Hardy Yankee Life

I was making a soup the other day that called for fresh herbs…

No Problem…!

I just ran outside and picked some.

*grin*

(n.b. - February Fragments starts tomorrow!)

"Wha'cha Readin'?" Wednesday

(thanks for the suggestion, sin)

I usually have two or three books going at a time, unless one of them is really monopolizing my interest.

This book would be one of those:

"It begins with absence and desire.

It begins with blood and fear.

It begins with a discovery of witches."

"Discovery" is actually a re-read for me. 

I sorta kinda had a concussion when I first tackled it's 579 pages, so even though I was as engaged as possible at the time, the details are a bit hazy in my mind. But it's time to refresh them, because the third and final book of the trilogy is coming out this summer and I intend to be READY!!

This book is one seriously fun romp.

The author says the idea for the story came when she began to wonder, “if there really are vampires, what do they do for a living?”

Talk about an idea with scope!

And indeed, she manages to push nearly all of my buttons with this story.

There are witches, vampires, and demons for the paranormal lover in me. 

The nerd is appeased with scholars, alchemy, and the history of science.

Mystery, love, sex, and Templar knights appeal to the inner romantic.

And there are rare manuscripts!!!
   (the plot actually revolves around one)

Did I mention the story begins in a reading room of the Bodleian?!?

In fact, I choose to believe, ... this very one!

Or that there's a cliffhanger that sees our lovers timewalking off to London circa 1590 A.D. for their next adventure...? (see a's Questions, #9)

(No, I'm not so fond of reality that I want to stay in it all the time, thank you very much...)

The author is herself a historian so, even though this is a simply delicious fiction, there's a lot of solid fact woven into the fantasy. And it's well-written. I'm not such a word-snob that I can't enjoy a good yarn for it's own sake but I also appreciate it when I am not distracted by bad prose and poor grammar.

If you like to believe in magic (and don't mind fat books,) this may be the story for you!

navel-gazing

noun \ˈnā-vəl-ˈgā-ziŋ\: useless or excessive self-contemplation

A while back, I was listening to a Lee Harrington podcast (quelle surprise!) and he made a comment that really struck home with me. I can't remember the exact context or wording but basically, he noted a distinction between "submission" and "submission as a fetish."

(Now, I'm sure fetish is one of those words that we won't all agree on but the meaning in which I took it was the "absolute requirement - must have - can't get off without this" sense.)

And in a lot of ways, that distinction answered some of the doubts that have nagged at me along the way. Because I do realize that I'm a pantywaisted dilettante compared to most of this blogging circle… yet I also know that I truly do enjoy some level of submission. I may be largely a bedroom sub but I'm not completely a bedroom sub. 

Yet I don't have the same depth of cravings and desires that most of you evince. I'm not cranky if I haven't been spanked in a week, I get nothing but bored and irritated from spending time with my nose pressed to the corner, … I do have an almost revolting desire to please him, but I don't hear the greedy inner slut roaring MOAR!!! all the time, either.

I think submission is simply not a fetish for me.

So, as people have begun asking me if I'm on CollarMe yet, I really don't know how to respond. Other than the obvious, "uh, no."

Most immediately because I'm not ready. I may be reasonably certain my BG days are done (altho' there have been communiqués and the door is still cracked open and I wouldn't bet the farm either way) but I am just not one of those, "get right back on the horse even tho' you broke your foot" people. I take the time for closure before I go out waving the flag of availability again. 

For one thing, I do stupid things when I don't -- and I don't like myself for that. 

Nor is it fair to the poor sod who might end up with a stupid-thing-doing Jz on his hands.

Additionally, I'm not into long-distance or online relationships. I'm not dissing you if you are, they just don't work for me. And since this is NOT the area to live in if you want an active BDSM community, odds aren't too good that I'd find anyone local anyhow.

But truthfully, even with enough time and a larger scope of possibilities, I'm not sure that I'll ever go actively looking for kink. I think most of the people out there want more than I'll deliver, so why distract from the deserving?

Kink has found me before, all by itself (occasionally by someone who's gotten hold of the wrong side of the slash, I grant you, but found me, nonetheless) ... it can just do so again.

I think I'm gonna go with the, "If it's meant to happen, it will" approach…

The Perils of Hyperbole

January 20-24

Mulling over this whole subject of, "watch your words, please", I've been struck by how often people hurt with humor. It's pretty amazing, actually, how it seems to be so important to us to keep humor's momentum going that we completely let our mouths run away with our good sense.

I've done it -- many times.

Generally followed by, "oops!", contrition, and profuse apologies but still, I keep falling into the trap, again and again.

I've also been on the receiving end -- going along, innocently minding my own business, only to find myself being thrown under a bus in the name of wit. And I have to tell you, at that point, what I'm thinking is decidedly not, "oops", but something more along the lines of, "With friends like you, who needs enemies?" 

Words really CAN hurt.

Of course, the problem with hurting through humor is that we ourselves get gratification from being perceived as funny. So we don't want to let go of that sarcasm, that mockery, that hyperbole… People like us for that, don't you know?!

Instead, we'd much prefer to dismiss your reaction -- telling YOU to "lighten up, it's only a joke!" rather than consider that maybe we need to be just as mindful in humor as we are in anger.

I wish it were an easy proposition to flip that switch. 

I know it's not, though.

My personal bête noire is hyperbole.
Mockery and sarcasm tend to be directed at people, so it's a bit easier to bear in mind that any projectile aimed at someone could end up hurting them.
But for me, hyperbole is all mixed up with my love of words. It feels abstract, like playing for the sheer joy of manipulating language. You're not really talking to someone, you're just talking in front of them… until you suddenly realize exactly what just came out of your mouth. ("oops!", contrition, apologies…)

This being kind stuff is hard!!!

Sorta Kind. uh...

January 20-24

During these No Name Calling weeks, I always find myself dissecting some word or other.

I've debated "bitch", I've pondered "kinky"…

This one may be my biggest "HUH?" yet, but it struck me, so here I go... 

For it's big tenth anniversary, No-Name Calling Week is sporting a new slogan --

"Celebrate Kindness"

It's a lovely thought, isn't it?

Every idealistic bone in my body is nodding vigorously in agreement.

Except, I find "kindness" to be a bit problematic. 

The word, not the type of behavior -- I'm definitely all for that. I think it's a grand thing indeed to make people smile and, really, mean people should just be taken outside behind the barn and shot. (true, if not exactly thematically appropriate…)

But there's just something about the word "kindness", particularly when we're celebrating it…

Probably because I'm not sure how you celebrate something that has always struck me as nothing more than a personality trait. Something you have or you don't. I think it's a lovely trait to possess, mind you. I envy those with it and really wish the world had more truly kind people in it.

Yet... (yes, I'm going to say it…) I rarely find kindness interesting.

Admirable, Yes!

Desirable, absolutely.

But I'm afraid I find something a bit... beatifically off-putting about the truly kind person.

(For one thing, what do we have to say to each other?)

I prefer people with edges.

Plus, displays of kindness always make me vaguely uncomfortable. 

I seem to harbor a subconscious suspicion that they aren't so much genuine as they are a self-congratulatory device, designed to flaunt how much better of a human being the other person is than me. (Which clearly, as I am proving with this post, is not all that difficult a proposition.)

Nonetheless, I find myself doubting the sincerity behind the curtain.

I guess I'm more of a courtesy and consideration gal. These are learned behaviors that can be superimposed over any personality, so I can accept them at face value. They are gestures that are deliberately made, not a claim to goodness. Yet they smooth interactions and foster cooperation every bit as well as kindness. And often, they're much easier to achieve.

Of course, if you're trying to combat bullying and mean behavior, you do want to encourage the complete opposite behavior, so I understand why the slogan isn't "Celebrating Courtesy". 

I just wonder if it might not be a more obtainable goal...

A Bitch By Any Other Name

January 20-24

No-Name Calling Week is here once more…

Time to be reminded that words can hurt; that we need to be mindful of what we say.

Usually, as part of the exercise, I change the name of my blog and become a wench for the week. But I'm not feeling particularly wench-like at the moment and I'm sufficiently snappish that, in the spirit of full disclosure, "bitch" had probably better stay put. (Perhaps even be highlighted…)

Which leaves me with only one option for a temporary title change - I have to find an appropriate replacement for "Reluctant".

The dictionary gives as synonyms:

afraid, averse, backward, calculating, cautious, chary, circumspect, demurring, diffident, discouraged, disheartened, disinclined, grudging, hanging back, hesitant, indisposed, involuntary, laggard, loath, opposed, queasy, recalcitrant, remiss, shy, slack, slow, squeamish, tardy, uncertain, wary

and related word options include:

contrary, immovable, inflexible, intractable, negative, obstinate, ornery, perverse, sorry, stubborn, unbending, uneager, unhappy, unmanageable, unpredictable, unruly, unwilling

I'm going to throw out all the related options from the start, because too many of them are applicable to me even at the best of times. I couldn't possibly choose between them.

So let's look at those synonyms, instead.

I know I'm Weenie Girl but "afraid" just doesn't feel quite apt. 

I eschew "cautious", "circumspect" implies a more considered approach than I use. 

"Discouraged," "disheartened," and "disinclined" are possibilities, but not quite the right note.

"Hesitant, indisposed, involuntary, laggard, loath, opposed" -- no, those don't feel right.

"Queasy" - well, yes, I'm certainly that. But as a type of bitch? nnnnn, I don't think so.

"Remiss, shy, slack, slow, squeamish, tardy, uncertain, wary"
   Sure, all of those at times... but I still think we can do better.

But, look! 

Hovering there in the R's…

There's a word I've even discussed changing to in previous posts:

       recalcitrant - (adj) \ri-ˈkal-sə-trənt\

: having an obstinately uncooperative attitude toward authority or discipline.

Not the most submissive of adjectives perhaps, but then again, I'm not the most submissive of submissives, either...

So, A Recalcitrant Bitch it is!
Welcome to No-Name Calling Week, v. 2014

A Brief Non-Fluff Interlude

So, I was already a huge Lee Harrington fangrrrl…

Then he released this.

Right about the time my life went over the cliff, along came this.

(really, take the 15 minutes.)

I laughed through my tears.

I nodded and shook my head -- both with equal violence.

Because, yeah.

The Voice.

that….

And, ugh, the trying…

I just don't know.

not now anyhow.

But my own journey still fits early in the first five minutes.

Heck, I haven't even gotten to the point where someone offers me a Dr. Pepper yet...!

So I certainly have a ways to go before I can find redemption at the end.

This reminded me that I might, however.

And I thank him for that.

(and can I just mention that I would kill to have my voice go have tea with his voice?)

Reliable Albion

(I just can't call it "perfidious" in this context!)

There's a folder in my drafts called, "When Having a Bad Day"…

The contents have been amassing for quite a while but this one touches on sin's request for book talk, so I'm going ahead and pulling it out for posting…

sin asked what we do when we're down.

I had taken a slightly different tack to a similar question...

Where do you go when you're upset?

A lot of people head for the liquor cabinet or the medicine chest. 

As one of the probably eight non-devout adults in the world who've never been drunk or high, that's really not a good fit for me tho', so that one's out…

Others go to the gym or work outdoors.

Healthy -- and I do think about doing these things -- but sadly, they act more as crew members for the Road to Hell Paving Company than anything else.

No, for real distraction, I go to Britain - in my mind.

I think this traces back to my first serious break-up, when my sedative of choice was anything written by James Herriott. I would sprawl despondently on my bed and slowly be transported to another time, another place, with friendly, quirky people and lots of gamboling lambs. (It is very difficult to mope when surrounded by gamboling lambs.)

Mind you, in all my real life trips to the UK, I have never actually seen any sheep - of any age or activity group at all. Dogs, cats, and pet rats, yes. I've even been lowed at by more than my fair share of Highland cattle, but sheep? Nary a one.

(Just more reason to go back again, I say!)

Yorkshire is still a very popular anti-depressive, but now I'll often toss in a little jaunt up to the Hebrides with Lillian Beckwith, as well. I know some people wrinkle their noses and call her "a bit precious" but I rarely play literary critic when I'm enjoyably entertained. I love the characters (they remind me of the folk in my own small town) and she makes me laugh. What more can you ask?

I don't limit my mental visits to books, however. It's also a lot of fun to do Oxford (with Inspectors Morse and Lewis,) but I keep getting distracted by fantasies of blissful days spent studying in the Bodleian, and then I completely lose track of the plot line…

(See, even on the rare occasions when I watch TV, I'm thinking of books!)

Lurking in the Lacuna

Once upon a time, I took a class in Marxist Postmodern Feminist Literary Criticism (*gesundheit!*) in which we were painfully and painstakingly led through the murky waters of Lacan, Derrida, Kristeva, and Cixous - only to be brought triumphantly to a conclusion that anyone who'd ever studied the politics of the Soviet Union was already fully aware of:

  The unspoken is often even more important than the spoken.

It's human nature to overlook the inconvenient. We talk around it and hope our rhetorical skills will keep others from noticing the gaps in our arguments. Yet in reality, the things we marginalize are often the biggest threats to our complacency. By circumventing any discussion about the threat, we're really doing nothing more than pretending that if we ignore it, it will go away.

That's certainly a valid technique for the short term.

Long term, however, it's gonna bite you in the butt. And I know that. 

But for now, my goal is short term endurance, because much is still unresolved. 

So I'm going to continue on -- but ignore the elephant in the room. 

For the moment at least, this blog will feature fluff and silliness and mundane matters only.

Sex and submission will be left to lurk quietly in the lacuna.

This may not be what you come here to read, and if you need to leave, I'll understand. 

But it's what I need to do for now - as I hope you'll understand.

Reliving the Past?

The last time we were this close to total annihilation, I at least had pain, nausea, and vertigo to distract me. (Not to mention some seriously impressive limericks.)

But I don't have those this time 'round.

Not that my body isn't trying…

I'm nauseated from nerves and have largely lost my appetite. 

(Only *2* stroopwafels eaten! I'm almost embarrassed…)

Both my heart and my pride are seriously stinging at the moment.

(and at war, but that's a post for another day...)

And I'm experiencing head rushes that are causing me to clutch at the furniture.

(oooh, when did there get to be so many of you...?)

But the distraction thing is just not kicking in.

I really don't want to have to go fracture my skull again to make this feel better...

Ha!

Sinterklaas sent provisions!

(Honest, these arrived after I wrote the previous…)

I got these and some chocolate.

My ravine is a slightly less unhappy place today.

(Until the "stuk" count reaches zero, anyhow.

If you have good eyes, you may notice it already doesn't match the 10 listed on the label...)

Diverging in a Wood

It sounds so grand - to follow the road not taken.

To throw timidity to the winds, straighten your shoulders, and say, "I choose the adventure!"
To move boldly forward, exulting in your courage, delighted by your audacity, ignoring the probable outcomes.

The thing you might forget, however, is that the beginning of an adventure isn't necessarily the point where courage is most required. Rather, you may find yourself in even greater need when that road unexpectedly bumps you over a cliff and you're left dazed at the bottom of a ravine, cataloging injuries and gathering up the broken pieces around you.

Because that's when you have to figure out how to put yourself back together, haul your butt up out of the gorge, and decide whether or not you want to keep going along that road or just head back to the safety of town. That's when you need courage the most -- to help you figure out a plan -- because all you really want to do is just sit there, gibbering and replaying what went wrong…

Unhappily, in it's role as point man on your journey, courage is frequently the first casualty of a bad accident. It's usually been flung several hundred feet away and lies whimpering beneath the bushes, sorely wounded and unable to be moved just yet. 

I suppose that makes it a good time to sit...
And hope your provisions hold out.