Work in Progress: F-ed Up Fables: Short Story series

The last month I have been working hard on a short story idea. In all honesty, I am running low on steam and could use some encouragement. If you like what you read and would love to read more, please leave me a comment. Feed back is very appreciated 💖
Fcked Up Fables: The Little Mermaid

Fables once occupied the woods, but recently all the property and lands were bought up by large Nonfiction faceless corporations .The families believed they were blessed as they all finally had the income to move out of the forest and into the modern world.

Once the fables joined modern day society a law was passed across the States.

Segregation became common. If you were a fable, you no longer were permitted at state or federal funded public schools. Restaurants, churches and communities were left up to the owners or public debate.

To enter the Storytown School for the Feeble Minded, Women, Insane, Backwards or Fabled

You had to cross a line of screaming protestors. The signs were waved frantically while incoherent slurs and insults were flung.

*They Aren’t Real, They’re Just Characters*

 *Go Back To the Woods!!*

*Leviticus 11:12!!!!*

“If only there were woods to go back to” Ella thought. She passed through the crowd daily, head held high. She stepped proudly, and ignored the screams. That’s when some bastard hit her in the back of the head with an egg.

She spun around, frantic , high tops slipping on yolk from previously missed targets.

“That poof ball on your head was easy to hit, you story trash!!” the man shouted, his face flushed red from exertion.

“I’m guessing that’s the most exercise you’ve gotten in years, Non!!” She shouted.

Ella gripped her books and ran into the school, immediately running for the girls room, to inspect the damage done to her beautiful brown locks.

The sink ran brown, then red and slowly faded to a clear that signaled it may be safe to wash her hands or possibly even her hair.

She took off the small gold crown that held her bun in place.

Ella was once a princess. Look how far she had fallen.

When Ella was 6 her father, a Wealthy man, had fallen ill and passed away quickly one night at his desk. Ella had no other relatives. Her entire inheritance lay in a vault she had no access to until the age of 21. Until she was of age, Ella was in the care of an all girls foster home run by strict nuns. It’s name was the Uglistep House. Ella hated the Uglistep Sisters with all her might.

Ella rinsed egg out of her hair. She wrung out the sections, put her hair back in a bun and placed the crown.

She stared at the mirror, her hands upon the sink.

“This is just for now. This isn’t forever. It will get better.”

A stall opened suddenly which caused Ella to jump.

“Were the herds still BAAAAing?” Mary asked, approaching a sink to wash her hands.

 “One hit me with an egg”

“Oh, they’re throwing produce now? That’s new. Usually my brother gets hit with rocks.”

Mary grabbed a paper towel and rolled it into a ball.

“All I want to do is hit them back, but J.J won’t let me. He says not to stupe to their level. I don’t consider it stuping if they are the ones setting the bar…” She threw the ball into the waste basket.

“J.J is right. You are so much more than this. You could march every single one of those people off a cliff like lemmings. But you shouldn’t , because you are better than that.”

Mary smirked. Her actions at her last school helped to form her reputation at Storytown school.

Once after being bullied by a group of kids for her slightly morbid fashion sense , Mary hypnotized an entire herd of sheep. In their zombified state they followed her to school one day where they proceeded to disrupt every classroom in the building. 

Now Mary wasn’t allowed around farm animals and kept away from large groups of stupid people.

Mary, who’s father was half Fable half NonFiction married her Fable witch mother. Their mixed family wasn’t truly accepted by either Fable or Non communities, making Mary and J.J school outcasts.

As Mary’s hand grabbed the handle, the bathroom door swung open.

Golden locks of curls and not much else, were outlined by the bright morning sunshine streaming through a large window across the hall.

Goldie had her usual crowd of girls around her as she walked in, leading the pack.

While she looked the part of a popular teenage girl, Ella had to remind herself that Goldie was at  THIS school for a reason, and she wasn’t a Fable.

Until the age of 12 Goldie had lived in the forest, raised by whatever wild animals took pity on her.

One day she stumbled upon the log cabin belonging to a polygamist trio of bears.

When PaPa, MaMa, and their lover Baybae came back from their date night, they found their beautiful home in shambles, their fridge raided and a small child piddling in the corner, marking her territory.

PaPa was the first to stop screaming and try to approach the child. He held out cookies, calling out to her while she shook and shivered with fear 

“Here, Goldie, Goldie, Goldie….”

The three bears continued with their usual hip and posh lives. Every night they set the dinner table with a place for Goldie. She hid behind the couch and watched closely.

By day 7 Goldie walked into the room, sat down in a chair, picked up a fork and joined her family.

The Bears watched quietly.

“Oh, look honey! She thinks she’s people….”

The Bears adopted Goldie. While she was kept more like a toy poodle than a child, Goldie loved her new clothes, consistent  supply of food, and expensive life style. While she loved all her dad’s and mom, Goldie clearly was the closest to PaPa who spoiled her often.

The Locks family were one of the first to move from the woods. Goldie’s parents believed it was best for Goldie to grow up surrounded by her culture, stating over and over “It’s the right thing to do…”

Mary and J.J’s dad had fought for weeks with the neighborIng bear family as their property touched. Shouting matches occurred daily over who owned which trees and what roots were connected to which property.

 Mary was happy to no longer live next door to Goldie.

Since the Bears were the first to sell, buildings quickly rose to the sky next to them. Cabin by cabin was replaced with steel monstrosities and belching factories.

J.J’s and Mary’s family held out the longest, but they too signed over their home and moved to the modern world.

Goldie wasn’t in public school for very long. The most expensive clothes in the world couldn’t hide that Goldie still had some serious triggers from her previous animal lifestyle. Bells would send Goldie into a frothing fit. Locker slams caused her to whimper or howl.

Goldie was now a student at the Storytime School under the label “Woman, Insane.” Her money helped her rise quickly in popularity. Girls anxiously waited at the bottom for the hand me down crumbs she scattered.

Weekly visits with the school psychiatrist Dr O’Hare helped to train Goldie. She learned new coping methods. Now at the ring of the school bell the most you saw from Goldie at her desk was a facial twitch. Yes, Goldie sure looked like a normal, popular, rich, pretty girl. Everyone knew different and chose to err on the side of caution.

Mary left the washroom, rather than continuing to stand there viewing the gaggle of make up applying girls and breathing in the fumes of hair spray flying through the air.

As she turned down the hall to class she couldn’t help but stare at the frail girl in the wheelchair, skin blue tinted, pale. Her arms hung low, her entire lower half covered by a grey blanket that had photo realistic legs pictured on the front. A bubbling noise erupted from the tank device attached to the back of the wheel chair . Tubes wound around the girl’s nose and mouth, allowing her to breath in the water on land.

A large Jamaican nurse wheeled the girl everywhere, even accompanied her to class. He was always a few inches away, ready to intervene at the sudden case of a medical emergency. A sudden cough, twitch of the hand, head or arm, sent the tall man into quick action. Having him in the school was often handy. The man acted as a on hand translator as the breathing device, the noise of the bubbles and the girl’s muffled voice accompanied by her severe exhaustion made talking quite difficult.

Mary stared too long, her gaze connected with the red head’s eyes. The large Nurse and the frail girl stared back in silence. The bubbling noise echoed down the hall.

To save herself any more humiliation, Mary hurried by, grunting a polite greeting to them both in passing.

“Hello, Sebastian. Hi iReaeL….”

As she opened the door to her first class, Mary couldn’t help but take one last look.

This was the first aquatic exchange student to enter their school. Her fascination with merpeople was only enhanced by the student addition. She could see the mermaid’s tail poking out from behind the blanket, a trail of wet drips spotted the floor creating a trail that was easy to follow. Mary noticed a fish swimming around the attached tank, seeming blissfully unaware. She pondered the advantages or disadvantages of having a fish swimming in your breathing apparatus. Or perhaps, the fish was a pet.

**********

First of all, her name wasn’t iReaeL. Every student and staff member pronounced the little mermaid’s name wrong. It wasn’t their fault, they were trying so hard to be polite and accommodating. She was the first merperson at Storytown School, it was a great honor! No, the people were not at fault for this error. They assumed her name was strange due to her sea heritage . It wasn’t. The mistake could all be traced back to her first school introduction, her nurse and his ridiculously heavy accent.

The mermaid’s presence hadn’t gone unnoticed . Rumors spread like oil across the top of the ocean. None of the information was accurate or true, just hate filled mutters of ignorant individuals.

The new addition to the signs out front was a scathing insult towards her. This knowledge didn’t slip past the mermaid. While quiet and unable to speak in large coherent sentences, this did not at all limit her intelligence. At just 14 the little mermaid had been at the top of her class. Her thoughts moved quicker than she could express herself on land.

At the discovery of merpeople, devoted religious humans quickly dove down to spread their message of Christ. Having skimmed the reading material, the mermaid had a fascination with the religious beliefs of other cultures, she knew the passage well.

 “Anything living in water that does not have fins and scales is to be regarded as unclean by you”

The little mermaid had both fins and scales. She had gills as well, but that wasn’t mentioned. The passage originally meant that if you followed the religion, you personally, could not eat shellfish.

Hate and prejudice fueled the new meaning, a dirty lie spread by Non-fiction individuals trying to prevent mixed relationships. The old belief that mermaids or mermen all were product of a human sleeping with a fish. Her mother wasn’t a fish!

 

Had her Merman father slept with fish? As The Sea King often said to his daughters’ embarrassment  “Everyone experiments in college…”

She however was a pure blooded mermaid and quite proud. Her mother had died in birth, after laying her giant egg sack, leaving The Sea King to raise his 6 daughters’ all on his own. The sign outside perpetuated a stereotype. Every ignorant person or creature who passed by and read that sign upon entering the school had this information absorbed into their brain. She wasn’t a sophisticated, smart Daughter of The Sea King here. The little mermaid was a half fish- half human unclean handicapped sea monster in their eyes, followed everywhere by a hulkingly large, unintelligible nurse.

The little mermaid couldn’t express any of these complex feelings or thoughts verbally. She had no voice on land.

*********

Age 15 was a magical year in a merperson’s life.

You were legally an adult. You could vote, have access to blowfish and other intoxicants, and as long as your 90 hours of military or community service were complete you were eligible as a land exchange student for 1 year.

The little mermaid had spent her childhood fantasizing, researching and preparing for her time on the surface. Every merperson who returned she hunted down and interviewed. She pried every piece of information from them that she could.

“It was incredible.”

“I was so popular …. Everyone wanted to be my friend.”

“Everything is so different , it was amazing.”

“It takes some adjustment – not for me through, I picked everything up quickly.”

“It’s not for the weak! You have to be prepared for danger at every turn”

There was one thing she couldn’t grasp. Why did they all return?

Since the exchange had first taken place over 60 years ago, not one 15 year old merperson had chosen to stay on the surface. They all returned to the sea.

Everyone had their reason. It sounded like an excuse to her.

Dangerous? What was more dangerous than a shark suddenly appearing on the grade school playground.

Adjustment? She was like water. Every challenge the mermaid faced she smiled through. There was no fear, just excitement and wonder.

And weak. She smiled. Her secret trips to the surface and her last incredible find hadn’t been for the faint of heart.

The little mermaid had found a beautiful treasure sunken down in the deep sand after a huge storm one night. Often after big storms she would sneak out to unoccupied areas in the deep ocean. She would scavenge, keeping track of her archeological finds.

Last one was the biggest item she had ever moved.

A large marble statute had fallen from a ship above. The white and black swirls were beautiful alone. It was the carved face that stopped her, breathless. He was beautiful, the long legs meant he was from the surface. The hair looked as though she could run her fingers through -an amazing effect in solid marble.

She had to have it for her collection.

It took the whole day. The mermaid persisted through the pain. Little by little, she pushed the statue across the sandy ocean bottom pausing only to stop and navigate a safe path or shift towards a new direction. It took hours. The shadows passed above, she could track her time and progress. Finally, the mermaid reached the cave where she hid all of her treasured items.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Well that’s it for ! I truly hope you enjoyed this short walk into the world of Fables 💗

Story Time: My Custody Battle

In VT, 57% of abusers (serious abuse, possibly spent jail time) still have visitation rights and even full or partial custody due to a ruling of “Just because they abused their partner does not mean they will abuse their kid/s”

I am all for equal parenting rights  but those numbers are insane. Imagine having to hand your children over to someone who seriously abused you for a weekend-whole week long.

Terrifying.

He was violent. He would wait for people to be out of earshot or when we were alone to whisper or say horrible, emotionally and mentally abusing things. He would do so in front of our son.

He was in the local sheriffs dept. Often he brought a weapon or asp along to exchanges and would lift his shirt towards my direction or tap the weapon and lock eyes with me.

I was told to be careful what I say around him, to not set him off or start a fight. I started bringing 1-2 people along on the weekly exchanges so I could feel safe. He did everything he could in court to prevent this. Anyone I brought along suddenly had to go through a screening process to be eligible to be at the exchange.

Every horrible dirty thing you could do, he did (bring up depression, indicated I did all types of drugs *I am 100% clean* shaved my child’s head after I payed for hair cuts, every cut somehow was a mark against my parenting even ones that occurred at daycare, he got married secretly within 5 months so his new wife could seek custody, he fought me for custody and visitations then joined the army and disappeared for a year….) It was hell.

No matter what game or dirty tactic was used, I refused to do the same. No matter how much I was angered or hurt by the false accusations, I wouldn’t do the same.

There was in fact a time I stayed silent and shouldn’t have. It is one of my only true regrets in life.

A week before we separated permanently He told me about his depression. He said he was so depressed and numb that he would put the barrel of his gun to his temple…. Pause. Then decide against the action.

I immediately advised that he see a therapist or a psychiatrist. I urged him to talk to my therapist who could possible suggest someone he could see. He walked out and we never discussed it again.

I only ever confided to one friend about this incident. She urged me to bring it up in court. After all, he was attempting to get a judge to release all of my mental health records.

I said no. I fully believe that mental illness, like physical, needs to be treated. It also shouldn’t prevent someone from a relationship with their child (the exception being if the person is a danger to others)

I did not want a moment of weakness during a state of depression to prevent him from a relationship with our child.

I was wrong. I should have said something.

He committed suicide. 

After all that. All that pain, suffering, turmoil, years dragging me through a court room, and he was the one with a substance abuse problem(if you consider marijuana a substance to be abused. I was however worried about his drinking) and serious depression.

It’s been 6 six years and I am still not fully recovered. I also have much love for him as the father of my child, but have none for our relationship as a couple or for the years in court.

Good luck to everyone and your children who may be going through a similar situation. Be strong, don’t play games or seek to hurt your ex partner and always do what’s absolutely best for the child.

Why is Paid Maternity/Paternity Leave so Important?

Some people out there don’t know about my son’s rough start.

When G was born early, I had luckily just started my maternity leave, hoping for a month to prepare.  G arrived less than a week later. What a surprise!! My health insurance had finally started, 3 days before.

I had to quit my job because we were then in and out of hospitals with him until G was 3 months old. G couldn’t breastfeed, and I had to stay near by to pump and care for him. Then, we had to go to Boston for a month for G’s open heart surgery, so G’s dad had to leave his job as well (What was he going to do, NOT be with his 3 month old who was having open heart surgery??) We ended up not going home until G was 5 months old.

So there we were, two brand new parents, no income, forced to drain our savings so we could be with our baby while he healed from his surgery. We lived in strangers houses or slept on cots in the parents wing of Boston Children’s Hospital if they weren’t filled. There was a group shower area to use, but I was usually too uncomfortable to use it without Alex, I didn’t even sleep in the woman’s section, at night I would sneak into the men’s cot area and curl up next to Alex. The McDonalds house had no openings and we couldn’t afford a hotel. 

DHMC had the Davids house which became our second home while in Lebanon NH, and they had food we could eat to save money (Chef Boyardi, soups, oatmeal and an insane amount of sweets, cakes and cookies donated from a local BJ Wholesale)

We lived off of food donations to the parents section at the hospital. We spent our days wandering the vast hospitals halls and wings or cuddling with G on a chair and watching hours of tv in between check ins with doctors and nurses.

This is not any easy life. Parents who put their entire lives on pause for the health of their children, they are out there. New ones every day. It is terrifying, lonely, exhausting and amplifies anxieties. The added stress of less or suddenly no income is just the match that lights the dynamite.

Paid maternity/paternity leave is extremely important and would have made a HUGE difference in our lives. This would make a difference in lives across the United States. Now is the time to catch up with all the countries that are so far ahead of us when it comes to the treatment of its citizens. Lets take care of our people who are in need and not discard them during their struggle.

It’s a dark, scary world out there. We will only survive if we all stick together.

Why Mila Kunis Telling Ashton Off Was a War Cry For Parents Everywhere

Today during my usual morning Facebook perusing I read the following article from the Huffington Post.

Click the link below to read the article

Ashton Kutcher Is Learning He Shouldn’t Reward Himself For Basic Parenting Stuff  
Mila Kunis whooping Ashton’s ass about parenting was a war cry for every parent out there struggling through those issues with their co-parent( or lack of) and those who continue to remain silent.

 Many out there fear having this conversation with their partner. 

The article struck a chord with me personally.

 Perhaps I resonate with Mila; I am also a tiny fiery dark haired woman. Perhaps its her intelligence and willingness to speak her mind on such things that should be common knowledge. Both intelligence and common knowledge seem to be lacking lately in the world.

I made the following comment on the Huffington Post article. It seems that many out there have a similar story to mine, or relate to the timidness during hard times, a choice to keep peace rather than fix an issue.

Below is the comment in full:

“Dude, its actually a big deal. Like it shouldn’t be as big a deal and is a huge part of parenting.

I used to wake every 2 hours every night to pump milk for my disabled baby who couldn’t get a latch with breastfeeding due to complications and had to use a haborman feeder.

 Often my baby would wake up right after I was finished pumping and my son’s dad expected me to also do those midnight feedings because hey why not, you happened to be already up.

I fell for it for a while. I then noticed a huge difference in the way my mother in law approached my sons dad when he woke with the baby compared to when I woke up with the baby.

If he actually got up with the baby and left the room to head downstairs, Mother in law was up in seconds to relieve him of the baby and he would crawl back into bed. If I woke up with the baby, the entire house was silent and I was left to handle it all by myself. Mind you, his family is very old fashion and truly believes that moms are supposed to raise the children and care for the entire house as well as all cooking and chores. Having a kiddo with serious disabilities and multiple surgeries, daily physical therapy etc, it takes a huge toll on you. 

Between being a nurse for my son during the day, very little sleep at night and a partner who believed that once he was home from work (he guarded a metal detector while sitting on a chair for a few hours) that clearly he needed a break from the baby and needed to go play video games and hey, why didn’t I get all the house work, laundry or dishes done while he was gone? I mean, its just a baby.

As I am sure you can tell, this relationship ended after a few years.

 Having a partner who is actually willing to be a second parent is a huge deal and needs to be normalized. I was shocked hearing from friends who’s co-parents or husbands would let them sleep through the night because being home with a child all day is exhausting and its extremely hard to accomplish full complete tasks while handling a fussy baby. People who come home from hard work, or from a grocery shop, errands etc and understand that their time away was a break from the baby and now its their turn are absolutely amazing 💖

Lets normalize that behavior.”

I Dated a Schizophrenic

I dated a friend who was diagnosed as a schizopath. 

I did not know this until 3 months in and even then he told me he was a diagnosed schizophrenic but that he wasn’t really, he was being gang-stalked for being the grandson of Whitey Bulger. 

Then Aliens started communicating with him along with his ancient Viking “blood relative” who referred to himself as Redbeard.
Within a year I knew I needed to get out of the relationship, because he was never going to get better if I was still in his life. 

It took 4 years and a restraining order after a violent outburst to get him to leave.

I hope he is getting better and is doing well. I hope he has stopped using his medications incorrectly and stopped using various drugs. 

I hope he is treating his wonderful, amazing parents the way he should be treating them. I hope he is being honest with his therapist and psychiatrist.

 I hope that his mental illness is never a badge that prevents him from doing great things and having a career.

I also hope he is as far away from me as possible.

How I Lost 80lbs Without Dieting

Being more active. Seriously. That is it. No miracle diet, not staying away from gluten or fatty foods. No crazy surgery or stomach stapling.

All I did was be honest with myself and seek help from a competent physician.

There is absolutely no secret to weightloss. I was someone who spent years battling weight gain with every possible diet plan or program from Atkins to Weight Watchers. I popped more brands of diet pills than I can name. I watched every calorie and fat content that entered my body.

Yet I still couldn’t lose that weight.

Finally, I found an endocrinologist who listened to me. After blood work, I discovered that I not only had a thyroid disorder but poly cyctic ovarian syndrome, which causes a band of weight around the stomach that just wont leave. With the help of the correct medications and an increase in activity the weight finally started to come off, almost like magic.

I moved to a home off the grid. Walking down and up our insane hill that the show the Biggest Loser could use as a challenge was hard. Very hard. Swearing under your breath and cursing every damn thing within eyesight hard. It still feels impossible every time I climb it and yet I still make it to the top, exhausted every time.

Lugging and chopping wood helped increase my activity level as well. Try lifting a container of 8+ logs of wood 4 times a day and you will see a difference!

I went to a physical therapist and learned stretches and exercises that targeted the areas on my body that needed more help. Any time I find myself doing absolutely nothing I do one or two of these stretches.

I noticed certain foods caused my body to be more swollen and puffy looking. I learned to stay away from soda and fast foods or to throw in an extra work out if I indulged. I also learned that indulging in correct portions of those foatty or sugary foods I craved is ok as long as I kept up with my exercise routine. Eat two oreos and put the package away. Buy a smaller bag of chips so you aren’t tempted to eat it all in one sitting.

I became stronger, happier, was in less pain and went from having type 2 diabetes to not being even pre-diabetic. I loved my body, no matter the weight, instead of the hatred I had felt since my teen years.

The whole experience was life changing.

For those of you reading this, looking for a miracle. I will leave you with this.

Be honest with yourself. Do you eat as well as you should? Do you go for a second, third or even fourth helping? Food was never my issue and it took a long time to find a doctor who (doctor who, hehe) would listen to what i was sayong and believe me when I told them I ate healthily. 

If the portions and type of foods you eat are healthy and you still can’t lose that weight, increase your activity levels. Again, be honest with yourself. Are you active enough or are you more of a couch potato? Its ok to be a potato but try keeping some hand weights next to where you watch TV. At every commercial, see how many crunches, squats, or reps you can do before the show comes back on. Don’t eat snacks while you view your shows, instead lift those weights and see if there is a difference.

If you’re eating healthy and remaining active and STILL can’t shed the pounds, please go to your physician and discuss this. If your doctor doesnt listen, find someone who will. Don’t give up until you have someone who listens to you. You and only you are your best advocate. Part of loving yourself is using your voice and seeking the medical help that your body needs to be in the best condition it can be.

Love yourself, love your body and every inch and pound. You will lose that weight. Just be honest with yourself.

Cutting Those Cords

One of my biggest struggles in life – Helping out everyone and anyone I can and eventually getting seriously fucked over. It is way past time for me to realize that there aren’t too many like me out there – The people who put themselves second, the people who are struggling to make ends meat and still donate, clothe and feed the homeless, broken and wounded.

I once had a guy friend who told me one of my bigger faults is seeing the beauty and love in everything and immediately trying to help – “and that’s why you get screwed over” he said, blowing smoke from his mouth.
Many years later this “friend” would lie on the witness stand in an attempt to help my ex win custody of our son instead of splitting custody. My ex who then passed away suddenly, but I digress. The entire situation was eye opening and taught me to be much more on guard.

When you live on a path of magic, you forget that others out there don’t feel the same. They don’t care about helping those in  need and only reward themselves or those who they feel are “deserving”

Heck, one of my biggest struggles with the witchcraft community is the mass of fake practitioners – They don’t care about making the world a better place. They don’t care to help those who are in dire need. They only do magic to make their own lives better and usually don’t think twice about using magic as a weapon instead of a tool. Just because someone walks the path of the witch does not mean they actually care about any living thing but themselves.

The hardest person in my life to seperate from was always my mother.  Between, the abuse, the insults, the irrational behaviors – I always desperately clung to the hope of having some sort of connection. I tried music, films,  even approached from an angle of her interests, not mine. No such luck.

There was however one common ground – My mother spent hundreds of dollars on psychics, tarot readers, people who took photos of your eyes up close to see your future (I got a nifty photo of my eyeball out of the experience)
pet psychics, purchasing spells from online wiccans, even aura cleansers who would unblock your every obstacle for the low price of $400 an hour.

I would open my mother’s closet and find male and female candles covered in oils, or jar candles with photos of Tarot cards on the outside.

“Mom, why are practicing witchcraft?”

She would look shocked and disgusted at me, stammer about how this isn’t magic – her tarot reader or psychic guide had advised this!

I held onto that hope that this was our connection.
As I grew up and started reading cards professionally some of my mom’s psychic guides started to do exchanges with me. They were clearly impressed but I couldn’t win my mother over with my skills or knowledge. Some went on to ask to take me under their wing, but I didn’t feel ready.

Then I learned yet another hard lesson –
Just because someone walks a similar path as you (In my case, Witchcraft) does not mean they have the same goals, opinions, ethics, or understanding.

I have always been a solo practicing witch. I use magic to help those around me who ask or are in need. I put clauses (Seriously, if you are a practicing witch and have yet to add a “clause” to your magic- HIGHLY recommend) in spells that would make them inactive if it would have caused harm to a friend, family or loved one in any way because I absolutely don’t want to bring any more pain into this world, and all those tiny threads connect in bizarre and often unseen ways. I do the same type of clause in my protection spells so they aren’t suddenly set off or activated on the wrong person. And when they go off on the right people, (anyone purposely sending harm towards me, my family, animals and loved ones) BAM – Instant. You’re fucked, and most likely three times worse.

So, I think it’s time for me to go back to my magic, which while solitary, always leads me where I am needed and away from those who are dangerous for me to be around.
We all have unhealthy relationships or connection s in our lives. You, who have taken the moment to read this, also have people in your lives – those connections you absolutely need to sever- should have severed years ago, please do. Lift that weight from your shoulders and cut your chains. Stop seeking or expecting approval, love, affection, kindness from people who don’t deserve you.

Yesterday, I did something that has been brewing for 30 years. I finally severed the cord with my mother. I made it clear that if she had nothing helpful or kind to say or do, she could stay away permanently. It was hard, it was exhausting. It needed to be done.

I will leave you with one of the absolutely most important rules in Witchcraft –

“An it harm NONE – Do what ye will”
Most witches see this as golden ticket, an opportunity to do whatever they want as long as they aren’t “harming”

I view it differently. I see it as a path – a life where in every action you take, you do your absolute best to not cause pain, to not cause harm and misery. To not torment or hate, including yourself. Take a moment and pause before your actions. Go through a list in your head – Will this action/spoken or thought words/ or hell even taking the “passive” stay out of it stance hurt someone or something around me?
Will it help make things for someone, something, or the world better?
Really visualize those scales in your head, see and feel those cords and connections and see where it leads. And then, decide.

My Mom Hates Steve Buscemi

Hate may be too strong of a word. But there has always been a certain dislike.
I have always been a fan. From the smaller roles like in Big Daddy or one of my absolute favorites, Ghost World, Steve Buscemi absolutely has talent. The work he did after thr twin towers fell was incredibly selfless and brave. My mom however, does not feel the same.

Growing up, any time Steve appeared on screen, my mom would make a small *tsk* noise or say “Oh look, its Steve”
She seemed to avoid movies he was in and complain whenever I brought him up.
Then once I made an absolute horrible mistake. A few years after my parents divorce I absidmindely said
“Hey mom, have ever noticed that dad looks like Steve Buscemi in a Weird Al Yankovic wig and glasses?”
She exploded.

My mom has always been a very independant woman. While our relationship is complex -at best, I wouldn’t be the strong woman that I am today if I hadn’t learned from her.  She taught me how to handle customer service representatives in a way that I have never seen elsewhere. She is that person who will keep argueing until she absolutely gets what she needs. My mom will reward amazing service and argue to the death when given poor service.
Whenever she is challenged by a male authority figure she always says the same phrase,
“He was an ass!”
My mom taught me all of my sales skills. She used to take me on the road with her when I was young, and I got to see her sell all types of natural products, suppliments, and vitamins. I got to see all of new england and some other states as well if she was flying somewhere. Her territory has always been large and her independance shines through. It was also some of the only time we could spend together as she was often gone for a week or more at a time.

My mother grew up in New York and majored in Opera with a minor in Guitar. She always encourage my sister and I when it came to music, theater or art in my sisters case.
Quite a few of my moms high school and college friends went on to be in the entertainment industry. She always told us about a friend who was in the movie Into Thin Air and another who around last year has produced a show about making wedding dresses on TLC (I tend to ignore that reality stuff but my mom was thrilled)

So last year when I was talking about Steve Buscemi and his work on Portlandia, I heard words come out of her mouth that I had never heard before “I went to Highschool with Steve. I was two years below him…”
I was floored! I had so many questions. Why hadn’t this EVER come up in the last 29 years?
“Wow, what was he like?”

‘He was an ass.”

Animal Enthusiast

A sure fire way to get a quick reaction out of me is to utter the words “cat lady” in my general direction. The word “crazy” I don’t mind so much, as the best people in this world tend to be slightly off their rocker.
Often I will holler back “Animal Enthusiast!” I adore animals. But a crazy cat lady? Fuck no.

I understand the confusion, as the number of cats in the house does out number the people. (Two. There are two people)

However to be a quote crazy cat person, the assumption is that the human likes cats. I absolutely am not a cat person.
I do adore my cats, like people who love and tolerate their children but cannot stand any others.
My favorite pet will always be a dog.  Lots of cats however have wandered in to my life and I begrudgingly give them care, food and shelter until we find a new home or they somehow join the ranks. We do this with all types of animals, but cats seem to be the most common in need.

Until recently I had completely forgotten that I disliked cats most of my childhood. What sturred up old feelings of cat dislike?

Remington Steel.

Remy the cat showed up at our door a few months back. Through coyotes, bears, and a super mean pack of turkeys, she found her way on our back porch one full moon. The poor grey blue cat was a skeleton. I honestly thought she may not make it through the night. Remy was thankful, purring loudly between and during bites of food.
We posted photos and ads around, but no one claimed her. Soon we realized why. Remington Steel was absolutely pregnant.

Many months have passed, and we have found homes for all but two of the kittens (twin females) and still no home for Remy.  She has gained weight, is a beautiful grey blue with a silver mouth and yellow/green eyes. She also has resting bitch-face.

While Remy is an absolute sweetheart who loves to cuddle and is great with other animals she also has seriously bad manners when it comes to food. Remy is a food stealer, possibly the worst I have seen. She is food obsessed and will focus on nothing food until there is none. Then she moves on to the dogs food, the pantry, the garbage and even climbs into the sink.
From day one we have made it clear that stealing, jumping on the counters, knocking plates over, is completely unacceptable behavior. I have sprayed this cat with a squirt bottle so many times in one meal that she looked like she had been bathed. I also accidently taught Remy to sit on command which shows me she is smart along with being food driven.

I do know that somewhere out there is the perfect home for Remy, maybe someone looking for a mouser (she has caught 4 and a chipmunk who ran inside) who is great with dogs and other cats. Remy is sweet but needs an owner willing to work on her food obsession. She is smart, and made great strides but still has farther to go.

Adopt, don’t shop.

Animal Enthusiasts unite

Dogs are Rare in Canada: RIP Alex C. Raymond

Tomorrow is the 5th year anniversary of the death of Gabe’s father and my ex fiancee Alex C. Raymond. This seems impossible, and even speaking about it, I feel almost the same as when I first heard. How can this be true? There is always this little part of me that expects him to suddenly jump out in front of me because this has been some long running joke. Because that was his sense of humor.
While I don’t believe I can write up a full blog post in his honor, as this loss, this wound is still just as fresh as the first time. Instead of continuing the focus on his loss, I am going to instead tell my favorite story about Alex.

Alex was the kind of person that you didn’t notice until you noticed him. While he always blended in, his height was hard to miss, at 6’3″. Alex also had a full beard from a young age. If he didn’t shave, he looked like an adult male, at just 18. When we first met, Alex was finishing highschool 6 months early. He had been walking down a hallway he took every single day when a security guard Alex had passed every single day for 5 months suddenly stopped him, frisked him and questioned why Alex was in the building. But Alex didn’t have his student ID on him.

It took two students and a teacher to convince the guard that Alex was a student and not some armed assailant
When he got home that night, Alex was furious. How could someone he had passed multiple times a day not have ever noticed him before?
We talked and to distract him we started talking about a favorite pastime of his, messing with people.

Alex did it all the time, in fact we sort of bonded over our stories. Like I said, this is about my favorite Alex story.

Once, Alex was sitting in the middle of English class when an obnoxious student sitting behind him wouldn’t stop insulting Canada. Alex, born and raised Canadian with duel citizenship decided he needed to step in and defend his mother country.
Alex told the kid the knock it off, that he lived in Canada until he was 13.
“Really?” The kid asked. ” Is it true that Canadians don’t have dogs?”

Alex stopped. This person was an imbecile. But he knew he could have fun with it.

“Oh,Yeah.” He said casually. “Completely, dogs are rare in Canada.”

“Seriously?!?” The kid had a glint in eyes. “So if I took a bunch of puppies there, I could sell them?”
“For thousands.” Alex said” But remember, you have to smuggle them in at the border. Because you can’t bring outside dogs without permit, but thats”  Alex tapped his nose with his finger

“Yeah,” the other kid said, amazed.

I have no idea if this mystery teen ever tried puppy smuggling but Alex just saying “Dogs are rare in Canada” used to send me into fits of giggling.

I miss you Alex, and think about you daily.

In his honor, here is a link to my post about Veteran Suicide.

https://adayinthelife42.wordpress.com/2016/04/18/help-your-veterans/