Be the change you want to see.

Tonight i started my occasional reread of The Dark Is Rising, that iconically witchy and spooky Newbury Award winner...

as the kids say these days
#mood

thinking back on the rest of the year, I have to admit that some really good things got done.
rephrase.
I DID some really good things. Some hard things.

possibly one of the hardest things i did was to really write a proper apology for something I said and did when i was sixteen, dumb and lonely and hurting. I lashed out at someone from that place, someone who I thought was part of my hurting but it turned out, not.

we connected on facebook sometime in the last year and a half or so. and I wound up offering an apology, and sharing the WHY of me hurting him intentionally, because i had done that, and I hoped that having context would help him let go of any lingering bullshit from that moment in time.

turns out, I'd only ever spoken about this to therapists. well. therapist. And now that #metoo has entered the global lexicon, it finally felt safe to speak of it, where I felt so much shame about being bullied in the particular way that led me to lash out at E.

i've been describing the release of sharing that story, as like when you get a long deep redwood splinter in your hand. and you work for awhile and you get MOST of the splinter out but the tail end is still stuck in there for AGES and it gets infected and it's painful and you just have to work around it for a long time.

and then one day, you wash your hands in just the right way, and that last bit gets released. Adn you can work it free, finally, and finally you can heal the infection, work out the scar tissue. Un-adapt all the habits you built because that fucking splinter had (I have a momentary reluctance to own this word for my situation but) WOUNDED you.

the particular type of bullying and the story i told around it at the time opened the door wider for me to be in abusive romantic relationships for *counts* at least 10 years? Probably longer.

that splinter is GONE, now.

and I told E. he didn't have to reply to my story but that I hoped he'd accept my apology.

and Elizabeth Regnant, self-crowned, walks out from the shadows and into the light, claiming the throne and crowning myself.

I had so much power and I had no idea.
I had so much potential and I couldn't see it.
I was bound for so long by the stories the world told about me.

I am not bound.
I understand my potential.
My power is clear and near at hand.

I am the storyteller.
Old women are the keepers of the stories.
Old women are the truth tellers.
Old women don't tolerate bullshit, and we enunciate clearly when the emperor has no clothes.
Storytellers are dangerous, we change worlds.
We heal. We make things right, even if just in the story.
We break things in the story so that everyone can recognize the brokenness in their homeworld.

Storytellers are full of power. In some ways of thinking, it's the only power.
If you tell the stories and people believe them, those stories change lives.
Stories... are everything.

every belief system is made of stories. every political movement is made of stories.
every human relationship is made of stories.

See the stories clearly.
Tell the stories wisely.
Demonstrate your love and your understanding through your stories.
Don't fling them about frivolously.

Suddenly, KITTENS. Kittens everywhere. Steve couldn’t understand how every single one of the Avengers, every single member of security and support staff, were suddenly talking about, sharing photos of, and even bringing the actual animals in to work at the Tower.
His own kitten was pathetic and adorable, and was of course discovered in a moment of maximum pathos: crusty eyes, covered with fleas (that jumped dark against the star on his chest after Steve picked him up), sneezing, and mewing pitiably as he cringed beneath a pile of garbage in that old dark Brooklyn alley after Steve came home from the mission in Pennsylvania.

The kittens were all adorable, but Steve can’t be the only one to have noticed that during the last week every kitten he’s petted, stroked, played string with, admired, has a small bump in the very center of their skull. In the exact same spot. In the center of their skull.

Once is an accident. Twice is coincidence. Three times (and two dozen times) is, well… is time to call Bruce and ask him to examine Liberty from bottom to top, making sure he’s pure kitten with no unnatural, um, additives. Was that weird? Did that make his kitten sound like he was a food product? ugh, that’s awful. He needs to be sure to never ever say this out loud.

Bruce examines Libby thoroughly. (“You know I’m not that kind of doctor, Steve…” he said with a tiny smile, accepting the kitten, paws frantic, high squeaking heading for the upper range of human hearing, tiny sharp claws at full extension.)

“Libby seems fine, Steve. As far as a near microscopic examination can tell, he’s an ordinary Felis Cattus with a curious small protrusion of his skull. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that all the kittens come from a family where this is a harmless genetic mutation.”

“What bothers me, Bruce, is that the kittens here at the Tower came here from all over the five boroughs… Delia in R & D drives in from Hoboken, said she found her kitten going through the backyard trash bins. Sam found his kitten when he was visiting his mom in Queens. I found Libby in Brooklyn. They can’t all be from the same family! Now statistically speaking, how likely is that?”

Neither man, thinking hard during this discussion, has noticed that the tiny kitten Steve thinks of as “his,” is quietly tucked up in “loaf of bread” position on the end of the laboratory table, freakishly huge radar dish kitten ears perked, and large, now clear, blue eyes lazily watching them both.

Bruce frowns and pulls off his glasses, reaching for a handkerchief in his shirt pocket. “Unlikely at best.” He glances over at the unnaturally well-behaved kitten curled up tidily at the end of his table. “What about it, Liberty? Care to share your secrets with us?”

The response is a lazy blink from a seemingly contented kitten, whose head falls forward slightly as his eyes seem to close.

“I don’t think we’re going to hear anything from the source here. We may want to hire a veterinarian with enough security clearance to examine all the kittens in the Tower, just to make sure nothing untoward is happening.” (The kitten’s eyes slit open briefly, then close again)

“Let’s do that,” says Steve. “I mean, we want to make sure they’re healthy anyway, best case scenario. If we get a vet who’s a research veterinarian, can’t we ask them to look for anything out of the ordinary?”

“Sure,” says Bruce, lifting his eyes and his chin toward the ceiling. “JARVIS, can you please start hunting us up a veterinarian within those stated parameters?”

“Certainly, Doctor Banner. I can even initiate contact with likely candidates and narrow the field for you by start of business tomorrow morning.” The smooth, British accented voice of the resident artificial intelligence was inherently soothing, and the next piece of the puzzle was in good hands. Steve relaxed.

Libby yawned widely, showing needle sharp teeth, and stretched his front paws out to show off his tiny needle sharp claws as well. From his sphinx like pose, he regarded Steve’s massive chest like it was a tree to climb, and then took up the challenge. Leaping from his seated position, he latched on to Steve’s tee shirt and mountain-climbed to the top of his shoulder. Once there, he commenced head-butting and purring at Steve’s ear and jaw until Steve laughed and put his hand up to catch the tiny cat whose claws were skidding over the top of his bulky shoulder muscle. “Lib, you’re adorable, but I’m never letting Stark name a pet of mine ever again. Thanks Bruce!”

Steve turned to head for the elevator, hand still protectively cupped around the small cat whose front paw rested atop his ear, and who rode the supersoldier’s shoulder with grace, like a mahout aboard a particularly humongous elephant.

***

Later that night, Steve slept, quietly, without his former tossing and turning. Libby ran around, clattered over the tops of tables and bureaus, chased small cat-toys through the living room until he wound up far far beneath the entertainment center.

Far enough under the entertainment center that he knew JARVIS couldn’t see him.

He lay flat against the carpet and broadcast a short message: “Sample subjects were NOT randomly selected. All subjects work in the same scientific environment. Abort information gathering efforts. Abort.”

Libby lay his head down on the carpet. Wondered hopefully if his superiors would allow him to stay with the man-mountain, especially if all the other data-collectors were recalled to other duties. Sighed. Rolled suddenly out from under the entertainment center with a catnip mouse in his paws, throwing it into the air and almost-catching it, chasing his prey again, towards the bedroom where the man-mountain Steve was sleeping.

Steve slept better when Libby was curled up, purring, in the crook of his head and shoulder.
Libby had the data to prove it.

(the kitten invasion fleet has arrived)
(sequel to be titled, i for one welcome our feline overlords)

She didn’t even look up from the wash cloth she was wringing out to bathe the skin of her patient as I approached, and at first all I could see of her was the dark skin on the back of her neck and some steel-wool textured hair beneath the brightly colored headwrap.

“If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time,” she said, her hands angrily twisting the washcloth. “You’d do better to get on the horn to the CDC and find out if any of their new young hot-shots has any idea how to mitigate the speed of this onset. I have children who are playing happily on Day One and by Day Three are either comatose and staring blankly, or babbling incoherently with a terrifyingly high fever.”
She glared upward at me.
“And if they could get their thumbs out of their asses long enough to arrange a fresh drop of basic medical supplies, that’d be PEACHY.”

I took a step back. Paused. Straightened up from my usual slouch, even though her words felt like a slap in the stomach.
“Uh, well, some of those descriptors aren’t accurate, but I actually AM here from the CDC, via StarkIndustries. And we managed to bring in most of the supplies you were requesting... Doctor St. Pierre?”

She softened her glare to merely suspicious, and nodded once, looking away.

“I’m Doctor Bruce Banner. We’re here to help.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the young interns and nurses who came with me in the Quinjet. My hand combed through the damp hair at the back of my neck, warm already with the heat of this desert, only an hour past sunrise.
“Where do you want us to start?”

Victoria St. Pierre rose from her low stool next to the child’s cot, nodded again, scrubbed at her face with her left hand, and extended her right hand. I took it, and we shook briefly.

“Doctor Banner." She exhaled slowly. "Thank you for coming. I apologize for my rudeness, but we’ve lost nine children in four days, we’ve no idea of the disease vector, and twelve more have come down sick.” Her gaze took in the rest of the cots in the medical tent. “Let’s begin by you telling me about the new staff and supplies you’ve brought us, and I’ll bring you up to speed about the protocols we’ve been using to help ease the children’s symptoms.”

I held the flap of the tent for her to exit. She inclined her head gracefully and moved out into the sunlight.




(This is my entry for the Home Game version of LJ Idol, this week's prompt was "If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time")

Two quick notes from this week.

Children don't love their teachers weaknesses or deficiencies. They see enough clay feet as it is.
Let them love your STRENGTH instead. Make sure that is what you bring to them, your best, your strong places.

The TEACHER can be, should be the textbook. (maybe this was obvious. but in Waldorf this is the norm, as it is not for public schools.) Not in best case scenario, SHOULD be the textbook. I brought a half-assed story to the kids today; Santa Cruz kids know more about whales than I do on my best day, and I should have realized this. What I did succeed in, was bringing the Imagination of what it would look like, feel like, to be in the water with a whale. I haven't done that, I brought it out of disparate experiences like seeing the blue whale model in the Museum of Natural History in NYC - that thing's chilling to me... and honestly? guided meditations I've done.

But I couldn't keep the story in my mind/heart/spirit and manage the classroom behavior. Scott was the heavy, bless him for that. I was all enmeshed in the story I wanted to tell, he had to speak strongly to them about keeping attentive and not interrupting/disrupting a teacher, and he sent one child out of the room. He groks them, I don't.

I'd almost be sorry I'm so attached to them... but I only have two days left, and I intend to do as well as I can with them. Give my best, bring what I have, love my time there. They're good kids, they're just... TEN.

You know?

Post anything that you want, and post it anonymously. Anything.

A story, a secret, a confession, a fear, a love -- anything.
Be sure to post anonymously and honestly. Post twice if you'd like.

Then, put this in your LJ to see what your friends (and perhaps others who you don't even realize read your LJ) have to say.

or if you do drink and walk, watch where the hell you put your foot...

argh.
Last night was Wine and Song at thechoirloft, and I got to say hello to and get hugs from cortneyofeden and ef2p before they had to scram. Got to admire Chris's baby daughter Veronica, and some brief baby-talkin' with his lady (whose name I did not catch.) Had some good conversation with zpdiduda, blackberry74, vvvexation, and trekster, among others. I also got pettin's from trekster, she was very snuggly and that was nice cos I have been skin-hungry for awhile.

I wasn't even "drunk", just somewhat merry, and I saw OOOH! Fire! out in the backyard as coyote3405 lit a bonfire with old Christmas pine branches...

so I went out to help, I said, "Oh, can I..."
*whups*
*OwFuckOwFuck OW!*
as I rolled my ankle in the water-gutter they have in their backyard.
I did NOT break the wineglass, which Mark said was good since it was their almost-last one of the set. *woot*
I DID bend myself fairly spectacularly...

however many rushed to help me minimize the damage - props go to brian1789 who ran inside immediately and fetched out an icepack (- thanks, Jay, the injury surely would have been a fair bit worse today without that quick action), thats_ms_dragon, who kept me company outside and firmly fetched me water when I asked for another glass of wine - she is teh smart, cos lord knows with a sprained ankle I did NOT need more vasodilation! Others came by to chat and check in, which again was nice, and comforting.

Down side was, I had REALLY been looking forward to soaking in the tub... but the ankle would have swolled up as big as my head if I had, so, *regretfully noting the necessity* I look forward to doing so another time.

After a wee bit of elevating the leg propped up on the patio chair, I hobbled inside and conned celticmoni into letting me have the chair with the leg-rest. Good conversation there, and I got to observe her L33+ M0M skillz in practice... she's endlessly patient, respectful, and loving with her Sprout. I admire that a LOT. Mark came back to hide from the thinning crowds and play solitaire for a bit. celticmoni got the Sproutling's socks and shoes back on to head home, and I curled up on the bed he abandoned (not before he'd enjoyed MUCH bouncing on the bed LOL) under various shoulder-wraps and lap-throws for a bit of a nap.

Eventually we-all realized how late it was getting, while Rebecca (LJ handle?) discovered a mix-up that had meant her keys, cell phone, and sweatshirt going home instead with choirboypuppy, and that got sorted out while eeyore42 and deedeebythebay and I kept her company...

Then Jeff helped me to walk down the driveway-that-is-a-fairly-steep-hill and brought Percy over close so I didn't have to walk so far to get into the car.

Hobbled into the house, piled into bed after I found the ACE bandage, wrapped myself up pretty adequately, took 600 mg Ibuprofen, and fell into sleep (this was pushing 2:30 am IIRC). About 7 or so the ankle woke me again, I schlepped my ass into bathroom for more Ibuprofen, unwrapped the ankle (it was throbbing), and ZONK was out again till nearly 1 pm. Probably the smartest thing I could have done under the circumstances - which were me sleep-dep all week on TOP of this recent injury... Yeah.

I was stretching a little and checking range of motion with my leg and foot, but Then Jeff Woke Me The Best Way, and I also got to make "dessert" for him which was way cool, and then I re-wrapped my ankle after cleaning up, and he made us brunch with a sausage-and-pepper stirfry which we ate with tortilla chips and sour cream. Yum. Jeff also told me that he was proud of me for how I handled my injury, and I said thanks but I couldn't have been so calm about it without so many people helping take care of me, which was indeed awesome of everyone.

Now, I'm having more tea and reading a cheep Mercedes Lackey Valdemar novel, and I'm going to go back to that right after finishing this and checking email briefly.

Hope y'all had a ... um, less PAINFUL Friday night than mine. *grin*

Yay for people who will take care of me after I hurt myself. *rah*