No, it's not a stain!

When I was back home a few weeks ago, two friends of mine came to visit. Naturally, we were excited to see each other, and naturally, we took pictures. I just uploaded the photos to my computer, yesterday, and while perusing them, I noticed that some spots showed up on three or four of those pictures. The spots didn't show up on any other pictures, before or since, just on those.

Now yes, if you know me, you also know I'm thinking, Holy crap! Those are orbs.

But, being a realistic person, I'm also thinking, Golldurnit, that's only dust.

Or is it?

I've never had dust show up on a picture before. Never. Unless you count the time we were in Penzance three years ago, and the odd dust that showed up on my pictures of the Merry Maidens standing stones--and only on those pictures.

Last night, while putting my boy to bed, I felt that funny sense of pressure that you get when you think someone is in the room with you, but isn't. So, still being of an experimental bent (see previous post), I got up and got my camera, then crawled back in bed and turned out the light. After relaxing and waiting for that feeling to come back, told any wayward energy that I'd like to take a picture of it now, and to please oblige. I pointed my camera toward the other end of the room and snapped a picture. Turning the camera around, I looked at the display--and wouldn't you know it, a series of white orbs showed up.

I took another picture, and the same thing happened. Different orbs, in different spots. But definitely something showed up.

I spent an hour snapping pictures in the dark. Some showed no orbs, but several did. As a point of interest, I noticed two things. First, the longer I took pictures, the dimmer the orbs became and the fewer the number. However, they brightened up noticeably after I spoke to them.
The last thing I did was lay quietly for a bit until I felt a "fullness" coming from a particular area of the room. Three times out of four, the picture showed an orb: One in two corners of the room, and one over the bed.

Coincidence? Dust with a conscience?

You be the judge. I've included some pictures below.

What I DON'T want you to judge is the color of the room. It's pink. I didn't want it to be pink. It was supposed to be a much deeper color. But it turned out pink, and there's no help for it now. The other thing I don't want you do judge is the burgundy-sheeted air mattress propped up against the wall, where most of the orb pics were taken. I specifically aimed for that spot because it's a broad expanse of dark color, and figured if anything is there, it would show up best against the darkness. That aside, yes, I have dark red sheets. They are actually remnants of my American bed back home, and those sheets matched my blue and dark red comforter. So there. The rest of the house is a nice neutral ivory and wood tone.

Anyway, here are the pics. Tell me what you think!

It's Alive! (and good for you, too)

I've been doing a little experimenting at home.

With tea.

It's called Kombucha tea, or KT. It's an ancient Chinese tonic that is supposed to be extremely healthy. It reportedly detoxes your body of all sorts of nasties, boosts your immune system, and helps your body heal an amazing variety of ailments.

The catch (isn't there always a catch?) is that you brew it yourself--from a culture. That's right. It doesn't come from a leaf, and you don't steep it in hot water.

It's fermented from a live culture, with water, sugar, and a vinegary "starter", and takes about a week to produce approximately two bottles of the stuff. With each batch, you produce a new culture, and the cultures are reusable.

It's also diabetic-safe, from my understanding, because the sugar is consumed and converted during the fermenting process. I would check to make sure this is the case, however. I'm not diabetic, nor am I a doctor or a scientist, so don't take my word as law.

Please follow this link to read Who should not drink Kombucha tea.

Anyway, last week, I bottled my first batch of Kombucha, and began my second. Turns out, I let that first batch brew a little too long for my taste, so it came out pretty vinegary. My second batch, which surprised me by being ready a few days early, is a tad sweeter--just on the threshold of being tart, and I mean just. It's perfect. So, I bottled that, then held some back to add to the sour stuff of last week.

And you know what?

Damn, if it doesn't taste good!

A couple months ago, while researching this growing phenomenon, I joined a Yahoo! group called Original Kombucha. I'll have to admit, some people get a little fanatic about this stuff, or just downright flakey, but the fact that this femernted beverage has so many followers gives testament to it's supposed efficacy.

You can find it already made and bottled, but the best stuff comes from your own kitchen. And it's much less expensive to produce yourself. If you're interested, you can Google it and find a wealth of websites to choose from. Or you can simply link from here to the sites that I have looked at and found very helpful.

Kombucha Tea... all you need to know
The Happy Herbalist

Let me know if you give this a try, and how you like it. I'm curious to know others' opinions, as well.

Well, I'm thrilled that I got this far...

Two nights ago, my husband had to go to a school meeting for parents whose kids are entering first grade next year. I took advantage of the opportunity to get my son to bed on time (8:00 pm), and get moving on some writing.

First, I typed out a frivolous poem I wrote a couple months ago, which I've posted in my poetry blog. Yay! Unfortunately, that also means my meager store of poetry is now depleted, and if I want to post more, then I have to write more. Boo!

Second, and most importantly, I started that ghost story I’d planned for NaNo. It's not for NaNo, anymore, but it is the first new story I’ve begun and the first time I’ve actually written in exactly one year. I feel a little rusty, but I’m so thrilled to have gotten something started after all this time. Yay me. In the one hour I spent on that story, I wrote no less than four pages. By that time, it was 10 pm, and my husband had just gotten home, and so it was time to quit.

Gotta celebrate these small victories, especially when we don’t have much energy for anything except breathing and sleeping.

Woo-hoo! Four pages!

Ugh! Now what am I gonna do???

It's already week two of NaNoWriMo, and I still haven't written a word. My Grandma had a stroke two weeks ago, and I flew to Chicago right away to be with her for a week. In the meantime, NaNo started, and I didn't. I MEANT to, I even brought my little USB stick, which caused a little problem at the security checkpoint when it got lost in my purse.

The security officer kept asking me, "Do you have anything else in there?" and running my purse through the x-ray no less than three times.

"No," I said. "That's everything." Cell phone, wallet, book, asthma inhaler, pens, passports.

I had to take everything out and put it all back together, three times, each time the woman asked what else is in there. My purse is black. So is my little USB stick, and so impossible to see in the inky depths of my carryon. On the third pass-through, and the third dismanteling of the contents, the security officer finally found the culprit.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Oh," I said. "I forgot about that. It's my USB stick."

She thrust it in my hand and shoved everything back at me. "You can go."

Two nights later, my sister's boyfriend was asking about NaNo... or somehow the conversation evolved to that point, and I remember talking about it and thinking to myself, Well, that's DAYS away. I've got plenty of time to get over my jetlag and get myself in order.

After that, I forgot about NaNo. Until a friend of my mother's called, and at the end of their conversation, asked to talk to me. Somehow, she knew I was planning on doing NaNo again this year, and told me a friend of hers is doing it, as well. "But I suppose you won't make the 50,000 mark, will you? Not since you're in Chicago this week."

I thought about what she said. Holy crap. It was Halloween evening and NaNo was starting at midnight. "Well, I brought my USB stick with me," (that troublesome little beast), "so, I was planning on squeezing some writing in while I'm here." and I meant it when I said it. I really did. I was fully confident I would get a goodly chunk of writing done.

But as soon as the conversation was over, I'd forgotten about NaNo. Until I returned to Germany. and now, with reverse jetlag and all, the idea of working on a story just overloads my circuits. I haven't thought about that novel in at least two weeks, probably more. I guess I better get crackin', though. I have no excuse to be forgetting all about it, now, do I?

Why can't writing a novel be as easy as writing a blog??? I'd have no trouble getting anything done, then.

I've been getting up, ready to tackle the day at 2:30 am, every day since we've been back.

Might as well start making using of that jetlag, right?

uh, yeah. right...

It was nice to be home again. It's been four years...

After ten days in Chicago, I'm back in Germany. Two weeks ago, I packed up my son and some clothes to visit my grandmother, who had a stroke and is still in the hospital. She is not doing well. She had lots of bleeding in her brain, she can't speak and understands very little that is said to her. She seems to be thinking well, but can't communicate. Very little gets in or out.

When we left Chicago Sunday night, her spirit had visibly flagged and she was fighting off a touch of pneumonia. I haven't heard from my mom since our return to Germany, so no news is good news, as far as I'm concerned. I don't want to call her, because the only time our schedules coincide, given the seven-hour time difference, is while she's getting ready for work. She'd stressed out enough as it is without having to field phone calls for me in such little spaces of time. I did e-mail her, but she hasn't even returned that.

It was disturbing to go home, knowing that it was to say goodbye to Grandma. She was in good health, thanks to a pacemaker put in last year, when Grandpa was dying. She was happy, and involved in her community, and had lots of friends. When we visited her in the hospital, it made us laugh to see her usual facial expressions that show her sense of humor. She was happy to see me, and fascinated by my son, who was two years old the last time she saw him.
Every time I visited her, I was in tears. I had to leave the room to compose myself, so she wouldn't see me cry. I don't think I fooled her.

My mom has been a real trooper, though. I have to admire her for her strength of character. Especially after having seen Grandpa through all of his strokes and eventual death. That went on for years, however. I can only imagine what she must be going through to be losing her mother now. At this time of my life, it would kill me to lose one of my parents. Not to mention both.

I don't know how to write about this. My thoughts are so disjointed.

But, in spite of my reason for returning home, it was wonderful being there. My parents' house is peaceful and loving. I told only three of my friends that I was home, because I didn't want to deal with phone calls and visits: the woman who used to cut my hair, who I adore; my best friend; and a dear mutual friend of ours. The reunions were pleasant and happy.

I brought very little back to Germany with me, except for a few products that can't be found here. I also bought hygiene supplies (soap, shampoo, deo, toothpaste, hair products) to leave at my mom's house, in anticipation of our relocation stateside, next spring. We don't know for sure that we'll be able to go back, but you can bet your bottom dollar that both Mom and I are banking on that eventuality. My best friend asked me what I would do if it didn't work out. I said, "Kill myself." I don't want to get my hopes up too high, because I might very well have to face disappointment, but I still can't stop hoping.

Lots have changes have happened in the rural area I left, six-and-a-half years ago. Lots of retail development, lots of the surrounding cornfields yielding to big housing developments. Property values have gone up as a result, which puts a damper on the likelihood of our buying a home in the area--but not on my enthusiasm to do so.

The trees in our yard have gotten so big, in the fours years since I'd last seen them. And the leaves were still red and orange when we arrived. In the forty-eight hours before we left, most of them had fallen off because it had gotten pretty windy. We don't get wind like that here, in Wildberg. I missed it.

So, we're in Germany again. My husband was glad to have us back, though even in that department things have gotten back to normal, which is not always pleasant. I'm discovering the Zen of fire-building, though rueing the maintenance factor, and the rapidity with which the fire's heat dissipates once the fire goes out. I'm able now to judge the atmospheric pressure according to how much I have to open or close the vents in the wood stove to keep the fire burning at maximum efficiency. Today, the pressure is dropping, which means we'll probably get rain. I don't know that for sure. It's still dark out, and all the shades are closed as I write this, but that's what the fire is telling me.

I've been up since 2:30 am, today. Jetlag. Still. Going east is always harder than going west. I seem to recall my mom and dad always getting up at that time when they've been here to visit. So, I've been up about five hours, now, dreading how sleeping I'm going to be in another five hours.

Jetlag sucks. But at least I got back to blogging because of it.