(Re)Finding My Voice

Thanks to #WSC2018Conf for the push.

1370 days ago, I wrote my last post on this blog.

A lot can happen in 1370 days. Some things that didn’t:

I haven’t moved yet. My timeline to get out is shorter now that the building is conditionally sold, but as of today I’ve officially lived in the same place for 21 years. It’s very unlikely we’ll make 22.

I am still working for the same organization. I started at CCVO in September 2014, just a little over a month before I stopped blogging. I am, however, in a completely different position from the one I was hired to do.

I’m still a Witch. 26 years and counting. Maybe doing a little less ritual these days, but still have a dedicated space to light a candle.

So what changed? 1369 days ago, my Grams passed away. I wouldn’t say that was the impetus for why I stopped blogging it does, in hindsight, represent what I would call my loss period (if I were a famous Canadian painter).

Some of the loss was positive. I dropped a lot of weight which led to a renewed love of swimming and a new love of running. I paid off a lot of debt and started an emergency fund. I sold some stuff, donated some stuff to charity, and made plans to purge more. (FYI I’m selling a lot this month at the sale. Come buy my things and help fund my upcoming move!)

Some was less so. I took bold steps toward building possible futures and none of them worked out. Some people died. I stopped talking to some people and some stopped talking to me. There was a lot of turnover at my workplace. I quit boards and helped close the carshare.

So why did I stop blogging? Really, there was no one specific reason. But if its absence is the perfect reflection for this period of my life, may its return herald a change for the better. #blessedbe

Re-Membering

Searching old journals for a book quote, finding passages that still speak to me after so many years. This one is from August 10, 1997.

The Chariot, Motherpeace Tarot Deck

Why do we forget? Why do we allow the patriarchy and its minions to run us down, make us feel this way? Why do women not use the strength we have – the strength we draw on to face a friend’s cancer, or a difficult child, or a divorce, or a spouse’s death? Why not unleash our creativity – the creativity to write a book, or teach drama, or mold pottery, or paint pictures? Why don’t we use our power? What is standing in our way? Why don’t we Re-Member that we can do it, just as so many women have before?

Cross-Posting, the New Black?

I only seem to get major projects done during my vacation time. Last summer, I spent significant time moving my blog to a new server (Bluehost) and a new platform (WordPress). Now it’s winter vacation and I’m connecting my blog to all the other places I go to make cross-posting much easier. Having my posts at 43things.com is part of that process. I guess that means I have to get cracking on some of my list items again!

31 Days to a Brand New Blog: Day 14

(or “I never was one for doing things in order)

Website Update: My posts are now showing up on Facebook again.

Yes, I’m behind, but I m working to catch up. Expect a bunch of posts this weekend! Day 14’s challenge is to Add (or Remove) Widgets to Your Blog’s Sidebar. So, here’s what I removed:

  • Moon Phase Widget
  • “Helping Hands” (websites on which I gave advice or got through a challenge)
  • “Original Site Designs” (websites I used to work on – only one was really current)
  • “Previous Site Designs” (why do I want to remind myself of things best forgotten?) 
  •  Digg Widget (I never was a fan of mafias anyway)
  • LibraryThing Widget (tag clouds aren’t my thing today)

Wow, that’s a lot of space on my sidebar now – space that I can use to promote my writing instead. After all, shouldn’t the blog be about what I’m doing?

Poetry for Brigid

To mark Imbolc (aka Candlemas, aka Brigid’s Day), here is my selection for the Third Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Reading.

The Moon is Always

The moon is always you, and I am drawn
to trace the ripe crescent swelling around
your hip, the arc of your throat, the classic curve
of your eyes, and the velvet indigo shadow beneath.

You are always the moon, and I ache in your
absence, although you never leave me for long,
lingering late into the morning and ascending
again in the afternoon, balm for my sun-blind eyes.

The moon is waxen, bloodless.
The moon does not have your mouth.
The moon does not contain your breath.

You are never the moon, but your dimpled
skin is luminescent, it gleams and lures my gaze,
my hands, and I am always reaching for you.

The moon is never you, but I arch to your rhythms
all the same, and I weep relief with the crashing
tidal pool upon your every return.

The moon has a profile that changes with perspective,
and I have written encrypted love poems within
its every dimple and shadow, secrets that borrow
light from our love making to illuminate
the stars and blaze our skins and stories across the sky.

This moon is only for us.

Chandra Mayor