Check out this giveaway: HURRY!

Found this beautiful artist through Pixie, an amazing spirit herself! Enter to win some really lovely jewels. Go now!

http://stonespirit-izzy.blogspot.com/2010/03/march-giveaway-ok-so-im-late.html

Where will it take me?

I have a serious love affair with travel. I mean, I ADORE the smell of the airport. I like the plastic molded chairs in the waiting area. I actually don't mind taking off my shoes and putting all my stuff in a plastic bin and standing in line and tossing my half-empty water bottle that I just paid $4 for in the garbage and delays and lost luggage. All those little hassles. It all means I'm going somewhere. I'm seeing something new. Or something I've seen before, (although I prefer new) but either way, it's an adventure. A new road traveled. New people to meet. Amazing scenery. An open road. A meal I've never tasted. A bed I've never slept in. An experience like no other.

I swear, I could be a nomad. I looked it up. Traditionally nomadic behavior is increasingly rare in industrialized countries. Nomadic cultures are split into three categories; hunter/gatherers, pastoral, and peripatetic nomads.

Now let's face it, I enjoy my fruits and vegetables from the co-op share I participate in; but I don't want to gather the seasonally available wild plants and game, even if it is by far the oldest human subsistence method.

And there aren't a whole lot of sheep or cows in Nutley, so the pastoralist type doesn't seem to be my gig. Although it does sound peaceful. All those hours spent alone, outdoors, just you and your thoughts. But then the rainy, cold days would be awful. And I don't really like sheep or cows or the way they smell.

But peripatetic nomads--the ones who offer the skills of a craft or a trade to those they travel among, well that just may be me. I mean, it's not like I know what I would offer.... Maybe just a laugh and a story and sharing a glass of wine with you. Or using a crayon to color in your coloring book. Or holding your baby while you fold your laundry. Or making you some granola so you have a decent breakfast. Or listening to your story because I know you need to tell it.

But peripatetic, that's me. I could pack a bag and just go. I want to buy an RV and jump in without a map and see where it takes me. I want to experience it all. Just hit the gas with arms and heart wide open and go. REALLY go. It's a big world out there.

Where will it take me?

Female Blogger: Needs Inspiration

Help! I've begun to realize that I spend more time reading in the blogosphere than writing. And I always begin reading with the thought that it will inspire me to write my own post, but by the time I'm finished reading, I'm too tired, cranky, over-inspired, sure that I'm not as good, etc. etc. and I give up before writing a word. Last month my poetry experiment helped because I had a goal and some sort of deadline, and even though I didn't stick to it exactly, it was helpful. I'm a deadline kind of girl. I need to be pinned to a wall and staring at the clock, racing it to the final moment with that panicked breathiness and fear that I will not make it in order to complete a task. Phew. That is not great for blogging. I get caught up in the what should I write about, I don't have a photo, I can't get the words right, my life is boring kind of gremlins and then I don't write anything. I need a little inspiration. I need someone to give me some tips. How do you do it? How do you decide what to write about? What makes you sit down and write? What makes you come back to the keyboard and JUST DO IT?

Tattoo Me

Regarde mon beau tattoo, originally uploaded by Benoit.P.

Sailors had ink beneath their skin
so loved ones would recognize
their bloated sea torn bodies
long after they had drowned.

Nazis used ink to identify
their prisoners, grotesque numbers
meant to help them forget
Jews were human, too.

Tribal groups choose ink
for magical qualities,
believing in the power
of protection over charm.

Status, rank, devotion,
fertility, love, punishment.
Cosmetic, sentimental.
Amulets and talismans.

I want a tattoo for bravery;
a clear message to prove
that my invisible ink
has finally been erased.

One for March

Dreams

give way to morning light,

plain and gray.

Tender rain waits.

Like a pain, ancient and ghostly,

it drums against the glass.

Grief rises like a delicate perfume

but in this sweet darkness

I let myself go.