zenguin

Two years ago tomorrow, my papa died. It's still surreal, when I pause to hold his memory in my heart for more than a moment or two. I still feel the same gnawing emptiness inside that I felt at the beginning. I don't know that I'll ever fully recover from this blow.

I found a box of old correspondences from High School. In it were one or two letters from my dad. I had completely forgotten, but when I went to my first Home Coming dance, he was out of town. He sent me a letter saying he knew I must have looked so lovely that night, and that he really missed sharing that memory with me. He then wrote something to the effect of, "I can't wait to see what the future holds. Here's to a lifetime of shared memories".

Every day that I put behind me is another stash of memories that I can't share with him.

I mourn his death. But I also mourn that it shattered me the way it did. I became a Different Girl, almost unrecognizable, so profound was my grief. I've slowly been picking up the pieces, Merry handing me the Krazy Glue as we go along.

(I simply adore her. She has been my rock throughout this whole ordeal. She has been more than just a shoulder to cry on ... no, as the sobs wracked my body, she was the one to hold me close to her heart, murmuring words that said nothing ... and everything. She is always the first to listen eagerly as I have another memory. She has been my salvation.)

As I move forward, a Daddy's Girl missing her Daddy terribly, I feel I know more about myself than I ever have. I've seen Hell, stared the Devil in eyes, and have finally told him where he can stick it. I miss my papa, but I can't allow myself to be crippled by grief any longer. I choose to grow from it.

It has taken two years to be able to say that. I choose to grow from it.

For the first time since his death, I want to visit his grave. Merry and I are going this weekend. I might take my viola and play for him.

I miss you papa. I love you. Forever.

There are two divisions in the Tarot deck: the Major and the Minor Arcanas. The Minor Arcana is comprised of 4 suits - Pentacles (monetary or worldly matters), Cups (emotional matters), Swords (matters of the mind), and Wands (spiritual matters). Take a look at your playing card deck. What suits do you find therein? Diamonds (Pentacles), Hearts (Cups), Spades (Swords), and Clubs (Wands). Interesting, innit?

What, then, is the Major Arcana comprised of?

Rich, archetypal images.

Some say the Major Arcana is the Fool's path of enlightenment (more on him later). I've found that each card is rife with imagery and can stand on its own quite easily as well.

We've already discussed one of the Major Arcana, whether you realized it or not. DEATH is the 13th stop on the Fool's journey.

Who is this Fool-fellow, and what does he represent?

Take a moment to look at this card in detail, if you haven't already. Click the image to see it enlarged.

The Fool is the first card in the Major Arcana. This is the story of a young man (or woman) with high hopes and dreams, setting out on a journey. He mounts his trusty steed and, canine companion in towe, sets out into the wild unknown.

The Fool is generally characterized as being carefree, filled with wonder and wanderlust. I see a young-adult setting out on his own for the first time. He doesn't necessarily know what to expect, but that isn't stopping him, and certainly isn't quelling his enthusiasm.

Can't you simply feel the magnetism, the infectious excitement, the action of this card? How can you not? Look at the rushing water. Feel its cold spray. When met with this rather sizable obstacle in his path, the Fool doesn't think twice about leaping over it. The lush scenery, painted in shades of gold, represents the golden possibilities awaiting anyone who is willing to reach out and pluck them out of the Tree of Life. The world is this young man's oyster.

Did you know that, when doing a Tarot Reading, the orientation of the card is significant? If the card is upside-down, it holds an entirely different meaning.

I recently drew this card Reversed (or Upside-down), and it hit me with unusual clarity and significance.

While the fool in its upright position suggests a carefree and joyful nature, when the card is reversed, the Fool's path begins to wend its way through the darker parts of the forest.

Once upon a time, I was a naieve young lass. I had the world at my fingertips. Events, both in and out of my control, transpired in such a way that I was incapacitated for a time. When I came out of the tunnel and into the light, battered and bruised, I was not the same person. My moods were black. My mind was cynical and critical. But worst of all, I kept the same reckless abandon, and bent it into something unrecognizable.

The fool reversed is decidedly less merry in his disposition. Throwing care to the wind can have a wonderful effect on one's psyche, rejuvenating and enlivening the mind and spirit... but it is a fine line to walk, the space between "carefree" and "careless".

I was once the carefree fool. I've oft looked back on that time in my life and yearned for the innocence, the joi de vivre, to return. As it is, I've expended considerable time and effort in an attempt to "come to terms with" my past, to embrace the woman I have since become.

I can see myself in this card, my whole journey captured in a 360-degree turn of an age-old image. Upright, I was carefree. Reversed, I became cynical and pained. Turned upright once more, however, I feel the card is telling me to leave my past behind me and take a leap over troubled waters and into the unknown of the future, having faith that my feet will be guided along the way.

My dad always wanted a piano, but for one reason or another, he always put getting one on the back-burner. I needed a viola, my brothers both played trumpet... anything my dad was done in grand fashion - top of the line trumpets for my brothers, a great little viola for me... things kept coming up.

Until ...

I don't know how many of you know, but my dad was in charge of getting donated merchandise for Habitat for Humanity - for their store. I don't know the exact circumstances, but someone donated a piano to be auctioned off.

As you can imagine, my dad pounced on it so quickly that I don't think it even made it to the auction!

Anyway, I loved playing that thing. I taught myself to play piano. You see, I could read music because of both viola and church choir, so the transition was rather easy and very, very exhilarating. I have many fond memories of playing piano side-by-side with my mom, or with dad singing along.

I moved out to go to college, time passed, and my dad died, leaving the piano all but unused for years. And now, with my mother moving in with my sister and the house getting ready to sell, I asked if I could take the instrument to my apartment.

My mom said yes! 

And my beautiful wife orchestrated the move!

So tonight, after being rescheduled twice by the movers, the piano is now sitting in my living room! Part of the rescheduling was bumping us from 4 to 7:00 this evening ... but the fact that it wasn't delivered and settled in our apartment until nearly 8:00 pm didn't stop me from playing a few lines of "Moonlight Sonata".

I'm in heaven. I couldn't be happier. I'm so grateful to my mother for letting me take this beautiful instrument home with me, and to my wife for seeing how excited I was about this and taking it upon herself to surprise me with the move.

First of all, a disclaimer:

I am fuzzy. I am sitting in our living room watching Merry enjoy her new Wii game (Lego Star Wars), sipping an amply-poured glass of a particularly yummy sangria, and finishing my pizza slice(s). (I may stagger over to the kitchen and get more).

All in all, I am one contented mo' fo'.

BECAUSE . . .

I am a wiener. After many attempts, I have finally succeeded in winning a game of Phase 10 against not one, but TWO opponents. And they didn't even play "easy" for me. Truly, my foes fell before my mighty win-itude, and were slain.

And aforementioned attempts were successes in and of themselves, as I worked very hard at not being a sore loser.

I have (rightly) been accused as such in the past.


See, I figured it out though. My Sore Loser-ish-ness stems from deep seated feelings of both inadequacy and stupidity. My family were not big "game players", so I've missed out on some very basic skills of deduction and strategery. (Yes, I meant to spell it that way).

When I am challenged to a Duel of Wits, I often feel so self conscious that I lash out ... by being sullen. This is especially true when faced with multiple opponents, as I feel ganged up upon (whether rightly so, or nay).

Merry has long since forswore playing games with me because of such behaviour.

.... which means I've had no practice being anything else.

Couple that with being overly-sensitive to in-game name-calling, and learning to play Phase 10 without the bad attitude is definitely a feat.

i R proud of m'self. I feel I'm finally overcoming my excessive negativity, both in The Zone and out.

.
.
.

Fin.

In other news, we adopted a kitten a few weeks ago. Her name? Luna Twinkletoes. A family a few suburbs away found three kittens abandoned in a field, saved them, and put an ad for adoption on Craigslist. It was a "free kittens to good home" sort of thing. Merry, the Room Mate and I drove out there, played with them for an hour or so, and settled on the cuddliest of the bunch. She has been such a blessing to our home. Last night she slept for a bit under the covers with me in the crook of my lap (I was on my side with my knees bent toward my chest). She is THE cutest kitten in teh universe, and we are happy to have her in our home.

   

So we got rid of the Hell Cat. We adopted a cat from the local animal shelter. He was the most interactive of the bunch - playful, friendly, cute... We fell in love.

And after the first week he... turned. He started attacking us, and not in the playful, funny way. More like the unprovoked and painful way. He didn't care if it was us or our guests.

And the meowing. Oh, the meowing. Early on we discovered we couldn't let him sleep in our room at night because no matter how much we wore him out playing in the evening, he stayed up getting into mischief. That was fine; it just meant he needed to sleep in the living room. At 4:00 am, like clockwork, he'd come to our closed door and cry. Loudly. The only thing that would shut him up was if we let him come in for a morning cuddle. It would have been much cuter had it been closer to daybreak.

As it was, though, we had a spastic attack-kitty that kept us up at nights. We tried. We really did. But it was time. I took him back to the shelter on my day off (Wednesday).

I've been checking out CraigsList. If we end up adopting another cat, I want it to come from an individual, not a shelter. That way I have someone to answer my questions about personality and temperment.

I feel terrible, but what's a girl to do? It was an unlivable situation.

Anyway, I just needed to vent. Thanks for listening.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Life without antidepressants has been ... real. No doubt about it. I keep asking myself, "Is all this reality a good thing?"

I think it's a necessary thing.

I had an interesting insight yesterday. My "list writing" post was all well and good, but I'm struggling to stay positive, especially whilst at work. I remember this thought distinctly flitting through my headspace: Do I really want to deal with all this?

I am at a crossroads. Do I stay the course, fighting my way to sanity? Or do I take the easy way out and put myself back in that prison cell that was my drugged up, hazy mind? Things were undoubtedly easier there.

I choose life. I choose liberty. Through these things I hope to find lasting happiness of the deepest kind. Wish me luck as I machete my way through the jungle of my mind.

Without the consent of my doctor, I went off my antidepressant. I've never felt better.

I ran out. So I started taking my sample-pill stash, which was at a lower dose. And then I ran out of that. Instead of being a good girl and requesting a refill, I thought I'd try going it alone.

This is terribly uncharacteristic of me, and even more so is the fact that I am quite unrepentant.

My doctor and I tried taking me off my antiD two years ago, and I crashed. In a major way. She has always made it clear that if I wanted to try again, she was for it. She wants to see me on as little medication as is truly necessary, since I'll need to be on some form of chemical for the duration of my stay here on earth (at least this time around).

I fully intend to aprise her of the situation at our appointment on Monday. But I also want to make it clear to her that I cannot remember feeling this clear-headed, this free of depression, this unburdened, and all without an antidepressant. For the first time in years I'm coping without the crutch of a heavy dose of medication, and I can't believe how liberated I feel.

Just bought myself the old version of the iPhone. It. Rocks. My. Socks. Srsly, it is made of both win and awesome. At the same time. Best recko'nize.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

I am painting the back of a pretty inexpensive violin. And it is turning out to be AWESOMES. It is of a Peacock, and you should check it out.

Merry and I had teh hungers in the late morning yesterday, so we called up a friend and invited her to brunch with us. We went to our favourite restaurant in Dallas, a place where literally the entire staff knows -not just recognizes- us. We always garner a few sideways glances from the other clientele as the manager comes over and kisses us warmly.

The conversation was light and enjoyable. At one point the friend, an old high school mate of Merry's, laughed that her mother always thought Merry was a terrible influence, with as much school-skipping they did together.

The story was funny, and they laughed as they reminisced. I was laughing too, but reminiscing about something else entirely.

None of my high school friends were particularly bad influences. That's not to say I didn't skip class. On the contrary! I always had my parents' blessing when I skipped, which I didn't think was odd until much later. There's one memory that sticks out above the others, one which had laid dormant, forgotten until today.

My dad had many flights of fancy, some of which were more sound than others. One of the more infectiously exciting ones was a spur of the moment trip to ... Six Flags Over Texas, only the biggest theme park in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Not only was it a school day during the middle of the week, it was during the park's slow season. There were literally no lines. None. My brother and I rode the tallest roller coaster in Texas ... several times. In a row.

That was the best time I've ever had at a theme park. I had just gotten over my fear of roller coasters, so it was a thrill a minute. With no waits.

It's funny to me how some of these memories blind-sight me. I was so afraid, when he died, that I'd forget him. Hence the journal entries. What surprises me is that the memories surface on their own now. I don't have to fish for them anymore. I still scramble for a scrap of paper, or cling tenaciously to the highlights of the memory until I can get to said scrap of paper... but this is so much different than I thought it would be. It still hits me hard sometimes, the fact that he's really gone, but at least the memories are still there.

I don't know where to start. Updates, I suppose.

We had a cockatoo. He was a gift from a friend, his previous owner. Cookie rocked my socks hardcore, but it wasn't working, despite our efforts. So we returned him to the friend. There were no hard feelings - "Not everyone is a bird-person", the friend said... but still, I have Teh Sadness.

We went to the local animal shelter and adopted Poe Finnegan, only the coolest cat ever. He cuddles, he plays, he entertains himself and thus us as well. He is quite the special cat.

And I finished a book, which is a pretty big deal. I never finish books. The first book I finished in over two years was The Circle Within (several months ago), and now I can add Twilight to the (small) list of books completed. It was a bitchin' read. I love it very much and can't wait to see the movie with some friends.

However, I'm on book two, and it has been thoroughly depressing me. I'll get into that more in a separate, friends-only post. Suffice it to say that the subject matter is a bit of a downer, and seems to be dragging on. Suspense I can handle. Despair is another story.

And now, for something completely different...

I want to decrease my medication dosages. I've been spending entirely too long in a dazed stupor, and it's high time I do something about it.

Fin.

At my family's Mother's Day dinner last night, I remembered something about my dad. I don't even remember what brought it on, but it made everyone laugh uproariously. That's the best kind of memory, don't you think?

My dad used to drink Clamato juice with his Cheerio's religiously every morning. One morning he announced "It all goes to the same place!" So he cut out the middle man and poured his Clamato juice over the Cheerio's, instead of milk.

He tried it.

It was disgusting.

He turned to us and said, "You know what I just told you? ... forget it!"

I like the funny memories.

We have a new addition to our little family! A female ferret (as yet unnamed) came home with us tonight from Pet Land. She is made of cyoot and of awesomes. The look on Merry's face when I told her "yes, we can take her home" was priceless. She was beside herself with delight.

We've been talking about doing this for a while. Since Bella, our Jack Russell Terrier, went on to a better home, (and especially since Cookie mutinously chose me to be his "person" and not M) Merry has longed for something to call her very own. Tonight, the time was right. Yes, we're tight on cash, but ... this is one special ferret, and one special woman.

We've been in to look at the ferrets a few times in the past weeks, and each time, this little one stole Merry's heart. She's the runt of the litter by far, and was picked on mercilessly by her sisters, so much so that the pet shop had to separate them so that Little Bit could actually get a chance to eat. They warned us to keep an eye on her, to make sure that she is eating ... but since being home in her new cage (with platforms on various levels, and a hammock, and a wheel, and toys, and and and ...), she has eaten several times already. She's going to need a little TLC, some special attention, and Merry is the perfect candidate for Ferret Mommy-hood.

Happy mother's day, my love.

<3
Kafrine

PS:

My input as to the name was cast aside. I wanted to call her "Riding through the desert on a Ferret with no name", but it was too long or something. :D

I have been budgeting my brainz out. Yummy zombie goodness.

I thought we were doomed. That there was no way in hell we could afford this new place. That we'd fall flat on our faces like we did last time we lived in Dallas.

Not so!

As long as we stay within our monthly budget ($50.00 per paycheck each, which I've found is actually doable!), and barring any catastrophes of course, we'll be fine. More than fine. We'll be able to put (some) money into savings, even!

There is much to be said for facing one's fears and arming oneself with knowledge. I have long held that fear is a demon whose power is immediately taken away when you name the thing. My fear was named Finances, and it no longer has any power over me. I am committed to stepping up to the plate and monitoring our spending habits. I am committed to staying within my allowance, to cooking at home more often, to curbing the urge to purchase on impulse.

It just struck me that this could definitely be categorized as Mindfulness Meditation in the world of Money Management.

How cool is that?

Srsly. We're so down on our luck, it's ridiculous.

1) I had a toothache that ended up needing a root canal. Incidentally, it was also the first major dental procedure that we paid for out of pocket. Counting in what my insurance will pay for, we're looking at slightly over $1000.

2) Merry's car broke down in such a way that a regular mechanic cannot work on it. It needs to be towed to a dealership. Unfortunately we did not know this until we had the car towed to a regular mechanic. Not only do we get to pay for two towing charges, we get to pay a dealership inordinent sums of money to just look at the blasted thing.

3) We may have found an apartment (did I mention that we're moving back to Dallas?), but that means we're going to have to pay for movers, pay the deposit, pay the /pet/ deposit, buy a couch (we got rid of our old one when we moved in with my mom) ...

I'm so depressed. Which means I don't want to cook. Which means we eat out. Which means we're spending more money than we should.

le sigh ...

I am a lot like my father in many respects. One of our shared traits is hypergraphia, or more commonly: compulsive writing. We both journal like fiends. In cleaning a room of my mother's house, I stumbled upon one such diary.

I believe in synchronicity, that nothing happens "coincidentally", that every seemingly random act has deeper meaning.

The journal fell open without my intervention, and not really paying attention to the date, I read on.

"15 years ago today, I was in a hospital delivery room with April preparing for the birth of our beloved Kathryn "Katy" Leigh R----- ..."

My breath caught in my throat as I read each word, thrilled at such a find.

The entry was brief, but the ending was so powerful it moved me to tears. It was as though he was standing right beside me as I read the words, "We love her. I love her. Godspeed, Katy. Go and be that which the Lord wants you to become."

My lover, my wife, turned 29 today. Twenty-nine years of good times, of bad times, and most importantly: of growth. I've been a player in her life for barely over 2 years now, and I am constantly amazed at her morphing and metamorphing. Like a butterfly, she has been rising above the trials in her life to spread her splendorous wings. And I get to watch!

Dear one, my wish for you is not that your path may be easier, but that you can learn (as you have indeed been) to handle life's obstacles with grace and dignity, no matter what place in your journey you may find yourself. You are a shining light in my life, and I feel blessed to know you - and that you have chosen me to walk by your side for all of time.

And now, a picture. Cookie, our sometimes (ok, most-times) grumpy-old-man of a bird, rarely lets Merry hold him. But tonight?

Behold!

I don't have unusually hairy arms, but the hair is dark, so it looks more pronounced. I have a friend who waxes hers, and it looks fab. I think I have great arms - nice skin tone, lots of freckles... but I'm trepidatious about starting the process for a few reasons.

1) I'm not great at follow-through. The one saving grace about taking care of my leg hair (which I epilate), is that if I don't do it for a while, I can wear long pants. Can't get away with that on my arms.

2) I hate stubble, and I'd be terribly embarrassed if the stubble came in as dark and coarse as what it is now.

3) I worry that the first day I show up to work with smooth arms, I'll get weird looks, because srsly, my arm hair is dark. And all of a sudden it would be gone.

4) When I epilate my legs, the hair comes in thinner, which rocks... but it also leaves red marks where the hairs have been plucked for days afterwards. They're not as pronounced as it is when I first do it, but still... I'd hate to have that on my arms where I can't cover it up.

So. I'm writing this to get opinions. Who here takes care of their arm hair? What made you decide to do it? Is it a pain in the ass, or is it worth it to you? I mean, I've made it this long without doing it, but I've always wanted to try it. These are the things that have held me back for years.

Should I take the plunge?

I'm sitting here listening to Norah Jones, and musing on a day well spent:

I practiced viola today, something that has been occurring with more and more frequency. Honestly, it feels like it is unfolding organically, not too unlike watching a flower open little by little, day by day. As I have not had the luxury of having a private teacher (funds have not allowed it to be so), I have been forced into a situation of, "Violist, teach thyself".

For the first time ... ever ... I have taken responsibility for my own practice schedule. I had always been able to "fake it till I make it", since I was playing so often in orchestras/quartets/private lessons. I didn't really apply myself outside of those structured situations. I didn't hit the practice rooms on campus for "wood shedding" as often as I should have. But I still made progress (go figure).

During my sabbatical (see also: dropping out of college for reasons of mental and emotional health; and also: not playing viola for a very very long time), I would occasionally pick up Heinrich (my viola) and "fiddle around", but never consistently. I'd tell myself, "Oh, I need to be in private lessons so I can be held accountable, to keep me practicing".

It wasn't until recently that it finally hit home that, first and foremost, if I really want to play with any amount of seriousness, I need to be accountable to me. I have to be in it up to my elbows, willing to get messy with the mundane details.

And I have been.

Slowly but surely, I have been building a practice.

Incidentally, I've been so focussed on wanting to build a regular meditation practice, that this developed almost unbeknownst to me. I've been getting frustrated because "traditional" meditation is very difficult for me to do.

My viola is meditation. It transcends time and place. I lose myself in it so much that when I come to, I find that I have just spent the afternoon in another dimension, floating through the cosmos, having my say in the Grand Scheme Of Things through my music.

I revel in the progress I've been making.

I take from what I've learned through my yoga practice and apply it to my posture. Any time I feel tension in my shoulders or hands now, I pause to make a minor adjustment, and voila! Problem solved. I take from what I feel in my gut, or hear in my head, and translate it into musicality and tone. I have patience with myself and my progress so that my time is well spent and very enjoyable, even if it is only 15 minutes long.

Life makes sense with music in it. Life makes more sense when I make it.