I've watched with a jaundiced eye as the media has scrambled to make sure that we are all awash in the sordid details of high profile monogamous marriages gone terribly wrong. Through the powers of a media machine that lives and breathes through a 24/7 news cycle, we've been privy to the messy details of the drama between Tiger Woods and his wife, Elin Nordgren. Likewise, most recently, we've been treated to the sad story of Oscar winning actress, Sandra Bullock, her husband, Jesse James and his tattooed porn star mistress. Part of me is inclined to shrug it off with a slightly irritated, "and we care because?" On the other hand, I think there is something to be learned in these high profile relationship trainwrecks -- a bit of information about the way we think about and conceive of love and committment in this culture.
What strikes me about these two broken marriages is that they act as signposts, pointing to our culturally normative, idealized fantasy of monogamous, forever, 'til death do us part matrimony. Here we have beautiful people with all the advantages and privilege that are conferred on the wealthy and attractive in our society -- and their apparently storybook romances seemingly cannot survive in spite of all of that. There are probably dozens of sociological ways to study and analyze these marital disasters, but here's the thing that occurs to me just now...
We, and by "we" I mean women, marry for a lot of reasons. We make a whole bunch of assumptions and we invest in lots and lots of intellectual and emotional bargains (many of them unspoken) for all the things that we hope will come to us as a result of the promises we make. Perhaps the most essential, most intrinsic thing of value that women expect to gain from their monogamous marriages is the belief that they will be held as "special" within this relationship. Wives trust that, within the context of their marriage relationship, there will be a reserved and private space shared only by two. There will be a line between the "outside" world and the inner world occupied by two lovers become husband and wife. The husband is, conceptually, property of the marriage and of his wife, even as she becomes "his." What they create between them, in intimate terms, is considered to be unique to them and not to be shared beyond the bounds of their couple-ness.
That belief in being special, being unique, having access that is denied to everyone else is so foundational to our view of traditional marriage that it becomes impossible for most women/wives to even contemplate the possibility that a good husband might become involved outside that dyadic limit. If it happens, it is unbelievably, almost insurmountably destructive. The whole sugar-candy construct crumbles, and there is simply no way forward out of the morass of shame and betrayal and anger and hurt.
It is part of what makes it so difficult for many if not most to comprehend those who live polyamorously. To be poly, one must, from the outset, give up the notion of being special, unique, or of some sort of singular value. For poly lovers, there is nothing that necessarily or definitively belongs only to the pair of lovers. Everything is open once the relational boundary becomes open. Lovers, because they love one another, might "take care" of one another and act respectfully with regard to crossing lines and protecting sensibilities. It is the polite and grown up way to manage these things, after all. So, there might be some sort of negotiated courtesies that partners agree to -- "don't bring your lover into our bed," for example, but there are no rock bottom assumptions or guarantees.
Coming face to face with that blunt reality is enough to give most people pause. Over and over again, I've had other women tell me that they couldn't/wouldn't share their partner in this fashion -- and I understand. It isn't the sharing, really. We mostly learn to share nicely by the time we are in grade school, and the vast majority of reasonable people can share just fine in other areas of their life. Too, none of us who've ever parented more than one child really believes that it is impossible to love more than one person simultaneously. What causes us to come smack up against our own personal "NO," with regard to poly is that realization that we can't BE POLY and BE SPECIAL. As critical as it seems to be for those rich and famous folks to feel special, and unique in their relationships; it is even more essential for most of the merely mortal, regular gals among us (those of us who have our wrinkles and deficiencies) to have the assurance that we really are IT.
I see the notion of polyamory gaining ground, especially among young, hip, avant garde adventurers in their 20's and 30's. It is the newest, hottest thing to be "into" poly; creating vast, complicated webs of tangled up relatedness that has people swapping partners in just about every conceivable configuration. Some seem to believe that the trend is toward wider social acceptance of poly relatedness -- driven by the sheer numbers. I am not entirely convinced. Those young, randy trend setters will have to deal with growing up and living life and aging, and I wonder if, as time takes it toll, some significant number of them will find it more than just a bit challenging to keep on being just one among many... nothing special, no more cherished or valued than anyone else.
swan
3/31/2010
3/29/2010
A Submissive is??????
My friend, morningstar, has recently ended a nine-year-long relationship that was founded in an expression of Dominance and submission. That ending is painful, and there is much to be resolved from an emotional perspective. For those of us who knew and cared about morningstar and W as a D/s couple, it is hard to know how to react, and what to do to support friends in such a difficult passarge. It seems to me that it might be entirely normal, after such a life-changing upheaval, to ask questions about what happened; what was good, and what was not; what might have been done differently... And so, today, my friend is asking "what is a submissive?" and questioning her own nature in regard to that question.
I considered putting a comment on her blog in response to her question. She's gotten some really good reactions from her readers, but as I thought about what to say, I found that I had a whole jumble/tumble of thoughts that would not behave themselves well enough to make a reasonable comment. So, here I am -- about to ramble on in my own space...
I think, that when one contemplates the question of what it might mean to be "submissive" in the sense that we mean it within the lifestyle, that it is important to distinguish between a submissive and a masochist. Sometimes we use those two descriptors as if they are synonymous, and I don't believe that they are.
Masochism, like its sexual/erotic counterpart, sadism, is an orientation. Like being straight or gay, being a sadist or a masochist is part of how we are wired as sexual beings. For those of us who identify as "masochistic," there is no "choosing" to be this way. It is what we are sexually. Even if we enjoy other types of sexual expression, there will forever be a drive toward masochism that is intrinsic in our very natures. The same is true for those who manifest their sexuality through sadism.
On the other hand, the tendency to be most comfortable in the role of the submissive partner is about a relationship dynamic. Those of us who relate to our partners as submissive, are quite often very strong and capable, and may interact in the outside world in a fashion that is anything but submissive. That is true, certainly, for me as I manage and absolutely control my classroom environment, and I know there are plenty of other submissive women who live their working lives in full and easy control of situations that require them to be strong and independent and decisive -- and all of those other things that seem so much in opposition to what we would consider submissive.
Submission happens in relationship to another. Those of us who are inclined toward relational submission are most comfortable and most fulfilled when we are in close intimate relationship to someone who has the strength to control us, to meet our own power with theirs, to care for and protect and shelter us. We can live our lives without that dynamic, and be happy and successful, and good, but we achieve the heights of relational joy and satisfaction when we are lucky enough to find a partner that is strong enough to truly BE our Dominant match.
In that respect, we are not so very different from our more vanilla counterparts. Each one of us has an opposite number that pairs up neatly with what it is that we need to be fully who we are. That pairing, when it happens, gives us that almost indescribable sense of being "in the right place, with the right person." Of course, when the pairing is not a good fit, there are places that chafe and irritate, and we never manage to settle into the comfortable and safe place that fulfills us and our partners.
I once worked with a body worker that often spoke to the secrets that we keep and the bargains that we make as we form relationships. As I was in a very uncomfortable relational match at that time, she was prone to poke at me on a regular basis about what I was "not telling." What, she would wonder on a regular basis, were the secrets of the life I was so determinedly leading. What truths had I not told her? More importantly, what were the secrets that I would not even tell myself? I did, in time, come to know what was and was not true about that very long marriage. I did, finally, understand and acknowledge the places where it was not at fit -- not a fit for me, and not a fit for him. Knowing that truth made it possible to release him and free myself to seek something better.
Escaping from that bad marriage was a very good thing, but, especially in the beginning days, I experienced a great deal of uncertainty. I'd been "wife" for such a very, very long time. If I wasn't "wife" anymore, then what was I? Where did I fit, and where did I belong? I hated the label "divorcee." I didn't know what that really meant in terms of my own personhood, and it simply was a name I couldn't feel belonged to me. I wasted a good bit of valuable time, looking back and wondering what might have been, what could have been, what did I do wrong, what did he do wrong -- what the heck had happened to all the dreams I once had about "us?"
That questioning; that looking back; that evaluation of what has been seems necessary and appropriate to the work of ending and uncoupling from a long relationship. We have to pass through all of those "what if's" if we are to come to a clear understanding of where we've traveled to this point, and chart a reliable way forward.
There were those who commented on this question at morningstar's blog, who spoke to the reality that we quite often get caught up in trying to "keep up with one another" out here in the blogosphere...
Morningstar is wondering about her various responses and reactions and choices made over all the years of her relationship. She is wonering if she "did it right;" or "did it well enough?" It is an exercise that is part of the process of disentangling the snarls of almost a decade of relationship, and I am confident that she'll sort it all out, but my heart aches for the struggle and the pain of asking those bitter and probing questions.
However she resolves the questions with which she's wrestling right now, I know that I will learn from her -- lessons about being strong and brave and persistent and truthful.
swan
I considered putting a comment on her blog in response to her question. She's gotten some really good reactions from her readers, but as I thought about what to say, I found that I had a whole jumble/tumble of thoughts that would not behave themselves well enough to make a reasonable comment. So, here I am -- about to ramble on in my own space...
I think, that when one contemplates the question of what it might mean to be "submissive" in the sense that we mean it within the lifestyle, that it is important to distinguish between a submissive and a masochist. Sometimes we use those two descriptors as if they are synonymous, and I don't believe that they are.
Masochism, like its sexual/erotic counterpart, sadism, is an orientation. Like being straight or gay, being a sadist or a masochist is part of how we are wired as sexual beings. For those of us who identify as "masochistic," there is no "choosing" to be this way. It is what we are sexually. Even if we enjoy other types of sexual expression, there will forever be a drive toward masochism that is intrinsic in our very natures. The same is true for those who manifest their sexuality through sadism.
On the other hand, the tendency to be most comfortable in the role of the submissive partner is about a relationship dynamic. Those of us who relate to our partners as submissive, are quite often very strong and capable, and may interact in the outside world in a fashion that is anything but submissive. That is true, certainly, for me as I manage and absolutely control my classroom environment, and I know there are plenty of other submissive women who live their working lives in full and easy control of situations that require them to be strong and independent and decisive -- and all of those other things that seem so much in opposition to what we would consider submissive.
In that respect, we are not so very different from our more vanilla counterparts. Each one of us has an opposite number that pairs up neatly with what it is that we need to be fully who we are. That pairing, when it happens, gives us that almost indescribable sense of being "in the right place, with the right person." Of course, when the pairing is not a good fit, there are places that chafe and irritate, and we never manage to settle into the comfortable and safe place that fulfills us and our partners.
I once worked with a body worker that often spoke to the secrets that we keep and the bargains that we make as we form relationships. As I was in a very uncomfortable relational match at that time, she was prone to poke at me on a regular basis about what I was "not telling." What, she would wonder on a regular basis, were the secrets of the life I was so determinedly leading. What truths had I not told her? More importantly, what were the secrets that I would not even tell myself? I did, in time, come to know what was and was not true about that very long marriage. I did, finally, understand and acknowledge the places where it was not at fit -- not a fit for me, and not a fit for him. Knowing that truth made it possible to release him and free myself to seek something better.
Escaping from that bad marriage was a very good thing, but, especially in the beginning days, I experienced a great deal of uncertainty. I'd been "wife" for such a very, very long time. If I wasn't "wife" anymore, then what was I? Where did I fit, and where did I belong? I hated the label "divorcee." I didn't know what that really meant in terms of my own personhood, and it simply was a name I couldn't feel belonged to me. I wasted a good bit of valuable time, looking back and wondering what might have been, what could have been, what did I do wrong, what did he do wrong -- what the heck had happened to all the dreams I once had about "us?"
That questioning; that looking back; that evaluation of what has been seems necessary and appropriate to the work of ending and uncoupling from a long relationship. We have to pass through all of those "what if's" if we are to come to a clear understanding of where we've traveled to this point, and chart a reliable way forward.
There were those who commented on this question at morningstar's blog, who spoke to the reality that we quite often get caught up in trying to "keep up with one another" out here in the blogosphere...
- If that one does that, then shouldn't I be doing it too?
- If she seems happy with that circumstance, shouldn't I feel the same way?
- If that person is having that experience, isn't it important for me to have the same experience?
- Why doesn't my partner treat me the same way her's does?
- On, and on, and on...
Morningstar is wondering about her various responses and reactions and choices made over all the years of her relationship. She is wonering if she "did it right;" or "did it well enough?" It is an exercise that is part of the process of disentangling the snarls of almost a decade of relationship, and I am confident that she'll sort it all out, but my heart aches for the struggle and the pain of asking those bitter and probing questions.
However she resolves the questions with which she's wrestling right now, I know that I will learn from her -- lessons about being strong and brave and persistent and truthful.
swan
3/28/2010
Aftermath
We've worked and worked and worked and worked, and our homes are mostly back in order this evening. The new floors look wonderful, and with all of our things back in place there is a real glow and warmth to the places. We are thrilled. Here are some photos taken just this evening --
Too, He and I had the opportunity to play this afternoon -- what He insists was a matter of "breaking in" the new floors. It was a good session and good for us both after such a long, disrupted and stressful week. The floors are now, officially and thoroughly broken in... So here are THOSE "aftermath" photos...
swan
swan
It's Time To Break-In Our New Floors
swan has always been the recipient of special spankings to "break-in" new things. If she gets a new pair of pants, or skirt, or tights, or bathing suit she gets well spanked in the new item, and wtihout any clothing at all as well, to "initiate" its possession.
She has lusted after laminate floors in our condo for years and now the day has come when she has them. Now, unbeknownst to her, this afternoon is the time to break them in, and so we shall. She has been able, in all our shifting about of our stuff, to relocate our new spanking bench neatly into our bedroom nestled right under the rack where we store all our spanking implements. I no longer will have to select which implements I need for a session and then move them to the room where the bench is. Instead, the entire collection will be arrayed on the wall in a rack right next to where I'll be standing as I blister her:)
So she intends to post the flooring aftermath pictures as she did the prelude ones. I'll have to see if I can provide some aftermath pics as well:)
All the best,
Tom
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.
She has lusted after laminate floors in our condo for years and now the day has come when she has them. Now, unbeknownst to her, this afternoon is the time to break them in, and so we shall. She has been able, in all our shifting about of our stuff, to relocate our new spanking bench neatly into our bedroom nestled right under the rack where we store all our spanking implements. I no longer will have to select which implements I need for a session and then move them to the room where the bench is. Instead, the entire collection will be arrayed on the wall in a rack right next to where I'll be standing as I blister her:)
So she intends to post the flooring aftermath pictures as she did the prelude ones. I'll have to see if I can provide some aftermath pics as well:)
All the best,
Tom
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.
3/27/2010
The Weekend Ahead
We've been all torn up this week while the crew has worked to lay our new laminate floors. Today, they are finishing the last bit -- vinyl in one bathroom, and the front hallway on my side, as well as a bit more trim work to do. I imagine that they will be done by noon, or perhaps a bit after.
What lies ahead for us is clean up and resettling of all our things.
If you've never been through the installation of laminate floors, then you might not anticipate what we've discovered -- this process is massively dusty! There is a fine film of sawdust over every single flat surface. On the floors, certainly, but on every bit of furniture and in every crease and crevice that is anywhere near horizontal.
So, today, we'll be sweeping, mopping, dusting, vacumming -- and then trying to haul everything back in from the garages, and put away.
That will make the cats awfully happy. The sincere hope is that by the time Monday rolls around, our world will be back to normal and we'll be able to find the everyday, mundane items that a person needs just to function. Because, the reality is that it really should not be a challenge to find your toothbrush in the morning... Just sayin'...
swan
What lies ahead for us is clean up and resettling of all our things.
If you've never been through the installation of laminate floors, then you might not anticipate what we've discovered -- this process is massively dusty! There is a fine film of sawdust over every single flat surface. On the floors, certainly, but on every bit of furniture and in every crease and crevice that is anywhere near horizontal.
That will make the cats awfully happy. The sincere hope is that by the time Monday rolls around, our world will be back to normal and we'll be able to find the everyday, mundane items that a person needs just to function. Because, the reality is that it really should not be a challenge to find your toothbrush in the morning... Just sayin'...
swan
3/24/2010
Mom Update
Well....I swear she is going to outlive all of us!
She had another "event" yesterday. Required epinephrine, but no CPR and she is just fine. Weak and healing, but fine. Cardiologist was there last night when I was there and checked her out. Mentioned maybe doing a Heart Cath. or a chemical stress test to check out her heart. But when the team came today, decided those things are unnecessary. They did an EEG, Carotid artery ultrasound, heart ultrasound. Found her about 2 pints low on blood and gave her a transfusion.
Nurses are calling me now to give me updates instead of me calling them.
I am taking a night off and going home to see my new floors and spend some quiet time with my peeps.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring....but today, things are good. Maybe all of you are good Karma!
T
She had another "event" yesterday. Required epinephrine, but no CPR and she is just fine. Weak and healing, but fine. Cardiologist was there last night when I was there and checked her out. Mentioned maybe doing a Heart Cath. or a chemical stress test to check out her heart. But when the team came today, decided those things are unnecessary. They did an EEG, Carotid artery ultrasound, heart ultrasound. Found her about 2 pints low on blood and gave her a transfusion.
Nurses are calling me now to give me updates instead of me calling them.
I am taking a night off and going home to see my new floors and spend some quiet time with my peeps.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring....but today, things are good. Maybe all of you are good Karma!
T
3/22/2010
Please....
Last week my Mom stopped me on my way out of the hospital and said "Please....". Then she said "Larry". I asked her if she wanted me to call my brother and she said no....she patted her chest and said "Larry".....ahh....my Dad.
My Dad died from cancer 23 years ago. It was quick, it was ugly.
My Dad was the love of my Mom's life. She never dated after he died. The night we were rushing back to the hospital because the nurses called and said he was not going to make it through the night, she told me "I am losing my best friend".
And she is ready to be with her best friend. She is tired. She has worked SO hard to be well enough to go home. And now, I think, she is ready for her friend.
Today, I called the hospital for my daily update and the nurse was very pleased. Mom had eaten breakfast, was sitting up in a chair and had gone to the bathroom....IN THE BATHROOM! The catheter had been removed. And she was having a really good day. I asked her to tell Mom that I would be in after work and that I love her. That was about 11am.
1:30pm my brother called to tell me that she had stopped breathing and her heart had stopped. The crash team was with her and trying to revive her. I left work, got Tom and we flew to Dayton. She was back. She was weak and in a great deal of pain. They had her on a bipap machine to assist with her breathing. The entire family was there. It was scary and sad. Mom is tired. She has worked so hard. She has done everything she can.
When we were getting ready to leave, I kissed her goodnight and she reached out and said "Please". I told her I would do whatever she wanted. And she said "Please" again.
I know what "Please" means. It means "Please let me go", "Please know I love you", "Please let me be with my best friend".
I am her POA. I am the one who can stop all of this. But I have a brother and I do not want him to hate me if I let her go without him involved in the discussion. So I called him and we talked. It takes him longer to get his head wrapped around things, and he wants another day. I think he just needs more time to get used to being without her. I have explained that a DNR would not keep them from trying to improve her health, that it would just stop them from extreme measures in resuscitation.
Mom was resting comfortably in a Morphine dream when we left. One part of me prays she is still there when I visit tomorrow. But a big part of me wishes she could "Please" be with Dad.
Thanks for all of your hugs and wishes.
T
My Dad died from cancer 23 years ago. It was quick, it was ugly.
My Dad was the love of my Mom's life. She never dated after he died. The night we were rushing back to the hospital because the nurses called and said he was not going to make it through the night, she told me "I am losing my best friend".
And she is ready to be with her best friend. She is tired. She has worked SO hard to be well enough to go home. And now, I think, she is ready for her friend.
Today, I called the hospital for my daily update and the nurse was very pleased. Mom had eaten breakfast, was sitting up in a chair and had gone to the bathroom....IN THE BATHROOM! The catheter had been removed. And she was having a really good day. I asked her to tell Mom that I would be in after work and that I love her. That was about 11am.
1:30pm my brother called to tell me that she had stopped breathing and her heart had stopped. The crash team was with her and trying to revive her. I left work, got Tom and we flew to Dayton. She was back. She was weak and in a great deal of pain. They had her on a bipap machine to assist with her breathing. The entire family was there. It was scary and sad. Mom is tired. She has worked so hard. She has done everything she can.
When we were getting ready to leave, I kissed her goodnight and she reached out and said "Please". I told her I would do whatever she wanted. And she said "Please" again.
I know what "Please" means. It means "Please let me go", "Please know I love you", "Please let me be with my best friend".
I am her POA. I am the one who can stop all of this. But I have a brother and I do not want him to hate me if I let her go without him involved in the discussion. So I called him and we talked. It takes him longer to get his head wrapped around things, and he wants another day. I think he just needs more time to get used to being without her. I have explained that a DNR would not keep them from trying to improve her health, that it would just stop them from extreme measures in resuscitation.
Mom was resting comfortably in a Morphine dream when we left. One part of me prays she is still there when I visit tomorrow. But a big part of me wishes she could "Please" be with Dad.
Thanks for all of your hugs and wishes.
T
3/21/2010
Like a Kid at Christmas
One of the things that I teach is math. I am a confirmed math geek, and I love opening up the language of mathematics to my kids. Too often, by the time students get to me, they have come to be convinced that they cannot "do" math, don't like math, and are just no good at things having to do with numbers. It is one of my deepest delights to take those "math phobic" students and show them ways to decode and unravel the mysteries of math, and learn to deal with it with confidence and, sometimes, even a sense of enjoyment.
Tomorrow I will join with my 52 sixth graders and a brave group of parent volunteers to take part in a day that we will forever more refer to as "Measure Mania." I have a set of hands on explorations planned that are designed to allow my kids to explore a variety of topics related to the mathematical discipline of measurment. Tomorrow, my students will analyze a "crime scene," make and fly frisbee-style flying saucers, measure the change in the mass of chewing gum as it is chewed, build scale models of traditional Chinese courtyard houses, make sand clocks and water clocks, and design boxes to hold choclate candies for the "Ooey-Gooey" Candy Company. They will measure distance and time and mass and volume and surface area and circumference. They will determine appropriate scales to make models and floor plans. They will use what the numbers will tell them to come up with a theory about "who done it," just like a forensic scientist.
I've worked for weeks to plan it and put it together and make all the arrangements. I have everything poised to go first thing in the morning. I am sooooo... excited. I cannot wait. I am just like a kid looking forward to Christmas. I can't wait to share this day with my kids. I am so anxious for them to enjoy and learn and feel interested and excited and intrigued by the things they will do tomorrow.
I know. It is a "teacher" thing. It isn't anything that probably excites and interests most people, but I am just like this. This is the other passion of my life -- and I cannot wait for it to happen.
swan
I've worked for weeks to plan it and put it together and make all the arrangements. I have everything poised to go first thing in the morning. I am sooooo... excited. I cannot wait. I am just like a kid looking forward to Christmas. I can't wait to share this day with my kids. I am so anxious for them to enjoy and learn and feel interested and excited and intrigued by the things they will do tomorrow.
I know. It is a "teacher" thing. It isn't anything that probably excites and interests most people, but I am just like this. This is the other passion of my life -- and I cannot wait for it to happen.
swan
New Floors This Week -- Before Photos
In January, we marked the 7 year point for owning our two condos. We bought these places brand new, but they were each finished for someone else. We managed to snatch them up when other deals had fallen through. What that meant, in practical terms, was that we took them just as they were -- and some of the choices that had been made weren't what we would have preferred. Seven years later, the cheap grade carpet and linoleum flooring are showing their age, and it is not pretty. There are stains that will not come up from the carpets, and places where "he who shall remain nameless" tore the linoleum when moving appliances, and other spots where one or the other of the cats have shredded the carpet for reasons that only they understand... All over our homes, there are signs of wear that have passed the point where we are able to clean enough to hide it anymore.
We have wanted to replace all that worn carpeting and ugly vinyl flooring with hardwood or laminate floors -- for a very long time. Next week, thanks to some money that has come to us from Master's father's estate, the work will begin to install new laminate floors. We are excited about having this done -- even though it has meant that we've had to work like crazy people to get all the various breakables and what not moved out of the way. Both of our garages are stacked with the odds and ends of our lives, and our homes look like a bomb went off. We'll survive a week of chaos, and try to keep the kitty cats calmed down. Hopefully by next weekend, we'll be able to start bringing things back inside and settle into enjoying our wonderful new floors.
For now, here's the way life looks for us...
and in our garages ...
We have wanted to replace all that worn carpeting and ugly vinyl flooring with hardwood or laminate floors -- for a very long time. Next week, thanks to some money that has come to us from Master's father's estate, the work will begin to install new laminate floors. We are excited about having this done -- even though it has meant that we've had to work like crazy people to get all the various breakables and what not moved out of the way. Both of our garages are stacked with the odds and ends of our lives, and our homes look like a bomb went off. We'll survive a week of chaos, and try to keep the kitty cats calmed down. Hopefully by next weekend, we'll be able to start bringing things back inside and settle into enjoying our wonderful new floors.
For now, here's the way life looks for us...
swan
3/20/2010
Dual Climate Controls
It was only a couple of weeks ago that Master and T went through that car buying frenzy, and so we ended up with the beautiful, garnet-red, brand new Hyundai Tucson. The specs for the Tucson say:
Yup. Our new Tucson has dual-zone climate control. I have seen that control, and in the first few days, I even had occasion to operate it. It was a heady thing to be able to jump into the passenger seat and set the temperature on my side of the car to whatever number I liked -- warm or cool, I decided!
For a couple of days.
Somewhere, in those first few power-drunk days, Master noticed that His side of the control system reacts to whatever it is that I do on my side. If His side was set cooler than my side, then on His side the air would blow cool. Well, that is all it took...
Today, we were out, running some errands, and I took note of the fact that the Hyundai still HAS dual-side climate control. However, today, both of those controls were set to the exact same number -- and that number was, of course, determined by Himself. Of course.
It is a small thing, but I think that the story of the dual-sided climate controls is illustrative. It shows in very plain and prosaic terms how our relationship works. He controls. Everything that He chooses to control. Big and small. I may play with making my own decisions and controlling my own world, as long as He allows that -- and not one minute longer. And, when He chooses to take the control back to Himself, that is how it is, and there is no "wrestling" over that. The control slides easily into His hands, and if I am not paying close attention, I might not even notice.
That is, in the end the simplest answer to all the pointed and judgemental questions that have been tossed into the conversation here lately. Questions that ask why I post pictures, or write the tales of spankings, and others that ask why T and I allow Him to drink when He chooses to do that, and questions that wonder how we can tolerate some of what happens in our household -- all are simply answered by the story of the dual-side climate controls in the Hyundai. There are loci of control that seem accessible to all of us on an equal basis because we are all competent and capable adults. There are times when the control rests in my hands, or in T's, but it is deceptive because that only occurs when and if He allows it. When He wants the control; when He chooses to choose; when He is feeling "dominant," then things are the way He wants them to be. And that is that.
There really aren't any dual-control systems in our world -- not even when it looks like there might be.
swan
•Redesigned compact crossover SUV
•“Fluidic” design language featuring new hexagonal grille treatment to be rolled out to all Hyundai models
•Bigger inside and out, with more head, leg, storage and cargo room
•Available dual-zone climate control
•Available dual-panel sunroof over both rows of seats
•Available rearview camera system with Smart Park Assist
•Available leather seating
•Available Smart Key ignition and locking
•Standard 2.0-liter 4-cylinder engine with 6-speed manual transmission
•Available 2.4-liter 4-cylinder engine with 6-speed automatic transmission
•Available all-wheel drive
•Available 18-inch alloy wheels
For a couple of days.
Somewhere, in those first few power-drunk days, Master noticed that His side of the control system reacts to whatever it is that I do on my side. If His side was set cooler than my side, then on His side the air would blow cool. Well, that is all it took...
Today, we were out, running some errands, and I took note of the fact that the Hyundai still HAS dual-side climate control. However, today, both of those controls were set to the exact same number -- and that number was, of course, determined by Himself. Of course.
It is a small thing, but I think that the story of the dual-sided climate controls is illustrative. It shows in very plain and prosaic terms how our relationship works. He controls. Everything that He chooses to control. Big and small. I may play with making my own decisions and controlling my own world, as long as He allows that -- and not one minute longer. And, when He chooses to take the control back to Himself, that is how it is, and there is no "wrestling" over that. The control slides easily into His hands, and if I am not paying close attention, I might not even notice.
That is, in the end the simplest answer to all the pointed and judgemental questions that have been tossed into the conversation here lately. Questions that ask why I post pictures, or write the tales of spankings, and others that ask why T and I allow Him to drink when He chooses to do that, and questions that wonder how we can tolerate some of what happens in our household -- all are simply answered by the story of the dual-side climate controls in the Hyundai. There are loci of control that seem accessible to all of us on an equal basis because we are all competent and capable adults. There are times when the control rests in my hands, or in T's, but it is deceptive because that only occurs when and if He allows it. When He wants the control; when He chooses to choose; when He is feeling "dominant," then things are the way He wants them to be. And that is that.
There really aren't any dual-control systems in our world -- not even when it looks like there might be.
swan
3/19/2010
How Do You Know What You Know?
We are automatic assumption machines. How far would you drive if you couldn't assume that on-coming cars are going to stay on the other side of the road? Strolling across an intersection on a green light requires an assumption, too, doesn't it. Same for when you buy something. Or marry somebody. Only we don't always think about our assumptions. ~ Discovering Assumptions ~It is one of the questions that I regularly ask my students, especially as we study world history and world cultures, and also as we tackle new topics in science: "How do you know what you know?" I usually follow it up with a whole series of challenges to their thinking about the things that they encounter -- Who taught you that? Where did you learn that? How long have you known that? Do you have any proof of that? Is it possible that you might not actually know that? What would happen if you were wrong about that? ...
What I notice is that, even at the very young ages of 11 or 12, students are very attached to the things that they "know," and it is very, very difficult to get them to even consider the possibility that there might be some other way of seeing the world. Kids just KNOW that if they look more like one parent than another, then they must have gotten all of their genes from that parent. Introduce them to a society where three brothers share a single wife, and they are going to, inevitably, go, "EWWWWWWWWW!" They know that their lives will be pretty much like their parents', and they are convinced that their religious/political views (given to them as a whole package by their parents, and totally unexamined at this point) are the "right" ones.
I've been reminded, here, about how important it is to watch out for assumptions as we go through our lives. Surely, as I've learned my way into the life I've chosen, I've had to confront, and rethink a whole number of assumptions -- things that I was pretty sure I KNEW.
I've had to learn to think about love and sex and eroticism in ways that were never part of what I was taught by the culture, to respond instead to what is true for me. I've had to reevaluate the notion of "rights" -- the right to be treated as an equal, the right to make my own choices, the right to be heard whenever I have something that I think is important to say, the right to take care of my own needs first, the right to decide when and how and where, the right to have things be the way I want them to be... I've had to reframe my assumptions about family and marriage. It has been necessary for me to notice all the couple-based, heteronormative, religiously defined beliefs -- and look carefully at whether those things are really "true," or the only "truth." I've had to reexamine the whole tapestry of social interactions that surrounds my life, and understand what is and is not "true" about concepts like friendship and community and belonging. What I've learned, for myself, is that there are lots and lots of things that we all just accept as normal and right and true without ever examining how we came to hold those views.
The fact is that, for most of us, the culture that we grew up with seems absolutely "right." It is all around us -- the air we breathe and the sea within which we swim. Mostly we don't even notice it unless or until it comes to somehow impinge upon our awareness. We are able to assume that things are the way we think they are because we are not generally challenged to see it any differently. We really are not all that far removed from the time when we all lived in very small, very isolated communities, when "the wisdom of the village" ruled every aspect of our lives. Today, we have a much broader view available to us. We do not have to be constrained by the assumptions of the place where we are.
On the other hand, we do all live in the place where we are. We can examine our own assumptions. We can ask ourselves those "how do you know what you know" questions. What we cannot do, if we learn to see what others do not, is expect them to shift their awareness. We can challenge them. We can tell them what we can see. Choosing to see more widely however -- that is entirely up to them, and it is not something that most people ever choose to do.
swan
3/18/2010
T's Mom -- Surgery (Update -- Thursday Afternoon)
Things have really not changed much for T's mom. Her kidney function has improved, and that seems to be resolved. However, the lung function is still exactly as it was when she arrived at the hospital. There is no infection, and the doctors continue to refer to this problem as "inflamation." She remains unable to walk as far as a bedside commode without experiencing extreme shortness of breath and a dangerous drop in her oxygenation levels.
Today, she is undergoing surgery to biopsy lung tissue. It is a risky and invasive procedure, and we are worried about how she will come through it. We do expect her to spend some time in intensive care and on a respirator.
T is already on the road so she can be with her mother before she goes to surgery. Master and I will leave shortly to go be with her while she waits. Once again, we'd ask those of you who are inclined to sit with us this day.
Thank you, friends.
swan
1:59 PM (Eastern Daylight Time)
T's mom made it through the surgery well. The surgeon took 3 tissue biopsies. We may have a preliminary report from those later today, but the full results are not likely to be ready until Monday or Tuesday next week.
Mom is in intensive care and on a ventilator. The ventilator is a concern; to us and to her doctors. They are likely to keep her sedated for the near term so that she does not fight against the ventilator.
T has gone to get a bit of a break, and Master and I are home preparing to attend the board meeting for His agency scheduled for this evening.
I cannot tell you how much it means to us to have all of you supporting and thinking of us as we go through this today. Thank you all -- so much!
swan
Today, she is undergoing surgery to biopsy lung tissue. It is a risky and invasive procedure, and we are worried about how she will come through it. We do expect her to spend some time in intensive care and on a respirator.
T is already on the road so she can be with her mother before she goes to surgery. Master and I will leave shortly to go be with her while she waits. Once again, we'd ask those of you who are inclined to sit with us this day.
Thank you, friends.
swan
1:59 PM (Eastern Daylight Time)
T's mom made it through the surgery well. The surgeon took 3 tissue biopsies. We may have a preliminary report from those later today, but the full results are not likely to be ready until Monday or Tuesday next week.
Mom is in intensive care and on a ventilator. The ventilator is a concern; to us and to her doctors. They are likely to keep her sedated for the near term so that she does not fight against the ventilator.
T has gone to get a bit of a break, and Master and I are home preparing to attend the board meeting for His agency scheduled for this evening.
I cannot tell you how much it means to us to have all of you supporting and thinking of us as we go through this today. Thank you all -- so much!
swan
3/17/2010
41%
I'd like you to make a list before you read this post. Take a few minutes, and list 100 people that you know. They don't have to be good friends, but see if you can come up with 100 names of adults that you know. Try neighbors and relatives; co-workers and old college chums; acquaintances from church and the PTA; clerks and hair dressers and mail carriers and the pizza delivery guy... Go ahead. I'll wait.
Ready? OK. Here's the story for today: We were out walking last evening, and He told me that He'd seen a video piece on SPIKE TV reporting that about 41% of adults in the U.S. admit to having some interest or involvement in spanking (the number is much lower around the world). Wow! That's a pretty impressive segment of the population. Take a look at your list and draw a circle around the names of the 41 people there that you think are "into" spanking. Have fun!
If that 41% number is accurate, then those of us who feel like our sexual/erotic orientation toward SM might find that we are actually not as much in the minority as we have thought. There might just be a whole lot of us out there walking around looking just like the regular people that most of us think WE are. That might mean that, over time, our kind of sexual and erotic choices might be treated more even-handedly in the marketplace and the media. Perhaps, someday, we might even see the laws change to de-stigmatize our lifestyle choices.
As I contemplated that, it occured to me that perhaps there's an explanation wrapped up in that 41% number for some of the interpersonal dynamics that I notice more and more frequently, both here on this blog, and at other social networking fora where one encounters the larger kink "community." I think that it is likely that if there really are significantly larger numbers of adults finding their way into adult spanking at whatever level, then some significant portion of those people are probably coming into the "lifestyle" with very little information, and almost no relevant real time exposure to members of the community. That number means there are probably lots and lots of people busily spanking away with wooden spoons and paint stirrers -- completely isolated from anyone else who might share their orientation. That's unfortunate.
Out here, in the lifestyle community, we learn from each other, and we share a culture that is uniquely ours. To learn about a culture takes time and it also takes deep immersion with the members of that culure. I was lucky. I opened up to my sadomasochistic nature at a point in time where there were ways to connect with others online, but before it was really reasonable or effective to try and learn and grow in the lifestyle by remaining entirely inside the privacy of my own home -- or within the confines of my own ordinary, and familiar life. I had to reach out into the community around me, and find other people who were doing this in real time -- and then I had to put myself into a position to be able to learn from their experience and expertise. Face to face with others who shared my kink, I learned the techniques and the details and the precautions of the lifestyle. I also learned about the norms of protocol and etiquette that community members shared.
There are all sorts of rules and expectations within our lifestyle. We come out of a rich tradition, and at our best, we behave within very clearly defined expectations for good manners, gallantry, and civility. Many of those expectations have to do with respecting other's space and property and privacy. It is also the norm, within our community, that we respect and honor other people's personal choices -- even when we perhaps do not understand or approve.
When I was new and wide-eyed and untutored, I was lucky to encounter those more experienced community members who taught me to hold my tongue when I encountered things that I didn't understand, or didn't like, or didn't want to participate in, or felt scared by, or didn't approve of. I was taught that, if I was concerned by something I saw or experienced, that I was free to walk away, but I was not to ever, ever, ever impose my judgement on anyone else. I learned that there were sometimes going to be situations that might cause me to be uncomfortable enough that the best thing I could do would be to simply take myself out of the situation. I've done that. More than once -- physically in realtime dungeons, and figuratively in the reading I've done around the cyber neighborhood we share. I've walked away from things that made me uncomfortable and frightened me and sometimes even disgusted me. I've honored those adults who chose to participate in things I didn't understand by assuming that it was their option and their choice to act as they might choose. In my experience, and within the context of what I've been taught, that is behavior that is simply polite.
I think that there are lots of people who are engaging in this thing that we do who have never had anyone to tell them what it is that we really belive in as a community. No one has ever told them how absolutely essential it is to respect other people and their choices and proclivities. They've never been taught that, as social outsiders, it is important to make a safe space inside our community for those with whom we share this lifestyle choice. It is that lack of community-based groundedness that allows some people to engage in vicious personal attacks -- that sort of mean-spirited "gotcha" mentality that is so pervasive at sites like Fetlife. There is no gallantry, no gentleness, no withholding of personal judgement, no reticence. These new ones, untrained and untutored, display that lack of understanding of appropriate boundaries that causes them to know that when they are uncomfortable that is their reaction and their response and their responsibility. The "old" ones would have told them to turn around and walk away.
swan
Ready? OK. Here's the story for today: We were out walking last evening, and He told me that He'd seen a video piece on SPIKE TV reporting that about 41% of adults in the U.S. admit to having some interest or involvement in spanking (the number is much lower around the world). Wow! That's a pretty impressive segment of the population. Take a look at your list and draw a circle around the names of the 41 people there that you think are "into" spanking. Have fun!
If that 41% number is accurate, then those of us who feel like our sexual/erotic orientation toward SM might find that we are actually not as much in the minority as we have thought. There might just be a whole lot of us out there walking around looking just like the regular people that most of us think WE are. That might mean that, over time, our kind of sexual and erotic choices might be treated more even-handedly in the marketplace and the media. Perhaps, someday, we might even see the laws change to de-stigmatize our lifestyle choices.
As I contemplated that, it occured to me that perhaps there's an explanation wrapped up in that 41% number for some of the interpersonal dynamics that I notice more and more frequently, both here on this blog, and at other social networking fora where one encounters the larger kink "community." I think that it is likely that if there really are significantly larger numbers of adults finding their way into adult spanking at whatever level, then some significant portion of those people are probably coming into the "lifestyle" with very little information, and almost no relevant real time exposure to members of the community. That number means there are probably lots and lots of people busily spanking away with wooden spoons and paint stirrers -- completely isolated from anyone else who might share their orientation. That's unfortunate.
Out here, in the lifestyle community, we learn from each other, and we share a culture that is uniquely ours. To learn about a culture takes time and it also takes deep immersion with the members of that culure. I was lucky. I opened up to my sadomasochistic nature at a point in time where there were ways to connect with others online, but before it was really reasonable or effective to try and learn and grow in the lifestyle by remaining entirely inside the privacy of my own home -- or within the confines of my own ordinary, and familiar life. I had to reach out into the community around me, and find other people who were doing this in real time -- and then I had to put myself into a position to be able to learn from their experience and expertise. Face to face with others who shared my kink, I learned the techniques and the details and the precautions of the lifestyle. I also learned about the norms of protocol and etiquette that community members shared.
There are all sorts of rules and expectations within our lifestyle. We come out of a rich tradition, and at our best, we behave within very clearly defined expectations for good manners, gallantry, and civility. Many of those expectations have to do with respecting other's space and property and privacy. It is also the norm, within our community, that we respect and honor other people's personal choices -- even when we perhaps do not understand or approve.
When I was new and wide-eyed and untutored, I was lucky to encounter those more experienced community members who taught me to hold my tongue when I encountered things that I didn't understand, or didn't like, or didn't want to participate in, or felt scared by, or didn't approve of. I was taught that, if I was concerned by something I saw or experienced, that I was free to walk away, but I was not to ever, ever, ever impose my judgement on anyone else. I learned that there were sometimes going to be situations that might cause me to be uncomfortable enough that the best thing I could do would be to simply take myself out of the situation. I've done that. More than once -- physically in realtime dungeons, and figuratively in the reading I've done around the cyber neighborhood we share. I've walked away from things that made me uncomfortable and frightened me and sometimes even disgusted me. I've honored those adults who chose to participate in things I didn't understand by assuming that it was their option and their choice to act as they might choose. In my experience, and within the context of what I've been taught, that is behavior that is simply polite.
I think that there are lots of people who are engaging in this thing that we do who have never had anyone to tell them what it is that we really belive in as a community. No one has ever told them how absolutely essential it is to respect other people and their choices and proclivities. They've never been taught that, as social outsiders, it is important to make a safe space inside our community for those with whom we share this lifestyle choice. It is that lack of community-based groundedness that allows some people to engage in vicious personal attacks -- that sort of mean-spirited "gotcha" mentality that is so pervasive at sites like Fetlife. There is no gallantry, no gentleness, no withholding of personal judgement, no reticence. These new ones, untrained and untutored, display that lack of understanding of appropriate boundaries that causes them to know that when they are uncomfortable that is their reaction and their response and their responsibility. The "old" ones would have told them to turn around and walk away.
swan
3/16/2010
Spanking Bench -- The Experiment
I didn't think it would be possible to turn the new spanking bench over, and I am now convinced that I had it right with that guess.
He and I played together yesterday afternoon. It was a session that had a few "agendas" attached. One of those was to test the stability of the spanking bench under the demands of the sort of high-end play that might cause me to become frantic enough to try and escape. More significant for the two of us was to explore the potential and impacts of returning to our earlier and much more intense play style that we've largely abandoned in the last few years.
The latter was in response to a conversation we've been having about the way we've come to the place we find ourselves, and what that has meant for us...
He has, step by step, backed way off from the higher end sadistic play that was His mode for the first years of our lives together. Mostly, that has been driven by His concern for my health and well-being. In His view, I've become less and less able to withstand the demands of the play that He is so inclined to -- physically, but also emotionally. It is, classically, the sort of thing that lifestylers sometimess decry -- struggling with how one reconciles a strong sadomasochistic bent with an equally strong love for the partner. How does a sadistic Top partner find the path to hurting the one He loves -- especially if that bottom partner is struggling emotionally to accommodate that sort of play? Over and over again, He's asked me if I want to submit to the kind of spankings He's fantasizing about. Over and over, I've quailed; too afraid to give Him the "yes" that would have set us both on the path. Simultaneously, as He's worried about me, He's become more and more connvinced that the solution is to let me play at the level that is "comfortable" for me, and save the high-end sadism for other spanking partners.
For my part, I've struggled with believing in myself, and believing in Him. As I've felt my old masochistic power leeching away, I've worried that there was nothing left to me that was of much value. I've imagined myself an old woman, slaving away at the daily stuff of life -- meals, dishes, laundry, trash hauling, and on and on and on. I've mourned the loss of that part of this that was sexy and exciting and just plain hot. Somewhere in my brain, there is a submissive that is absolutely convinced that I could still do it if He'd just help me and guide me. From my perspective, His move to back off and back away has felt like abandonment. I could hear Him saying how concerned He was and how much He loved me, but it didn't feel like that inside of me.
Round and round and round we've gone. I'm betting that we've not faced anything that other couples making the traverse from relatively youthful lifestyle practitioners to relatively older have had to deal with, but the paassage has been daunting for us. What a tangle!
I think that the way forward finally appeared when I began to wonder, "what would happen if..." What would happen if, instead of backing off when I hit a wall in session, He would just push forward and carry me through that place? It has never been unusual for me to come to a point of panic and often great anger when the intensity passes my initial ability to cope with it. I cry and beg and struggle and spit and hiss and withdraw emotionally. If it ends at that moment, I'm left right there awash in a whole host of negative emotions -- and in my judgement, I have failed utterly. Early on, He tended to not care if I was happy, and would just go right on with whatever He had in mind for me and for us. In that event, I'd have no alternative but to follow His lead, albeit sometimes grudgingly. The result of all of that is that I'd fall out of the other side, and find myself finally giving it all up to Him. In the end, I'd feel soft, safe, secure, and successful.
Being able to express that question to Him opened the door for the two of us. We've talked a lot, and I think we've come to understand what that might mean to both of us.
So, yesterday afternoon, as we got ready to play, I knew that I was embarking on a journey that was likely to be challenging, but might potentially be a very good thing. He restrained me to the bench, and started off with a back rub. Yes, a back rub. I'd pulled a whole host of muscles moving the mattress the night before, and I have been struggling with some chronic lower back issues anyway. The back rub was a surprise, but it was wonderful. That was followed by some pretty intense hand spanking and an absolutely wonderful flogging with the buffalo floggers. Things got more and more and more intense after that. Very early, He switched to the annivarsary paddle, and I (perhaps predictably) panicked and declared that I was done. He went right on; moving from paddles to straps to canes to paddles to floggers to canes to quirts to straps... I cried, and yelled, and floated. He hurt me and loved me and held me and hurt me some more. Over and over and over, we went together through the cycle of pain and fear and powerful eroticism, until I was spent and He was satisfied. Somewhere in the middle, I even achieved the (for me) very rare orgasm.
When He was done, He left me there, on the bench, still restrained -- telling me to just calm down and relax. He went and got some ice packs and tended to my very red, very sore, very welted butt. I floated away, softly -- completely sure that He'd take good care of me. When He did release me, I staggered my way with Him into the bedroom where He held me and helped me warm up -- I was very, very cold. In time, we made love very softly and very sweetly, and when He reached His release, I did too. Again! Amazing.
I spent the afternoon and evening sitting very gingerly, and I didn't sleep very comfortably, but I'm much better this morning. If we really wondered what might happen if we moved back toward the kind of play we once enjoyed, I think we got our answer yesterday afternoon. I am entirely able to withstand it, and I will not become mortally traumatized. On the contrary, what might be true is that our kind of sadomasochistic play remains, as it has always been, the pathway to sexual and erotic fulfillment for my "old lady" body and mind. How did we ever come to the place where we believed otherwise?
swan
He and I played together yesterday afternoon. It was a session that had a few "agendas" attached. One of those was to test the stability of the spanking bench under the demands of the sort of high-end play that might cause me to become frantic enough to try and escape. More significant for the two of us was to explore the potential and impacts of returning to our earlier and much more intense play style that we've largely abandoned in the last few years.
The latter was in response to a conversation we've been having about the way we've come to the place we find ourselves, and what that has meant for us...
He has, step by step, backed way off from the higher end sadistic play that was His mode for the first years of our lives together. Mostly, that has been driven by His concern for my health and well-being. In His view, I've become less and less able to withstand the demands of the play that He is so inclined to -- physically, but also emotionally. It is, classically, the sort of thing that lifestylers sometimess decry -- struggling with how one reconciles a strong sadomasochistic bent with an equally strong love for the partner. How does a sadistic Top partner find the path to hurting the one He loves -- especially if that bottom partner is struggling emotionally to accommodate that sort of play? Over and over again, He's asked me if I want to submit to the kind of spankings He's fantasizing about. Over and over, I've quailed; too afraid to give Him the "yes" that would have set us both on the path. Simultaneously, as He's worried about me, He's become more and more connvinced that the solution is to let me play at the level that is "comfortable" for me, and save the high-end sadism for other spanking partners.
For my part, I've struggled with believing in myself, and believing in Him. As I've felt my old masochistic power leeching away, I've worried that there was nothing left to me that was of much value. I've imagined myself an old woman, slaving away at the daily stuff of life -- meals, dishes, laundry, trash hauling, and on and on and on. I've mourned the loss of that part of this that was sexy and exciting and just plain hot. Somewhere in my brain, there is a submissive that is absolutely convinced that I could still do it if He'd just help me and guide me. From my perspective, His move to back off and back away has felt like abandonment. I could hear Him saying how concerned He was and how much He loved me, but it didn't feel like that inside of me.
Round and round and round we've gone. I'm betting that we've not faced anything that other couples making the traverse from relatively youthful lifestyle practitioners to relatively older have had to deal with, but the paassage has been daunting for us. What a tangle!
I think that the way forward finally appeared when I began to wonder, "what would happen if..." What would happen if, instead of backing off when I hit a wall in session, He would just push forward and carry me through that place? It has never been unusual for me to come to a point of panic and often great anger when the intensity passes my initial ability to cope with it. I cry and beg and struggle and spit and hiss and withdraw emotionally. If it ends at that moment, I'm left right there awash in a whole host of negative emotions -- and in my judgement, I have failed utterly. Early on, He tended to not care if I was happy, and would just go right on with whatever He had in mind for me and for us. In that event, I'd have no alternative but to follow His lead, albeit sometimes grudgingly. The result of all of that is that I'd fall out of the other side, and find myself finally giving it all up to Him. In the end, I'd feel soft, safe, secure, and successful.
Being able to express that question to Him opened the door for the two of us. We've talked a lot, and I think we've come to understand what that might mean to both of us.
So, yesterday afternoon, as we got ready to play, I knew that I was embarking on a journey that was likely to be challenging, but might potentially be a very good thing. He restrained me to the bench, and started off with a back rub. Yes, a back rub. I'd pulled a whole host of muscles moving the mattress the night before, and I have been struggling with some chronic lower back issues anyway. The back rub was a surprise, but it was wonderful. That was followed by some pretty intense hand spanking and an absolutely wonderful flogging with the buffalo floggers. Things got more and more and more intense after that. Very early, He switched to the annivarsary paddle, and I (perhaps predictably) panicked and declared that I was done. He went right on; moving from paddles to straps to canes to paddles to floggers to canes to quirts to straps... I cried, and yelled, and floated. He hurt me and loved me and held me and hurt me some more. Over and over and over, we went together through the cycle of pain and fear and powerful eroticism, until I was spent and He was satisfied. Somewhere in the middle, I even achieved the (for me) very rare orgasm.
When He was done, He left me there, on the bench, still restrained -- telling me to just calm down and relax. He went and got some ice packs and tended to my very red, very sore, very welted butt. I floated away, softly -- completely sure that He'd take good care of me. When He did release me, I staggered my way with Him into the bedroom where He held me and helped me warm up -- I was very, very cold. In time, we made love very softly and very sweetly, and when He reached His release, I did too. Again! Amazing.
I spent the afternoon and evening sitting very gingerly, and I didn't sleep very comfortably, but I'm much better this morning. If we really wondered what might happen if we moved back toward the kind of play we once enjoyed, I think we got our answer yesterday afternoon. I am entirely able to withstand it, and I will not become mortally traumatized. On the contrary, what might be true is that our kind of sadomasochistic play remains, as it has always been, the pathway to sexual and erotic fulfillment for my "old lady" body and mind. How did we ever come to the place where we believed otherwise?
swan
3/15/2010
Later at Night with Bob Dylan
"An Irishman is never drunk as long as - He can hold onto one blade of grass and not - Fall off the face of the earth"
In my last post, I spoke to the simple joy and pleasure that He and I shared last evening as we sat together on the sofa and listened to the music of Bob Dylan. It was wonderful and happy and very sweet.
But, as the evening wore on, He spiraled further and further and further into the fury and frustration and despair that was so much a part of His experience as an anti-war activist in the Vietnam era. The music reaches into some wounded place in His soul that I cannot ever heal no matter how much love and devotion I might pour into the effort. I've seen this before, and I always know when I see the disintegration begin to happen.
It is always fueled by alcohol. Master is Irish, and the Irishman drinks a bit. Rather more than a bit, if the truth be told. He likes the taste of alcohol, and He drinks rather deliberately, and extravagantly, because He enjoys it. He stopped drinking, entirely and on medical advice, for months after the bariatric surgery. When the recommended period of abstinence had passed, He went back to using alcohol -- sparingly in the beginning, and then in increasing quantities. It is not unusual, these days for Him to become quite loopy by the time we are ready to head for bed. I am accustomed to steering Him off toward the bedroom, and making sure He is safely tucked in for the night. Last night was different.
Last night, as Dylan screamed the coded lyrics that dragged Master back to the anti-war demonstrations of His young adulthood, He drank -- and drank -- and drank. Eventually, He began to lose track of the clear boundary between the present and the past. As I watched, He traveled back in time in His mind, and then He was there -- in the streets, throwing rocks at cops, believing that He would likely die, and prepared to do that as long as He took many of "them" with Him. Soon, He was thrusting and parrying at the empty air with His knives -- fully engaged in the never-quite-past battles of His youth.
I was not part of that life, and I still am not part of it to this day. When He goes to that place, He forgets who I am. That's what finally happened last night -- He looked at me, bleary-eyed, and said, "We have the potential for developing a relationship... if only we had time."
That's when I decided it was time to try and maneuver Him off to bed. I pulled the covers back, and cleared the path. I filled His drink bottle and set it on the night table, and then I went to try and get Him off the couch and to bed. It took some real doing; lots of heavy-lifting and cajoling, but I finally manage to heave Him up on unsteady feet. He took two steps toward the bedroom, and staggered out of my arms, falling to the floor. He flailed around, unsure where He was, or what had happened, but still clearly afraid that "the legal people" were about to burst in and arrest Him.
I could not lift Him off the floor. I tried to roll Him onto a blanket thinking I might be able to drag Him into the bedroom -- no dice. I sat on the floor in front of Him, holding His face in my hands, and told Him how scared I was and how desperately I needed Him to help me help Him. I thought about going to get T to help me with Him, but knew she had to be up early this morning to go for an important job interview. I screamed at Him -- calling Him a drunken asshole. And I cried. Nothing helped. Master remained exactly where He'd fallen -- on the floor.
Finally, I decided if I couldn't get Master into bed, maybe I could get the bed out to the living room where He was. I went into the bedroom, stripped the linens off the mattress, and began the process of wrestling our king-size mattress out to the living room. It flopped one way and then the other and I pushed and pulled and kicked and sweated. It took a very long time, and I nearly gave up in frustration more than once. But my Master was lying on the floor, and I had to do something. Finally, I managed to drag that monster mattress out to the living room and get it into position on the floor not too far from where He lay. I made it up with sheets, pillows and blankets, and then went to see if I could manage to somehow get Him up onto it.
It took a lot of talking and pulling and heaving, but I finally succeeded and got Him into bed. I tugged and pulled and got Him undressed -- no easy feat, and covered Him up. I went to turn the lights off, and just as I returned, He looked at me and said, "I need to pee." Right.
I'll spare you the details of that dance. It is enough that I did get Him finally situated in bed, and settled down to sleep. I finally peeled out of my clothes, drenched in sweat and completely out of breath, and collapsed into bed beside His unconscious form. I didn't sleep much, worried if He'd be alright. At 7 AM when the alarm went off, He was better, but not really good. I tried to get Him up to go see T off to her interview, but it just wasn't going to happen. Thank goodness, she came in to see us before she left. Oddly, she was so focused on her upcoming interview that she didn't even notice that king-size mattress in the middle of the livingroom floor.
I am aware of the sorts of judgements that might accrue in many quarters about all of that. We've run into more than a few lifestyle types who have chosen not to have much to do with us because of His relationship to alcohol and my acceptance of that. If there is one hard rule throughout the various and divergent parts of our BDSM community, it is that BDSM and alcohol don't mix. For me, that has just never been the case. I am His, and forever in His service. That means that there are times when I must cope with how to care for Him and meet His needs when He is completely out of His mind drunk and completely unaware of the service I render. That, too, is part of my slavery.
swan
A Night with Bob Dylan
Master will be 61 years old next month. His coming of age experience was shaped by the Vietnam War, and His intense and passionate opposition and resistance to U.S. government policies about that conflict. For Him, the music of that era can still be powerfully evocative. It moves Him in ways that are far, far beyond merely nostalgic.
Late last night, He told me that He'd like to sit and listen to the Bob Dylan musical anthology that we have, and so I loaded the CD player with three discs containing just about everything that Dylan ever did. It's a lot of music, and for me, much of it is outside the realm of my early memories. When Dylan first appeared on the music scene, I was only 4 or 5 years old, and even the works that made him very famous in the mid to late 60's were not part of my consciousness at the age of 10 or 11.
But, I like it. I do. I appreciate the literate/poetic quality of Dylan's work, and some of the more well-known parts of his repertoire are surely familiar to me. Those bits that I don't really recognize or remember, He is more than able to explain to me -- and He can surround the music with a wealth of context that makes the experience even richer.
It isn't that we don't kiss. We do. But that sort of kiss that is ABOUT kissing is pretty rare. This was amazing, and took me back in my memory to the earliest days of our relationship when He essentially taught me to kiss. What a revelation it was to me, after nearly three decades of marriage, to discover that kissing could be such an intimate, erotic, pleasurable experience. I'd never really been kissed much prior to that. In my experience, kisses were pecks -- chaste and pretty perfunctory gestures between myself and my husband. I had no idea what I was missing. I didn't know about the kind of kissing Master wanted from me in the beginning, and it was an awkward bit of time while I figured out how to simply relax and give myself up to His powerful and passionate kisses.
That's the good news about our evening with Bob Dylan. He gave us the joy and simple pleasure of being together as lovers.
Later, things got much darker and more difficult, but that is for another post. For now, I want to capture the joyful and playful moments that we shared.
swan
3/11/2010
Spanking Bench -- A Technical Question
Interesting. Hmmmm...
Hello Swan,
...I emailed you ...a few questions about your lifestyle some time ago, and you were a bit put off... I'm just a guy that reads and enjoys your blog...You answered some of my questions in a later blog post, which I really appreciated...I appreciate everything about your blog. I like the realness of it, and you. We all know there is professionally produced BDSM porn on the web, but none of it looks real. None of it looks like something I might experience some day. I don't have a dungeon and never will have. I will also never have a young woman with a perfect model's body. I really like your pictures of the bench in a living room, in the real world, with pillows to make it comfortable!! So, my question this time is ...about your new bench...do you think, if you completely lost control of yourself and struggled hard trying to get away, while restrained to the bench, that there is danger you could tip it over sideways, risking injury?
The short answer to that is, "No. I don't think I could cause it to tip over."
It hadn't really occured to me to even think about this. The bench is still very new, and I've only been on it a couple of times, so there are potentially things about it that will surprise me, but at this point I think it is very stable. It sits fairly low. The ratio of height to width makes it seem unlikely to "rock" or wobble. Too, once I am on it, all of my weight is pushing down on the structure of the bench. I'd think that the action of gravity, and the laws of physics would work to keep that bench on the floor under those circumstances.
We are not really "into" bondage AS bondage. He restrains me as an adjunct to His play, and His primary interest is in erotic and disciplinary spanking (and related arts). Bondage for its own sake holds no particular appeal for either of us. He likes the bench because, with it, I can be secured in a position which works for Him while still being relatively comfortable for me. For us, the use of restraints is more often about creating a safe and secure situation for our SM play. I will sometimes ask for restraints if I sense that a session is going to be particularly difficult, or if I am feeling particularly wimpy (and He usually indulges me). Given that reality, He can choose to restrain me with varying degrees of severity, and the bench seems very accommodating on that score. So, for example, the restraints that He used last weekend were fairly "easy." I had some range of movement, and while I wasn't going anywhere, I was able to shift and stretch and pull a bit at a number of points. I was able to arch my back, lift my torso completely off the surface of the bench, and move my hands to a couple of different places where I could hold on. That was just fine for what we were into over the weekend, but we do have sufficient restraint gear to completely immobilize me if that becomes the goal.
The other consideration, as I think about this, is that I am convinced that if I were to tip the bench over while I was strapped to it, I'd very likely damage things in the immediate vicinity, and probably injure myself. His goal, in terms of SM play, is to hurt me. He has NO interest in injuring me, and I am certain that He would not allow me to injure myself -- especially while I was so totally vulnerable and under His control. He watches me very carefully during a session, and shifts and adapts to manage me and the environment. If I were to become so agitated and out of control that I actually succeeded in turning the bench over while He was "in charge," I'd be sure He'd feel responsible for that event. I can't imagine things ever getting so out of control with my Master.The expectation here is that I will stay in position during our sessions, and I am pretty good at that under most conditions. However, there are levels to our play that make it very difficult for me to stay put. Some of His preferred implements can pretty quickly drive me into complete and absolute panic and / or rage. That is particularly true of his synthetic switchy/birch-style rods and the singletail whip. And... I am not a petite, delicate flower. I am, by any estimation, a big, strong, muscular woman, and I have been known to "walk" a full size St. Andrew's Cross completely across the floor of the dungeon while lashed to it -- powered only by the intensity of His blows and my own efforts to cope with the pain. So, I am familiar with the effort it takes to "move" a piece of bondage furniture while strapped in place on it. I just don't think it would be possible to do with the bench -- especially if He were to put me in very tight bondage on it.
swan
T's Mom Tonight
Things with T's mom are mixed as of right now. Some things seem better, and others seem to be worse or, at the very least, not really improving.
On the plus side, the creatinine levels are falling. Slowly. They are still way higher than they ought to be, but coming down, and so there is currently no move to bring in a nephrologist to manage the kidney failure. Her blood pressure has come back up and is actually now tending to the high side, but that is normal for her. She has no fever.
However... Her oxygen levels continue to be worrisome, especially if she gets up out of bed to move around -- as in go to the bathroom. Oxygen being delivered via a nasal cannula seems to be less than efficacious because mom tends to breathe through her mouth. They've brought in a full face mask portable oxygen delivery unit for her to use when she gets out of bed. There is still a lot of fluid on her lungs, and that does not seem to be improving. We don't have results yet on any of the cultures, so the treatment for infection is still being done with broad spectrum antibiotics.
All in all, things don't seem as scary as they were a couple of days ago, but it is clear that we are far from being in the clear with all of this.
Thank you all so much for your continued kind words and good thoughts. You are holding us up each day.
swan
On the plus side, the creatinine levels are falling. Slowly. They are still way higher than they ought to be, but coming down, and so there is currently no move to bring in a nephrologist to manage the kidney failure. Her blood pressure has come back up and is actually now tending to the high side, but that is normal for her. She has no fever.
However... Her oxygen levels continue to be worrisome, especially if she gets up out of bed to move around -- as in go to the bathroom. Oxygen being delivered via a nasal cannula seems to be less than efficacious because mom tends to breathe through her mouth. They've brought in a full face mask portable oxygen delivery unit for her to use when she gets out of bed. There is still a lot of fluid on her lungs, and that does not seem to be improving. We don't have results yet on any of the cultures, so the treatment for infection is still being done with broad spectrum antibiotics.
All in all, things don't seem as scary as they were a couple of days ago, but it is clear that we are far from being in the clear with all of this.
Thank you all so much for your continued kind words and good thoughts. You are holding us up each day.
swan
3/10/2010
Spanking Bench -- Round 2
Sunday afternoon, after things settled down a bit, He and I found some time to play again with the new spanking bench. It works. The kneeler makes the geometry of the thing function as I imagine it is supposed to. It isn't uncomfortable. It is wide enough to comfortably support my shoulders, arms, and hips. It is long enough that my head rests on the padded top and does not hang out in space. We have a set of macrame restraints, made for us by a friend many years ago, and they work well to fasten me down to the thing. The restraints make it impossible for me to take off in the middle of the session, and that increases the vulnerability level some, but it also gives me a sense of security. With the restraints, I am not entirely left to my own determination to stay put as the intensity increases.
He likes it because, as He puts it, the bench "presents" my ass nicely. That's obviously a plus for Him, but since I don't often get to hear much about what He thinks, sees, or experiences during our sessions, I find that having that information improves my own experience, too.
I had two minor issues getting settled on the bench as we were getting started. The first challenge is that the leather always feels cold to the touch. Why is that? I've played in all sorts of settings, and it always seems that the surface of whatever bondage equipment we might use is ALWAYS icy cold. Putting naked parts down onto that cold surface is like jumping straight into a chilly pool. It is OK once you get in, but that first plunge is tough. The other challenge I encountered was about angles. The inclined top of the bench seems to align my hips and spine in a perfect position to make every impact on my butt travel straight along my backbone and explode at the base of my skull. It feels like He's swinging straight at the end of my tailbone and driving my spine right up into my head. As a migraine sufferer, I am nervous about anything that is likely to send me over the edge into one of those beastly headaches. However, this problem was pretty easy to manage. He brought a couple of pillows off the bed and tucked them under my hips. That changed the angle just enough to resolve the issue. Thank You, Sir!
It was a pretty good session, I think -- for both of us. He started with the suede floggers -- two-handed. That's another benefit to the new spanking bench -- it seems to position me at precisely the right height/angle to let Him swing a flogger without it hurting His shoulders. We've just about quit flogging because the arthritis in His shoulders has gotten so bad that He just can't do it without significant pain. It might be that the new bench will give us back the shared joy of flogging. Of course, suede floggers are very sensual toys and they don't create anything like the sort of painful intensity that He so enjoys. Getting flogged with suede is a lot like a rapid fire massage. The only real pain that is going to result from a suede flogging is that eventually the rough surface of the leather will create some abrasion. It's a little sandpaper-ish after awhile. Given my absolute preference? I'd go with buffalo floggers everytime. Buffalo is way heavier than suede. It packs a pretty good wallop. Buffalo hide has a pebbly texture, but the surface of the hide is smoother than suede. The falls of a buffalo hide flogger fill the air with a delicious, deep, heavy leathery fragrance. It is a whole other level of sensuality.
I think that He shifted from the floggers to a couple of different leather straps -- one about an inch and a half wide, and the other with a split tail. I remember that the straps fell sharply and I remember the louder cracking sound they made as they hit. It was a vivid contrast to the floggers, and I think I remember Him saying that I was getting a "beautiful red ass."
In between implements, He wrapped His arms around me and assured me that He loved me. That sort of closeness sustains me in the midst of a session. He can ground me with His voice and His touch.
I'm not sure what He used next; maybe a quirt... Quirts deliver that eyes-wide-open sort of stinging lashing pain. I think that, with the quirt, I fell out of my usual "I love You, Sir" chanting and was reduced to counting strokes. I try to never count strokes. It doesn't work for me. When I am counting, I inevitably hit the place where I become desperate, comparing the number of strokes past to those still to come. Counting is the road to panic. With the quirt falling across my butt in no discernible pattern, I caught myself counting, and as soon as I caught it, I forced myself back to my "I love You, Sir." Better. Way better.
There's a heavy leather paddle from Leather Thorn, and I think He used that and a small lexan paddle. Somehow, the paddles didn't seem as difficult as paddles often do. Maybe I was flying a bit. Maybe?
Toward the end, He brought out the Adam and Gillian cane. The cane strokes seemed really heavy. Sharp and biting, like a cane, but heavier than I remembered. I don't know why that should have been, but it is the way it seems as I think back about it. I think I must have made more noise than is allowed, because I remember Him shushing me at one point. He wasn't angry at all, and I think I quieted down, because He went right on with the cane then.
At the very end, He went and got one of those nasty switchy things that He's been fascinated with here lately. The one He chose isn't as bad as the other one. I remember trying to remember to just go through each stroke one at a time, but I don't think that held up very long. The switchy things are just awful, and what I end up feeling at some point with them is that I just want to grab the damn thing and beat the shit out of Him with it. Not the expected or acceptable reaction for a slave. I know. Whatever I did in response to the switchy thing, He didn't use it for very long. He offered me the paddle to kiss, I thanked Him for my spanking, and it was over.
I think I did pretty well. He seemed to think it was one of the "better" spankings that I've had in awhile. I was glad, at the end that I'd done as well as I had, although I was aware of a sense of not going as far as I used to -- as far as I know He'd like me to. I also know that I didn't come to that "other place" that I get to after a really good, and really intense session. I ended up on that point of being angry over the switchy thing, and we didn't push past that place. I was left wondering what might have happened if He'd gone on in the face of my anger. Back in the "old days," that's what He would have done. He'd have faced down my fury and gone right on with whatever He had in mind. I'd have raged and stormed and strained at those restraints, and we'd have traveled to whatever place He saw for us. When that used to happen, I almost always fell out on the other side of my anger and panic -- finding myself in some place that was washed in complete submission, feeling softer and safer and calmer.
Everytime we talk about our current levels of play, I find myself feeling weak, frightened, and timid. He always throws the challenge of just blistering me "the way He'd like to," and I always fall back into that unsure and scared place. I am unable to assure Him that I'd like to play there, but I wonder... If He took me there; if He claimed me as His, what would that be like? I can't drag my mind away from that question.
swan
He likes it because, as He puts it, the bench "presents" my ass nicely. That's obviously a plus for Him, but since I don't often get to hear much about what He thinks, sees, or experiences during our sessions, I find that having that information improves my own experience, too.
I had two minor issues getting settled on the bench as we were getting started. The first challenge is that the leather always feels cold to the touch. Why is that? I've played in all sorts of settings, and it always seems that the surface of whatever bondage equipment we might use is ALWAYS icy cold. Putting naked parts down onto that cold surface is like jumping straight into a chilly pool. It is OK once you get in, but that first plunge is tough. The other challenge I encountered was about angles. The inclined top of the bench seems to align my hips and spine in a perfect position to make every impact on my butt travel straight along my backbone and explode at the base of my skull. It feels like He's swinging straight at the end of my tailbone and driving my spine right up into my head. As a migraine sufferer, I am nervous about anything that is likely to send me over the edge into one of those beastly headaches. However, this problem was pretty easy to manage. He brought a couple of pillows off the bed and tucked them under my hips. That changed the angle just enough to resolve the issue. Thank You, Sir!
It was a pretty good session, I think -- for both of us. He started with the suede floggers -- two-handed. That's another benefit to the new spanking bench -- it seems to position me at precisely the right height/angle to let Him swing a flogger without it hurting His shoulders. We've just about quit flogging because the arthritis in His shoulders has gotten so bad that He just can't do it without significant pain. It might be that the new bench will give us back the shared joy of flogging. Of course, suede floggers are very sensual toys and they don't create anything like the sort of painful intensity that He so enjoys. Getting flogged with suede is a lot like a rapid fire massage. The only real pain that is going to result from a suede flogging is that eventually the rough surface of the leather will create some abrasion. It's a little sandpaper-ish after awhile. Given my absolute preference? I'd go with buffalo floggers everytime. Buffalo is way heavier than suede. It packs a pretty good wallop. Buffalo hide has a pebbly texture, but the surface of the hide is smoother than suede. The falls of a buffalo hide flogger fill the air with a delicious, deep, heavy leathery fragrance. It is a whole other level of sensuality.
I think that He shifted from the floggers to a couple of different leather straps -- one about an inch and a half wide, and the other with a split tail. I remember that the straps fell sharply and I remember the louder cracking sound they made as they hit. It was a vivid contrast to the floggers, and I think I remember Him saying that I was getting a "beautiful red ass."
In between implements, He wrapped His arms around me and assured me that He loved me. That sort of closeness sustains me in the midst of a session. He can ground me with His voice and His touch.
I'm not sure what He used next; maybe a quirt... Quirts deliver that eyes-wide-open sort of stinging lashing pain. I think that, with the quirt, I fell out of my usual "I love You, Sir" chanting and was reduced to counting strokes. I try to never count strokes. It doesn't work for me. When I am counting, I inevitably hit the place where I become desperate, comparing the number of strokes past to those still to come. Counting is the road to panic. With the quirt falling across my butt in no discernible pattern, I caught myself counting, and as soon as I caught it, I forced myself back to my "I love You, Sir." Better. Way better.
There's a heavy leather paddle from Leather Thorn, and I think He used that and a small lexan paddle. Somehow, the paddles didn't seem as difficult as paddles often do. Maybe I was flying a bit. Maybe?
Toward the end, He brought out the Adam and Gillian cane. The cane strokes seemed really heavy. Sharp and biting, like a cane, but heavier than I remembered. I don't know why that should have been, but it is the way it seems as I think back about it. I think I must have made more noise than is allowed, because I remember Him shushing me at one point. He wasn't angry at all, and I think I quieted down, because He went right on with the cane then.
At the very end, He went and got one of those nasty switchy things that He's been fascinated with here lately. The one He chose isn't as bad as the other one. I remember trying to remember to just go through each stroke one at a time, but I don't think that held up very long. The switchy things are just awful, and what I end up feeling at some point with them is that I just want to grab the damn thing and beat the shit out of Him with it. Not the expected or acceptable reaction for a slave. I know. Whatever I did in response to the switchy thing, He didn't use it for very long. He offered me the paddle to kiss, I thanked Him for my spanking, and it was over.
Everytime we talk about our current levels of play, I find myself feeling weak, frightened, and timid. He always throws the challenge of just blistering me "the way He'd like to," and I always fall back into that unsure and scared place. I am unable to assure Him that I'd like to play there, but I wonder... If He took me there; if He claimed me as His, what would that be like? I can't drag my mind away from that question.
swan
3/09/2010
T's Mom Update
As of this evening, T's mom is receiving respiratory therapy on a regular schedule.
They have done cultures to see if there is some infection, and she has been started on two broad-spectrum antibiotics while they await those results. It could be 24-72 hours before we actually know anything definitive on that front.
Her creatinine level is elevated, and the current thought is that this may be due to some level of dehydration. She is officially in acute renal failure. They are having her drink a lot in the hopes that things resolve themselves. We'll have to wait and see.
Too, her blood pressure is very low, and that is a concern.
Master spent the afternoon with her, and He and T are headed back up to spend an hour or so tonight.
We are worried. T is worried -- and very, very tired. We're doing our best to keep things together and take care of each other. We'll keep you posted. Thanks to all who are holding our family, and especially T and her mom in your hearts and your minds.
swan
They have done cultures to see if there is some infection, and she has been started on two broad-spectrum antibiotics while they await those results. It could be 24-72 hours before we actually know anything definitive on that front.
Her creatinine level is elevated, and the current thought is that this may be due to some level of dehydration. She is officially in acute renal failure. They are having her drink a lot in the hopes that things resolve themselves. We'll have to wait and see.
Too, her blood pressure is very low, and that is a concern.
Master spent the afternoon with her, and He and T are headed back up to spend an hour or so tonight.
We are worried. T is worried -- and very, very tired. We're doing our best to keep things together and take care of each other. We'll keep you posted. Thanks to all who are holding our family, and especially T and her mom in your hearts and your minds.
swan
3/08/2010
Clutter and Chaos
One of the catch phrases from my childhood was a fairly regular reference by one or the other of my parents to "Fibber McGee's Closet." While I was never entirely sure, as a young child, exactly what the genesis of the expression might have been, it didn't take any particular genius to figure out that it refered to some sort of out of control clutter and mess. I was much older when I learned that Fibber McGee and Molly were popular characters from the days of old time radio. Running continuously from 1935 until 1959, the program ended when I was only four -- far too young to actually remember it. Still, tonight, sitting here trying to put my thoughts in order; trying to write something coherent about these last days and weeks, I am feeling like my poor swirling brain is every bit as cluttered as the "closet" that so entertained my parents and their contemporaries.
I could write about --
- All the various trials and tribulations that poor Master has bumped into as He's worked to settle His dad's affairs. What a very odd and strange set of rituals and rules we've strung up around the business of dying. There have been so many people that we've dealt with who have been remarkably good and helpful. On the other hand, there have been an astonishing number of total incompetents who have made the entire process way more difficult and complex than it really had to be. In recent days, it has seemed that most of the lose ends are tied off. The deluge of paper has subsided. Things are beginning to settle.
- Fridays. T's work schedule is such that she works Monday through Thursday (10 hour days), and then has Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. For the last two weeks, on Friday, I've gone off to school, all unsuspecting, only to arrive home to find that Master and T have purchased new cars. Yes. Cars! Two weeks ago, it was a brand new, tiny little, bright blue SMART car -- the car that T has dreamed of and longed for ever since she first saw one in the movie, 'The DaVinci Code.' Then, last Friday, I came home from school to find a brand new, garnet-red Hyundai Tucson sitting in the driveway. ARRRRGHHH! Have I ever mentioned how really bad I am about surprises? Those two need to find some other way to amuse themselves on Fridays.
- The spanking bench is finally working the way it was designed to do. With the kneeler installed, it isn't difficult to get on it and find a place of relative comfort. I do find that I need some sort of support under my hips -- a couple of pillows seem to work just fine. That raises my hips up enough so that every stroke doesn't feel as if it is traveling directly up my spine to smack into the base of my skull. We've got a set of macrame'd restraints, made for us a long time ago by a friend, and they work well to fasten me to the thing so that I'm not going to "run away." I had a spanking on it on Sunday afternoon -- following a whole raft of interuptions and distractions that made it seem like we were never going to get to play.
- Like the toilet. We woke up Sunday morning and made love. We were just getting ready to think about starting to play when the toilet got clogged and WOULD NOT BUDGE. We plunged it over and over and over and over and over and over... until we finally gave up and called a plumber.
- Like a "coin collection." One of the holdovers from Master's dad is this business of collecting coins. Grandpa had an extensive collection of coins, and shortly after His death, we took His collection and sold it to a local coin dealer. Having done that, Master was insistent that there were other coins around here that could be sold as well. So... on Saturday morning, He and T loaded up some bits and pieces of coinage, and went off to sell the whole lot of them, netting us a grand total that came in just under $50.
- Like shopping for new floors. We are planning to have the old, worn carpet removed from our two condos, so that we can replace it with laminate flooring. It's a thing we've imagined doing forever, but we are finally able to manage it financially. That project has necessitated a batch of visits from various contractors to measure the space and bid for the job. What an absolutely overwhelming array of choices and details!
- I've been simply amazed by the thoughtfulness of readers here -- those people that my creepy anonymous commenter refers to, derisively, as "my" readers. Of course, they aren't MY readers. They are their own people with their own views and values, and they honor me (and us) by their participation here.
- And as for anonymous -- for some unknown reason, the poor soul seems compelled to follow along here, all the while proclaiming how awful it is to view our less than "perfect" bodies portrayed on the web. On days when I'm not feeling especially solid and stable, the barbs find their marks. Still, mostly I'm mature and living a life that I've chosen. So, from now on, the official response to the anonymous nonsense is from Glinda, The Good Witch -- "You have no power here. Begone, before someone drops a house on you, too."
- He and I are launching out onto the uncharted waters of sexual reconnection. We've been drifting further and further apart for the last number of years -- as I've suppressed my own desires in favor of focusing on His pleasure, I've unwittingly pushed Him away. He's been bewildered and confused. I've been frustrated and angry. It's been a mess. Last night, for the first time, we actually managed to talk reasonably about IT. There's no easy answer, but we are on the path to figuring it out.
- Saturday evening, we went to dinner at Red Lobster with T's mom and niece. Lobster Fest has been an annual "event" for all of us for many years, and this year's dinner had particular poignancy as we all remembered how scary those first weeks after T's mom's stroke were. It was a nice dinner, and then Mom's oxygen tank ran low, and she got very panicky and distressed. We got the tank replaced, and she calmed down, but we were all stunned at how dependent she's become on the supplemental oxygen. Today, she had an appointment with her pulmonologist, and he took one look at her and sent her directly to the hospital. We still don't know what the diagnosis will be. T and her brother are at the hospital, while Master and I wait anxiously for some word...
swan
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