Bubbles

It started with a 20 minute hydro massage, that was extremely effervescent, little bubbles and big bubbles.
Made my flabby bits flap. It was a hydro disco, with lights in the tub. Not too hot, and fantastic.
Chinese massage was the best ever...really..Normally when you get a massage, after wards you need a shower cause you're slippery.
But Mi-lan (teeny c
Chinese lady speaking MINIMAL Engrish) made so much warm friction on my skin that the oil was completely absorbed.
And that, to me, was the important part. Repeated strong movement ("you got pain?" NOOO) on large areas to increase circulation and movements always toward the heart.
Not to say it was all rubbing. There were pressure points and reflex points that were manipulated, after the area was warm with circulation. She did some sort of suction thing with her palms, like cupping (and not the game that Chandler Bing invented, oh wait, that was Cups..it's Gweneth Paltrow that gets the cupping).
I was covered with several towels, and my head was in the drool bucket hole (in the beginning). On several occasions I felt her climb onto the massage table with me????? When she was on the table with me she used her body to diagonally stretch mine, one hand on my shoulder and one on my hip...lengthen. I can't remember what she did the other times she climbed on with me.
And she smacked me often. Sometimes the smacks were slaps, but sometimes it felt like her little fist. At the end she stimulated my scalp and temples and then proceeded to cuff me on the noggin' repeatedly. AND IT FELT GOOD.....
Have you ever had a breast massage? Lots of circular motions and then the cupping thing on the nipples, resulting in quite a snap...then she said "bootiful". Awww
And I forgot to wear underwear. I was freaking out when I realized, and started looking for a store that sold drahs, when the sky opened and dogs and cats fell, rained so hard and fast everyone scurried. I aborted the mission and headed directly to the spa, hoping for the best. And I'll be dipped in chocolate.......... they gave me little disposable undies, as a matter of course, not cause they knew I was a slut.

anger management

I'm mad.
And not just about one thing.
My head spins with all the reasons I'm mad.
I'm mad at Facebook. I'm mad at Hollywood, pesticides, banks, Israel, oil, television, Obama, my inability to speak French, methane, consumerism, food additives, religion, and this is just the tippy of the iceberg. I am not even going to get started on how disappointed I am with the human race. I think we have got ourselves on a downward spiral with avarice.
Now that I've written the words, I worry that my head is full of negativity. But, my heart, always buoyant, knows better.

bureaucracy

I love Belgium, I really do.
Why?
It is a tiny country with such organized bureaucracy that it can exist and flourish without a government. There is such animosity between the Walloons (the French segment of the population) and the Flemish that the government has collapsed. I don't feel knowledgeable enough to explain this situation, but I live with the results.
Here is a taste. I received a letter in the mail, telling me that I have a appointment scheduled for a mammogram. The letter informs me that I am of an age when breast cancer is an issue, and I must take my appointment at the hospital..Period. OK...I take the tram to the hospital on the appointed day. Never having been to the hospital I ask a tall handsome man in a white coat where to go. In perfect English, he answers me. This is another reason that I love Gent, Belgium (in particular). The population is mostly Flemish. The Flemish speak an attractive form of Dutch. BUT, just like the Dutch, they speak perfect English. Better English that we native speakers speak. They don't use the word "like", or "sort of". They only use the words they need, without colloquialisms. It is a clean form of English. But, back to my breasts......I have the mammogram. The technician, a lovely young girl, tells me the machine is brand new, and the whole wing of the hospital is new. And do you know how much it cost me?...nothing..nothing.
They have National Health. You pay for it, don't get me wrong. The taxation is painful. But in the big picture, it is the only way to go. American's look at the National Health System in England, and think that is the norm. Well, it is not. I have had experience with several systems, so I am speaking from experience, not conjecture. The system in the UK has good intentions, but they do not pull it off..at all. I watched my Mother in Law suffer through the English system, and pass away within it. The Belgian, French, Swiss, Austrian systems are incredible.
But back to my breasts..

where do I start?

Writing a blog SOUNDS like a good idea, in theory. One thinks one is rather clever, and full of news (that would be Me), and interesting tidbits of life. But when it comes right down to it, one (me again) wonders if what they say has any relevance to the ether population. Who cares what I say? Altruism? No. I am doing it to make myself feel good. To cement my notions in my own mind.
Having said that, I am going to ramble on with my feelings, findings, and tiny revelations.
Brace up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.
I hope.

Please, hawk soaring with a snake in it's talons

I woke to the sound of a tractor in the next room.
The fields are being mowed. Nicolas cuts the hay, and then bales it...big, round bales.
He keeps the hay for his labor.
He cut the far field in a perfect amoebae design. Curly and soft.
As the hay dried it turned golden.
When the sun sets the fallen hay looks like undulating golden rivers.

The hawks are flying low this morning. The hay was cut 2 days ago. Mice, snakes all lost their homes. Usually a couple of hawks circle the fields, way high and following the thermals, out for a joy ride.

Pipeliners and Gypsies

My Dad was a Jack of All Trades. When I was tiny my Dad was a Pipeliner. He was a foreman. My Mom was my Mom, and the best Mom that ever lived. Dad's crew dug the giant trenches for the pipe. The pipe was taller than my Father by quite a bit, and he was 6 foot tall. My Dad could drive tractors as big as a house, and move vast amounts of earth. The Pipeline went for miles and miles. I have pictures. Looking like a long earthworm, twisting through deserts, and mountains, and plains the pipeline moved us on. We progressed with it, changing towns every few months.
Because my Dad was a foreman, he selected his crew. As a result he hired Family. And those that were not actual Family became Family. We were with these people all the time. We went from town to town with them, and we watched lives unfold.
Usually we lived in little apartment/hotel places. When we lived in Reno, Nevada my parents and I slept in the same room. One night, after a hard day of play I flopped into bed. Out of nowhere came a pain. A pain like I had never (in my little life) felt before. It was in my leg, my calf, or maybe it was my thigh? Nevertheless I screamed I was dying and my leg was killing me. My anxious parents galloped to my side, pulled back the covers, saw that my leg was drawing up, like a grasshopper's leg when the grasshopper is dead. My Mom calmly pulled my leg back, straight, causing severe pain, and said I had a Charley Horse, and laughed…Laughed.
Friendly sounding name isn't it? Charley, good old Charley, and Horse, Horse=Good. But not Charley Horse. I will always remember Reno.

Once upon a time, far far away....

My name is LaVada Ernestine. I was born on November 29th, 1950.
My parents were Lydia Margaret and Perry Earl. I was born in Kansas City, Kansas.. Although my birth certificate says Kansas City, Missouri. I don't know how it got confused and stayed confused for most of my life, but it did. I have always said, "I was born in Kansas City, Kansas, but I've never lived there".
I don't know if I never lived there, or because I don't remember it, I might as well have never lived there.
Or been born.

Super Glue

When was the last time you glued your fingers together with Super Glue?
Well, that's too long.
It happens so quickly. You'll be negotiating an intricate piece of porcelain, just getting it in the right place, putting a teeny bit of glue in place, and Voila, your finger is stuck to the porcelain.
Pull it off and you bleed. Tears the skin right off your hand. And as you're fumbling with a plate stuck to your hand, you reach for the tissue to wipe the glue away. The tissue immediately sticks to your hand and the plate. It's downhill from there.

No Longer Conflicting

My mind was heavy with guilt after I wrote the sblog Conflicting Emotions. The compassion I feel and felt for the frightened animals squeezed into the back of the abattoir truck made an impact.
Meat is not appealing to me right now.

Definately a MEDIUM, not a Large

Medium: 1). a person claiming to be in contact with the spirits of the dead and to communicate between the dead and the living.
Not a psychic.
Because she deals directly with Him, she is a Medium.
Femme has frequent "flashes".
After the stunned moment when the "flash" occurs, Femme pops back to reality to verbally release her "flash". Sometimes it deals with the subject we were discussing, and sometimes it deals with persons unknown to me.
Femme is a diehard, hardcore Bingo player. During Bingo Season she will play a couple of times a week. She wins more often than she loses. But then, she's sporting 4 or 6 Bingo cards at a time. And no chain smoking or coffee drinking. Femme is a vessel.
I guess I am writing this because I am trying to figure out whether I believe in Mediumism.
I am writing the pros and cons, so have a ponder, and tell me what you think.
Femme the vessel.
She also puts her faith in the Lotto. A good Lotto number can net 24 million euros. I am reminded of this on a regular basis. I have never bought a Lotto ticket. I never win stuff. Oh, I take that back. I once won a vase. Man, I was happy that day.
Him flashed Femme that she would win a small holding, and she did. Thank you Him and Lotto for 2,500 euros
Him recently flashed Femme, that she will win big euro bucks with the Lotto. Flashed the building in Paris where she will go to collect her euro millions. But he gave her a bum date for the win. She was certain that she would win on the 26th. But she did not.
However, she believes that Him will not lead her astray.
Last year, she "flashed" that my husband would have a bonne affaire. And that is not meaningless sex, no, it means luck in business. At the same time, she flashed (tired of quotation marks?) that it would happen in the Far East. It happened.
People have paid to spend an hour with her. She says she cannot take a full hour of Mediuming and has cut it down to 45 minutes. Same money, just too tiring for the head space.

MEDIUM or PSYCHIC?

Medium: 1). a person claiming to be in contact with the spirits of the dead and to communicate between the dead and the living.
Psychic: 1). relating to or denoting faculties or phenomena that are apparently inexplicable by natural laws, esp. involving telepathy or clairvoyance : psychic powers.
• (of a person) appearing or considered to have powers of telepathy or clairvoyance : I could sense it—I must be psychic.........Right.?
2). of or relating to the soul or mind : he dulled his psychic pain with gin......Right.....

In the past year a friend (who we will call, Femme) has "flashed" she is a Medium.
There was an untimely event that brought this revelation to surface.
Death.
The death, of her beloved Brother in Law (we will call him, Him).
Femme was raised in an extremely tight family environment.
The Family was thrown into depression after the untimely death of Him.
But, in fact, Him has returned, and speaks through Femme.
More on this later.

Let Your Sap Rise

Revel in it.
Spring comes but once a year.
Spring brings to the surface all the feelings that lay dormant during the winter.
Not just feelings, but the entire ball of wax, your core, your psyche, and your physical being.
To me, they seem renewed, even my brain seems to be waking up (about time).
A good time of the year to improve. Cause it feel like all things are possible.
Spring is positive.

My Inner Bitch

It seems like “things” are going on around me, and I am not in control of anything.
I think that my judgment is a little off too. You know, like when you are asked a question that has multiple answers.? Normally you would go, yea on the first point, perhaps on the second point, and an absolute no on the last point.
What I am doing now is just bundling all the answers into one flaccid, “Oh OK”, “that’s fine”.
In the end, I have shot myself in the foot.
My goal is to re-take my Bitchness.
Not a New Years Resolution or anything, just a damn good idea.

Garden Deity, and a night in the big city.

The big city was buzzing last night.
Lots of people on the streets, and in the cafes.

But it is good to wake up in the quiet.
The air was washed clean at daybreak.
The sky is as crisp as my brain.

I've been out in the vegetable garden this morning.
Girl farmers should not wear perfume.
Especially during bee season.

I have found another deity to help in the garden. Bless.

We’ve had Jesus, er, Judas, and now we have Mohammed, with a little JeanClaude oui-oui

for added confusion.
Mohammad brought 2 beautiful cypress trees back to life.
The trees looked like “Sideshow Bob”.
Branches broke, so Mohammed came to the hill, not quite a mountain, and healed 2 trees.

About a week ago Mohammed was here trimming. We had accumulated a BIG pile of clippings, branches, jardin debris. Mo' suggests making a bon fire. Pete had done it in the past, and it was fine. Get the place cleared up.
He catches it on fire, and it infernos for 15 minutes and then settles into a steady burn.
A few hours pass and Mo' leaves the mountain. The fire still rages (ok , that’s an exaggeration).
I’m supposed to go out for dinner. I call and cancel, afraid to leave the fire burning in the dark, unattended, wind coming up.
So, some hours pass, and it is still burning. I go out and spread the ashes around, another hour passes.
Still burning....bright.
I have on my jammies, a chenille robe (fire haZard), ready for bed.
Fire still burning...OK, time for water.
Turn on the tap and the water starts coming, try to turn it off and the tap just turns and turns, and keeps turning, water coming out of the tap at a thousand miles an hour. I’m soaked....

What to do? Chicken Little, the sky is falling.
The plumber talks me through finding the h2o cut-off valve, which is in a spider infested hole in the ground. OK, water off.
Fire still burning and wind coming up.....all elements present and accounted for.
70's band joke?

I finally got to bed, only to wake in the middle of the night smelling smoke.....
It was my hair.
The fire continued to burn for 2 days....

Who better to help in the garden?

Jesus can’t come till the 30th.
I really need him now.
It’s not surprising that he is in demand. He is good at what he does.
When I first met him I made a hasty judgment based on appearance. (note to self….don’t do that any more). I could feel that he was gentle, but the brown smile and the butt of a hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth screamed uncouth. The long hair stringing out of his ponytail, let’s just say there was a lot to misjudge. And that ole chestnut about French men smelling rather....er gamey, well, it was certainly true in this instance.
It started just after Jesus parted the field with a weedeater.

Snakes snakes snakes sankes smakessnakessnakes
Snakes
Nakess
Kessnak
They were everywhere and I had the creeps all the time.
I was getting over it. I was actually going barefoot, occasionally, and only on the tiles close to the house, while clapping my hands and whistling loudly, pounding my feet when I stepped.
When we first came to live in this house, Alf was here. He had been living in one room, being a guy. The grass was high and the underbrush thick. So the field mice, moles, grass snakes built an enormous housing project, Perfect when you think of it. Stone and brick structures, with lots of nooks and crannys for the not-quite “bottomfeeders” of the farmchain. Then the CitySlickers arrive (us) and start encroaching on their projects.
I have an update on Jesus. He over-charged me. So he is more like Judas.

Conflicting Emotions

Springtime seems to be the time for poor unsuspecting animals to be taken to the abattoir.
I see the big trucks on the road. They are especially made to hold as many animals as uncomfortably as possible.
When I am behind one of the trucks, I swear, I can smell the fear. It's not the smell of urine or crap. It is fear.
I'm a meat eater. But I cannot help be shed a tear when I think of how horrible it would be to be in their hooves.
Maybe the next blog should be about self-control...or the lack of it.

SImple Life

Breath of fresh air.
Spring.
Full of promise.
Suddenly I have energy.
The dark days of winter appear to be over.
This is the time of year that makes everything possible.
What is it?
Are we like saplings? Our sap is rising?
All I want to do is be outside. I want to dig in my garden. I want to clean out the garage.
I want to paint a wall. Drill a round hole in solid concrete. I want my sap to rise and take all the winter cobwebs away. I want a lot. But you know, it's Spring.
ALL IS POSSIBLE>>

Who named it Blog? Really...What a crap name for something so revolutionary.

Each day I try to start afresh. Try is the key word. But the good word, what if we never tried. Never tried to change our behavior, the world, our own tiny microcosm. A change to make "things" better.
THis year my New Year's Resolution was to do an act of kindness each day. The Act of Kindness is really easy. Hold a door open for someone, feed the birds, don't give the asshole that pulled out in front of you the finger. Easy.