Stoic

Master looked at me last night and commented that I'd seemed very stoic during the last couple of spankings.  It was mostly an observation with a tinge of curiosity to it -- He wondered if that were something I was doing consciously.  I'm not sure exactly how I answered His question.  I didn't really have much language to describe what and how I've been feeling lately.  I explained that I was just trying to stay in the headspace where I was able to be clear that none of it really mattered so there was no reason to get all emotionally cranked up over things.  That was not, judging from the confusion I saw on His face, an answer that did much to clear things up.

I have been wondering though, as I've gone through the day, what if anything there might be within that descriptor to explain and describe my current mental and emotional state.   So, I did a bit of research to help me understand exactly what is meant by the term "stoic."  Definitionally, I found this:

Sto·ic –adjective
1.of or pertaining to the school of philosophy founded by Zeno, who taught that people should be free from passion, unmoved by joy or grief, and submit without complaint to unavoidable necessity.

I find that definition interesting.  It wasn't quite what I imagine He meant in using the term.  I really believe that Master was simply referring to my very calm and detached response to the last couple of spankings.  I have, in fact, been working consciously to dial down the level of emotional turmoil that I'm subject to both in the midst of a session, but also in just the day-to-day realities of my life with Him.  I wouldn't say that I am anywhere close to the place where I am free from passion or unmoved by joy or grief, and no one ever said that I ever manage to submit without complaint (or at least a bit of a pout) to those things that are unavoidable necessities.  I am, however, working to notice the internal monologue that gets me going when things don't go as I'd like them to go -- and then, having noticed, I am talking to myself in an effort to derail the emotional storms that I've been prone to for a very long time.

A little further research gave me some basic information about this philosophical viewpoint/practice, and helped me learn a bit about how it applies in life.  I found that those who practice stoicism hold that a life of virtue is lived in accordance with nature. For the stoic, nature is viewed as rational and perfect, and an ethical life is a life lived in accordance with the rational order of things. A stoic would advise, "Do not seek to have events happen as you want them to, but instead want them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go well."


The essential practice of stoicism is to recognize the difference between those things that are within our power and those not within our power.  That seems, to me, to be an important facet of the practice of volitional slavery.  There is, for those of us who commit to live this life, very little that remains within our power.  I find that even the things that might appear to be mine and within my control are only that way  because He chooses to have it be that way.  If or when He would choose to remove those things from my realm of influence, there is nothing that I will be able to do or say about that. 

With that said, the internal life of the mind and the emotions remains within our power to direct.  Our opinions are up to us, as are our impulses, desires, aversions, fears.  These things are our doing, and we retain control of them even when we are living within the most deliberately stringent power exchange relationships. On the other hand, what is outside of us does not belong to us, and we do not control those things.  Our bodies are not up to us, nor our possessions, our reputations, or our public presentation or activities.  Whatever is not our doing is also not ours to direct.  When I forget all that and begin to think that things that are not mine belong to me; when I lose track of the fact that I am His slave -- I can get to feeling thwarted, miserable, and upset.  Under those circumstances, and caught in that thought pattern, I will blame Him and just about everyone else on the planet for my internal pain. 

Stoicism teaches that the only thing over which we have control is our capacity for judgment. Since everything external to our own thoughts and reactions, including all external affairs and acts of others, are outside of our power, the rational (and therefore ethical) attitude toward them is indifference. Toward all that is not within our power we should be apathetic.  What upsets people is not things themselves but their judgments about those things. At least, that is true for me.  If I allow myself to care about the things that are outside of my control, then inevitably, some of what happens causes me pain and frustration and anxiety.  That comes from my judgements about those things and events.  It isn't those things themselves that cause me hurt -- it is my own judgement about them.  

I've spent a lot of time feeling angry and unhappy and afraid over the last few years.  I don't like it.  It wastes my energy and saps my ability to live with joy and focus.  So, I think that this business of stoicism has something to recommend it.  It makes sense to me, and I find that when I can manage to practice it even a little bit, I go through my life more calmly remembering that to avoid unhappiness, frustration, and disappointment, I need to control those things that are within my power and remain indifferent or apathetic to those things which are not.

I've wondered, in these last few weeks, as I've sunk into what has felt like a quiet and calm place within myself, if there was something wrong with me.  I've felt as if I'd sent my heart away to someplace that was "safer" feeling -- detached from the too-close-for-comfort passions that He can raise up in me by the very nature of who He is and who I am.  I've wondered if I was becoming depressed, although I've not experienced this as particularly sad.  It has just been different and odd.  On the other hand, I've found that I am entirely present and available for those moments where He and I connect over something that feels mutual and true between us.  In those moments, I feel myself filling up with gratitude and joy and a deep sense of peace for the privilege of being right where I am. 

Because I am prone to examine and question my own reactions, I've fussed at the flatness of that indiffernce -- especially when it is so closely juxtaposed with the deep and flowing waters of our love.  How can the two coexist?  Thinking in the language of stoicism gives me a way to understand this seeming paradox.  I can choose to just not care about the things that are not mine to control.  I can choose to not respond to decisions or actions of His that are outside of my control.  I can choose to not care and that is OK.  Opting out of the activity of judging things that are not mine leaves me with all my energies and my truest loving heart to participate in the best life available to me.  That seems like a good possibility to me.

So, perhaps I really am consciously choosing the stoic path.

swan

Is That All There Is?

I just cannot drag my mind away from the spectacle presented by the youngsters that we saw at the Irish Pub on Saturday evening.  I'll admit that I was seriously taken aback by what I saw.  Call me old.  It never was my thing to hang out in bars, even when I was a number of decades younger than I am now.  So, maybe it has ever been thus, but I am finding that the behaviors that I saw made me sad, and I remain sad. 

I don't think that I am prudish.  I don't even think that I am particularly "traditional" in my views about male and female relating.  I know that sex is a big part of that equation, and I am right there when it comes to supporting the view that women ought to have as much leeway and say-so in creating sexual liasons as their male counterparts.  I spent a very big part of my young adulthood working to assure that women would have those options, and the fact that change has come to the "dating" and "mating" scene seems like an affirmation of the campaigning lots of us did so many decades ago.

But, to be blunt, what I saw on Saturday was not at all about equality or rights or having choices.  These young women were, from what I could see, inebriated and, as a result, willing to fall into a fuck-fest with any randy young dude that looked willing -- and how many young dudes are there on the planet that would not be willing?  I didn't see choosing happening.  As far as I could tell (and I admit I could be wrong), there was a fairly random shuffling, and however it fell out at the end, that's how folks headed off for various horizontal accommodations.

I think that, in today's vernacular, this sort of thing is refered to as a "hookup."  A hookup (colloquial American English) is casual sex activity that could consist of manual stimulation, oral sex, or sexual intercourse. An extended hookup sometimes refers to prolonged instances of casual sex interactions. This is a situation in which the involved parties occasionally meet for casual sex multiple times.  This is a casual relationship specifically for sex and without any emotional aspect. This may be refered to as No Strings Attached (NSA) sex.  Other colloquial terms used to describe two people engaged in a relationship in which there is no emotional but purely sexual involvement are "fuck buddies", "friends with benefits", "booty call", and "ami calin" (the popular French term).

A "hookup" seems to me like settling.  Instead of investing the time and energy to create a truly intimate relationship, those who "hookup" settle for connecting via body parts.  No need for messy relatedness.  In the hookup situation, nobody has to find out about anybody's past or present or family or hobbies or fears or dreams or plans or odd quirks.  It is all about rubbing up against each other.  Nothing more and nothing less.  Sad. 

How did we come to such a pass?  How is it that our young people, our sons and daughters (at least if you are my age, they seem like they could be a son or daughter), have come to understand that hooking up is a reasonable equivalent for dating and romancing and wooing and learning to become lovers and friends?  Did we teach them that?  If we did, why did we do that?  Did we intend this? 

Maybe ... just maybe we started down the path during all those years when, as young parents we insisted that our children not encounter any sort of challenge to their self-esteem.  I remember when, in the elementary schools that my children attended, no one was ever allowed to lose or to fail.  Every sports team had an "everybody plays" rule, and field days were events where every child who participated got a ribbon.  Teachers graded papers in purple ink so that seeing a paper covered in RED INK didn't destroy that oh-so-delicate self esteem.  What, I wonder, did we teach all those little ones who are now in their late 20's and 30's with all of that careful and self-conscious cheering from the sidelines?  Was the unintended message that everyone is the same; that there is no distinction between one potential connection and another; that it really doesn't matter who you are or how you feel -- any port in a storm is the best you can hope for?  Did we teach our precious children that there is really no difference at all that is worth paying attention to?

And what about all of us that were card-carrying feminists in the late 1960's and early 1970's?  We envisioned a world where our daughters and grand-daughters would have the same freedoms and choices as our fathers and brothers enjoyed.  We marched and we petitioned and we lobbied for the changes that would ensure that those choices would come to be the birthright of generations of women in a future that we could only imagine.  Did we, in insisting that women should have the SAME RIGHTS, unknowingly set up the expectation that women and men were THE SAME?  Did we set in motion the changes that would bring our dear daughters to a day when making fools of themselves in public drinking venues has come to be viewed as "sexy" and "alluring?" 

Then, as I grapple with this in my own mind, I come down to the latter day craze of polyamory.  It is, in these Internet driven, socially networked days, all the rage.  Everyone is doing it -- or so it would seem.  It is "uncool" to be possessive of your mate.  The ultimately unsophisticated emotion is jealousy.  Being poly is in.  What we've said, those of us who have embraced this "new" love style, is that those who are with it, evolved, self-aware, and ultimately cool, have "many loves."  There is something warped and stunted about that "coupled up" sort of intimate relating.  Better, we have insisted, to form vast, wide-flung webs of sexual partners who can answer to our varied and disparate needs.  We've said it over and over and over and over until our children have come to believe what we've preached to them -- more lovers makes more ...

I think my sadness is partly projection.  I am watching those young women making choices to not connect, to settle for piecemeal, shallow, casual relatedness, and I know that the day will come when they will be alone in their old women's bodies wondering what they might have missed, and where they chose the lonely path.  I also think that my sadness is about feeling complicit in teaching lessons that I never contemplated.  I believe that loving deeply and completely is a good and glorious thing, and I have been part of teaching otherwise.  I am guilty, and I will forever be sorry.

swan

Irish Pub and Irish Music

In Dublin's fair city,

where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She was a fishmonger,
But sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

(chorus)

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"


We had a bit of an "adventure" last night, deciding to make an outing to an Irish pub just a few blocks from my school, where I knew there was an "Irish" band playing.  It is not our usual thing to frequent bars, but for whatever reason, it seemed like a good idea, and so we piled out into the rainy night and headed off -- the first official public debut of the kilt.

The place was packed with two private parties and a significant number of young, rowdy, drunken rugby players and a gaggle of semi-attached, disheveled looking, loud-mouth females that we came to refer to as the "rugby sluts." 

The music didn't start until about 9:30, and we'd arrived a good bit ahead of that.  We ordered some appetizers and some drinks.  We sat, tucked securely into a corner, nibbling our munchies, and observed the antics of the youngsters.  That crowd became increasingly obnoxious and disgusting as they got drunker and drunker, finally finishing their evening with one of their member heaving his guts out in the men's room -- attended by a couple of his buddies.  The "sluts" headed off with whichever penis had them last, and the place quieted down to a dull roar.  The private parties wound up and cleared out, and the band got all set up and began to play.

There was a rather remarkably talented and attractive young woman on the violin, a very good drummer that she introduced as her brother, a base guitarist, and a fellow who alternated between guitar and mandolin.  The last member of the group was a tall, pleasant looking young man who played a very awkward guitar and insisted on trying to scream the vocals as if he was fronting for Axel Rose.  That was too bad because, when he settled in and sang like a balladeer, he wasn't too bad.  With that small exception, however, the group was actually very good, and certainly fun to watch and listen to.  The room was probably too small for their sound, but it was nice to have them in such an intimate setting.  We enjoyed the music very much. 

When we headed home, close to midnight, we were glad we'd gone and talked happily about doing it again -- planning to arrive later, but looking forward to more evenings spent with some good music.

swan (who is still wondering if there is anything at all to be said about the mating habits of young folks...)

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Lest anyone get the false impression that it is all kink all the time here (and I know that if you've been reading here for any time at all, you cannot possibly have that impression), today our household is headed off to see our Cincinnati Reds get their butts kicked by the San Diego Padres at Great American Ball Park.  It is part of our continuing celebration of Master's birthday, and we're hoping for a fun afternoon.  The weather forecast is a little iffy -- 50% chance of rain, and some significant potential for any rain that does occur to be heavy and even violent.  Eeekk!  Not to worry, friends -- we have our rain gear with us. 

However the game turns out, it is always a good time to be at the ballgame.  There is just something about the experience of actually being there for the American pastime of baseball...



I hope that all of you are enjoying a good weekend.  We'll be back after the game.
swan

I Made It One More Time:)

Today is a milestone. 61 years ago today in a birth that was two months premature, and through which ordeal my mother and I both nearly died, I came into this life. I lived the first two months of this life in an incubator, a new medical innovation in 1949 neonatology, and a very risky proposition then. You see in that this was so new a practice, they had not learned yet what oxygen levels were healthy in incubation, or that if the oxygen mixture was too rich, it would burn out the optic nerve resulting in incurable life long total blindness, a condition called retrolentalfibroplasia or RLF. 50% of babies placed in incubation in 1949 and 1950 became suddenly and (seemingly to medicine then, unexplainably) blind, before they realized that too rich an oxygen mixture was the culprit. To this day the largest spike in the incidence of blindness is in those born in 1949 and 1950 due to RLF. I won that lottery. I did not develop RLF despite two months of incubation in 1949.

My parents were told I was not likely to survive my first year, then not likely to make it to age 4, then age 8 and so on. I was ten before I ever went two weeks without seeing some doctor. I beat all the odds and continue leading a life that defies what everyone says is what is expected in so many ways.

Today I officially enter my 60's. I am 61. Wow! I know that happens after surviving this interval of life but for me it feels like an achievement. I don't feel embarrassed about my advancing age, or consternated by how much nearer the eventual end of my life might be, I feel proud, elated, ecstatic to be here......to not only have survived but to be living the life I choose and that fulfills me.

Thank god for my parents who never gave up on me, for a Dr. named Vernon T. Rear who did exceptional things to care for me and keep me alive through out my child hood, for my first wife who despite a horribly dysfunctional marriage (that thank god ended) partnered with me to create two wonderful children, for my t who gave me a reason to live and have joy and laughter in my life when my divorce had left me bereft, who shares my life and love still today and serves me faithfully, and who had the compersion to open her home life, and love, to embrace as her sister heart, our beautiful swan, and to my wonderful swan who is the great soul mate and love of my life, who embraces my sadism as no one ever has, and who struggles with aspects of our life that she finds difficult to embrace but who embraces them anyway as my true and wonderful slave. Each of you in great measure made this day of life possible for me. I suspect without anyone of those in my life I would not be here.

I have a career which, in September, I will celebrate the 35th anniversary, of beginning that is unique and my intentional choice, and where I get to be leader. It gives my life great meaning and has allowed me to make peace with society.

I have always been indomitable, which has gone in large part to keeping me alive, as well as all the support of others I have recounted(and which character trait gave my adults huge challenges, and me lots of spankings, throughout my childhood.)

I too have always had this need to spank. I have no idea if I had it in April 1949, but I am sure I had it by April 1953.

So here I am.........once again. I did it! I made my 60's and I am likely the healthiest I have been in my adulthood despite chronic pain in my knee that has yet to be replaced (I haven't acquiesced to that one yet either:), and my shoulder they say needs total replacement (I think I wore it out spanking:), and my spinal stenosis (way better than it was, now, at 140 pounds lighter than before my bariatric surgery 13 months ago.) I am likely to be on to my 70's and 80's and 90's.

Thank god I am here and have had the wonderful experience of being able to be who I am. I love my life and I am proud of being in it 61 years, and to be so in love with my t and my swan. I have such good fortune and I am so grateful, in love, and loved.

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

We Are In Go Mode

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.”

We have travel plans! It has been a very long while since we had time and capacity to do much traveling. We used to go on a pretty regular basis to Gatlinburg, Tennessee; rent a cabin up on a mountain; and just tuck in for a few days of serious rest and recuperation. Here lately, even our Gatlinburg trips have been seriously curtailed as we seem to never find time to get away together anymore.

That is about to change. We have a wedding to attend in May. Master's eldest is planning a wedding in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We've known about it, of course, for months now, but our thinking about it has been pretty abstract as we've wrestled with which of us could go, and how we would go, and how much time we might take to go, and what we might do on the way there and back, and where we needed to stay if we did go... A serious tangled up, rambling conversation that has just not taken us where we needed to be in order to actually put a plan in place for making the journey.

Finally, a couple of nights ago, we got busy and sorted though the alternatives and options, and made a plan. We now have reservations at what looks like a very nice hotel, and we are ready to go. We all have what Master is referring to as "wedding duds," and it seems as if our little family will get to make a real live, honest to goodness trip together. The wedding will be fine, I'm sure, but I know that I am looking forward to some time away -- just the three of us.

Then, on a roll, we also made plans for some summer travel. It will be just a weekend away -- T is in a new job, and neither Master nor T can take of very much time from work because there's been so much time taken in the last year as they recovered from surgeries...

Never mind though -- we've got an absolutely lovely hotel suite reserved with a small living room, full kitchen and a fireplace, and two bedrooms all in the midst of the Ann Arbor Art Festival. It looks wonderful, and again it will just be so nice to get away for a bit of time.

We've got our traveling shoes out and ready to go.

swan

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I was wandering the Interwebs searching for some sort of inspiration, and I came across a website with a rich collection of quotes from Antoine de Saint_Exupery. As I read down through the list, it seemed to me that some of the quotes spoke directly to the nature heart of submission, while others seemed to give voice to a Dominant view of the world. So, I took them and placed them in their “appropriate” category, according to my lights. You might disagree, but I imagine that sitting with these morsels might give readers here something to contemplate – I know that it worked that way for me.


swan

Dominant Quotes

A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.

A chief is a man who assumes responsibility. He says "I was beaten," he does not say "My men were beaten".

A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.

Each man must look to himself to teach him the meaning of life. It is not something discovered: it is something molded.

I have no right, by anything I do or say, to demean a human being in his own eyes. What matters is not what I think of him; it is what he thinks of himself. To undermine a man's self-respect is a sin.

If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.

It is in the compelling zest of high adventure and of victory, and in creative action, that man finds his supreme joys.

Submissive Quotes

A civilization is a heritage of beliefs, customs, and knowledge slowly accumulated in the course of centuries, elements difficult at times to justify by logic, but justifying themselves as paths when they lead somewhere, since they open up for man his inner distance.

A civilization is built on what is required of men, not on that which is provided for them.

A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.

For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow.

How could there be any question of acquiring or possessing, when the one thing needful for a man is to become - to be at last, and to die in the fullness of his being.

I know but one freedom, and that is the freedom of the mind.

It is such a secret place, the land of tears.

Life has meaning only if one barters it day by day for something other than itself.

Powerfully Gentle

Isabella by Christian Ethan Mosconi Dec 2005

There is something in this painting that evokes the spanking from last night for me. It was such a different sort of experience for the two of us, that I am not entirely sure of my capacity to capture it in words... In simplest terms, He played with me in a far more gentle and more sensual fashion than is the norm between us. His usual approach to sadomasochistic play is to go for intensity; to push as close to the edge as He can get; to always, always, always take things to the place where I am struggling to hold on -- and then a bit further than that.

Last night, He didn't do that. No "blistering." There was spanking and strapping and paddling, but it was so interwoven with lots and lots of stroking and rubbing and playing with a wide variety of knives that it was as if He lifted me out of my usual fear and frustration to something that was (eventually) almost mystically soft and sweet. If I had known that it was going to go that way, I might have dropped right into it and enjoyed it and floated along with it. I just expected to be hurt and suffer and struggle through the whole thing, and so the first part of it was lost on me.

He talked about it afterwards -- said He felt that He was evolving toward some different style, and He told me that He really enjoyed it (and hoped I did too).  He seemed a bit mystified and amazed.  I am pretty sure this isn't anything that He expected from Himself or for the two of us.  I imagine that a few years ago I'd have experienced that as a "failure," knowing that the mere fact that He'd decided to "go easy" on me was an indication of how far I have fallen from what we once had together. 

Last night's play didn't have that sort of feeling -- no scintilla of failure.  I felt that I was every bit as engaged as ever in "being there" for whatever He had in mind, and (once I finally calmed down) I found myself carried off on the staccato rhythm being played out by His toys.  And so I danced to the tune He played -- danced under the swirling stars, and felt the full force of the power He wielded so gently.

swan

Wimpy

We played together on Thursday evening.  It wasn't a terribly intense session.  He used His hand a good bit, and stroked with the tip of a knife.  At the height of things, He shifted up to a lexan paddle and a fairly light leather strap --

And...

I whined and sobbed and suffered from the very beginning until the very end. 

For some reason, on Thursday evening, every sensation seemed to be magnified -- and not in a good way.  The hand spanking caused me to gasp and whimper.  The knife blade traced my skin with searing sharpness.  I hung on and stayed put through the paddling, but it was agony and I was furious that "no one even cared" how I was suffering.  I ended up feeling like a total wimp.

It was such a markedly different session than the one that preceded it just a few days earlier.  On that occasion, I was "in the flow," and came through to the end feeling strong and empowered and thrilled with the connection between us.  What, I wonder, is the difference?  Why is my pain tolerance so wildly variable?  What is it that causes the same sensation to be pleasurable and erotic on one occasion and just miserable on another? 

Is it mindset?  I know from experience that when I go into a session feeling angry or frustrated or frightened, it is far more likely that I'll struggle. 

Maybe it is just a question of general well-being.  Starting into a spanking with a host of physical aches and pains makes it more difficult for me to get my head wrapped around the pain of a spanking on top of all the rest of it.

Maybe it is hormonal.  I know that, when I was still having menstrual periods, my ability to process and accommodate pain varied with my cycles.  Now, well past my surgically induced menopause, I wonder if there is yet some hormonal component to my variable responses to painful stimuli.  Researchers have found that estrogen can act as a natural painkiller. Higher estrogen levels result in a higher pain tolerance, and lower estrogen levels cause effectively lower pain tolerance.

I don't know.  I do wonder.  In the meantime, I get spanked when and how He decides -- and He seems as happy with my misery as He ever is with my more accomplished session responses.  

swan

Signs of Spring

It is the middle of April, and there is clear evidence that spring is upon us:

My front garden is in full bloom with dancing pastel tulips and my beloved bleeding hearts. 

The various denizens of the little pond community outside our back doors have all returned from their winter homes, and so, as we open up the windows, it is common to hear the ducks and geese and redwing blackbirds and robins and mourning doves and killdeers.  The cattails are coming up from the depths, fresh and green, and the bullfrogs are out each evening serenading the lady frogs for all they are worth.

Here in the midwest, the pollen count is off the charts, and people around town are sneezing and sniffling and struggling with swollen, itchy, watery eyes.  The forecast for the weekend calls for rain, so that might help some.

The 3rd quarter report cards have been distributed, and my wonderful kids are beginning to see the end.  They are coming to that point in the year where they are ready to move on.  So much growth has happened, and they will be leaving me soon.  I think that all of us are feeling a little wistful about that.  I've had such fun with them, and they have been such eager and enthusiastic partners in the process of learning.  I will launch them on their way in about seven weeks.  I am awfully proud of their success, but I will miss them... 

I, once again, managed to prepare all the family taxes and get that off to the state and federal taxing authorities.  The added challenge this year was doing the final set of taxes for Master's father.  He always had his taxes done at a local tax preparer, but doing it ourselves saved us the nearly $300 fee that they always charged him.  I was nervous about the whole business, but TurboTax is my friend, and once we managed to gather up all the various receipts and documents, it seemed to go relatively smoothly.  I always fuss about "doing the taxes," and once it is done and filed, I feel as if spring can really begin, and I can relax and enjoy it. 

Our regular walks are no longer a battle with the weather.  We have way less trouble fitting it in while trying not to get caught in a storm, or having to worry about ice, or...  It is that precious sliver of time in our seasonal rounds where the temperatures are mild and pleasant and the time spent outdoors is comfortable and enjoyable. 

Nothing too exciting in all of that.  I know.  It simply is what it is -- the passages of our lives, and the acknowledgement of how good it is to be waking up from the long, long winter to another spring's promise.

swan

Speculating About Other People

He and I were out walking Sunday afternoon (it was an absolutely gorgeous day here).  The figure-eight path we follow takes us all through the condominium complex where we live, and along with the exercise benefits, our walks give us the opportunity to smile and wave and often even exchange greetings with our neighbors.  It is funny how, over time, you can come to feel as if you know people based on those kinds of passing interactions. 

So...  We both chuckled when one neighbor, obviously returning from a shopping trip, drove past us with a 47" big screen TV and a bathroom vanity in the bed of their pickup truck.  I immediately suggested that I could just imagine the negotiation that led to that particular set of purchases.  Let's see -- "Honey, I promise I'll install the new vanity just as soon as we get home if only I can have this amazingly large TV -- pleeeeeasssse?!?!?"

It wouldn't go like that in our house, but then every relationship has its own unique power dynamic.  I do hope the vanity gets installed without too much hassle, and that the big screen TV is all they hope it will be.

swan

Kilt

For many, many years, Master has wanted a Utilikilt.  A few years ago, these kilts with serious attitude were the rage in the BDSM community.  Every arrogant young fellow in every dungeon was arrayed in a kilt.  The fad has pretty well run its course now, but He has still occasionally voiced the longing for a kilt of His own.  Too, prior to His unbelievable weight loss, the cost of one of these kilts was exorbitant.  Having one made to fit Him back then required some serious custom work. 

His birthday is rapidly approaching, and this year, T and I have finally gotten Him the kilt He has always wanted.  It arrived today.  He has it on, and it fits wonderfully -- and He is just thrilled.  I think He looks awfully cute in His new duds.  Take a look (He is looking squinty because we made Him pose in the sunshine without His shades) ...

swan

A Place That Welcomes

Impish left an interesting comment on a recent post.  She wrote:

I have so enjoyed our discussions here. You, and Tom have been willing to answer questions when I felt stupid and naive, and I have tried to be respectful. At other times, I have felt that we are in parallel hormonal lives, or have similar/ dissimilar emotional bents and want to discuss. I hope that when it's not a good time, or good question, or you don't want to that I will know that rather that overstepping something I value.

I truly appreciate the thought that is conveyed there, and I believe that sentiment is representative of the vast majority of our visitors here.  Our readers have, by and large, been consistently respectful and open-minded -- even when there is disparity between "our way of life" and theirs.  We've tried to keep this place open and welcoming to any and all who come to converse, to ask questions, to learn, to enjoy the community that has grown up around us over these years. 

I sense that there are some of our readers who are feeling a bit of discomfort about the recent nastiness that has sprouted in our comments.  Resolving that discomfort is part of the reason that we have chosen to not tolerate that particular sort of presence here. 

To me, it seems analogous to a situation that developed years ago in the Colorado town where I lived.  At that time, my family enjoyed being able to go to a nearby movie theater that sold tickets for just a dollar.  That cheap ticket thing made it possible for my young and usually financially strapped family to enjoy an outing to the movies now and then.  It was a bright, welcoming place; well kept and staffed by friendly and competent folks. 

And then, a couple of different teenage gangs decided that the theater was "their turf."  Almost overnight the friendly welcoming little theater became a battle zone.  Hulking, sulking, sullen, angry young men prowled all over the place.  Fights broke out in the parking lot.  It became risky to leave your car parked there -- thefts were a commonplace.  The friendly, happy staff quit one by one. 

Soon, the families, retirees,  and young couples who had been the mainstay customers for the place stopped coming.  It was just too dangerous and uncomfortable.  Within six months, that neighborhood theater was out of business, and the windows were boarded up.  The last time I was back in Colorado -- it remained an empty, silent, sad-looking shell of a place.

Allowing hooligans to move in and occupy the space eventually led to its demise.  I don't know if anyone realized the impact of that at first.  I don't know if anyone considered what they might do about the problem in the beginning.  I don't know if the end of that enterprise was at all clear to those who were running it on the day that the very first gang banger slouched his saggy ass through the door.  What I do know is that it became very clear that failure to defend your place leaves you vulnerable to being overrun by outsiders who might destroy the sense of welcome and safety that people feel when they visit you.

That will not happen here.  Visitors are welcome here.  Friends and cyber-neighbors are surely welcome, but so are those who are merely sight-seeing or only curious.  We are even most happy to engage in discourse and debate with those who do not see the world the same way we do -- who might disagree (although we will insist that disagreement be expressed politely and with respect).  We value this place and the relationships that have been forged here.  We will endeavor to maintain it as a comfortable and hospitable venue for all who find their way to us.  Should any come with malicious intent and establish a destructive and negative presence, they will be removed -- banished forever.

This will remain a place that welcomes.

swan

People Have the Right to Live Their Lives

I was driving in to school on Friday morning, listening to our local NPR station.  One interview focused on a new television series, Treme, that is set in post-Katrina New Orleans:



It was interesting to hear the story of the rebirth and rebuilding of this very unique American city, told by a journalist who has spent some significant time in the once devastated city, learning the people and the culture of the place.  As he talked about the genesis and concept of the show, Treme, he descibed bits of the social milieu of New Orleans, that cannot be seen by those who are merely "touristing" in the place.  He described the time that he'd spent learning his way into the place, coming to know the people in their bars and homes and churches and clubs; slowly coming to absorb the culture of the city by being in it.  It is that experience and that understanding that defines the shape of the television show.  The writers of Treme are less concerned with explaining the phenomenon of New Orleans to the viewer, and more interested in simply portraying the place with as much fidelity as they can manage.  It is, then, up to the individual to do the work to learn to know what is.

And then, he said the most interesting thing, "Exposition is soul killing.  People have the right to live their lives without explaining it to you."  My ears perked up and I almost gasped out loud, "YES!"  I called Master, still at home, and asked Him if He might write down the references for me so I could remember how struck I was by that notion -- so that I could find my way back to it this evening when I had time to write. 

How true that simple declaration is for those of us who write these blogs.  We gather up and preserve the bits and pieces of our very real, and sometimes almost inexplicable lives, and we lay them out here in whatever semblance of order we can manage.  Our stories and our dreams and our hopes and our fears festoon the "pages" of these personal web-based diaries.  For our readers, learning about who we are and how we live cannot be a matter of simply cruising by as if one were on some sort of air conditioned tour bus. 

I can't speak for any of my neighbors in this corner of the blog universe, but this blog is not meant to offer advice.  It isn't a place for people to find some sort of BDSM "how to."  It isn't a collection of stories or butt pictures.  Truly, there are no "explanations" here.  These pages chronicle our minutes, our hours, our days.  Spend time, and you'll find us open and friendly.  Piece by piece, reading here, a person might come to know us and know our lives by simply being with us.  Get to know us, and you might find you wonder why we do this or how we came to be like that...  And if we've come to know you and trust you, we might take pleasure in showing you what it is that you want to know.  That will go better for both of us if we avoid the temptation to try to describe and detail and explain.  Let us live our lives the way we choose, right in front of you, and watch how it evolves.  Doing that will show you things that we'd never be able to TELL you, and it will speak to us of respect and tolerance and acceptance.

I really like it:  "Exposition is soul killing.  People have the right to live their lives without explaining it to you." 

swan

More Mom -- Update

It was just the 3rd week of March when we were convinced that we were losing T's mom -- all of us trying to prepare ourselves for the worst.  Then, seemingly miraculously, Mom recovered and came home.  She's not been as good as she was before the last crisis, but she was surely doing better. 

The diagnostic work that doctor's did in the wake of the last scare showed that there is something called organizing pneumonia in her lungs.  The prescribed treatment -- massive doses of prednisone.  We are glad for the hope of a diagnosis and a treatment plan, but both Master and I have had parents treated with heavy doses of prednisone, and we were both nervous about the likely side effects:

amnesia, anxiety, benign intracranial hypertension, convulsions, delirium, dementia (characterized by deficits in memory retention, attention, concentration, mental speed and efficiency, and occupational performance), depression, dizziness, EEG abnormalities, emotional instability and irritability, euphoria, hallucinations, headache, impaired cognition, incidence of severe psychiatric symptoms, increased intracranial pressure with papilledema (pseudotumor cerebri) usually following discontinuation of treatment, increased motor activity, insomnia, ischemic neuropathy, long-term memory loss, mania, mood swings, neuritis, neuropathy, paresthesia, personality changes, psychiatric disorders including steroid psychoses or aggravation of pre-existing psychiatric conditions, restlessness, schizophrenia, verbal memory loss, vertigo, withdrawn behavior

Saturday afternoon, as we were preparing to leave for an evening with friends, T got a call from her niece reporting that Mom was behaving very strangely.  Clearly the niece was concerned -- maybe even frightened.  T hung up the phone, and we all talked it over and came to the conclusion that it would be wise to have them take Mom to the emergency room.  T called back and suggested that -- and so it was. 

She headed out and met the family there and they did a thorough work up; checking for kidney issues and urinary tract infections and stroke and heart failure...  Every test came back negative, thank goodness, and they sent her home with anti-psychotic medication to manage the prednisone side effects. 

Once again, we all breathed a sigh of relief.  There's no telling how many more of these we've got ahead of us, but for today, we still have Mom, and that makes this lovely spring day seem even brighter.

swan

Another "Crisis"

When His father died in January, one of the very nice, very sentimental bits that Master inherited was a lovely gold man's ring set with His grandmother's diamonds.  His dad wore it always, and since January 26, Master has done the same.  The ring is probably of some significant worth just as a very nice piece of jewelry, but the fact that it is His dad's ring, and further, that the diamonds in it came from His grandmother, imbue it with particular meaning and sentimental value that far exceeds the replacement price. 

Unfortunately, it is just a wee bit big on His finger... 

Thursday was the last day for T at her present job.  Her department has been outsourced, and she will be moving to another position within the company.  These last few weeks, as things have disintegrated at work have been very trying for her, and so, when she got home we decided to go out to dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant to celebrate.  We hopped into the car, headed off, got in, got seated, ordered drinks...  and then He NOTICED THAT HIS FATHER'S RING WAS NOT ON HIS FINGER!!!!!

T and I piled out of the restaurant booth and searched -- the floor of the restaurant, the parking lot, the sidewalk, the car.  We didn't find it.  We did check in with the host station in the restaurant, and asked them to let us know if someone, by the wildest chance, might turn it in to them... 

Lost!  The wonderful, expensive, sentimentally priceless ring was lost. 

The food came and it was probably very good, but dinner was miserable.  He was nearly hysterical, panicked, emotionally wild -- unsure how exactly to cope with the potential that the ring might be irretrievably gone.  Some might remember that we have occasionally had similar difficulty with lost knives, but this was so much more earth shaking than the usual and pretty ordinary "knife crisis."  Nothing that T and I could say or do made very much difference, and we nibbled our way through our meals in an uncomfortable, grumpy, despondent haze. 

When we got back home, the search for the missing ring took us to all the places you might expect...  We looked in the pockets of the trousers that He wore to work and the sportscoat that was hanging back in the closet and the raincoat that He'd taken in case of rain that afternoon.  We searched under the bed, and in the bathrooms, and in His briefcase, and in His drawers, and under the couch. 

His panic and sense of misery was increasing minute by minute.  T, who wasn't feeling well, went off to bed.  I was at a loss, but unwilling to give up.  I just couldn't stand the thought that He was going to lose something so important to Him on so many levels.  So, I took one of our brightest flashlights, and I headed back out into the cold, windy darkness.  With the flashlight in hand, I combed every inch of our front walkways and shaggy spring flowerbeds.  Slowly, slowly, slowly, I walked back and forth, back and forth through the grass of our small, postage-stamp of a front yard -- hoping against hope that I might spot the gleam of that ring where it had bounced.  I scanned the breadth of the driveway and followed the contour of the curb out into the gutter -- could it be there? 

Nothing.  The miraculous thing is that no neighbor called the police to report a strange person out in the dark with a flashlight...

In desperation, I went back to the car.  T and I had been all through it at the restaurant, but I was out of ideas.  There was no ring in the trunk.  It wasn't on the floor in the back either.  I opened the driver's side door and leaned it to try and look under the seat, and as I did something glinted in the corner of my eye.  There.  Lying on the floor right beside the driver's seat was ...  THE RING!!!

I could feel myself exhale -- as if I'd been holding my breath for hours.  I snatched it up, clutched it tightly in my hand, and practically danced back into the house to give that wayward ring back to it's rightful Owner.  His face lit up and He grabbed me up into a big, tight hug that spoke all the thanks and praise my heart could want.  Another "crisis" averted.

swan

Sometimes it is Just Good

I've been pulling in lately.  Guarding my heart.  Growing quieter and quieter.  Serving, loving, caring -- but increasingly wary and increasingly prone to put distance between myself and Him. 

He's been pulling back, spacing out the spankings, trying to guage what would be "good" for me.  He's been uncertain, undecided ... wary about how best to proceed.

Life has brought us so many changes, so quickly, that sometimes it seems almost impossible to get our bearings.  There have been long stretches here where the best we've been able to muster is to hold onto one another, and speak, over and over and over, of our love.  That determined and tenacious love for one another has anchored us in one another, even as the various storms have crashed over our heads. 

Last night, we sat on the couch; He at His end and me at mine.  He talked about spanking -- and then suggested that I didn't really want to be spanked.  That sort of thing hurts, but I've learned that there's no point in arguing.  Master is always right.  Right. 

A bit of time passed, and then He was back to the idea of spanking me with the hairbrush paddle.  But then not.  And then again.  And then not.  Back and forth, He wrestled with His own questions -- and His questions engender questioning in me:  maybe He's right?  maybe He really doesn't want to spank me anymore?  maybe there's no way to ever be good enough?  maybe I should just stop thinking about it, wanting it, needing it?  maybe?  maybe?  maybe? 

And then He made up His mind.  He told me that He wanted to spank me over His knee, and He headed off to gather up the toys He wanted.  I could feel myself relax and breathe a bit easier.  It really was going to happen. 

And -- OH!  What a wonderful, delightful, amazing session we had.  He spanked with His hand.  For a really long time.  I've turned into such a lightweight that even a hand spanking hurts in the beginning.  Certainly, last night, the hand spanking hurt, but it was also -- interesting.  I could feel my mind engaging with Him as He spanked and talked and stroked and talked and spanked.  That really is a huge part of what I need anymore -- time to find a mental pathway into the whole business.  When my mind is chattering away about whatever has me wound up at the moment, it is nearly impossible for me to focus and find the place where spanking captures me.  I end up fighting and raging my way through the whole business in that event -- but not last night.  From the very beginning, I was there WITH Him, and loving being there again. 

He did get to paddle with His beloved hairbrush paddle, and then He went and brought out the lexan paddle which is lighter and stingier.  The lexan paddle seemed easier than the hairbrush paddle, but as He went back and forth between the two, I was again interested and intrigued.  It has been a long while since I could sink into the rhythms of a spanking enough to find myself communing with the sensations I experience.  It is an odd sort of mind-body disconnect that I just love.  It lets me stay IN the session without Him having to "pull His punches." 

In the midst of all the spanking and paddling and stroking with His knives, He reached between my legs and found His way into my sex.  And it didn't hurt!  It felt good.  I began to wander along the path of pleasure that He was leading me down.  And then He'd spank and pump in and out of me, and I wanted to grind onto His hand and lift my butt into His paddle strokes. 

We played for a really long time.  Some sort of crazy mix of pain and pleasure and simple, restorative closeness that was very, very good.  I ended up flushed and teary and cuddly feeling  He ended up all hot and turned on.  Most of all, we were together and happy with one another at the end of a session.  It felt so good.  It can happen for us.  I want more and more and more of that for Him and for me and for us.

swan

What is the Difference?

We have recently been corresponding some folks who live in a nearby community.  They are relatively new to the lifestyle, and they are interested in perhaps establishing a polyamorous household.  Unlike some internet correspondents, these people seem to have a good understanding of the niceties and protocols of communicating with people in power exchange relationships, and our conversation has proceeded slowly and gently as we get to know one another. 

Most recently, they asked about the difference between submissives and slaves. It is a reasonable question to ask us since our triad is composed of two different power-based relationships:

• Master and T,  His collared submissve
• Master and me, His slave

It is not a new question; it comes up regularly in the lifestyle, and you can set any one of our community discussion fora on fire by asking about the difference between a submissive and a slave.  Everyone in the lifestyle has an opinion on the subject, and there are very few other topics as likely to inspire passionate arguements.  There are all sorts of variations on a theme.  People twist and turn trying to clearly define and delineate the boundaries between the two categories. I've seen people get just livid over whether it is valid to bend the definitions, or must we, as a community, insist on definitional accuracy.  These wrangles almost always end up with a whole series of declarative absolutes that tend to fall into a predictable pattern:

• "Submissives can but slaves cannot..."
• "A submissive will, but a slave never would..."
• "Subs don't but slaves do..."

All of those generalizations provide interesting grist for discussion boards, social networking sites, and chat rooms, but I've never found them particularly helpful. There are exceptions to each and all.  In practice, that conversational path just leads inevitably to one side beating up on the other side.  Somehow, when WE all get started trying to talk about who is what, there is almost sure to be an outbreak of "one true wayism." 
 
I am disinclined to agree that lifestyle labels should just mean whatever any individual decides they mean "for them." Doing that makes it impossible for us to actually communicate because we lack a shared lexicon. Still, as a practical matter, the words "submissive" and "slave" do not carry the same solid meaning as the words "wife" and "husband" do. We are still defining and determining some of that meaning among us all.  Those labels are too personal, and perhaps too evocative, to mean exactly the same thing to each one of us. 

For our household, the two terms, submissive and slave, attach to T and I respectively. We are all comfortable with the implied distinction and we don't spend a lot of time worrying about the definitions. We tend to put more stock in our perceptions of one another, and in our perceptions of ourselves. For us, the words "submissive" and "slave," just fit and we don't worry too much about the distinctions. Each of us fits into the spot that makes sense for who we are, and we mesh with one another without a hitch (mostly), so the labels are just not a big deal.

That may not be an interesting or useful answer to the "what's the difference" question, but it is the reality. We tend to do what works for us and our household, and leave off worrying about what other people say or do or think. It is less formal than some, but more workable in our daily relatedness.

swan

Sorry to Disappoint

After all that wild, lurid discussion of customs around Easter and Easter Monday, our stats have been way up.  I imagine that there are lots and lots of people checking in to see the outcome of our own observance of the event.

I am so sorry to disappoint, but there is nothing to see.  No Easter spanking and no Easter Monday spanking either. 

For those of you who continue to wish that you might check in here and find a decorated Easter butt, this is the best I can offer...

swan

This Little Girl

This little girl is me.  The boy-child in the photo is my brother, Hank.  He's just 16 months younger than I am, and his arrival on the planet changed my life in big and small ways.  Isn't that the truth about younger siblings -- for all of us?

People who practice polyamory, and that would include us, sometimes point to the fact that parents can have several children and love all of them.  No one ever suggests that a parent should "get rid" of the older child when a younger sibling is born.  It is, we insist, possible and even commonplace to love a whole gaggle of children, raise them all simultaneously, and not have anyone "lose" in the bargain.  Except in the single-child family, all children are raised in situations where the love they experience is "polyamorous." 

That arguement is always posited from the view of the adults, the parents, loving their various children.  I've never heard anyone ever respond to that particular scenario with what seems to me a natural question -- "Yes, but what about how the children feel about it?"  Today, I am caught up in remembering that little blonde-haired, brown-eyed girl child, and I am awash in the awareness that, for her, the fact that there was another little one to love meant that she lost -- a very great deal. 

If you look closely at that seemingly happy family portrait, you might pay attention to the proxemics.  Notice who is at the center of this grouping.  Notice my mother's slight lean inward toward my father and my baby brother.  Notice me, out on the edge, as far away from my adored father as I can possibly be.  Notice, if you will, the eyes, the not quite smile, the look of questioning and confusion on my little face.  That's a look that has stayed with me all my life ... eyes into many, many cameras over the years asking where I belonged; if I belonged.  Here it is, years later, as I've moved even farther to the edge...

It is no secret to those who read here, that I am an uneasy polyamorist.  I understand it intellectually, and tolerate it with great difficulty in the actual practical realities.  I am, in any gathering of poly folk, the one who is likely to be quiet because, quite honestly, I am torn about how poly works for the greatest majority of people who might be engaged in it at some level.  In my heart of hearts, I will forever be that "big sister" edged out by all those brothers.  No one is ever going to convince me, in the deepest center of my heart, that "more" won't make a great and undeniable change in the way the world is. 

swan

Spring Solstice (Easter) Spanking

Our benign Easter holiday of soft, furry bunnies, candy, and colored eggs has an interesting history as the pagan spring solstice celebration replete with the flagellation of women as a tradition of celebrating fertility, sexuality, rebirth, and renewed health.

Easter and the Christian myth of Christ's resurrection was concocted by the Council of Nicea in 325 A. D. as it composed the "modern" Christian scripture combining some of the strands of the neo-Christian cult that had grown since the time of Christ to put Rome in crisis, and the Sun God worshipping, poly-deist, pagan Roman state religion into one dogma to save the republic and the empire from breaking asunder under the religious schism that was occurring between the Christians and the pagans. The Council of Nicea, over two years, took both sets of beliefs and turned them into the first "Christian" (although highly bastardized from the original Jewish culturally contexted Christianity which early Christians had practiced for 325 years at that point) state religion and the creation of the first politically ordained clergy..........the founding of the original Roman Catholic Church. Some of the most notable innovations of the Council of Nicea's creativity were changing the sabbath from Friday night through Saturday to the Roman Sunday sabbath (the day of the Sun god); and the creation of the myth of Christ's resurrection (which had no roots in Christianity prior to this time) to incorporate the traditional belief in resurrection of life after death which was s central theme of Rome's pagan faith. Many of the pagan holidays were incorporated into the new Church dogma including the spring solstice celebration of the earth's resurrection from winter. (Christmas, St. Valentine's Day, All Saints Day/Halloween are all other examples of the absorption of previously pagan holidays into the calendar of the newly constituted church.) Of course it was not enough just to add holidays to the calendar but it was necessary to incorporate holiday traditions from the former pagan faith into the new "Christianity." There were two holidays in the Roman tradition that included a tradition of whipping women to enhance their fertility, sexuality, and the robustness of their health. In February women were whipped in the streets by young men ordained by Priests and armed with whips made from the skins of ritually sacrificed goats to create fertility. It was believed that such a whipping could actually cure infertility. The whip was called "februs"-- thus the month February was the month of the februs. This is the root of today's Valentines Day. This holiday, The Feast of Lupercal, is referenced as the context of the very opening scene of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

The other "flogging holiday" was what is today celebrated as Easter. Women were to be whipped by men with freshly cut switches woven into rods. Switches would have just begun to bud and to have regained their flexibility to restore them to being stingy. It was believed that women would incorporate the switch's renewed vitality, and fertility as it was reborn by the renewed flowing of sap to make it green once again. The women were of course grateful for the gift of such an important flogging so necessary to their health, beauty, fertility, sexuality, and good fortune in the year ahead. There were Roman myths of terrible consequences that befell women about whom no one cared enough to provide them a spring solstice flogging. Of course the more a woman was loved, and the greater benefit she and her lover wanted for her, the greater the severity of her flogging needed to be. Women were enlisted in the process to cut the switches and weave them into rods to be used on their bottoms so they could have a wonderful year ahead.

This tradition lives on today in Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Sweden. In those three countries on the Monday after Easter women are whipped with woven or bound switch rods. They are not only submit to whippings from men whom they love, or know, but in some cases roaming bands of young men who they may not know. They reward the men who flog them by tying ribbons on their rods to help them keep track and advertise how many whippings they've administered, and gifts of candy and alcohol. In the Czech Republic and Poland the woven switch rods are made of willow rods (called Pomlazka in Czech). In Sweden, they use birch rods to provide women their Easter whippings.

What a shame that Christianity has eschewed this aspect of its rich historical background as it has come to believe the myth that somehow the resurrection of Christ was actually a part of Christ's and the apostles' teachings (a complete historical inaccuracy) and to divorce themselves from any sort of sensual or erotic aspects of their worship or holiday traditions. The Neo-Pagans appear not to be much better in this regard.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm...........Easter whippings seem to me to be a very appropriate way to celebrate Easter. Alleluia!!!!!!!!! Christ is Risen!!!! Now where's those fresh cut spring switches?

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo

Master was driving me off to a doctor's appointment this morning, and we were talking about this blog.  We've had what, for us, amounts to a pretty good month in terms of our statistics, and that is always a point of interest.  He gets fascinated by the numbers, especially as they approach particular milestones.  Too, we've been conversing a good bit with morningstar recently, and last night as I talked with her, she said, "I feel as if I know you."  That comment made us both smile.  If there is one thing that can be said about this blog, it is that we tend to lay it all out there -- the good, the bad, and the ugly (Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo).

He said that it is hard to imagine (and sometimes hard to read) how much of that we've done over the years.  Reading our blog is more melodramatic than almost any soap opera, and it often surprises us, when we look back, how very plainly we paint the daily ups and downs of our lives.  There's very little sugar coating of things here.  What is happening, for good or bad, is what we write about.  As I told Him, "that is very difficult to do sometimes, but I think it gives us huge credibility."  People who know us here, should they have the opportunity to interact with us more immediately, are often somewhat surprised that there is very little about us that they don't expect.  We are, as nearly as the medium permits it, exactly as we seem here. 

As often as it has been painful or embarrassing to continue to write our honest reality here month after month, it has also been good.  We've worked through many a rough place right here.  We've learned from those who've shared their wisdom and compassion with us in our struggling.  We've made some good friends who have been fine companions on this journey -- some for years, and some for shorter bits of time.  The cost to us of our honesty here has been minor compared to the riches we've reaped.

Those who know me know that I am disinclined to "play" the in-crowd games of the blogosphere.  I tend to not get involved in the "special" days and "special" months that are instituted in our midst by some unknown and unseen arbiter of the blogging calendar.  I don't participate in events like Love Our Lurkers or March Question and Answer Month.  I don't do Half-Naked Thursdays or Gratitude Tuesdays.  I am the Ebenezer Scrooge of the whole cyber neighborhood.  Ask anyone -- they'll tell you.  So, when I got an email from morningstar telling me that she'd passed on a Beautiful Blogger Award, I had to sit with it awhile, and think about what to do or say -- because it didn't make me feel as crabby as that sort of thing sometimes does.  I appreciate the sentiment, and feel somehow affirmed by what she wrote: 

"a beautiful friend and staunch supporter and a really damn good listener !!! ........ she writes from the heart too.... tells it like it is........ no sugar coating.... honest and beautiful"

I don't know.  Maybe I'm getting soft in my own age, but today I am simply grateful for the kind words of sweet affirmation for the work of being here and being real.

swan

P.S.  I'm supposed to tag some others, but it will be no surprise that I'm breaking the rules.  The most beautiful ones of my circle don't like these things either... you all know who you are :-)