Category Archives: Just Me, Being Me

Start Somewhere

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 I run my days in such haste
No one thought has time to land
Barely having time to care
I must start somewhere

A still pool of water calls
With a dare to simply glance
A tired me shimmers there
I must start somewhere

Natural needs pushed aside
My all to all but me
For the sake of my welfare
I must start somewhere

I free my mind of clutter
Donate a moment to peace
In awe find a moment spare
I will start with prayer

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Today’s Form:  The Kouta

Kouta – KOH-OU-TA (Japanese: little song) A broad classification for several varieties of short songs from traditional to popular which is most often associated with the songs made popular in the pleasure quarters of Edo (old Tokyo) where they were often composed and sung by geisha to the accompaniment of the shamisen.

Kouta has two forms, both four lines. The first has a syllable count of 7-5-7-5, and the other has a count of 7-7-7-5.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week: 71

Query…

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So, a friend posed an interesting query in one of my Facebook groups:

“So here’s the question. If you there was a button that you could push that would give you superpowers but would also permanently change you to the opposite gender – would you push it? Would it be a hard decision, whether your answer was yes or no? Or is it an obvious choice?”

My initial response was heartfelt No!  I enjoy being female in this modern-day and age.  For all the roads we have yet to travel equality wise etcetera, so many more have opened up for women just in the past hundred plus years alone it is a great time to be female.

But then I stopped thinking about me, and me being me, went and did what I always do and over thought the hell out of it in a generic sense.

In a transgender scenario, the flip to the opposite sex is obvious, having a superpower to boot is a bonus. This sex switch mostly becomes of interest for the cisgendered.

What of the woman who now has all the physical characteristics of a male, but her heart and soul would remain feminine?  If the new body build is proportionate to the original (a tall, fat male becomes a tall, fat female etc.), I’d say that is going to make the desire to wear a dainty dress interesting.  Is she in drag now?

Let’s go down to another level, sexuality.  A hetero male is now in a woman’s body. His sexual preference is still for females – you just know someone is going to ask if this now makes him a lesbian.  Yes, he can now teleport, but can he handle the perception of being gay?

And speaking of perceptions….

This is looking at it from the view of the person who chooses to push the button.  What of the married hetero female, who did not choose to switch and power up, who now has to deal with having a wife? What if they live somewhere that does not recognize gay marriage? Hell, what if the husband, in his new bodacious female body, is even prettier than she?  Trust me – some women are going to go there.

Oh, that rabbit hole is getting pretty damn deep there isn’t it, Alice?

Now let us swing that spot light from the generic back to specific -aka me- again.

Would I be willing to trade being a female to have the ability of flight, telepathy or telekinesis, shape-shifting or a myriad of other self-serving powers? Absolutely not.

However, what if with a push of that magical button I have the ability to heal?

  • With just a simple touch – the mangled body from a car crash – restored.
  • The baby born with a deformed heart – now whole.
  • Make that virulent cancer not just go into remission, but disappear as though it never existed.

I’m not a girly-girl. Never having to wear a dress (or bra), again would not hurt me in the least. I think I have strong masculine features in my face anyway, so other than a change of hair and not bothering with make-up would also be a bonus. My friends who know me well already say I think like a male in so many ways, personality-wise I do not think it be much different. And to top it all off, I do love my men and my women, so even sexually I’m still in a good place.  At this stage in my life, I may very well be one of the best candidates for that particular button pushing.

Were I still married and raising my children, I know I would likely turn it down without a second’s thought or regret. However, I am not married and my children are very much adults.

So if I can heal others, would the adjustments to my new body, both physiologically and psychologically, outweigh the greater good of all I can eventually help?

In all honesty, once again, I have to answer Absolutely not.

As the TV show would ask – What Would You Do?

30/30 – 30 | BOO!

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My sons rolled their eyes at me as they always did when Halloween comes around.  Luckily, by their viewing at least, I do not go all out transforming the house into a holiday appropriate wonderland as I do for Christmas.  Still, every now and then I get into the I want to carve a pumpkin mood. This was one of those Halloweens were I was in a pumpkin carving, tons of chocolate and other goodies to give away, witches hat wearing mood. Now well into their teens, and knowing they are going to be dragged into it anyway shake their heads as they begrudgingly get into the spirit with me.

Thanks to such cinema sweethearts as Freddy Cruger (Nightmare on Elm Street) and Michael Myers (Halloween) faux bloody masks were de rigueur.  My youngest gets an idea and asks to borrow his father’s full length leather trench coat. Both of us being well aware of his imagination, my eldest and I look at each other part warily, partly with anticipation to see where this is going to go.

My youngest dons the coat and mask, pulls up the hood to the hoodie, grabs the big bowl of candy and when the coast is clear steps outside to stand perfectly still in a corner of the front porch closest to the front door.  He was already six feet tall by this point, thus he cut an imposing figure in the leather and bloody mask.  If any trick-or-treaters want candy, they are going to have to come to the statue to get it.

“Oh this is going to be good!” My eldest grins as we stand by the living room window to watch the scene unfold.  It takes a few minutes, but soon enough there are five or six children standing by the front gate trying to determine whether it is safe to come get the candy just sitting there in the bowl for the taking.  As always with such a group, some poor soul is goaded into being the brave one to investigate.

The little boy opens the gate takes a step in and stops. My youngest does not move a muscle. I cannot see him breathe; nor blink. He is a perfect Halloween statue. The little boy takes a few tentative steps more up the path, but still no movement from the statue. He looks back at his friends who goad him on. He makes his way up the short path to the first step and stops again, trying to gauge the situation. It is taking everything my eldest and I have not to laugh aloud as we watch this unfold.

“Hey, it’s just a statue holding a bowl of candy come up and get some!” The boy yells back to his friends bravely climbing the remaining steps as the friends come running up the pathway.  The boy raises his hand to get candy and the moment his fingers touch…

“RAWRAAAAARGGHHH!”  

The “statue” comes roaring to life and scares the living heck out of the poor child and his friends.  They are screaming, running down the steps and halfway down the pathway, before the combined laughter of my sons and I make them realize they have just been had. My youngest stops laughing long enough to call the boy back and convince them all it is okay to have candy. He gives the other kids a few candies each, but lets the little boy take as much candy as he wants for being the brave one.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

It seemed only fair since tomorrow is Halloween, that I have at least one such story for it.
And with this, the only non-fiction story of the set 30/30 set, I miraculously conclude the 30 Stories in 30 Days Challenge on time.  It has been an interesting romp stretching my imaginative path, I hope you’ve enjoyed the stretch. I now return to my irregularly scheduled blogging.

Cycle

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Gleam in His eye

A Memory
Ashes to Ashes
Longevity?

With blessings well aged
With blessings well saged

A many decade writer
Hopefully equal giver and receiver
Always a friend
And of course a Diva

At the beginning of my world-travels
Patient when a holiday light unravels

A Home Owner
An Amorous Wife
Luckily better at inciting passion
Sometimes the cause of strife

Professional at Work
Part-time Jerk

Occasional Fighter
Mother of another
Mother
Poetess

A Daughter
Alive
Me

Gleam in His eye

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Self-Portrait

The Serenade

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Joann Bishop - The Guitarist

In the courtyard with his guitar
On a warm and starry spring night
Standing near the glow of lamplight
And sings of love so near, so far

He sings of longing as a scar
A deep wound of internal bleed
A wound of perpetual need
Soft chords wrapped tight in notes blue
A testament his heart is true
Love eternal in every deed

She knows it’s her he’s singing to
She hears each note that bear his pains
Within the blood of her own veins
His longing sears her through and through

For it’s a love long overdue
She’s never known the like before
As it’s his heart that makes hers soar
His tender words gently hold sway
Her heart she’ll give to him always
Lets him and love into her door

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week 67

I’ve Got The Look…

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All mothers have a certain look in which their children instinctively comprehend to mean  stop and desist NOW.  I do not care how “no mannered”, “fresh”, “no home-trained” et cetera the children may be, all instinctively understand the most powerful wrath short of the Lord Almighty’s is about to reign down upon their little souls and behinds should they continue with the offending activity.

There are the mothers whose look will only work on their own progeny. There are the mothers in which the look not only works on their children,  but other family members’  children and sometimes the neighbors’ children.  And then there are the mothers. Those special mothers who can utilize the look with such force, that even the children of complete strangers will take heed.  It does not happen often, for I realize I have to be in a certain mood and the child involved must have seriously crossed my invisible line of intolerance for it to be at maximum force, but I am definitely among the last group.

That being said, while all mother are capable of that look, not all mothers have the ability or the desire to use to its full potential and that is a shame. Mothers who cannot put the fear of Mom unto their little darlings at a very early age are soon victimized by the tiny terrors they’ve brought forth unto this world.  I ran into one of those unfortunate types this morning.

I heard the mother already pleading with the child the moment the subway doors opened.

“Sweetie won’t you please sit down.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Didn’t I say sit down, Sweetie?”
“You’re going to get a pow-pow.”

The mother did not say “Sweetie” I’m using it  instead of the child’s actual name to protect the little hellion more so than the parent.  I also cringe when parents of young children use cutesy names for things. If you are about to discipline your child, the child should fear it. It is not a “pow-pow” it is a “spanking”.  Children do not fear the cute, especially when spoken in that sing-song sugar coated speak most adults reserve just for young children. Sweetie was not that young and I’m guessing having heard such idle threats all his young life, this child was no exception.

I partially read my book, partially listened to my music and partially watched as I sat across from them.   The little boy climbed up and down from the seat, swung on the pole and yelled back at his mother in turns. Several people were giving the mother the stink eye as Sweetie ran among them nearly causing one passenger to spill her coffee and causing another to trip. Mother would apologize, yell at her child, the child would be still for all of two seconds and then the boy was off again.  Even as the train became crowded he still misbehaved, just contained his mini-mayhem to a smaller area.

At some point a woman who had had enough touched Sweetie on the arm and nicely suggested that perhaps the child should sit. Sweetie turned around, screamed at the woman from the top of his lungs on how she is not his mother and hit the woman with the plastic bat he had in his hands.  The mother grabbed the bat from him and apologized to the woman. This was twenty minutes after I first embarked and now even I had had enough. I took off my ear buds and put my iPod and the book I’m reading in my purse and stood just as Sweetie turned around and started to run.   Right on cue Sweetie accidentally ran into me. He spun around and raised his hand as though to hit me and I’m guessing that was the moment it happened.

The Look had made its appearance.

I raised an eyebrow at him and whatever he was thinking about doing, he rethought it as his hand slowly came down to his side.

“Say ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’”  I looked down on him.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me.” He echoed contritely, taking a step back.  I heard someone exclaim “Daaaamn!” as I pointed at the boy and then at the seat next to his mother. Without another word exchanged, he picked up a toy that was on the floor and sat down close to his mother looking at me penitently.  The mother looked at me balefully as though she was about to say something and I looked at her waiting for it.  She thought better of it also, putting a protective arm around Sweetie as I returned to my seat.  There was a small bout of applause as I sat down, put on my iPod and returned to my book. The man sitting next to me looked from me to the kid and back “How’d you do that? And can you please teach my wife?” I just smiled, shrugged and returned to my reading.

A chapter or so later I realized it was still quiet. When I looked across the aisle from me Sweetie was fast asleep. The mother still looked like she wanted to do me bodily harm, but I was not worried about her. A few stops later, she and Sweetie disembarked.

Someday, someone is going to be there when I give some unfortunate soul “The Look” and have his or her cell phone camera ready to capture the moment. Obviously, I have no idea what I look like when I use this unique expression, but it apparently has some mystical power in it and I would really like to see it for myself.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

Little Victories

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For a month now my apartment has been hostage to renovations. Holes in my bathroom wall and ceiling, the entire wall in my kitchen a fond memory.  If I stand in either room and look up or down, I’m staring into a neighbor’s apartment. For the past two weeks I have had to use the bathroom of the neighbor across the hall because I have not had running water in mine. This is especially problematic at 3am when I need to do a middle of the night to use the facilities. Thrice last week I’ve lost an hour or more of sleep as I could not fall back into slumber after such.

Because dust is everywhere as they somewhat systematically replace the 100 year old pipes in each apartment on my side of the building.  Not having a sink or a stove, I have spent a ridiculous amount of money on take out during this. Buffets have become my good friend to nicely fill my belly without emptying my wallet.

Tonight I arrived home to discover they’ve reached my apartment to for more work. I already had a headache and after two weeks of this I was not in the mood to even ask yet again about the water, just to be disappointed again. But soft! What sound through yonder rooms break? Did I hear water drippeth? Yes!

The bathroom and kitchen are still filthy and looking like a Hollywood set for war zone aftermath. There’s so much work left to be done, the rooms are not getting more than a nominal cleaning until all is finished. They were nice enough to get ammonia and wipe things down. Yes, I cleaned again behind them,  I am a Virgo after all, but at long last, I have a functioning toilet and bathroom sink!

It’s a small victory, but believe you me, I’ll take it – gotta go!

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Thanks for nothing, Disney & Barney’s

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First Disney and MAC Cosmetics pulled out the cyber liposuction on Disney’s Ursula character for their Venomous Villains line in the spring earlier this year. Now with the help of Barney’s, Disney is out to ruin more childhood memories by transforming their classic icons Mickey, Mini, Daisy and Goofy into modern-day runway models…

Women’s Wear Daily: http://wwd2.wwd.com/eye/design/cartoon-capers-barneys-new-york-the-walt-disney-co-team-up-for-holidays-6202984

They say it’s a team-up, I say it’s just another subconscious gang-up on the psyches of girls and women. Another under the table way of saying taller and skinnier is better. It’s one thing to make Mickey, Minnie and Daisy slimmer. That is annoying enough in it’s own right, but not surprising in this current social climate of the slender body image. What is the deal with making them several inches taller to boot?

If even fictional characters must redesign their bodies to fit some designer’s clothing, what chance do most of us poor humans have of such? Because heaven forbid, those same designers actually design the clothes to fit their bodies, let alone ours.

Come the hell on it’s Mickey, Minnie Goofy and Daisy for Pete’s sake! Changing Ursula was bad enough, she was a secondary character, but this? This is just insane. Do you know why they are iconic characters? Their basic look does not change – that is what makes them icons.

“The standard Minnie Mouse will not look so good in a Lanvin dress.” explains Barneys’ creative director, Dennis Freedman. I call bullshit on that. Did Lanvin and company even try to design for the character’s bodies as they are? We know it can be done in two words: Miss Piggy.

A hot commodity in haute couture, her “weight” may go up and down, but Miss Piggy is always fierce, fabulous and unapologetically fat.   Proof is in the porker that designing for iconic fictional characters, without changing that which makes them iconic,  can be done with something Lanvin and company obviously do not have – imagination.

What’s next? Tommy Hilfiger and Ralph Lauren designing pants for Pooh Bear? Barney’s, but especially Disney should be ashamed of themselves. Children’s characters should not be yet another mirror of some unattainable ideal for adults. Children’s characters should be remain just that children’s characters.

Time Drawing Near

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‘Aladdin’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’ no longer hold a charm
‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ have lost their sway
The sound of glass breaking, holds not the same alarm
When I could conceive a multitude of frights just yesterday

Macaroni and glitter artwork, stuff that used to be bane
Along with a medal made of paper, in the scrapbook
A box with a bundle of model trains and cars and planes
Memories past, that bellow for a just another look

Emphasizing the second syllable of the word every
The volcano project that was quite a bit unstable
The melted chocolate cookie smile used to distract me
From the crumbly mess left on the kitchen table

The children who couldn’t fib, looking me in my eyes
The kids I couldn’t trust not to burn the toast
The brats who threw a party and told straight-faced lies
When confronted with evidence of their being such gallant hosts

The con-men who know ‘Please mother?’ from ‘Mommy PUH-LEEZE??’
The house slaves with laundry finished and dinner cooked, ready to serve
The hooligans who greet me at the door when I take too long fumbling with my keys
The young men who offer the aspirin, sensing I’ve had a day that tested my nerves

These days I find myself staring a little longer at their faces
And the tones of their voices, to my memory, I try hard to adhere
Some mother’s instinct I suppose, preparing for empty spaces
That once remote chance of their leaving, now drawing near
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 65

30/30 – 2 | Watering Hole – Miranjii

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           Miranjii stretched and flexed her legs again working out the kinks from the morning training to be among the elite of royal service of Ombeyant. She had practiced the form of the SittanKesk or Self-Seated. Sitting on her haunches, knees together, feet flat on the floor with one’s face pointed to the sky, her hands to her side fingers lightly touching the floor to maintain balance only. Should she be summoned, her hands must them lightly touch the hem of her skirts to tuck it under as she uses her leg muscles only to rise, her back ramrod straight. A rise from the SittanKesk always finishing in the AttenKesk form of legs together, both arms bent at the elbow palms up, the left in front – the right in back; her head and eyes straight ahead. She had started the SittanKesk not too long after the beginning of rise. Her grandmother Raunna, having only called upon her twice, did release her from practice until the sun was well overhead, to full rise. Her young body felt so much older to her right now.

          “You held SittanKesk all rise?!” Lavrioraa shook her head in a very non-Ombeyant manner, impressed with the accomplishment and now understanding Miranjii’s desire to do little other than lay out on the grass after a short swim in the watering hole.
          “You are good! I started whining an hour into the position; I cannot stay in one position for so long! Papa simply could not take it and started whining to Mama who became annoyed at hearing him whine and both let me go. I know it will be my enyache that I’ll be the Ombeyant in service at an all night with the Darkran and LeadCourt. People will come in the morning wondering; what is that horrible new gargoyle in the throne room, then they’ll look again and realize it is only me turned to stone from having been in SittanKesk all night.”

           “Lavri, you are so silly.” Miranjii laughed heartily at her best friend’s theatrics.

          The two girls had a fierce friendship in common, but that was all.  Lavrioraa’s parents were wrapped around their second youngest of nine’s finger and knew it. An only child, Miranjii’s adonii let her get away with absolutely nothing. While Lavriaraa managed to do well enough in her studies, it was mostly due to the prodding of Miranjii who managed to be tops in her classes with little effort. Other than being the same height, even physically they differed. Lavrioraa was as tanned as any Ydarkran farmer of the Hassaunt Plains, while Miranjii had just enough coloring to let one know she has spent some time in the sun, but not much. Lavrioraa was willowy, while Miranjii was made of much sturdier stock. At seven reaagons Lavrioraa cried for a fortnight for her straight copper hair to be cut short, but no one listened to the girl. To this day, no one quite knows how she had managed to burn half of her hair to the point it had to be cut. For fear she would do something worse that would get her killed, her hair was kept short altogether after that. Miranjii inwardly sighed as she once again coiled the thick ebony locks that seemed to magically come loose to curl around her face. With it more heavy being dripping wet from swimming, she could not help but wish for the lightness of her best friend’s short style as they lay out on the grass.

          What had started as a miserable rainy morning as Miranjii went through her daily Ombeyant training had turned into a beautifully sunny afternoon. After much daring and outright coercing Lavrioraa had convinced the normally very careful Miranjii of the pleasures of lying out in the grass totally naked with the other girls that were there with them by the watering hole. Miranjii had to admit she enjoyed feeling completely decadent as she lay there the warmth of the sun washing over her tired muscles.

          “Did not your mother wear her hair so long also?” Selkoree asked.
          “Not once she became Vras according to Adoniicio.”
          “Then why do you have to?” Selkoee’s younger sister Vinloree shook water from her own cropped hair.
          “I’m told Mama wore her hair long as a child, but cut it when she became Vras. A married woman can wear her hair short or long. Adoniicio had no control over that.” Miranjii shrugged. “Adoniicio very much has control over me and I am a long way from Vras. Were I to accidentally burn mine as someone else has….” Miranjii winks at her best friend, “…I fear will very much wish I had done likewise with the remainder of me once my Adonii sees it. I think it would be less of a torture for me. Adoniicio has never so much as shortened her hair to my knowing. She would never be so rude to say such aloud for fear it may insult those who choose to have shortened theirs, but I believe she feels it is some mark of EnHonora to have long hair and the longer, the better. I was told my mother was not of that mind.”

          “Do you miss her?” Vinloree turned onto her back.

          “I have to say no, because I never knew either of my parents.” Miranjii paused to give it a moment of thought. “I would like to think Mama would have let me cut my hair some, but not too short to appease both Adoniicio and I. She and Papa passed into Rohn’s Hall during the Great Rains; I was barely of a moonface. Adonii says it is Ydarkra’s gift that I survived when my parents did not. Especially, when no other child under the age of two reaagons in the Hassaunt Plains survived the Great Rains.”

          “That is a gift indeed. I for one am doubly grateful to Ydarkra.” Lavrioraa nodded her head decisively.
          “How so?” Miranjii grinned kicking at a pebble.

          “For one, she was born in Verrage and did not come to the Plains until she was nearly three reaagons and two, that you did survive to be her best friend because no one else seems to be able to put up with the various forms of mischief you’re constantly pulling her out of.” An amused response came from behind them. Lavrioraa groaned at the sound of her older sister D’jarraa’s voice.

          “Considering half of the time I’m in mischief with her.” Miranjii laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure that such is valid.”

          “You mean like laying out here as we are in the sun?” D’jarraa teased standing above them. Miranjii shrugged with a lot more confidence than she actually felt. That her Adonii Raunaa would be most upset was a vast understatement to say the least.  Lavrioraa frowned for a moment at her sister and then burst into a grin.

          “Race you to the rock and back!” Before anyone could give pause, she jumped up and took off running. Not in the least worried the other girls took off after her. Miranjii not wanting to go through yet another session of being teased for always being the good girl took off a moment later; the strides of her long swift legs easily catching up and eventually passing the other girls reaching the rock first.

          Simply running and enjoying herself, she kept running past the copse of trees and was totally out in the open when she heard her fellow playmates suddenly yelling. She turned and saw them all running back through the trees. She turned again to see a male on horseback heading straight towards them. Remembering her nakedness, she ran as though the fires of Briellekok were licking at her heels, but she was simply too far away from the trees. There was no way she could outrun a horse! Hearing the animal closing in she immediately dropped to PlearKesk.

          PlearKesk was the form of pleading only to be used dire need. It is the form used to help protect an Ombeyant from the physical wrath of the rare, but cruel member of EnCourt, or any one who would dare strike one who serves. The Ombeyant falls into a form of fetal position where the body curls in on itself; using the hands protect his or her neck and head. Usually the Ombeyant lies on one side leaving the cushioning of the arms, thighs and calves to take the brunt of the punishment. Choosing to hide her face Miranjii used the kneeling form, leaving her back, buttocks and soles of her feet exposed instead.

          For once she was completely grateful for her long hair as it had once again come loose from its coil during her run and now fell about her back and face providing her scant more coverage. If only if could be glued in place she thought to herself as she hears the horse come to a stop. All she can think, as she hears the footsteps of the approaching rider, is that he must not find out who she is. And how was she, a girl of ten reaagons naked and out in the open was going to accomplish that, she did not know…

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30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 2 – Yes, there is more to this one coming – see you tomorrow 😉