Struck by Lightning

As a photographer, I tend to keep a list going on things that I plan to photograph in my life. Some seem far fetched and deep in the depths of a pipe dream, yet sometimes life aligns and the seemingly impossible comes true. On this list, I have been fortunate enough to check off a few like NOFX and Motorhead concerts, but the vast expansion of my desires reaches into much more difficult endeavors. Underwater macro of Sea Slugs, Baobab trees, Muskoxen, Sundew plants and lightning are all on this list. The latter of all these requires a very specific set of circumstances. Lightning is unpredictable and extremely tough to capture, unless it is that one in a million storm that concentrates in an area, that happens to have a worthy landscape in the perfect ambient evening light. It must be far enough away, with no visual obstructions and the shooting location should be dry with no rain sheeting getting in the way of a crisp photograph. This recipe for the shot I am after seems almost impossible. Yet, it happened to me. I was in the right place at the right time far away from home. I had all my camera gear, my tripod and all the time in the world. This is the moment I was waiting for.

That night I did not take a single photograph.

No matter how ideal of a situation it was, there was no way I was going to give up this chance to experience one of the most perfect moments in my life. I was with someone who means the world to me and the thought of living this moment through the lens felt like it would be defying the real purpose of my life. We sat on a bench in the warm summer night on a hillside overlooking the peaceful waters of a beautiful Saskatchewan lake. The sky's electrical storm surrounded us in panoramic perfection. Strike after strike, the lightning danced its way to the ground in blissful rhythm. Thunder rumbled up and down the open prairies, through the valley and across the lake. Not a drop of rain touched our faces as we sat, the only forces were the warm breeze and the comfortable peace of being in each other's arms.

As the spectacular display faded into the distance, we stood up to leave. He turns to me and says:" I bet you wish you brought your camera." I smiled and said "Not a chance"

Too often I have heard photographers complain about the little technical and photographic annoyances at some event that might have otherwise been one of the best moments in their lives. Spending half an hour getting the lights and background just right on a tray of cupcakes at their daughter's first birthday, cursing the lights at a venue showcasing their favorite band on stage, getting flustered at the unpredictability of breaching Whales in the Pacific Ocean....

Life is all a series of moments, not a pile of pixels or a shoebox of negatives. Sometimes it's better to let go the feeling of trying to capture life in a take-home format and living in the moment that matters.

Cat

I just took a massive shift

Whatever is happening in this world right now is big. Bigger than I think we all want to acknowledge. There is a major shift, a massive dump of different energy, a steamy pile of changes, a hot coil of transformation, a flushing remodeling of some pretty major things.....

What I mean to say is that it seems that everyone I know is going through some heavy and life-changing things lately. Some have been brewing for a while and just now being exposed or acted upon. Some seem sudden or approaching rapidly. Career changes, divorce, love, spiritual awakening, relocation and reinvention, it seems no one is left untouched from this universal shift.

if you feel it, you are not alone. What really matters is what we do with these forces. You can accept and embrace, or reject and erase. My decision to deal with the impending whirlwind of change came to me in a dream.

My dreams are really sacred to me. I am a vivid lucid dreamer and have learned more about myself from listening to my dreams than pondering in my waking life. So,

many months ago in the tension of weird times and feeling that something big was coming, I lay in my lucid state drifting off into the abyss.

::: I was sitting at the edge of a tidal pool looking in and playing with the water. I was watching the life inside the pool and on the other side of it was a gentle river. A distant and faint song started to play. It was familiar, but not one I had ever paid much attention to. A voice spoke to me. Clear as day. It said: "Sure there are sea horses and starfish in the pond, but it's not the kind of place you want to swim in. Cat! You are a swimmer!! The river can sweep you away to some amazing places. You might get caught in the current and end up somewhere very different, but lay back, things will be fine, watch the clouds as they go by" With that last seven words that were spoken, they synched up with the song playing faintly. It was a NOFX song containing that phrase.:::

A sense of reassurance and excitement, I transcended back into consciousness. I went to my computer and with some searching, I found the song. 'Lazy' by NOFX. it's about being lazy and allowing the world to go on without you. Something all to familiar to me at the time. i could watch the clouds or flow with them.

It was a shocking realization. Whatever guidance it was, it was exactly what I needed. I decided then and there that it was time to immerse myself in the river. Move to Vancouver, follow my dreams, allow myself happiness and now was the time. This huge change wasn't going to pass me by and I would let the current take me to better places. Looking back at how pivotal that moment was still shocks me.

That day, like it was waiting for me, I found a place to live and started packing. The divorce I was working through now seemed like a relief instead of a burden. Suddenly, the tension was gone and Mikull and I regained the sense of friendship that we had almost lost.

So I move and suddenly that constant search for this feeling called 'home' and a sense of being where I belong came true.

The changes that were long overdue were happening.The optimism I have always valued just had rocket boosters installed.

So many people I know are going through a similar thing. There are a few people resisting the change and then those that are facing it head on. I am seeing dreams come true, seeing the best being brought out in some people and witnessing miracles.

I have seen the end of the world. It involves being swept away one by one. In my opinion, it's no use resisting what is inevitable. it's how we evolve. Learn to go with the flow or be the strong resistance. Whatever you choose, that's your dream. Follow that dream. It's how I found a life better than I ever thought possible.

Notice how you always feel relieved, better and lighter on your feet after taking a massive shift?

; )

Go be happy.

Cat Ashbee

The year of the Pig gives way to the year of the Cat

July 4, 2009. I was standing outside the Cobalt in Vancouver with Ken and Denis from SNFU. We were discussing when and where to take some promo shots of the band. With an upcoming album and a tour with no visible end, they could use my services. With camera in hand I thought to myself: ‘just a few months ago, in my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined myself in this situation’. SNFU has been a staple in my life for the past sixteen years and here I was discussing the collision of my two greatest passions, punk rock and photography, with two of the greatest musicians I have the pleasure to know. A pair of familiar eyes catch mine in the crowd. Chi Pig pushes his way through the people and gives me a huge hug. “I was thinking about you while I was on the bus today, you rocked so hard at the Edmonton show” remarked one of my childhood heroes. I have photographs and scars to remember the greatest shows of my life and I don’t intend to sit back away from the chaos anytime soon.

Year of the tiger? Well, I declare it the year of the Cat. I guess you could call me more of a cougar than a tiger, ha ha ha, but yeah, I am thirty now, so that joke isn’t too far off… I have just commemorated the one year anniversary of my rebirth and had the most incredible year of my life because of it. As I sit back and reminisce about the best 365 days that I have ever experienced, I feel like I owe it all to the happenings of one night. The night I was reborn. February 15, 2009. I would call it the official first day of the year of the pig. Allow me to explain.

The back story, which is too pathetic to explain fully, is about how I was in a rut. The gist of it all was that upon graduating high school and in a relationship that felt more important than friends, I shut myself off from the world, sunk into the horrible mentality of the working drone and forgot all that was important. Slowly for the next twelve years, I built this wall. Brick by brick, I lost sight of who I was. During those years, I always had the urge to leap over this wall, but it was much easier to just keep building. To be fair, I have to say I wasn’t miserable. I did a lot of mountain biking, photography and discovered many things that I still love today, but I still felt caged. I was suppressing myself and stifling my flamboyant, confident, punk rawk self. I went to the occasional show, but sat there in the back, just listening to the music, all the while my inner beast was pawing at the all encompassing wall, begging to run full force into the mosh pit screaming at the top of my lungs.

I had moved to Vancouver Island in hopes of liberating myself. Unfortunately I was still having a hard time getting through this wall and it was getting dark in my enclosure. Mike and I had made the trip back to Edmonton to see The Johnsons play their last show with Nathan. He and Nick, guitar/vocals and bass, respectively, had been good friends of mine in high school and there was no way I was going to miss this one. The show was off the hook. I was all caught up in emotion and had energy just urging to burst out of me and yet, I suppressed all urges to jump in the pit and sing and sweat like a crazed beast. No, that poor beast growled from within the brick enclosure, angry at Cat Ashbee for not letting her out. As we drove home, I welled up with regret. I started questioning why I didn’t do what I wanted to do and participate in the action. I used to be in there all the time! I used to be a part of the action. I used to be a part of the scene! The thirteen hour drive back to the west coast alone in my’73 Beetle gave me a lot of time with myself. I sat with my inner beast and we had a talk. She told me I had become too dependent on my partner and forgot who I was. She told me that it was time to wake up and be myself again. We reminisced about when I was playing in a band, living for the moment and glowing with happiness. Surrounded by friends, new ideas, new experiences and new revelations every day. I had to find the real Cat Ashbee again and bring her back.

Feb 15, 2009.

I had a goal to do something I had always wanted to do. I contacted Candlefish Productions and asked if I could photograph the SNFU show. The band I had admired, loved and idolized since junior high. The show that night was approaching and I was in Nanaimo. It was getting late, I was tired and there was still a couple of hours before the show was to start. I wanted to just go home and get into bed. I had almost resigned to doing so, and faced with time to kill was making that horrible decision all the more inviting. The beast growled but reminded me of our conversation we had in that long car ride. So off to the marina for some late night photo projects, some of which are my favorite images to this day. It was the priming that I needed to get my night going. Photography was going to be my sledgehammer.

We get to the show and immediately Chi Pig comes over to us. Remembering us from the past, we chat it up. They take the stage and I sneak a few pictures from the sidelines. It felt good! I had detected a weak spot in the wall and coincidentally, I had my sledgehammer that night.

Suddenly, the beast exploded out into the world in a triumphant leap as I took a swing at the wall. Explosion. I entered the mosh pit with my camera. I thrashed, sang along at the top of my lungs and snapped away. I jumped up on the speaker cabinet on the side of the stage and continued my beastly frolicking. Chi gave me the mic numerous times and we kept linking arms and singing together throughout the set. They stopped playing and I jumped down off the speaker. Chi hopped down and gave me the biggest hug, a kiss on the cheek and words that still ring through my ears like an echo. “You knew all the words to all the songs, AND sang incredibly, Thank-you, that was awesome!” Ken Fleming hopped down at this time, gave me a huge hug and agreed. As I sat there talking to the band through this massive new hole in my brick wall, the dust settled, revealing the spiderweb of cracks I had created.

The ride home was surreal. I was welled up in emotion as if something absolutely amazing had just happened. It did. Little did I know that this was the night I was reborn. I had this hole in that wall. I peered through it and liked what I saw. From that moment on, I resolved to work at getting this wall down and allow my beast freedom.

The aftermath of that night was an avalanche of awesomeness. Apart from the renewed happiness within myself, I was being contacted by more bands who saw and liked my pictures.

The year to follow that night saw me smashing that wall to bits. I conquered my fears and insecurities about independence and regained the confidence that I had lost in myself.

Little by little the pieces shattered and fell into place, building a stellar foundation. I fell in love with Vancouver. I met my heroes. I found myself again.

I stand upon those newly rearranged bricks and look back at the highlights of the Year of the Pig. (Chi Pig, if you haven’t figured out that’s where I was going with that)

There were times during the year that I had to shake my head with disbelief that I was where I was. On tour with SNFU, on stage with DRI in Seattle, in the press pit at GWAR…. I met my astral soul brother, met friends that I will cherish for the rest of my life, took pictures that have given me tingles up my spine, and slept in some memorable places. I was living the dream, I still am.

It is now the year of the Cat. It is my goal to make this one even better than the last. I look forward to that familiar unmistakable blissful feeling of falling asleep when the sun is coming up, deaf from the sound system, sore from the pit, hoarse from singing, drenched in beer and sweat ; with a memory card full of new pictures. This year, just like the last, I will earn more scars and rapidly age this poor body of mine by living the good life in the gutters.

Future it be now

Here you begin live like new

Come to time

Where people talk different but good together

If you heart mind open you receive new knowledge

You have same like electric eye

And heart mind and talk sound

You live fast like light

We have all had brushes with illumination, mine is in Vancouver.

Pylons: Inanimate, Immaculate.

Pylons

By C at Ashbee

There is something so appealing about that conical orange plastic object.  The pylon stands there in silent authority.  It has no arrogance and no ability to inflate its ego creating power trip behavior and consequent misfeasance.  NO, the pylon stands with purpose and with public safety in mind.  It doesn’t have the arrogance of a velvet rope, dividing society into falsely appointed class groups, nor does it flash distracting amber light in our peripheral vision.  The colour alone, and sometimes a modest reflective strip of white is enough to command our respect and attention. 

Sure, I have knocked them over in the past, and purposely run them over in an automobile, when the time was at its utmost humorous point. It’s a matter of assessing the situation and if there is no immediate danger behind said pylon, it proudly accepts the strike.  The pylon serves as a punch line, laughing hysterically in the ditch, just happy to have been a part of a little piece of what makes this world go around.  Who of us hasn’t held one in our hands?  Wore one like a hat or yelled through it like a megaphone?  The pylon just begs to be part of the improvised slapstick events in our lives.  Take pride in knowing you have integrated a humble figure into something so invaluable: a joke!  The pylon appreciates it.

Besides its regal place in our world, one has to respect the stability of their design, their perfect ascending slope and fluid roundness.  The immaculate gloss, crisp rubbery smell and uniformity of a brand new pylon is a thing of absolute beauty.  A higher end model with weighted black base deserves a place better than a roadside, in my opinion, but the pylon humbly and proudly stands where it is assigned, regardless of its quality.  Ready to elastically bounce back after any encounter, they stand like immortals, never backing down, never showing fear.  Inanimate, immaculate.

_/\_

 

Buffy the buffalo, Bianca the stick horse and Emily faust

Was I an evil kid?  I don’t think so.  Maybe devious, I guess I could say.  No wait, I was craftily opportunistic!  Do I have multiple personalities?  I don’t think so.  Maybe alter-egos, I guess I could say.  No wait, I am creatively multifaceted. 

It must have been my fifth birthday and I had received a stick horse as a present.  Just a big stuffed head on a long dowel that was painted orange.  Now that I think about it, it was probably lead paint.  That might explain a few things and after all, It was the early eighties.  I named her Bianca, most likely after the female mouse from the rescuers cartoon and most likely after a suggestion from my Mom.  When left to name things using the wild and unhinged imagination of my own, names always seemed to be a little less normal.  Like the crayfish I had named ‘license plate’.  Yeah….. more on that one later.  So anyways, Bianca and I had a fairly customary girl/horse relationship for the first little bit.  We rode around the house searching for dragons to slay and whatnot, but then Bianca must have gone mad or something.  She gained this new attitude and realized that whenever she was held high by her stick, she was way taller than everyone else.  Oh my, superiority complex in a stick horse can be a tough thing to deal with.  But, being a dragon slayer, what did I know about psychology?  She started grabbing things from the top shelf of the food closet, hooking people’s feet as they walked by and when finally my Mom had enough, she scolded Bianca.  Looking straight into her eyes as Bianca stood tall. Face to face, they were as she was threatened with being grounded and locked in a closet for a day.  Who am I to say what was going through her head, but the wryly and problematic horse decided this was an unacceptable arrangement and head-butted my Mom square in the face.  This would not be the last time, and it would definitely not be the last time Bianca was grounded for a week.  We had an on again/off again relationship as Bianca was frequently incarcerated.  Hard time in the slammer only fed her violent tendencies and she was often yanked from my grip after coming down full force repeatedly on my parents, sister or random visitors to the house.  I remember this one incident in particular.  There were some new faces in the house and I was too shy to meet them.  Bianca, however, was curious.  She stood as tall as she could in my grip and peeked around the corner of the livingroom at the guests on the couch.  My Dad’s voice stopped in mid sentence and said “no Bianca, go back to your room”.  Bianca swiveled her gigantic plush head and looked square at my Dad.  I could tell he was starting to laugh but also quite nervous about the whole situation as he stared into those oversized plastic eyes.  Bianca shook her head as if to say no in the most cocky way possible, and then turned her gaze slowly and deliberately back at the unsuspecting innocent people on the couch.  There were traces of snickering in the room, but not from my parents.  They knew what was almost certain to happen and Bianca must have sensed that the mood darkened in the room.  When problematic stick horses get nervous, they most often strike without warning and lash out at the nearest person.  She dropped like a guillotine  straight at the face of the nearest guest.  It may have impacted, or it may have been yanked from my grip millimeters from the bystander, I couldn’t tell for sure.  Being in charge of an out-of-control and troublesome stick horse can be quite taxing on a young and fragile girl, so I often closed my eyes as she did the unspeakable.  She was taken to the garage that day.  The Alcatraz of all the penitentiaries, and with NO chance of parole this time no matter how good her behavior in the clink was.

All was OK though, I was getting a little too old for a stick horse by this time.  Yes, definitely too old.  What I needed now was a more portable version and since Bianca was a mute horse, I was craving some new stimulus, with all those new words I was learning…..

“I have never heard a noise like that come out of a little girl before!”  -Gary Acres (Uncle Gary)

Family vacations in the summer consisted of driving in some  gypsy mobile all over Alberta and B.C. seeing all the sights of this incredible corner of Canada.  This year, I was probably about eight years old, and we stopped at Head Smashed In Buffalo Jump.  It was customary for my sister and I to get one stuffed toy every year whilst on these trips.  A stuffed buffalo in the gift shop caught my eye!  Holy crap, I needed that like it was nobody’s business.  My sister and I left the centre each holding our new friend.  I looked into his beady little eyes and tried my best to make it introduce itself.  What kind of a voice would a buffalo have?  Gruff and sassy, I guess.  With no planning, and in a voice that had never been uttered from my larynx before, came a demonic sounding “Hi, my name is Buffy”  Now, being the kind of kid that craves attention and reaction, I was suddenly at the intense gaze of my whole family, and it was awesome!  Buffy turned to them and said: “what the hell are you looking at?”.  Oh no, this buffalo had quite the attitude.  Why did I always get stuck with problematic plushies?  It seemed though, that whatever he said, laughter would follow.  He could literally say anything and for some reason, everyone thought it was hilarious.  It would appear that Buffy decided to exploit this fact.  He could get away with saying anything and as long as I was there to correct him and chastise his actions, we both seemed to stay away from most punishment.  He was quite charming and charismatic, I guess, and was easily forgiven if he let his snide comments slip at severely inappropriate times.  He tended to do this quite often.  Soon, he started to record songs he wrote, he had a radio talkshow recorded on tape and was an avid ‘buffalo scout’ earning badges for numerous outdoorsy tasks.  He enjoyed fishing and hiking and followed me everywhere.  He even got his ears pierced and wore a horn ring.  No matter what his accomplishments though, everyone just wanted to hear him talk.  My parents would group everyone at a gathering and ask me if Buffy wanted to come out and sing a song or tell a native legend.  (a huge part of Buffy’s past, before we met, was learning stories from native elders, human and bison)  So Buffy would come out and say a few things and it seemed the more provocative and risky the words, the more people loved it.  Buffy would say things that I was shocked to hear and would never think of saying myself.  If he decided to drop a bomb and utter a real curseword, the crowd went WILD!

It was nice to have a friend like Buffy.  He always had interesting things to say and seemed to convey what I was thinking and be able to speak it without hesitation.  He now sits at my house weathered and old from many trips into creeks, being puked on more than once and repeatedly being soiled and washed.  In fact, when placed beside his twin, my sister’s buffalo, he sits at two thirds the size and a few shades lighter in colour.  Oh, and his many piercings never seemed to heal properly either. 

Fast forward to my adult stage of development.  I had been without an evil counterpart for ages and didn’t seem to need one.  I said what I wanted and took the heat myself for my actions.  Hmm, was this really a logical alternative?  Yikes!  Well, I am sure it would look odd to carry around a stick horse or stuffed bison and besides, if I needed to say anything, I said it. Or not.  I picked up the local paper one day and was appalled at a letter from a resident that was talking about how she was killing Magpies and Crows in the neighborhood and felt she deserved a fucking medal or something.  She had fabricated incidents of these innocent corvids torturing the pretty Blue Jays (also corvids) and murdering those cute singing Robins.  She demanded the town implicate some kind of mass killing, as she could only do so much herself.  I sat there in absolute rage!  Half of me went to work right away writing a response in absolute scientific fact and educated retort dispelling all of her false claims and explaining the actions of the natural world and how we should not tamper with nature’s delicate balance.  The other half of me sat there fuming, calling her a ‘bird racist’ over and over again.  It was at that moment, my new alter ego was called into existence.  Cat Ashbee sat with all the experience in ‘citizen science’ and years of birdwatching and studying behavior and wrote an intelligent and well thought out piece of work.  Being careful not to say anything offensive and treating this angry letter writer like someone who was just misguided and needed some things put into perspective, I wrote with respect and humility.  That letter aside, another response was written.  This one used all the angry terms and low blows that I only felt but could never say.  Signed….  Buffy Buffalo?  No that wouldn’t do as it was way to fabricated.  Well, my middle name is Emily and since this seems like an arrogant and self-fulfilling thing to do, the term faustian came to mind.  Signed, Emily Faust.  Both letters made the next week’s paper.  Emily, you can say the things I would never think of saying.  Welcome to the world of the living.  Many years later I noticed that an acronym for ‘Emily Faust’ just happens to be: ‘Is faulty me’.  How delightfully interesting!

Do I feel like I need this dual personality?  I don’t think so.  Maybe it is therapeutic, I guess I could say.  No wait, I love Emily Faust.  Emily, you have the balls to say anything.  Whatever would I do without you, you crazy bitch.

 

Gratitude is my attitude

I woke up this morning and thought to myself ‘holy shit, I am alive’.  I stood on my feet and walked to the bathroom and thought to myself ‘holy shit I can walk’.  I looked into the mirror and thought to myself ‘holy shit, I can see’.  I turned on the tap and thought to myself ‘holy shit I own a tap’.  I drank the water that ran out and thought to myself ‘ holy shit, I can drink water’.   I say this all through a smile bigger than its physical parameters.

 

I have had my share of rude awakenings, and enough realizations that life could be so much worse.  I have seen some real shit in my life.  I have experienced some scary shit too.  Some of that shit no one knows about.  I have had more than a handful of near-death experiences, and some mind blowing revelations.  I have witnessed miracles.   This world is amazing and I am so glad to be a part of it.

 

We need to find our reason to be thankful.  I have found mine, or rather the root of all my gratitude:  I AM FUCKING ALIVE!  I could have been taken in so many ways by now.  In fact, today might be my last day here.  Life has taught me that anything can happen at any time and without warning. 

 

After every tragedy in my life, I have walked away alive so far. 

When I glanced back at my ’76 Volvo in the ditch many years ago, which looked more like a banana than a station wagon after being wheels up a couple of times and slamming into the sharp shoulder at a speed that station wagons shouldn’t be going while upside down.  After exiting the crumpled pile of metal sprinkled with seven window’s worth of safety glass ‘diamonds’, I glanced in the car and was instantly thankful that the steel rims that had made their way from the back of the car and into the dashboard did not meet my head along their journey.  I was most thankful at this point that I have always been adamant about wearing my seatbelt and instantly attributed my ability to kick open the door and step out of my crushed dreams to that fact.  Thanks Mom and Dad for teaching me the importance of that one.  Thank you for giving me life, and saving it more than once or twice.

 

In my experiences, I have met many amazing people who have inspired me.  Whilst walking down town Vancouver alone one morning, there was a street person walking towards me.  He was in rough physical shape and I could tell that he had little, if anything, to his name.  He caught my eye and said with such heart through a toothless grin ‘beautiful day, isn’t it?’  He was obviously appreciative to have such a nice day to enjoy and it struck me straight in the heart.  Such an honest and genuine smile and happiness over something that everyone in the city was experiencing.  As the disgruntled masses in their SUVs bustled past us on their way to the rat race angry about gas prices, property taxes or bad hair days, I smiled and agreed.  Richer with the gift he had given me.  I am grateful to have had that experience.

 

The last thought in my head as I draw my final breath will be a thankfulness that I have lead such an amazing life and that I am thankful that I was able to be thankful. 

In the mean time I will appreciate every day that I wake up.  I will appreciate every step I take.  Every sip of water will feel my gratitude. 

 

Thank you for reading this.

I love you all.  I really do. 

Cat

 

 

 

‘If ever I say a discouraging word, slash my face with a rusty rake, it will be something that I deserve.  It’s not like I live on the street.  It’s not like I live in a war zone.  It’s not like I can’t afford to eat.  It’s not like don’t have a home. ‘ – Rusty Rake, SNFU

losing faith?

So I have a few plants.  My plants are quite neglected and so through the process of survival of the fittest, I have a house full of tough-ass greenery.  I am not the most attentive plant owner and forget to water them. ( Reason number three hundred and twenty six why I won't have kids, but, I am sure I'll blog on that later...)  

Anyways, I have had this succulent for the past ten years.  People call it a Christmas Cactus, I refuse to belittle such a hardy plant by associating it with a holiday that has been so over-commercialized and...  ugh, I am sure there will also be a posting about that one from me later too.  Where was I ?  ...   Oh the plant.  It gets it's name because it blooms twice a year: once around Christmas and then once around Easter.  Now, this part confuses me.  Why at these times does it decide to bloom?  The daylight hours are different, the temperature is different and it's not a six month cycle or anything like that, that does make sense.  The only real similarity between the two times of the year is that there is a Christian holiday within the blooming phases.  

Now the reason for all that back story above is that a weird thing happened to my christian cactus this year.  (That's what I call it, by the way.  Makes more sense to me)  As usual, it put up with the normal abuse and neglect that all my poor plants endure all year.  But, these past two blooming phases came and went without a single flower.   This has never happened to this particular plant in the ten years I have been tormenting it.  

All I can think is that my succulent has lost faith.