A Swan Sitting in the Mud

Remarkable thing I saw this morning. A snow white swan sitting in the mud. The marshland in which she sat would normally be flooded with water. But today, this morning at 8:30 must have been low tide. Miss Swan must have decided not to be deterred by a lack of water and perched her pristine butt in the mud. I could not help but think how apt an image she presented. Sometimes you just don't give a shit, you just wanna sit down.

Speaking of kickass women, I've been reading a book titled Mama Gena's Marriage Manual: Stop Being a Good Wife, Start Being a Sister Goddess. The author, aka Regena Thomashauer offers a refreshing take on relationships. It's not all about HIM. It's about you. So be the happiest, sexiest, most fulfilled woman you can be and your relationship will thrive. Here's a quote from the publisher:

So, you found yourself a man. You owned him, you operated him, you dragged him back to your cave and married him -- and now you can't remember why you wanted him! Not to fear, because celebrated relationship expert Regena Thomashauer has returned, ready to turn the walking, talking, care-taking coma that is your marriage into a hot, juicy celebration of love and life.

One of the recommended steps in the Manual is to meet regularly with a group of women to conduct a Sister Goddess Date. Which is, as you might guess a gathering of femmes for no other reason than to celebrate each other. Happily taking this advice, a group of friends have set our first Sister Goddess Date, during Easter, no less! Should be a hoot.

10 Reasons why Witchy Friends are Helpful

1. They know you need them before you do.
2. They send you healing Reiki energy from 2 towns away.
3. They recite the history of fairies and remind you that traffic jams are not always a bad thing.
4. They remind you that your mother was a rainbow and your father was a thunderstorm.
5. They send you luscious long articles about Owl lore after you discover an Owl is one of your totem animals.
6. They give you green candles and a bagful of crystals for no reason at all.
7. They see your shadow and do not flinch.
8. They make spinach scallion dip in a pumpernickel bowl that is the essence of earth herself.
9. They smuggle a baby statute of Ganesh into your pocket for good luck.
10. They remind you that even a raging forest fire and the tempestuous ocean have to rest some time.

New Moon in Pisces Solar Eclipse

If that sounds like one hell of a title then it is. Awareness of this cosmic event began last week when I received a lovely missive from my friend Kat. After an emotionally confusing weekend I decided to hunt down clues to the ambiguously withdrawn state I was feeling. Luckily I found a fabulous website called Mooncircles that laid out this solar eclipse with gorgeous analogy and symbology. Simone Butler offers that this new moon in Pisces offers an opportunity to engage with our dark shadow selves. We are posed with the magnificent dilemma of "giving birth to either our dreams OR nightmares". Janet Kane suggests that the new moon could be a "powerful indicator that what’s no longer useful may disappear from your life." And to that end, manifest what you would like to create in the next 6 months. Do check out Mooncircles. You'll not find a more illuminating site on moon cycles anywhere.

The Last Friday in Winter

Random thoughts on the last Friday in winter. And boy oh boy - winter just won't let go! Much of the Northern tier of the US has been hit by a winter storm. That's right, sleet, snow, freezing rain. A wintery mix, 3 days prior to the Vernal Equinox, otherwise known as Spring. NOAA notifies us that the winter of 2007 has been the warmest winter on record since 1880. "Contributing factors were the long-term trend toward warmer temperatures, as well as a moderate El Nino in the Pacific," said Jay Lawrimore of NOAA's National Climatic Data Center. The 10 warmest years on record have occurred since 1995. Ah, the sweet revenge of Al Gore.

One of the easiest indicators to me of the severity of a winter day has become the ritual visit to the soup cart guy. He's stationed on Montgomery Avenue in downtown Jersey City, down the block from the Path station. On severe (sub zero degrees, winter storms, gale force winds) weather days, he's not there. On decent days, his cart, surrounded by a green canvas on which "SOUP" is stamped braves the elements. He's a customer service guy - remembers the way you like your soup: Half Lentil, half Split Pea with 2 hot sauces on the side, no roll. He has a middle eastern accent that would be considered charming - pre 911. He's made my lunch an anticipated event, despite the tirgid winter. I wonder if he'll offer gelato come May?

I found a slew of material from my favorite new satire writer - Andy Borowitz, of Newsweek. In Satan’s Endorsement the Prince of Darkness proclaims “Not only am I not supporting Newt, I am giving his soul back.” In An Oscar for Bush the Supreme Court hands Al Gore a stunning reversal, stripping him of his Oscar and awarding it to President George W. Bush. “It is true that Al Gore has done a lot of talking about global warming,” wrote Justice Antonin Scalia, writing for the majority. “But President Bush has actually helped create global warming.”

Beautiful.

The Dumbest Town in New Jersey

Bloomfield, NJ. A suburban town on the fringes of a more affluent and sexier town called Montclair offered no great claim to fame. Other than the least crowded iHop in the world. That is until now. Suddenly Bloomfield is flooding the news, all because this town was selected to be the location of the final scene (and by final they mean the last scene until they resusitate enough energy to shoot more episodes) of the Sopranos. That is until the never-before-encountered residents of Bloomfield threw back their heads and gave an almighty roar. No Italian-American defamation in our town, dammit! Seriously, the mayor's wife doesn't approve of the the negative portrayal of Italians in Sopranos and convinced her hubby to nix the deal and the notariety such distinction would bring to this obscure burg.

Meanwhile, the owners of Holstens, an ice cream parlor and confectionary can't be happy. While they have been happily feeding old fashioned ice cream Jerseyites for over 50 years just imagine the publicity the Sopranos would generate. But apparently the sun never goes down on the Sopranos. While the town has handed over 2 verdicts (first a yes, then a vehement no to the filming) the final say might yet be a yea. Apparently the Town Clerk, Louise Palagano says the show must go on. Meanwhile one can well imagine the heavy eye rolling in the Soprano camp. I wouldn't be surprised to see the final episode shot at Baskin Robbins.

Precious Daylight

Much fuss is being made over the upcoming early daylight savings shift impending this weekend. The basis of fiddling with nature's timetable appears noble - to conserve energy and maximize sunlight. But even the Department of Energy, who has been tracking daylight savings for decades admits the conservation is minimal.

What I find even more intriguing is the infinitesimal increase of sunlight throughout the winter days. I actually make a study of this as I commute back home on the NJ Transit. The month of February was downright depressing. The sun set just after 5:00 pm. Which meant as soon as one finished work and went about the commute home, the sun was gone. I tracked the sun devotedly, using my train schedule as a guideline. If I caught the 5:25 train I could catch the last filtered rays of sun as they flitted over the horizon. With each day we gain one minute of sunlight. So by the end of February, we actually could ride the train home to the glorious rays of a New Jersey sunset. And yes they are glorious, don't you know about the effect pollution has on the atmosphere?

But on March 11th, as we spring forward one hour we gain an earlier sunrise and yes, one extra hour of sunset viewing. Happy sunning.

The 23rd Psalm

David Plotz has finally reached the book of Psalms in his Slate series - Blogging the Bible . Plotz's treatment of Psalms author David is both hilarious and aggravating. Plotz charts the book chapter by chapter so you get a thorough litany of David's self obsession. "How long, O Lord; Will You ignore me forever?"..."My God, my God, why have You abandoned me?"..."O Lord, do not punish me in anger".

Of course it's hard to find fault with the 23rd Psalm as it's one of the most perfectly crafted poems of all time. But I do have a beef with it. Not with its composition but with it's use in modern media - namely rap music. Imagine my sputtering offense when I heard Enimen attributed with the pastoral poem. Wha? Who? Just because Marshall uses the sublime line - "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" does it by any means warrant him credit. So for all of you mistakenly fostering that silly thought - banish it immediately. David, King of Israel, poet and slayer of giants penned that beauty some 2000 years back. Like much of hip hop, Eminem just sampled the good stuff and fed it back, albeit with a swaggering beat.

The Destination Wedding

After 4 decades the time has finally arrived to plan for my wedding. You 20 somethings will be cringing with distaste thinking "it took her that long?" You 30 somethings will be groaning - wondering "shit, will it take me that long?" Well phooey to all of you. Yes it did take me this long to find my partner and companion. And yes, it was worth the wait. Given the lateness of my forthcoming nuptials neither my brothed nor I wanted any ordinary wedding. Something unique, fun and beautiful, preferrably on the beach. Given the extent of my family relations - somewhere between one to two thousand, we decided on a destination wedding. That way only close friends and family who really WANTED to be there would come.

So then the fun of deciding on a destination. We tried the Bahamas but the thought of conducting a wedding on Island time (read: slower than molasses) proved a deterrent. Recalling a lovely trip to Puerto Rico 10 years previously, we decided to give it a whirl. Boy was I nervous. I checked and double checked. I made a multitude of phone calls to verify, to confirm, to ease my stressed mind. All this for a pre-trial you ask? Not at all. All this stress because we were flying with our dog for the first time. I know all you parents are rolling your eyes. Yeah, whatEVER. You can always calm your children with a few soothing words or a quick slap (just kidding). What's to calm my high strung Jack Russell as he's caged in his TSA approved carry-on. What's to keep his ultra smart mind amused as we coast 30,000 miles above the earth watching the Queen? Luckily, my fiance stepped up the plate and soothed Duke when he scrabbled inside his doggy prison. (See, I told you he was worth waiting for.) He even slipped his hand inside the carrier to pet the shivering little guy when the engines roared into life.

Finally the plane reached its destination and picking up our rental car, we were off to the west coast of Puerto Rico. Aguadilla - known to us gringos as prosaic 'water garden' was the location of our resort. While the town itself is rather uninspiring -think the Bronx with wider streets and less gunfire - the resort turned out to be a gem. Literally nestled on the northwestern most tip of Puerto Rico Villa Montana is stunning. A security gate manned by a senor wearing a military type uniform and beret, not to mention that he looked like Fidel Castro's much younger brother, checked us on his important looking clipboard. We noted with approval that he kept the unsavory types out. However he was not able to deter a trio of Iguanas from regally entering the property. A profusion of Bouganvilla, crimson, fushia, saffron grew everywhere. Palm trees, coconut trees, mango trees! grew lushly on the grounds. Hedges of hibiscus, multi colored coleus, creeping jasmines and other scented shrubs I could not identify prospered. While our room was cute in the forbidding somber style of a Spanish monastery, the king sized bed was opulently linened and promised Duke ample space to roll on his back.

The people were friendly, the adult pool looked like a Miami club, but our sights were set on the ocean. The first view of the Atlantic ocean as it hit this coast was of thundering waves 200 yards deep into the ocean. Holy smokes! We tested the temperature with toes, while Duke plunged unhesitatingly into the foamy edges. Sublime. Like bath water, if you like your baths stingingly salty. We romp in waves barely up to our waists cause they're so dang strong. Duke digs a hole the size of a satellite dish and buries his tennis ball. The two resort dogs - Blackie and Scruffy come over to say hello. They sniff and speak amongst themselves as Thomas and I sip Margaritas. I'm not sure if they're extra salty from Puerto Rican salt or from my ocean kissed lips.

We dine at an outdoor restaurant overlooking the ocean. Swanky, sultry music plays from outdoor speakers, a changing wind cools our hot faces but can't deter the mosquitos from feasting on my legs. We eat the best tuna sashimi we've ever tasted. I exchange masala recipes with the chef, who is working one-handed due to an accident. Candles light the very agreeable setting and I can't help but think - this beats a wedding in a Jersey hall anyday. The next day the owner insists we bring Duke to meet her. She affectionately calls him a cow and murmurs to him in Spanish. He bends his head to listen.

I think we've found our wedding destination.