Most people are surprised (and some mortified) to learn that February is my second favorite month*. February is often a greuling month. It is cold. It has been cold. Work is sparce. Winter is getting old. People are sick. The weather is often dreary. How, might you wonder with a twinge of bafflement and disgust, could February possibly be someone's second favorite month? I will tell you; the answer is twofold. First, it is the intensity of the end of winter that I love. I love that it has been winter for long enough that I am finally surrending to the fact of it being winter. My body has adjusted; I can handle the cold better. It is as if I have completely given myself to the winter and the dark side of the year. And (reason number two), it is simply a beautiful fact that just at the time I have completely given over to winter, the light begins to come back. The days are reaching their icy fingers a little longer into the evening, and twilight seems to extend well into dinner time. The extension of daylight imparts a fresher smell in the cold air, and the birds start singing their Songs of Early Spring. It is a month of promise.
I have also discovered this weekend that I may have realized a third reason to choose February as a second favorite month. What with Valentines Day and all, it is the perfect time of year to nuture and love the people in my life, including myself. It warms the heart and prepares it for spring, which, with all its sexiness and popularity, can be a rather brutal time for many of us with melancholic dispositions.
Saturday night was cold. Awful cold. Something deep and visceral told me to stay home and hunker down. However, something perhaps even deeper informed me to doll it up and venture out to the party I was invited to weeks ago, at which I had committed to setting up a Libation Station with my Portable Hospitality Kit. I threw on my leopard print body suit and a flowery apron and topped it off with a rabbit fur coat for fashion and warmth. I fired up the Subaru and made it to the big city in time to catch the last half of the music and dance performance art which was graciously shared by the host and hostess. (I do love a party when people perform!!!) I made my way to the stove and set up camp- tiny china cups, lovely embroidered fabric, blah blah blah. I whipped up some hot chocolate and set out the optional "works," and people lined up to be served. I loved it! Someone made a comment about how great it is to be nutured, and I noticed how warming it is also to nuture. I, in turn, was fed by the dance and song performances of many other party goers and by lovely platters of delicious foods set out by the hosts. When the libations were gone, it was time for me to go home, heart-warmed and not exhausted and very glad I had ventured out into the cold.
Sunday, Jenna and I made Valentines ALL DAY LONG. Literally. We only stopped to eat, use the bathroom, and do a few stretches and exercises. For dinner, we nourished our own hearts with heart beets, inspired by both Susie and Rachel's blog. We fell into deep, warm sleeps after a day of co-creating expressions of love. It was the perfect activity for another cold cold day.
To sum it up, the points of these little stories is to:
a) get you to consider making February your second favorite month
b) get you consider sharing the love this month; it doesn't have to be only romantic to warm the heart,
c) share this February Libation idea with you:
February Libation:
Ingredients:
1 quart half and half
1/2 to 1 quart good clean water
1 tub of Ghiradelli hot chocolate mix
Optional "The Works" ingredients:
cheap (or not cheap) whiskey- I use Rebel Yell
rose petal tincture (or you could try rosewater)**
tulsi basil tincture (Susie grew and made mine- mmmmm)***
Make the hot chocolate, stirring the whole time so it doesn't boil over or any other thing bad. When it is good and hot and the chocolate is all stirred in, ladle some into a special cup, only filling about half way. Add a generous splash of whiskey and a dropperful each of rose and tulsi tincture. Fill the cup the rest of the way up with more hot chocolate. Serve or drink with love.
Notes:
* For information on my first favorite month, click here or here
** Rose petals nourish the yin, and are a lovely Valentines tonic.
***Tulsi basil is warming.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Tales from the Whistle Pig
Got your attention? Groundhog's Day 2012 rocked my socks off. The day began as dark and drizzly, but early afternoon gave way to clearing skies and mostly comfortable temperatures. Dear friend, MM, arrived just after my mid-day meal with her two mild mannered and sure-footed horses for our Imbolc bareback ride. I mounted the short stout one Marlene, while MM jumped up onto the lovely white Appaloosa, Winter. We walked, trotted and cantered through the long, narrow ridge-top pastures that descend from my home place, stopping to converse and allow the horses their snacking indulgences, all the while enjoying the mild and carefree quality to the old pagan first day of spring. In truth, the ride was rather short, as my horse-gripping leg muscles were more than a little rusty and un-used, but the feeling of moving through the fresh air over the cool mountain terrain with a dear friend was truly the stuff dreams are made of. After dismounting and re-acclimating to the strange sensation of carrying ourselves on our own two legs, MM and I made our way on our feet up to the Sunset Spot, which generously delivers a breath-taking view of Mill Ridge and Rich Mountain and beyond that in the distance, a misty vision of Bluff. We allowed the afternoon to ramble with ease through overgrown pastures and sweet, seldom used forest paths, stopping whenever we pleased to rest, admire the slick and muscular trunk of a young ironwood, examine a fallen bird nest, bask in the sun, chit-chat, what have you.
If the occurrences of February 2 can be decoded to foretell the season to come, I'll take it! Bring it on, 2012...
If the occurrences of February 2 can be decoded to foretell the season to come, I'll take it! Bring it on, 2012...
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Frustration Increases with Rainfall
Shelton Laurel resident Dana Nagle awoke this morning to the sound of rain pounding on the roof of her temporary home, a 1971 Tradewinds Land Yacht Airstream. Yawning and blinking herself into full consciousness, Nagle groaned. "It's so loud," she said in vain to the dog, who couldn't hear her due to the volumes of both the rain and the dog's snoring. She closed her eyes to try to block out the reality of yet another deluge. Even through her closed eyelids, she saw the electric flash of unseasonal lightening. A few moments later, the thunder roared ominously, a long threatening rumble, like a trumpeting warning to all of humanity. Nagle thought to herself, 'that sky is MAD.'
She reluctantly rose from the little bed in the kitchen and forced the dog to accompany her outside. Both bladders needed relief from a nighttime of slumbering containment. The rain poured on the leaky tin shed rood awning in front of the camper, dripping in here and splattering in there, allowing no true shelter from the downpour. In spite of the aching bladders, neither human nor beast had the slightest inkling of desire to step out into the water. They stood, dampening even under the cover, looking pathetic as they gazed out at the river which used to be the driveway. Muddy water flowed in a steady stream from both coves and the construction site and the garden, gathering momentum and volume as it approached and ultimately flowed into the branch just below the spring. Large puddles covered most other surfaces of the ground. It was a dictionary definition of supersaturation.
Dana Nagle felt an unsettling heat begin to churn in a deep part of her.
"Goddammit!" she said to no one, realizing the source of the heat was nothing other than a rain inspired Bad Mood.
Dog and woman stood miserably for a few minutes in the deafening deluge before the grumpy lady ushered them both back inside. The shelter of the aluminum camper, while warm and mostly dry, offered absolutely no refuge from the roar of the rain. "It's exactly 100% like being in a human sized tin can," Nagle sometimes tries to explain to others, a meager attempt to describe the "difficult to describe-" the experience of being in an Airstream in the Pouring Rain.
A half hour passed, and the rain finally let up enough for Dana and dog to step out and use nature's facilities. Dana decided to seize the moment to unload a large metal table from her truck, awkwardly hoisting its wet weight out into a puddle, all the while slipping and sliding on the earth's muddy surface. The internal heat of the Bad Mood rose again, and again she cursed, to no one in particular.
Stepping back into the camper, she felt like a wet rat. While attempting to dry off, she accidentally kicked over the dog's bowl of water, which flowed across the slightly unlevel floor. Again, Nagle cursed.
When the floor was mostly dried, the dog returned from her morning business. Nagle let her in, towel in hand, determined to wipe muddy paws and contain the uncontainable mud and mess. Dog shook and muddy watered splattered upon the surfaces of most belongings in the camper.
Nagle cursed.
She reluctantly rose from the little bed in the kitchen and forced the dog to accompany her outside. Both bladders needed relief from a nighttime of slumbering containment. The rain poured on the leaky tin shed rood awning in front of the camper, dripping in here and splattering in there, allowing no true shelter from the downpour. In spite of the aching bladders, neither human nor beast had the slightest inkling of desire to step out into the water. They stood, dampening even under the cover, looking pathetic as they gazed out at the river which used to be the driveway. Muddy water flowed in a steady stream from both coves and the construction site and the garden, gathering momentum and volume as it approached and ultimately flowed into the branch just below the spring. Large puddles covered most other surfaces of the ground. It was a dictionary definition of supersaturation.
Dana Nagle felt an unsettling heat begin to churn in a deep part of her.
"Goddammit!" she said to no one, realizing the source of the heat was nothing other than a rain inspired Bad Mood.
Dog and woman stood miserably for a few minutes in the deafening deluge before the grumpy lady ushered them both back inside. The shelter of the aluminum camper, while warm and mostly dry, offered absolutely no refuge from the roar of the rain. "It's exactly 100% like being in a human sized tin can," Nagle sometimes tries to explain to others, a meager attempt to describe the "difficult to describe-" the experience of being in an Airstream in the Pouring Rain.
A half hour passed, and the rain finally let up enough for Dana and dog to step out and use nature's facilities. Dana decided to seize the moment to unload a large metal table from her truck, awkwardly hoisting its wet weight out into a puddle, all the while slipping and sliding on the earth's muddy surface. The internal heat of the Bad Mood rose again, and again she cursed, to no one in particular.
Stepping back into the camper, she felt like a wet rat. While attempting to dry off, she accidentally kicked over the dog's bowl of water, which flowed across the slightly unlevel floor. Again, Nagle cursed.
When the floor was mostly dried, the dog returned from her morning business. Nagle let her in, towel in hand, determined to wipe muddy paws and contain the uncontainable mud and mess. Dog shook and muddy watered splattered upon the surfaces of most belongings in the camper.
Nagle cursed.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Living the dream (with my Survivor flashlight)
With full awareness that my blog has been a rather "journal-like blog" of late, I hereby will describe to you a most excellent evening of mine in my new locale. Two evenings ago, the clouds hung low, and the breeze was unseasonably balmy. January in the North Carolina mountains is typically frozen and white, but this one has been primarily rainy, muddy and grey. Nighttime began its descent at about sometime between 5:30 and 6:00, and I set out for a walk around the hood. I mosied around the Gephart fields for a while before arriving to G and K's at dark to feed their dogs, as they are outta town. With my handy "Survivor" flashlight, I paused underneath G's bird feeder, which is mounted on a tulip poplar outside their main room window at a height of about 12 or 15 feet. I heard some quiet munching above me and when I shined the light up there, I was delighted to discover about 6 or 8 very busy, very quick moving flying squirrels feeding above me. Curious little things, those critters are. They move so quickly it is hard to follow, jumping from branch to branch, extending their little front and back legs to outstretch their odd flap of skin and then gliding from one branch to another and from one tree to another. Their beady little eyes shown in the light of the Survivor, and they took turns nibbling sunflower seeds. It was a show- a quick little configuration of dancing and gliding cute rodents. I an unsure as to the proper identification of the critters- Northern Flying Squirrels (Glaucomys sabrinus) differ only slightly from Southern Flying Squirrels (Glaucomys volans), and according to Peterson's A Field Guide to the Mammals of America North of Mexico, the ranges of both overlap here in this very western part of North Carolina.
From G and K's, a continued on, through field and forest, headed to the sweet one room cabin home of S and T to celebrate S's birthday with hot chocolate and shortbread cookies and talking and laughing. On the way there, my Survivor flashlight found many sets of nicely spaced eyes glowing on the edges of the pastures. White-tailed deer (Odocoileus viginianus) resting and grazing without fear is a beautiful sight to behold. These abundant creatures are both graceful and mighty, and always induce awe and admiration in me.
After a lovely evening of birthday communion, I walked home at about 10:00, back through field and forest, by the old cemetery. My walking companion was Ruby, S's little funny orange dog, who bounced excitedly up the hill, wagging her little funny waggedy tail all the while. Upon arrival at my domain, I scanned the edges of the clearing with the trusty Survivor, in my routine attempt to catch my nocturnal neighbors in the acts of their familiar. I spotted two little closely set beady eyes glowing atop of the compost pile, and, just as my eyes were able to make out the rest of the opossum form (Didelphis marsupialis), little Ruby bounded into the stream of light and grabbed the possum in her mouth, taking it down to the ground with a hearty shake of her funny little head. Just as quickly, she dismounted her prey and looked up at me with a funny little questioning look as I approached the scenario. The possum lay curled into a little ball of sorts, looking lifeless. Its mouth was open to expose its pointy little ugly teeth, and its long grotesque tongue was dramatically curled out as if to say, "I am soooo dead!" I felt skeptical. You can never trust those little suckers to be dead when they look dead. And even when they are dead, like hit by a car and killed cold in the highway, there still might be a little surprise if you reach into the pouch- there might be a small collection of hidden baby marsupials in there, alive as can be... I poked it with my toe and it breathed, but then quickly resumed its dead pose. I walked away and went to fetch water for my bucket bath. When I returned, the possum was gone. Go figure. They don't call it "playing possum" for nothing.
I dosed off reading in the camper while the bath water heated on the stove, and woke up in time for another glorious bathing experience outside under the low clouds in the mild and strange midwinter breeze. I truly am living the dream.
From G and K's, a continued on, through field and forest, headed to the sweet one room cabin home of S and T to celebrate S's birthday with hot chocolate and shortbread cookies and talking and laughing. On the way there, my Survivor flashlight found many sets of nicely spaced eyes glowing on the edges of the pastures. White-tailed deer (Odocoileus viginianus) resting and grazing without fear is a beautiful sight to behold. These abundant creatures are both graceful and mighty, and always induce awe and admiration in me.
After a lovely evening of birthday communion, I walked home at about 10:00, back through field and forest, by the old cemetery. My walking companion was Ruby, S's little funny orange dog, who bounced excitedly up the hill, wagging her little funny waggedy tail all the while. Upon arrival at my domain, I scanned the edges of the clearing with the trusty Survivor, in my routine attempt to catch my nocturnal neighbors in the acts of their familiar. I spotted two little closely set beady eyes glowing atop of the compost pile, and, just as my eyes were able to make out the rest of the opossum form (Didelphis marsupialis), little Ruby bounded into the stream of light and grabbed the possum in her mouth, taking it down to the ground with a hearty shake of her funny little head. Just as quickly, she dismounted her prey and looked up at me with a funny little questioning look as I approached the scenario. The possum lay curled into a little ball of sorts, looking lifeless. Its mouth was open to expose its pointy little ugly teeth, and its long grotesque tongue was dramatically curled out as if to say, "I am soooo dead!" I felt skeptical. You can never trust those little suckers to be dead when they look dead. And even when they are dead, like hit by a car and killed cold in the highway, there still might be a little surprise if you reach into the pouch- there might be a small collection of hidden baby marsupials in there, alive as can be... I poked it with my toe and it breathed, but then quickly resumed its dead pose. I walked away and went to fetch water for my bucket bath. When I returned, the possum was gone. Go figure. They don't call it "playing possum" for nothing.
I dosed off reading in the camper while the bath water heated on the stove, and woke up in time for another glorious bathing experience outside under the low clouds in the mild and strange midwinter breeze. I truly am living the dream.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
Of course...
Mom and I are in Dayton, the heartbeat of the midwest. Of course as we journeyed up I-75 yesterday, it was a full-on winter friggin storm blow-out as we traveled from Kentucky (www.kentuckyunbridledspirit.com) over the Cincinnati Bridge and into Ohio. Ohio in winter, contrary to popular belief, can be unbelievable cold, grey and windy. I know, you wouldn't-a thought it, huh? Luckily, here in Dayton we have the warmth of family and the hugs of my cute and dear little nephews and Dot's meat market, which is where I am off to now...
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