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where birds fly free

It’s an early Saturday morning, early enough that it’s still dark outside.  I can hear the gutters still draining off the steady rain of the last few days and every now and then, a gust of wind. It’s a nice sound, especially because we have needed the rain so badly.

I’m waiting on cover options from our designer for Where Shadows Fall and working on the next project, but for today, I am taking a break to go watch some birds with my mother and a friend (who incidentally is the woman I modeled the character Victoria around in the Shades and Shadows books).

We have a number of ecological preserves and wildlife sanctuaries or refuges around us, and while I may not know the names of every bird we will see, I’ll enjoy watching them and spending time with two women I adore.  It is a chance for my camera to venture out and take some shots, like the one above, which I took at the Woodbridge Ecological Reserve a couple of weeks ago.

It’s nice to take a break from one creative endeavor for a different creative endeavor.

Right now though, I’m sipping my morning coffee and contemplating breakfast. I hope your Saturday is everything you need it to be, Readers.

And, if you’re shopping for the reader in your life this small business Saturday, consider any one (or more) of my books, found here.

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the thanksgiving problem

We live in an age of new understanding of old traditions and previously accepted history.  I doubt that there are many Americans who haven’t at least heard that there is a problem with what we think we know about the beginnings of our country, or that the first “thanksgiving” was not what we learned it was in grade school.

Yet, tradition and images that we all learned in those classes persist, and tomorrow much of the country will have the day off of work to gather, happily or not, with family we only ever see at this sort of holiday dinner and engage in the very American past-time of overeating while at the same time body shaming one another and dancing around politics and dark family secrets.

The Thanksgiving problem is multi-layered, really, beginning all the way back when white people first arrived on these shores.  There are people better educated than I am who can explain all the problems with that better than I can, but if I can offer my understanding in short:  There’s the fact that a bunch of white people just assumed the land they wanted was their’s for the taking, the idea that they did so woefully unprepared for what that land would require of them, the notion that we turned the natives into the enemy because they were different, the traditional idea of “good Indians” who helped those white people survive and “bad Indians” who were savages that would kill for no reason…And I’m sure a lot more.

There is the toxic demand for families who live separate lives for a reason, to come together and steep in a day heated by disgust, anger, forced affectation of affection, the stress of getting the food on the table, etc.  This is something I try to help young LGBTQ folks understand,  that they really do not have to submit themselves to that for the sake of a national holiday based on a lot of really bad history and colonialism.

No one should have to spend a day with those who at best despise them and at worst want them dead.  No one should have to pretend to be someone that they aren’t to keep the peace at the dinner table.

We could also talk about the toxic combination of food waste, gluttony, body shaming and the double edged standard that surrounds meals like this.  If a fat person carefully prepares a plate with a healthy portion of healthy foods, they get asked “Is that all you’re going to eat?  Look at all this food we made.”  If a fat person tosses the concept of healthy eating out the window, they get told, “See, that’s why you’re so fat. You need to control what you eat.”  On the other hand, a skinny person eats twice their weight in food and half of a pumpkin pie, and are asked “Where do you put it all?”

Still, as problematic as Thanksgiving can be, there is also something to be said to find ways to reclaim it, remake it.  You can see some of that in the trend toward “Friendsgiving,” where those who have no families, their families are distant or whose families are as good as poison chose instead to come together for a communal meal.  These are the places where LGBTQ get to create family out of supportive friends, allies, and peers.

We can also work at chipping away at those images and traditions that are not actually based in reality and giving voices to those our colonialism, which began in Plymouth, marginalized, abused and murdered.  If we can find a way to morph Thanksgiving from a holiday that celebrates that false history, and start to use it as a means to celebrate the actual humanity of those who are a part of the fabric of our country, meaning the Indigenous people, people of color, women, transgender people, gay and lesbian people, fat people, skinny people, those in between, geeks, nerds, Pagans, Muslims, Jews, Sikhs, and atheists, etc, then maybe we can reclaim it and make it a truly American holiday.

 

 

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the chill of winter

It isn’t really winter here in Northern California, because it is, after all, California.  It is, however, colder here now than it was a few months ago.  Cold enough that my early morning writing is being done with my heavy bathrobe on over my pajamas.

I grew up where winters are a little more dramatic, where blizzards could mean days off of school, where I learned to ice skate, and ice fish, on the pond that emptied into Lake Ontario.

I have a lot of fond memories of winter in Upstate New York as a child.  I loved the winter then.  Sledding and skating and snow ball fights.  It would take you longer to get dressed to go out in it than you’d actually spend outside in the snow because it was so cold!  As I got older there was the fun addition of snow mobiles.

I left NY when I was 18, and I’ve been back to visit a time or two, but a blizzard that nearly kept us from getting home kind of soured my taste for it.  And, as I get older, the idea of all of that cold, wet snow and all of the work just to get around in it, makes me think that I’d rather stay here, where the snow doesn’t bury us to the second floor window and the cold rarely nips low enough to freeze.

It took some time to get used to the holidays without snow, but now that I have, I like not having to worry about driving on sheets of ice to get to see my family. As we head into the holiday season, that’s an important consideration.

Still, I’d take a bit of that snow about now if it would help combat the fires here in California.

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flames everywhere you look

I live in between two raging fires right now, albeit quite a bit closer to the northern one.  My home has been inundated with smoke for days, I don’t venture outside much to avoid any complications from weakened lungs or sinuses that don’t even need a reason to go bonkers.

I am fortunate that I can work from home and that I live where I do. Today I am reminded that many are not so fortunate.  Many are right now in emergency shelters after fleeing for their lives with whatever they could grab on their way out.  Some escaped with nothing more than the clothes on their back before a wall of flame came to take away their homes.

Still others never got out.  They died in those flames.

As an author, I do a lot of thinking about death, about ways to die and what those methods of death do to the body.  For me, there is nothing more horrific than burning to death while still alive. Nothing.

There are many stories coming out of the areas that are burning; stories of heroic rescues, of animals finding ways to survive and stories of people coming together to help one another.  I saw two stories in the last 12 hours about surviving by getting in a body of water.  The first was about a horse that managed to get into a pool  and was found shivering, but alive.  The second was about a group of people who, realizing that they were trapped by the fire, took to an icy cold lake.

There are other stories too.  On my way into the office this morning I read the words of a man who barely escaped in his car, watching in his rear view mirror as his neighbors fought, and failed, to escape the flames.

Towns have been decimated.  Thousands are homeless.  Many have lost kin, friends, and pets.  The entire concept is terrifying to me.

Firefighters are battling the blazes, working round the clock in an effort to contain the fire, and I pray that they are successful soon.

Imagine losing everything in your home; clothing, photos, mementos, family heirlooms, all gone in a flash.  My heart goes out to the victims, and once I get paid tomorrow, I’ll be donating what I can.  I’m thinking I can weed out my closet too.  I have way too many clothes.  I’ll see if I can find somewhere to donate some of them for the victims.

Please, if you can spare any amount of money, I ‘m sure that there are plenty of places you can give to support those who have lost so much.

Thank you, Readers.

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I voted!

(This Wednesday post on Tuesday is brought to you by Election Day)

It was a wonderful thing waking up this morning to see all of the “I voted” stickers on my Facebook feed.  I always vote by mail, in part due to my agoraphobia, so my ballot went out well over a week ago.

Mid-term elections are known for a low voter turn out, but already it seems that this year will be different.  When less than half of eligible voters actually cast their vote, and so many districts face active voter suppression (I’m looking at you North Dakota and Southern states), our government is decided by that small group of people who actually make it to the polls to vote.

With a country that seems so divided, every voice counts more than ever!  Right now the far-right and the far-left are the only voices at the table, because they’re the ones who voted in the last election.  It’s time to shake off the lethargy of the middle and get out there, make your voice heard.

In most places, Uber and Lyft are offering free/discounted rides to polling places, and some areas have sponsored “I’ll take you” systems where calling a central number will get a neighbor to pick you up and take you to vote.

I’ll ask only one thing of you as you set out to perform this serious civic duty: vote with Kindness.  If the option is between hurting your fellow human beings and helping them, choose helping.  If the option is between taking rights away and letting the equality promised in our founding documents proceed unhindered, choose the latter.

Have a good election day, Readers!  Make your voice heard.

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samhain and the dead

As I am writing this, I am looking at tomorrow’s holiday with a new perspective of sorts.  I’ve always loved Halloween, from my earliest memory.  It was a fun holiday, a chance to become something besides your self, and of course, there was all the candy!

As a new Pagan many years ago it took on new meaning.  I celebrated Samhain as I imagine a lot of new Pagans do.  I did a little research, I borrowed traditions from paths that seemed to get it right, and I threw myself into celebrating this holiday of the dead.

But what I didn’t really have, or understand, was any real connections to my “beloved dead” or my “ancestors”…I never really had a strong sense of family connections beyond my immediate family and they’re immediate family (mother, father, siblings…aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents).  I had never known my mother’s father and at the time I chose my Pagan path, the only people in my life who had died were my father’s mother and a childhood friend.

Still, I had a strong draw toward honoring the dead.  My love of old cemeteries also goes back to my childhood and my interest in the spirit world was part of what drew me to Paganism to begin with.

Over the last few years, my religious path has changed some…nothing drastic, but if your faith doesn’t grow with you as you grow then your faith can die.  I found myself digging into my family tree, into the history of me as it were, and discovered a feeling of connection with several ancestors that I had never known.

Two years ago, I attended a class in bone reading as divination.  It had a strong emphasis on calling on the beloved dead to assist.  It was after that class that I set up a small altar with pictures of those ancestors, and in the two years since I have added images of those who have passed more recently, not necessarily family of my blood, but family of my heart.

This Samhain, after I go to work in my Raven costume, I will spend an evening in quiet contemplation and while I can’t really have a bonfire like I’d like, I will light as many candles as I deem safe and invite those beloved dead to visit.  I may even throw some bones and see if they speak to me.

Whether you celebrate Halloween, Samhain or Dia de los Muertos, may your day be filled with blessings and sweet things.

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taken a-back

There is this moment, just as I am waking up, but before I’ve moved or opened my eyes.  In that moment, nothing hurts, at least not above my baseline.  I try to hold on to that moment, because I know that soon, I’ll have to move, have to sit up and put my feet on the floor, and then the pain will come.

I sometimes joke that if I ever woke up not in pain, I’d assume I died through the night.  I’ve had chronic pain conditions most of my adult life, and I’ve developed new ones as I’ve gotten older.

Most days I can be functional with a few coping mechanisms, some gentle stretching and my meds for nerve pain.  I’m fortunate to not need anything in the opioid category for pain relief.

This morning, as I slowly became conscious and I hung there in that glorious moment when nothing hurt, I wondered what it would be like to be there all the time, to have my body back.  I’ll probably never know.  I just adjust to the new normal each time something new comes to claim my body for its home.

This week has been rough for pain levels.  My lower back, and in turn my legs, have been extra loud in the symphony and have required I do some babying and icing.  They seem to be somewhat better today, though my whole back is a hair above what I call “normal.”

That’s okay though.  Today is a writing day, and aside from getting some laundry done, I have no other plans.  Just me, some Death Wish Coffee and one of the two stories I’m currently working on.

What about you, Reader?  What’s on your plate today?

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living off script

Life is an odd thing, if you think about it.  You’re born a squirmy, screaming thing that can do nothing for itself.  If you’re lucky, you’re cared for by people who love you just because you share the same blood.  You grow and you choose friends based on the clothes they’re wearing or the TV shows they watch or the color of their hair or whatever random thing makes them attractive to you.  You learn skills, you set yourself off on a path to earn a living, and maybe make your own squirmy, screaming thing that you then have to love and care for.

It’s almost like we’re born with a script to follow…even if some of us don’t follow it all the way.

Today is my mother’s 70th birthday.  She followed that script.  She became a nurse, she got married, she had two kids…but then there was an unexpected twist written into the script when she wasn’t looking.  She found herself divorced with two kids to raise with nursing skills so far out of date that going back to nursing wasn’t even possible.

She raised two kids, one who seems to be following the script pretty well. He married, raised two kids to adulthood, etc.  Me, well, not so much.  I kind of walked away from the script a long time ago. I never married, though I considered it once.  I never had kids, though I considered that once too.

At my age, it isn’t going to happen, though I have considered fostering from time to time.  I get attached too easily and I’m driven to fix things for others, so I think it would probably kill me to do.

I’ll have to settle for living off script, I guess.  It isn’t a bad life.

I have a cup of Death Wish coffee and some edits to get to before I head out to see Mom.  Happy Saturday, Readers!

 

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observations on a wednesday morning

I hopped on the early, early train this morning, the one two trains before the one I normally take, because I got to the station so early. It always surprises me how full the train is at 5:45 am.

When I stepped onto the train, I could see construction workers, half asleep, some squatting on their toolboxes, others sprawled across seats they’d managed to find before the train got full.  There were glassy eyed medical workers in their scrubs, blinking blearily out the window and kids on their way to daycare, mostly asleep in their parents’ laps.

There were a couple of college students too, trying to read from textbooks as the train jolted this way and that, clinging to the overhead straps to keep themselves upright.  A few stops in, two older women got on, each with a cane and looking like a strong wind would knock them over.  We had to rouse two able bodied folks sleeping in the accessible seats to make sure they could sit down.  It was one of those mornings where four accessible seats on each end of the car wasn’t enough for those who needed them.

I read most of the ride because I can’t resist the call of a new book.  At my stop, I got off the train with the masses and shuffled along to the escalator, praying that the escalator to the street was working because my right hip just is not up to stairs right now.  On the concourse I could see the homeless that had slipped into the station for a bit of warmth, sleeping while they could.  They’ll get roused soon enough and be forced to move on.  At least here in San Francisco they don’t have to worry about freezing temps and snow as they do in some places already this year.

Because I was early, I didn’t pass the regular people: the guy who looks like he belongs in a mob movie, the pregnant woman who is always on the phone, the homeless guy who sets up just in front of the one Starbucks, hoping for a cup of joe from a kind stranger.

Construction has the street all torn up, traffic re-routed, as they build whatever “pedestrian improvements” they’re making.  Closer to work, the striking workers were already hard at it outside the Courtyard Marriott, some of them blocking the side walk and chanting incoherently, others standing around the table where the coffee lives and talking.  I considered stopping at the Starbucks there, but then I remembered that they were closed due to the strike.

I was early enough that the usual security person wasn’t at the desk yet, so I nodded good morning to the man I don’t know and headed upstairs.  It was quiet and dark, the automatic lights weren’t due to come on for another 15 minutes…but I like it that way.

Now, however, the sun is up outside the window and I’m no longer alone in the office.  I guess that means I should refill my coffee cup and get busy. Happy Wednesday, Readers!  May it be filled with kindness.

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an exciting day

Today is an exciting day.  Why, you ask?  Because today is the day I finally submitted Where Shadows Fall to my publisher!

That means that very soon there will be talk about book covers and the like.  Then I’ll be able to start teasing publishing dates, maybe even open up pre-orders!

It’s been a long time coming, interfered with by life events and the like, but this is the end of this trilogy, and I feel like I can move on to the next thing without being held back.

I’m still processing pictures from my trip (like the one above), and I’ll get a post up on the travel blog as soon as I’m done.

In the meantime, if you haven’t already read Through Shade and Shadows and In Gathering Shade, now is a good time to get on that!