While driving up to the mountain: please don’t jump out the window at those rabbits please don’t jump out the window at those rabbits please don’t jump out the window GOOD BOY
While walking up the mountain: it’s DECEMBER WHY IS IT SO WARM
Where’d he go? Oh there he is.
Mountain for first dog walk since before broken leg = bad choice.
Why did I decide to veil? There are zero other humans here and it feels like I wrapped my head in a basting bag.
Benches. Benches would be amazing. Why don’t trails have benches? It would be a great for those of us who are disabled enough to need them but still want to go for hikes in the woods on occasion. Or who are forced into it by circumstance, such as the circumstance of dogsitting for your mom.
Holy shit this hill is steep.
Where the fuck is the dog?
I did not have enough coffee today.
Ok seriously if there are not going to be any benches WHY ARE THERE NO BIG ROCKS? Like a mile up this hill and not a single fucking rock; come on, this is BC, we’ve got rocks coming out of our ears. WHERE ARE THE ROCKS. And I don’t meant the tiny ones under my feet that pose a tripping and slipping hazard.
Upon reaching the almost-summit: I am not going up those goddamn stairs, you cannot make me, I choose life.
Hey, a rock. Finally a place to sit.
Ok this rock is not that comfortable. In fact it is super uncomfortable.
I’ll take it. It is closer to my butt than the ground.
~watching the dog wander up the stairs to the actual summit~ yeah you can go up there bud but don’t expect me to follow. I am good with this rock. This pointy rock. This pointy rock…that is also soaking wet. And I in my yoga pants.
Still better than standing. Or stairs. Anything is better than those stairs. They are made of eroded death and will surely send me plummeting to the rocky embrace of Mother Earth (FINALLY, ROCKS).
~dog stops halfway up the stairs, looks at me expectantly. I tell him nothing doing, but he can go on if he wants. he sighs, turns around and trundles back down.~
While walking back down: jesus this hill is steep. HOW DID I WALK UP THIS THING?
Hey, my ass is so numb from the cold rock that I can no longer feel the wetness from said rock. Bonus!
Where the fuck did the dog go? I hope he doesn’t get eaten by a cougar.
I hope that spider I just flicked off my arm lived.
Man, I’ve made it all the way up to the almost-summit and almost all the way to the bottom without slipping on a rock and twisting my ankle—ACK.
Spoke too soon.
Oh hey, there’s the dog. And the car. Thank gods, the car. Can I nap now?
On the drive home: you know I bet my thoughts would make a pretty funny blog post. I should write them up when I get home and post them.
please don’t jump out the window at those rabbits please don’t jump out the window at those rabbits please don’t jump out the window GOOD BOY
And then it took me until tonight to finish writing them up because taking care of Tyee is a big job and I am so tired.
In other news, yes, I am currently dogsitting for Mom. This means I am up in Powell River and trying to view the seclusion as a retreat for writing and knitting. More of the latter than the former at this point, but I’ve only been here 2 days.
And I had more to say, I think, but Tyee just came up and pawed at me insistently, so I am off to take him for another walk, despite being exhausted.
ETA: I could not post this before the walk and am in fact posting it after the walk. Now it is hopefully sleep times?
Hey, you know what’s in 10 days? Vancouver Island Pagan Pride Day! And Kat & Wolff will be there, vending.
Formerly Nanaimo Pagan Pride Day, it’s changed its name to reflect that it’s the main Pagan Pride event on the Island. People from all ends of Vancouver Island come to Nanaimo for it, and at some point (perhaps still?) I believe it was the largest Pagan Pride event in Canada. It’s held very close to Departure Bay, so coming over on the ferry for the day is totally possible and pretty easy.
If you’re in Nanaimo on that day you should come check out our booth. We’ll be right across the ATC-Canada booth, and not only will we be selling our books but we’ll also have some of Wolff’s famous onbijtkoek. Plus, Lord Tyee the houdini-wolf will be there! Come by, chat with us, pet the dog, and have some koek. (Also, bring a donation for the food bank drive, if you can.) You won’t regret it.
By interesting I usually mean in the curse sense of the word, May you live in interesting times, etc etc etc life has been kind of sucky.
But whatever. If you’re going to say anything about me or my mom, you have to admit we bounce back. Things break and we pick up the pieces and soldier on.
Last night a lot of things broke. Literally.
We were sitting outside to eat dinner, as we have for a few nights since getting the pavilion back up on the concrete back porch. It had been down during the winter, but mom wanted it back up so I helped. Even with the millions of spiders living on it.
The pavilion frame itself is kind of broken. (I’d show you a picture, but I didn’t realize I’d be writing this post at 1 am and it’s a bit too dark to snap a shot.) It’s bent and twisted like a gnarled oak tree. I’m surprised it stays up, to be honest.
The table and chairs we eat on are nothing special: a plastic table with fold-out metal legs that we can fold flat and take in the car to events if needed, and two plastic lawn chairs. Barely deserving of the name.
We’d finished dinner, mostly — I had, at any rate, and we’d both eaten our steaks, but mom was still working on one of the sides. While we ate Tyee sat by the table, on a leather lead held by me or mom. We’re trying to get him used to the idea of sitting by the table outside while we eat.
I got up to take him to his tie-out chain so he could have a walk around the yard, relieve himself, etc, before mom took him to dog park after dinner was over. Well, he was having none of that. We’d tied him up earlier and he didn’t want it to happen again.
So he bolted back to mom’s side. I sighed and hooked his leash onto something while I went back to deal with the tie-out, and then came back over. It hadn’t taken very long. In that time he’d managed to work himself under the table, out the other side, and around my empty chair. He then walked back towards the table, and his leash caught on my chair and dragged it. It stuttered on the concrete flooring, as plastic lawn chairs are wont to do.
And Tyee flipped. his. shit.
He bolted from the evil chair that was going to eat his soul, heading anywhere away from it. Of course, this hooked his leash on the table, and started to drag it after him and into mom. So he pulled harder. The table continued to drag, pushing mom over in her plastic chair. I rushed forward to catch her and lower her gently to the concrete ground so she didn’t hit her head. Tyee started running back and forth, in full panic mode now, and flipped the table over, spilling dishes and gravy everywhere. He ran into the pavilion and started to knock it down. Mom was now on the ground; I was holding her and pavilion up, half crouched amid a mess of broken dishes and gravy everywhere. I finally managed to give Tyee an order to stop, and he did, shaking in fear.
All that took place over the course of ten seconds. It was like a bomb going off. One moment, peaceful dinner time. The next moment, chaos, confusion, destruction, loud noises, and pain.
Once I ascertained the pavilion would not fall on mom and that she was ok for a moment, I took Tyee over to his chain and tied him up so he’d be out of our hair while we fixed everything. We managed to get the pavilion more or less righted and then mom out of her chair and on her feet. She and I started to pick things up, and she managed to drop the table on her foot. Yes, the broken one.
Casualties list: 2 plates, 2 bowls, a gravy boat, mom’s favourite wine cup (blue-green-purple porcelain), all of the gravy, the remainder of mom’s dinner.
I threw the broken dishes into the bushes, where mom throws all her broken pottery. (This is an old trick to keep wolf-dogs from lying down in your fucking garden; Sila we’re looking at you. Now she uses it to keep other animals out of her yard. It works.)
When I went back inside I realized I was bleeding quite a bit from several small cuts in my legs and on my feet. As soon as I’d done as much cleaning outside as I could before we just needed to hose down the porch, I stepped into the shower to wash off blood and gravy.
During all of this Tyee was basically having a PTSD episode. When we’d done all the work and mom was in the shower I let him back in the house and hugged him, trying to calm him with some torso compression. (This works for dogs, just like it works for humans.)
Mom took him to dog park and I sat down and tried to calm down. I also got some lanterns out of the shed that doesn’t have a giant wasp’s nest on it in preparation for my flamekeeping shift tonight.
Every 20 days I light a flame at sunset and keep it burning until sunset the next day in honor of Brighid, one of the three main deities I worship. (This flame does not have to be an fire-flame, and when I go to bed I blow out my actual candle and “light” an LED one.) This is called my “Cill shift” because I am a member of a Cill, or a group of people also dedicated to doing Brighid’s work in some capacity. We each have a shift in within the 20 day cycle, except day 20 — that’s the night that Brighid Herself will keep the flame.
Brighid has within Her jurisdiction many things (like all gods, She can not be reduced to one facet). The things that seem to come up most often, however, are healing and the bardic arts. Poetry, writing, singing, the creation of art. (So really, is it any surprise I’m Hers?)
I don’t often talk about my religion on this blog (I usually leave it for The Mundane Mystic), but today’s Cill shift did sort of tie into my main story for this post.
It’s been a rough week, and I spent some time sitting and staring at the three candles I’d lit for Her at sunset, wishing that I was more on top of things. Every Cill shift I swear I’m going to do something, and every Cill shift something like tonight’s dog freakout happens. Or Brighid hits me in the head with a cosmic frying pan and knocks. me. out. Often for 20 hours. I get a really good sleep every 20 days, quite often.
But in the ensuing hours, I’ve come to feel better about my complete lack of being able to do anything. Tyee started to calm down after we lit the lanterns, all three of them sitting on the righted table, casting shadows over the dark porch. He realized we still loved him, and all was well. (And then, after extinguishing the other two, I brought the last lantern inside, and it spooked him. Which makes me seriously question the veracity of those images of Hecate, torch in hand, with Her dog beside Her.)
And, ok. I’m writing. Here, in my blog. I’ve done some serious writing tonight, and tomorrow when I wake up and get some coffee I can continue work on From the Ashes, which I’ve done over 5,000 words on in the past 2 days. I can also work on editing The Jade Star of Athering in prep for sending it off to my beta readers. Slowly, but surely, I will finish these projects.
All creative work is within Brighid’s realm, and I’m doing that stuff. So I can stop beating myself up about these things and just be happy with what I can accomplish.
It’s honestly one of the hardest lessons to learn. I’ll still be learning it for years to come.
But every day, I get a little bit closer to knowing it in my bones. Inch by inch, stitch by stitch.