Who am I? Marie Antoinette?

While I am all for eating cake, I otherwise bear little resemblance to the much-maligned and entirely beheaded former queen of France. But among her often-ridiculous affectations an possessions, she had something I am starting to understand the need for: a retreat in the form of a hobby farm village. It was a tiny, working mini-farm with a herd of 8 cows and one bull. The farm provided food for the parties that the queen held there, and gave her a chance to escape the intrigues of palace life and play peasant while it pleased her to do so.

Of course, the farm itself was run by a real farmer, appointed by the queen. She couldn't be expected to make the thing an actual going concern, could she? She'd get callouses or something. Of course, the fact that the queen amused herself by milking carefully washed cows was part of the reason she lost her head. Being frivolous while glaring class divides exist in your country tends to piss people off. Never mind that this was how she was raised, having been treated to gardens and menageries as a child. Le Petit Trianon was probably an immense comfort to a person whose main (and failed) function as a person was to produce a viable Dauphin.

Of course, I am not under the kind of pressure she was under. Nobody gave me much crap for being entirely unable to conceive. Actually, Marie Antoinette had several children, so she is well up on me there. But I'm still considered a mostly worthwhile person, I figure.

But this isn't about political pressure and class warfare. It isn't even about the indignity of infertilty. It's about goats.

Or rather, it is about farm animals in general. Whether it is inspired by Jacob's endless collection of books extolling the virtues of farm life (The duck says "quack"!), or the fact that I love fresh goat cheese, or the other fact that some of my friends are getting a chicken coop, I suddenly find myself fantasizing about having a few farm animals of my own. Not because I want to go back to my country-fried roots. I don't want 100 head of anything. I just want a vanity farm. Just a garden and few cool animals that would, given care, provide me with the makings of goat cheese and butter and eggs. Not like I don't buy that stuff at the farmer's market, anyway.

Animals are cute. They do funny things. There is something sort of sweet about the pugnacious affection of goats in particular. But I am dreaming if I think I have time, given my hectic work schedule, to milk a freaking goat or sticking my hands under a bunch of chicken butts for my breakfast omelet ingredients. Plus, there are the, um, poop issues. I whine about picking up after my labradoodle's messes. What would I do with the output of a 135-pound nanny goat?

But surely you can see the appeal. Living closer to the land and having your kid grow up caring about other living things. Having fresh food that hasn't been processed eight different ways before reaching said kid's mouth. The romantic idea of animals that come running when they see you, even if it is only because you are the one that feeds them.

Oh yeah. Feed. That shit's expensive. In what economy do I figure I live? One where they don't build houses right on top of each other? Not really.

So what is that feeling about? Maybe I am just craving a little extra space and a pastoral sort of arrangement. It sounds nice. But given the fact that I left the small town/rural area I came from for lots of reasons, shoveling manure among them, it probably isn't going to happen.

I have a lot of half-baked ideas lately. I'm trying to figure myself out. I contain multitudes and contradict myself daily. (Thank you Walt Whitman, for saying it best.) Who am I? Certainly not Marie Antoinette, but I can appreciate the no-win aspects of her life in that no matter what she tried to be, she lost her head because of libelous public opinion. It might be good to be the king, but it seems like being the queen kind of sucks. At least she had her farm, where she could pretend life was simpler. It was probably fun while it lasted.

Dream: Baby Elephant Water Rescue

I had this dream the night before last, and it lingered in my mind all day yesterday, so I guess I should write it down. I was out walking in a vast grassy/marshy place. I saw some commotion up ahead, which turned out to be a lone baby elephant struggling in the muddy water. He looked exhausted and about to give up. I waded in and let his heavy body lean against me while I disentangled him from the reeds and grass around his legs. I got him onto dry ground and he immediately fell asleep next to me, with a look of supreme contentment on his wrinkly little face.

Then, his herd showed up, and I thought for sure I was going to get trampled to death. The baby's mother was fussing over him and getting him to nurse, but the bigger female I was intuiting was his grandmother was inspecting me. Once she figured out that I had not hurt him, she nudged me closer to him with her trunk. He came over to me and was gently inspecting my face with the end of his trunk. I put my arms around him and gave him a hug. The grandmother elephant stood over us and made it clear to the rest of the herd that this was okay.


My dreams are not at all hard to figure out sometimes, even though they are weird. As Little J's TPR trial fast approaches, I wish like anything that his family would accept what is happening. I wish they would accept me. I wish they could see that their little one is in good and loving hands. Struggling to be seen as "good enough" is a recurring theme for me, sadly. It feels like my best efforts are misinterpreted or not seen at all. I feel like I have to be epic and extraordinary to be seen as barely adequate. I have to dive into the mud to be accepted. It is wearisome. This dream had a good outcome that felt significant. It would be nice if its success could be mirrored in my waking life. Little J might need a baby elephant painting in his room now.

Dream-Goats in the Refugee House

Ok, this one was a doozy and I am going to struggle to capture it all before it fizzles out in my brain.

I was in a house, ostensibly newly living there with a huge family. It was clear from the way the front door was boarded up that we were all squatters in an abandoned area. There was barely room for the people, but there were also animals in the house. Not just dogs and cats (my dachshund Ember was also with me) but farm animals like goats and chickens that moved from the backard to the living room. The goats were female and being used for milk. Much talk was being spent on getting the guy down the street with a male goat to come over and breed his goat with ours.

There was music being made and a general atmosphere of badly funded but bohemian and somewhat nomadic existence. I was new to it and it was a bit uncomfortable for me to have no privacy and no real possessions of my own. The men sized me up for my sexual potential, but rarely talked to me.

Some younger man noticed my elk antler Inanna necklace (I own this in real life) and was talking to me about it. It was the first real conversation I had had in a while, and I ended up making out with him. Even so, it didn't really feel like a real connection, just better than most.

I spent some time in the dream taking care of a baby girl that one of the other women had. I was feeding her some mango pudding, and it was getting all over her face in a sticky mess.

Basically, it was just me and my dog in this chaotic atmosphere with goats and babies and messy overcrowded conditions. So freaking strange.

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Hawk Sighting

I have been having some very close encounters with wild animals lately. I still am in awe of the owl sighting I had some weeks back. The other day I had a hawk swoop out of a tree I was passing under, trailing fluffy clouds of quail feathers in its wake. (I interrupted his breakfast, I guess.) But he went by SO CLOSE to me. It really caught my attention. It isn't that unusual to have a hawk sighting here, but not usually so close.

Since I put up the owl medicine link last time...

Here's some Native American lore about the hawk: (from: http://media.www.thecampanil.com/media/storage/paper936/news/2007/04/30/Opinions/Joanna.Iwata.Speaks.On.Hawk.Medicine-2888738.shtml )


"Hawk medicine. The power of perspective. The messengers of spirit. It has been said within most native cultures that "hawks have the power to soar high above the earth, giving them a perspective previously only available to the inhabitants of the heavens above." As they bring wisdom from the heavens and the value of their higher vision down to earth, they remind us that there is a bigger picture to be seen. Hawks are most often viewed as visionaries, as they use their keen insights to focus on what needs our attention in order to accomplish our goals.
They see clearly what is not visible unless sought. Hawks also teach us how to interpret and then follow our personal vision. Hawks also remind us to consider a larger perspective, one that inspires us to move through the world we inhabit with "strength, certainty, and grace." In Avalon's interpretation of hawk medicine, she also speaks to the hawk's ability to look directly into the sun and see what is not visible to the rest of us.
She goes on to speak to the spirit of the hawk that resides within each of us in our capacity to operate from a more expanded frame of mind, wherein we can access and follow our own personal truth and vision."

The Chambered Nautilus

In my next life, I think I am going to be a chambered nautilus. It seems so orderly to start small and make perfectly proportionate and beautiful steps as I grow. It also seems like it would be relaxing to be an invertebrate and live in the ocean, just floating along with my other squishy friends and eating sushi and building a beautiful house that I take with me wherever I go.

Yes, school has finally turned my brain to mush, for me to basically want to be a squid with a shell who swims backwards in my next life.

After that I will be some kind of exotic bird. Then a monkey with a prehensile tail. Who's with me?

Owls and Bhangra-A Snapshot in the Life of Stacie

I was out having my walk this morning, and saw a HUGE owl similar to this one in a tree about ten feet over my head. He was eyeballing me something fierce. It stopped me right in my tracks. He was so beautiful and ferocious looking, a real WILD looking animal. I was overcome, and had to just stare at him and smile from ear to ear. I felt...honored in some way to have seen him.

Weirdly, I was listening to an Indian song on my iPod at the time. Varaaga Nathi . I had been doing Bhangra shoulder bounces and sorta dancing around on the sidewalk right before I saw that owl. So it was sort of a typical Stacie moment: surreal and incongruous, but unaccountably connected and meaningful.

Yes, I was dancing down the street in my neighborhood like a spaz. I choose to think that is one of the charming things about me. That whole free-spirit thing. It was a really unguarded moment, and I almost feel as though I was rewarded with an owl sighting.

Here's a little metaphysical perspective on owls. It is certainly about clairvoyance and magic. My life has contained a lot of both lately.

I am grateful for owls. And also for bouncy Bhangra music that puts me back in touch with my optimism.