Wherein The Ocelot Ponders The Garden And The West.

The Husband and I dug up the Garden tonight. Dirt under my nails and turned earth up my nose and the desire to roll in it naked. The urge to spill seed onto the ground, to spit into the dirt, to let fluids fall onto the soil. To transfer the fertility I've been avoiding all my life to a little patch of something that might feed us.

Except this is Texas, and I got bit all to hell yesterday in the barnyard while fully dressed, so I know better than to try to have a Blessing of the Crops end in a mad dash for Benadryl. Such things can only end in ant bites and unpleasantness.

I saw a picture of Billings, Montana, today, and it made me miss the Rockies so much I almost wept. The sky was a million miles wide, out there, and it's almost enough to make me forget that even though I loved the foothills and the plains by the airport and the mountains, I hated Denver proper. And that I don't miss snow.

But I do miss all that space. The wild places where you don't hear traffic. That feeling that you could ride across the plains forever and never see another soul. The Gods were there, though strangely removed and very present all at the same time - it isn't the Northeast, or even Texas, and They sound a little different, there.

I never rode in gloves. I always had grut from the tack under my nails and my blood is literally in the dirt somewhere in Westminister, Colorado. My trainer, wiping it out of my eyes after that breaking that went so terribly wrong so suddenly, the closest I'd ever heard to panic in her voice, asking where all the blood was coming from until she found the cut at the bridge of my nose, and the young horse looking abashed not ten feet away, his head hanging and standing quiet as the grave.

Maybe I just need to go camping. Or to finally sling the saddle back on my horse and remember the days when I knew less fear, or at least how to deal with it better. I've already decided to go to my divorce hearing alone, just to show that I don't need the entourage I'm sure The Ex will bring. To quote "Pretty In Pink", that amazingly 80's film, I want to show that I haven't been broken. That I can still pitch my heels to the sky and unseat anyone. That, as Deb said in an email, I'm bulletproof now.

I dig the dirt. I ride the horses. I go on no matter what life throws at me and I pray to know The Gods better when I take my dog out every night, head thrown back and eyes on the stars. And I dream of Colorado and the wide-open spaces thirteen years gone.

Wherein The Ocelot Is Sick And Ponders Various Things.

After four days of denial, I am ready to admit it - I'm sick. I feel like crap and so did the Intelligent Thing and canceled my lesson and went back to bed. The Husband is bringing me various foods and liquids and some homeopathic remedy that tastes like sweetened ass. I am grumpy about my plans for gardening getting nuked by my stupid sinuses.

When presented with the amazing resource of a whole bunch of Elder Knowledge And Experience right there in front of me, why on earth can I never think of anything good to ask?

I must remember never to take Beltway 8 again. It is my own personal Hotel California. "Look, kids - Big Ben!"

I still want to know what Club Tranz was, especially given the Really Short Dude with the two Really Tall Possible Ladies Of The Evening not far from it, relatively speaking. Mr. Goldstar, we are SO going in for a drink next time.

Update.

I have my dog and one of my cats with me now. The divorce papers are filed. I live in a house that, while shared, has a huge yard. There are bluebirds, mockingbirds, and cardinals everywhere. There will be a garden. There are goats in the field across the street.

My work clothes are unpacked, my saddle is here, and They are by my bedside. They are a bit more out-in-the open than They were, and They are a bit dissatisfied about that, but They are being patient about me making Them a better shrine.

They also like the tree in the front yard with the gigantic knothole in it. I have been told to leave offerings there. I have also been told that sneaking this past Crazy Jeebus Landlady is my problem, not Theirs, and that I am a very sneaky witch who ought to be able to handle this.

My dog and cat are sleeping next to me. My Husband is playing a computer game. There are bluebirds in the yard of this windswept, Grey Gardens house, and I am happy.

Moving Right Along.

I was told, when I sat with Them before bed on Imbolc, "come to Us with your hands full of leaves and honey."

What kind of leaves? I have no clue. They have said nothing further on the subject. I'm going to take a few minutes to walk around the yard today, and see if the proper leaves don't present themselves.

I've been talking to Them a lot. In my car at work while I'm on break. In the kitchen when I cook. More importantly, I've been open to just hearing Them when They suddenly have something to say. Take a few minutes ago as an example - Their altar is now nestled into a dark shelf on my bedside table. I'd thought maybe it was too dark, but They have said that They like it there. I have to duck my head in to kiss Them goodbye in the mornings or hello when I come home. Maybe that's why.

There isn't much there except two plaque-type figurines, one for Him and one for Her, a little cauldron, a candle, and my chalice. I put my wallet and phone to the front and side as I come and go. I came in this morning, and hesitated before putting my coffee down on Their shelf. And then I heard, put it there. Do not keep the things of the world separate. Keep no part of your life from Us.

OK, then.

Maybe I need to have a talk with Them today about The Divorce and how that's going, or rather how it isn't. The Ex assured me that he'd have the papers drawn up by the end of January. This has not happened. Apparently he's had issues that kept him from doing so. I'm not going to get into detail and BLARGHRAGEEXPLOSION all over the place. Suffice it to say, after wise counsel from a friend - what can you control about this situation? - I plan on Getting This Done. I didn't want it, it wasn't my idea, but by all the Gods together, I am going to move this shit forward with a will. I didn't realize just how damaging all this waiting around for The Ex to deal with this was to me until it was pointed out to me fairly bluntly. Can I control him? No. Can I control myself and solve the problem? Yes, indeedeedo, I can. It's a matter of printing some forms, filling them out, and filing them. It really is that simple.

I don't have to know why the Ex is now dragging his feet. I don't have to wait for him to stop doing so. All I have to know is what I need to do for my own sanity and happiness. Then I need to do it.

Time to hit the ground running for a few hours, then have coffee and a chat with Them.

Maith Lá Fhéile Bríde.

I sat in front of one of my altars tonight and paid my respects to Brigid. I lit candles, sipped and offered Bushmill's Honey, and just listened.

When I finally put out the candles and got up, I was amazed to find an hour had passed.

Now, a little time with Them at the other altar before bed. A good Imbolc to all, and to all a good night, though I wouldn't count on an early spring no matter what the groundhog said.

When Life Gets In The Way, Part 9,364.

Due to working at the Big Orange Store, the walking/running thing has been put by the wayside. Though I suppose I do it as part of my jobs, since neither Big Orange Store or the barn involve sitting down. Helpful fitness tip - running through sand arenas for fours hours a week will give you glutes that can crack walnuts, even if they don't look like it.

The not-smoking thing is not working. At all. I require a more tranquil period in which to start this. And maybe some horse tranquilizers.

I am experiencing low-grade terror over the following: getting a new job, not getting a new job, being fired from the Big Orange Store for not being fast enough, getting a new place to live, not getting a new place to live that is safe and affordable, my age making me less employable, unforseeable and unfixable car troubles, and general financial ruin.

I'm trying to live in each moment. I really am. I can put everything that's chasing me when I'm at the barn or at Trothwy's, even if it doesn't seem like it. I tell myself to enjoy each good moment, because that is all anyone has. It's harder to do it. It's hard for me to let go, to worry about all the things which need to be worried about later on, and just focus on being present.

I tell myself that The Gods are present wherever I am and no matter what else is going on. That They are truly something that can never be taken away. That I just need to let myself talk to Them, and that They will answer in some way.

I am terrible at all of this. But I'm trying.

New Year, New Me.

With the help of the Husband, I plan to do the following:

Make time to walk/run every day.
Lose 30 - 40 pounds. My knees will thank me for this.
Not eat things I shouldn't. I miss chocolate and bread already.
Quit smoking. I hate this more than I can express.

What I plan to do by myself:
Make more time to get in touch with Them.
Get a serious daily practice going.
Work that damn horse of mine and convince him he's not just a big barn ornament, but a creature who can be ridden without having the ER on speed dial.
Ride some of the horses at the Good Barn who scare me a little.
Trust that every setback isn't a disaster heralding immanent homelessness and mayhem.

I don't expect to pull this off perfectly. But I *do* expect the most of myself. This is My Year, and I'm going to make the most of it.