Wednesday, May 12, 2010


I don't think it was intended as such, but I got a little reminder from a friend yesterday that I am not the kind of person to be overcome by weather. I am a problem solver. I am inquisitive. If I have to figure out a way to clean out trenches and mix cement and pour forms while it is raining, then that's what I'll do! I just have to draw on the inner warrior woman. Some people might think I'm visualizing. I'm not. It's more like I let her out on a tear in my mind so she doesn't come out for real. Let's face it, sometimes when things get tough, you just want to hit somebody with the butt end of your sword. That's where the control comes in. Harness the power of the warrior woman without totally releasing her. This is done by tempering with the everyday ... the mundane ... the grocery list. Like this.....

The warrior woman stands as tall as she can make herself, stretching every muscle until taut and then releasing. She shifts from one foot to another, then unsheaths her sword. She can see her enemy in the woods. She remains unseen by them. She swings her sword in an arc and pushes her timber strong thighs into a fighting stance. The sun glints off her metal breastplate and she is noticed. The enemy runs to her. Let them run. They will arrive tired. (milk) She controls her breathing. She continues to gently move and warm her muscles without tiring them. Her enemy continues to run across the meadow clearing and she continues to wait. (potatoes) The three men are spacing out over the distance. The sprinter is spent and falling behind. The other two continue to come together. She waits. She notices clouds beginning to gather. Another man begins to lag. They are getting closer and she can see the details of their clothing. (onions) She can hear their labored breathing. Their arms flailing with the effort of the run. She squats down in the tall grass, though still visible, she is obscured. She becomes a coiled spring.

The first of the men draws closer and she propels herself forward with a roar that is born in the very bottom of her gut. (tomatoes) Her sword travels in a graceful backhand arc and the edge slides across his chest. He falls, holding the incision. Her sword comes to both hands again and she stands, knees bent, balancing on the balls of her feet. The second man comes, in full , but exhausted, run. His sword over his head. He is exposed and she could kill him. She waits. She blocks the downward blow and glides her sword sideways, slicing the man's arm open. (pork chops) The sprinter stops. He is winded, but he gasps out," We mean you no harm. We want only your land. Relinquish and you will be spared."

"My land is my own!"

"There are others who will come after us"

Then there are others who will die after you" (toilet paper)

"You are but a woman!" He screams in defiance to her will.

I am a woman who lets loose blood! Take your kinsmen while they can yet heal or die now!"

They heard a soft moan. The sprinter dropped his weapon, then pulled one of the wounded men to his feet. The other, unconscious now, was grabbed under the arms and pulled from the field of battle. The clouds that had continued to gather now opened into a downpour.

"You see", screamed the woman,"even God washes your stink, your blood, from my land. Do not come here again!" (dish soap)

Mac doesn't really allow me any sharp implements in the house other then kitchen cutlery. Despite that, I choose to cling to the warrior woman, and the warrior woman isn't afraid of rain!


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