Blocked

There are many things I wish to say. The words used to be able to just flow from my pen, like it already knew what I wanted to write. There are thoughts, ideas and fragments bobbing around in my mind like apples waiting to be bitten but that is all they are, fragments, thoughts, nothing complete, from beginning to end. I WANT to write again, but first I need to figure out what this block is, so that I can take the ideas and thoughts I have and form them into something complete.
So there it is.. . now what to do with it... any suggestions?

Thrown To The Wolves

Seems like I keep getting "tested" here at work. Pushing me to see where/when I will fail. Now, I have a crazy deadline, what should take a crew of 3 to do in 4 days I am left to in 5 by myself. Now, my future employment is on the line if I don't finish. So, lack if help, lack of tools, lack of time. I have always said I love a challenge, I don't ever give up or quit because something is too hard, it just means I have to work harder. I've had this attitude in nearly all aspects of my life. The problem is, I am getting no feedback on these "tests" I am given. This feed back is critical to me, to know both how far I have come and hoe far I have to go, and also weather or not I am going in the right direction.
So once again, I sm thrown to the wolves, and I'm wearing steak pants. When thrown to the wolves, I do not become the sheep, but the wolf that gets the sheep.

The Fire-Bringer

 This is a story I have heard, read aloud many many times in my youth. Always on a friday night, in a glen, around a VERY large fire in the summer time. This is because it was part of the closing ceremonies of the summer camp I went to from the age of 8 to 18. I am now 37 and am still friends with people I met there. In some ways it did shape who I am today. Maybe I will tell this story to my kids, around a fire some summer night. 

Enjoy.

 The Fire Bringer

This is the Indian story of how fire was brought to the tribes. It was long long ago when men and beasts talked with understanding, and the gray Coyote was friend and counselor of man.

There was a Boy of the tribe who was swift of foot and keen of eye, and he and the Coyote ranged the wood together. They saw the men catching fish in the creeks with their hands, and women digging roots with sharp stones. This was in summer. But when winter came on, they saw the people running naked in the snow, or huddled in caves of the rocks, and most miserable. The Boy noticed this, and was very unhappy for the misery of his people.

" I do not feel it," said the Coyote.

"You have a coat of good fur," said the Boy, "and my people have not."

" Come to the hunt, " said the Coyote.

" I will hunt no more, till I have found a way to help my people against the cold," said the Boy.
"Help me, O Counselor!"

Then the Coyote ran away, and came back after a long time; he said he had found a way, but it was a hard way.

"No way is too hard" said the Boy. So the Coyote told him that they must go to the Burning Mountain and bring fire to the people.

"What is fire?" said the Boy. And the Coyote told him that fire was red like a flower, yet not a flower; swift to run in the grass and to destroy like a beast, yet no beast; fierce and hurtful, yet a good servant to keep one warm, if kept among stones and fed with small sticks.

" We will get this fire," said the Boy.

First the Boy had to persuade the people to give him one hundred swift runners. Then he and they and the Coyote started at a good pace for the far-away Burning Mountain. At the end of the first day's trial, they left the weakest of the runners, to wait; at the end of the second, the next stronger; at the end of the third, the next; and so for each of the hundred days of the journey; and the Boy was the strongest runner, and went to the last rail with the counselor. High mountains they crossed, the great plains, and giant woods, and at last they came to the Big Water, quaking along the sand at the foot of the Burning Mountain.

It stood up in a high peaked cone, and smoke rolled out from it endlessly along the sky. At night, the Fire Spirits danced, and the glare reddened the Big Water far out.

There the Counselor said to the Boy, "Stay thou here till I bring thee a brand from the burning; be ready and right for running, for I shall be far spent when I come again, and the Fire Spirits will pursue me."

Then he went up the mountain; and the Fire Spirits only laughed when they say him, for he looked so slinkin, inconsiderable, and mean, that none of themthought harm from him. And in the night, when they were at their dance about the mountain, The Coyote stole the fire, and ran with it down the slpoe of the Burning Mountain. When the Fire Spirits saw what he had done, they streamed out after him, red and angry, with a humming sound like a swarm of bees. But the Coyote was still ahead; the sparks of the brand streamed along his flanks, as he carried it in his mouth; and he stretched his body to the trail.

The Boy saw him coming, like a falling star against the mountain; he heard the singing sound of the Fire Spirits close behind, and the laboring breath of the Counselor. And when the good beast panted down beside him, the boy caught the brand from his jaws and was off, like an arrow from a bent bow. Out he shot on the homeward path, and the Fire Spirits snapped and sung behind him. But fast as they pursued, he fled faster, till he saw the next runner standing in his place, his body bent for the running. To him he passed it, and it was off and away, with the Fire Spirits raging in chase.

So it passed from hand to hand, and the Fire Spirits tore after it through the scrub, till they came to the mountains of the snow; these they could not pass. Then the dark sleek runners with the backwards streaming brand bore it forward, shining star-like in the night, glowing red in sultry noons, vioet pale in twilight glooms, until they came in safely to their own land.

And there they kept it among stones and fed it with small sticks, as the Counselor advised; and it kept the people warm.

Even after the Boy was called the Fire Bringer; and ever afterthe Coyote bore the sign of the bringing, for the fur along his flanks was singed and yellow from the flames that streamed backward from the brand.

* Adapted from "the Basket Woman," by Mary Austin

Playing with my meat!

Yup, all day, in the kitchen. Making jerky, (what were you thingking?)! Here is what I will be making:

No. 9
A glorious blend of sweet heat. Starts off sweet, quickly gets hot with lots of wonderful flavors coming out with every piece. 
*This one will be a very small batch, as I can no longer find the recipe for it. It may have to be retired.

Phoenix Fyre
Much like No. 9, but with less sweet and more heat. You will be consumed by this fire.

Tropical Heat
Firey hot, with tropical citrus fruits and a hint of rum. This one may even scare the Phoenix.

SoCo Special
One of the few with out heat, an addictive blend of BBQ, honey and Southern Comfort.

Blueberry (new)
Still needs a name, Fresh picked local blueberries and a hint of lemon. The taste of summer here in New England.

Wisdom (new)
This is a chicken jerky, as the name says, its sunny citrus fruits and wise old sage to balance it out.  

The Frustrations of Being Homeless

Ok, well not really living in the streets homeless, but instead, living with Volante's Parents. The house is too small for all of us and we are tripping over ours and their stuff. Then there is the non-physical side of it, the various "rules" and the comments and general attitude sometimes, and MAJOR lack of privacy. The kids are sleeping in the living room, and we are sleeping in what was at one time, the dining room, which really is too small to be a bedroom for 2 adults. As for the "rules," I have nothing against living to other peoples rules in their house, but its how they are presented and enforced that get to me. This is no way to live let alone raise our kids. Dont get me wrong, I am GRATEFUL to have a roof over our heads, really, I am, but its time to go.
There is another side to it; house hunting, particularly, rental house hunting. Buying or renting, house hunting can be a PITA, no, it IS a PITA. There are (obvious) differences between looking to buy, and looking to rent. Probably the most frustrating part of renting is that it the own can pick the renter. Lets look at some of the issues, first there is credit checks. Really? Credit? To rent?  Ya, I get that you COULD use a credit report to see if they pay their bills, but at the same time, what if MOST of what you have paid in the last 7 years is NOT on a credit report? (They required a credit score of 600 or better).You can NOT judge someones ability to pay NOW against what happened in the past. Then there is work. Ok, I have been employed now for a month and a half, so does that mean that I do not have good employment history? I can see if I had 7 jobs in 3 years. Yes I know it does not look good that i have been unemployed for 2 years, but look around, how many other people are in that situation or have been in that situation. Does that mean they can not keep a job?
We went up to Maine 2 weekends ago to go look at a house. That same day there was to be another family to look at the house as well. He seemed to like us, we asked all the right questions and gave all the (assumingly) right answers, and a few in particular such as his very anti-pesticide stance for his yard, we completely agreed on that. We went home and filled out the application and emailed it to him. The only response we have been given is that there are "othere applications we're going to go over." When buying, if you have the $$, its jsut a matter of some legal paperwork (mountains of it) to be done and its yours. I can remember (while in my previous marriage) looking to rent and it was pretty much "first come first served." there was no "competing" to rent a house. Another frustration; obviously there is a large demand for rental properties, otherwise we would not be waiting like highschool grad waits on hearing from a college. With such a demand, you would think that if you have an advertised (on-line) rental property you might want to respond to emails from people wanting to rent it! Oh, and include a damn phone number! Unless of course you really dont want to rent it. I have no idea how many emails I have sent out inquiring about houses, asking for pictures (for those that include NO pictures, ya there is a smart advertising idea) with 0 responses, that's right, 0, not one. People keep asking me how it is possible that we have not found a place yet, well that's how. The internet is a wonderful tool for moving to another state, but only if everyone uses it the right way.

New Design

So, what do you think? New design for my blog, thanks to the awesomeness that is my wife, Volante ^_^ Thank you my love!
I think its easier to read now, not so much of an eye strain.

She did a great job on hers too, go check it out http://thecelticbutterfly.blogspot.com/

Idea well is running dry

Where has all my creativity gone? Mayhaps it is my environment? Either way, I need it back. Gypsie and I are attending a Lammas Faire ( http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=230376633643646 ) at the end of this month, as vendors, this means that I need to get creative again with the making of my staves. I have a few that I have made, and I have the ones that have been around for quite a while. I have been told be people who run things like this that they wanted *ME* there because they like what I do and mine are very different from what most other people do. They are right, I never really paid much attention to what everyone else was doing when I started this, and i still do just what ever I want. I have made some beautiful pieces in the past, now, I can not get a decent idea to save my life. I have contemplated re-making some of the staves that went really quick, but that is nothing new, just a rehash of something else I have done.
As for the jerky,
*Off On A Tangent Here* typing the word "jerky" reminded me that my "k" key seldom works the first time anymore. It is non-existent, thans to a certain 2 y/o minion. so if you see typos here that are due to a missing "k" that is why.
I have only a small amount of the marinade left of the 2 best selling flavors of jerky. I can not find the recipes for them anywhere since the move. I am at a loss for creating new flavors, again, loss of creativity. There are some older flavors I could drag out that I would have to do from memory, and hope they come out right. Over all, I am feeling rather, well, stale. That is the only word I can think of right now. Something has to give here, and VERY soon, for my creativity. I even have pieces I have half started and I KNOW they need to be finished, but because of not nowing what to do with them, they linger, unfinished, collecting dust. I have nowhere to get fresh wood to wor with here either. I was lucky enough to have to foresight enough to bring many unfinished and raw wood with my from NC to here. But once that is gone, what then? Its almost like I dont want to finish them all because I dont want to come to the point of not being able to because of not having the materials.

BTW, I just acquired a small blueberry branch today while we were blueberry picking. I will be making a wand from that. There is just something very springy and fun about a blueberry wand, it maes me smile just thinking about it. hmm blueberry jerky? daring.. possibly? Why not?

Recycled Poetry?

Wow, its been just about 8 months since i have posted anything. Too Long. Anyways....

And away we go...


Something has been bugging me for a very long time, years even. I have written hundreds of poems, a great many of them have been about a specific person. The person has been many different people over my 23 years of writing. My issue is recycling. Some time ago I read some of what i have left (I only have a few years of my writing, but that is a story for another time), and noticed that some of them, had meaning for the time I was reading them, and about the one I have been with the longest, have the most memories and been through the most with. Obviously, if you know me at all, I speak of my wife. As I look back, i noticed that i never once wrote anything for my previous wife, but there are many many reasons why she is my EX-wife. Oops.. tangent.. sorry. I have not wanted to share them for fear of insulting her because they were not originally written specifically for her. I suggest that, unless there is a specific name or some other very specific mention, it shouldn't matter, what should matter is the content, message, and feelings involved the poem to whom I give it. There are some simple arguments I will make for this, and some much more esoteric.
First, lets put this anecdotaly, but more as an anecdotal question. The real question here is: is it wrong to recycle a poem of deep emotional meaning? Simply put, no.

Let say Jack is in love with Jill, and wants to do something romantic for her but lacks the ability to put his feelings on paper beyond rudimentary prose. He goes on-line (because he has no library card, what would he do at a library?) and Googles romantic poetry and comes to the most often quoted, recited and most prolific writer of romantic lines; William Shakespeare. He skims through a few and find one that strikes a chord with him and expresses how he feels about Jill. Later he recites said poem and she gushes and throws her arms around him and thanks him for being so romantic. Was what he did wrong in anyway? Only if he takes credit for writing it. Here is why; Mr. Shakespeare died 395 years ago, surely he did not know Jill, nor Jack, but he knew of the love they felt for eachother. He did not write it for Jill, but does that take away any meaning that Jack sees in it for Jill? No. Maybe he wrote it for someone specific? Even if he did, again, it does not lessen the meaning, and emotion that Jack wishes to express to Jill. Recycled poetry. Jack has something to say, it has been said before, better than he can think to say it, so he chooses someone else's words that were written for someone else, because they express what he wants to say to Jill.
That is the simple explanation. The other, is just a little more difficult to grasp, but no less important.
There have been many odd connective events that have happened between Volante and I and some still happen today (which still puts a smile on my face that only love could produce). One example is regardless of distance between, we still manage to think the same thing at the same time. Another is this, VERY early on in our relationship, something happened that was similar to, but not quite de ja vu. I remembered a dream I had years before. It was just a fleeting moment, a glance at her at a certain place at a certain time, that happened in a dream. Yes, she had been in a dream of mine years before I met her. I did not know it at the time, but still, one of those dreams that just kinda sticks for some reason. This suggests some sort of clairvoyance on some level of things to come. These little moments happen to me more often than I pay attention to and I really should learn to read them and pay attention to them better. When this dream happened, i was involved with someone else. I was doing more writing at the time than I am now. What if, I consciously was writing about [Person] I was with at that time, but subconsciously was writing about someone to come into my life years later (Volante)? Why not? I did see her in a dream (yes, just saw her in a dream, did not specifically dream about her) years prior to actually meeting her. This has happened with many aspects of my life, my dreams that i shrug off as meaning less, sometimes years later, happen just as I dreamed it. So, entirely plausible that I was (unknowingly) writing about Volante but [Person] i was with was just the trigger to get it down on paper.

This is a dilemma I have fought with myself over for a few years now. I, in a way am my own Shakespeare, I write, but years later find new meaning in what I wrote, for a new time to express how I feel at that time.

So, I ask all of you out there, is it wrong to recycle poems?