Ahhhhh, that's better

   I've spent hours every day for the last week or so in the sun, bare armed.

  My fingernails are a wreck and the soles of my feet have regained their permadirt.

  Sweet.

  If you're interested, there's a piece on dandelions over here . And if you're not interested in a piece on dandelions? All the more reason you should read it, I'd say!

Home Sweetening - a libertarian gun toting survivalists' blog?

 

  Seriously, how do these things happen? Is it some random search engine looking for keywords that gets me emails like this? Wait, it can't be. A real live person would have had to actually check the blog for my contact info. So what the hell is this?


"    Hi Christine,

I'm the Survival editor at Before It's News. Our site is a People Powered
news platform with over 4,000,000 visits a month and growing fast.

We would be honored if we could republish the rss feed of Home Sweetening
in our Self-Sufficiency category. Our readers need to read what experts
like you have to say. "

(etc.)

  Here's the site in question , if you'd like to go and have a look. In fact, please do. Don't worry, we'll still be here when you get back.

  Wow, eh?

   I can only assume that my friend the "Survival editor" hasn't actually read this here little blog. Clearly he doesn't realize I'm just a mild-mannered Canadian with little to no interest in guns or false flag events. (Although ... I do have a bit of a weakness for Alex Jones once in a while. 'Cause after all, there is some funny business goes on out there that the mainstream media ain't tellin' us about...)

 Sheesh. I am perversely tempted to say, "Why, sure! Link me baby!" (or whatever the lingo is)

 Think of all the mind-fucking I could do! "Socialist" rants! Tolerance for all!

 Oh, sooooo tempting. How long would it last, do you think? Would they sever all ties with my pinko site or would I just get a lot of crazy hatemail?

 Besides, who wouldn't want to be on the same website as Jesse Ventura? And how cool would it be to watch my stats zoom up from dozens per day to (gulp) more than dozens?

 Ok, that's actually a little frightening.

 Tippy the Robin is not ready for the Big Time.

 No, clearly they've got the wrong gal.

  I'm no 'survivalist'!

  I like to be prepared is all. For, you know, snow storms knocking out power and unexpected household emergencies knocking out the bank account. I grow food and eat weeds for the flavours, not for the freedom from the Man - oh wait, I sure do like that freedom from the Man thing too.

 And as for S.H.T.F. or E.O.T.W.A.W.K.I., well that's just silly.

 Except of course, for the techno crash.

 Which is inevitable.

 That's totally different.

  Um ... oh shit.

  Ok, it's true, some of what I practice (and preach) bears a certain similarity to that which can be seen over there ...

 Oh good lord. Am I actually coming across as a prepper or something? Not that there's anything wrong with preppers. I've learned a lot from those youtube ones, especially. I'm just not in their league, is all. No sir, I ain't the "expert" that fella from Before It's News thinks I am. Or wants me to think that he thinks I am.

 Flatterer.

 I suppose, as usual, I am missing the Big Picture here. Somehow a site that big just wants to swallow up all us little 'uns, somehow they make more money that way. Or something. Or maybe it's actually a false flag in its own right? Has the Man set this up so they could keep an Eye on all us rebels and shit disturbers as we spread information on how to live life without Big Pharm and Big Ag?

Yeah, that must be it! It's Monsanto! They're onto me!

 I really have hit the Big Time!

 

I am SO going to do this

   



    Another excellent video from Paul Wheaton of permies.com . If you like this sort of thing, you really should pop on over there.

    

Radical healing 3 - sunshine

   My last visit to the physiotherapist was a bit of a cock-up.

   My usual gal wasn't there.

   I let a ditzy replacement, supposedly 'highly skilled', work on me instead.

   My needles didn't twirl. I wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but I didn't get to that trippy place, either. That night, and the next, I was woken up by pain that was in a new place, and of an intensity that had my adrenals going off like jet engines, my heart pounding in panic.

 Lovely.

 Although I told myself the long walk I'd taken on city streets that day may have caused a flare up, I also knew in my gut that it was not so. The pain was rectangular in shape, and in precisely the spot she had placed the needles. It was as though, instead of dispersing the energy, she had managed to concentrate it.

 Fucking hell.

 Realizing that someone has messed with your chi is much like waking up next to a stranger. You get this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, a deep seated "oh, no, what circle of hell is this ?" (*)

 Interestingly, the pain only occurred at night, about 3 hours into sleep, resulting in an anxiety attack that lasted an hour or so. The rest of the time I was absolutely fine.

 The remedy?

 Sunshine. Or so it seems.

 On the third day I took myself out to the garden. A chilly wind was coming off the newly thawed and swiftly flowing river.  I wandered down to where I was sheltered from the wind and sat on the bench, bundled in my big jacket and scarf, big mug of sweet milky tea at hand. I sat. And sat. Birds sang. Buds on maples swelled. Sky did its incredible blue thing that it does so well in spring. Occasionally I'd get up and wander, poking at the long dead grasses and finding, underneath, green shoots of this or that, tinged with that red that all new shoots have at this time of year. Then I'd sit some more.

 I didn't actually think about anything, I just felt. Warm sun on my face. Soft ground underfoot. I could feel all the living things rising up to meet that warmth, and began to feel my self as one of those living things, rising. I realized I was smiling.

 From that vantage point, I looked again at the rectangular pain of the nights before. It seemed far off. Not particularly important. Hmmm.

 That night, the searing rectangle of pain woke me again. But something I can only describe as a voice (although it wasn't) soothed me, and I 'knew' what to do. I found a position in bed that shifted the physical part of the pain. I felt an unlocking of the joint, slightly below the rectangle. Then I felt this ... touch, like a gentle hand (although it wasn't) that released the panic that went with the pain. And then I simply drifted .. back .. to .. sleep.

  What is it about sunshine? Notice I don't call it sun "light", I deliberately choose "shine". To me, sunlight has become too much the darling (or devil, depending on who you ask) of the science-y crowd. Sun "light" gets divided up into spectra, good and bad, discussions of Vitamin D are initiated, chemical reactions within the body, etc, ad nauseum. Supplements, light boxes, as though the light of Sol could in any way be reproduced.

 No, I'm talking sunSHINE. That energy, indescribable except perhaps in birdsong, that brings things to life, that nourishes, that heals on levels science mostly refuses even to acknowledge, let alone understand. That is the stuff of miracles.

 Now - I have a new thought. Do I even need to go back for more physio and acupuncture?

 A few years ago, I let that same ditzy woman do my needles when my gal was away, and that time it was an unmitigated disaster. I had to go back to my gal to get her to undo the damage, and in the interim I was a wreck. But this time, something in the sunshine and something in me joined forces and not only undid (it seems) the fuck-up that was inflicted on my chi, I seem also to have reached a place that the healing is back in my own hands. I hesitate to hand it back over to anyone now, even my beloved physio gal.

 Hmmm.

 Now, please enjoy this ancient and lovable cartoon, and see if you don't end up humming this tune :)

(*) - Of course I have never actually woken up next to a stranger, I was merely borrowing a simile from popular culture. No, really!

Introducing ...

   The 2nd blog is up and running.

   Well, ok, not exactly running, but up. It's going to be a more esoteric kind of place than Home Sweetening (oy!), some of it down right weird, even, I reckon.

 'Cause that's just how I roll.

  It'll be mostly plant oriented ... well, let's just see what happens, shall we?

 I hope to see some of you there!

 Link

   

Sentimental foolishness - and also, joy.

   The sun set with a purple-ish red streak against the hill over on the island.

   Paul was playing guitar as I set the supper dishes to soak and did my lovely, small, evening chores. I wandered into the bedroom, put my clean laundry into the drawers in half-darkness. The dusk was so pretty there seemed no need for a light.

   And then I heard it. The sound of a robin singing his vespers, right outside the bedroom window. The sound of Spring, the sound of - oh, could it be?

 Yes. Yes friends and fellow sentimental fools, it was Tippy the Robin. Our robin. The old boy has made it back again. I practically dove for the window, threw it open and called - "Tippy? is that you? Tippy?" And there he was, easily recognizable by the long scar on his chest, looking rather well fed and in fine fettle thankyou, perched on the low fence near the rose bush.

 He chirped back at me, did his little Tippy dance, looked at me with one eye and then the other (as robins do) and commenced his story. Always, every year, for what, 5? 6? years now, this is the ritual. He comes to a window, or finds me outside in the garden, he chirps to get my attention, and he sings me the long song-story of his trip back to us, back home.

 Meanwhile, as he chirped and danced I was calling "Paul, Paul, it's TIPPY! He's back, he's alive!" like the damn sentimental fool that I am. You see, we were discussing it just last night, that the old boy probably wouldn't be back this year, as every year he looks a little worse for wear...and I'd thought, oh well, the other robins, his offspring, are friendly too, and I was only a little sad at the thought he was likely gone for good. But when I heard him, when I saw him, ...

 Having finished his story, he flew off with one last Tippy-esque chuckle and I came out of the bedroom, eyes full of happy happy ridiculous tears. Paul, still playing guitar, looked up and gave me a little knowing smile, saying nothing, for nothing need be said. He understands.

 This - the evening's simple chores, his guitar, a familiar bird, dusk, this is what makes us happy. A little later, when he went to bed early as he has to be up before dawn, and I lay in his arms while we said goodnight, we held each other just a little tighter.

Radical healing - continued

    I remember reading - although where escapes me - that as the body heals, it does so in reverse.

    As well, if an acute condition comes up, other, more chronic issues will fade into the background. If not resolved, the acute issue will become chronic too, either joining the others or replacing them. I've also been taught that the deeper inside the body the issue is, the farther back in time was its genesis.

  I am pleased to report that my foot is hurting.

  The foot is an old injury that was 'treated' incorrectly at a hospital, years ago. It never healed properly, and as such, it's thrown my whole carriage out of whack. I don't limp much anymore, but that's not necessarily a good thing. It means that the rest of my skeleton has adapted, and so issues developed with my spine, and then my hip joint, and then my hoolahoop.

 Now, as I work on it, all the older, chronic issues are working themselves out, until we return to the original one, the foot. It hurts like stink today, and I'm ever so pleased!

  It's very interesting, learning yoga. Just 'simple' stretches, that my advisors suggested to work out this 'hoop thing - ha! I gotta tell you, there is nothing simple about them when your body is out of whack. And even more interesting are the images and thoughts that come to mind as the body moves (or tries to) in ways it is not accustomed to.

 That shit goes wayyy back. Sometimes I can 'see', in my minds eye, a particularly tiny bathroom. Tiny bathrooms are the worst to clean, believe me. No room to turn and you'll invariably make one wrong move and ... 6 years later, I'm struggling with 'the childs pose' and cleaning that bathroom could have happened yesterday, that's how clear the image is.

 Through all of this, of course, I'm faced with my life long inability to say 'no'. That learned-at-my-mother's-knee lesson, that one is worthless unless serving others, got me into this mess. In her twisted, class distinction worldview, though, we must serve our 'betters', never the ones beneath us in the social strata. They are there to serve us.

 Oy.

 No wonder I'm a hermit now.

 I rebelled, naturally, and helped the poor abused strays of this world for most of my adult life. Then, needing money, I directed my help to the rich. Or at least the rich-enough to afford a cleaning lady.

 I did some good on both counts, of course, but now I'm the one I have to help and for some strange reason, that is harder than anything! A common problem, I hear.

 It would be 'easier' to be one of those who doesn't get this stuff. 'Easier' if  my body and memories didn't talk to each other, then I could leave good old Mother and her bizarre world view out of this. I could be taking pain killers and maybe some Celebrex, then all I'd have to worry about would be the side effects of the drugs... but no, that's not the way I roll. I have to embrace (again?? sheesh!) the past, dredge it up, sit with it, let it have its say.

Interestingly, I'm learning that dealing with the past on an intellectual level, or deeper emotional and spiritual levels, is not enough. These things, family belief systems that have gone on for generations, are actually embedded in our bodies. So somehow - how, I do not know - but somehow, I have to integrate what my head and heart know into my body. Free it from the past as I thought I'd freed my heart and mind.

**********************************************************************************

Spring seems to be here today. It's come and gone so often in the last few weeks it is hard to trust it. Snow, just two days ago, honestly, enough already! But the sun has just come out, and the yellowed lawn, mushy from the just melted snow, is covered in birds. Grackles, bless them, come and lift the dead leaves, looking for bugs, the leaves then blow away. We haven't raked for years, thanks to the grackles.

My crocuses survived the snow, of course, and from my window I see they are now opening in the sun. Methinks I'd best go and say hello - even though I can't quite drop to my knees and stick my face in them. Well, I can, but getting back up, now that's the tricky bit.

Life is good, though, life is good.