NoteTo Self...

Do not try to beat sense into a bureaucrat with a manila envelope; it's not heavy enough and you get paper cuts.

I have dealt with said senseless bureaucrat on 3 different occasions. He is distracted, disorganized, and rude. I watched him lose the same set of paperwork 3 times in 10 minutes. He never returns phone calls and he has been known to swear he has never met me despite knowing me on a first name basis.

Were he perhaps a little warmer, kinder or more polite I would be tempted to take him under my wing for some gentle but firm guidance, but unfortunately he is so lacking of any redeemable quality whatsoever that I cannot feel moved to help him.

Besides, I suspect he is a pervy hobbit fancier , but I am not too worried about that as I have it on good authority that Sam will kill him if he tries anything.

Ms. Betty

May Day

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But - we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth -
Good news for cattle and corn -
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak and Ash and Thorn!

Sing Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer morn)!
England shall bide till Judgement Tide,
By Oak and Ash and Thorn!

The above is from Kipling's Tree Song. It is a favorite of mine this time of year.

I do take slight issue with Kipling's choice of timing for the "conjuring" of summer, however. He places it at midsummer while I, like many others, count the beginning of the seasons from the cross-quarter days.

Not everyone agrees on that point, of course. It is something even Chuck and I debate, as he prefers the solar calendar dates for the seasons as well. I just keep coming back to one point. How exactly do you count a day called MID-summer as the start of a season? He never has had an answer for that. But still he has is preferences, I have mine. We make it work.

Still, there is something special about May. If you've ever been fortunate enough to be out with someone you love under May's full moon you understand why. If not, put it on your list of things you must do before you die.

Take some good food and good drink and blanket, find a secluded spot far back in the woods or in an open field, preferably so far out you can feel the brightness of the moon. (If you are far enough away from the city lights, the light of the full moon really is bright as day.) Find a private place, savor the warmth and the gentle breeze and let the night take you.

No magic, no "heathen" rites, just savor what it means to be alive.

Happy

P.S. For those of you who might be interested, this year May's full moon with be the weekend of the 18th.

Myth, Metaphor, and BDSM

In The Power of Myth Joseph Campbell mentions an area of thought and emotion that can only be communicated in metaphor. As one becomes more experienced in the world of BDSM you begin to discover that most of the emotions involved are in that category. This is when the study of myth becomes essential to personal growth.

At their most basic, myths are metaphors. They are a code of symbols that teach us what it means to be human. The stories in myths give us a language we can use to understand and explain what happens in those dark places of our mind that come alive in the dungeon.

From the descents of Persephone and Innana to the yearly sacrifice of the Corn King, a wealth of knowledge waits in those dusty pages and ancient tales.

Heed your myths. They will teach you who you are.

Ms. Betty

Tis Finished...the quirt is ready to go

Well, here it is! I think it came out rather well, if I do say so myself. I used 1/4 inch nylon rope for the whip itself, with a narrow hollow tube inserted into the handle portion for a bit of rigidity.

The popper/cracker in this picture is about 12 inches of latigo lacing doubled over and knotted through the loop at the end of the quirt. I opted for the loop because I wanted to be able to change out the poppers to make the whip more versatile.

In all, I made 4 poppers ranging from fairly mild to OMG! OW OW!

Aside from the latigo, there are:

the black suede

the burgundy leather

It's hard to see in this picture, but this is the same leather I made Terry's Favorite Cat from, only in this case I turned the hard side of the leather out instead of the suede side.

and, a rubber popper with pointed ends:


This one would be the OMG! OW! OW!. This one is definitely reserved for well experienced bottoms and or heavy masochists. This little thing is mean.

The quirt has not been put to use in scene...yet, but I am happy to say it has met my expectations in target practice and that I was right that the shorter length makes it much more controllable and a much better fit in small spaces. I'm looking forward to getting some good use out of it on naughty bottoms.

Ms. Betty

Painting In Waiting

Beltaine, the birth of Summer, is right around the corner from us now. As usual, the coming season has me feeling restless, pent up with potential energy waiting for an outlet. It's hard to settle or even listen all the way through a favorite song as Winter's desire to sit and reflect gives way to the need to move. But no movement seems purposeful enough.

So here I am pacing back and forth like a tiger in her cage waiting not very patiently for I-don't-know-what. All I know is if whatever it is doesn't happen soon I may explode.

This isn't a need for sex, or for play. I know myself and both of those well enough to tell the difference. This is waiting for something outside of me, and what I do next depends on whatever's coming.

For me, one of the key changes of the seasons is shifting from writing in the winter to painting in the summer. I know this is coming because I cannot string two sentences together of late. In the last two weeks I've scrapped over a dozen pages of fiction that just refused to support it's own weight. In the meantime, the seeds of a painting have begun to grow in the back of my mind. Images stop me in my tracks as shards of the collage come together into a whole. I've done the preliminary ground work, but every time I thinking of reaching for my palette or sketch pad the little voice says "not yet, not yet. Wait."

So I do, so I am.

But I do wish whatever it is would hurry.

Ms. Betty