekindles interest in case
  
• Other members of Manson’s “family” now shun him
  
• They are described as model prisoners
  
• Susan Atkins, who has brain cancer, has her 18th parole hearing May 28
  

(Editors Note: And I still wonder about all those children that were in The Family. Wonder where those 40-32 year olds are now…and what they remember.)

3. Pigwidgeon /’pIg,wIdZ(I)n/

——————————————————————-

A fairy, dwarf, imp, or elf.

Avid readers of the Harry Potter stories will know that Ron Weasley had an tiny owl he named Pigwidgeon. It was appropriate because the word has often meant a small or insignificant person or thing. It has also been used for a stupid or contemptible person:

“Think?” I queried, “do I ever really think? Is there

anything inside my head but cotton-wool? How can I call

myself a Thinker? What am I anyhow?” I pursued the sad

inquiry: “A noodle, a pigwidgeon, a ninnyhammer, a

bubble on the wave, a leaf in the wind, Madame!”

[More Trivia, by Logan Pearsall Smith, 1921.]

The fairies of the original sense were also small, though lacking the deep cunning and capriciousness of many other little people.

They were often considered to be more mischievous than nasty:

In Malvina, side by side with much that is commendable,

there appears to have existed a most reprehensible spirit

of mischief, displaying itself in pranks that, excusable,

or at all events understandable, in, say, a pixy or a

pigwidgeon, strike one as altogether unworthy of a well-

principled White Lady, posing as the friend and

benefactress of mankind.

[Malvina of Brittany, by Jerome K. Jerome, 1916.]

The experts guess that the first part of the word may be connected with “pug”, another old name for a fairy, which may be a variation on “puck”. The second part was once “wiggen”, an unknown word that was said with a hard “g”; later it shifted to “widgeon” with a soft “j” sound because in the seventeenth century the duck that went by that name was a byword for being stupid.

Maybe you didn’t hear me

Last October

When I said that

If I did anything

To interrupt the pregnancy

To terminate

By pennyroyal

Or pills

Or surgical scrapings

That it would cost

That something I cherished

Would be taken

And I would want for its absence.

So I bit the bullet

Believed in True Will

And the ability of the universe

to support it.

I was beginning not to trust in you;

Your ability to see

To understand

To provide

To even untangle yourself from the

Frankenstein-like

Parasite that have attached

To your very magnetic self

To a point that they may have convinced you

That you are them

Instead

Of knowing

You are you.

But I was all in,

And once I was

You tantrums grew worse

And I realized that I might have to do this all on my own

Again.

With a hostile

Depressed

Unstable

Unavailable

Non-communicative

Partner who refused to leave.

But I knew the cost

Would be high

So I tried.

(It’s always bad to make life-decisions feeling trapped or in fear)

The stress of stuffing emotions

And walking on eggshells

And trying to make it all better

While getting through workdays

And maintaining the parenting

And wondering where the money would come from

And the householding

And recovery

And life, the universe and everything

Everything felt uphill

And I felt overwhelmed and alone

And I couldn’t figure out

Why you wouldn’t pick up the slack

And help me

Really help me.

Stress creates pressure.

Pressure creates divide

And finally the Powers-That-Be

Had enough of the nonsense.

They thought us children

And petty

And all-to-human

Unfit for duty as gates and pylons to Abraxas.

So the Candle was snuffed out

Flushed out

And reset

“We’ll find better vessels than these for you.”

Me, being human,

Processed my grief

While maintaining the work

While overseeing the living child

And the house

No time off

No rest for the wicked

These are grief and miscarriages that

No one knows about.

Ten weeks pregnant? Bah!

Who would need to mourn that?

I would

But I was afforded no sanctuary

For that grief

Stolen moment by candlelight

And incense

In bathtubs

At the end of the day

And while I tried to mourn

My lover kept wailing;

“Me Me Me

Woe Woe Woe

My pain is so much more than yours

My grief swallows yours in water

I win. Look at me.”

So I shut up

And did my best to process that

On my own

As usual.

What I now know

Is that I misinterpreted the message

Back from October

It wasn’t if I *did* anything

To affect the pregnancy

It was if I failed to protect

My growing charge.

That is when they would expect a cost

For justice

I failed to protect Candle

When I continued to subject

Myself to the increasing stresses

Of work

Of life

Of an immature relationship based on desire

And greed.

So they took Candle from me

From you

From us

For his own good.

And then they shut something off in me

My ability to relate

To you.

Its seems to be just gone.

At first I thought it the hormones

The loss

The grief

The whatever

They say it can take six

To nine

Months

After a miscarriage

To get it all back to baseline.

Then Darkchilde disappeared whenever you were around

Shaking her head in disgust

For not being able to

Fulfill this for her.

Each day you seemed father from me.

Enjoying the superficial

While I stuffed my complaints.

I think what they took was our “us”

And I’ve all the awareness of what I lost

And none of the spark to get any of it back

Like trying for sparks on wet flint.

I still grieve

And not well

I know I haven’t got

Another go in me

That was my last hurrah

That of the five, I only have the one

So I cherish

The precious

My precious

Because so many of the little ghosts

And shadows surround her

Wondering why they do not have her place.

And I have to whisper to them

“Because I am a mostly failed mother”

Flawed vessel

Unable to manifest what I needed for more than the one.

And I cry

Sometimes

Alone

At night

And I know where this river

Traipsed upward

Would find its source

Fifteen years ago and less than a mile away

To the first of my invisible bounds to my progeny

Who never lived.