To meet all these definitions at once is a true embodiment

fox·y (fks)
adj. fox·i·er, fox·i·est
1.
a. Of or resembling a fox.
b. Slyly clever; crafty: a foxy scheme.
2. Having a reddish-brown color.
3. Slightly discolored, as by age or decay; foxed.
4. Slang Sensually attractive; sexy.
5. Having a distinctive sharp flavor or aroma: foxy American grapes.

foxi·ly adv.
foxi·ness n.

BTW Im really proud of my one woman fan club for my blog

Tangier Man

Writing about our own experiences, I am told, is what makes a blog. Well, I am still new to this and perhaps not as savvy as you all, and furthermore I love my little snipets of myths and quotes and reserve freedom and delight to post these as the spirit moves me. And yet I may as well also go ahead and tell a little romance story. After all, spring is in the air!

People who are salt of the earth are decent, dependable and unpretentious.

Last autumn, I met a rather memorable man while visiting my Dutch friends' farm on the eastern shore of Maryland. Never had I been, and I had no idea the beauty and sweetness of the place! And yes, he was a handsome single man, but thats not exactly what the story's about...

He climbed down off the tractor from where he had been plowing and gave a nice strong handshake along with a nod, looking directly at me introducing himself by full name, to which I chuckled ever so lightly and returned the grounded greeting. He is a neighbor who helps out on their organic farm when he is needed and refuses to take money for his services because "that's the way he was raised". Since my women friends are a gay couple in their fifties I think its pretty safe to say that his intentions are pure. Anyway, I was charmed. As we all walked the land, shared dinner, sipping wine into the wee hours by candlelight in their 18th century home, I was charmed. Seeing his land the next day, his excitement at the growth of the trees he's planted along the fields, placing his hands in the black soil, urging me to do the same, I was charmed.

I am not so easily charmed, I want to assure you. What I noticed first about this lad was an odd country-ish, yet rather eloquent manner of speaking that as I listened to the rhythm of I could not place, try as I might. Here we were on the eastern part of the Chesapeake Bay, and this man sounded as though he grew up somewhere between the mountains of Southern Appalachia and the Isles of Scotland, which indeed he had. I also noticed that he had a very clear way of speaking right to the point of things and tended to express himself thoughtfully and meaningfully, or else remain quiet and listen attentively. He had me laughing from deep down inside, and speaking quite frankly myself - at times sharply debating him, at others wholeheartedly in agreement. Always very engaging and natural. His blue eyes sparkled a great deal. I appreciated this earth-wise sensibility about him, one that our mutual friend often brings up - this distinct & increasingly rare human quality that only people who live very close to the land hold in their being and carry with them, an actual scent about them. Genuine. Hardy. Salt of the Earth.

I myself come from people like this a generation before me, and it has imprinted on my soul. Long ago left behind in search of wild adventures, self discovery and presumed liberation, I have felt at times deeply out of place in the urban world of academia where I have placed myself, a world I had long ago sworn off! A world of winning prestige through intellectual prowess often disconnected from anything practical or particularly useful to the world, where people frequently take the most elaborate and vague routes of speech to avoid saying what they really mean, or simply to impress their peers. Yet my childhood was in some essential way steeped in the value of hands -on visceral intelligence, of rural identity through my loving grandparents, of endless summers spent on the farm, running in the fields, bon fires in the grove, finding arrowheads left by the Kickapoo and Wea and shards of pots left by my own great great grandmothers. Always that sense of being from a human heritage that is inherently part of the land. Perhaps this is what lit up and stirred in me with our Tangier man. It was different from the many back-to-the-landers Ive come across and lived with over the years. Something was definitely different.

Now, our man did mention that where he was from is Tangier Island - a place Id never heard of, an island in the Chesapeake. He spoke of it warmly and yet never explained much about it. I later took it upon myself to discover more on my own... Wikipedia states

The tiny island community has attracted the attention of linguists because its people speak a totally unique dialect of American English, hypothesized to be nearly unchanged since the days of its first occupation by English colonists.

Fishermen and farmers, they have also been studied for their rich folklore and traditional customs. Their heritage appears to be chiefly from Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and Cornwall, and they have remained relatively isolated from the rest of the world since the 16th century. Over ten miles from the nearest port, accessible only by boat or emergency helicopter, they did not so much as have television or internet until the last decade.

Well no freakin wonder he has this quality.

I cannot help but think on him fondly as winter thaws as soon I will likely meet him again when I venture across the bay to help with spring planting and canoe among the cypress groves along the Pocomoke River. I would like to learn from him all I can and enjoy his vital spirit. Do I fancy him to be my soul mate? No, even with a confessed tendency to romanticize such things, sometimes ridiculously so, and even as my biological alarm clock is sounding off with resounding bells, I do not. He had softened his voice with a moment we had alone, and in a most endearing and reserved way asking if he could call me, would I like that?...hmmmmm..., and later making general reference to his belief in proper courting. I am not kidding. I simply have not really come across this before. I had been thinking that sweetly sharing passionate kisses wouldnt harm a soul. Yet an actual romance would almost certainly be destined to fail, respectful friendship being the supreme choice. Opposites attract, but do they make good long term partners or mutually supportive parents? It is an understatement to say that some of our key core values and ways of viewing the world differ vastly. The first time I ever practiced non-violent civil disobedience I was a very young woman protesting the war he was busy fighting in on the other side of the world. I would do it again in a heartbeat, and so would he. The noble soul shared with me how he reads the bible to himself when he rises in the morning, around 5:30 or 6 a.m., the King James version. I didn't mention how I often sing love songs to the moon Goddess around 3 a.m. or so, still wide awake, crystals warm in my hand, with tiny offerings for the elementals... Ah well, cheers to how different we all can be, and how much more interesting life can be when lovely opportunities open for us to celebrate this and appreciate each other - across genders, cultural identities, and seemingly over centuries.

OK Ill try this

One Word Answers (For the Most Part)

This Moment: Peaceful
Your Shoes: Red (& muddy)
Craving: Kissing
The State of Your Home: Warm
Annoyed By: (currently) nothing
Noise In the Background: water dripping
Really Want To: Fly
Thinking About: Love
Your Keyboard: Useful
Smelling: Rose oil
Favorite Product In Office Supply Aisle: colored markers
Don't Ever Want To: be beaten
Your Eye Color: hazel green
The Weather: snowy
Have Never Tried: horse drawn sleigh ride
Think Everyone Should Try: to be cool
Last Vacation Destination: Colorado
The Last Thing You Had to Drink: Water
Your Bad Habit: which one?
What You're Going To Do Now: read

Song for You

There is a very pretty Emmylou Harris song in my head that keeps going round and round. So I'll sing it for you here:

If I had a bird, a little bird

I would teach that bird to sing your name

Prettiest song that you have ever heard

Your indifferent heart I will claim

So be off my little bird

Fly away, fly away

And when my love you see

Only then, my little bird

Cry away, cry away and bring that heart to me

If I had a moon in the sky

I would light the world and pull the tide

And when the moon is full, like my heart

It will surely pull you to my side

But in the darkest night I pine away, pine away

Until your face I see

So throw your light my lovely moon

Shine away, shine away and pull his heart to me

If l had a wagon made of gold

Pretty painted horses numbered four

With a silver harness I would hitch them up

And drive that wagon to your door

And if my hand you choose to hold

Ride away, ride away with the pretty horses four

But darlin' if you heart is cold

Hide away, hide away I’ll trouble you no more

Trouble you no more

Emmylou Harris/Kate McGarrigle/Anna McGarrigle

Historic Art Moment

Ive always loved this vintage piece honoring the famous crafty and soulful magician who outsmarted even the meanest.

Wha' Happen?

Who are these lovely lassies, circa 1986?

And perhaps more importantly, where are they now?

We need a new kind of feminism, one that stresses personal responsibility and is open to art and sex in all their dark, unconsoling mysteries. The feminist of the fin de siecle will be bawdy, streetwise, and on-the-spot confrontational, in the prankish Sixties way - Camille Paglia

I would also assert that we need to revision feminism in a way that expands to make enough room for a huge diversity of womens voices throughout the world, including specific views, needs, and interests that may be quite different from our own. We need a vision that is essentially Life-affirming and connects us all ecologically, rooted in a deep respect and conscious re-valuing for what has been traditional womens work - in particular child rearing and homemaking. Although these roles may not interest us personally, they are the sacred foundations of human culture and deserve our support as a society.

Nightime Dance

Life is a dance and I am remembering how to be a World Dancer. I may have sat out the last few songs but I was tired and needed to rest and just watch, perhaps snooze for a bit and be a hermit for awhile. And yet now I am up again and dancing - moving through all of the myriad emotions, experiences, blessings, challenges, and devotions. It has everything to do with rhythm and letting go into the music of Life. One essential thing I am grateful for, it is music. It is that my life is a great dance and that my soul has inherent rhythm.