Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Many of you know I've been trying to get back in touch with "me" time and what makes me happy. In relation to this, I am re-running an excerpt of a post from the early days on my blog, about pursuing who and what you were meant to be.

I'm a busy busy girl still ... please forgive my lame blog habits. But hey, recycling is good for everyone, right? ;)

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A painted garden spider was building a web between the dogwood and the hedge outside of my front window yesterday evening. The Hub and the boy were cutting the grass, so I had the time to sit for a while and watch her work.

I love spiders. I know this is an oddity among women, but I really do. Not only do they eat bugs that I’m less fond of (like mosquitoes and flies), but they are nature’s graceful epitome of the trade master and artisan. Delicate. Precise. Patient.

All the things I’m not.

I was reminded of a class I took in college as I watched her weave. It was a strange class of which I don’t remember the title, about becoming aware of our connection with Mother Earth and all her beings and elements. It was taught by an aging hippie with pewter colored hair that had not been cut (or shaven) for a long time. She wore cotton tee shirts and peasant skirts, and always jingled faintly when she moved, the way Hindu women do.

Part of the course involved picking a creature or element that would be our “life form” for the duration of the course. Something we would connect with, commune with and essentially become, symbolically and transcendentally. As our exercises evolved, so would our connection with their roles and purposes on the planet.

I chose the spider. The spider is a creature that I have always been fascinated by and respectful of, and this exercise in observances taught me much about why – and what I desire in myself metaphorically - perhaps the root of my admiration of them.

These memories of lofty standards pined for came back to me as I watched the garden spider work. She busied herself intently with her project, weaving skillfully. A perfect web. Beautiful. Delicate. Strong. Practical and functional. Graceful slender legs moving, maneuvering, measuring effortlessly. I thought upon the lessons of how success is rewarded for immaculate craftsmanship, lack of discouragement, and a bottomless well of perseverance and patience.

Perhaps my flippant attitude towards the notion of pursuing my crafts more seriously relates directly to that. The skills and traits of the spider within are not what they used to be. I don’t take myself and my so-called talents seriously anymore. But perhaps it’s not a matter of taking, but of simply being. Being what you were designed to be – doing what you were designed to do. The spider doesn’t worry about failure, only in creating what she must to live the life she was meant to live.

Deaths In Iraq War


US 2,245
UK 100*
Italy 27
Ukraine 18
Poland 17
Bulgaria 13
Spain 11
Slovakia 3
El Salvador 2
Estonia 2
Netherlands 2
Thailand 2
Denmark 2
Hungary 1
Kazakhstan 1
Australia 1
Latvia 1


Iraqi military, security and police deaths since official end of the war in June 2003 4,059
Iraqi civilians since end of war: 28,287 - 31,891


Contractors (various nationalities): 353
Journalists: 79 dead (2 missing)

Sources: Iraq body count, The Brookings Institute,, Reporters Without Borders, Project on Defense Alternatives

*The 100th dead British soldier in Iraq "sparked protests once again over this most bitterly divisive of conflicts, with fresh demands for British troops to be pulled out of Iraq. A cross-party group of MPs [Members of Parliament] renewed their calls for an inquiry into Tony Blair's conduct in taking Britain into the war."

Read more in the Independent, and check the Guardian for a list of the names of all the fallen British soldiers, because those cold numbers above represent people with families, with friends, and with names. On tombstones.
There's a yellow balloon lolling on the ground next to my bed that has been distracting me for quite a while now. It's growing smaller and smaller as the air rushes out of a knot which has being doing a pretty decent job over the past two days.

I like the balloon. One of my friends had painstakingly written all six of our names on it and I like reading the names. They are such nice names. Isn't it lovely how nice people always have nice names? They are brilliant people and I don't know why the balloon doesn't understand that. Doesn't it realize it's shrinking? And taking my friends away with it?

I've tried to stop it, but I can't seem to. Aren't I worthless? I can't even stop a little yellow balloon from dying.
Don't die, old thing. I'd hate it if you did. Don't you know how much you're worth? Don't die, old thing. Not today, at least. Maybe tomorrow- if you have to. I'll be stronger then. I'll take it better. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not today. Stay on, old thing. You might just like it here.
here's the plan: we trash the environment through fossil fuel emissions and deregulating refineries, global warming causes temperatures to rise (at least initially), and increasing home heating costs are irrelevant because you don't need the heater anymore.

we render the medicaire and medicaid programs ineffective, the ill and infirm all die off, premiums go back down. ingenius.

we demonstrate the ineffectiveness of big government by inflating it ourselves, then cry "look! government doesn't work! we must privatize! down with regulation and oversight!"
Listen to Spare Change