Gods Are Bored Update
Well, beyond all the expectations of myself, the Bored Gods have returned Decibel the Parrot to me, greatly improved and well on the way to health again! I'm sure there is some venerable deity of the South American rain forest to whom I owe a debt of gratitude. As for the debt to the vet? Oh, snap. Don't even ask. Okay, I'll tell you: four figures. Could have had 20 budgies and 20 cages and 20 sacks of budgie food for what Mr. J shelled out. A big, bright "Gods Are Bored" thanks to all who contributed to the Decibel Fund, and it is still open, should you feel inclined.
On Saturday Mr. J and I went to the Central New Jersey Pagan Pride Day, and I got to meet Mrs. B, she of the famous "Confessions of a Pagan Soccer Mom" blog (link in my sidebar). What a lovely lady! She gave a presentation on poppets that was very interesting ... I asked her to make one for Decibel.
My current Druid Grove was well-represented there too. The park where the event was held could not possibly be an easy commute for any of them (took me over an hour). If there are evangelists for Druidry, these folks are the ones. Heck, we may be knocking on your door some Saturday morning, all dressed in Celtic knot tie-dye!
That's all the news I have time to share, except for this: I've lost 20 pounds this summer. It was a rigorous diet that I do not recommend in any way, shape, or form, but it's nice to have my girlish figure back.
Oh yeah. I almost forgot! I also learned Stanza 52 of "Song of Myself," by Walt Whitman:
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me
He complains of my gab and my loitering
I too am not a bit tame; I too am untranslatable
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me
It flings my likeness after the rest, and good and true as any on the shadowed wilds
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air; I shake my white locks at the runaway sun
I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags
I bequeath myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love
If you want me again, look under your boot-soles
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged
Missing me one place search another
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
The last few lines need a little touching up, but go ahead and try to get this one by heart. The "shadowed wilds" line took me a whole week. If you see any omissions, tell me ASAP, because school starts in two weeks.