Thursday, December 8, 2016

Diminishing Returns

I feel compelled to report that my memories and orgasms grow weaker with repetition.

My most precious memories lose detail and strength every time I review them. Soon they become as blurry and featureless as a photocopy of a photocopy, of a photocopy, down to the tenth generation. Every time there is less emotion, less strength, less everything. Until I put the memory away on a shelf and hope that it regains some strength with rest.

The same thing happens to me with orgasms, whether solo or duo. Each succeeding time, it is harder to achieve and less powerful, until it won't come at all and i give up. Experience tells me that my orgasmic capacity does regenerate with time, thank heavens, but I'm not a fan of this law of diminishing returns.

My First Demonstration

The first time I marched in a demonstration, the clamor of rain hitting umbrellas drowned out the speakers.

The ecumenibus had brought gay Lutherans, Jews, Catholics, and Episcopalians to Sacramento to march for legislation to protect folks from homophobic employers. I had come with a seasoned campaigner and had followed his advice to bring an extra set of clothes in a plastic bag.

I bought a button commemorating the march, which would grow into a collection, and marched proudly with my group, Lutherans Concerned for Gay and Lesbian Understanding. At the end of the march, we stood in a downpour to hear encouraging words from the leaders of the effort and our political allies. But the rain thundering down on our umbrellas made their words unintelligible.

Back on the bus, in dry clothes, I felt so proud to be part of a savvy group that was working for such a worthy goal. I had tried on the role of activist, and it fit.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

My Book is Published!

A few days after I approved the final text, my publishing consultant from Xlibris called to let me know that my book was live on Amazon.com. And there it was! The paperback edition of Tales of a Seeker: A Spiritual Anthology, by Dana Vinicoff, is now available for your purchase at the low, low price of $15.99!

The listings for the book are not complete; only the paperback edition is available now. A link for the Kindle edition should appear in due course, along with a description of the contents of the book. Complete listings in various online purveyors could take as long as two months, but I'm ecstatic already.

Wow!

Saturday, November 12, 2016

The Stitches are Out!

Of my kitty's heel, and the vet said I did an excellent job of nursing her. (Imagine me patting myself on the back.)

On the other hand, there was a tiny spot where the skin was not altogether closed, so I need to keep her indoors and in the cone for a few more days.

You can't win them all.

Post-Election Music

I listened to music on the car radio this morning after I had heard enough news about the election: Clinton's concession speech, Obama's reminder that all Americans are on the same team, and how, as outgoing President Bush did his best to pass the baton for a successful transfer of power to Obama's team, so will his White House do its best for the team of the incoming president elect, and, hopefully, through them, for this 240-year-old republic. I hope that this ship of state is so vast that it will not be sunk by a single election.

Anyway, music has charms to soothe the troubled. As yesterday's election stress grew to a peak, I saw an animated movie and tapped my feet along with the bouncy music. That was soothing and comforting, and kept me in a hopeful frame of mind, despite the existential terror I felt at the prospect of a Trump administration, until the election results could no longer be denied.

And this morning, when the music followed Obama's words of peace and hope, I felt a knot begin to loosen in my chest. I promised myself to listen to a Brahms symphony or two when I get home. I hoped the music would further loosen the knot and remind me that art lives on, and that defeat and death are not the end of all that is good.

I hoped the music would help me open my eyes to every possible sign of hope in the coming days. That it would remind me that half of my fellow Americans are not evil sheep who yearn for a home-grown Third Reich. That I could hope that not everyone who voted for Trump is as profoundly bigoted, misogynistic, anti-semitic, homophobic, and devoid of integrity, honesty, or character as he clearly is. Not to mention vengeful. If he believes in anything other than his own excellence, it's in taking revenge on anyone who slights him. And I really don't want to live in a country where retribution is the chief concern of government.

But getting back to music, it's mathematical and emotional, and simple and true. It doesn't lie; it simply is what it is. And its essence is to speak to each listener about what she is open to hearing. And to nudge us into opening and hearing a little more as it goes on, and with each repetition.

The sound waves help organize our brainwaves and heartbeats, and all the rhythms in our bodies. And our cells are happy to be yoked in harmony to each other; they rush to their duties with renewed strength, vigor, and eagerness to share in a greater whole.

Monday, November 7, 2016

Election Stress

A medical practitioner of mine told me a few weeks ago that all her patients were complaining of election stress.

And today I heard a piece on NPR about it. One producer got saliva samples from people who were listening to one of the presidential debates, and found significantly elevated levels of cortisol, the stress hormone. Interestingly, the levels were higher in Republicans than Democrats.

I think the difference is because the Republican candidate stirs up fear, anger, and hatred, which are more stressful than positive emotions of hope and determination.

At any rate, I've lost some weight because the stress has hurt my appetite and digestion. The weight loss is a good thing; the indigestion is not.

I can't wait until this endless election is over and we start putting our country back together.

Furry Progress

So, Misty soon learned how to chew on her stitches despite the Elizabethan collar, so I had to go back to the vet and get her a hard plastic cone of shame. She's been pretty mellow about it; I think the fact that it's transparent makes it less threatening to her.

The wound is still holding together, and she's still pounding on the kitty door every so often to see if it's unlocked now. And she's started climbing onto furniture that she's never climbed on before, including the family Webster's unabridged dictionary that is older than I am. It's an antique, not a kitty perch!

And she's been making a lot more noise than was her custom, but I'm hoping that will fade away when she resumes being able to go outdoors any time she likes.

She should be getting rid of the stitches in three days, and none too soon.