Beltane

Tomorrow night is the celebration of Beltane (or Beltaine as I prefer). The sabbat of the Great Marriage of the God and Goddess, the unity that results in harvest. It's the time when, long ago and far away, men and women retired to the fields and made like the beasts. There was much wine, much song, much dancing.

And so, to celebrate, I'm having my womanhood sliced and diced.

I know I've mostly moaned and whined about how I won't be able to do yoga or kickboxing. But that's all a really good cover for what's going on.

Because, you see, even though this is a fairly routine procedure, I'm pretty sure what's going on down there. And it ain't good.

I've had decidedly strange/odd/abnormal twinges, feelings, pains for a few months now. I've chalked it up to paranoia, to pulled muscles, to anxiety, to bad Chinese food. But, when my reiki practicioner mentioned that she felt something "going on down there" and when I felt such a blockage in yoga that I literally cried out and collapsed onto the mat, well.....

So, maybe it's nothing and maybe it's something. I guess we'll find out a week or so after tomorrow. But I'm scared. And worried.

And I wish I could just be ignorant and celebrate Beltaine and prepare for the upcoming bountiful harvests and be happy.

Ah well...

Last Days of Freedom

Since I won't feel much like moving for a week, I decided to honor myself with yet another hike. And this time I remembered my camera. Look how purdy the city looks when it's far away...

Despite the fact that all the radio stations were saying it was going to rain, I had clear skies and puffy, white clouds the whole time. A little rain would have been welcome, as I wound up sweating like a banshee - yes, I know you're shocked.

I was amazed at how many people go for hikes and leave stuff behind. I wound up carrying so much trash back to HQ I looked like a vagabond. Must remember to bring trashbag on next trip...

And so I was all blissed out and yes, actually hugged some trees. And on the way home I had not one but TWO road rage incidents. First one, woman pulls out onto the highway, into my lane, and decides to decelerate. So I slam on the brakes and honk. And then she tears off like she's on fire. Then, I'm getting off the Pike, got completely cut off and so I honked. No big deal right? Except apparently, the nimrod driving decided I offended his manhood. So at the next traffic light, he swerved - almost barrelling into my car - and then peeled out. What is up with this people?

I honestly honestly am ready to write my own manifest on how if everyone would get out of their cars, go for a walk, and be nice when they drive, we'd all be a much shinier happier world.

Giving Up the Ghost

I wouldn't consider myself vain. Others might, but I don't see myself that way. I don't wear makeup. I tried to, for awhile, but I wound up breaking out and that kind of defeated the purpose. I don't spend a lot of time or money on my hair. It's gonna wind up limp and stringy anyway, and I think an extra five minutes of sleep is worth the tradeoff. As for fashion, well, I'm no Sex in the City gal, that's for sure.

But there is one thing I'm pretty vain about -- my body. Maybe it comes from 19+ years of dance. Staring into floor to ceiling, wall to wall mirrors clad in nothing but pink tights and a black leotard three days a week for your formative years might have that affect on a gal. Maybe it's because I wasn't exactly what you'd call popular in school and I suffered under the delusion that I'd go away one summer, do the swan nee duckling routine and BAM! be popular come September. Maybe it's because there was a time, not too long ago, when I was wearing a size 10 and it was snug. (For those gorgeous size 10s out there who are reading this and saying, Hey!, I submit this -- I'm 5'3" and not exactly big-boned. Size 10 means about 30 superfluous pounds on my frame...) So I'm proud that I can still dance and kickbox and do yoga and cycle and hike and everything the way I do. And I'm proud that those things have the side effects of leaving me with a fairly decent physique.

Which leads me to last night. It was my last kickboxing class with the crazy-pregnant-awesome-fun instructor. So I wanted to make it a good one. I was kicking. I was jabbing. I was (jumping) jacking. I was sweating and panting. And, at one point, I looked at the clock and realized there was still 20 minutes left in class. OH MY GOD! For a second I actually thought, "thank God I have to take a break from this stuff for a month. I need the rest!"

Because, you see, I'm probably the oldest person in the class. But heaven forbid I take it easy, allow my kicks to be anything but the highest or my squats the deepest. It might just be competitiveness, but I think it's probably vanity.

Now, today, I walked up to the courthouse to file my application for a new passport. If you don't have your old one to turn in, you have to re-supply all your documentation. And I didn't have my "long form" birth certificate, so I got turned away. Annoying, right?

The thing is - I have my original passport. I know where it is. I could easily avoid all this hassle by just turning it in. But I really - REALLY - don't want to.

Because it's the only good picture I've ever taken.

In the photo, my hair is long and blonde. I am tan. I am smiling. I am young.

It comes down to this. As I prepare for this ridiculous procedure which will force me into a month of relative relaxation and as my 32nd birthday looms off in the distance, I must not only come face to face with my vanity, but also my age.

No matter what they say, 32 ain't the new 22. No way, no how.

Earthday, Cats, Cows, and Dinner

Last week, I found out the cat food - the REALLY freakin' expensive cat food - I feed my girls was recalled. It's the same issue as the previous large-scale recall of pet food, although this time the chemical was found in a rice protein and not in wheat gluten. So much for being careful by relying on small batch, natural suppliers.

This morning, I was making my eggs and Mr. Zips commented on the "stuff" floating around in the yolks. While I was fishing said "stuff" out, I reminisced about the amazing eggs I used to get from my CSA in New Hampshire. And how I was hoping I could get eggs at my new local CSA.

Later, I was listening to NPR (shocked, I know) and they are doing a multi-part series on MA dairy farmers and how local farms are really struggling. In part, because of subsidies and price setting that the government, in my all-time favorite piece of legislation ever, passed, the Farm Bill.

And, it got me to thinking. About how Mr. Zips and I spend so much time discussing what we're going to do for dinner. Order in? Eat out? If we order in, I'm hyper conscious of the amount of "stuff" I've got to throw away. Plastic utensils (which I ask them not to include but they do anyway), containers, bags, etc. If we eat out, I know that my food is prepped in a kitchen where they're probably not composting the scraps, recycling the beer bottles, or washing off the lettuce to the best of their ability.

So, the right thing to do is cook my own food. But unfortunately, I get home at 8 p.m. and by then I'm too exhausted to turn on the oven. And, Mr. Zips, while wonderful, probably wouldn't know what to make for me if I asked him.

And, while I feel guilty about this, at least I read a post on Earth Day that made me feel a little better: Eat Air - A Vegan Food Log: Stop Global Warming.

When the CSA harvest is crap this year - as it may very well be (NorEasters after Easter) - maybe I'll think twice about not recycling or taking a Sunday drive instead of a Sunday cycle. Because the less I do to stop Climate Change, the more I'll have to spend for less at my local farm. Cuz ya just can't grow tomaters in torrential rains.

Hopefully if we all take little, small steps toward a positive change, they'll add up...

Force of Friendliness

I am sick.

But you knew that already.

What I meant to say was that I am ill. Hit me on Saturday night. I tried to laugh it off, saying it was just allergies after my first longish bike ride of the season. But by 10 p.m., it was very clearly more than that.

Yesterday, despite it being 77 degrees and sunny, I could barely force myself to go outside. I just wanted to loll around on my bed and moan, "ugggghhhhh." My nose is red and drippy, my head is pounding, I'm hot and cold, and everything aches.

Would have been a great day to stay home.

But, alas, I had our weekly Napoleanic call - all 2 plus hours of it. I missed last week's event, since I was in Hotlanta setting up for the tradeshow. Even then, Napolean was miffed that I didn't call in. (Um, high, elbow deep in Skyline Exhibits anyone?) So no way I could beg off this week.

So, here I was, at 8:25 a.m. in a congestion-induced haze, barely tasting my coffee but sucking it down nonetheless in the vain hope that it would help me focus. I'm barely aware of being alive (except dead people's heads don't hurt this much) much less know what's going on around me.

But this clearly upset the woman who works in the other office on our floor. She was (apparently) riding the elevator with me - and four or five other people. And when I got off, she got off behind me, clearing her throat. Loudly. "Good morning?" It wasn't a greeting. It was an accusation.

Now, I'm all for being nice to strangers. I let people in front of me in traffic, I talk to people in the checkout line at the grocery store. But I don't think it's my place to force kindness or friendliness from others.

I wasn't actively ignoring this woman - I was genuinely oblivious of her existence. But that said, I have no desire to have this woman in my life, no longing to be friends with her. So why did she feel it incumbent upon her to force friendliness out of me?

I should have walked up to her, given her a great big hug, and then coughed in her face.