Going Celtic

Wedding plans are really moving ahead. Matt and I decided to go with an indoor wedding (since Nature just isn't cooperative) and he says he wants to wear the kilt, which means my nautical, cliffside wedding ain't happening. That's fine, I have the inklings of a Celtic wedding in my head now.

Imagine: Loreena McKennitt's angelic voice with a bagpiper and the boys in kilts, the girls in Renaissance peasant dresses, me with my hair done in a dutch crown braid, ivy and streamers.

Ooooh, getting excited!

Now to balance his father's Scottish heritage with his large Jewish family on his mother's side. Oy ve!

Voice, Update

Okay, I googled "Kerry Dwin" and started trying all sorts of other spellings, until it suggested "Ceredwin."

Ceredwin was a Celtic moon goddess. After what I just saw, I'm even more creeped out... and intrigued.

Voice Part 3

Okay, weird weird stuff is going on now.

Yep, that voice was back. But this was way different.

I had waited to hear her for two nights, and it seemed like nothing again last night. So I asked out loud, "Were you real? What are you?"

I was sitting up in bed, my back against the wall, my feet stretched widthwise. Suddenly, I saw something on my ceiling. I looked up and saw the whole frickin' roof peel back. I swear, I would have screamed, except I couldn't. I saw the stars, the clouds, everything.

Suddenly, there was a black hole, darker than the night sky. I saw something like electricity pulling at its edges, like... I don't know, like it was peeling back space itself. Very sci-fi. Then I saw these weird shapes. You know the stories of fairies and elves and goblins? They were like a mixture of those, sort of whitish yellow, fuzzy around the edges like they were out of focus, and they were dancing and just... frolicking is the best term I can think of. This whole scene is still crazy in my mind.

Honestly, I have never done drugs, never even smoked a cigarette! This was not an LSD flashback or something. This really, truly, swear-on-a-stack-of-holy-water-drenched-Bibles honestly happened.

Anyway, out of the center of this pitch black hole came a single woman's eye. I don't know how I knew it was a woman's, it just felt that way. This was no burning eye of Sauron, mind you, although it was way creepy. Her eyelids were the darkness, her iris was blue, like a dark evening sky. However, I felt like she was peaceful just by the way the eye looked at me.

She then said, "I am Kerry Dwin. You heard me sing."

Okay, I was ready to crap myself at this point. I was saying to myself, "This has to be a vision, if it was real everyone in the house would have heard her!" I was very frightened, but I sensed she was waiting for a question, like the questions game we played before.

So I asked again, "What are you?"
She replied, "I am that which I am."

Hold the phone! I know that quote. Bible, God speaking.

I told her, "That's the answer of a deity."
The eye blinked... blinked! Weird.
So I asked, "Are you a god?"
She said, "Not in the way you imagine it." She suddenly said, "I'm scaring you. You aren't ready. You will be soon."

And poof, ceiling was back to normal, no weird yellow critters, no starlight, no booming voice.

I have no clue what to think about that. I'm still wondering about what it means. I drew a picture of what I saw.

Voice Part 2

Okay, I thought I should follow up on this voice in my room. I heard her again last night. This time I was sitting on the floor, truly meditating, watching a candle burn and watching the flame. I like doing that, it draws all attention to the flame so my mind thinks on other things peripherally.

Anyway, I heard that song once again. I started singing along with her, and she stopped. Then she started talking to me, like I was right there, just a lady she met in a room. I asked what she was, and she said she'd tell me later (creepy or what). So I decided to test out what she knew. I asked how was the afterlife, figuring she was a ghost. She said that that wasn't my true question. Okay, she was right. I asked my true question: is there an afterlife? She said I would come to know if I kept my mind open.

She went from singing lady of the night to frickin' Delphic prophetess.

I asked a bunch of questions. I can't remember them all. I do know I asked if I could ever regain the ability I had as a kid to dream of the future (I rather miss my deja vu days). She said that it was in my reach, but I should not worry about it. Then I felt her leave. I can't explain it, it was just, poof, I knew she was gone. Real weird crap going on in this room!

The Voice In My Room

I heard the oddest voice last night. I've been trying to meditate again. I do that off and on, especially when stressed. So anyway, I was sitting up in bed, leaning against the wall, not doing any weird chants, nothing like that, just enjoying the utter silence, when I heard a voice, quiet unmistakable.

I got up and turned on my light, looked all around, but there was nothing in my room. It was about 2 am, so everyone was asleep. I turned off the light and sat back down. Then I heard once again, clear as a bell, a woman's voice. So I figured, what the heck, I'll see if it answers me.

"Hello?"
"Oh, you can hear me?"

I kid you not, it answered like that!

Up again, lights on quickly, looking in the closet, out the window, everywhere. Nothing.

I laid down again, and I was thinking, "Nothing like this has happened to me in a long time." I waited about ten minutes, and I heard her again, faintly. I realized I kept hearing her singing. This was the song.

Water, Earth, Wind and Fire.
To be with her is your desire.
Earth and Wind, Fire, Water.
Dance with her, you shall not falter.
Wind and Fire, Water, Earth.
You were her before your birth.
Fire, Water, Earth and Wind.
The cycle shall begin again.

I tried calling out once more, but she ignored me, or at least I got the sense that she was purposely not answering. It was way late; I wasn't about to call out loudly.

Her chanting song has been in my head all day.

Diprivan, Drug From Hell

Okay, I just came out of the hospital yesterday. Long story short, my insurance wouldn't cover root canals so I had to get two teeth extracted, I'm deadly allergic to local anesthetics like Novocaine so I had to be knocked out via general anesthesia.

Now, I've been knock out for dental work in the past. It's about the only way for me to even get a cavity filled. And I love it. The whole room turns into pastel rainbows and it's the closest thing to an acid trip I'm willing to experiment with. *cue Whiter Shade of Pale music.*

This time was no acid trip, unless it was a real bad one.

They had me in the operating room, bright UFO lights on, nurses and doctors staring at me in that expectant "go to sleep kid so we can get more donuts" look, and I'm waiting for the doctor to walk in. I didn't see the anesthesiologist sneak in from somewhere until I heard a male voice behind me (all nurses and the doctor/dentist were female... let's hear it for women in the medical field!)

Anyway, I suddenly feel the most wretched pain in my hand and I yelled out and brought my hand out from under the warmed blankets, shouting something must be wrong with the IV, my hand is killing me. One nurse gently explained this is just the anesthesia.

"Thanks for warning me," I yelled. God, my hand was horrible. Have you ever read Dune, where Paul puts his hand in that box and it feels like the flesh is being burned off the bone? Let's just say I would not make a good Bene Gesserit. Then suddenly that same burning sensation was spreading up my arm through the veins.

"No way!" I shouted out loud to the ire of the nurses.

This wasn't the relaxing rainbow world I'm used to. I wasn't feeling loose and drugged and trippy watching a swirling world of Skittles dancing ballet in a flushing toilet bowl. I was screaming and trying to jump off the table. Now I know why they strap you down. God, that sensation was something I never, ever, EVER want to feel again.

To make it worse, I woke up post-op coughing up blood all over the place and crying (I'm told that's normal for pentathol patients... crying, not coughing blood; that was just from the extraction). I recall whining out, "Where's my mother?" Just like I was some 4-year-old.

To top it off, I have an allergy to eggs (which was right there on my charts, in red ink) and Diprivan has egg lecithin... so I had an allergic reaction anyway, anaphylaxia, just the same as if I were to have regular old Novocaine in a dentist's chair.

And what did the nurses do? Did they try to counter my allergic reaction, a potentially fatal one? NO! They were sick of this kid who is not being obedient, who yells at pain and vomits blood and then dares to complain "I can't breathe!" They insisted they gave me nothing allergic and kicked me out. Kicked me out of the hospital while in the midst of anaphylactic shock!

Can you say "lawsuit"?  It wasn't until I complained about all this to my boyfriend's mother, who is a nurse, that I found out what Driprivan was. I didn't even know the name of the drug, but when she heard about the burning fiberglass-up-the-veins sensation, she recognized it immediately and shouted, "They can't give you that. It has eggs!"

She's a damn good nurse. That anesthesiologist is an asshole, and the hospital is horrible. I could have died. My mother had to treat me in the car by basically overdosing me on Benedryl, then began to drive me to another hospital. However, the Benedryl did the trick nicely, I was too pissed and groggy and in pain, so I just wanted to go home.

I never did get to see the rainbow swirling world.

Happy Birthday To Me

Why not enter this little detail.

I've now live a quarter of a century on this planet, and I've learned that I don't know much about it at all, which is a good lesson to learn!

Also (must be an I'm-getting-older thing) I made a list of 30 places I want to go before my time comes up. Actually, I had this list already, two years ago I made it. I expanded it now. From the original list, I already visited three areas: Bryce Canyon, Washington D.C., and I just got back from Santa Catalina Island, although I could have spent a week on that place.

Problem is, I could keep adding to this list. Perhaps that's something I should do. Instead of crossing off destinations and trimming it down until one day I have it to zero, I should cross them off and add new places. Even if it's merely going to see Disney World. Rather pales in comparison to Machu Picchu and Notre Dame Cathedral, but still a place I wouldn't mind going to see.

Announcement

Well, my boyfriend finally popped the question yesterday. Only took him six years and one month. But hey, at least we got a wonderful time together, no kids to worry about, no worries about who cleans the dishes, just nice wonderful dating and fun.

And it was a romantic proposal, at the beach, where we go every year for our anniversary. That's where he asked me out too. He has an entry about it as well.

The Vanishing

Okay, this just creeped me out, so I had to write about it.

Mom, Dad, and I were trying to put together my dresser, which has had a broken bottom drawer for years. We finished it and put it in, everything worked, we're cleaning up, Mom sitting on the piano bench, me and Dad down on the floor. Dad's gathering his tools back together, but he couldn't find the pliers. They were left smack dab in the middle of me, Mom, and Dad. We looked all over the place in a 3x3 foot area. We cleaned it bare!

Finally, Mom gave up the search and left. I got to my feet, ready to leave too. Then, while straightening my pants, I happened to look down.

The pliers were at my feet! Dead in the middle of us three, perfectly open view.

All three of us swore they were not there just a moment before. They were not buried nor even obscured, and there was no way I could have been sitting on them, they were in the middle of the floor, right in the center of where the three of us had been positioned. It's like a Bermuda Triangle.

The whole thing gave Dad the chills. Even Mom couldn't explain it. My boyfriend had one explanation:

Poltergeist!

Gee, I'm gonna sleep great tonight!

Fireworks in Suburbia

First, I'll explain that, in my city, fireworks are totally illegal. You can get fined for even setting off Whistling Pete's. Because of this total ban on the sulfuric favorites of 4th of July celebrations, I know nothing of fireworks.

On the other hand, my boyfriend's hometown allows some fireworks to be shot off, and his block has a firework show every year, with chips and hot dogs and beer for everyone along with some no-quite-legal fireworks. And he used to work the fireworks stand the local high school marching band put up, so he learned a thing or two about the different chemicals used, if for no other reason than it was a cool, geeky thing to learn and... well... Matt's always been the geek of my life, he was no different as a teenager.

But they have one rule: no fireworks in the park. So when I wanted to get away from the noise, I suggested we take a walk down the street to Teewinkle Park.

No such escape. There were more fireworks being set off at the park than any of the small cul-de-sacs we passed walking there. Dozens of families had come.... and so had the police.

Took them a while to arrive, I must say, but they chased the majority off with a stiff warning, while Matt and I watched with laughs during our romantic walk through the pines and around the lake. And so they packed up and left.

And then came more. In came the helicopters, who flew around checking out the local parks to inforce the law. Just strange to see such militant enforcement over something meant to be done in fun and for patriotic expression. And so they left. And yet more came after them. These late comers got the actual fine. Poor guys, no warning at all, they just thought to stay at home a little later.

Fireworks simply do not belong in suburbia. So where do they belong? Good question, one I do not have an answer to. Something explosive, meant to be used in warfare, should not be wrapped as a flashy toy and set in the hands of four-year-olds, or suburban dumbheads.

I Done Kilt It

Okay, title isn't as clever as I hoped.

Anyway, Matt and I had a great anniversary. He loved the kilt and tried to wear it. I must say, he looked darn handsome in it! We went for a nice Italian dinner and a walk along the beach. After six years, he's still a romantic!

Not much else to say.

May all your walks be like slow strolls on moonlit sands!

Art of Tea

I just tried a new tea, Royal Mandalay Chai, a vanilla chai latte. Now, I'm a tea drinker mostly, and I do love chai, but with the sudden revival of the teatottler, hideous mock-ups are arriving on the American shores, teas that the British would have turned their noses up at and the Japanese would have been offended over. And we drink it. Why? Hell, my bottle cost $0.59! In a capitalist country, why not!

These "teas" showing up on the market are a discredit to the true art of tea.
"Art of tea?" you may ask.
Yes, there is an art to it.

I patiently learned how to brew a good cup of green tea, and I don't mean the American style pop-teabag-in-water-shove-in-mircowave routine. That makes a horrible concoction we are forced to think is tea. I mean loose leaf sencha (excellent brand of green tea, healthy, full of flavor but subtle, and at least it's not in a baggy). Once you try a good cup of sencha, it is difficult to go back to drinking other teas. I now only use my Lipton teas to mix Kava with. I like chai when I'm in a playful mood, but nothing beats ending the day with a cup of sencha. That is something you can't get from teabags and sugary powders.

I've also experimented with herbal teas, mostly for health, not as actual drinks. Chamomile tea if I can't sleep (although Kava is replacing that), mint tea for upset stomach (often with fresh mint I grow in the window), raspberry tea for... um... feminine trouble.

But these generic teas, like this Royal Mandalay my mom bought me....

Sure, you might be able to get it cheap, sure it takes little or even no preparation at all, but isn't part of the enjoyment of tea in taking that time, five minutes out of the day, to properly brew the tea, make sure it is not too strong or too weak, watch the tea leaves, enjoy a moment of reflection?

That is the art of tea.

Novel Nightmares

Writing a novel is a frightening ordeal. I'm not talking Stephen King. I mean spending months working out the story, more months researching, countless midnights typing until your hands are stiff and you wake up wondering why your fingers are soaking in your margarita glass... but realize it does make them feel better. And after all that planning, just before you send this beautiful work off to be slaughtered by the publishers, you think "but there's more to the story! If I just add another couple chapters..."

Before you know it, you've spent a few more months typing away into the dark hours of the night, watching with horror as the sun rises and shines through your bedroom window and you realize the alarm clock will go off in exactly twenty minutes. Before you know it, your sweet little novella has turned into a full novel, and that novel has turned into a freaking huge epic... and that epic has sequels!!!

Well, my sweet novella lost its innocence almost seven years ago. That's when the mindblock broke and the words came pouring out so fast I couldn't keep up. I dropped college classes so I could type more. I even dropped an English class! And when it was over, my sweet tale had developed into over 600 pages (written in only a few months). And now, seven years later, I have broken it into a series. Yes, it will be a serial story. I hate those, but it was either that or convince a publisher to print a way-over-a-thousand-page novel by a relatively novice novelist.

Oh, maybe my day will come when I can write out a massive work and my publisher will thank me that it's so big, there's no way it could go into paperback (hums the Beatles' Paperback Writer for a moment in reflection). For now I'll be happy if they accept this as it is. That is, once I finish writing the damn thing!

still singing: "It's a thousand pages, give or take a few, I'll be writing more in a week or two"

And today (well, yesterday, it's nearly morning again), I had an epiphany which I'm going to kick myself for when my brain isn't befuddled. I broke my story down further, into five novels (I had so hoped for a sweet little trilogy). It works so much better this way. It really is five separate stories, especially the last two segments. Still, that means a god-awful lot more writing, and my margarita glass isn't staying cold anymore with summer approaching.

Starting a Blog

Yeah, so it's my first blog. I've read them, I've read about them, and I kept saying I'd get one of my own. Well, UserFriendly today convinced me to do it. AJ and his blog. I love that cartoon strip!

We'll see what turns up on this thing. I love to write - a little too much - so who knows what I'll share with the big WWW out there.