In the Arms of Hestia

My throat was closing tight, and oxygen was getting scarce.  I itched in places that sent shivers of fear through me.  Yet, I couldn’t give in to the fear, not there, not anywhere.  I am the strong one, the calm one who can always be counted on to cover for everybody else.  Why should I go to the people who won’t even let me finish a sentence, never mind shut up and listen?

 

So I go to the one place, and to the people I know will listen.  I can trust them to care, I have trusted them with my deepest sorrows, and my quiet joys and they have loved me the same, and supported me no matter what I have or haven’t done.  And now they have gifted me with a safer place, seated at the hearth of my favourite Goddess, Hestia-

 

She is the One who warms the home, and guides the children, the One that feeds everyone happily and impartially, and takes pride in the homeliest of tasks.  The One Woman who can find happiness in a sink of dirty dishes, and the laundry to be folded and put away.  The All-Mother who makes sure everyone has their vitamins, and warm dry slippers.

 

You will see her hand in rows of home-canned food, patchwork quilts, crocheted afghans, and daintily embroidered handkerchiefs.  You will hear her in the songs that echo of family, and shared laughter.

 

It is to her I turn.  She is brimming over with comfort and love, in her arms I can admit the fear and helplessness that gripped me when I struggled for breath, and knew how bad I was getting; even though those around me doubted that what I felt was real. 

 

She has the most comforting tones of my mother’s voice

(happy memories in my heart),

The soul-borne empathy

(we understand one another so well)

Of my brother Matt, and the ineffable

Ability to awaken my mischief

(necessary for someone of my moody nature)

Like my brother Jim.

 

And yet, nothing like them at the same time, Hestia carries the wisdom of always watching those around her with a protective eye- but is it She who teaches us that Parents must let their Children fly or fall on their own eventually, or they will never believe in themselves, nor trust themselves to weather difficult life-lessons.

 

She is also the one to remind us that our sorrows make us one with everyone around us, and our kindnesses will make us welcome to all who have been touched by us.  And yet, it is no exaggeration to speak of the She-Bear protecting her cubs, or the Lionesses in a pride mothering one another’s litters. 

 

She’s the one that gets up at Midnight to check on restless sleepers, and quiet little coughs.  The one who rises first, to start coffee and breakfast for a family that overflows bloodlines.

 

She is the keeper of family histories, and the funny, naughty things that dignified elders did in their youth.  She will show you pictures of people you will never meet, and tell you they are family.

 

It is wrapped in her love, warmed by her protection, and strengthened by her belief in me that I am become my best.  She is the Teacher, Care Taker, Feeder, Nurturer, Taker of Temperatures, Maker of Treats, and She Whose Kiss Makes All Things Better.

 

Portrait of a Witch

If you saw a real witch, would you know that she is a witch? Do you believe that she’ll be ancient and ugly with bad skin and warts? Or would she be like everyone else you meet in your travels? Or would there be an indefinable something that would identify her as a witch? 

 

 A real witch, a practitioner of Wicca, will look like anyone you might meet on the street. She will buy the same kind of clothes; she will have many of the same items in her grocery cart as you will. 

 

 So, how do you identify a witch, not the Halloween caricature, but a real witch?  Look at her character- that will show her Wiccan traditions. She will be the woman who is kind to everyone and chooses to not judge by race or faith. She will walk gently on our Mother Earth, and celebrate the seasons and natural wonders of the planet.  

 

 A witch will be tolerant of and accepting of all other faiths. Real witches are not Satanists. Most Wiccan sects worship a God and Goddess; the God sports deer horns and represents the Masculine Archetype, while the Goddess is usually a three-faced Goddess (Maiden, Mother, and Crone), which represents the Feminine Archetype.  

 

 Wicca seeks a balance between positive and negative energies. True Wiccans do not hex or curse people, a witch’s every action is chosen to cause the least harm to everyone and everything around the witch. In truth, the evolved witch will do what is right simply because it is the right thing to do, with no thought of ‘Eternal Reward’ or ‘Karma’.   The right thing to do is the action that causes the least harm in both the short- and long-term.  The witch’s aim is to create balance and calm both within herself and in her surroundings.  

 

 Wiccans don’t seek revenge; seek a non-destructive way to express ‘negative’ emotions.   Wicca honours forgiveness and understanding. 

 

Individual witches are at different points on their path of Spiritual Growth the same as people of other faiths. Wicca accepts that some of the people who have travelled further on their path will consciously choose to remain at that level, to help those still learning to advance on their personal path. 

 

Witches will be naturally trusted by children, animals and wounded spirits, and are known for the comfort of their homes. Some witches have the reputation of being the one everyone comes to when they need to feel better. Other witches might be known for their ability to energise and inspire.

 

Wicca does not expect a new member to deny the faith they already have; witchcraft, all of Hollywood’s ideas aside, is a gentle, nature-based faith, that supports the individual, and celebrates the differences of culture and faith.

The ABC’s of Halloween

A: Actions to suit the month, whether it be wearing costumes or watching your spooky favourites for the umpteenth time. ‘Tis time for buying some new horror films, stock up on munchies and soda, and settle in to scare yourself silly.

B: The Bean Sidhe, wailing her warning across the Emerald Isle and far beyond. Like all good legends she has cried across the planet, and people who have never been to Erin’s Green hills know her name.

C: Cats, especially black ones with eyes like steady flames, arching and hissing in the dark. Their lithe movements on silent paws, and delicate whiskers are full of the grace of a true predator

D: Darkness, darkness, surrounding you and hiding what could be after you. Oohh what shadows can become when you add just a little imagination to the mix!

E: Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeks, and plenty of them, the closer we get to Halloween night, the more there is. From horrible masks and stage blood to gauze-wrapped mummies, there is plenty to shriek at.

F: Fear, shivering along your nerve trunks and roiling slowly in your belly. Nibbling your fingernails and shakin’ in your shoes at the drive-in scary- still the best way to see a movie.

G: “…ghosties and ghoulies, and other horrors that we carry from our childhood and teen years. Every Town U.S.A.’s The Ghost of Mr. _____, The Killer on ________ Road, Ghostly Hitchhiker, and other urban legends to share with the next generation of locals.

H: Halloween, the night we all wait for, when we play at being something else, and blow off our diets for ‘just a couple days’. Will there be a full moon? Should the kids wear sweaters under their costumes? Maybe we should just throw a party here instead of trick-or-treating. When I was a kid-kid that was the awfullest of sacrileges!!

I: Ideas, the kind that get stuck in your brain and repeat mindlessly. Like… If you look at it this way doesn’t that grain pattern in the bathroom door look just like a werewolf stalking you? And there’s another one, and further up a third werewolf growing out of the wood!

J: Jack-O-Lantern, the iconic grinning pumpkin, hollowed out and carved to frighten away the restless, unhappy spirits. The first ones were hollowed turnips, and held a wee candle. Today you can buy pre-carved faux Jacks-O-Lanterns…. Ick.

K: Killers, psychotic and otherwise that have films released at this time of year. Michael Myers in Haddonfield (no relation to moi) is still going strong after 30 years. So is Freddy Krueger, and Jason Voorhees, and there is always the killer du jour being touted at the theatre.

L: Little Green Men, exiting their spaceships with evil intent, and super-weapons to destroy us with. Whether it be Martians, the Pod People, Klingons, ET, the Drakkon or H. R. Giger’s sleekly deadly creature of Ridley Scott’s “Alien”, aliens can be counted upon to supply all sorts of interesting twists

M: Monsters!! Like the Mummy, Werewolf, and Count Dracula, creeping up to the newest ones. The classics didn’t scare me, I thought Dracula was the coolest, the Wolfman’s howl set my pulses racing, and to be a Mummy, surely it must be bliss to a Mummy.

N: Necromancy- the Black Art, and its practitioner, the Necromancer. There will always be the bad seed, how can we choose to serve the good if we don’t know what the bad is? Seeing the glimpses of a psychotic killer’s life would surely cure one of self-pity.

O: Overnight parties, piled into a bed with family and friends, scaring yourself silly with one horror film after another. There is always the one who will, if dared enough, go outside and make that scary noise from the show we wasn’t apposed’ta watch outside the girls’ bedroom window.

P: Popcorn Balls, wrapped loosely in plastic wrap, made by hand the day of the celebration. They are best fresh from the kitchen, hot and buttery, their scent finding every corner of your house.

Q: Queer ideas, that circle ‘round your brain a-widdershins, shadows in a private balefire of madness. I wonder if you could get rid of a body with pool acid? How nasty does oleander taste? I wonder if someone could really kill a person with fish filter charcoal?

R: Rotting corpses that are always left where the unsuspecting townspeople will be sure to find them. Not one of the victims in the ‘slasher’ movies is given a decent burial. Nope, they just hang around and decompose!

S: Scary Decorations-and Haunted Houses to shriek your way through. From Hospital X-rays’ bats made from old films, to the charmingly lopsided older child’s’ first pumpkin carving attempt.

T: Tombstones- old and new, bidding the dear departed to Rest In Peace, instead of haunting us. The neat rows of a new graveyard, with flat plaques on the ground look desolate, while the genteel, wandering grace of 19th century Cemeteries announce their place in the cycle of life proudly.

U: Undead, the drinkers of Blood, pointed of tooth and pallid of aspect. They stalk our sleeping hours away. Blessed with so many facets by their Dark Gift, and cursed to never see a sunrise or sunset.

Villains: Whether it be ‘Pinhead’, “Hannibal Lecter’ or the Blob, the villains are always lurking in the shadows. The bad guy lurks in our subconscious always ready to take over our rationality. W:

Werewolves, howling, and hunting their prey under a cold, uncaring full moon. You know them, the pack that lives in the wild places near your home. Have you ever felt the pull of their hunting song? Your soul has wanted to sing back to them, I can see it in your eyes.

 X: Extra-scary, the scenes in the movies where we jump and scream, then laugh shamefacedly; or worse, crawl into bed with Mum for security. That scene that sends your worst fears gibbering mindlessly your mind, yes… that one.

Y: Yelling, “Trick or Treat, Trick or Treat, Give me something good to eat!” And then later, happily swapping candy with your siblings and friends. How many hours have been spent in happy arguments over the benefits of Mounds over Milky Way, or plain M&Ms versus Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?

Z: Zombies- Groaning and lurching their way into your subconscious, hungry for living flesh, and brains. They are comical in a mindless, appetite-driven sort of way… I think….

More Halloween News

Halloweenshire Times

Entertaining-

 

 Louann Garou

 

Halloween is less than a week away, and all the Hostess’ with the Mostess’ are getting together prizes for their Halloween Bash Games. This year some of the Hostess’ were generous enough to share their favourite games.

 

The most famous Hostess is none other than ‘Mina Dracul author of the best-selling “Fangs of Destiny”. Mina’s family delights in the ever-popular “Pop Goes the Zombie”; they play it regularly with delighted guests.

 

Apparently, the Zombies are all volunteers, I wondered why a Zombie would volunteer for this game, and Mina explained that Zombies continue to decompose and eventually all their teeth will fall out, at which point they would starve to death. So those Zombies are the grateful volunteers for “Pop Goes the Zombie”.

 

Elsa L. Stein, wife of the prominent Dentist Frank N. Stein, are famous for their rowdy rounds of “Musical Coffins”, I have personally witnessed the consequences of a dybbuk and a dragon fighting over the remaining coffin. That incident was the cause of the controversial ‘No use of fire allowed’ ruling of 80 years ago.

 

Elsa has the thoughtfulness to have made special coffins for the game that are easy to get in and out of and are still sturdy; best of all, Elsa says, is that they stack neatly when not in use.

 

The Poulter-Geist family delight in “Hide and Go Shriek”, Paula Yakkity Poulter-Geist, the renowned architect, designed their home to be full of cubbies and hiding places. Their large, rowdy family often have their games ended on account of daylight.

 

Another perennial favourite is the primary coffin class game of “Spook, Spook, Ghost”; this game delights wee ghosties of all ages. This game has easy-to-remember rules, and the potential for all sorts of personalised variants.

 

The Poulter-Geist family often does this over their graves, and the Zombies bounce aimlessly off another until the last zombie that hasn’t been bounced is declared the winner.

 

My own family loves a busy round of “Pin The Tail On The Werewolf”, and yes, the clips that hold the tails in place are patented. We’re working on variants for all of the Halloweenish species.

 

As our pack has slowly grown, we’ve had to add more tails as well as add the “No Double-Tailing Rule” of 1935. Now there are enough of us we can each have 20 tails, and not tail every member of the pack. We’ve also added different colours and some colour schemes so every pack member has different tails.

 

Other Halloweenshire favourites are the “Reverse Hangman” with fresh corpses. “Bobbing for Organs”, and “Spin The Poison Bottle”.

Hadley Happenings, Pt. I

Kids, I think you’re old enough now to learn about the history of our town.  About 150 years ago, Old Benton Hadley came here to build a dream; his dream was of a gracious, idyllic town near the university, jobs and hospitals.  Back then the University was a Teacher’s College, with the farms nearby, a lake full of fish and waterfowl, miles and miles of wood to be logged, and the state’s first real hospital.

The hospital was the finest one for five states around!  It had a modern, sterile surgery, a safe place for mothers to have their babies, everything was as new, and high-falutin’ as Old Man Hadley could make it.  Back then, there wasn’t a name for men like Hadley, nobody called a man who could turn everything he touched an entrepreneur.  He started with one wagon, and the cider mill.  He began to buy up land along the river, one small parcel at a time; until he had enough for a small city.

He started the Teacher’s College, and built the Grange Hall down on Main and Washington; just like it stands today… except back then there were buggies and saddled horses, not all them noisy automobiles.  He brought in a real Minister, and built that Evangelical Christian Church, the one that’s a monument to Old Benton Hadley nowadays.  Then he built one of the finest schools and libraries in the state.  People were beginning to move here, and telling their kin and friends about the town of Hadley.

Old Man Hadley had wanted to call this place New Eden, but when the time to name his dream came, the grateful residents voted him down… everyone but Hadley himself voted to name the town after the man that had built so much, and given so much back to the people that helped his dream grow.  The town survived the War Between the States, famines, droughts, World War I, the Great Depression, and World War II without losing any of its old-fashioned charm.  The farmhouses of the first families were put on The Historic Register over ten or so years, so Main Street always looked like one of those Currier and Ives woodcuts.

The first hospital was torn down and a new, modern one replaced it, attached to the University, which now had darn good medical, nursing, and law schools.  The doctors that came out of that hospital were known to be some of the best doctors around.  About 15 miles down the road from Hadley, they built another hospital, encased in chain-link and barbwire, with Guards and dogs, and you had to show a permit to get through those towering ironwork gates.  That is the State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Things started to change here in Hadley, the ‘Founding Families’ moved on, and their big, fancy houses were turned into Nursing Homes, them fancy-schmansy Bed-and-Breakfast places for snooty tourists, Museums, Antique Shops, and even a place that told the cards and the crystal ball upstairs with all manner of things downstairs and in the basement.

Now the witch that owned it didn’t look like any movie witch, she leaned over the fence and gossiped with her neighbours.  Everybody loved her specialty teas, and she made desserts that had even the most persnickety of them skinny models comin’ back for more.  There was even movie stars come all the way from Hollywood to have her back up things for their fancy parties.  She even had the Governor ask for her tea-cakes come Christmas!!

Anyhow, she tried to warn us about bad things comin’ our way, and we didn’t listen.  Nossir, we patted her hand and called her a worrywart.  Told her not to take on so, they might take her to that Big Crazy House.  I dunno what made her stay; I’m glad she did though.  Even after what happened to her when that fella escaped from the Big Crazy House.

First any of the people in Hadley knew of it was when there were so many State Troopers roamin’ around the county they were like leaves on a maple tree!!  They asked us to voluntarily agree to a sundown curfew.  Of course we disagreed, the new movies were opening at the drive-in, and one of three movies was an Elvis musical!!!

They told us there was a chance that a patient had gotten out of the State Hospital and they wanted to be sure we were safe.  We pooh-poohed them and laughed as we asked, “How much damage can one crazy man do?”

If’n we had known who was on the loose, we would’ve all been locked up snug in our houses, Elvis musical be damned!!  They didn’t tell us, for fear of a panic; if we had known it was ‘Hungry Harry’… well!! “Hungry Harry” had led the police, State Troopers and The Feds on a merry chase through a half-dozen states before they finally tracked him down, already sucking all the blood out of another victim.

Hungry Harry thought he was a vampire, like in the old Bela Lugosi movies, and he would go to some kind soul’s door asking for some food in exchange for doin’ chores.  He would work for them for a few days, always polite and respectful.  He never cussed in front of womenfolk, told bad jokes where young’uns might hear, went to Church every Sunday, and paid a handsome tithe when he had money.

You’d have thought Harry was a good, God-fearin’ man down on his luck… If’n you didn’t know his story.

Anyways, they did catch him, prove that he had killed nigh onto forty people, and drank all their blood before they caught him and slapped him into that hospital sayin’ he was too crazy to know what he’d done.  Hell!!!  Beg pardon folks.  He knew all right, he just spun a good yarn for the head doctors is all.  Sorry if I sound bitter, I can explain that later.

Now I was tellin’ you kids about the witch that lived here, and how she was good people and nobody was afraid of her.  She had this big old dog, one of them Great Danes; he was all black and worshipped his owner.  When she would work in her flower and herb gardens he would sit by her and watch every move she made, tail wagging ever so slightly. 

If she was on the porch, with her lemonade and a paper, he’d lie next to her; every so often she would drop her hand to his head and scratch his ears gentle-like.  His tail would start thumpin’ on that porch like a big old kettle drum and he’d lick her hand before he would go back to sleep.

The dog slept by her bed at night, and went with her almost everywhere she went.  We all worried about what she might do when she lost that dog, and we knew she would.  Them big dogs don’t live as long as they ought, and the witch weren’t hardly 40.

Well… that Hungry Harry escaped slick as you please from the State Hospital and started lookin’ for blood again.

The witch was sleeping so peacefully in her big old bed with handmade quilts on it and them pretty curtains she had woven herself on the windows over the shutters she had painted a nice robin’s egg blue.  The dog was sleeping on the floor next to her, snoring just the littlest bit.

The witch got woke up sometime in the night, by a dripping noise and a funny creak.  She slipped her hand out from under the quilts and the dog licked it like he always did.  Nice and reassured she went back to sleep, and dreamed whatever witches dream.

Come morning she got bright and early to cut flowers for the shut-ins and herbs for her medicines.  “Eleazar?”  She called her dog, who wasn’t laying on the floor on his big rag rug.

She whistled him up, and still he didn’t come.  Now she was getting worried, that dog never left her side.  She looked through that whole big house, calling and whistling, her face getting sadder with ever whistle.

Finally, she thought she’d take his leash and go look for him, wondering if he had nuzzled the door open and gone out to ‘do his business’.  The leash wasn’t on the hook by the kitchen door like it was supposed to be.  Now she was getting really frightened and ran out the back door.

There was her big dog, dead, hanging from a porch rafter by his leash that creaked ever so slightly in the breeze.  That tongue hung limp from his mouth, and the blood dripped, slowly from the end of his tongue.

She commenced to screaming, she sounded just like a bean sidhe right out of Ireland.  When the nieghbours started arriving the poor lady was crying and trying to get that dog down all by her self.

Everyone wondered who would do that to her dog, he was the kind that might lick you to death, but never deliberately hurt you.  Some of the men got her dog untied, while her lady friends tried to comfort and calm her down.  These fellers that had fought the Krauts and Nips in WWII were teary eyed as they brought that dog down and laid him carefully on the ground.  They took turns diggin’ a grave for him, as they did that, the witch was taken inside and given some of her own tea to calm her down.  I remember, Herm Nestor’s wife… what was her name???  Anyway, she commenced to scrubbing the porch where blood was splattered Hell, West and Crooked.  I do apologise ladies.

She musta been there for nigh onto three hours scrubbing and scrubbing, with a stiff brush and lye soap before them stains were almost gone.  That poor girl’s hands were raw for almost a week from doin’ that, but she said that she couldn’t let the witch have to clean that up, finding the dog was bad enough.

A few days passed by and the killing of the witch’s dog was settling down.  The witch kept telling us that Eleazar (Who names a dog that anyway?) was just the beginning, that it would get worse.  Everyone thought it was the shock of finding her dog like that that had her so upset.

Until them kids down on Apple Tree Lane that is…

The Hadley Happenings, Pt. II

Now, lookin’ around I can see some faces that didn’t hear about the Witch and her poor dog. I’m sure any of the others’ll be more than happy to tell you the tale later. I’m not here to be repeating myself.

 

The Witch told us things were gonna get worse, we should have believed her, but we thought is was her grief talkin’. Like they say, hindsight is always 20/20. Things hadn’t even quietened down from that dog, and more dogs started showin’ up dead, or not showin’ up at all. The town went awful quiet after the dogs was silenced.

 

Dogs that should have been playin’ fetch, guarding their Master’s home, or catching bad guys were bein’ mourned every day. After the dogs were mostly gone, except for some little puppies, the cats started disappearin’. They lasted a little longer, but eventually all the cats that had sat in laps, chased a piece of yarn, and loved their person hade been buried under rosebushes, and mourned just like the dogs.

 

Yes, the Witch stayed, even though she knew how bad things were gonna get. She knew she’d be needed, she was there to offer comfort, and make a pot of her tea for the ones left behind. Yes, she was there until the bitter end.

 

I asked her once why she did it. She looked at me with those sad, gentle eyes, and when she spoke her voice sounded so tired, “Because it is the right thing to do.”. I still hear her sayin’ that in my nightmares. After all the dogs and cats were gone people started disappearin’, or dyin’.

 

I remember the very first human victims of that madman. Nothin’ but a pair of kids really, still in school. It was horrible what happened to them, on the night of the prom too! And here ‘Bubba’ was set on asking his sweetheart to marry him after the prom.

 

He’d gone so far as to buy a diamond ring, a real pretty one, too. Bubba wasn’t the smartest kid by any road, but he worked hard n studied harder, and always had a smile for everyone. He was joining the Marines, had it all set for after he graduated. Bubba’s sweetheart wasn’t from around here, she came to town to live with her Aunt and Uncle after her parents were killed while they were workin’ with Doctors Without Borders.

 

Still raw from losing her parents, with an accent, and the faintest little scar from her hare-lip surgery that poor child had Bully-Bait written all over her in big, bloody red letters. The sad thing was that she was always pretty-ish, and her scar made her even cuter, it pulled her mouth up in such a way that she looked like she was ready to laugh out loud.

 

On her first day of school here the girl, Priscilla-Anne, was so nervous she almost stuttered when she was sayin’ hello to a room fulla strangers. There was an awful bully in her first class, Hank, and he lit into her right off, like a shark that smells blood. Hank was well on his way to makin’ poor Priscilla-Anne cry when Bubba came back from the Nurse’s Office.

 

Bubba took one look at what was goin’ on and he stood up for Priscilla. From that day on, they were inseperable, even goin’ to church together, and their always held hands. Nothin’ show-offy, or like they owned each other. More like they were two parts of the same star or something.

 

By the time they were in HIgh School together Prissy and Bubba were destined to be Prom King and Queen, from their very first day as Freshmen. Bubba could have been a great football player, except he were just too gentle. He played baseball and his Home Run record still stands. Yes!! That Bubba!!

 

He played the trumpet so fine he could bring tears to your eyes when he played “The Star-Spangled Banner”, ot “Amazing Grace”. He never could whistle worth a darn, but he made this buzzy trumpet-noise through his lips all day long. You could always tell what he was trumpetin’. Well, I don’t know what else to call it!!

 

On the night of the Prom poor Bubba was so nervous that he kept playin these odd little sounds, but when he looked at Prissy he’d start into some Classical piece. His Math teacher asked him what it was, and this plain 18 year old kid says, “Romeo and Juliet Overture” by some fellow by the name of Tchaikovsky.

 

I heard that song a couple times after that, and I saw bubba and Prissy on the stage, wearin’ their King and Queen crowns of cardboard, gold filligree foil and some shiny crystals in bright colours, smilin’ under all them lights.

 

Seein’ that hurt so bad I had to stop listening to it. Bubba wasn’t patient, and in a silly, love-struck gesture he got down on his knee on that stage and asked Prissy to marry him. She shrieked like Miss America and hollered “Yes!!” before she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight-tight.

 

It was a wonder that the roof of the gym didn’t fall in in, everyone cheered and clapped that long and loud for them. Well, just like the kids in one of them scary movies, Bubba and Prissy took Bubba’s Daddy’s car and went parkin’, down by Dead Tree River. When they didn’t show up at midnight like they had promised their parents started worryin’, but they trusted their young ones.

 

It’s true that back then, things were different than they are now; little kids could play outside ‘till sundown and nobody thought a thing of it. Somebody’s Momma was sure to chase all the kids home when they hollered up their own. Heck, back then kids went Trick or Treatin’ on their own, and nobody worried about where they were or who gave ‘em what candy.

 

Most of the Momma’s knew one another from the PTA, Boy or Girl Scouts, the Library Club, and such-like. Half of the costumes were made by their Mommas to begin with. I remember the one year, Missus Wheeler made her eldest boy into a Mummy by ripping up old, raggedy bed sheets an wrapping around and around her boy.

 

She did this while she was workin’ at the nursing home. Her man weren’t any good and up and left her for a younger gal, so she was goin’ to school to be a nurse, raisin’ her kids on her own, and working 2 and three part-time jobs to support them.

 

Anyway, back to Bubba and Prissy, there they were, parked in that battered old Ford his Daddy drove to work, talkin’ about their dreams an’ plans. They didn’t notice ‘till too late that the battery were goin’ dead. When the lights shut down and the music stopped playin’ (Prissy said it was “You Light Up My Life”), they both sat there holdin’ hands and blinkin’.

 

There were some awful scary noises in the woods, animals huntin’ for their dinner, and animals bein’ dinner; Bubba didn’t think nothing of it, he’d been huntin’ with his Daddy for about ten years, and he knew them woods pretty well. He reassured Prissy that they would be fine, and told her he was goin’ to go Apple Tree road, it weren’t but a half-mile away and every so often they could see the lights from passin’ cars.

 

Prissy begged him to take her along, or for Bubba to stay with her till morning came around. He patted her hand and kissed her, but he went anyway, not wantin’ to have Prissy out all night. As he walked towards the road she could hear him making that trumpety noise, she said it were “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic”.

 

Accourse it faded away and Prissy was there by herself, in the dark-dark of the woods, with them noises goin’ on around her and getting’ more scared by the minute. Back then girls just didn’t go campin’ or huntin’ with their Daddies, no more than a boy would take Sewin’ or Home Ec. in school.

 

She started cryin’ a little bit and then she thought she heard Bubba comin back, because she heard his trumpetin’ far-off and soundin’ kind of funny. It stopped and she was hopin’ that meant that Bubba had found someone to give the car a jump. She snuggled under the car blanket Bubba’s Daddy kept in the back seat, and started thinkin’ about their wedding and how she wanted the whole town to be there, so they could all be as happy as she was.

 

She said later that she might of fell asleep, and got woke up by this funny chokin’ noise. It seemed like the night had gotten darker, and there was something scratching away on the roof of that old Ford. It weren’t too long and the choking noise went away and there was just that soft ‘skritch skritch’ on the roof and the softest little dripping sound. She couldn’t see a thing through the windows, and wondered if some clouds might of moved in to cover that little scythe of a moon.

 

Eventually she got lulled to sleep by the skritchin’ and the sound of the wind in the trees, She told me herself, as she was packin’ to move as far away from here as her Aunt and Uncle would go. Next thing she knew, someone was callin’ her name and knockin’ on the car.

 

She answered the Sheriff and told him they were okay, that Bubba had gone to get a jump ‘cause they’d run the battery in his Daddy’s car dead.

 

“Prissy, honey, I want you to take my hand when I open the door, follow me and whatever you do, don’t look back.” The door creaked open and the Sheriff’s big ole calloused hand was stuck in. Prissy done what he said, until about halfway to his police car; then she asked where Bubba was, an’ was he all right.

 

 The Sheriff kind of choked an’ said he’d tell when they was in the car. Prissy stopped dead in her tracks an’ told the Sheriff that she wasn’t goin’ anywhere till she knew that Bubba was okay. The Sheriff almost fell, she were that stubborn, her feet was planted just like a mule’s and her chin stuck out, makin’ her look like one o’ them kitchen witches.

 

“Where… Is… Bubba?” She snapped, soundin’ an awful lot like a Marine D. I., “I want to know if he’s all right.”

 

She spun around and started screamin’, by the time they got that poor child to the Doc, her voice was gone and she just sat there, starin’ at nothin’. The Doc gave her somethin’ and she collapsed like a balloon when the air gets out.

 

Y’see, when poor Prissy turned ‘round, there was Bubba, hangin’, upside down from a tree branch over the car, his throat cut wide open, blood smeared all over that old Ford, and his fingernails skritchin’ just a little on the roof of the car. The worst part was that his lips an’ tongue was gone.

 

To this day I wonder who was makin’ that trumpet-buzzing that night. The Coroner said that Bubba had died almost as soon as he got outta the car, so he couldn’t of been doin’ it. People say we’re better off not knowin’, an’ they’re right. I saw who did that to Bubba, an’ I’ll never forget, or tell another soul; it was that bad.

 

Nope…

 

Nope, I’m not sayin’ another word, it is getting on to suppertime an’ I hear some o’ your parents callin’ you in to eat. Hurry on home, an’ don’t stop to talk to any strangers.

The Hadley Happenings, Part III

Well kids, I recognise more of your faces this year. I’m gratified to see you coming back that means I’m doing my job right. Yes, there are still plenty of things happening in Hadley City.  

 

Jake Masters himself told this one to me.

 

He was the old, old law here, back before we had city police, staties, and county mounties, and Federales poking on the ground, in the airwaves, and now virtually. 

 

Yes, even someone as old as I am knows about computers. Maybe I can’t play those complicated joystick games, but I can still read a book and add things up in my head. Can you?”

 

Now I didn’t come here to be mean to any of you. I came here to tell you about Hadley, and that’s what I’ll do.

 

Jake Masters was the bartender back then, he kept a wary, worried eye on the man in the corner booth. He had come in alone; bought a bottle of whiskey, then settle in for a preoccupied binge.

 

The small pale man sat before a length of rope and bottle of whiskey,that was more than half-drunk. He was sunken of eye, sallow of skin, and wrapped in an eerie stillness.

 

He motioned to Jake Masters, and Jake nodded to the young man he was trainin’ up, and then sat carefully across from the little stranger.

 

Who was the man he was training?   That was Old Man Walker. Yes!!

 

I know he died over twenty year ago.

 

I spoke at his memorial service.

 

Now, how old I am don’t matter any more. I’m just plain old.

 

When Jake was standin’ next to the quiet drinker, the feller spoke in a ghost’s voice. “Sit down. Please?” Anyway, the little stranger took another shot off the whiskey like a machine, neatly, without his face changing one bit. When he locked eyes with Jake; Jake swore there was nothing there, just two bottomless pits in a face like a desert.

 

“M’name’s Cecil and I need ta tell someone this

 

I used to have a fine life, yessiree-bob, I surely did. Married me up a good, and pretty wife. She took amazin’ care of me, and the choldren we made were all beautiful little girls, seven of ‘em.

 

Come a winter night we would all gather in the big bed, and my wife would read to us outta the family Bible. She could make those begats sound like the finest fiddlin’ you could ask for. Almost like God’s Choirs of Angels.

 

 Then the Hard Times started and everything started goin’ bad. Real bad. There was the drought, and no work to be had, people were actually dyin’ of hunger, sittin’ on big spreads of what was supposed to be good farmland- rich and deep. People started movin’ less, spoke little, and cared almost nowt.

 

Yup, even me, with all eight of the blessings from the Lord I called fambly. A body can only sit and feel your belly eatin’ your backbone for so long, and then he commences to thinking strange. And that’s when bad things get worse.

 

I was sitting, looking at my pretty girls all get pale, hungry, and there weren’t a damn thing to do. I couldn’t leave, but I couldn’t bear to see them all dyin’ slow-like. I watched my pretty Margie lose all o’ her hair, like spun gold, the colour of autumn wheat when its heavy and ripe.

 

All the girls except the youngest had Margie’s hair, the straight, shining river of sunshine down their backs. I watched all their hair fall out too, and their rosy, round cheeks went pale and sunk into their skulls, as they got hungrier, and hungrier.

 

The youngest’ hair? Why our Jezzie Belle’s was shining like a blackbirds’ wing; gleamin’ all the colours of a rainbow. She had eyes that were black, and they went back forever it seemed like. She was always a pale little thing, hated the sun and cried when Mother bathed her.

 

She loved to hear her Mother sing and would sit there and smile all the while her Momma sang. And wouldja believe, the first word that child learnt was ‘Amen’, imagine that, a baby not yet nine months old sitting in her basket sayin’ Amen’ when there was a church meeting to go to.

 

When things went bad I started dreadin’ getting up of a morning. I was sure I would see my smallest angel lyin’ there all still and cold. An’ every morning she would be lyin’ there, watching everything from the deeps of her eyes.

 

No, it were my eldest Susie Anne what went first. I found out later, she was givin’ her food to the younger children, so’s they could keep on growin’. She made sure her Momma et too, seein’ as how Margie was still breast-feedin’ the baby girl. Susie-Ann went in her sleep, lookin’ almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the hunger-scars acrost her face.

 

I buried her under the last few limbs of the Lilac tree her Momma was growin’ up for her. Even then I couldn’t dig the hole proper-like, the edges weren’t straight, and it tweren’t barely deep enough. Her poor Momma was already too weak to cry, she just had tears runnin’ down her face and leavin’ little dark spots on the thirsty ground.

 

I kilt the last cow that evening, and made all of my girls promise to eat their food, and not give it all away. All of ‘em swore on the Bible that they would eat their food. And they did eat their own food, little as there was. One night, all we had was broth cooked from a bone a dog wouldn’t chew. There weren’t even a few grains of rice or a woody old turnip to add to the broth, nope, not even salt.

 

If I coulda cried I woulda, the shame of watchin’ my fambly die when I loved ‘em all so much was that bad.

 

Then the next eldest gal up and died, and if she’d had anything left coverin’ her bones I swear there woulda been teeth marks in it. As it were, there was some little holes here and there on her skin. But she didn’t bleed none, so I figured she were took by the Hunger too.

 

Now her Momma couldn’t even go out and see her Terrie Lynn buried, and that were a mercy, there weren’t much more’n two feet of ground over her little body. And the cross was standin’ sidewise, lookin’ drunker’n I was, and all I could do was watch the Blight spread over more and more of Hadley Valley.

 

Then came the day I had been dreadin’ the worst. Our well dried up; there was no more sweet, cold artesian water to quiet hungry bellies with. Now I had to take the last horse, Ned, who was barely able to stand, to the river for water.

 

The little bit o meat on poor ol’ Ned fed my children for almost a week, but still the third girl, Becky Marie didn’ wake up of a mornin’. I covered her in stones, and that took me two days to do. Momma didn’t even cry this time; she just lay there, letting the baby girl nurse on her dried-up tit for some comfort.

 

All through this, the littlest one still thrived, as much as a skinny, pale changeling baby can. Momma was getting’ weaker all the time, and now I prayed no more of my choldren would be sent to Lord, for I surely couldn’t bury ‘em proper, and I didn’t want to watch a dead daughter rot in the same bed she was borned in.

 

 The Lord wasn’t answerin’ prayers no more, for less than a week later my fourth girl, Linnie Sue, never woke up. She were just as pale and bloodless as the rest. She didn’t weigh no more’n’ a feather pillah and I covered her as best I could with some rocks and slab o’ wood.

 

Now there was me, Margie an’ our three youngest girls, and two o’ them was getting’ weaker by the minute, and I knew I would be losin’ them soon. That night I couldn’t sleep; there was too many thoughts I had to think; and I had a funny, cold feelin’ creepin’ up from the dark places in my brain.

 

It were nigh onto sunrise when I saws my youngest rise from her bed and go to the fifth daughter, she patted her face and whispered quiet-like to Annie Lynne, that girl said “Yes.” Clear as a bell, keepin’ her eyes closed tight, and turned her head away from the baby.

 

That little hell-spawn opened her mouth, latched onto her own sister and stared makin’ these suckin’ noises, like a new litter o’ piglets tastin’ mama’s milk for the first time. When she looked up her eyes were glowin’ like a mad fox caught in lantern light.

 

Afore I could move, she done the same to her onlyest sister left, and then moved on t’ her own Momma and sucked her dry too. That’s when I knew what I hadta do.

 

The next night I told that spawn of Lucifer that we was going on an adventure. She seemed happy as can be to hear that. We lit two lanterns and I almost’ crawled to the caverns out on Hadley’s Hill. I led her to the room of pits, far away back in the dirt.

 

We sat there in the fadin’ light of the lantern and talked. Where I found the words I dunno, I know I prayed one more time to the Lord, and this time he answered my pleas.

 

I pushed with all my might, 

I pushed with all my love.

 

I pushed that tiny body

Into the deep, dark pit.

 

I heard her holler as she fell,

But I never heard her hit.

 

The next day a gentle, forgivin’ sort o’ rain fell, and kept on fallin’; fallin’ until all the valley were green and growin’ again, and everyone left was getting’ meat on their bones and crops in their fields.”

 

The little man swallowed the last of his whiskey, and spoke in a chilling whisper.

 

“I heard her holler as she fell,

But I never heard her hit.

 

An’ sometimes I dream I turn around and I see them devils eyes o’ hers risin’ outta that pit after me.” Cecil rose in the shadows of the closing bar, thanked Jake softly and walked away with his rope.

 

They found him, where he had hung himself from the railroad bridge over Hadley River the next mornin’.

 

Until the day he died, Jake could never forget them words:

 

“I heard her holler as she fell

But I never heard her hit.”

Halloween News!!

Devil Sightings in Area

Green Bay, Wisconsin AP/UPI Over the past year or two there have been numerous sighting of what is known colloquially as the ‘Jersey Devil’ in the area surrounding Green Bay. Cryptozoologist, André Freem theorises that the Devil has come to Wisconsin in search of a mate.

 

Witnesses to the Devil’s movements report that he doesn’t seem to be as much threatening as intense, and driven. He has been reported in local pubs, and restaurants that are equipped with WiFi, as well as institutions of higher learning.

 

Apparently women do not need to fear the Devil, unless they try to use their ‘feminine wiles’, as he is resistant to these behaviors and may lash out verbally in response.

 

Local authorities claim that there have been no reports of violence or aggression in connection to the sightings, and that the Devil appears to be an intelligent and disciplined being.

 

Any new sightings of the Devil should be reported to 1-800-THE-DEVL (843-3385), this is a local branch of the World-Wide Cryptozoology Organization.

Gotta Have Music!

We can’t have Halloween without appropriate music, and, thanks to a special friend, we have a nice selection of spooky MIDI sequences to choose from.

Adams Family-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/adamsfamily.mid

 

Night On Bald Mountain-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/baldmountain.mid

 

Beetlejuice-

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/beetlejuice.mid

 

Black Sabbath-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/blacksabbath.mid

 

Cemetary-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/cemetary.mid

Diary of a Madman-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/diaryofmadman.mid

 

Dracula-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/Dracula.mid

 

Exorcist-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/exorcist.mid

 

Frankenstien-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/frankestien.mid

 

Funeral-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/funeral.mid

 

Ghostbusters- http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/ghostbusters.mid

 

Graveyard Symphony- http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/graveyard_symphony.mid

 

Halloween-

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/halloween.mid

 

Hitchcock-

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hitchcock.mid

 

Haunted Mansion 1-7- http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion1.mid

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion2.mid

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion3.mid

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion4.mid

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion5.mid

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion6.mid

 http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/hmansion7.mid

 

Monster Mash- http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/monstermash.mid

 

Nightmare-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/nightmare.mid

 

Psycho_

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/Psycho.mid

 

Scissor Hands-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/scissor%20hands.mid

 

Spooks-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/spooks.mid

 

Tales from the Crypt- http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/talesfromthecrypt.mid

 

Twiglight Zone- http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/twilightzone.mid

 

Warlock-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/warlock.mid

 

X-Files-

http://www.twilightbridge.com/hobbies/festivals/halloween/midi/xfiles.mid

Decorate your Computer for Halloween

We decorate our houses, offices and desks for Halloiween, why not decorate our computer? I have created four (count ‘em four) Halloween desktops to decorate your computer for Halloween. All you need to do is right–click on the image and then left-click on ‘Set as Desktop Image’, and when you’re ofrfline, that should be the desktop background on your computer. Enjoy!!! If you want to save the images, simply right-click and then click on ‘Save Picture as’, the saving programme will guide you through the process of saving the picture to your computer.

 

 

 

Monstrous Makeovers

Voice over spooky music, screen fades to stylised monster images.

 

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen, and monsters! Welcome to the premiere of ‘Monstrous Makeovers’. I am your hostess, Medusa.”

 

Close-up of hostess snakes on her scalp in a restless French Twist.

 

She is wearing an obviously designer gown, flawless make-up and jewel studded dark glasses.

 

“Halloween is growing closer every day, and there are a lot of worthy monsters being left out of the number One night for monsters.” Medusa moves a comfortable arrangement of couch and chairs at centre stage. She seats herself on an immaculate fainting couch upholstered in deep blood-red Panné velvet.

 

“Tonight our guest will be La Llorona. But first, a word from our sponsors.”

 

Cut to commercials-

 

Nature’s Farms Dried Fruits)

“Do your little monsters prefer their Halloween candy to good healthy food? This year, why not hand out snack packs of Nature’s Farms dried fruits? Full of nutrition and natural sweetness, these snacks won’t have kids’ Moms sitting up with a child that ate way too much candy.”

 

(Costume Barn)

“Are you tired of wearing the same tired, old costumes for trick or treat parties? Come down to the Costume Barn across from the Wonder Bread/Hostess Outlet Store. We have some one-of-a-kind costumes that are sure to be a hit at any party. We have costumes for every budget and size.”

 

(51st Street Bakery)

“Is your party in need of some fresh-baked goodies? At the 51st Street Bakery our talented cake decorators can make a cake that will add the perfect touch to any party. From Litter box cakes to skull-shaped cookies, we have a selection that can’t be beat!”

 

Fade in to centre stage, and Medusa, breaking up a dispute between two snakes, while never losing a bit of her poise.

 

“Welcome back to our television audience. To those living in the American Southwest, this lady needs no introduction. She’s known for her passion, and love of water. Please give a warm welcome to La Llorona!”

 

Enter La Llorona from stage left, Medusa stands and kisses the air close to La Llorona’s cheeks.

 

“Please sit here dearie.” Medusa motions to a wingback chair in darkest blue figured satin. La Llorona sits gracefully, gathering the tatters of her shawl closer to her chest.

 

“Tell us, in your own words, why you would like to be a part of the Halloween Festivities, and what you hope to gain from a Monstrous Makeover.”

 

Pan from Medusa to a close-up of La Llorona.

 

Well, I really love children, and since I’ve lost my own, I miss playing with children, and making up stories to tell them.”

 

“What stories did you tell your children before you drowned them?” Medusa smoothed a yawning snake back behind her left ear, and dangling shield-shaped earrings.

 

“I will always regret making that mistake. I should have known better, but I let passion cloud my thinking.” Her spectral face shivered for a moment under the lights.

 

Medusa patted La Llorona’s hand sympathetically. “When we get back from commercial break, we’ll let the audience ask questions of our guest, and then vote on whether or not La Llorona should get a monstrous make-over in time for Halloween.”

 

Fade to commercials:

 

(The Candy Company)

“Are your kids staying home for a party instead of Trick-or-Treating this year. Have you heard one too many horror stories about deadly treats in treat bags. This year, let the Candy Company create wonderful, one of a kind treat bags for your little ghouls and beasts.”

 

(Public Service Announcement- Centre Street Hospital)

“Why worry about the goodies your kids get Trick-or-Treating? For the safety of our children, Centre Street Hospital is offering free X-rays of Halloween Treat bags until midnight on Halloween. While you’re here you can pick up pamphlets and poisoning, with Poison Control’s Toll-Free number on every pamphlet. Make your family’s Holiday safe and fun.”

 

(Pretty Miss Cosmetics)

“Do you get tired of trying to paint your family’s faces for Halloween, and ending up with ugly smears instead? For less than 5 dollars per person, Pretty Miss’s make-up artists can give you Hollywood-style face painting, with hypoallergenic, food-safe cosmetics. We will be open until midnight on Halloween for your face-painting needs.”

 

Fade to audience at Monstrous Makeovers:

 

“You there in the third row, in the tacky aqua sweater set.” Medusa points to a nervous young woman, with her hand timidly raised.

 

“Uh… Yes… La Llorona, how do we know that our children would be safe around you?” Her words are almost lost in the tumult of agreement from the rest of the audience.

 

“I have been punished for over 100 years for what I did to my own ninos, I have no right to make any other mother suffer like I have. Now all I want is for all the children to be safe and have a Happy Halloween.”

 

La Llorona stands under a spotlight.

 

“If I was lucky enough to become a part of Halloween, my costume would be as safe as possible. Light-coloured clothes, with glow-in-the-dark accents, face paint instead of masks, and sturdy shoes for little feet to be protected.” Her words are met with some boos, mixed with a lot of cheers.

 

“All right studio audience, pick up your voting boxes and vote yes or no. When we return from this commercial break we’ll have the results of your vote.”

 

Fade to commercials:

 

(Special Holiday Event)

“Thursday night, uncut, and without commercial interruption; see the holiday tradition “It’s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown”, running from 8 to 8:30 p.m. Share thus heart-warming story from your childhood with your family.”

 

(Willard’s IGA Grocery)

“This week, and through Halloween, Willard’s IGA has pumpkins, corn stalks, fog machines, and all of your party needs for super-low prices. We’re so sure that we have the best prices we will meet and beat any competitors’ prices on the same product. If you bring in an ad showing a competitor with a lower price, we will not only meet their price, we will knock and additional 10% off our already low prices.”

 

(Shadowville YMCA)

“The Shadowville YMCA wants your family to have a safe and memorable Halloween. This year we are having Halloween Parties for children, teens, and adults, as well as films running all night in our recreation room, hayrides, and a huge haunted house, all for your family’s fun. We will serve a simple dinner, and have plenty of treats for everyone. Make your Halloween easy, memorable, and fun with the YMCA!”

 

Fade to Medusa and La Llorona standing centre stage.

 

“Welcome back everyone!” Medusa silenced a snake hissing from the swirl of her French Twist before continuing. “We have had in incredible response to La Llorona’s plight. Not only did the whole studio audience vote, our phone lines are still jammed with calls from all over the world!”

 

La Llorona blushed faintly, and smiled crookedly.

 

“The audience has let their wishes be known with a landslide vote!! An amazing 97% of you voted yes! You want La Llorona to have a Monstrous Makeover, and be a continuing part of Halloween traditions!”

 

Close-up of La Llorona’s startled face, before she bursts into tears.

 

“A special note to our home audience- if you know of a monster you think deserves a Monstrous Make-over please e-mail us at www.https://WTVS-MonstrousMakeovers.com/TheyDeserveAChance, or text us at 1031 2009, standard texting rates apply.

 

Be sure to tune in again next week to see the results of La Llorona’s Makeover, and to see our next guest Monster.

 

Stay tuned for our Friday Night Retrospective Movie, “The Creature From the Black Lagoon”.”

 

{{OK gang, here’s your chance, write your own letter to the TV station, and let us know why your Monster should recieve the Makeover.}}

Cannery Cat

You kids asked me why I insist on getting all my pets from the animal shelter? Let me tell you why:

 

She wasn’t a purebred cat, just a smallish white cat, with winter blue eyes and a sweet, soft trill for a mew. She appeared at the cannery at the beginning of third shift one Friday night as the rain poured down and the temperature dropped. One of the ladies in prep, Anne, smuggled her in, in her oversize purse, and the wee kit was adopted by third shift.

 

She filled out on a diet of trim from the meats canned, treats from the workers, and steadily increasing diet of unwanted rodents. She would appear as soon as second shift had all left, and disappear before first shift started arriving. As she hunted the entire cannery, she would stop at each station and accept the attention she knew was her due. She seemed to be happy with her life, and the humans that loved her dearly even the professed cat-haters warmed up to her.

 

She was so important to third shift that she was taken to the vet, spayed, and given all her shots as well as the microchip tag under her skin. She never grew big or bulky so she fit the name she answered to; ‘Miss Wisp’ made the lonely hours of third shift sunshiny and more than bearable.

 

The myth that third-shifters were a pack of insensitive loners was proven wrong by the tender care they showered on Wisp; that crock was started by those lazy lumpuses on first shift that left their work for second shift to finish, who then had no choice but to leave their work for third shift (without apologies or thank you’s).

 

Third shift had been finishing all of their work and part of second’s for years, without complaint, for one big reason- The Boss, he was a wise boss, he kept an eye on everything that went on with ‘his people’; he knew what first and second shift did to his night crew. He made a point to come in to work very early and help the night folks finish up, as well as bonuses for everyone on the roster. He made a point to thank everyone personally, and shake their hands while praising their tolerance and hard work.

 

If you had a boss like that wouldn’t you be willing to go the extra mile for ‘em? He met Wisp one night, and instead of telling third shift to get rid of her, he praised them for their love of God’s Creatures, and their foresight in adding a cat to hunt rodents to their crew. When he arrived early in the morning Wisp would greet him with silken head-butts, and a sweet flurry of delighted trills. She would then lead him to her pile of dead rodents; The Boss would then pet her and praise her effusively.

 

Well, time does what it does and passed. One morning The Boss didn’t come in, and by third shift everyone knew that he had died peacefully in his sleep. Not only had he been a well liked and respected boss, he was a true family man, and good neighbour, as well as being a philanthropist for the whole town.

 

On the day he was buried nearly every one in the whole town showed up at his funeral, and everyone had kind words to say. The students from the art camp he funded had painted a mural of his life for the library that bore his name. All of the musicians in town that he had funded their education and instruments played for him that day, and the testimonials went on for hours, with a lot of sniffling, and outright tears. No one noticed a dainty white cat watching from the distance, with downcast ears and half-lidded eyes.

 

When the cannery started back up, with a new boss, things began changing for the worse, quotas were upped to almost impossible levels, and all shifts were stripped to the bone. Third shift tried courageously to do all the work they were burdened with, and Wisp would pass the now-empty stations crying pitifully and searching for friends that would never return. Soon the ‘New Boss’ (the epithet was rife with anger and frustration now) hired men to ‘keep an eye’ on every shift and report directly back to him.

 

Third shift was cursed with a hulking, callous brute who found black amusement in catching people in embarrassing situations, and laughed when he caught animals and threw them into the steam cleaner. Wisp became painfully wary, and she slinked through the factory, eyes, nose, and ears always ready to catch the slightest hint of The New Boss. Her fur began to look bedraggled, and there were nights she didn’t appear at all. Those sweet blue eyes were filled with sorrow and fear when she did appear, and her voice was almost soundless, when she did speak.

 

Anne had smuggled her in, years ago, now she began to ask Wisp, “Sweet kitty-girl, would you like to come and live with me? You can stay inside where it is warm, and be safe for the rest of your life.” Everyone agreed that would be the best thing for their Wisp.

 

At last, the time was short, Anne was told she was to take early retirement, so she made a point to bring in a cat carrier, with warm, soft bedding and a tempting catnip toy in the back.

 

As Fate so often does, The Old Hag conspired against Wisp, and her salvation. Not only did the the Boss’ Snitch come in early, Wisp was delayed by a particularly sneaky rat, that she didn’t catch until it was almost time for the night crew to sign out.

 

As Wisp was racing across the floor with her trophy, she was yanked unceremoniously up by her scruff and swung in a dizzying circle. She wailed and struggled, but the Boss’ Snitch had her in a tight hold and refused to give up his toy. “Ah finally gotcha, ya worthless bag a fur!!” His coarse voice rose in delight.

 

He had known of the third shift cat for months, and had been trying to catch it since he had first seen it. Eyes glowing with soul-deep meanness he flung the cat onto the toothed conveyor to the steam cleaner.

 

As Wisp was dragged closer to the steam, impaled on steel teeth, and unable to free herself, the Boss’ Snitch laughed aloud. The crew heard Wisp’s cries and ran to the cleaner, in time to see her dragged into the steam chamber, and heard the despairing wails, they mercifully stopped quickly.

 

As Anne screamed in horror and ran to rescue the cat, although she knew it to be too late for Wisp, a deep low growl filled the cannery as the mist from the steam began to coalesce. Gradually the form of a gigantic white cat, with baleful eyes like embers of a funeral pyre bared teeth that were nearly four feet long.

 

Anne spoke to the giant Mist-Cat. “I tried to save her but I am too damn old to run fast…” A gentle brush of the Mist-Cat’s cheek, so like Wisp that the lady began to weep silenced her. The third shift handyman put a shaking arm around her waist, as he too, wept for one little white cat.

 

The Mist-Cat turned her attention to the Boss’ Snitch; she began to stalk him with intent motions. Before anyone could say or do anything, the Mist-Cat caught the Snitch by the back of his neck and shook him violently, before impaling him on the steam cleaner’s conveyor.

 

The entire third shift heard an imperious “get out” in their minds, and they felt/knew/understood that the warning was from the Mist-Cat. As they all fled the factory, they could hear steam valves screaming under increased pressure, and machines juddering apart.

 

Without knowing why, Anne took a moment to claim the cat carrier, now closed, as she ran for her car. Anne looked back, and saw the form of the gigantic cat pouncing the cannery to rubble. She started the car and sped towards home, praying aloud as she drove.

 

She put her car in park when she was in her driveway, and found she was shaking too badly to stand. She froze when she heard something moving in the back seat, and was sure she had gone mad when she heard a tiny mew, eerily like Wisp’s. She opened the back door, and gently removed the cat carrier, staring in wonder through the barred door.

 

There, sitting patiently was a tiny kitten, who could have been Wisp when she was still with her Momma Cat. Anne stared in wonder, as three more faces appeared from the shadows, all white, with light blue eyes, watching her with expectant faces.

 

“Welcome home babies!” The minute she opened the carrier door the four kittens tumbled out and surrounded her feet, mewing happily. Over the next hour, her three best friends from work all stopped by, and went home with one of the kittens, each of whom chose their person before they stepped through the door.

 

Across town, an eerie mist hovered over the remains of the cannery, eerily similar to a cat in shape, until the draggled remains of one tiny white cat were removed, and given a loving burial by the third shift crew.

 

Nowadays, there is no sign that the cannery ever existed; no business was ever built on those haunted grounds.

 

Today an animal shelter thrives there; “White Cat Animal Rescue” is a no-kill shelter that is well known for the gentleness and dedication of its volunteers. Anne and ‘Wispetta’ are the Grand Dames, loved by everyone who has ever come to them for help or to adopt an animal.

Inspired by Thalia

I read Thalia’s post on her Soul Cloak yesterday, and it inspired me to write if my own Soul Cloak.  Since I didn’t wish to copy Thalia’s idea I wove a cloak that suits me.

Here is the link to Thalia’s Soul Cape post:

http://healinghaven.wordpress.com/2009/08/23/my-soul-cape/#comment-137

 

My Soul Cloak?  Hrmmmmnnnnnnnhhhh… I must ponder this, not for long though, my instincts usually don’t steer me wrong.

 

To me, Soul and Spirit are rather interchangeable, despite nit-picking to the contrary.  Soul means the eternal something we all had when we were born, that part which idenditifies with your chosen Diet (ies). 

 

I think the distinction betwixt the two words is this; the Soul is attached to a physical form for the span of that lifetime.  A Spirit can exist on the physical plane of awareness, to a degree, without a physical form.

 

So… Does my Soul Cloak have any relation to my Scar Coat?  I should think so, the scars were earned in the trenches, as it were, and my scars are an integral part of my personal beauty.

 

 Had I not experienced things that would create lasting scars, I would not shine like I seem to be doing frequently these days.

 

And what about my Dream Coat?  Surely I cannot forget that!  Dreams are what keep you going when nothing else will, not even promises.  Dreams allow us to retain innocence and joy.

 

I’d need all the accessories I use to do what I do, so this has to be an enormous cloak!!  Blessed with delightful pockets and small bags, with intriguing shapes tucked into them.  And I would make it with an oversized hood, so that I could create a wee spot of privacy whenever and wherever I wished.

 

The cloth for my cloak would be spun of stardust and glamourie.  I would dye it with dewdrops and snuggles, soften it with sunshine and the scent of favourite flowers, lavender, chamomile, alyssum, and roses, and the smell of well-loved earth.

 

I would lay it out and cut it with an eye towards the future, and sew it with ties from my past.  Sparkling like the finest diamonds, the magical days of my life decorate the cloak that swirls around me, from my shoulders to my feet.

 

Hiding in the shadows of the cloth are the darkest times I have known, the times that taught me some of the most important lessons of this lifetime.  For decoration I have sewed in favourite films, old jokes, and family not-too-exaggerated legends.

 

The outside of my cloak feels like a high-quality Plushy Animal, the sort of texture that dares you and begs you to bury your fingers in the downy pile.  Since Soul Cloaks are often used in comforting the shoulders are padded with Gore-Tex so they dry quickly after being cried upon.

 

Soul Cloaks are frequently used as a shelter for someone needing a respite, so the inside must be light and pleasant, so they are comfortable.  The cloak will be lined with smooth linen, line-dried and fresh-pressed, the fabric is embroidered in dainty satin stitches, all sort of interesting minutiae to get a conversation going when someone needs to talk, but doesn’t know where to start.

 

My cloak also needs to rest lightly, so as never to be burdensome, and strong enough to last all the lifetimes I am blessed with.  It also needs to be well provisioned with laughter, hugs and kisses, and encouragement.

 

There is always a warm pot of hope and the back of the stove, and there are plenty of mugs for everyone.  I can play music for you, whatever genre, and volume you desire (within reason on the volume, please).

 

Last but not least my, Soul Cloak must reflect my faith and ideals, loving, honest, honourable, and straightforward.   And that is how I made my Soul Cloak.

The Poet Awakens Again

In my heart I love writing prose far more than poetry, yet so many people whose opinions I respect have told me that I am ‘good’ at poetry (whatever that means, lol).  So, I keep on writing poems,  even though I think that they are nothing to write home about.  Anywhoodlz, here is my latest poem, inspired by an incredibly sweet dream that remained clear and viable long after I had awakened.

 

WAKING DREAMS

I went to sleep, as I always do,

Alone and lonely,

Wishing to be a lover.

Loved and loving,

No longer a solitary heart.

 

Then I began to dream,

So clear and sweet,

I wanted to sleep forever.

You and I, as one,

Bathed in luxury, and joy.

 

As lovers we were

Inexpressibly matched.

The least touch was

Starlight and Heaven,

Magic of the highest form.

 

We were at once

Scarlett and Rhett,

Arthur and Guinevere,

Adam and Eve, and

You and I.

 

Whether we were met

By Royalty in Castles;

Holy Men atop Mountains,

Or the Common Man

In the crowded streets.

 

We were met with

Honour and love;

Everywhere we went

We were respected

And bathed by our love.

 

Once I was wrapped in

Green velvet gown;

Like the Lady of

Welcome Summer

And the return of Plenty.

 

The we were clad like

Kings of the Far East in

Rare Silks and Jewellery.

Perfumed by musks and

Sweet Sandalwood.

 

We were gowned in nothing,

Naked and unashamed,

Innocent and innocence.

No shame of our

God-given forms.

 

The in we rode the range,

Jeans and chambray.

Fine steeds and

Soaring hawk as

Our procession.

 

The we were blessed

No longer two, but

Planning for three.

Surprised by two

Sons so like their sire.

 

Who would wish to

Waken from this glory?

To worry about trifles

And be inundated with

Childish trivialities.

 

So now I sit, alone,

And more lonely

Than I was, carrying

The knowledge that

I had just dreamed.

Gwenerrella Sees A Horror Film

“I wanna tell ya about da movie I seed yesterday. It was about killer flies!!”

 

“Dis rich man wanned ta build a place for people dat gots no house ta lib in.”

 

“Dere was dese guys from da prison buryin’ people dat dinnunt have no money inna place called ‘Potters Feeled’.”

 

” But there wasn’t no pots anywheres.”

 

“An’ dere was a lady from da police who waned ta ‘dennify a dead lady.”

 

“Day were all onna eye-land togedder, an’ da flies killed da rich man’s friend.”

 

“When ebbery buddy tried to find da rich mans friend, dey looked and lookeded more anna flies was watchin’ ‘em look.”

 

“When dey finded da rich mans friend the flies larv-eggs had eated him allmos alla way gone.”

 

”He dinnunt hav a face no more. It was all larv-eggs wigglin!”

 

“Den dem flies started ta kill evverbuddy else too! Not all togedder, they killed ‘em one and then another one, slow-like.”

 

“Me an my brudders were watchiun’ and laffin’. When dey would show dem larv-eggs we’d holler “Larv-eggs!” an’ run out a da libbing room.”

 

“Just when we was gonna find out if da larv-eggs getted evverbuddy Momma called us to dinner.”

 

“She askded us why we dinnunt want no rice an’ all we could do was laff.”

Haunted By “The Haunting In Connecticut”

I admit it, I love the horror film genre.  I grew up on them, and I cut my horror film teeth on the likes of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, Vincent Price, and the unparralelled  Gods: Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney, Jr.. 

 

Granted, there were plenty of stinkers which became the source of helpless laughter of those around us at either the theatre or drive-in.   We saw “Friday the 13th,Pt. 3 in 3-D” at the theatre, It was Mum,  her three children born, and a passel of neighbourhood kids that wished they had a Mum like ours.  My brother Jim worked in Housekeeping at the nearby hospital, and he had put in a rough shift before we went to the theatre. 

 

Unfortunately he fell asleep holding his super-sized cola, his grip held until about 30 seconds before one of the climaxe s.  *KA-Rashhhh-splashhhh!!*  Cola and ice scattered as the whole audience audibly gasped then laughed in embarrasment. 

 

Which was when the the gory weapon smeared across the screen and blood flowed, the girl screamed in obviously pretend pain.  The audience  was yelling and scared witless.  Poor Jim awoked in time to see the girl be slaughtered, he jerked awake, chuffed in utter shock, and cussed sogftly to himself before laughing with his mother, sister, and brother.

 

I didn’t plan to babble on for a page or so before getting into the reason for today’s review. Today’s film is the new horror film, “The Haunting in Connecticut”  From the clips and the present state of computer-generated special effects I knew that it should be a visual stunner,  but would the story have a pseudopod to stand on?

 

Mum rented it from the local ‘Red Box’ kiosk Friday and we settled in to scare ourselves silly!  I knew Mum would be hooked before the opening credits were over.  I can’t give away the movie for those that haven’t seen it, but I can guarantee that you will be glued to it. 

 

The story is as powerful as it is true, and unfolds like origami, facets and layers galore.  The actors were all good, and the characters they created were believable and 3-dimensional.  The special effects were excellently done, with a delicate precision.

 

This film did something that almost no horror film can claim to do, as the final credits were running  I ws  filled with a warm resurgence of faith.  Yes faith!  From a horror film no less.  But what a horror film.  I told Mum  that I would be keeping my eye out to buy this as a ‘keepy’ film, and I am serious.  Not  only is it excellent entertainment, it is based on a true story, and cracking good film-making.  So, if you’ve a taste for horror films,  this one won’t disappoint.

Souper Saturday

My friend Shiloh; you remember Shiloh, I know; inspired me again with one of ner posts.  This one an ABC’s of Independence Day.  You can find hers at:

http://sunnydreamer.net/janu-dec2009/patriotic-feeling.shtml

 

My ABC’s are below:

 

The ABC’s of Independence Day

 

A is for Atlantic,

Wide Ocean between

The Colonies and King.

Betwixt the two.

Views and ideas

Were changed

And then challenged.

 

B is for Betsy Ross,

Leaning over her sewing

In red, white and blue.

Stripes and Stars,

Symbolising the Hopes

Of Thirteen Colonies

Seeking freedom.

 

C is for Continental Congress,

Penning the words:

“We hold these truths to

Be Self-Evident,

That all men are created equal.

Endowed by their Creator

With certain unalienable rights.”

 

D is for “Don’t tread on me”,

Emblazoned beneath a snake

Coiled to strike out in defence.

A banner to rally round

An ideal to fight for

A country to begin building

A dream now dreamt around the world.

 

E is for Equal,

“All men are created equal.”

We still strive towards this.

Men should be counted by their deeds;

Not by the colour of their skin

The label on their faith

Or where they live.

 

F is for French,

Our Allies across the sea,

The creators of Lady Liberty.

Whether explorers, Nobility,

Simple Farmers, or trappers

These amis have become

Part of the faces and names here.

 

G is for Guerrilla Warfare

Quite the change from the

Stylised and rigid ways of war

Practised in Europe for years.

Hidden behind hillocks,

Or the rafters of barns

Were fearless rebels.

 

H is for History Teachers,

Passing on the stories of our

Forefathers’ deeds and dreams.

More than dates and places,

The story of what was won,

The dreams to be made real

The strength we are heir to.

 

I is for Indians,

The first, true Americans,

More than Pocahontas.

Whether it was Crazy Horse

In the South West,

Or Squanto

In the North West.

 

J is for Justice;

As in “Justice for all.”

The way the founders meant it.

Not for just the moneyed few,

The famed and beautiful folks,

Or those with political power,

But for every single American.

 

K is for Key;

The composer Francis Scott Key,

Witnessing a battle at night.

“Oh say can you see

By the dawn’s early light?

What so proudly we hailed

At the twilight’s least gleaming.”

 

Lis for Life,

All men are ordained with certain unalienable rights,

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

By these lofty ideals we were begun,

None are but chattels,

Not by name, race or faith

Can they be denied.

 

M is for Marquis,

The Marquis de Lafayette

Leaving his homeland.

To support  via deed

Finance spent upon it

This pretty dream,

That will be America.

 

N is for National Anthem,

Sing it standing,

With hand o’er heart.

Sing out in the voice

Of millions of dreams

“Whose broad stripes and bright stars

Through the perilous fight.”

 

O is for Open Elections,

Over two hundred years

Of National intention.

We are free to choose

Who our leaders will be

They are not born to the role,

But should earn it through service.

 

P is for  Pie;

All-American pastry treat,

Full  of juicy apples,   of course.

One of the trio

Of American symbols

With seasons of Baseball,

And barbequed Hot Dogs.

 

Q is for Quitters,

Something that the rebels weren’t

No, they held on no matter how drear.

With feet frozen,

Clothed in near rags.

With no food in their bellies

Or fire for warmth.

 

R is for Red Coats

The British uniform,

Also called Lobsterbacks.

The bright red jackets

And crossed white bands

They were walking targets

For the Sons of Liberty.

 

S is Stars and Stripes,

The bright-hued  flag

That watches o’er this land.

Stripes of red and white

Stars of shining white

On their field of blue

One for each original colony.

 

T is Taxation,

Our forefathers decreed

Taxation without representation unfair.

We were granted to right

To say nay to taxes

We deemed unfair

Or unnecessary.

 

U is for Under Siege,

Something we have survived

Time and time again.

From the Revolutionary War,

To the Civil War/War of Northern Aggression,

On the balmy shores of Pearl Harbor

And the Towers of 9-11.

 

V is Valley Forge

A frozen and starved bivouac

For the fledgling army.

Despite the icy darkness

Stars hidden by clouds

Very few fires for warmth,

Still the patriots persevered.

 

W is for  White House’

Home of our Leaders

And Fortress of our hopes.

It has housed Heroes, Royalty from everywhere

Movie stars and starlets

And the lines of everymen that

Tour her halls and our heritage.

 

X is for “X”-tremes

The complementing climates

Of fifty diverse states.

From Alaska’s sub-Arctic climes,

To Hawaii’s tropical shores.

We boast forests, mountains,

Oceans and lakes, and deserts.

 

Y is for Youthful Outlook,

That our culture can boast,

Born of many ways and places.

From the souls of every country,

In dances fast or slow,

In the voice of many instruments,

And stories immigrating with us.

 

Z is for Zephyr,

Those sweet cooling breezes

Wafting past our waning grills.

Seated in lawn chairs, or stadium seats,

Awaiting the magic

In fireworks’ shifting glow.

This is an artist’s rendering of the Effigy Bear Mound, the illustration used in “Hunab Ku”.

Welcome to Hunab Ku

The three of us, Mum, Matt, and myself were pottering about in the used bookstore a few days ago and I found a wonderful book for reawakening your Spirit and Creativity.  It is called  “Hunab Ku- 77 Sacred Symbols for Balancing Body and Spirit”, written by Karen Speerstra and Joel Speerstra.

 

I opened the book and within the fist 2 pages (of the Introduction) knew that I had found the seeds for a deep garden of perennials.  The first Symbol is perfect for where I am in my my Cycle.

 

When you build anything, you start with the base.  With this symbol, they have combined Native American Mythology, Chakra Medicine, and Mayan Numerology to create our base.  Seated in the Muladhara Chakra, bathed in the red of ochre, the color of birth-blood and buried with the builders of the the Effigy Bear Mound in McGregor, Iowa, United States.  Expressed with the Mayan 1 for Solitude and Strength, it symbolises our return to the womb or cave to rest and rally our forces befiore returning to an active role in our lives.

 

Another symbol inherent in the Great Bear Mound is the powerful,protective aspect of Mother Bear with her cubs.  Ursus Major could as easily be Ursus Mater, with her cub, Ursus Minor sparkling along with her in the night skies.

I will be searching for my own Bear Archetypes and tales over the next week, and I welcome anything you would like to share, O Constant Reader (TY Stephen King for the nickname).

And Crabby-Paws Speaks

*peering blearily out from under the dark cycles of my life*

I am actually on my way back to the world from the unavoidable shadows that come with wisdom.  I am beginning to feel good, solid ideas rising from my depths, and am already working on one of them.

 

The last day that was lit for me, I wrote a six-word romance of my own:

 

6-Word Romance

12-05-2009

 

“Yes, I heard what you said.”

She looked up from her keyboard,

Rolling her eyes at the screen.

“You know I will get it.

I always get what I want.”

“With everyone else, do you mean that?”

They locked eyes in their minds.

“Always, with everyone.” She spoke gently,

But her words were strong steel.

“Do you think you are able?”

He always challenged her, on everything.

“Of course I am Dear One.”

Mentally determining to accept his challenges.

“You just can’t make this happen.”

“Look at what I’ve done already.”

Her words should have warned him.

But he had always underestimated her.
”You stayed there, isn’t that true?”

“Ahhh, but you knew I would.”

“In truth?  I counted on it.”

They laughed at the same time.

The miles between them meant nothing

Their friendship flew fast on the wind.

 

                                      ã 2009 Gwen M Myers

 

Thank you so much for your patience and tolerance, My Family of Creativity, Love, and Steel.  Please know that you are never far from mmy thopughts and heart, even when I wander off down a sidetrack.

 

Like the Lone Wolf that is my Spirit-Guide, I wander away from the pack and bring new things back, and share them with my ‘Pack’, which is blessed to have members of Soul Food Cafe in it.

 

This time my find is  book called “Hunab Ku- 77 Sacred Symbols for Balancing Body and Spirit” by Karen Speerstra and Joel Speerstra, it his lit a fire under my metaphorical hieney and begged me to share what it in these pages.  I’ll share the first Archetype in a second post.

A Happy Memory Surfaces

I have always been a precocious, bull-headed little geek.  I was reading by the age of three, and always fascinated by scientific.  Christmas age 8, what did I want?  Colorforms Dolls?  Nope.  A new Barbie, with clothes?  Huhn-uhn.

 

“Oh for goodness’ sake Gwen Marie, what do you want then?”

 

“I want the Scientist Kit, the one with stuff ta take apart an’ look at their insides.”

 

“My God Herm, she sounds just like her Mother!!”  Quoth Grandma DeShaw.

 

“Hrrrrrrmmmmmbbbbbblllllllllrrrrrrrrrrrrr…” Meaning, “You’re wrong, but I don’t want to fight.”

 

“I’ll let your Mother buy you that one.  What else do you want?”  Meaning, “Please ask for something I can relate to?”

 

“I wanna Jane West doll, cuz she comes with a saddle an’ every thing else, and she can really ride my horses!”  Oh the relief and delight on her face when I said that.

 

“What else Puss?” 

 

“I wanna artist kit, with paints, paper, an’ brushes.  An’ more horses.”  I adored horses and collected the Breyer Model Horses.  I had quite a herd, and they all had names, pedigrees and personalities.  I knew I would probably never own a horse, so this was how I satisfied that longing.

 

“Are you makin’ me a scarf, mittens, an’ hat again?  Everybody at school think it’s cool that you make ‘em for me.”  How she beamed every year when I said that!  What she didden know was that her love stayed in the yarn, an’ I felt safe when I wore ‘em. 

 

And winters were long, cold, and dismal in Michigan.  We got ‘Lake Effects Snow’ from the East and West.   A winter storm coming across the Great Lakes would glut itself on the cold waters below, and then disgorge all of that moisture when it makes landfall.

 

This is the land of lawn Mowers that double as a snow-blower, 50 pound bags of rock salt stacked in the garage, where it was necessary to store one’s wheels to be more sure of it starting every morning.

 

Cap, gloves, and a long scarf were a necessity.  Very often, all you would see of your neighbours were eyes peering from bundling up, until one waddled like brightly painted Penguins into the promise of a new snowfall.

 

More than a few times a year the snow would drift high enough, that someone had to come at the snow from the outside.  The first one to dig out would start on a neighbour’s sidewalk and driveways.

 

All that babble to illustrate why those simple accessories were a necessity, a person could lose fingers, toes, or bits of their faces if they weren’t protected.  And the ones I was gifted with every Christmas were infused with her protective, determined love.

 

To those of you who have never known this, my sincerest apologies.  And to those of you who have been blessed by this experience, wasn’t it wonderful to remember such a moment?

Another Cool Writing Meme

My friend Shiloh also turned me onto this form of poetry, and I intend to have a great deal of fun with it!

 

http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/blitzpoem.html

 

You can see Shiloh’s response here:

 

http://sunnydreamer.net/janu-dec2009/money-stress.shtml

and

http://sunnydreamer.net/janu-dec2009/sheet-over-head.shtml

I think she has quite  a hand for this form.

 

Shoulder to the Sea

 

Let It Be

Let the Sunshine

Sunshine on my Shoulders

Sunshine of my Love

Love the One You’re With

Loves Me Like A Rock

Rock the Nation

Rock and Roll All Night

Night Moves

Night Chicago Died

Died on the Blue Highway

Dies In Your Arms Tonight

Tonight, Tonight

Tonight’s the Night

Nights In White Satin

Night Time

Time Out For Fun

Time of the Night

Night on Bald Mountain

Night Music

Music of the Spheres

Music Man

Man of La Mancha

Man on the Silver Mountain

Mountain Hop (Misty)

(Aint’t No) Mountain High

High Hopes

High Summer

Summer of ‘69

Summer In The City

City of New Orleans

City of the Condemned

Condemned System

System Failure

System Breakdown

Breakdown in ¾

Breakdown (Keep Moving)

Moving In Stereo

Moving Pictures

Pictures of Matchstick Men

Pictures of Home

Home Sweet Home

Home By the Sea

Sea of Mercy

Sea & Sand

Sand

Mercy

 

I’ve been Inspired Again

My friend Shiloh, http://sunnydreamer.net/janu-dec2009/band-music-meme.shtml, you remember Shiloh?  Finds some cool writing memes, and this one is no exception.  I had myself a challenging good time writing my response to this meme.

 

Pick a band/artist:

I chose-Harry Chapin

“All My Life’s A Circle”

Are you male or female? The moon rolls through the nighttime.

Describe yourself: All my life’s a circle.

How do you feel about yourself?   Seems like I’ve been here before.

Describe your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend:  Just like a children’s game.

Describe your current boy/girl situation: And as I see you here again.

Describe your current location: Sunrise and Sundown

Describe where you want to be: And so far, no dead ends.

Your best friend is:  I’ve found you a thousand times.

Your favorite color is: The seasons’ spinning round again

You know that: Our love is like a circle.

What’s the weather like? Till the daybreak comes around.

If your life was a television show what would it be called?  Let’s go round one more time.

What is life to you?   No straight lines make up my life.

What is the best advice you have to give?  Let’s go ‘round one more time.

If you could change your name what would you change it to? Circle (Circe)

*smirking to myself*

 

Welcome Back Vinyl!!

Once upon a time all that was available for listening to music was records  and the radio. 

When they came along, 8- tracks were good, but their construction had inherent problems.  Like, clicking from one portion of the tape to the next in mid-song because of time limitations.

Reel-to-reel came along, and that could play the whole piece in one fell swoop.  Unfortunately, reel-to-reels needed special, expensive equipment to use, and they had a tendency to lose the magnetic particles carrying the sound  with every playing.

Then came cassette tapes, small, portable, and playable on everything from a portable cassette player to a high-end cassette deck as part of a component stereo system.  They lost magnetic particles at a faster rate than reel-to-reels and they were limited to 1/2 hour per side.

Through all of these vinyl records- LP’s(albums), EP’s(long-playing singles), and 45’s(singles) hung on, they were still more reliable than any of the tape methods, unfortunately, they scratched easily, so they required careful handling.

I got into the habit of buying high-end vinyl-Japanese and European Imports, and Half-Speed Master and Master recordings.  I would play them once on my component system, recording them on to cassettes as I did so.

Then came the day… the world went digital, with Compact Discs, and MP3 players.  So many people thought that that was the end of everything else, so they dumped all of their passè  goodies in favour of CD’s.

I still had my component system, and so I kept my vinyl and cassettes, and still used the cassettes as I slowly replaced them with compact discs.  I was very ‘into’ CD’s, they could be played over and over, were tougher than vinyl, and had an advantage in clarity of sound.

Recently, vinyl has begun making a comeback, and CD’s are not as favourable as they once were.  I have listened and have noticed a marked difference in the feel of vinyl, as opposed to CD.

I have the soundtrack to Walt Disney’s “Fantasia”, on CD, and I recently was gifted with a double-album of a “Fantasia” cover, I sat there listening to “A Night on Bald Mountain” by Moussourgsky and I had gooseflesh running up and down my legs from the subtleties missing on CD.

My brother and I have talked about it at length and we thing/feel/intuit that difference lies in the fact that the LP reproduces exactly what the musician and producer wanted, and the CD reproduces what it ‘percieves’  to be the music.

We have also noticed that when the music was recorded after the advent of digital sound reproduction there is little difference in sound quality, but… when the music was recorded prior to digital it is better on vinyl than CD.  So… we now divide our music into P.D. (pre-digital) and A.D. (after digital) categories.

Thursday Thirteen

Shiloh is a constant source for things to blog for me, and this is the first in a continuing  series of blogging memes.  They are called the Thursday Thirteen, and I am starting with Thirteen Things about me, for every letter of the alphabet.  Today is the letter “A”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIRTEEN THINGS ABOUT ME-A

1: Adventurous- for me an adventure is anything from checking out a new website to camping in the middle of Mr. Black Bear’s territory.

2: Artistic- this blog and some others are full of my artistic endevours, not only pencil, pen and ink, and watercolour paintings, there is also digital art, prose and poetry that I can claim as my work.

 

3: Angelic:  I don’t know about this, there have been people that call me an angel, but I’ve torn too much of my clothes on my devil-horns to accept that.

 

4: Amethyst: one of the June birthstones, and one of my birthstones.

 

5: Astrologian- I am a student of astrology, I neither teach nor practice it, just study it.

 

6: Ambassadress, I consider mtself an Ambasadress for my faith (Wicca).  I hope that I can help to forge greater understanding and acceptance between traditionally antagoinistic faiths.

 

7: Ambidextrous- to a point, mostly from uncontrolled multi-tasking!  LOL

 

8: Anti-functional fixedness- I can think up more uses for one thing, a good example is my pen-knife, I call it my Multi-putpose tool.  I use it to clean under my nails, scrape gooey stuff off a surface, sharpen pencils, and so forth.

 

9: Associative- as in free-associative, when someone says a w0rd I will see a nymber of different images I associate with that word.

 

10: Androgynyous- I don’t restrict my interests because they are ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’, I enjoy drag racing as much as I do cooking, and playing with automobiles as much as sewing, crocheting or embroidery.

 

11: Anachronistic- I have always felt out of place, step and time in the world as it is now.  That helps explain my preference for tales out of time and world.

 

12: American- as in Daughters of the American Revolution, which I could be if I so desired, my Mum’s Aunt is a member.

 

13: Angry- something I prefer to not be!!  LOL

How To Play With PSP X1

 1: Open your PSP, then open the image (ARTICL~31MA22961640-0033.jpeg) you want to work on from PSP’s FILE dropdown Menu.

I said just a few days ago in another WordPress Blog that I would make a tutorial of one of my PSP playings.  I did a new tag tonight, and I used that for the tutorial.

 

 

Where to open the file

 

 

 

This is our starting image.

 

 2: Increase the screen resolution to 200 pixels per inch (78.740 pixels per centimetre. This is done through the resize image programme.

 

3: Resize image to 3” X 1.749” (7.620 cm. X 4.42 cm.).

 

 

4: Save image as CatThief, save it in both .jpeg and .psp files. 

     To save as a PSP Image, you will have to change the designation from .jpeg to .PSP in the save form.

     To save copy as a .jpeg expand the File dropdown menu by clicking on the arrow at the bottom of the menu.  When you scroll throught the dropdown menu, the Save Copy As should appear directly under the Save As

      If you want to play with the image again later the .psp files you’ve created can often be taken apart layer by layer, where .jpeg images cannot be taken apart.

 

 

 

5: Open Brightness Contrast Menu in the ADJUST menu dropdown.  Choose Clarify and set the strength as 10 0f 100.

 

 6: Still using the ADJUST menu, choose Add/Remove Noise, from that menu choose JPG Artifact Removal set at maximum and 100% Crispness.

 

7: Also in the ADJUST menu, choose Depth of Field, set the shape to rectangular, 90% blur, hexagonal aperture shape, feather edge at 10, and focus range for 15.

 

 

  8: at this point go to the LAYERS dropdown menu, choose Merge, from that menu choose Visible.

9: Save this image as CatThief FF, in both .jpeg and .psp files.

10: Still in the LAYERS menu, choose Load/Save Mask.  Select a mask to overlay on your image (I used  1Ascratchy.msk).  PSP automatically fits the mask to your image.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11: Merge the layers using Merge-Visible.  Then save as CatThiefFFM in both .jpeg abd .psp files.

 12: To add text, find the A on the menu to the left of the image desktop, click your cursor on the lower left hand corner of CatThiefFFM.psp, your text box will appear automatically. 

     I used the Kohelet font, at 20 points, as well as Bold and Italic, I chose the word Mine!.  I changed the colours for the font to match the image, I used the black from the cat for the foreground/stroke colour:

       R-21

       G-12

       B-31

The background/fill colour was from the cat’s eyes:

      R-127

      G-130

      B-113

 There is this little block of colours in the upper right-hand side of the dashboard, there will ne two smaller block to the right of those, left-click on the top one to cange the foreground/stroke colour, and on the bottom one to change the background/fill colour.

13: Save this image as CatThiefBlank, in both .psp and .jpeg.

 

 

 

14: Add a second text if desired, I put my name in the upper right hand corner, using the same settings as I did for the phrase.

 15: Save as CatThief(Your Name), mine was, of course, CatThiefGwen in both .psp and .jpg.

 

 

Another fun little quiz

My friend Shiloh had this fun little quiz on her blog (http://sunnydreamer.net/janu-dec2009/easy-fill-ins.shtml), so I thought it would be fun to give it a whirl myself.

 

Copy and paste this quiz to your blog, and then fill in your own answers! It’s fun! (So they say…)

Five names you go by:
1) Gwen
2) Miss Gwen
3) GwenGuin
4) Gwenerrella

5) Gwennie

Three things you are wearing right now:
1) Plaid flannel boxers
2) Faded blue tank top
3) My tortoise shell banana clip.

Two things you want very badly at the moment:
1) For Mum to feel better
2) To be able to meet my special online friends face-to-face.

Three people who may fill this out:
1) Jo
2) Lynda

3) Chrys

Two things you did last night:
1) Waded thr0gh 100+ pieces of mail in my AOL inbox.
2) Started work on a post for this blog.l

Two things you ate today:
1) A breakfast Sandwich from Wendy’s.
2) These round little tater tot creatures, also from Wendy’s

People you last talked to on the phone:
1) Matt
2) My Psychiatrist’d office.

Two things you are going to do (or already did) today:
1) Add a new post to my personal blog.

2) Finish the post I started last night.

Two of the longest road trips:
1) Phoenix AZ. to Flint MI.
2) Tempe AZ. to Corvallis, OR.

Three of your favorite beverages:
1) Classic Coke
2) Bottled Water (preferably Dasani)
3) Ice cold 2% Milk

“We Must Start Now”

Despite its rather dramatic appearance, the title of this post is quite innocuous.

 

For Christmas  Mum found me the loveliest ‘kit’, called “The Writer’s Retreat Kit”, it comes with a book and 24 cards, 20 of which are lists of writing prompts.

 

My friend, Shiloh, myself and Mum are using these prompts.  And our prompt for today is this: “We must start now…”.

 

“We must start now.”  She said, in her tiresome, oh-so-prim voice, the voice that irritated three generations of the family.  She was the Matriach so it was verboten to argue or show irritation. 

 

“You…”  She pointed at the eldest.  “You will do as I say, without any of your romantic notions.  We do not indulge in such fancies in this family.”

 

“You, stop hiding behind the pillar, and stand where I can see you.”  The First Son had been sidling away, hoping to avoid another  dressing-down.

 

Second Son was sitting patiently, staring at nothing, his eyes faraway.  Youngest Daughter was still young enough to have tasted little of the sharp side to Matriach’s temperament.

 

“You.”  Matriarch returned her attention to Eldest, her heir and grand-daughter.  “You will go, with the duenna I choose, and you will do it with the grace and character our family is known for.”

 

“But, Grandmother…”  Eldest began.

 

“But nothing, you have known since weaning this is what you are expected to do.”  Matriarch voice grew  sharper.  Eldest’s brothers cringed, knowing how quickly Matriarch lectures could turn into a harangue on every failing,  flaw, and sin (real or imagined) of the one who dared question her, even if Matriarch was patently in error.

 

“You will not deviate one whit from what I have said.  None of your complaints, whining or wheedling, you know what to do, and how to do it.”  Matriarch’s voice was hard as rocks underfoot.

 

“Yes, Matriarch.”  Eldest put as much acquiescence as she could pretend into her voice, hoping to allay Matriarch and thus save the entire family from being harangued interminably.

 

“Now… go and pack your things, and none of those silly paints or diaries.  Pack your prettiest clothes, and all of your jewellery.  Get some prettier slippers than those frights on your feet now!  And while you’re at it, get yourself a makeover, you look frumpy and spinsterish.”

 

“Yes Grandmother.”  Eldest stood and walked from the room, her grace and energy in every line. 

 

“And walk like a lady, not an alley cat in heat!!!”  Matriarch’s words followed her like vengeful bees, still intent on stinging.

 

“You!”  Matriarch turned her attention to Eldest Son.  “Have you done as I told you and ectricated yourself from that… that… moggy?”  None of the ladies Eldest Son had been seen in the company of met Matriach’s exacting standards.

 

“Yes Matriach.”  Eldest Son was a skilled dissembler, he had no intention of shedding himself of a charming, intelligent, and well-bred lady’s attention because of some imagined flaw Matriarch found.

 

“Good.  I have arranged for you to meet some suitable young ladies tomorrow evening.  Do be charming, and well-dressed.  We can’t have them thinking that we cannot afford proper clothes.”

 

Eldest Son knew what that meant, another evening of listening to Matriarch pontificate to some weak, insipid femmes, with no spirit or passion.

 

“You!!”  Matriarch turned to Youngest Son, who ferigned complete attention.  “Hmmmnnnppphhh…  I doubt you were paying attention.”

 

Younget Son rattled off everything that had been said, inflection-perfect.

 

“Don’t be impertinent, it is not likeable or attractive.”  Matriarch never relented, or admitted that she might be wrong.  “Go, and tell Eldest Sister that she needs to hurry, she will be leaving in just three days.”

Youngest Son left Matriarch room gratefully and went to Eldest Daughter’s rooms.  She was giggling with the duenna Matriarch had chosen.

 

“We did it!  We did it!!  Matriarch is so sure we are fighting  she wouldn’t consider sending anyone else!!”  Eldest Daughter and the duenna embraced and threw themselves across the bed.

Inspiration From Shiloh

Fourth from Fourth

 

 

 

Shiloh ( http://sunnydreamer.net/octo-dec2008/tagged.shtml ) posted this meme on her blog recently and I decided to go for it.

 

First, post the fourth picture from the fourth folder on your computer.  I went to the fourth folder on my computer and it only had 2 pictures.  I tried going one forward and one backward, and those folders contained copyrighted images.  Since that wasn’t working I went to the fourth folder of my photos and found this pic.  Since I am always ready to show off my kitty-girl I was pleased.

 

Then come the lists of eight!

 

8 Favourite TV Shows:

1)    Star Trek

2)    The X Files

3)    Night Gallery

4)    Animal Police

5)    The Pink Panther (the original animated series)

6)    Monty Python’s Flying Circus

7)      Planet Earth

    Most Evil

 

8 Things I did Yesterday:

1)    Made Thanksgiving Dinner

2)    Learned to Play Mexican Train Dominoes

3)    Laughed until my sides hurt

4)    Managed to get some of Skye’s feltings removed

5)    Gave Kryssi a small gift

6)    Got awesome hugs from Kryssi and Troy

7)    Had so much fun in the here and now that I forgot I have 2 cameras

    Slept for 12 hours straight

 

8 Things I look forward to:

1)    The next family get-together

2)    Watching Kryssi and Troy’s marriage prosper and grow

3)    Having a book published (someday)

4)    Watching the family young’uns grow up

5)    Continuing to enjoy my partnership with Shiloh

6)    Continuing to work with Soul Food Café

7)    Growing old with Skye

    Learning more cool stuff

 

8 Favourite Restaurants:

1)    Filibertos (what’s not to like about ‘real’ Mexican food?)

2)    Red Lobster (of course)

3)    Good ol’ Kentucky Fried Chicken (they make the best cole slaw- bar none)

4)    Chompies Bagel Factory and Deli

5)    Olive Garden (pretty close to homemade Italian)

6)    Barro’s Chicago Style Pizza (clean restaurant, quality food, and excellent service)

7)    China China  (I love good Chinese food)

    Tom’s BBQ (they make these incredible fried onions)

 

8 things on my ‘Wish List’:

1)                To travel ‘round the world and give my online friends ‘real’ hugs.

2)                To have a number of books published.

3)                To spend days in the Louvre.

4)                To celebrate my Birthday (the Summer Solstice) at Stonehenge.

5)                To reach further back with my family tree, to see of we really are descendants of Petosegay of the Ottowa Peoples.

6)                Hear Bagpipes played in the Scottish Highlands.

7)                Visit Ireland to see where my Irish ancestors came from.

                To meet the members of my favourite band.  (Rush)

One of my Alter-Ego’s’ ‘Gratitude List’

Being a writer, I  create characters, some of which take on a life of their own.  One of those is my Pirate self, One-Eyed Red.  She is a ship’s cook and doctor on board the pirate ship Calabar Felonway on the seas of Lemuria.

 

Lemuria is part of an amazing Creatives Site that has a worldwide membership and readership, called Soul Food Cafe ( Pythian Games, soulfoodcafe : Soul Food Cafe, Pythian Games, Priscilla’s World Tour ,The Calabar – Pirate Ship ) any of these should guide you to the alluvial flats of Soul Food Cafe, where you can meet writers, artists, artisans of all types, and many other creative folks as well as see what they create.

 

One-Eyed Red is a Pirate’s Pirate, her face is always red, from both the wind and the heat of her belowdecks cookstove.  It is her duty to care for the Pirate Crew’s bellies and health: a job she takes seriously and does as best she can.  You can count on her for a pipe and a chat whether you’re above or belowdecks, she will be utterly honest, yet she displays kindness on a daily basis.

 
“Now then, is yon ladie finished singing praises like one o’ them wee yellow canaries?”  Red fills her pipe deftly, and lights it with a long sliver of wood, alight from the stove’s flames.

 

“She is like that, she is, allus ready t’ see th’ good in other, and share the good wi’ anyone that’ll listen to her.”  She pulls in a few fagrant puffs and lifts her feet to rest on a small keg.

 

“I canna complain, she did gi’ me a voice, and a life.  And she is a right good un’, fer a landlubber.”  Red winks around the smoke from her pipe.  The heat and steam in her kitchem have her hair escaping from its’ tight braid in a corona of ringlets around her solemn, chunky face.  She flips up the patch on her left eye and rubs the eye  underneath before fanning it for a monment, the skin beneath a startkling white in contrast to her sun and wind-burned face.

 

“Noo, I asked her tae let me tell ye good folks what I am grateful for in me Pirate life.

Fairst, I am grateful for the faith that keeps me strong an. happy.

I am exceeding grateful for me Mum an’ Da for bringin’ me intae the world, an’ welcoming me as well.

I am thankful every day for bein given the freedom tae be who I is, nae what others would want me tae be.

I love music and thank the Gods every day fer th’ joy of it.

I am grateful that I am still able to sail on the Calabar, an’ do me job well.

I am humbled an’ exalted that I am gifted wi’ the friends I am blessed with.

The Sun, Moon, an’ stars that guide me across the sweet waters of the Lemurian seas.

Th’ seasons an’ elements, for their gift of life an’ kmowing that everythin’ that hae been, will be again.

Laughter, for ’twill chase away almost any megrim what might be weighing yer spirit doon.

An’ I am grateful fer all th’ gifts o’ our world, an’ all th’ wonder o’ th’world as well.”

 

Red leans forward and tamps her pipe into the cookstove and stands, immediately matching the rhythm of the waves against the hull.

 

“Noo laddies, I must be gettin back to feedin’ amd carin’ for ye, an’ I would be lyin’ if I didnae say that I get such joy frae havin’ all o’ ye in me life.”  She turns to the stove, stirs a couple kettles and hums off-key and tempo.

 

And that is what One-Eyed Red is grateful for!!

What I Am Grateful For

I would be poor indeed if I did not list the things I am grateful for:

The 10 Things I am grateful for:
1) Hope
2) Loving and being loved
3) Friends
4) Family
5) Laughter
6) Pets of any kind
7) Music
Books
9) Colours
10) Faith

What You’re Grateful For

As I said in the previous post, I asked friends what they were grateful for, and here are the responses O recieved:

 

 

From PSP With Friends:

 

Peggy:

My Gratitude list:   1.  My Heavenly Father 2. My family 3.  My pets 4.  My good friends & my Internet family 5.  My health 6.  My blessings from the Heavenly Father 7.  My ability to grow wiser, financially, spiritually. 8.  My hobbies. 9.  The chance to be a blessing to others. 10.  The change of the seasons.

 

 

Ten things I am Grateful For:

Lord Jesus
My Mom
All my wonderful Friends and extend family
The love for PSP and sharing with others
All the animals in this world
To have a life of my own once again.
To be in the country and enjoy nature all around me.
Clothes to wear and food in my stomach
Gladness  to be able to smile and also to shed tears for friends, family and my own sorrows at times.
Glad for all the wonderful people I have met in my life, each one has given me the best gift of all, a place in my heart.

Hugs
Bobbie

 

 

Ten Things I am Grateful For

my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ
my husband and best friend, Chuck
my  family
my church family
my Learn PSP family
my friends
my animal babies
To have a roof over my head
Food on my table
clothes on my back
and each and everyone of you! opps that`s eleven!
MaryLou Wescott

 

 

 

From Dane’s Ladies

 

 

That one makes you stop & think , Good Question :

 

1. Life

2. Family

3. Friends

4. A Roof Over Our Head    

4. Food in our bellies

5. A Car To Get Places

6. A Job To Make Money

7. My Health

8. My Pets , Beagle { Peanut }

9. Coffee . lol

10. God , That is Good To Us

 

Lynda

 

 

If any of my reraders would like to add their 10 Things I am grateful for list, you can post it as a comment here, or send it to me in an e-mail at Ooodolezs@aol.com, mark the e-mal re: 10 Things so I know it isn’t spam.

Gratitude- Ten Things

My friend Shiloh threw a blog party to celebrate gratitude, and I am still thinking about gratitude.  I asked friends to tell me what they’re grateful for, as well as asking my Mum.  Since Mum is here with me she wrote her list on a piece of paper.  The list so charmed and delighted me that I had to scan it and post her list as she wrote it.

I know it sounds rather silly, but Mum is in pain so much of the time that she is sadly cranky, her list was 100% ‘Our Bomba’.  I was so soked to see that Bomba that I wanted to show her off, as well as the darling drawing she put on her list.  I’ve always envied Mum her ability to do those quick sketches that remind me of a DaVinci study.

 

Bomba is Grateful For

Gratitude and the Harmonic Convergence

A word of warning to those who read this: I am crazy, my friend Shiloh will attest to this.  I was debating on whether to say anything about this or not.  The crux of the matter is this-I feel that I must say something about it.

I have long been a student of both world mythology, and comparative faiths.  Putting aside labels and preconceptions allows anyone to see what I have seen.

The truth is so simple that we often overlook it, and resort to labels and stereotypes for the sake of comfort.  Setting them aside is a sobering and uplifting experience, to realise that all ‘real’ faiths are rooted deeply into the same spiritual soil.  We all (seperate faiths) believe in a Creative Power higher than ourselves, and that Power bases our ideals in the most powerful, transformative emotion we express.

Love.

I understand if the old labels and stereotypes stand in your way for a time, that is human nature; to remain within a comfort zone, as it were.  Those of us that are close enough to our personal Deity (ies), in an everyday, practical manner will see the logic and truth in what I am saying.   Different styles of worshipping are much like the different flavours (races) are simply a matter of geography.  If some of you are upset by this and stop reading, I understand and hold no hard feelings for any of you.  For those that do continue on this journey, welcome, and love overflowing to you.

Now, I’m sure a great deal of you reading know of the Harmonic Convergence expected on 20, December 2012.  So many people are calling the End Times, and the End of the World.  I cannot agree with that.  Simply read the Biblical passage, to paraphrase, “And there was a New Heaven and Earth, for the Old Heaven and Earth had passed away.”.  That does not sound like the End of Everything, more like a rebirth on all levels.

Rebirth, it means- to be reborn after a death, whether real or symbolic.  In the Christian faiths one is considered to be reborn through commitment to the laws of God.

In Wicca it is the rebirth of fertility and life at the Vernal Equinox.  On any road, faith rooted in love celebrates and thanks the Deity (ies) for Their Love and Generosity.

About a year ago a special friend of mine taught me how to ‘read’ crystals.  I found and purchased a pair of lovely quartz crystals before that, and I have been slowly reading them.  Being a learning junkie, I read all sorts of informational texts, as well as being addicted to NatGeoTV, History Channel, and so forth.

I watched the show that NatGeoTV did on the giant crystal cave that was found in Mexico.  That was not too long after I began dreaming in another language, not one of romance languages mind you.  That would not have surprised me; I have learned some French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Hungarian, and Romany.  I didn’t recognise the language I was dreaming in, but I understood it.

My dear friend, Shiloh, turned me on to a Foreign Language Dictionary site.  I downloaded languages I understood, and then branched out, getting dictionaries in Tibetan, and Sanskrit as well as Old English and Old Norse.

One day, for giggles and grins, I decided to wander through the dictionaries to see if I could find anything that was similar to the language I was dreaming in.  After a few tries that came up with nothing, I peeked into the Sanskrit-English Dictionary, and there were the words that I still remembered months later.  Not only did I recognise them in print, they were applicable to the other specifics of the dream.  That was weird enough for me to pay closer attention to the things that were cropping up in my everyday life.  These little things began to add up (to me anywhooodlz) to a big something.

As I am writing this I intuit that (after another reading of my biggest crystal) we, all of mankind are supposed to celebrate the Harmonic Convergence with worldwide prayers of Celebration and Thanksgiving, each in the manner of our own faith, during the time of the exact convergence.  I further feel that this unified front of faith is what is needed to usher in the ‘New Heaven and Earth”.

 

For those that are interested, the exact phrase that I hear is “Raghuttama raNa” pronounced- ‘Ray whoo tama rah-ah nay’.  The phrase refers to (to the best of my knowledge) honouring the two 2 greatest warriors of the Raghu race.

I intuit that this is the phrase that the Keepers of the ‘Key Crystals’ are supposed to sing as a round or chant, a capella.

Soprano, ray whoo, tama rah ah nay

     2nd Soprano, ray whoo, tama rah ah nay

                           Alto, ray whoo, tama rah ah nay

                                  Tenor, ray whoo, tama rah ah nay

                                         Baritone, ray whoo, tama rah ah nay

                                                           Bass, ray whoo tama rah ah nay

As each voice group finishes the phrase they start again.

My instincts tell me that this will create a resonance between the Key Crystals, and the Cave of Giant Crystals.

On a quick side note, the Cave of Giant Crystals began to grow about the same time as the last Harmonic Convergence, some 5.000 years ago.

In the meantime, all of us can spread words of love and cooperation through our words and actions.  Celebrate and be Thankful that we are the ones to usher in the next Age of Mankind.

I do not claim to know everything, and so I welcome anything that you, patient reader, may have to share on this subject.

Namaste, God Bless, So Mote It Be, Shalom, Salaam.  Let us sing the praises of our Deity (ies), and speak Gratitude for their Love and Generosity.

Nursing Home Halloween

Once upon a time, not so long ago in my family’s history, my parents were already separated, and Mum was working three part-time jobs to support us. We already knew quite a few of the patients, we went there after school and played with the patients until Mum was finished with work and all four of us walked home together. 

 

Often we would stop at the house and get our silver-and-black Alsatian (German Shepherd), Tina and take her to the nursing home, where she would make the rounds, visiting with every patient that responded to her presence.  I still remember her sitting by the side of someone confined to a wheelchair and resting her head on their lap, they would beam and stroke her gently.

 

I think the supervisors turned a blind eye to our visits and our dog’s because the visits became something for the patients to look forward to.  When we would arrive in the dayroom, there would standing room only of the folks that came to called Grandma or Grandpa, play with ‘grandkids’, and pet the dog instead of sitting in their rooms waiting to pass over.

 

One of my personal favourites was Grandma Buddha, with her crown of silver braids that wrapped around her head twice, she would chatter blissfully away in Hungarian and I would sit next her nodding and smiling.

 

I learned my first word in Hungarian when our cat Toulouse followed us all the way to nursing home, and in as well.  Grandma Buddha took one look at Toulouse’s handsome steel blue and silvery white markings and his wide bright golden yellow eyes, and began calling, “Macska!”

 

Toulouse found visiting the nursing home to be delightful, He, too, like Tina, would go from patient to patient, and be petted and called by the names of cats long-since gone on to be rosebushes and memories.

 

Halloween came and we needed costumes for school, as well as for trick-or-treating.  We didn’t have the money to buy the costumes so Mum got creative. I was Holly Hobbie, replete with the bonnet that Holly wore, brim stiffened with a paper grocery bag.

 

My brother Matt became a small, slender Frankenstein, who wheezed his way through school and trick-or-treating, before going to the hospital to get injected with Adrenaline, and then Susferin, before he and I stayed up all night, watching spooky movies and laughing at them.

 

Jim had the costume of the year, at the nursing home, at school and trick-or-treating.  Mum had gone through the nursing home’s bedding, and torn the poorest of the sheets into strips, she used these to wrap Jim, who was clad in pink long johns, left over from the year he went as a baby.

 

When Mum finished wrapping Jim he started walking down the hall in the Nursing Home, known as “Bare-A## Manor”, one of our favourite patients, Leila, took one look at Jim and pointed a long, slender chocolate coloured finger at him while going, “Oohh!  Oohh!  Oohh!  Oohh!!!  Babybabybaby…” 

 

Jim went over close to our friend and Leila patted his wrappings and murmured wordless distress for almost five minutes before she lost interest, and began trying to free herself to wander the halls in the altogether.

 

I’ve Been Decked!!

Now, those of you who have been reading my various posts know of my predilection

for ‘woo-woo’stuff. One of those things are Tarot Cards.  I picked up my first deck

when I was 13 years old.  If I still had them, my oldest deck would be 36 years old

come autumn.

 

Well, I no longer have just one deck; I now own 38 different Tarot decks.  Mum and Matt keep their eyes peeled for decks that I don’t have, so it was time to check on all of my decks, and make a list of all of them and print it up so Matt can carry it in his wallet for quick checks whilst out and about.

 

So, with little fanfare, and a lot of work, here is my list of Tarot decks (and a couple of other variants of the premise of the Tarot:

 

1&2: Medicine Woman Tarot (both decks were gifts so I won’t give

one to someone else)-These cards have a lovely style of artwork,

and have made the switch from European symbols to Native

American beliefs and thought patterns.

 

3: Celtic Dragon Tarot- I am a freak for Dragons, I even created a dragon alter ego to carry

the power I don’t wish to yield.  I am also part Irish, from County Cork, not too far from

County Meath and the Hill of Tara.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4: Fantastical Creatures Tarot- My next to newest deck, I also bought the deck for my

uber-friend Shiloh, who uses them well as a tool for her writing.  There is something

delightful about knowing that she has the same exact thing I have, it shortens the land

miles between us to the space of a thought racing along the myelin sheath of a neuron.

 

5: Shape Shifter Tarot- I have had a decades-long fascination with the idea of

Shape Shifting, whether it be the European, Oriental, Pacific Islander, African

or Native American.  I feel most resonant with the versions where, through a

lifetime of Spiritual Learning and practice

one can re-create the essence of what they are Shifting to. 

 

6: Zen Osho Tarot- Definitely one to meditate upon, full of the clear images of

Buddhism, I don’t often use this deck, which is a pity, because I will never

grow familiar with the cards

if I don’t use them. 

 

7: Rider-Waite Tarot- My oldest deck, a gift from my Grandmother DeShaw

 in 1978-79.  I use this deck for a here-and-now readings.  It is excellent for the

“Will I get the job/girl/raise/grades that I want?” sort of layouts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8: The Gifts of the

Goddess Tarot- I

have yet to crack

these cards, the

time is not yet here

for that.  I must

trust in The God

and Goddess to

show me when.

 

9: The Answer

Deck- My brother

 Matt found this

deck and thought

them amusing and

he is right.  For

someone who has

read the tarot for

over 2/3 of her life,

this is more of a

teaching tool than

one of divination.

 

10: Rune Stones-

I bought a set and

quickly discovered

that Runes and I

don’t mix well. 

They’re still around

 because I refuse

to throw away or

get rid of

something that is

perfectly useable. 

Perhaps one day

when the Earth

signs in my

horoscope are

active I’ll play with

them some more.

 

11: Power Thought Cards- A delightfully illustrated deck of positive affirmation cards, just pull

one out and meditate on the meaning and symbolism.

 

12: Yoga Cards- Learn yoga from the cards, when I have the space to try them, I’m sure I’ll

have a ball with them.

 

13: Arthurian Legend Tarot- I am a born, dyed in the wool lifelong hopeful romantic.  Why

wouldn’t the Arthurian Cycle also fascinate me?  The cards are beautifully illustrated, and are

a rich tapestry of symbolism and the Arthurian Legend.  I take then out and just wander

through them from time to time, letting them sink into my subconscious.

 

With that sort of propensity, and having grown up with all of the usual children’s books, as

well as the books that Mum read to us, Shakespeare, this amazing coffee table book on

Greek Mythology, as well as the books she deemed tame enough for our tender little psyches. 

 

She had a helluva time with me, I have always been a voracious reader, and so I was perhaps

10 or 11 when I first read William Peter Blatty’s “The Exorcist”.  Not long after that was

when I discovered lecherous limericks, they became a method to cope with helping Mum

study Microbiology, Internal Parasites to be exact, over a plate of spaghetti.

 

14: Egyptian Tarot- I saw this deck at a yard sale in Oregon and had to have them, fortunately

everything was priced to go, so I was able to afford them.  They are done in the linear style

of pen and ink, and were simply black lines on white paper.  I say were because I am slowly

colouring in the cards in the shades I deem appropriate.

 

15: Classic Tarot- A brighter hued version of the Rider-Waite deck, it was part of a kit that

Matt found me and it came replete with a bright purple silk scarf to wrap the cards in and

lay them on when doing a reading.

 

16: Tarot of Atlantis- A deck yet to be explored.

 

17: Gypsy Witch Cards-These were originally my Great-Grandmother DuBay’s and they were

passed down to me after she passed on.  I come by my talents naturally, my Great-Grandfather

Myers and my Great-Great-Grandfather ‘Big Joe’ DuBay were both Faith Healers, and

Grandma DuBay told fortunes with a poker deck of cards.  She stopped after she predicted

someone’s death.

 

18 Healing With The Angels Oracle Deck- Mum found these for me and they are beautifully

illustrated in a variety of styles.  This is a deck for comfort and acceptance; I use a simplified

form of bibliomancy (fortune-telling with a book) to choose a card to meditate on.

 

19: World’s Smallest Tarot Deck-These were a gift from my Middle Brother and his sweetie, the cards themselves are smaller than my pinkie fingernail so I leave them be for fear of losing one.  LOL

 

20: Wheel of Change Tarot- Another deck I’ve used very little, although they are visually attractive

 

21: The Baseball Tarot-I bought this deck thinking that men would relate to this interpretation.

 

22: The Aquarian Tarot- Another deck that I bought simply because of the artwork on the cards.  They lack the symbols that other decks are rich with, hence they read very simplistically.

 

23: Native American Tarot- I feel very drawn to the Native American Peoples, family legend

has us descended from a French Explorer in the early 1700’s, that befriended, then married

into and finally was a chief of the Northern Michigan Chippewa peoples.

 

24: Magic of Numbers Oracle- I am not a math whiz by any road, but, what can I say?  They

were on sale!!!

 

25: Cards of Nostradamus-The same here, clearance sale finds.  This one has since been given

 some oomph, thanks to Matt buying me a book on the Prophecies of Nostradamus.

 

26: Well-Worn Path Cards-Tarot with a Wiccan Base, one to use when I am meditating on

concepts of the Wiccan Practices.

 

27: The Fairies Oracle- How could I resist a deck surrounded with Fairy Lore, and

amazing artwork for my eyes to pore over and squint at.

 

28 The Lost Zodiac- Not really a Tarot deck per se, it is a deck illustrating a number of

constellations not represented in the traditional 12-sign Horoscope, each of these

constellations is attached to a specific decanate (10 degrees) of a Sun Sign.

 

29: Matt bought The Mayan Oracle Deck- There is no book so I am taking a quick course

in Mayan astrology so I can ‘read’ the cards correctly.

 

30: Magic Cards of the Russian Sybil- How could I not get this deck??  I bought them mainly

because of Heather Blakey’s alter ego Sybil.

 

31: The Dream Kit- A combination of cards, book, journal, and Dream Catcher, to help you

record, understand and eventually ‘own’ your Dream Life.

 

32: Tarot Dice- The whole Tarot put onto dice you roll, instead of the

shuffle-and-concentrate-on-your-question bit with the cards.

 

33: Antique (1924) French Tarot Deck- These were waiting patiently in a nearby Antique

Shop for me.  The cards are en Francaise, which tickles me to no end.

 

34: The Magical Menagerie-A deck of magical and mystical creatures, designed to help

people ‘see’ their Spirit Guides.

 

35: Druid Animal Oracle- Your Spirit Guides, with a Celtic/Druidic twist.  Another deck

better for meditation than divination

 

36: The Llewellyn Tarot- A reworking of the classic Tarot deck, by one of the leading

suppliers of magical books and tools.

 

38: Babylonian Tarot- I bought this deck for one lone card.  Once when I was getting

overexcited a friend said, “Down Tiamat!” when I saw that this deck had Tiamat in it

had to have it!  LOL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

39:  Thoth-Crowley

 Tarot- These are

my workhorse cards

second hand, beat

up and chinchilla

chewed, they are

worn to a velvety

texture; these are

the cards I use for

in-depth readings. 

I use these and the

Classic deck

almost exclusively. 

The Classic Tarot

deck is a practical,

 real world

questions deck,

and the

Thoth-Crowley

deck is very

in-depth for

spiritual questions

and learning.

 

 

The Duenna’s Journal

The Duenna’s Journal

 

This cruise has been amazing.  Eldest Sister was right when she told us how to get what we wanted from Matriarch. Right now all four of them are piled into the feather bed and Eldest Sister is telling them a story.  It is one that she wrote for her brothers and sister.  I must admit she does tell a good tale, and this is one she was inspired to create.

 

I remember so clearly when she wrote it.  Matriarch was busily touring the Estates, and would brook no ‘interference’ from the ‘Children’ as she called them, although three of them were of marriageable age.

 

All of us were lounging around her rooms, and she was writing, swiftly that she had ink dots all over her hands.  She would write, the pen scratching like a hurried mouse, and then read what she had written out loud to us.

 

This is her tale:

“Once upon a time a lovely and wise fairy was travelling through the worlds and she stopped at a particularly beautiful world.  There were flowers blooming in riotous colours; creeping along the ground, weighing down the bushes they were a part of, creeping with their ivy up the trees, which were full of blossoms as well.

 

Clear, sweet water rippled over smooth pebbles in rainbow shades, and pale tinted water flowers floated in the still places.  The breezes were soft and fragrant from all of the blooms, and the grasses that waved a lively greeting to the sun, sky, and clouds.

 

All day this fairy wandered this quiet world and found no animals, not so much a butterfly, or wee lizard.  She felt this to be very sad, and she knew she could not leave the world as lonely as it was now.  She began to make living things to inhabit and enjoy this world.

 

She stood in the water, and cupped handfuls up, breathing across the surface with loving magic.  Each handful became a fish that leapt from her hands into the water, and swam away with bubbling flourishes of their tails.  Some of them became coloured by the westering suns, and other were touched by the rainbows, and others were of the night sky, glistening black as they joined their brethren in the waters of life.

 

All night she rested, until the suns broke free of the tree line and spread their golden light through the branches of the trees.  From these little rays of dawn light she made wee birds, who then chose safe branches to sit on and sing.  And sing they did, filling the once-silent air with gaiety and music.

 

Other birds she made from flowers, gently kissing each bloom into brilliant life.  These birds flew higher and deeper into the forest, and the raucous calls they made to one another echoed back to the fairy, and she knew it was good.

 

 By evening she had finished all manner of flying creatures, not just birds, but insects, bats, and small furry things that spread their sides out and sailed on air currents from one tree to another.  She slept on the soft grass while night birds called softly from the shadows of the forest.

 

The world was alive the next morn, birds were seeking fruit or insects for their breakfast, and the fish slipped through the waters, one would occasionally leap from the water surrounded by crystalline drops of water, then splash back into their home leaving froth and bubbles behind them.

 

This day, the fairy began to make creatures that crawled on the land, she plaited ropes of grass, long and sinuous, and called them snakes, and scatterings of small twigs were made into worms to care for the soil.  Leaves she fashioned into lizard of all sorts, while water lily pads became frogs to live at the water’s edge.  Evening found her watching the frogs and lizards settle themselves in for the night.

 

Tonight she had the night birds, the frogs, and toads singing her to sleep, and a light mist softened the outlines of everything.  She dreamt of small furry things, skittering through the grasses and hiding beneath fallen leaves and grey-green mosses.

 

The new morning couldn’t come soon enough for the fairy, she was that full of ideas and plans for the daylight hours. She watched the coming dawn, awed by the slow advance of the light, in pastels clinging to the horizon in soft layers.

 

From wee clumps of moss, and flower heads she made the small, scurrying things that live in the safety of shadows and darkness.  She gathered the fluff of grasses and made tree dwellers from them, long strips of bark she breathed life into and they became weasels, and rabbits.

 

She fell asleep that night, planning larger lives for the morrow, ones that would live longer than a season or two, and could be seen from a distance.  Some of them she knew would be challenging, and that she would love them more for it.

 

At first light she began, taking the pinks of dawn and fashioning a flock of birds to feed in the shallows on long black legs.  The early morning sky grew wings and stood still at the water’s edge, one leg aloft and waiting for an unwary fish.

 

From the barks of trees she fashioned things like foxes, fleet of foot and fearless of heart, eyes shining like black pebbles under water.  At the edge of am endless grassland, she found a half-burned log and from this she made the first badgers, their long, low bodies camouflaged in the shadows, and long, sharp claws so right for digging.

 

The arch of a tree limb delighted her, and with those images she awakened the first antelope and deer, from lumbering hillocks of dark soil came the first buffalo.  She held her breath in wonder as they thundered across the grasses.

 

Another tree gave birth to the horse, that glorious beast, imbued with power, grace, and beauty.  From the bleached bones of an ancient oak she brought to life elk, stately and impressive, their racks spread over 10 feet from tip-to-tip.

 

A long golden rock was stroked into a big cat, lounging in the sun with a full belly.  The depthless golden eyes and disturbingly large, sharp teeth proved that this species does not eat grasses or leaves.

 

The scud of dark clouds racing along the horizon, followed by a loud, mournful wind were her wolves.  All the colours of clouds, with all-knowing eyes, the wolves howled to the moons sailing across the evening sky.

 

That night the fairy’s dreams were amorphous; yet clear as a dewdrop in the early morning sun.  She knew that this was to be wondrous, with a magic, allure and beauty unmatched by any other animal.  Something warm, soft, and gentle, to snuggle close and delight in their presence.

 

Through the day the fairy searched for the basis for this wonderful life that begged for life.  Was it from the froth of the waterfalls?  No, not there.

 

Could it be from the long curls of shredded bark, so artfully hanging from the tree?  Her dream-creature was not there either.

 

All day she searched, finding not the beginnings of the new life waiting to be born.  She sat in a wee glade, feeling dejected and helpless.

 

She picked up a fluff if thistledown, rubbing it into a lithe form full of grace and energy.  She thought of the creature from her dream, the sweet buttings of silken fur and moist noses.  In her mind she could her the song? Of this life, a soft rhythmic rumble that was soothing and hypnotic.

 

She felt the fur she held in her dreams, and warmth under that.  There was a small, graceful form with dainty feet, weighting her hand down.  Now she could see the most amazing eyes; clear, and in glowing colours, the shades of precious jewels.

 

A sweet trill of sound made her open her eyes, there, sitting in her palm was the first cat.  As soft and white as thistledown, with whiskers made of spider webs.  The eyes were the exact colour of sapphires, and looking up at her in adoration.

 

And this, my dears, is the tale of the Thistle Down Cat. “

 

Eldest Sister put down the journal and looked around her.  Everyone, even the Duenna were curled together on the bed, sleeping blissfully.  Eldest Sister’s face was full of love as she put the journal to one side before turning off the lamp and snuggled closer to her family.

 

The Thistle Down Cats

Favourite Frights

 

Before I take off on one of my babbles, I should perhaps give a little… explanation on my scale for rating films. 

First-Will I watch it again?

Second-How many times do I realistically see myself watching it in the future?

Third- If I have seen it more than once, have I discovered more in the film after the first viewing?

Fourth- Will anyone else in the family want to see it in the future?

Fifth-Am I willing to buy this DVD?

Sixth-Do I want to insist on normal over wide-screen format?

Seventh-Am I willing to pay $15.99-$19.99 for the DVD?

Eighth-Do I add it to my Wish List” of CD’s and DVD’s?

 

So, without further ado-

Gwenerrella’s

                       Favourite

Frights

 

 

In past years, for Halloween, I have listed the top scary movies, according to the film industry.  Since that isn’t as much fun the second time around, this year, I will list some of my top scary movies.

 

Here are my favourite movie frights, in no particular order:

 

 

“The Birds” and “Psycho”, Alfred Hitchcock knew what he was doing, he could scare the bejabbers out of me without any gore, or special effects, his films continue to be much better than a lot of the ‘new’ horror films. 

 

Watching the playground equipment being covered with patient, waiting birds with the children singing so fearlessly in the schoolhouse.  Knowing the whole time the children are singing they are fated to become bird-bait, it was the not knowing the when that kept me glued Hitchcock’s films.

 

Anthony Perkins’ skilful handling of his character still gives me the willies.  The cinematography is stunning (but then, the scenes of his films are normally full of realistic details and enticing distractions), there are images from both films that are indelibly etched on the retinas of memory.

 

“Rosemary’s Baby” again, all the special effects won’t save a weak story.  And an almost complete lack of them won’t matter to a well-told, and acted story.  This is another one of those forget-that-I-have-‘pause’-on-my-remote films.

 

It doesn’t matter how many times I watch “Rosemary’s Baby”, I am still thrilled and chilled in the best of ways by this film.  If someone is ever self-destructive enough to make a remake of this, I think a lot of people will boycott it.

 

“The Omen”, only the original one will do!!  Gregory Peck is too skilled of a performer, and the story is far too compelling to ignore.  Lee Remick is so lovely and fragile, I still feel it was a mercy that she had passed before all Hell broke loose!  (I know, bad, bad pun!!)

 

My brothers and I have/had a head for meanness, although we have wisely channelled it into a love of horror films.  Every time we see the photographer’s head cut off we can’t help but cheer in gory delight.

 

“The Exorcist”, of course, who hasn’t been seduced by the slow advance of little Regan’s possession?  It starts with such innocuous things, a scratching in the attic, and cold drafts.  And we are transfixed by Regan’s transformation from an innocent to a beast, how can we leave, until we know that the girl has been saved from the ‘Dark Side’? 

 

My family saw “The Exorcist” at the Drive-in, my brothers were 12 and 11, and I was 14.  My brothers spent most of the film hiding under the front seat.  Mum had taken us on the promise we wouldn’t have nightmares.  The only way I kept that promise was by not going to sleep. *laughing shamefacedly*

 

“Silent Hill”, I still can’t watch that film, one scene was that distressing to me.  It was so distressing that I jumped from my chair onto Mum’s bed and got a death-grip on her hand!!  It was these… these… things, I still don’t know if they were mutant rats or cockroaches, but they gave me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies!

 

 Me, the one that thought fresh mountain lion hairball in our campsite was cool; or the time I knew we were less than 20 feet from a black bear, we had nothing to defend us and I remained mostly calm; I crawled into bed with my Mummy and shivered like a lost puppy!

 

“Jaws”, there is one scene in there that scared the stuffin’s out of me!!  Brody and Hooper are out searching for the guilty fish of mythic proportions.  They run across a local’s boat, battered and capsized in the dark and misty sea.

 

Hooper goes in for a peek and the man’s chewed head pops out of the hull right at him.  I would have freaked under those circumstances as well.  That was one big toothy Hooper found stuck in the wood of the boat’s hull!

 

“The Hills Have Eyes”, the original one!!  I live in a desert like the location in the film.  It was a while before I stopped watching the foothills with a wary eye.  It was even longer until I would go kiting off on my own in the desert!!

 

“Phantasm”  ‘The Tall Man’ (Angus Scrimm) still hides in the shadows of my psyche, and awaits his chance to lope to the fore and cry in that otherworldly roar, “Boy!”  *shivering eloquently*

 

There is, in the horror film genre, an almost ubiquitous theme is the one with the bogeymen that only children can see, until it is too late. This film is one of the earlier versions of the theme; this is one of the few I bought for full DVD price without a qualm.

 

“The Silence of the Lambs”, “Hannibal”, and “Hannibal Rising” were all excellent, Anthony Hopkins brought Hannibal Lecter to full-bodied 4-dimensional being with his usual his usual skill and believability.

 

One year, for Valentine’s Day, my then-husband bought two tickets to see “Hannibal” at the local theatre.  I loved this gift, and we prepared to watch the sequel to “The Silence of the Lambs” with great excitement and relish. 

 

We were glued to the screen throughout most of the film.  When Hannibal starts cooking up the one man’s brain, slicing from the forebrain first; my husband, Jim, leaned over, and in a carrying stage whisper asked, “Is this what they mean by brain food?”  We were the only ones to find it funny.

 

“Hannibal Rising” was excellent, and gave us a peel into the mind of Hannibal the Cannibal.  I’ve been glued to it every time I’ve watched it.  The young man they cast as the early Hannibal was impressive, and one becomes even more sympathetic to Hannibal, despite his… ahem… quirks.

 

I think my last one (for now) will be “Alien”, my first peek into that film was via ‘Omni’ magazine; they published an article about the designer of the alien, H. R. Giger.  Giger is a very talented artist, whose work is stylised, mechanised and erotically sensuous at the same time.

 

I was waiting with impatient delight, awaiting the entrance of the mature alien.  Then John Hurt’s character began thrashing on the dining table, before, shriek, the baby alien is born!!

 

Thank you to those who are still reading my babbles!  I would truly like to see your ‘Favourite Frights’.

The Haunted Pool

 

             I live in a ‘Retirement Community’, in other

         words, the median age is about 70 years old. 

         So needless to say, the life expectancy of

          tenants  isn’t the same as it would be in

          a ‘college complex’ or ‘family

          neighbourhood’. 

 

The amenities include a pool, Jacuzzi,

small private gym, computer room,

library, and a dining hall for get

-togethers and the ubiquitous

Bingo game once a week.

 

Being the age that they are, the tenants

rarelyuse the pool on the evening or

the night.  That is when we young folks

can laze in the pool or Jacuzzi and visit

in almost complete privacy, except for

 the regular walk-throughs  by on-site

security.

 

I tell you this everyday minutiae so you

understand how a pool for about 400

people can be empty at 8 p.m. or so.

 

Not too long ago, my brother Matt,

his ex-wife Doreen, and I went down

to the pool area and availed ourselves

of both the Jacuzzi and pool.  Being

 the only ones there we sat in

companionable silence in the Jacuzzi. 

I try to take my cameras everywhere

I go, because you never know when a

picture will be there.

 

I took some night shots of the

landscaping, Jacuzzi, and pool

before we returned to the house

and showered prior to sleeping

like a trio of logs.

 

When I downloaded the pictures

 and went through them, I wasn’t

terribly surprised at some of the

shots being too dark, but one of the

photos held a  startling scene:

I counted no less than 10 orbs

floating over the pool in this shot!

 

I am sure that were I to listen at

night when the wind is right, I could

hear voices chatting and laughter

 between people that are no

 longer there.

A Local Urban Legend

My friend Shiloh, you remember Shiloh, wrote a post requesting readers to share local urban legends.

http://sunnydreamer.net/octo-dec2008/urban-legend.shtml

 

Here in ‘Aridzona’ we have two legends;  La Llorona, and the Lost Dutchman.  Today, I’ll brave La Llorona.

La Llorona

The story begins innocently enough (don’t they all begin that way?), with a lovely young widow, and her two children.  Her hair was still thick, glossy and midnight black, and her eyes were limpid pools of deepest chocolate.

 

One sweltering summer day she took her children to a small, spring-fed pool in the desert.  Being a constant source of water, the pool was ringed with Desert Willows and Palo Verdes.  As she sat on a warm flat rock her children romped joyously in the water.

 

The sound carried to a young, and darkly handsome young man riding by.  He stopped to water his horse at the pool, and introduced himself to the widow.  The couple (as usual) fell hear over ears in love with one another.

 

The young man’s ardor cooled noticably when he discovered that the ninos were the widow’s.  The foolish young woman thought herself to be madly in love with the stranger, and saw her children as an impediment to her happiness.

 

When the young man ( her ‘Conquistador‘) settled in for an afternoon siesta, she went to work.  Clad in only her light linen chemise she joined her children in the water.  When their little heads were turned, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and held them under the water until they weren’t moving at all.

 

“¡Mi dios mi amor!!  What have you done??”  The young man had slept well, and awakened with the joyous  realisation that the ninos needed a padre as much as the widow needed a new esposo.  He had risen and come to tell the widow that he would love her children as deeply as he loved her.

 

To his horror, the widow stood bosom-deep in the pool, still holding the bodies of her ninos pobres under water.  She turned to him with not a single tear on her face and spole, “Now nothing will stand in the way of our happiness.”

 

“¡Mi dios!  How could I ever love someone who could murder their own children??”  The man staggered towards his mount and rode away, never to be seen again.

 

As for the widow… well… she looked at the bodies of her children and went muy loco.  She took the trailing arms of the willows and plaited them into a rope as she wailed for her children and her lost love.  When the rope was long enough she hung herself from the tallest palo verde.

 

To this day, if you sit quietly by the canals, rivers and lakes, or a spring-fed pool, you can hear her still, wailing and searching for the children she murdered, and the love she destroyed with her selfishness.

My Li’l Buddy

Should I name her AMM?

A few months ago my brother Matt was junketing with Mum and found this delightful gargoyle, and said he knew it was supposed to be mine.

For those that aren’t familiar with the term, ‘junketing’ is what we call shopping in the second hand stores.  We might go a couple months without junketing, but when we want  to go junketing, we usually find something that is ‘perfect’ for a member of the family and family by choice.

Whether it is an elephant for Matt, a cat for Mum, a Wolf for me, and so on, or a book that we can get at an amazing price ($4 for a like-new hardcover copy of a favourite author) junketing is a pastime for so many of the family that we will swap tales of what we found like some people trade anecdotes or bad jokes.

Anywhooodlz, as soon as I saw this gargoyle (I know it isn’t a guy-goyle-gggrrrrrooooooaaaaannnnnnn!!!) I fell in love with her, she sits to my left on my desk, and oversees everything that goes on in my bedroom/home office/den/library.

Just In Time For The Full Moon

I have my second video up and running, in time for the full Moon, I present to you:

 

Werewolves!!

http://video.fotki.com/GwenGuin/

 

Enjoy my dears!

Halloween’s A-Comin’

It’s October again, and we all know what that means:

HALLOWEEN!!!

This year I am doing something fairly new for me: I am doing some brief (for me) photomontages set to music on the constants of Halloween.  I have finished the first one and it can be viewed at:

http://video.fotki.com/GwenGuin/

I hope you enjoy this, I had a ball getting it just so.

The Portal In My Front Yard- Pt. II

The Portal In My Front Yard- Pt. II

 

As we sat over dinner, the conversation fell to everyday things; when to hunt, was the stream drying up, would the harvest hold them through the winter.  It was after this that the Shaman rose and motioned me to follow him along a rough, dim passageway deeper into the mountain.

 

We passed lovely cave paintings, deer rendered with consummate grace, the wolfdogs were chasing a herd of shaggy buffalo closer to hunters, whose every line was taut with waiting.

 

A group of women bent to the harvest with love and gratitude to the Great Mother.  A startlingly real lion snarled from a shadow, so alive I had to pause and admire it further.

 

“Oh this is beautifully rendered!!”  I couldn’t help but follow the lines with a wondering fingertip.

 

There were small bowls, painstakingly chipped and rubbed smooth from stone, each with a different earth-toned paint in them.  I dipped a fingertip in one and drew the eyes of an owl, and then I added the beak, the sleek form of a perched owl, and a sturdy branch for him to perch on.

 

“Yes, your ancestress painted some of these, and her mothers before her.  I see you know of your Spirit Guides.”

 

“Yes, Owl came to me when I was born.”

 

“Come with me, I have much to show you before morning.  Your familiars have caught up with us, and now they will not get lost.”

 

I followed him to a small room carved into the stone, just large enough for the two of us to sit cross-legged on the floor with a tiny fire between us.  Pye and Skye each claimed a portion of my lap and settled for a snooze.

 

He began to hum, forcing the air to resonate on his sinuses, I joined in; when my cats felt my humming they began to purr to the rhythm of the Shaman.

 

I could feel myself slipping into a light trance and I let it happen; the Shaman spoke without words: “For you to continue, you must know how your kind came to be.”

 

I began to see images, slowly focussing and growing closer.  I was on a lovely, large tropical island, and there were two distinct forms of humanoids, there were the cavemen-type, standing straight and proud.

 

 I was closer to the second kind, tall, smooth skinned, and clothed in flowers, grey-blue tattoos and a woven skirt in the shades of a tropical sunset.  I wore necklaces, bracelets and anklets made of shells and coral, with pearls scattered amongst them.  As I moved through the throngs of people the shells clinked together making a quiet tune to my movements.  

 

We were on the shore, where enormous canoes of tree trunks, woven lashings and tar rode the waves with comfortable grace.  They were decorated with garlands of flowers, woven so closely together that the petals of one blossom crowded the next.  Their sails were painted with sigils of protection and signs of peace large enough to be seen from a great distance.

 

I was handed into the largest canoe, with a mixed crew of the cavemen types sitting on either side of me.  A great portion of the canoe was taken up by foodstuffs, both for the coming journey and as gifts for the people where we going to. There were living animals tethered in another canoe, and a third was heavy with the handiwork of the people.

 

Carvings, painted wooden plaques, shell and stone jewellery were neatly stacked along with woven platters, bowls and colourful screens.  Piles of brightly dyed, soft, woven cloth painted rainbows in the belly of another canoe.  There were some bowls, cups and mortars with pestles smoothed from stone in yet another canoe. 

 

The journey was begun; the crew and I sang songs to the stars as we rowed across an ocean of impossibly blue depths, and lazy swells were pushing us toward our goal.  More often than not, the wind was in our favour and we could hoist sail and tend the canoes themselves.

 

Gradually the weather became rougher, and the water coldly green; we passed a headland and breathed a sigh of relief for we knew the most dangerous part of our journey had been passed.  The skies cleared and the water changed again, now a lovely deep green, warm and beckoning.

 

Soon a smudge appeared on the horizon, after three days of rowing we could see the island, surrounded by an almost impenetrable brackish marsh.  We were met by one of the tall, smooth-skinned humanoids, a handsome, passionate man commanding a seemingly gigantic craft of his own.  The sturdy wooden sides were carved and painted with complex symbols and the Matrons of the ship were carved, painted and set onto the prow of every ship.

 

He and I spoke at some length, about the time being short and this would be the last chance for ‘them’ to stay.  Those that had come to love the cavemen and their world as I had, didn’t want to leave this world and travel to one we did not know, not even though we had been assured that we would be welcomed.

 

He agreed, and said that he would gather those that did not want to leave, and they would follow us to the island I called ‘home’.  Within two days there was a fleet of some dozen boats, all dwarfing my beloved flotilla of canoes.  At last the man that I had spoken with reappeared, with the final two craft.

 

We spoke again in length, and at last agreed that if the commanders and crew of the other vessels took some of the natives of ‘my’ island to wife or husband, their acceptance would come more easily to his people, by my people.

 

I agreed, and the men of his people asked how they would need to take my people to wife; I explained that they would need to pay a bride-price to her family and then ‘steal’ her in a ritual that culminated with their wedding feast.

 

The women asked how they could tell a man of my people that they desired to be taken as his bride.  I explained about how a bride’s value was determined by what she could bring into the marriage.  A woman showed a man the many things she could bring to the marriage, all of them made by her hand.  She showed these to the man she desired, and then, if he desired her, he would speak to her family about the bride-price.

 

Most women’s’ bride-prices were in goods, servants, and property; a very, very few were valuable enough to merit not only the usual price, but an additional price to be paid to the bride herself in precious stones, metals, and such.

 

I watched happily through the return journey as my men took the other women to wife, and the women of my people promised to show their goods to one man or another of the shining ones.  Soon, the crews were no longer separate peoples, but one crew spanning many vessels.

 

Through all of this I desired the commander of the fleet I led to my home, the first man that had met us at his island.  I did not offer to show him my goods, for I was sure he desired another woman, one both lovelier and younger than I.

 

Each day I expected to be asked to arbitrate their marriage, which I would do gladly for the love of them and of our people.  We were counting the days until we would see my home shining in the sweet seas; the shining ones had nearly ceased to think of themselves as different, and were gradually becoming native in their lifestyle and values.

 

The first time a shining one was swimming and was greeted joyously by a dolphin was perhaps my happiest day.  It was the first time I had seen wonder on an shining one’s face, and the joy on all of their faces as an enormous pod, almost 200 strong, of dolphins led our fleet across the blue waters, were like a heady drug for me and I stood in my canoe, singing to the dolphins in the natives’ language.  The dolphins’ easy acceptance of the shining ones augured well for the success of this journey.

 

My home was a cloud on the horizon when we saw the flames of the shining ones’ people that were returning home, their airships rose impossibly high and then joined the stars in the heavens.  Everyone sang a song of farewell as the airships disappeared.

 

After this we were impatient to reach our home and feel solid ground beneath our feet again.    The crew was impatient, and redoubled their efforts to gain the shore soon.  As I sat in my canoe, and read the skies for direction the commander of the fleet sidled his personal vessel close to mine and bade me join him in his quarters.

 

After I had boarded his vessel, and greeted many of the crew, we wthdrew to his quarters; he bade me sit upon his hammock and he sat beside me.  He started speaking slowly, with a few false starts;  “I hope this will not offend you…” He ran shaking fingers through his hair.

 

“I have been watching you through this voyage, and now I must ask this of you.  Would you tell me your bride-price, that I may win you as my own.”

 

He opened a small, ornate chest and held a handful of shimmering golden chains, bracelets and suchlike out to me.  “This I will pay to you, and everything I have I will offer to your family when we have arrived home.”

 

My heart sang so that I could not speak for a moment, and I had to swallow many times before I could force any words out.  “I am shocked, I had long ago expected you to ask for someone else.”

 

“Am I not offering enough?”  He sounded genuinely hurt.

 

“It is not that.  I have no bride-price, for I have no family to ask it of.  I have been an orphan since I was born, and was raised by everyone.”  I covered my face to hide my shame.

 

“I knew your sire, he was the first of us to take a native to wife.  He was driven out of the shining ones’ for this, and sought shelter among the natives.”  He lifted my face and smiled.  “Among shining ones, your bride-price would be one of the highest, for your father was founder of both the shining ones’ island and your island.  I only dared ask your bride price because my father also founded the shining ones’ island.”

 

“I will be honoured to show you my goods when we reach Lemuria.”  I kissed both of his cheeks and smiled back at him.  We returned to the deck and as soon as the crew saw the chain around my neck they began shouting and cheering.

 

The next evening we arrived at Lemuria, and everyone poured onto the beach to welcome us.  Fathers greeted new sons-in-law and mothers clasped new daughters-in-law to their chest, all of this done with noisy laughter, a great deal of embracing, and more than a few tears of happiness.

 

I stood on the beach of home and watched my ‘family’ grow larger by the second and I felt I should glow with happiness.  When everyone was beckoned towards a feast that was cooking in giant pits of glowing coals and in kettles on the edges of the fire I joined them, laughing, dancing and singing along the path to the village.

 

The feast lasted until almost dawn, with stories of the Journey being shared and performed around the fire-pit.  As many of the people retired to their homes I approached the Matron of our people.

 

I asked her permission to show my beloved my many goods.  I also showed her the golden chain I wore around my neck and told her of the chest full of such things he had offered to me.

 

“Tell your young man that your bride price will be this:  I ask him to send his ships around the world to seed oour people everywhere, but.”  She held up a hand to silence me.

 

“He must remain here, with you, to become the leaders of our people.  Together, man and woman as it is meant to be.  With you as the next Matron I can go easily to the stars, knowing that my family will be cared for with love and honour.  Now. Show your mate your goods, as I saw you come from his quarters on his ship, I could tell that he has already taken you to wife.”

 

In the years that followed my mate and I watched the population of our island grow great enough for seeding many times.  Each time we sent another boat filled with those to seed our world with the children of the shining ones we did so with joyous songs and days long celebrations.

 

Although I never brought a child to our union my mate and I were happy in the knowledge that we were doing the best for our combined peoples, and our adopted world.  We would never know if our ‘seeding’ flourished or no, we could only pray that it was so.

 

After many years my mate returned to the stars and as I sang his body to the deeps my spirit knew that he and I would meet again one day, and that we would know the joy of our bond once again.

 

I came back to the little stone room, and felt the tears soaking my face, yet I did not feel sad, but blessed to know my beginnings on our world.

 

“I need not ask if you saw what you needed to, I can see that you did.”  The Shaman reached out, caught one teardrop on a fingertip and kissed it reverently.

To be continued:

 

 

Ahoy!!!

Now then me hearties.

 

Are ye in th’ way o’ knowin’ what a Pirate’s favourite music is?

 

*Ahem*

 

What else could it be but…

 

Aaaaarrrrrrrrr-d rock.

 

*slowly polishing my battered halo*

My first spirit animal was found at a very precocious ahe.

I was given my first Spirit Guide at the tender age of 1 month old.  To this day, over 49 years later, my Mum still swears up and down that I have awakened to the Tonight show, and gone to sleep when Sesame Street starts.

Hence, I was called “The Night Owl”, (is there any other kind?), and this particular owl really suits me!!

Even with my glasses on, I see the world through a soft fog, and view the world in a lopsided manner.  As far as standing on one leg, I am still a restless stander.  I may be able to sit still, but stand?  No way Jose!!

Anywhoo, I am still a creature of night, preferring to hibernate the days away in my dim and cushioned nestie.  The owl is also the symbol of ESP, wisdom, insight, and night-time, all of which are things I am interested in and study; or try to attain in the case of wisdom.

Silent flier, creature of the night,

Sailing through beams of moonlight.

Is that a mouse, or perhaps larger prey?

What do your golden eyes see,

In such a shadowed world?

Things unseen, unknown to daylight?

The Portal In My Front Yard

I went for a walk in my front yard, having my digital camera in one hand and digital video camera in the other.  There is a path of stepping-stones from the front porch to the ‘Alleged Cow Skull’-which is a whole ‘nother story for some other time.

 

This time I went out and noticed one in a straggling row of identical stones looked different, I couldn’t describe it, but it looked a little odd.   Of course, being a nosey parker I had to go investigate.  As I got closer there seemed to be a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.  By the time I was standing on the stone next to the weirdo, I was very intrigued.

 

As I looked at it, it started growing, yes!  Growing!!  Soon it was large enough for even someone as round as I am to fit into comfortably, with a ‘what the hey’ shrug I carefully lifted the stone.

 

It weighed far less than I expected, no more than a fibreglass auto hood, something anyone could raise easily.  There was a tunnel under it, disappearing into darkness.  There was a spiral staircase leading down in to the shadows.

 

I popped back in the house and grabbed a flashlight, water and a couple bags of snacks; adventuring is hungry and thirsty work you see.  Pye and Skye were determined to go with me, despite being complete indoor cats.  The closest they get to the wilds is smelling the bottoms of our shoes.

 

So, there we went, slowly, with lots of stops for sniffings; once the light had begun to fade away I turned on my flashlight.  Then I could see the bottom of the stairway, a ring of seemingly identical doorways, carved out roughly.

 

I peeked in the first door, and backed away when I smelt a dreadful stench.  The second door was drip-drip-dropping, and there was a forest of stalactites and stalagmites stretching past my view.

 

The next doorway opened into a cave, with bed-like shelves carved in the walls, curtains made of animal hides, tanned to velvet perfection.  A fire burned by the far wall, which had doorways, and one of those showed an outdoor scene of surreal loveliness.

 

A desert scenario it most certainly wasn’t!  There were dense evergreens climbing a steep hillside, high-country grasses, and as a stunning backdrop, the green expanse of an enormous glacier.  I saw a movement, and two people entered the cave from a side doorway, ringed in handprints of rich red ochre.

 

“Ah, you are finally here!”  The male form motioned to me to come over.  When I moved forward the cats stick close to my side, and their eyes checked everything out with great interest.

 

“I see that your familiars heard the call as well as you.  This is even better than I hoped!”  I knew that the man was not speaking any recognisable language, yet I clearly understood him.

 

“I am your very distant past, and you were called here deliberately.  There is something you need to find; it somewhere between my time, and yours.  I do not know what it is, I just know that you must find it.”

 

“Dear, can you not let the Lady sit to hear the whole tail?  She will be on her feet enough in her Search.”  The woman spoke, she was blessed with a beautiful alto voice, full of gentleness and humour.

 

“Ach!  I am so sorry my dear.  I was just so excited at the prospect of meeting a descendant I forgot my manners!”  The man motioned to an artful pile of furs, perfect for settling in for a long chat.

 

“Okay, you said I need to find an unknown something, in some other time than mine or yours.  Do any of us know why this is necessary?”  I pushed my glasses up my nose, and patted the furs as an invitation for Pye and Skye.

 

After a thorough and thoughtful smelling of the furs, Skye settled in, so picturesque against the black wolf skin.  Pye wasn’t quite ready to settle, so he contented himself by doing battle with the leg of a bearskin.

 

At that moment some other people entered the cave from outside, carrying a freshly killed something-or-other.  Trotting at their heels was a very wolfish pack of dogs, all yapping excitedly.

 

Pye and Skye stood together hugely a-fluff and ready to fight these… these… canines!  Me, being a Universal Mom, stood in front of my cats, to defend them.

 

The Alpha female stepped forward, and sniffed me, and the air, and them she returned to the pack, her dugs swollen with milk.  She wuffed once, and a tumbling pack of fur separated into a pile of fat puppies, headed to Mom for some dinner.

 

I couldn’t help but chuckle and say to myself, “Plus ça change, plus ç’est la même chose.”

 

“Yes. Quite.”  How in the name of all the Gods that ever were and ever will be did this… this… caveman understand modern French?!  Yes he was every inch a caveman, and nothing like they show on TV or in movies.

 

All of them were blessedly well groomed, and not one of them had an odour.  One of the women was busily rubbing what seemed to be chalk dust into a stain on a fur garment.  When she finished shaking the dickens out of it, she picked up a dried teasel seedpod and began to brush the fur with it.

 

When all of the stain was gone, and the fur shone, she nodded her head decisively and sat that fur to one side.  She picked up another and I could see her sighing from all the way over where I was sitting.

 

“That must be her husband’s fur!  I recognise that, ‘How does he manage to do this?’ sigh.”

 

The woman laughed and spoke to the woman frowning down at the fur.  “This is your husbands’ sleeping fur, isn’t it Daryea?”

 

The woman laughed, and then spoke.  “Yes, how could you tell?”

 

It seems that some things shall always be the same!”

 

“Excuse me Callyea?”

 

“Our guest has been telling us of the future.”

 

“She has?  How does she know?”  Daryea edged closer, her deep-set brown eyes alight with curiosity.

 

“She is the one we sought.”

 

“Ohhh…  May I have the honour of serving her?”

“I would expect none other to serve her properly enough.”

To be continued…

Lighting a Chain Lanturne

My friend, Shiloh, (you remember Shiloh, right?) introduced me to some challenging and lovely forms of the art of Haiku,   It started with her asking if I had ever heard of a Chain Lanturne Haiku.  Afyer she showed me her Chain. I suggested we each write a chain on the same general subject. We both decided to take a stab at a Chain Lanturne, since Shiloh had already written one, I followed the basic imagery she created and went from there.

We researched the form at the following links:

http://home.tampabay.rr.com/memawscorne/Senryu,%20Tanka,Lantern,Chain%20Lanter

Poets and Poetry

Shadow Poetry — Resources — Haiku and Senryu

HAIKU TECHNIQUES Jane Reichhold

So, with all of this crowding about and vyiing for your attention, here are our attempts.

 

Wasp,
black and
yellow body,
settles on red
rose.

Bloom
opening,
brilliant red
petals swirling
open.

Then
sunset
ere night falls,
petals close in,
fold.

High
distant
near full moon,
silver blossoms’
edge.
Gwen M. Myers 

 

Bee
buzzes,
alighting
on a yellow
rose.

Sun
sets, pink,
lavender,
orange paint the
sky.

Dawn
heralds
a new day
with a pearly
light.

Rose
petals
open, a
yellow jacket
flees.

Night
falls, the
rose gently
closes. Pleasant
dreams…

Moon,
ghostly
orb hanging
o’er high mountain
peaks.

Shiloh Cannon Blackburn.

May 25, 2008

You can also see Shiloh’s post at:

http://sunnydreamer.net/aprjun2008/chain-lanturne.shtml

 

I hope you enjoy both posts, and want to come back for more!!

Playin’ With Haiku Forms

I have been playing with some forms of Haiku poetry, these are my attempts at it:

 

CAT

 

Cat.

Black mask,

long whiskers.

Fluffy

tail.

 

Yawn.

Pink mouth,

Pointed fangs.

Silken

fur.

 

Ears.

Gently

stroking head.

Rumbling

purr.

 

Eyes.

Sapphire

blue, and bright.

Sharp claws,

paws.

 

Steps.

Silent

careful moves.

Hunting

time.

 

Nose

sniffing.

Smelling mouse.

Ready now,

pounce.

 

Night

aglow.  Shine

eyes of red.

Child of

Bast.

 

Sing

Oh Moon

bright silver.

Whiskers

shine.

 

Sun

rising,

brightly warm.

Seeks his

Bed.

 

Tom.

Sleeping

In trtusting

crescent.

Home.

 

Snow
Silent
White blanket
Squeaks underfoot
Frost.

 

Drift
Towering
Above snow
Like a still wave
Flakes.

 

Freeze
red skin
Frozen clothes
Playing outdoors
Snow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And the Second one

Skeleton Crew

November 21, 2006

 

“Well m’lads, tis a quiet night on the seas tonight, the moon shines bright, and there’s a fair breeze t’carry us across the seas. ‘Tis a good night f’tellin’ tales.”

 

How many of ye ha’ heard the tale o’ Th’ Skellington Crew? That’s all of ye?? Only four of a whole crew of pirate lads? What’s th’ world comin’ to? Next ye’ll be tellin’ me that none o’ ye ha’ heard o’ Le Gargouille o’ th’ Seine River over in th’ Frenchies’ country!! None o’ ye ha’ heard of th’ Dragon o’ th’ Seine?? What’s them schools’ teachin’ ye?? Arithmetic?? Hah!!! Not one o’ can steer by the stars!! Nor can ye figger knors wi’ a rope!! Next I’ll be changin’ yer nappies like a bloomin babby!!

 

Oh, aye, ye all know English, but can any o’ ye speak our mother tongue? I feared that were so. Can ye sing like Chuculain? Nay? Who ever heered of a good lad that canna speak Irish nor sing??

 

Oh aye, I admit I canna sing, nor can me Mam, she were a Frenchwoman, mebbe even Royalty what wanted t’ escape th’ Revolution. M ’Pa were from County Cork, aye, he were a true Irishman. He could speak Irish, French, and English. He could sing th’ angels from Heaven, and he danced a fine jig until th’ Irish Disease took ‘im.

 

Now, me Mam, she’s th’ one what taught me t’cook. Aye, ye’ve a Frenchwoman t’ thank for th’ good food in yer bellies. She also taught me t’ be a healer. Aye, she were s’posed t’ be Royalty, her Pa were doctor t’ th’ King and Queen theirselves. Now, ye’ve gotten me off track…

 

Yes, ‘t’were m’ Mam told me about that Gargouille, she tole me that it were ugly as can be, and it were because o’ the Gargouille that th’ divvils were kep’ at bay. It were th’ Gargouille’s terrible phiz that scared awa’ th’ divvils.

 

That weren’t the tale I wanted t’tell ye, I wanted t’warn ye about th’ Skellington Crew. Oh. Aye, ‘tis more’n a tale for drunkards in th’ pub t’garble for more o’ th’ juice o’ the barley.

There were a fine pirate ship, th’ Secret Cove she were, she plied her trade east o’ our lanes. I knewed her Captain many a year ago, I weren’t aboard th’ Calabar then. On what were her last voyage, they sailed wi’ a full crew, a good crew. Most of ‘em had been aboard her fer three or four voyages already.

Her Captain was a good lady, She could steer a big ship through the worst o’ reefs and not s’much as knock a barnacle off’n th’ hull. She knew what a crew needed to serve well, and stay loyal t’ their ship.

 

So, th ’Mossy Oak sailed out’n the Harbour o’ Haiti bound fer the high seas and treasures t’be won. She were due back in by Christmas, and she never come back.

 

It were five years later, after th’ Divvil’s Lady claimed the route o’ th’ Secret Cove, that a terrible calm fell on th’seas. Fer almost a fortnight there were no winds atall. Every ship stood where she were on glassy water.

Th’ days were long and tempers were short. Every captain were nigh onto tearin’ their hair out in frustration and the doctors were usin’ every trick they knew to stay any mutinous thoughts. At last, on one night a dense fog covered most o’ th’ seas thereabouts and th’ Divvil’s Lady’s crew were cheerin’, hopin’ it boded winds t’follow.

They were sippin their grog and singing loud when the fog parted and another ship hove into view. A dread silence fell over th’ crew as they saw the name on th’ other ship.

Th’ Secret Cove it were, wi’ sails furled and runnin’ silent. Th’ Secret Cove drew closer and the lads o’ th’ Divvil’s Lady were frozen in fear. For there were no crewmen, only skellingtons aboard her. Shinin’ white bones and grinnin’ skulls.

 

The phosphor on th’ water was brightest around th’ hull o’ th’ Secret Cove. One o’ th’ lads took to cryin’ out like a banshee, and tearin’ at his hair. By th time th’ Secret Cove sailed past and disappeared back into th’ fog half th’ crew were babblin’ in fright, and th’ rest were not far behind.

The lad what were cryin like a bashee never sailed again after that voyage. He moved as far awa’ from th’ ocean as he could.get. T’ this day th’ Divvil’s Lady willna sail those waters, she has taken t’ bein’ a passenger ship along th’ coast o’ th’ Colonies… excuse me, Amerca.. Th’ captain retired and moved inland and th’ crew all took to landlubber lives and willna speak o’ that night.

 

How did I learn o’ the Skellington Crew? Why, I tried to heal th’ lad what saw them skellingtons first. I figger that I done everything I could fer th’ lad when he could sleep through th’ night without havin’ nightmares. Now his hair… that were another matter. He had a head full o’ glossy black curls when he left on that awful voyage, when they limped into port he were half-bald, and what hair he still had were white as bones.

 

Laugh if ye wish, ‘tis true, ask our good captain if ye don’t believe me. Aye, she knows about th’ Secret Cove, and th’ Skellington Crew. She’ll tell ye th’ same tale as I did. She knew th’ captain o’ th’ Divvil’s Lady, an’ th’ Secret Cove.

 

I’ll tell ye this, our Captain willna go near the Secret Cove’s lanes. None o’ th’ Captains will. If’n I ever seen th’ Secret Cove, I’d be a landlubber for th’ rest o’ m’ days!!

Well now, my mug’s empty an’ so’s m’ pipe. I’ll be biddin’ you lads a good night, an’ start some breakfast f’ mornin’ fer ye.

 

Very First Pirate Post on WordPress

Opening the Galley

October 12, 2006

Ahoy there me hearties!!  One-eyed Red’s in th’ Galley, and has a lovely mutton stew simmerin’ on the stove.  I’ve laid by plenty o’ rum fer grog, and a few casks o’ special drinks fer special happenin’s. 

Aye m’crew I’ve another keg o’ Lemurian Brandy, actually two, one is spiced for the comin’ Yuletide.  We canna ha’ th’ Yule wi’out a Wassail as well.

Now there!!  Step lively an’ keep th’ food well awa fra’ th’ pissoir, less’n ye’re wantin to be leanin’ over yon rail and feedin’ the fish yer dinner.

Aye, I’ve heard th’ blather that ’tis’nt dangerous t’ mix  the mess fra’ th’ pissoir wi’ yer food.  Th’ bloomin’ landlubbers don’ know their arse from a hole in th’ ground!!  I’ve seen hearty lads succumb to th’ yellow jaundice, and take half th’ crew wi’ ‘em, when the pissoir is t’ close t’ th’ foodstuffs!! 

How does I keep th’ water s’ fresh?  Good question lads!  Afore I put a good bit o’ spring water in the cask, I boils it, in and oot, then, while it’s still  warm I rub the whole thing wi’ cakes o’ beeswax.  On the outer sides I use beeswax wi’ bay and chili t’ keep rats an’ such out o’ th’ water.  That’s how.  Oh, an’ I strains the water through layers of fine muslin when I puts it in th’ casks.  Wi’ th’ beeswax, and th’ strainin’ th’ casks’ll be good for many journeys, instead o’ just one time.

I do th’ same wi’ th’ casks o’ dried fruit, and meats.  It is how I keep th’ weevils out o’ th’ flour as well.  Now ye know that th’ small casks an’ such are medicines t’ keep ye lads well.  Take them directly t’ th’ galley, aye, there’s a place all set fer ‘em.

Not only do I ha’ the rum and brandies, I got me hands on some fine Irish ale, a good stout brew, that’ll be a right treat wi’ dinner a time or three.  I’ve brought plenty of things for makin’ sweets.  I thinks a ship sails happier wi’ sugar in her crews’ bellies.  Oh, aye, I’ve some lovely fruitcakes, steepin’ in a fine old rum.

O’ course lads, t’ ha’ a proper Yule we needs Wassail, spiced hot rum, and fruitcakes.  Yes me lads, I’ve th’ makin’s fer some fine plum puddin’s.  Nay, t’night the sweet will be spiced oranges in a brandy sauce.

Aye’ just like the Lords and Ladies in th’fine houses o’ London an’ Ed’nburrah.  I have somethin’ new to try laddies, it comes all th’ way from the Red Indians in th’ Americas, it’s somethin’ what’s called pemmycan, or somethin’ like that.  Aye, I’ve tried it’ m’sel’.  Now I’ve never used something on’ m’ lads what I didn’t try first!!   This is passin’ good t’chew on, but if ye soak it in some ale it’s a right treat of a stormy night.

Now lads, if’n yer not on duty, why not bring yerselves an’ any instrument y’play belowdecks, a good sing always makes fer a good sail.  Oh aye, aye, we’ll be singing ‘Fiddler’s Green’…

“Now Fiddler’s Green

Is a place I heard tell.

Where Pirate crews go,

If they don’t go t’hell…”

I’ll go ha’ me a pipe in the galley, and then join y’lads.  Step light now, we dinna want t’ wake yon bats in th’ holds.  Nay, th’ bats aren’t bad luck less’n ye get th’ hives fra’ th’ guana they leave aboot.  Yon creatures eat th’ bugs, an’ that keeps em’ out o’ th’ food. 

Did you put th’ bay leaves and marigolds in yer beds?  That’ll keep th’ bedbugs an’ fleas at bay.  Would I be kiddin about that m’boys?? 

Have y’ learned nothin’ fro’ th’ Black Death, I tell ye, I do believe ’twas th’ fleas what spread it, th’ fleas on th’ rats.  An’ why were ther s’many rats??  On account o’ some fools claimin’ cats were th’ get o’th’ Divvil an’ killin’ most o’ them.  Wi’ no cats t’kill th’ rats they were everywhere.   Bloody idjits!!!

Be warned me lads!!!

Ahoy me lads!  Weigh anchor and set to, we’re leaving port!

 

Aye.  The loon is who ye think it is wavin’ at us from dockside.

 

It’s…

 

The Punny Pirate!!!

 

Did ye hear aboot yon pirate movin’ ptcher?

 

It’s rated, “Arrrrrrrrrrr!”

 

Too late lads, she got us square amidships wi’ her newest turrible pun!!

 

An Iris for Kerry

Seeing the photos of Kerry’s Irises reminded me of the Irises I grew in Oregon, I miss them so.  All of them, but one in particular.

 

This rhizome (root) was mixed in with a bed of the Blue Flag irises, and my friend, Bella, gave them to me.  All I had to do was dig them up and transfer them to my flowerbeds.

 

I waited impatiently for next spring (from late summer) and the ‘Time of the Irises’.  At last, the Irises rose above the soil, with their leaves like giant blades of grass waving in the late spring-early summer breezes.

 

Then came the flower stalks themselves, each one reaching for the sun.  The buds appeared, each with their crinkling, brown papery coat.  I watched as the colours began to clarify.  Mostly lavender and purple, with a couple Sapphire Blue ones tossed in randomly.

 

At last!!!  One lone stalk shaded darker from burgundy-purple, and I knew I had my Black Iris!!  I was delighted, and so was my husband, he must have been, he went out and took photos of it.

 

 

So Kerry dear, an Iris to share with you.

Views Around the Old Homestead

Mum has taken to walking around the house for exercise and I try to walk with her.  I, of course, take either one or both of my cameras along.

This is one of the views from our front patio, early in the evening.  We have yet to use the hanging lanterns, but oh!!  I love the sound of wind chimes!

 

I have come to love the willy-nilly, thorny growth of this bougainvillea.  The blooms are lovely when they are backlit by the sun, there are times of the year that the entire bush is covered in the papery blossoms in their fade-resistant pink.

 

Even with vigilant pruning these can take over, never mind our “it’ll still be there later” gardening mindset.  There have been times we have had to move the branches out of our way on the front patio, which is 8 feet wide.

 

 

This is a tree by the office where I apply for food stamps, I like the way that the branches writhe around each other.

 

Same tree, much closer this time, with the sun peering through the leaves.

 

We had a brief rain squall last Friday, and I went out to take pictures of the clouds, when I circled ‘round to the front of the house I spied these wee birdies taking shelter from the wild winds.

 

After all this time, I am still fascinated by the mountains, Michigan had no’real’ mountains, they got shaved away by a glacier in the last Ice Age.  Every time I stop and look at this particular mountain, I am reminded of an early Rush song’s lyrics.

 

“Yet my eyes are drawn towards

The mountain in the East.

It fascinates and captivates.

And gives my heart no peace.”

 

     The Fountain of Lamneth © 1975 Lee, Lifeson, and Peart

 

And yes, this mountain is due east if our little nestie.

 

 

]I have been busily sorting, and cataloguing books to go into storage (5 boxes of ‘em) and in the midst of what is actual work I ran across a book that wouldn’t close properly.  When I opened it to the gap, I found these Mexican Bird of Paradise blossoms I had pressed years ago.  What a sweet thing to find while I am boxing books.

 

Oh, and, I have not catalogued the books that are staying in my room, nor have I catalogued the sixteen larger boxes of books already in storage!!  Did I mention that I am a bookworm?  Hahahahahhaahaha!!!

 

Words and Images © 2008, Gwen M. Myers

 

 

 

Drawn by the Dreamtime

Not too long ago my friend Shiloh, you remember Shiloh, I hope, started a series on Inundation Myths from around the world, A few nights ago I read her blog entry for Australia and New Zealand indigenous peoples.  I was

 

A few nights ago I read her blog entry for Australia and New Zealand indigenous peoples.  I was immediately reminded of something from about 30 years ago. 

 

A long time ago, I watched a film that stuck in my memory, especially one term, that I understood without knowing.

 

The film “The Last Wave”, starring a young Richard Chamberlain was set in Oz and included some of the Aboriginal peoples and references to their mythos.

 Not only was I drawn and energised by the humming of the central Aboriginal character, I was caught by the term, “Dreamtime”.

 The term ‘Dreamtime’ or ‘Dreaming’ is the term that connected with me, and I immediately understood the meaning, reality and ramifications of it.

In order to satisfy my curiosity, I went poking about in Wikipedia and found the following information, which only reinforced my intuitive awareness.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *    *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Dreamtime:

 Origin of the term and definitions

The term was made popular by anthropologist W.E.H. Stanner, after an Aboriginal man had told him “white man got no Dreaming”, which Stanner subsequently entitled one of his books.

However, many argue it is an inadequate translation of the concept – from the Arrernte word, “Altyerre” – a concept largely unrelated to the European notion of dreams.

Even Stanner preferred the term “everywhen”, while T.G.H. Strehlow favoured “Eternal, Uncreated”.

 Robyn Davidson, in her recent Quarterly Essay on nomads, writes:

One could say that the Dreaming is a spiritual realm which saturates the visible world with meaning; that it is the matrix of being; that it was the time of creation; that it is a parallel universe which may be contacted via the ritual performance of song, dance and painting; that it is a network of stories of heroes – the forerunners and creators of contemporary man.

 

Dreaming:

 Dreaming is a common term among Indigenous Australians for a personal, or group, creation and for what may be understood as the “timeless time” of formative creation and perpetual creating, as well as for the places and localities on Indigenous Australian traditional land (and throughout non-traditional Australia) where the uncreated creation spirits and totemic ancestors, or genius loci, reside. Other groups have pointed out there is no one English word that covers the concept, for example those Anangu that speak Pitjantjatjara use the word Tjukurpa and those that speak Yankunytjatjara use Wapar, but neither means dreaming

Aboriginals believe in two forms of time. Two parallel streams of activity. One is the daily objective activity … The other is an infinite spiritual cycle called the “dreamtime,” more real than reality itself. Whatever happens in the dreamtime establishes the values, symbols, and laws of Aboriginal society. Some people of unusual spiritual powers have contact with the dreamtime.

“The Everywhen”. This is an apt and evocative approximation to what the Indigenous Australian Peoples refer to in translation as the “All-at-once” Time which is experienced as a co-existing confluence of past, present and future. This does not counter the Indigenous Australians People’s concept of linear time, but it informs and qualifies it. Indigenous Australians considered the Everywhen of the Dreaming to be objective, whilst linear time was considered a subjective construction of waking consciousness of one’s own lifetime. This is in the converse of the European concept which views dreams as subjective and linear time as objective.

 The Dreaming