House of Horrors

3:00 PM: a wretched Monday no where near over.  I was wearing footpaths in the floors of the neurology office. Actually, it's time for a new pair of walking shoes.

When I stepped into the conference room the doctors normally haunt - and yes, I'm quite aware that Hollow's eve is approaching- my olfactory sense alerted me to the suspicion that someone.... someone... *nose twitches* someone had done something .....something.... *eyes water* naughty in that very spot about a minute and a half ago.  I pressed on.

A few minutes later, when I returned to that very spot it was not the olfaction that spoke again, but the optical department.

"Eesh!  Is that a creature sifting out from under that door?"  It gasped.  We peered closer.
It was greenish in appearance, but not like the amber color prophets have described as being around the throne of God.  Around this throne...dark magic lurked.

The green continued to billow out and became so thick and powerful it was as a monster growing up in front of me.  The long warty green arms reached out to grab me.  But I didn't dare wait to know just how much of it was yet to pass under that threshold.  By the sheer size of it, my olfactory sense knew that ten thousand other such monsters were probably still trapped on the other side of that gate of hell.

I ran, my entire GI tract seemingly possessed by the creature. The nurses at the station nearby questioned my face as I inquired of theirs.  They too were aware of the great evil nearby.  It raised hairs.  Nose hairs.

Yet three more minutes anon, I returned to the spot, compelled to pass by there by reason of my duties. And there, in the way, stood the great green giant, but not a jolly one at all.  I stood frozen in fear.  I dared not move an inch closer to his terribleness.  And yet, he was holding some poor soul prisoner behind that evil gate.  I imagined the unfortunate's face, twisted in agony, wracked with tortures as he or she sat bound to the porcelain throne.

And then, the latch of that hellish gate gave a rattle!  The soul within was attempting an escape!!  A pause.  And then a rattle.  A pause.  And then a great rattle of the handle.  No other sound proceeded.  A pause.

I, stupefied with fear.  Did I dare to slash my way past the great green demon and throw open that gate of evil and free the soul?!  Did I dare?  My very core warned against such an act.  To throw open that dark gate would mean the ascension of all hell's incense.  It was better that one should die for the good of all.  

And then, pounding from within.  The door shook, and the handle rattled.  I would not give in.  It would only be a moment now.  I could just see that twisted face and writhing body groping the handle of the door to freedom, just short of the strength to overcome.  And yet the will ever so beautiful.  And then, with last breath escaping parted lips, he passed for the good of all.

The banging ceased.  All was silence for a great space.  I gave that moment to the soul and his sacrifice with head bowed, hand over mouth and nose.

And then, with great power, the dark gate was flung open!  Out into that hall billowed the mighty forms of terrible green beasts, great clouds of them without number.   It was so furious and wild it was as if all the beasts were taking the shape of one mighty demon.  And from its core emerged the form of a human, upright and alive.  Breathing.

She backed from that chamber of torture leading by the hand a younger girl.  The dead had arisen.  




Signed,
Your Pumpkin Spice


*Note*  If it were not for merchandisers, Halloween could pass each year and I would never know it had happened.  But if you do something special this time of the year, you may use this as your spooky campfire story.  The author lived this story, and by reason of PTSD, requests to remain anonymous.

The Wind Beneath My Wings

When we were children, we dreamed of flying.  We had wings on our feet, our minds, and our hearts.

Somewhere along the line, those wings were clipped:  in school, in the teenage years, in the workplace, under the weight of responsibility and loss of innocence.
The rebel teen years seem to be a time when the human claims they are trying to "Find themselves" "Discover who they are."  Maybe, they are simply trying to find where they dropped their wings.

When I was young, I had wings.  I soared in my dreams, high, and higher, and higher than the tallest sky-scraper.

In my waking hours I would fly home off the school-bus imagining I had feathers and could feel the wind caressing them.  I was a strong creature of flight that could grasp all of my closest friends from school in one hand and pull them upwards with me into the heights.

When I was in Kindergarten, or maybe it was the first grade, my parents thought to fix my wingless back and made me wings out of cardboard paper.  They were black wings, but they fit me perfectly.

I flew all around the yard with my big black wings.  They matched my hair.

Some years later in High school, my wings dropped off.  I've had one or two dreams since in which I made it off the ground a little ways.... but that's been a while.

And then a couple of weeks ago, I found someone that I had known of- albeit very little about- for about a year.  A few mornings afterward, when I rose from my bed, I found several feathers sticking out of my pajamas.  Laughing to myself, I sprang through the day.  My wings are growing back.  Nothing can hold me down now!

You may be an earth-bound creature who shed his or her wings in those teenage years.  But if you're a gryphon like I, they'll come back to you one day.  They'll bear you up through every storm, over every valley, through every trial.  They'll become one with you.



Signed,
Your Wings

Perpetual Upcycle Handturned Bowl

You remember that perpetual upcycle I mentioned in my About me?  Here is one example.

My dad brought this simply.... ugly bowl/vase home from Romania when he took a trip there with his parents...  (back to the land of the Roma)  

 After some years I got tired of this ugly thing just sitting around collecting dust.  I liked the grain and tight knots on the one side and decided, it was time for a little fire to purge this rustic piece of rubbish.  

 It took me quite a while deciding what to burn on it.

In fact, I did this totally on a whim.

My calligraphy was done on a whim, without trace or guide line- as usual.

The Calligraphy was of my own invention.  Whimsical.  I felt something like a mix between a Celtic Rune and a Viking/Scottish style.  Something simply and easy to read, yet fat and round and pleasant....just like the bowl.

See, I don't even have an art table, I'm winging it on an ironing board!!

Then I oiled it with Almond oil I use to care for my panflutes.

And the pattern you see on the lip of the bowl, is the Zodiac Leo sign connecting into itself.

Vessel of Honor.

A rather simple yet, profound message.  And perhaps even more quizzical for this, unloved, unwanted piece of Romanian workmanship purchased for mere pennies and hauled across the Atlantic to collect dust on my shelf.

Now, it is something special.  Now, it is a beautiful, oiled, Vessel of Honor that will hold my treasures.

Now it is loved.

It has been placed.

Signed,

Your Pyro

Hey all, be sure to leave me comments to let me know you're there!  I appreciate feedback and will entertain!

Tribute to Babette

I've been known to lick the wounds of my losses by ranting and raving.  But in honor of my dearest little Babette, I cannot.  She was taken from my life on October the 6th, or the morning of October the 7th by a neighborhood cat.

Memory begin:

She was known as Mother.

Nothing could stop this chick from brooding.

She was the best mom and I loved her through and through for it.

Raised me a good two clutches.  And they're the best behaved little stinkers ever.  

 In 2011, I had purchased an Easter Egger rooster.  I lost him to Coccidosis three months later.  I have been more attached to Wyatt AKA Mr. Fancy Pants/Blue Jeans than any other rooster, even though I had him the shortest time.  I loved his gryphonish appearance, the beard and ear-tufts.  His color and luxurious tail.  His personality was rather mellow, but he was a gentleman and treated his ladies well.





And this is Babette nesting with her sister Clementine.

I lost Clementine to the same creature almost exactly one year before.  I had left to the hospital to hold my newborn cousin Elijah... and returned after dusk to find my dear little Clementine headless, outside the coop, with the cat standing over her.

I loved Clem just as much as Babette, even though Clem was twice the brat.  Her nickname was Turkey.

 Babette was a character too however.  Here you see her throwing a hissy-fit over being pulled off the nest.  I loved to tease her and rub her feathers the wrong way.  She seldom ever bit me but she put on quite a show!!  *tears*  My little tiger.









Because she was a half-breed she was small.  And I thought she was small enough that if I ever peeled her down, she'd look like a Cornish hen under all those feathers.

Truth was, her attitude was the biggest thing about her..... no, strike that.  Her mother's heart was.

And as the memories of my dearests gush forth, back to Clementine- who was also a hard-core brooder.

That Turkey...she was something else.  Just like her sister in many ways.

 Often, after yanking them off the nest, I could turn her on her back and rock her like a baby.  These pictures show me playing with her while she is "broody".

They were my babies though.....

Now I am very glad to have these pictures.  

 When I first got Babette and Clem and their sisters...

I had to orient them to their new home.  And the first night, dusk fell quickly so that when I went out to put them in the coop.... they were so ready to get up on a roost that they all flew to my head and shoulders!!

Then the last, flew up on the back of the one on my head.  There was quite a carrying on!!  I had to keep calm and walk gingerly into the coop and pluck them each off of my head, shoulders, and arms and place them.  ....


Ahhh....good memories.

Babette at one year old.

Babette laying.... she was my best.

Babs, Clem, and Dinah- another I lost from the same batch.  Babette was my little: "Last of the Mahicans." ...and now, she too is gone.

This is a rather humorous picture of them all following me.  It looks as though they are marching.

And finally, the one most of my Pyro fans probably recognize.  I have other pictures of her mothering, and even good video, but this one appeared on my Facebook page as an Easter card.  It is only one of the millions of "tender" moments I witnessed.  

I love you Babette.

You may enjoy the youtube videos of my little Tiger below.

Cute OVERLOAD video

Adorable

Her First Clutch Tutorial

My Sister found one of her black-tipped feathers and gave it to me.  I hope to preserve it somehow, either in a frame, glass, or as a piece of jewelry.

Nine Peridots

My bracelet finally arrived in the mail today.  I don't know when I'll take it off.  It's so mesmerizing.

Peridot was known to the Egyptians as the "stone of the sun".  It should not be worn by carnal minded people because they cannot appreciate its delicate, lucid color and spiritual significance.

In history, several famous peridots were mistaken for emeralds, and at one point they were treasured more highly than diamonds!!

I am currently held captive to the beauty of this stone.  I had longed to purchase a peridot bracelet years ago but felt that a bracelet would only accentuate my "hairy" arms.

This bracelet is special- most obvious to you because this blog's URL is "nineperidots"- and why nine stones you ask?  Why not eight or ten as bracelets commonly sport?

Truthfully, I was shocked at the color when I received this bracelet.  There are various peridot greens, there is yellow, yellow-green, Olivine, and brown-green.  I was looking for a very specific hue.  These nine are quite the match.  I can hardly stop staring at them.  They are calming, refreshing, and invigorating.  They give me a sense of serenity and balance and peace.

Also, there are nine stones as I have mentioned yet again!  Nine is my number.  Nine is a very humanitarian number, the magic number of math, the greatest number- zero having no value and ten being the digit of one with zero holding place.  It is also three squared and three to the power of three- 2+7 equaling 9.  The number nine has served as an answer to prayer in my life and so I hold it close.

This is my reminder band.  Like a purity ring it sort of "grounds" me, reassures me, strengthens me.
My peridots nine.

Signed,
Your Nine

Things I Love

Now that it is October the spooks have all come out.  I don't like Halloween and I don't like the onset of Winter.  So let's talk about the links I like.  The things I love.  And at the end of the post, you share with me the things YOU love.

I love FOOD.   I like hot food!

I love MUSIC.  Pleasant voices speaking low, horses eating hay, the click-clack of keyboard keys, the plucking of guitar or harp strings, the swish-scratch of paper under the influence of a busy pencil.  I also like melodramatic, complex songs and sounds such as rich violas and cellos, french horns, and baritone voices.

I love PEOPLE.
More specifically:  making people smile or laugh even if it is at me.  I like hearing them out and helping them however they need it.  I like sharing my ideas with them to get their opinion, even if I don't plan on taking it- I truly do want to hear it, just to know.  I like seeing people perform wonderful feats and talents.  I like to watch people sleeping.  I like to see them wearing beautiful things and being happy with someone they love.

I love EARTH TREASURES:
More specifically:  wood, ivory, stone, polished bone, shell, glass, semi-precious stones, leather, fur.

I like to be ACTIVE.
I like swimming, volleyball, horse-back riding, hiking, swinging, and...you'll find there isn't much I don't like to do when I'm with the right person.

I like to SING and to ENTERTAIN.

But this is probably what you would find on most blogs, eh?!   For me it's easier to talk about what I do not like, than what I do like.  So Wanna know what I REALLY LOVE?!



                   V





I love to lay underneath the stars with someone and talk.

I love to listen to heartbeats.  There is not much more I enjoy than listening to a heartbeat because I feel very connected to the life of that person.

I love to shut my eyes when I listen to a favorite song so that I can properly envision it and put the moment to heart.

I love looking back through pictures and reminiscing, remembering the laughs and the conversations and the subtle twinkles in the eyes of my friends.

I love hands.  They are beautiful.  I have often wanted to explore the hands of a friend, hold them, caress them- because hands will tell you a lot about a person.  -And no, I do not read palms.

I love empty bottles and blank papers and canvases.  There IS NO END to the possibilities of what you can fill and create these potential objects with.  

I love numbers and letters because each one is quite the artistic stroke and inspiration.  Random pecking (we'll assume my brain will pick out my favorites first):
A 9 J 2 E 7 O 3 W 8 Y 5

I love chocolate.  And I LOVE chocolate.  Unless I have no other option and am in a state of desperation, I will not usually touch Milk Chocolate of any brand, Nestle, Hershey, Symphony, or what have you.  I normally purchase 45% dark and up.  My favorite is 75% dark as 80% is a real knocker but I have tried the 90% cocoa too and was pleased.   I prefer it with nuts, fruit, cream-cheese, coconut, and even... chili peppers.  

I love to ponder matters of existence and law such as:
What it would be like to add another digit to the alphabet and what it might look like and sound like.
What it would be like to add another digit (quantity beyond 9) to our sequence of numbers and what it might do to all mathematical rules and calculations.
What it would be like to have six working fingers and toes instead of five.
If it is possible to have a full brain-transplant and how that would affect a person.
If a human were cloned, would he be given a soul, or be an animal, and if the real person died, would the soul of the real person jump into the body of the clone?  And on and on the list goes.


I love the human heart and the blood.  Of all the organs and fluids, these two fascinate me the most.  I also prefer fire and water to earth and air.  Fire and water seem more complex than earth and air.  Water is a hydrogen and oxygen with amazing properties.  Together they extinguish, apart they are volatile.  Fire consumes oxygen as it creeps over a substance and rips it back to its beginnings... without hands.  In the same, something so smooth and silky as water can carve stone and move mountains of earth.  But back to the heart and blood.  .......Later post.


I have rambled enough.  Now it is your turn to tell me what you really Love.


Signed,

Your Blogger

Amoureux Della Vie