As one thing will lead to another, one blogger will do the same. I often feel as if this blog-world is like a skein of wool. Pull one end and it keeps coming and coming and coming (oh my!) and we are all connected, somehow, although I refuse these days to read blogs in which I do not feel a heart-truth of a fire burning.
I think I've always been a bad girl at heart.
I think I've always been a good girl at heart.
I think I've always wanted to be the madonna AND the whore and is that too much to ask?
And so I read blogs which are the sweetest, sweetest pictures of family love and devotion and and I read blogs which are cries of desperation and pleas for redemption and I feel as at home in one place as I do in another.
I am a leo/cancer cusp and if you believe in that stuff it would explain a lot. WHY AM I NOT ONSTAGE AND FAMOUS?/WAIT! THE LAUNDRY IS NOT FOLDED!
Something like that.
Shit. What was I going to talk about?
Oh yeah. Supper.
When I came home from taking care of Owen it was just about dark and I went out and closed up the chickens and went around and turned all the water on to drip because it's supposed to get down in the low twenties here tonight and I went into the garden and pulled some onions and some cabbage leaves to cook. I had thought to make a stir fry with those and some peppers and mushrooms but then I went over to Ms. Radish King's and she directed me to the potwatcher and I started reading about pasta and capers and baby, I was done as applies to stir-fry and am about to go in the kitchen and saute those peppers and mushrooms with some tomatoes and garlic and a sweet onion and capers in olive oil and boil some pasta and I can't wait.
Mr. Moon is out of town and it's just me and my appetite, my tongue, my belly and I want pasta and god, I wish I had fresh basil but I do not. Well, it will be fine anyway.
And what does all of this have to do with madonnas and whores or bloggers for that matter?
I don't know and I don't care.
One thing, if you let it (and you should) leads to another and this night I shall be as pure as a madonna with fresh vegetables and olive oil dripping off my chin, and my pleasure shall be as a whore's as I eat it.
Thank-you, Radish King and thank-you, potwatcher, and thank-you, all of you, who come here and read what I write, whether holy or profane, and thank-you for what you write which inspires me always and influences me more than you can know.
Keep burning those heart-fires, keep reminding me that I am a good girl, I am a bad girl and that it's okay. It is truly okay, even as I am a grandmother and hold that boy in my arms, even as I am a witch and scream into the cold, cold wind, the trees sheltering over me, the great pleasures of this earth at my feet, the great questions and answers making themselves known to my soul.