Enchanting Fairy Doors

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Not just fairy gardens…

Do you have these charming creations in your town?

A fairy door is an adorably miniature door usually set into the base of a tree, behind which may be small spaces where people can leave notes, wishes, or gifts for the “fairies”.

Fairy doors are thought of as portals to a magic realm in which the fairy can come and go, but humans cannot enter.

There are lots of them in my little beach town of Carlsbad, but this is a new fairy door I noticed on my walk today.

It might have been missed altogether except that I was walking slower than my usual very brisk pace because I have a broken toe and it was too painful to walk as fast or as far as I usually do.

The next time, I’ll definitely remember to bring a little offering.

Do you believe?

 

 

 

 

What’s in a name?

Romeo and Juliet
Spoken by Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Do you like your name, the name you were given–the name on your birth certificate?

I don’t like my name.

For as long as I can remember, every single time I hear someone call me by my name, my very first thought is “that’s not my name”.

Is that weird? Am I weird?

For a nanosecond, I have to remind myself that it’s ME they’re referring to, because not only do I not like my name, I really feel that it’s not actually my name.

“Oh, you’re talking to ME?”

I don’t know what it is, but it’s not the one that’s on my birth certificate.

I remember telling my mom that I didn’t like my name and that I was also curious why my brother had a middle name but I didn’t, and she told me to choose my own middle name and it wouldn’t be legal nor official, but it would be something special just for me.

So I named myself Aurora, because that’s who I identify with. Aurora means dawn, but I chose it because of Sleeping Beauty. Princess Aurora (also known as Briar Rose) is the daughter of King Stefan and Queen Leah. On the day of her christening, Aurora was cursed to die by the evil fairy Maleficent. We all know she’s awakened by the prince’s kiss of true love. My mom read me that story so many times, i memorized it. What she failed to impress upon me was that it was just a fantasy, not real life.

Only one person has ever known that’s my secret name.

Some call me Rose or Rosebud, even Angel Boy refers to me as Princess (which is pretty funny when he does it in public, haha), but none of those are my given name, either.

When I meet new people or I’m introduced and asked what I like to be called, half the time I don’t have an answer or I say it doesn’t matter or I’ve even asked what do they think my name should be? What do I look like?

Additionally, no one can spell my real name right and that’s part of the problem, I think. I’ve spent my entire life correcting the spelling which only contributes to my possibly delusional introspection that I’m a mistake–an aberration; a typographical error.

Maybe I don’t really exist. Maybe I’m a character in a fairy tale minus the fairytale ending.

Being and nothingness. Maybe Sartre had it all figured out–this little existential crisis of mine isn’t even original. (Or NON-existential, in my case.) This existentialist philosophy is a study of the consciousness of being. Or not being, which is tiring my non-existent brain.

Except the one name I always respond to with a smile in my heart is “Grandma”.

Or “Mom”.

Because that’s who I am.

Always. Always. Always.

Summer Wind

This Frank Sinatra tune floated in and out of my head along with the symphony of wind chimes as I took a break from a very hard garden project to sit on the deck and quench my thirst with my favorite (daytime) beverage, cold ginger and peppermint tea.

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My view from the deck. Lawn is suffering a bit in this heat.

Like the song, our fickle summer wind blows from the west most of the time; I’m a couple miles from the Pacific Ocean.

Nobody can ever compare to Frank’s lyrical interpretation.

Summer Wind

The summer wind came blowin’ in from across the sea
It lingered there, to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Like painted kites, those days and nights they went flyin’ by
The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than a piper man, one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
The autumn wind, and the winter winds they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
The summer wind
Warm summer wind
The summer wind

Songwriters: Hans Bradtke / Henry Mayer / Johnny Mercer

Thoughts about Blogging

(An alternate title could be “Please scream inside your heart” like the signage at that theme park in Japan meant to discourage screaming on rollercoasters and reduce the spread of Covid-19.)

I’ve blogged since the summer of 2012. On one sunny day in June, my DIL told me I was really funny and I should write things down and begin to blog.

I knew nothing about blogs; never even read one, so she took the reins and opened a WordPress account for me.

That was eight years ago, as I was reminded by my WP anniversary.

At its heyday in 2014, my little blog averaged around 7,500 visits a month. For some unknown reason, my highest read posts were recipes.

After attending a BlogHer convention, I was excited and energized, ready to monetize, to grow and expand my brand and my voice.

I’ve always been a writer, especially about things that cause me to wax passionately: saving wolves, rescuing abused animals, finding humor in life from my own lens; researching and meeting and learning about all kinds of people (from Al Gore to His Holiness the Dalai Lama), reviewing cool products, and most of all, I LOVED responding to readers and comments from all over the world.

I still do. I respect and appreciate your time and the effort to reach out to a virtual stranger and engage in conversation.

Now I notice that my posts only have a handful of likes and some none at all.

My overall followers from all platforms is around 3500.

Did I lose my enthusiasm?

Nope.

I know why, I DO, but I still can’t talk about what happened except to say that if you read between the lines on certain posts, you might catch a glimpse of infinite profound sadness, more death than death because I’m still alive and breathing.

The walking dead. An episode of the Twilight Zone in real life. A literal black hole.

As I’m slowly getting back into the rhythm and comfort of writing, finding my voice again, I’d like you to know that I appreciate everyone who has stayed faithful to my blog and continues to read my words, even the ones between the lines.

Much love. Seriously. ‘Cos if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s what love is. And what it is not. On any planet. Stars might be crazy, but I’m not, so I’ll continue to scream inside my heart. And my head. In a princessy way, of course.

 

What’s your sign?

We used to ask that a lot, do you remember? 

OK, I’ll go first.

I’m a Taurus through and through. If you look up almost any description of Taurus the Bull, you’ll be able to suss out most of my personality traits.

A Taurus is born between April 20 and May 20. Taurus is the second of the twelve astrological signs and is represented by the bull constellation. Of the four zodiac elements (air, earth, fire, and water), Taurus is an Earth sign, which kinda makes sense to me ‘cos I love to garden and play in the dirt.

Collectively, Earth signs are practical, stoic, and determined. We Taureans are known for our tenacity, but there’s more to me than that… we’re a bit of dark horse. Ruled by the planet Venus, we share her traits of beauty, artistry, and a love for luxury and comfort. (Soooo true.)

Taureans are considered to be the anchor of the zodiac. That fixed modality means that we love our stability and find comfort in consistency.

With Venus (the goddess of love) as our dominant planet, we won’t shy away from romance. If a Taurus has chosen you, our loyal, genuine nature means we’re in it for the long haul. We are devoted and trustworthy and loving and faithful and dependable and have a highly developed sense of integrity and self respect. 

Taureans aren’t fond of authority (SOOO TRUE!) and might challenge a teacher or professor (or cop) whom they believe is wrong about something or just wasting their time. You know that one student in class who’s always challenging the professor? Probably a Taurus.

Above all else, people born under the Taurus sign value honesty.

Taureans, like the bull that represents them, are known to be intelligent, dependable, hardworking, dedicated, and stubborn (teehee).

I’m sure we Taureans have a few shadowy negative traits, but I’m only focusing on the positive ones here.

Did you know that Mark Zuckerberg and Queen Elizabeth are both Taureans? For me, the best part of being a May baby is that every seven years, my birthday falls on Mother’s Day, so I get to celebrate my birth along with the joy being mom to my one and only Angel Boy.

What’s YOUR sign?

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A rant about disagreeable people

(Because I’m not sure WordPress allows us to use the word “assholes” in a post title.)

A little slice of life from SoCal, and a reminder that sometimes the best course of action is to stay away from other humans.

While it was still relatively cool with a marine layer and an onshore breeze, I decided to take a walk.

I usually walk anywhere between four to ten miles, and today I thought I’d walk around the lagoon and a bit more, probably four miles or so, ‘cos I have a lot to do later on.

It’s a beautiful day, the birds are out, families are walking, and we were all respectful of social distancing.

Well, ALMOST all of us.

I swear, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with some older post-.menopausal white women with short blonde (to cover the gray) hair.

I’m not shaming them, as I sorta fit the description myself apart from the short hair and wheat belly Trumpian bitterness. (Inside joke for my local peeps,)

I decided to take the long way home and detoured to a public path that winds around a subdivision that once upon a time was a gorgeous habitat for a lot of coyotes and bobcats and even deer and mountain lions. It WAS spectacular. All that’s left as mitigation is this path.

Whenever I encountered another human, we waved hello and each moved to the opposite side of the approximately six foot wide trail, to respect the state-mandated distancing.

Then this happened.

An older couple approached. He was a nondescript white man; she was the person I previously described. I tried to anticipate which side of the path they would move to and I moved to the opposite. Then, in sync, they moved to the other side, so I moved away, thinking we had a silent communication glitch.

THEN, the woman stood in the middle of the path facing me with her arms outstretched, as if to block my way, and they demonically laughed.

I AM NOT KIDDING.

They OBVIOUSLY must not have realized that despite my tiny size, I’m a fire-breathing dragon with the cussing ability of a merchant mariner–and possess zero filter.

I said, “That’s really fucked up.”

He said, “Then don’t walk around here.”

I said, “What. the. fuck. I’ve lived here for thirty-five years.”

Like a toddler, he responded,  “We’ve been here for forty.”

I said, “You are full of shit.”

…snd I kept walking before the incident escalated. I wish I had thought to take a pic of them, but I just shook my head at their abject stupidity.

Who would think it funny to deliberately defy the guidelines to keep everyone safe from this virus? (While I’m not even sure what Covid IS and how it got here, I’ll play along for the greater good.)

Why bother being such assholes for no apparent reason? My hair was in a ponytail and I wore a hat so I can’t even think it was because they hate curly hair.

In the old days, an encounter like that would have ruined my day, but now I realize it’s their problem and not mine, and I don’t take on their negative energy.

However, I confess that it felt really really good to breathe a little fire, hee hee.

 

 

 

Hot summer day in the garden

Really hot for the beach…

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And probably super crowded, too difficult to maintain proper social distancing, so I’m here:

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with a couple friends …

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and some mulberries that aren’t quite ready…IMG_6688

along with some pretty pretty flowers…fullsizeoutput_df1fullsizeoutput_df2I’m enjoying all the lush and colorful garden because pretty soon no matter what I do, the grass will turn brown ‘cos we probably won’t have more rain until next winter and the dry hot SoCal Santana winds make watering a futile effort.

The Unseen

It’s been a long while since the gardens at Casa de Enchanted Seashells were honored by the presence of a four-legged child. When we had a completely empty nest, there was supposed to be a lot of travel and other fun but that didn’t really happen, at least not in the way I had happily anticipated.

This was my beloved Bandit…Bandit in a box

…and my beautiful Border Collie boy –Victor at age sixteen, enjoying his senior years at what was to be his last Christmas before crossing over the Rainbow Bridge, sitting in the place of honor because he deserved it.

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Lately, something odd and mysterious has been going on here.  I’ve discovered tennis balls and other toys that simply seem to randomly appear out of nowhere, some even in the middle of the lawn, as if a game of fetch was still in progress.

See?

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There’s a monogamous pair of coyotes that visit me on a regular basis and I have a wildlife camera set up to record their activities, so I know the balls don’t come from them, although that’d be super cool if they were bringing me gifts to thank me for my vocal support regarding coexistence with wildlife, instead of vilifying and murdering them.

But…

My yard is completely fenced in–not that coyotes care about that–but to emphasize the fact that a normal domestic dog roaming the neighborhood couldn’t possibly find a way in, and certainly not with a ball in his or her mouth.

I like to think it’s the spirit of my Victor sending me a gigantic message that he’s still chasing tennis balls and he’s up there with Sabrina and Stella Rondo and Beowulf and Tovah and Bandit and Misty and Tawny and Blackie, all my beautiful children who were so very loved and cherished during their lifetimes and beyond.

Here’s my most special part wolf, Beowulf, and a MUCH younger me.

I was part of a covert rescue operation and bottlefed him every two hours. I was his mom and he was my perfect boy. We were inseparable. Soul mates.

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Yup, I really do miss them all so very much.

But where do the balls really come from?

Holding Space

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IMHO, this is one of the best descriptions of what it means to hold space.

There will be times when you have to release and trust the awakening process. It may not be an easy thing to do, especially when a connection exists. Let others know you are there, offer support when asked and hold space for them in a kind, loving manner. The rest is up to them and The Universe.
Holding Space    The Creator Writings, one of my fave blogs.


I had heard the term but couldn’t wrap my brain around it, and as a slightly OCD Taurus who likes answers to questions and details and timeframes to be specific in order to feel safe, holding space is a confusing and nebulous and ephemeral concept, but I’ve been determined to understand because it resonates deeply with me. I’m relentless when it comes to understandING.

It’s a way of not doing anything when I’m all about doING and fixING and solvING. (All of those ‘ing” words that we’re trained to edit OUT of our writings.)

To hold space is to do nothING but BE.

BeING.

That very beINGness of taking a breath and stayING silent and havING faith and trust that everything is happenING as it should–well, that’s nearly impossible for me.

But here I am. I am. So hum.

 

Some Enchanted Evening

Since Saturn, Venus, and Jupiter are all in retrograde, it’s time for a little magic with Chanel and sparkles. All dressed up for an enchanted evening at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.

And night after night,
As strange as it seems
The sound of her laughter
Will sing in your dreams.
This is THE song for me from South Pacific. Whose version do you like best?

 

Perry Como

 

 

Frank Sinatra

 

Paul Robeson, of course…

 

…and Willie Nelson! I met him a few years ago. He was so kind and I got a hug, can’t believe I was brazen to ask for one, lol.