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Showing posts with label Master. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Master. Show all posts

11/21/2011

Bike

the answer my friend
is not blowing in the wind -
it's riding a bike
jaberwock



We were the beneficiaries of a bit of good luck recently.  Part of a promotion at T's work place resulted in her winning a gift card to a local upscale bike shop.  The amount of the gift card was sufficient to make it possible for us to purchase a very nice bike with very little cash outlay.  And so, Master now has an alternative mode for His daily exercise routine -- He can choose  between walking and riding.  He loves His new bike, and as He rides more and more, He is regaining the confidence He remembers from His college days when a bike was His main mode of transportation...

It is something He really enjoys.  It is really good for Him, both physically and emotionally.  He is like a youngster with a new toy.  This new bike has made Him very, very happy, and it is a good thing...


swan

7/01/2011

Look What I Got!

Just before His shoulder replacement surgery, Master took me  by surprise on the way home from a doctor's appointment -- and dragged me off to look at cars.  It was not a nice afternoon.  There are very few things on the planet that can get me wilded up faster than putting me in the position to look at RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE cars while I contemplate having to make ASTRONOMICAL payments for years and years and years.  I pouted and stormed and growled and snarled through that little adventure -- and ultimately, we headed home with all of our same old cars and no new ones.  But, He does not give up easily, and He does love a new car almost more than anything.

So today, two weeks to the day after His total shoulder replacement surgery, He woke up ready to go.  We breakfasted.  We walked.  We showered.  And we headed off to see what sort of wheeling and dealing we could do around a new car purchase.  I was in a much better frame of mind -- not caught off guard and not surprised, so better able to accommodate the high stress levels of car shopping. 

He was in His glory -- loving the whole scene.  We connected with a very good, and easy to work with sales guy, and before long the deal was made.

The end of the story?  Tonight I am the proud owner of a brand new, beautiful, silver, 2012 Hyundai Accent hatchback.  It handles like a dream, has lots of pep and power, and gets 40 mpg on the highway.  The warranty covers it bumper to bumper for 100,000 miles.  We bought the maintenance agreement, so for 36 months, I won't even pay to change the oil on the little bug. 

He's thrilled.  I'm thrilled.  T's thrilled.  New car mania!

swan

6/17/2011

He is Good

The surgery went really well.  He was done in about an hour and 15 minutes, and out of recovery by 10:30.  His pain seems well controlled and all of the "plumbing" seems to be working just fine.  He's tolerating crackers and His fruit flavored drink and crackers, and there does not seem to be any nausea.  Vital signs are all good as well. 

So.  This part of the whole business is done.  Now we are on to healing and eventual reahab.  If everything continues to progress as expected, we should have Him home tomorrow.

swan

6/09/2011

I Wish...

Master is in the midst of His court-ordered rehab and "recovery" program.  Each week, He attends a continuing care group -- phase two of the intensive outpatient rehabilitation program that meets on Tuesday mornings.  He is required, as a condition of that program to attend two AA meetings each week -- one on Thursday evening and one on Saturday afternoon.  In addition, He chooses to meet with His therapist on a weekly schedule.

He goes to continuing care and to AA, and He really does work to participate fully and consciously in the goings on -- even though there remains a very great part of the whole business that is entirely contrary to His belief system and His intellectual understanding of the world and universe.  He has learned that He does not need to try to battle with others about their acceptance of all that AA religiosity and cliched mumbo jumbo, but He often feels oppressed and beleaguered by the pervasive "god" based responses He gets to whatever He expresses.  If He struggles, if He is sad or depressed, if He is confused or frustrated, if He is scared -- the forever and only answer seems to be to "pray and turn it all over to god."  He comes home from meetings and from group feeling worse than He was when He left home; and they make it clear to Him that His feeling that way is His fault because, in their view, He isn't "doing it right."

I want to be supportive and I want to help Him through these days and weeks and months, and I am frustrated that the resources which we are required to use to navigate all of this are so completely unresponsive to the FACT that their view of life doesn't work for Him, or for us.   He comes home and He seems so sad and so wounded and so hurt by it all, and I just want to grab them all and shake them.

Tonight, as I lay in bed with Him snuggled in beside me, reviewing the last couple of weeks and all of the times He's been disappointed and rejected by groups that are supposed to be "helping" Him, I found myself formulating a vision of what I wish could happen the very next time someone lays that "pray and turn it all over to god" voodoo on Him.  I wish it could all go something like this...

AA groupie -- All you have to do, for whatever obstacle or worry or pain you are experiencing, is pray everyday and turn it all over to god.

Master -- I don't pray.

AA groupie -- GASP!  What?!?!?  How can you say you don't pray?

Master -- I don't pray because I don't believe in your god.

AA groupie -- but you have to turn your life over to your higher power.

Master -- My higher power is the Great Blue Heron totem and the spirits of the Mohican people from whom I am descended at the very root of my being.  I have learned who I am, and I intend to learn to follow their ways.

AA groupie -- How can they help you learn to be a good old drunk?  How will they help you when you relapse?  I think you are just fooling yourself into believing you are something better than the rest of us -- but you will regret that thinking.  You are nothing but a drunk and that is all you will ever be.

Master -- No.  I am not a drunk.  I am sober.  I have chosen to be sober, and I intend to remain sober.  I am not a drunk.  I am a man, and I am in full possession of my faculties.  I am healthy and strong and good.  I made mistakes, but I have learned and I will live my life in keeping with the strength and majesty and wonder and beauty of the Native spirits who speak to me across the centuries and the powerful totem of the Great Blue Heron.  I do not begrudge any one of you the path that you have chosen, and I wish you well, but I will follow my path to my own life and the reclamation of my sanity and my power. 

I doubt that conversation will happen that way.  It probably isn't prudent for Him to do that with these narrow minded and sometimes vindictive and nasty folks.  He is in a position where He has to play their game for the next number of months.  Still, I wish I could hand Him that script -- or one very like it -- that would give Him back His voice and His vision and His life.  The words they are teaching Him are destructive and untrue.  I want to give Him back His best and truest self.  Sadly, I am only one woman.  Sadly, I am labeled as a "normal" by those AA groupies.  I don't talk the talk and I won't walk the walk, and they would declare that I am a codependent mess.  I've worked really hard to see the world the way they see it; to translate their weird religion into something I can use.  It doesn't work, and it is destroying the Man I  love and serve.  I am done.  I will tell Him the story that I believe from now on, and I will not echo their nonsense any longer.  If that is wrong in His view, then perhaps He will tell me that.  Until that happens, my voice will be heard around here.

swan

4/23/2011

The Face I Love

With each passing day, I see, in His face the changes that are taking place in Him.  Physically, He is healthier day by day, and the years that had begun to etch deep lines around His eyes have started to drop away.  Emotionally, He is happier and there is joy and lightness in His smile, and a knowing twinkle in His eyes. 

I've told Him, over and over, that the changes are visible and remarkable and wonderful.  He has been unable to see and comprehend them for Himself, and it is as if the mirrors in our home do not show Him what I can see. 

Tonight, we took a couple of pictures as we got ready to share the wonderful (sugar free) birthday cake that T made, and I think that, finally, in the photos, He got a glimpse of what I've been seeing.  Take a look at the face of the One I love...

swan

4/18/2011

The Imp -- The Imp Got Spanked

I teach 6th grade.  when the school year starts, most of my students are 11 years old, and by the time the year draws to a close, almost all of them have turned 12.

Twelve-year-old girls are right on the verge of becoming young women.  It is possible to see the women that they will be just a few years down the road.  The boys, however, are almost always younger seeming, still a year, or sometimes two, from making the transition to adulthood.  A twelve-year old boy is a delightful mixture of mischief and innocence and curiosity and charm and incipient knowing and almost visible potential coming into view. 

Living with Master these days is a little like having one of those boychicks right here in the house.  With each passing day, He wakes up from a years-long separation from the wonderful boy he must have been so very long ago.  With each day that passes, He seems to feel better and be clearer -- and it is as if He is new born. 

One of the most intriguing parts of this whole passage is the look in His eye these days.  He is so young-seeming, with a burgeoning awareness that seems to surprise and amaze Him.  His eyes gleam with delight and a mischeivious glint that just tickles me.  There's a sweet and endearing playfulness to it all -- He is such an imp, and it is clear that He has rediscovered His switchy side.  He has a renewed interest in spanking and He has a renewed interest in being spanked.  He wiggles and giggles and blushes so endearingly.  I just love seeing Him so entranced and so happily amazed by His own wonderful sensuality.  It is so joyous and so light and so good. 

And yes, the Imp did get spanked.  This morning.  Not terribly intensely -- enough to give Him some stinginess and a bit of pink warmth.  And then we switch and He spanks me, and the two of us revel in the pure, simple pleasure of knowing this about each other again.  It is the very best thing ever.  Ever.

swan

10/24/2010

The Water Speaks

We are back. 
We had a lovely weekend, nestled in the beautiful lodge at Maumee Bay State Park.
It was intriguing and endearing to watch Master at the edge of this great inland sea. 
He was emotional and joyful and tearful and enraptured.  Alternating between exhilaration and longing, it was clear that the proximity to the enormity of this Great Lake speaks to Him -- in ways that a mountain girl used to the semi-arid Rockies will never quite understand.  For me, it was a lovely, quiet, restful place where the water lapped at the seawall...  For Him, so much more.  We walked and walked and walked.  We traversed the boardwalk through the swamp, and we combed the beach down to the water's edge, and we struck out for the tiny little lighthouse that we could just barely see on the distant point.  Along the way, we walked smack dab into two deer, who were only just a bit startled by the crazy people crashing along through Their forest...  I can now officially add Lake Erie to the list of places I've been spanked, but the most moving part of the whole weekend for me was witnessing my Love in communion with this lake that He clearly loves...

swan




9/11/2010

Go Confidently...

For many, many years, Master has used the signature tag line by Henry David Thoreau:

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

There are layers and layers of meaning and intent in the use of that quote.  It tells the story of a life lived in the face of triumph and adversity -- always with an unwavering certainty that going forward believing in the possibilities is the only thing that makes sense; that makes the living of life a worthwhile venture.

It isn't a naive or romantic approach to living life.  Assuming that one might imagine something beyond the safety of conventional employment, or conventional and mainstream family life, or the conventional pursuit of the trappings of wealth; living the life one dreams of -- the life one imagines -- can by times be exhilarating and then again, terrifying. Chasing dreams is not for the faint of heart. 

John Dewey, the well-known American philosopher and principal spokesman for progressive education, observed that, "Confidence ... is directness and courage in meeting the facts of life."


Directness.  And courage.  Those are some good, sturdy, plain-faced, adult virtues.

To be direct is to go straight at a challenge with intent and a level gaze.  The one who is direct speaks plainly, tells the truth, means what he or she says.  Master has always been a Man who sees the world with an intensity that drives change.  Big and small, the challenges He has encountered over His lifetime have yielded in the face of His direct action and intervention.  When it was the fact of an unjust war, He was in the streets fighting to make change happen.  When, as a young professional advocate, He encountered whole communities of individuals who had been marginalized and discounted by the larger society, He transformed His radical activism to focus it effectively on the political system -- determined to make changes occur.  When, on a more personal level, the challenge was His own diabetes diagnosis, He changed His life and His habits with a ferocious deliberateness that put the disease into a state of "practical" remission.  When it became clear to Him that His use of tobacco was harming His health, He enlisted T's help and together they beat that addiction.  When our life together was on the cusp of becoming a real time fact, as I dithered and fussed about the practicalities and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, it was His simple and direct, "Get to me this summer," that drove us forward.  When, after years of battling intractable weight gain, and as the health impacts of that grew more and more dire, He chose the very difficult and very risky route of gastric bypass surgery with all the sweeping changes required to make that path be successful.  He is not now, and has never been, a Man to shrink from a challenge.  He is entirely DIRECT.

Over and over, life has put Him in the position of having to face the facts and realities of the situation.  His great courage lies in seeing life exactly as it is, without embellishment or sugar-coating, and then dealing positively and proactively, with that reality.

I have tended, over the course of my years in the lifestyle community, to take exception to the pervasive construct of the "perfect" dominant.  The notion that those who assume the control, who take charge of the balance of power between partners; are somehow, necessarily, almost mythic, infallible, without the usual faults, failings, and weaknesses of their merely mortal human counterparts. I always find myself bemused by that "story," told so often by would-be submissives, and then promulgated as the one true way.  It is passed around our circles as conventional wisdom, but also as a sort of measure of character -- no self-respecting, sensible, submissive woman would put herself into the hands of a dominant who was any "less."  I've wondered, many times, what it must feel like to be one of those men, thrust into a role which may or may not be natural for them, and charged with presenting that perfect face to the world -- and to their own most intimate partner.  Inside of that construct, any fall from perfection is grounds for termination -- because the prime requisite for being given the gift of a partner's submission, is that living the life that is beyond reproach, without weakness, devoid of failings or fears.

I have never met that partner.  I do not believe that person exists.  The Man that I call Master is entirely human -- deficits and failings and faults and fears; but also a wide array of gifts to share;  vision, energy, power, determination, intellect, joyfulness, sensuality.  He is not the least bit mythical.  He is every bit of a real, living, breathing human person.  This last passage of weeks has once again confirmed me in my belief in His courage and personal integrity and strength.  If there ever was someone who walked through the world exuding that confidence that He so values, then I have been lucky to have found that Man.  I am honored and lucky to be loved by that Man.  I see Him, know Him, value His contribution to my life and to the world; and I am awesomely proud of Him.

swan

6/29/2010

Do Good Anyway

It is a week of juxtapositions; a week of resolutions, a week of adjustments; and a week of working to find a way to settle into life the way it is now.  Our week "started" on Saturday, odd as that might seem -- the day that we held a memorial for Master's father, Walter.  Walt died, five months ago, on January 26 at the age of 91.  Saturday's gathering was poignant but also joyful -- we did shed a few tears, but we did a great deal more laughing as we shared memories and told stories.  Master spoke movingly about the man that was His father, his integrity, his wit, his care and love for his wife and son, his career, and his service to his country.  We'd talked, in the days leading up to Saturday, about how Master perceived what it was that His father would want, and He'd told me that in His dad's view, it would be important for us not to "go all to pieces."  Walter, it seemed felt that "going all to pieces" was absolutely unseemly and inappropriate.  And so it was.  The only glitch, and it was a significant glitch, was that no one ever told any of us that we needed to contact the funeral home and have them deliver the vault for the urn to the cemetary.  We arrived, after the memorial, at the cemetary to find the grave open, but no vault to contain the box of Walter's ashes.  We had some conversation about what to do, and finally spent a few minutes at the graveside, sharing a prayer and a bit of scripture, and then turning the box over to the "grave digger" who promised to keep them safe until we could make the rest of the arrangements. 

That happened this afternoon, and Master and I went back up to the cemetary to meet, Ace, the grave digger and finally "get Dad planted" as Master persists in characterizing it.  It is an absolutely lovely day here, and the cool breezes and bright sun shone for us there in the small, simple cemetary.  It was a bit emotional, but also good to have some closure to this passage. 

What struck me, though, was the presence of Ace.  He is a big, round-bellied, bearded fellow with denim overalls and a baseball cap.  He told us he's been doing this work for 22 years, and he is as personable and friendly and kind and conscientious as can be.  His presence and his approach to his "work" turned out to be a gift to us in these days, and meeting him has given me some insight into some of the unsettledness and frustration I've been feeling as we've moved through these early days of Master's sudden transition from His working life. 

I keep banging into my absolute conviction that there is some huge lack of fairness in this ending.  For thirty-five years, Master has worked and battled for people with disabilities and their families, choosing to forego some much more lucrative career path in order to do that work.  He's seen enormous changes in the way people with disabilities are treated; seen the implementation of much more efficacious service and support systems; and the gradual and steady dissolution of a system that would take children born with disabilities away from their homes and communities and essentially imprison them in huge and horrible state run institutions.  In big ways and small ways, He's been instrumental in changing the way that those with disabilities live their lives in our communities.  Lives have been improved, and more than that, lives have been saved BECAUSE Master has done this work for so long.  It is the truth and it is, in my view terribly unfair, that all of that work and all of those years should go unrecognized and unacknowledged because an adversarial board of directors would lay the current difficult economics entirely at the feet of Master.  It isn't fair and it isn't right. 

I think that the lesson to be learned from Ace the gravedigger is just this -- whatever the work, doing the right thing, doing your chosen work with integrity and heart changes people's lives.  Ace does his thing with a shovel and a heart as big as he is.  Master has touched hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives, over all these years, and it may not be possible to ever see the full extent of the impact He's had.  Perhaps no one will ever be able to fully acknowledge the gift He's been to so many, but that does not diminish the fact of the good work He's done.  I know.  T knows.  Plenty of people know.  It will perhaps never be quite the same, but it changes not a single thing about His character and His goodness.

Mother Teresa, famously, wrote:


If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.


What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.


Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

swan

6/23/2010

Favorite Posts -- The Origins of Modern Monogamy

On July 4, 2005, just a few days before His scheduled knee replacement surgery, Master wrote a piece that has become THE destination post of our blogs ever since. His treatise on the origins of modern monogamy, laid out the history and political intrigue that ultimately enshrined the notion of marriage as an institution that is, in the words of the religious fundamentalists, “one man one woman,” in the unexamined assumption set of our society. It isn’t the only discussion of “marriage” as a topic to appear on our blog. There are plenty of places where we speak to our experiences, our hopes, our beliefs about the whole idea of marriage – and particularly the notion of marriage equality. “The Origins of Modern Monogamy” does what none of the rest of it does – it goes to the root of a widely held “cultural norm” and examines where we all got the ideas that are our common inheritance on the subject of marriage.


The original piece is a lengthy and detailed discussion, and it is full of historical and theological scholarship. If you’ve never read it, or haven’t read it in awhile, then I’d suggest that it is well worth your time. Like so many of the best pieces that make up this blog, however, there are some pithy bits that carry the spark of the whole within them. Take a look –

…Monogamy is a much cherished concept within Christianity. It's basis is economic. It has no theologically historical basis …The statement that, "Throughout time and throughout all cultures marriage has always been seen as a union between one man and one woman," is a lie. It is not the Judeo Christian tradition prior to the 600's … It is not the practice of the Moslem world and has not been for thousands of years … adherence to monogamy is a social aberration throughout world culture, not a norm…

Our household has lived, for over eight years now, as a polyamorous, committed, intentional family. We are not alone. We’ve met and formed friendships with others who share our understandings of how love and family can occur outside the narrowly defined boundaries that some would insist apply to us all. Some. Not all. We have friends here, many friends, who choose to live in monogamous relationships, and yet honor us and our lives with acceptance and openness. We’ve marched with others of all orientations and all beliefs, who endorse the notion that love is the core value that we can all share. I love “The Origins of Modern Monogamy.” I love the passion and the fire and the conviction that pours off the page when I read those words written nearly five years ago. It is a remarkable and intriguing piece of research, but even more than that, it is an anthem and battle hymn for those of us who live and love and hope to one day see our families stand on an equal footing with our monogamous neighbors.
swan

4/13/2010

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

10/20/2009

I've Got Plane Tickets



Well, we've shopped and talked and shopped and fussed and wrangled and shopped -- I've gone round and round and round, trying to figure out how I could get to go visit Xander and his parents while minimizing the impact on our family in terms of time away and financial burden. I'd convinced myself that I could book a trip on Greyhound, leave in the middle of the night just after school breaks for the Christmas holiday, sleep the whole way there, crash on the floor at the kids' place, and then do the 28 hour trip home and be here in time for Christmas. Total cost for that adventure (except for food along the way) -- $181.00.


Except He just couldn't get comfortable with that idea, and I don't do things He isn't comfortable with. He worried about how many times I'd have to change buses along the way, how I'd cope with the lack of sleep and the lengthy travel times. He worried and worried and worried.
And then I got sick, and just quit caring. I have felt too crummy to think much and surely wasn't up for negotiating travel plans with Him much less with the purveyors of travel. Just contemplating that makes my head hurt and my stomach churn.

He, however is not sick, and for whatever reason, in the last couple of days, as I've wallowed miserably on the couch, He's been like a travel arrangement pitbull. He has scoured the web looking at options and fares and costs, and somewhere along the line, the discussion shifted from travel by bus to travel by plane. He worked and worked and worked until He found a great fare and a reasonable hotel rate -- and then He booked it. Done.

I am going to Denver to see the kids and grands. Just before Christmas. Flying and staying in a very simple and inexpensive hotel, but I'll have my own room and a place to shower. I'll rely on the kids to pick me up and get me to and from. I've called and talked with them and they are thrilled and glad to provide transport while I'm there.
Master is the best. Ever. I've got my Christmas present.
swan

12/23/2008

Christmas -- Mission Accomplished



Our T's mother lives in the city just about 45 minutes north of us. Her brother lives just a few minutes from her mother's house. She has a young-adult niece and teenage nephew, both of whom she helped to parent when they were very small, who live with their mother in Michigan. When the kids come to visit, it is an event.

Our usual routine at the holidays is to go one evening to her mother's house to have dinner with the kids and open gifts with them. The timing of that is always a little tight as their visit is sandwiched in between jobs, school, and their desire to get back home for Christmas day with their younger siblings.

Tonight was the planned gathering. We were scheduled to head north as soon as Master and T got home from work. The "enchilada casserole" (our contribution to dinner) was ready to go. But then trouble struck in the form of a significant ice storm. The warnings were that there were accidents everywhere and that the roads were increasingly difficult closer to T's mom's place. We checked the online weather services and found that it was projected to get icier and icier until about 2 AM. By the time she was ready to leave work and head home, T had decided that it was impossibly dangerous to make the trip tonight. She was heartbroken; so was her mother.

Both Master and T made it home safely after work, and we ate a very somber supper. T was terribly upset. We talked about how many years we've pulled this off without ever being impeded by weather. As we talked, Master came to a decision. He'd driven in far worse weather than this, and He was quite sure that He could navigate the roads. We were on our way after all...

T called her niece and nephew to tell them we were on the way, and they were amazed. "But the roads are terrible," they told her. She assured them that it would be OK. "After all, your Uncle is a force of nature," she told them.

We made it just fine. We picked the kids up at their father's house, and went on to their grandmother's house. The neighborhoods were pretty dicey, but we did fine. We hand a lovely visit, opened all the gifts, chatted for a bit, and headed on home. Master is the Hero of the season. What could have been a very sad ending to our evening before Christmas Eve turned into a happy family gathering because He made it happen.

We're well launched into the seasonal festivities. May all of you find your way, through whatever obstacles, to be with those you love and care for. Have a wonderful Christmas.

swan

1/29/2008

Immovable

The latest "Spanko Brunch" topic at My Bottom Smarts centered around what makes a "perfect" spanker. Lots and lots and lots of conversation about strength and sensitivity and goodness and consistency. I read and found myself shaking my head; noting a sense of unease and internal disagreement. I'm entirely sure that every single commenter at Bonnie's place is sincere, and that what they write about what makes a perfect spanker it absolutely the truth of it all for each and every one of them -- and it doesn't get close to the heart of the matter for me.

Now, probably the real fact of the matter is that He is NOT a "spanker." He is utterly Dominant, and He is a sadist whose primary sexual/erotic orientation and expression falls almost entirely into the realm of activities that could be grouped under the heading of "spanking" (although I'd probably argue that "impact play" is a more accurate description).

There is no question that He is a "good" person. There are very few men who work as hard, or bring as much personal committment or sense of mission to doing "good" in the world than the Man that T and I serve. The purity that fires His efforts on behalf of those He works for in our society is absolutely unwavering, and has driven a career that has spanned over three decades. It is a value driven life that has seen choices made in favor of service over riches and "power." He absolutely embodies the qualities of goodness, honor, and integrity.

He is unbelievably, stunningly, awesomely bright, perceptive, kind, and sensitive. He can be completely charming. Those who know Him socially, and professionally, often find that those traits are lavished on them. His Dominance wears a politically polished face in public. He cleans up really nice.

With us, at home, where He is in His element, things are His way. Always. That can mean many things. The world inside our walls, behind our doors, reflects His mood, suits His whim, IS exactly as He makes it to be. If the mood strikes Him, He can be completely generous, loving, tender, and sentimental. Or... He can be totally self-absorbed, arrogant, nasty, judgemental, inconsiderate, and even mean-spirited.

There are times when He does something that is so gosh darned sweet that it just drops me to my knees with amazement at His tender-heartedness. Those are the times when I am reminded that I am the luckiest of women. Those are the times when I am confirmed in the choice that I made back so many years ago. Those are the times when it all fits and feels right.

Then there are the times when I am ready to declare that He is an absolute, complete, unmitigated bastard. In those instances, I wonder what on earth I was thinking to have ever contemplated putting myself into this situation. I run the whole set of "non-option" options. I notice, mull over, brood upon, savor, pick at the scabs of -- the unfairness of it all. Oh yeah... I'm pathetic and pitiful.

Through that all, He remains exactly what and who He is -- who He has been from the very beginning. Older, yes -- but not one jot removed from the Man I first came to know eight years ago.

Which is the thing that is perhaps the one trait that none of Bonnie's commenters mentioned, but which, for us (for me) is essential: He's immovable.

I put my life in His hands, and no matter what happens; no matter what I toss at Him; no matter how emotionally bumpy my moods get; no matter how wimpy I feel; no matter how easy I am with the direction He drives us -- He remains. The foundation of our life is solid. Sure. Secure. I can BE insecure because I know that He IS secure.

That immovable certainty that forms the ramrod core of His being makes Him the perfect partner for me. It isn't always easy. There are times when I have to find a place to vent the fury the boils up in me when my stormy nature bangs into His determined solidity. There are probably plenty of people who would look at the tussling that I sometimes go through and see "trouble." I suppose, I might be some trouble for some. He seems to manage me just fine. Immovable.

He sets the course. He will have what He will have. He will go where He will go. He wants, and hopes for the happiness of all of us. He recognizes and supports whatever needs and feelings come up in the course of whatever comes up with all of that. Still, we go His way. Not the other way around. His goodness, strength, perceptivity, integrity, sensitivity are all traits that come into play in the relationship, certainly, but He is not in service to me. He knows this. So do I, and if I ever become confused about it; He simply slips a finger under the collar I wear and reminds me.

swan

11/14/2007

What Makes Master Cry?



We just bought Tom Brokaw's new book about the baby boom generation -- what some call a "virtual reunion" of the sixties: "BOOM."


We are reading it out loud together. An interesting experience.


All of us have varying perspectives on the sixties. Our ages are different enough that we came through that decade at different levels of awareness and understanding. Our experiences of the events of those years are very different.


For Himself, the oldest of our family, the memories remain powerfully evocative and emotionally laden. For Him, the 1960's were a time of political waking up and coming to conciousness that shaped everything that He came to be. What happened in the streets of those years, forged the Man who has dedicated His life to creating the vision He came to believe in so many years ago.


And so, as we began to read what is seemingly a very self-absorbed Tom Brokaw personal memoir, we came upon the famous imperative from President John Kennedy's speech of January, 1961:


ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your
country


Suddenly, He was in tears -- sobbing. That call to action meant something to Him as a young man. He took it to heart, and steered His course by those words. He has done that His whole life... lived asking what it was that He could do. He's done more, I think, than many -- than most. Continues to do that. After more than 30 years, He continues to work to create a vision of a community that includes and embraces and lives up to the best that it could and should be. It isn't a course that has led to great wealth, surely. We live modestly compared to many. It is, however, a course that has paid dividends in friendships forged, in stories to tell, in accomplishments to point to.
From a youth spent believing that change could and must happen, through a career believing that change could and must happen -- this Man has lived a life that has followed a path that has been true and brave. It is an accomplishment of which He can be justly proud. I know that I am most sincerely proud of Him, and proud to belong to Him.
swan

7/26/2007

Salmonella

We've just returned from the doctor.
He has salmonella.
We are really not entirely sure where He may have picked it up.
What we do know is that it is self-limiting, and that it will run its course within the week most likely. We also know that, of the possibilities that have been suggested over the last few days, this is the least frightening and sinister.
He is some better. Still very weak and not feeling well, but better.
We are all exhausted, but relieved.
Thank you all for your good wishes, your prayers, your friendship, and your kindness.

swan

7/23/2007

He's Ill

Master is ill. Very ill.
We've been in and out of emergency facilities twice in the last two days so that He can be "rehydrated." He is terribly weak and barely eating anything. Doctors are calling this (generically) "Traveler's Disease" while we wait for the actual critters to be identified. Of course we haven't BEEN traveling (although they do admit this sort of thing runs rampant at nursing homes, and we do spend a lot of time at nursing homes these days). He's receiving some pretty high end antibiotics and we are hoping He begins to feel some better soon, although at this moment, we've seen no sign of that.

So, if it is quiet here, you will all know why. We're awfully busy.

swan

7/16/2007

Wait! Wait! Please, Wait!




Like an express train running downhill on a clear track, His penchant, when He gets a whip in His hand is to lay it on with speed and enthusiasm. Whatever the "common wisdom" is in BDSM circles about warm-ups and all that pretty fantasy pablum that is doled out to the starry-eyed newbies, His favorite approach doesn't often include that nice, slow, sensual, easy build up...




So, on Sunday, when He was ready to start in with the rubber flogger and told me to roll over, I was hard pressed to get into position quickly enough to suit Him (especially since He was lying on my arm and I really couldn't roll over as requested without ripping my arm out of the socket). Once I did manage to get myself extricated and rolled over onto my stomach, He was right on me before I could even get myself flat on the bed.


Or get my arms tucked in.


Or try to get my breathing settled.


Or get my head in a halfway appropriate space.



Or...


He'd contemplated (earlier) not spanking me at all because I was so marked up from the day before. Then, remembering the rubber flogger, I think He decided that was "light enough" to inflict a significant level of pain without doing much damage.

Rubber burns. It lands and adheres. When it pulls away, it pulls the top layer of skin with it, and that pulling leaves a sensation that is like sunburn -- everyplace it touches.

Rapid fire whip strokes with the rubber flogger and I was soon gasping for breath. I simply couldn't keep up. Even the most minimal bit of processing takes a bit of time. Just the barest bit of space can give me chance to accommodate the patterns and rhythms of it all -- to catch the wave and ride it.

I'm not sure when I started begging Him to wait -- "Wait! Wait! Please, Wait!"

I heard Him chuckling -- "What is it we are waiting for?" He asked me.

"I just need a minute," I told Him. "I can't catch up. Please. Just give me a minute."

He just laughed. "Did you miss the train?" But He stopped for a few minutes and held me while I panted my way to some sort of center. I knew, and He knew we weren't nearly done -- and we did (shortly) get right back to it.

Some would say I had more control, in that moment, than I ever should have had. I don't know. I don't have anything like a formal safeword. I talk to Him. I react. I lay the responses all out for Him, and He decides. I don't have any illusions that He has to "wait" just because I ask Him to. There have probably been dozens of times when I ask for time and don't get it. This time, He read the signals, and decided, to slow the train down long enough for me to at least climb on board.

swan

7/09/2007

His Hand

Anyone who has ever parented a child probably has, somewhere in their possession, this kind of artwork. It might be paint on paper or an impression left in clay or plaster of paris... the mark of a tiny hand, captured for posterity. This one is pretty typical -- and uniquely wonderful and special as they all seem to those of us who receive them and display them with great joy when they come to us from our own little ones.

One of the things that is so "typical" about this one is the orientation of it. It is done upright, with the fingers pointing toward the top. It is exactly the way I imagine most of these sorts of pieces are done. It is the way that the ones I always got from my children were done, and it is the way that I've done them with countless children along the way. It is THE way we do these things. Because it is.

A week ago, we traveled to visit Master's grown daughter. She and her boyfriend have recently purchased their first home, and have been eager to show it off. She had also just celebrated a birthday, and so our trip was a combined visit to the new abode, a birthday celebration, and a late father's day observance. Part of what happened during that visit was that she brought out a box of items that she had gotten from her mother's house when she moved which were not hers and which she believed might belong to her Dad (long complicated story). The two of them went through the odds and ends in the box, sorting and sifting and reminiscing. There wasn't a lot and most of it wasn't anything that He especially cared about.

However.

Tucked way at the bottom of the box, all wrapped up in newspaper was this plaster impression of a child's hand...


This is His Hand. This, He thinks, He did in Sunday School (yes, The Heretic once went to Sunday School) when He was very small. It has His name etched into the back, although there is no date.

Isn't it fabulous?

Even more amazing to me -- notice where the hanger is. This child's hand was made, oh so many years ago to hang, not with the fingers upright, as almost all are, but in this "sideways" (spanking?) position. I think it was prophetic, and that is exactly the way I have this little bit of precious artwork hung on the wall near the bed -- right where I'll see it when my eyes open each morning.

swan

11/21/2005

Chick Flicks

We "enjoy" the occasional trip to the local cinema.

One of the nice things about living in a household that operates on principles of total power exchange is that there is not any problem deciding on which film to see. Master decides. And, for us, there usually isn't any problem deciding on which showtime to attend -- we go whenever Master is ready to go...

In the time since I've known Him, I've seen films that include: Braveheart, Troy, The Patriot, Gangs of New York, The Last Samurai, Gladiator, Master and Commander, and most recently, Jarhead. There are others that I am forgetting I am sure, but they would not break the pattern in any significant fashion.

Master refers to these as "chick flicks." I believe that this might be because He attends showings of these films with two people of the female persuasion...

swan