The weather has turned cold and all I want to do is burrow deep into a warm, dark place. Winter is the season during which I turn inward, and this winter is no exception. The first holiday party of December takes place on December 1. I wish I could beg off, but it’s my sweetie’s office party, the first one given by his new employer. I promised to go last week, before my hibernation instinct kicked into high gear.
Parties are difficult for me anyway, because there is always food involved. Most party goodies are things I can’t eat, and this is especially true during the holidays. I am allergic to sugar, wheat, cow’s milk, and yeast. I generally don’t drink alcohol. I must avoid tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, and peppers — anything in the nightshade family. I must avoid eating fruit because of the high sugar content of most fruits.
As you might guess, it is nearly impossible to avoid all those things unless I make the food myself. It is a bit of a strain to attend a party where I know I will be surrounded by eating and drinking in which I am unable to join. The one thing keeping me going is that I’ve been told there will be dancing. I will bring my own snacks, sip soda water with lime, and find most of my holiday cheer on the dance floor.
I also have several social obligations in the next few days, all of which I shall dutifully attend. After all, I promised. I have a writing class Thursday night, and I’m hosting a day-long writing workshop at my house on Saturday. Thursday afternoon I’m having the rugs cleaned. That means lots of housework and running around, but at least those are indoor activities. On Friday I have a reflexology appointment, and Thursday morning I have a hypnotherapy appointment. I am doing a few things to take care of myself.
On that note, I will end my post. I hope you, dear reader, are also giving some thought to taking care of yourself. I wish you deep, sweet winter dreams.
~Love and Blessings,
Selene~
I’ve decided that I’m going to do one thing everyday that helps me feel beautiful. I realized earlier today, while thinking about adorning myself in different ways, that I’m afraid of what other women might say. I fear this because I’ve been guilty myself, in the past, of making remarks like “Who does she think she is?” Usually such an outburst is prompted by seeing a younger, more slender woman sashay down the sidewalk in something sexy, skimpy and slinky — something, in other words, that I wish I could wear.
I haven’t felt like writing for a while now, even though I’m still doing it. I worked on my primary novel on Monday, because I had a class Monday night. I wrote a poem over the weekend — just because. A new song is starting to glimmer at the edges of my consciousness. Tuesday night I went to a poetry reading I’ve never been to before, at the Montclair Women’s Club. Tonight I’m going to the Berkeley Poetry Slam. Thursday night I have another writing class. Friday night I’m going to see a performance of MacBeth. Saturday I’m going to a monthly reading in Livermore for lovers of both prose and poetry.
Once upon a time I thought it was my job to save the world. With every bit of recycling I collected, with every friend I helped through a crisis, with every poem I read in front of an audience, I told mself, “I am doing this to save the world.”
So often I sit in front of the computer not posting because I just can’t think of that perfect and clever title that will draw your attention to my words. I’m tired today, and I’m still going dancing. Soul Sanctuary Dance at Ashkenaz is a lot of fun, and today I might see someone there I know. I just met her yesterday at a workshop called Sacred Shamanic Healing Dance for Women, taught by a wonderful friend of mine, 