I felt that today was perfect for cleaning up the tiny little garden plot I have by my doorstep. The weather is beautiful, the birds are singing, and I always find the earth restorative.

I’m afraid to go into the bathroom. Ass Burger Boy emerged from it, no longer resembling Jesus. Oh, he still has the Jesus hair, but the beard, it is gone, and I suspect is mostly decorating the bathroom sink. Holy facial hair, Batman! The sink, it is clean! I guess it’s safe to hose myself down now, after digging in the garden.

I’ve been rather cranky of late, not feeling perky, and having childhood issues emerging. I decided when I started this blogging thing that I was going to be very careful what I said about my family, because there is a member or two who have the URL. I have no desire to hurt feelings or make anyone feel defensive. Not my style anyway. It’s frustrating because that is where I want to go right now when I sit in front of the keyboard. It’s making me more bitchypoo than witchypoo.

One thing that has been re-emerging has me a tad baffled. It’s the issue of fire. I’m smelling fire a lot lately, and images of fire I encounter are bringing up strong emotions. And of course, there are the strangely clad men who barged into my home.

When I was about ten years old, our house burnt to the ground in the middle of the night. I don’t believe we had pajamas unless it was Christmas, because this happened in November, and will never forget the gray t-shirt and white undies I wore to bed, and which I wore outside to escape the flames and smoke.

We sat in the car and cried because we were scared. I’m pretty certain I didn’t have any idea of the enormity of the loss of possessions the fire caused, but it pounded the final nail in my parent’s marriage, which was never a peaceful one in the first place.

We were in the process of building a house at the time, and we moved into it while it was only roughly finished. My father built bunks and dressers into the bedrooms, and other furniture as well. He was pretty handy that way.

Then he disappeared. He was posted about two hours away, and seldom came home. My mother took to her bed a lot. There were a lot more suppertimes than there were suppers. We should have had enough to eat. My father was military, and the pay was decent enough to live on.

When I look back to all that happened, and link it to the fire as a catalyst for the disease that was choking my parents marriage, I can’t help now but compare it to the Tower in the tarot deck.

The Tower signifies an event which causes all the smoke and mirrors to fall away, all the pretense to be exposed, and the opportunity for a new beginning. It is dreaded, but is the card of transformation. Sometimes, we believe that we cannot learn through joy.

The events after the fire seared my innocence in many ways. I think I am only now really mourning that. So excuse me if I’m a tad cranky. I was fixing to be all over Ass Burger Boy now that he no longer is a ringer for Jesus.