On The Color of Words:

Well it is the first day of Autumn.  It has been feeling and looking a bit like autumn for a few weeks now, but only in a preparation type of way.

The trees are turning now in full, all their bright fury of color.  Loose leaves fly and dance across the grass on the wind.  The woods are opening up and you can see further into them.  Showing their secret places.

I fancy that fairies are having leaf flying races and making the best of it all before winter quiets things down for its season of sleep.

I’ve been busy.  I’m learning a new language.  Well not totally new to me, but I haven’t practiced it in many years.  I am not a multi-language type of person.  I find it very hard.  My mind doesn’t want to change direction in its way of thinking.  Putting subject first, finding a new way to say the same old things, words I know to mean one thing now meaning another.

Autumn is simple.  The preparation of plants transitioning, dieing off or going dormant until the warmth and waters of springtime can start the renewal process once again.  Cycles and circles of life.

I love words in the language I am a custom to.  I like to play with them.  Feel them tripping over me tongue.  Listening to the sounds that they make.  Finding an old word little used.  Discovering new words to add to my vocabulary.

Maybe it is feeling so limited at the start of a new language that makes me so frustrated.  Leaving me unable to get my point across.

No, that is only a part of it.  My brain has enough trouble finding the words I want in the language I’ve been using daily all my life.  I stop and stumble over them by the hour, even thought I love them so.

But love has prompted me to learn this new language.  A fairly new family member should have communication available to them too.  And since I do love how words connect us I am totally committed to learn this new language for her.  I want to talk to her about the colors and my feelings about Autumn.

My new grandbaby is deaf.

On Beating that Bad Mood Back:

I beat the bad mood I woke with yesterday with the help of Miss Mousey from Knotty Mouse. She has a blog I read regularly.

She reminded me of our Thankfulness Tea Parties on the web every February. Maybe I should have them more often.

Being an Elder Goth can be a drag sometimes. Others (some vanilla’s I know.) keep wanting me to grow up and stop all this Goth stuff, and the younger generation of Goth’s have no use for me. ‘Old Fart’ being the kindest comment to me of late.

This leaves me without a local Goth community. So I find myself having to tone it down more often than I really want to or I find myself with no one to hang with.

And although Mountain Man tolerates my Gothiness for the most part, he would rather it was not a full tilt daily barrage of the stuff. And he is definitely not into spiders. Meaning, I can only wear my spider jewelry when he is not about. (Marriage is full of compromise on both fronts.)

Some days I don’t want to be all old lady and respectable in my black pants suit, top and shoes when I go out and about. I want to Goth it out like any Goth would. Part of being a Goth is that pushing the ‘limits’ thing.

I have lovely Victorian Mourning clothing that doesn’t see the light of day often enough. And frankly I’d love to be seen in public in it much more than I do.

I spent that vanilla six weeks taking care of that woman. I didn’t have to. But I feel that when I’m ill I don’t want to see nothing but vanilla, and that she didn’t want to see nothing but Goth. In fact she doesn’t like it at all. (But to each his or her own.)

So Miss Mousey helped me by reminding me that I am thankful for any day I have to be my Gothy silly self. Whether in my full Goth regalia or scrubbing the bathroom in some old sweats. The Goth I am can still shine (Or darkly radiate) through. And that makes me happy!