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 establishes the structures of society rules for social behaviour and the ceremonies performed in order to ensure continuity of life and land. The Dreaming governs the laws of community, cultural lore and how peoples are required to behave in their communities. The condition that is The Dreaming is met when peoples live according to law, and live the lore: perpetuating initiations and Dreaming transmissions or lineages, singing the songs, dancing the dances, telling the stories, painting the Songlines and Dreamings.

 *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 All of these years later, I discover that my intuiting of the Dreamtime was correct, and I now want to watch “The Last Wave” again (the fourth or fifth time) so I can pay closer attention to the scenes referring to the Dreamtime and Dreaming.

Do the Library Thing!!

I joined this cool-cool group online, called Library Thing, that allows you to cotalogue your books online, chat with other book lovers, find newe books, authors, and categories to enjoy, and other fun things.  I have added 38 books tonight; the reason I chose these specific books is that I am putting them in storage, and this list will (hopefully) keep me from buying doubles of titles I  already have.

 

Go check the place out and join if you like, there are worlds of reading adventure awaiting you!!

 http://www.librarything.com/catalog.php?offset=0&view=GwenGuin&shelf=list&sort=authorunflip

For Our Bobbie Jo

This was written in response to the ‘Saddest Words’ prompt on

http://www.squidoo.com/ilpostino

 

Once Upon a time, I was married, and loved my husband’s family as I do my blood kin.  Some of them were easier to love than others, my husband’s sisters Kathy and Melanie I still call onw another sisters and our love grew deeply and permanently.  From each of them I was blessed with a beautiful, loveable niece.

 

Our Kathy lived near my husband and I in Corvallis, Oregon with her sons, Brian and Brandon, and her daughter Roberta Joliene (Bobbie Jo).  Brandon and Bobbie were of school age and I watched Bobbie after Kindergarten at my house. 

 

Bobbie and I had wonderful times together, puddle-jumping, cooking, and other such delights filled our afternoons.  I called her, “Ma Petite.” , and I became ‘Aunt Bear’., I wondered why she called me that until the day she tried her best to wrap child-sized arms around my Earth Mother hips, looked up at me from adoring green eyes and said, “I call you my Aunt Bear, do you know why?”

 

“No, ma petite, I don’t know.  Why do you call me your Aunt Bear?”

“Because huggung you is like hugging a teddy bear!!”  She squeezed as tightly as she could, and I hugged her back.

 

“Oh thank you sweetie!!”  I managed to say this around the lump filling my throat.

 

Bobbie had been the flower girl at my wedding, and my husband caught this utterly darling photo of her:

 

 

Time does what it does best and passed, Kathy moved back to her beloved New York, I separated from my husband and returned to Arizona; Bobbie and Brandon grew up.

 

Kat and I kept in touch over the years, we have now been friends for over 30 years and will most likely be friends until we return to the First Home of All Souls.  Kat has not had an easy life by any road, and last year she was dealt the cruellest blow any mother could suffer.

 

In August of 2007, at the age of 18, Bubbie Jo passed away suddenly, leaving a silent, aching void behind.

 

 

So young, pretty, and loving; far too soon to be taken from her family and friends.

 

Last weekend I dreamed of our Bobbie Jo, as she was when I was her Aunt Bear.  She came to me and asked a gift of me, one I must do, although in my heart I would not do it .  She held my hand, suffused with love and trust and  asked this simple gift of me.

 

“Let me go.”

So now, although I still weep and hear her voice in my heart; the hand of my spirit opens, and Bobbie Jo flies; bright and happy into the arms of All-Mother, who holds her in love and tenderness until we shall meet again.

 

And I, I must say the saddest words;

 

“Good-bye, ma Petite, and Gods’speed to you.”

I’m back… as much as I can be for now

I have been woefully absent from the ‘Net of late.  I have a good reason for this abscence though.  On 11 April of this year my Mum was admitted to the local hospital from the Urgent Care Clinic.  She had ben having chest pain, and yes, she had had a heart attack.  The next day they did a Cardiac Catheterisation and discovered that they needed to do a Coronary Arterry Bypass Graft.

 

On 14 April Mum underwent a Triple Bypass and work on her Aorta, my niece Kryssi and myself spent most of that day waiting for word, holding one another in the waiting room.  We finally got word late in the afternoon that she had gone through the surgery well, and was on her way back to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit to begin the recovery phase of the process.

 

Since then, Mum has amazed her doctors; despite a list of health problems and her age (almost 69), she is recovering quickly and well.  She was able to come home a scant 6 days after the surgery, and has been walking for the past week or so, almost 1,00 feet a day easily.

 

At two weeks post-surgiacal she was at the same point they expect a six weeks post-surgical patient to be.  Mum has tyoe 2 Diabetes, high blood pressure, a heart murmur, arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, asthma, bronchitis, and a weakened immune system.  Yet she has far exceeded all projections and expectations. and will continue tio be the beloved Matriarch of our wee clan.

 

Now that we know Mum is going to be better than her old self, we can start to return to our ‘regularly scheduled programming’ again.  So, I will soon be boring you with my babbles and doodles.  Thank you for prayers, patience, and the friendship that I value so greatly.

 

Love, hugs and kisses,

GwenGuin

April Fools!!!!

The History of April Fools 

In sixteenth-century France, the start of the new year was observed on April first. It was celebrated in much the same way as New Year’s Eve is today with parties and dancing into the late hours of the night.

In 1562, Pope Gregory introduced a new calendar for the Christian world, and the new year fell on January first.

There were some people, however, who hadn’t heard or didn’t believe the change in the date, so they continued to celebrate New Year’s Day on April first. Others played tricks on them and called them “April fools.” They sent them on a “fool’s errand” or tried to make them believe that something false was true. 

Shiloh and I are collaborating again, we have so much fun almost all of the time doing this, and today we went for something just a wee bittie different than our other collaborations. 

We chose to share some qoutes we like about April Fool’s Day, so we waded through Google and a Dictionary of quotes, and then we each chose ten that we liked.  Here they are in no particular order.

Destiny. A tyrant’s authority for crime and a fool’s excuse for failure.
Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914), U.S. author. The Devil’s Dictionary (1881-1906). 

The ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly, is to fill the world with fools.
Herbert Spencer (1820-1903), English philosopher. Essays, vol. 3, “State Tamperings with Money and Banks” (1891). 

Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), English poet. An Essay on Criticism (1711).
 

When he said we were trying to make a fool of him, I could only murmur that the Creator had beat us to it.
Ilka Chase (b. 1905), U.S. author, actor. Quoted in: Jilly Cooper and Tom Hartman, Violets and Vinegar, “Mrs. Crankhurst” (1980).
 
 A spoon does not know the taste of soup, nor a learned fool the taste of wisdom.
Welsh Proverb. 

If a million people believe a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing. ~ Anatole France 

We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.
~ ~ ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.  The first of April, some do say,
Is set apart for All Fools’ Day.
But why the people call it so,
Nor I, nor they themselves do know.
But on this day are people sent
On purpose for pure merriment.
~ ~ ~ Poor Robin’s Almanac (1790) 

A fool and his words are soon parted.

~ ~ ~ William Shenstone

No man really becomes a fool until he stops asking questions.
~ ~ ~ Charles Steinmetz

  

The great God endows His children variously. To some he gives intellect- and they move the earth. To some he allots heart- and the beating pulse of humanity is theirs.  But to some He gives only a soul, without intelligence- and these, who never grow up, but remain always His children, are God’s fools, kindly, elemental, simple as if from His palette the Artist of All had taken one colour instead of many.   Mary Roberts Rinehart

 Are twelve wise men more wise than one? or will twelve fools, put together, make one sage? Are twelve honest men more honest than one?
Herman Melville
 
 Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread.
Alexander PopeThis is the day (April Fool’s Day) upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four. ~ Mark Twain  A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.
~ ~ ~ Douglas Adams  If a million people believe a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing.
~ ~ ~ Anatole France  The heart of a fool is in his mouth, but the mouth of a wise man is in his heart.
~ ~ ~ Benjamin Franklin  Neither man nor woman can be worth anything until they have discovered that they are fools. The sooner the discovery is made the better, as there is more time and power for taking advantage of it.
~ ~ ~ William Lamb Melbourne  Better to remain silent and be thought a fool then to speak out and remove all doubt.
Author: Abraham Lincoln  

Who is more foolish, the child afraid of the dark, or the man afraid of the light?
Author: Maurice Freehill

There were more than a couple that both of us thought were good, but we wanted 20 different quotes, so wee kept nibbling away, until we had all 20 quotes,

I hope you have enjoyed this as much as we enjoyed finding them and sharing them.

My Identity Poem

Seeking the Identity of a GwenGuin 

And all that is bright 

I am from

Needlework baskets

By the women’s’ chairs,

And United Auto Workers’ founders.

I grew up on stories of my

Grandmother DeShaw

Passing meals through the windows

Of the Buick Powerhouse to my

Grandfather during

The sit-down strikes

Demonstrating the power of a

United workforce. 

I am from the two-story

Farmhouses of the

Northern Mid-West,

Built with sheltered doorways

So you could still

Get out of your house despite

‘Lake Effects Snow’

And windblown drifts up to the

Bedroom windows of the upper floor.

I am from rows of gleaming jars

Filled with the spiced crab apples,

Pickled red beets, and

Pickled Ring Bologna made from

Recipes passed on for

Generations. 

I am from the Great Lakes,

In all their moods and seasons;

I am from coming to love the

Sonoran Desert

For her determination,

Adaptability and passion.

I am from standing

On the shore of the

Pacific Ocean,

Wondering how many millions of

Others she touched too; and

I am from having

Crater Lake

Burned upon the retina of my memory. 

I grew up with

Sunday

Dinner after Mass,

And dimples dancing with

Everyone’s’ smiles and words:

I am descended of‘Big Joe’ DuBay,

Hyachinthe Charlesbois’

And the Compeaus

Of Compeau Blvd.,

In Detroit, Michigan

I am from

Daughters of the American Revolution,

And family that have given some

And all

For the U.S.A.

In all of the

Wars this country has fought. 

I am from

Libraries of books

And music

In every home,

Cards and dice that have been

Handed down for generations.

I pass on the photographs and

Verbal tradition of generations past,

I share the songs that defined

So many childhoods.

I am from radios tuned to

Classical,

Jazz,

Country and Western,

The Blues,

Soul,

All flavours of

Rock and Roll,

And more. 

I am defined by being

Happy and grateful

To be able to help others,

And seeing family

As not determined

By genetics alone;

I am carrying on

The tradition of wanting

To do good

For the sake of doing good.

I am from treating others

With kindness and respect,

And celebrating differences

Instead of fearing them. 

I am from the love of

Reading and learning, and

Love of laughter that has

Helped all of us survive

The worst times in out lives.

I share my respect

Of the written word with

Great Grandparents,

Grandparents,

Parents,

Aunts,

Uncles,

Siblings,

Cousins,

Children,

Nieces and

Nephews;

All of us learned

To love beauty in all her forms,

And express that love in our own ways. 

I am from being

Unashamed to cry

At the touching parts of a

Book,

Movie,

Or song,

As well as being comfortable

With cheering with joy.

I am from settling on the floor

To play with kids

On their level,

And loving pets like children

Without forgetting

They are animals. 

I am from

Lessons the needed no words

And,

“Gwen, don’t do anything to another

Living creature if you don’t want

It done to you.”

“Oh, Gwen Marie!  

You are so Silly/romantic/wise/loving/smart/strong!

I am so proud to be

Your Mother.” 

I am from

Catholic family reunions,

Always so large,

They had to be held in a

Rented hall because

No-one’s house could ever

Hope to hold everyone!

I am from the

Sunday

Dinners that were

Early-

After Mass;

With two kinds of

Meat, and

Potatoes,

Vegetables,

Salads,

And Breads with butter,

Green onions dipped in salt,

Celery stuffed with‘College’ cheese.

Two kinds of homemade cake

With ice cream. 

I am from

Frenchmen,

Britons,

Scots,  and

Irishmen emigrating from

Their homelands to

Canada and the

United States.

I was weaned to

French Meat Pies,

Oyster Stuffing in

Our Holiday Turkey,

“No matter how much we make,

We never make enough Pecan Balls!”,

Glissant in chicken au jus,

Corned Beef with

Cabbage seasoned with

Butter and celery seed,

Chicken Enchilada Casserole,

Spaghetti and pizza,

With Garlic bread, and

Girl Scout Cookies in the freezer.

I am from the

Chippewa people that

Accepted a stranger, far from

France and Frenchmen,

Married him into their families and

Then chose him as their chief.  

I am from people

Who have been cured with

Rice and Tomato Soup for colds,

Vernors floats for sore throats,

Hot tea with honey, lemon and

A little dash of whiskey always

Chased away the sniffles and sneezes:

I have added to this pharmocopæa

Bay Leaf Oil for many things,

Chamomile tea in the bath

Lavender pillows at our heads, and

Minestrone simmering on the stove

To chase away the blah tummies. 

I am from

Ancient Noblemen, and

Dairy farmers,

Bare-knuckles boxers,

19^th century loggers,

Horse Thieves and

Faith Healers,

Factory Workers,

Teachers,

Nurses,

Hard working husbands, whose

Hands built

Neighbourhoods that

Stood for a century.

Stay-at-home Moms,

Brothers and Sisters

That shared

Spirit-deep bonds of

Love.

Illegal aliens,

Barkeeps and

Madams.

I am from afternoons spent

Watching

National Geographic,

The Undersea World of

Jacques Cousteau, and

Understanding what he said,

No matter how much

His love for the seas deepened his

French accent,

I am from watching

Jeopardy,

Let’s Make A Deal,

What’s My Line?, and

All In The Family.

Evenings when three and four

Generations would gather

Playing Po-Ke-No and

‘Tunk’ rum,

Yahtzee,

Scrabble, and

When they came along

Pictionary,

Balderdash,

Trivial Pursuit,and

Learning to do

Crossword Puzzles,

Cryptograms or

Other word games. 

I was immersed in all

The men repairing to the

Garage, communing with

Shots of Whiskey,

Icy beers, and the

‘Small’ TV tuned in to the

Game, whether it be

Baseball,

Football,

Hockey, or

Basketball;

Done while all the

Women settled in the

Kitchen,

Drank coffee,

Swapped Recipes, and

Current Events as their

Children gathered ‘round the

Toy boxes, hand fashioned by

Relatives never met;

Peacefully sharing

Erector sets©,

Lincoln Logs© made of real wood,

Tonka© and

Matchbox© vehicles,

Green plastic army men and trucks,

Plastic farm animals and

Jungle creatures,

Colorforms© dolls,

Colouring books with crayons and

Coloured pencils. 

I am from

Photo Albums in nearly

Every room,

Overflowing boxes of snapshots,

Knick-knacks,

Collections and

Images carefully preserved, 

tories handed down three centuries.

I am the saver of

Great-Great Grandmothers’

Hand Embroidery and tatting,

Silver spoons of the

American Presidents-

Purchased so long ago

John F. Kennedy’s spoon

Is inscribed with his

Term of Office as(1960-         ),

Plates that came to 

America from

France through

Belgium,

Canada and into

Michigan before they

Journeyed to

Arizona and

Oregon with me. 

And Dark

I am from

Angry divorces, and

Broken Corning ware,

Food Stamps;

Christmases that mutated into

Drunken brawls poisoned with

Police interventions and

Emergency Room visits. 

I am from

The house that had

Piles of laundry that

Were never washed.

Dirty dishes in

Every room,

Bedding that was thin

Mismatched and uncoordinating, and

Towels worn thin from overuse. 

I am from

Dandelions and

May Apples

The dirt backyard that

Never knew sod or seed;

I am from

The cracked sidewalk,

Dirty driveway, and

Ripped screens,

The missing storm windows

Inadequate insulation and

Leaking gas heater. 

I am from

Depression,

Alcoholism, and

Obesity;

From‘Hell-inore’,

The ugly side of

Great Grandma, and

Granny Cackle

Nèe Ford,

Whose family believed her

To be well when she was

Mean and manipulative.  

I am from,

“You can’t do that,

(I’m the musician)!” and

“Be quiet,

Daddy has too sleep.”.

“Herman!!

You stink like a brewery!”,

“Helinore!  Bring me a beer!”, and

“Dammit George, you horse’s ass!”

I am from the

Ubiquitous bottles of booze

And hung over men,

Verbally beaten by angry wives.

I am from tiptoeing,

Whispered orders, and

Slithering,

Shameful

Fear.  

I am from

Sneaking sips of

Grandpa’s bottle when

Grandma wouldn’t see, and

Being told,“Don’t tell your

Grandma or your

Mom, they’ll kill me for sure.” And

“See!  Don’t that taste awful?

You don’t want to drink that do you?”

Followed by a

Delighted snicker at the child’s

Face from the taste of

Cheap liquor. 

I am from

“I’m a louse about religion.” And,

“What do you mean, “Go to church…”?”

“If I went through those doors,

I know I’ll get zapped by lightning!!”

“Did I really say that?

I’ll go to Hell for sure now!” 

Struggling to understand

“Your Father doesn’t want to be a part

Of the family circle.

That means that

Our circle is smaller,

And harder to break.”

Before the tears truly fell,

Briskly told,

“We can’t sit around being sad,

We need to get up and make

Sure that we can

Make it without him.”

I am from

Pinconning, Michigan,

Corvallis,Oregon,

Tempe, Arizona,

New York City, and

We have drunk

Jagermeister,

Imported Beers, andAles,

Aperitifs,

Bacardi and

Captain Morgan Rum,

Jack Daniels and

Single Malt Unblended

Scots Whisky,or

Tequila,

Squirt, and

Grenadine, and

Always,

Always

Knowing too much

Too soon.

I am from

Maudlin,

Silly,

Overly dramatic,

Weepy,

Angry and

Withdrawn drunks. 

I am from

Women,

Silent and angry;

Swallowing their rage

In slow painful nibbles,

Or

Quick,

Angry

Bites.

I am from Grandma,

slamming cupboard doors

With an angry slash for a mouth.

I am from Grandma,

So angry with

Grandpa

That she sat and picked

Every

Single

Stitch

Out of Grandpa

First new suit

After the

Great Depression

Was over.

I am from Uncle John,

Having flashbacks to

‘Nam and doing the low-crawl

Through the house

In his sleep,

Unless someone woke him,

Then he became violent

And couldn’t be stopped. 

I am from

Slaps, and

Whippings with a

Leather belt on my

Bare butt.

I am from bruises

That were hidden,

And

Tears

Wept into a

Balding stuffed toy, or

A pillow,

Without pillowslip,

Stained and flattened from

Overuse and

Undercare. 

I am from the

Scars that

Never show,

Wounds that still

Burn in the silence of the night.

I am from the pictures

With crooked frames

And broken glass; the

Knick-knacks with cracks and

Glue seams that

Mar their beauty and their

Inherent worth. 

Meet in my Actions and my dreams.

Gwenerrella’s First Poem

Our Gwenerrella has written her first poem.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Gwenerrella’s First Poem

 

 I have a chocolate Penguin,

I got it from my Sis,

She gave it to me for

Christmas. 

I love my chocolate Penguin,

In its shiny paper tree,

It says his name is

Pee-Wee. 

I wanta keep my chocolate penguin,

He sits on top some books,

In spite of peoples hungry

Eating Looks. 

I’ve kept my chocolate penguin,

It’s almost Easter-time.

And now the Pee-Wee penguin,

Calls alla time. 

But now my chocolate penguin,

Has drawn an icky bug,

Tine for the ants to

Wake up. 

 

 So I ate his face off.

Three Good’uns!!

I have seen three good films in the past week, one an old(er) favourite, and the second film is a new favourite.  They will both be added to my growing DVD collection.

The horror film “Dead End” is excellent, one that immediately became a house favourite , which is the event of all three of us agreeing on a film. 

It is quirky, and very well put together; the teamwork between the producer, cast, camera and light crews is brilliantly and subtly blended. 

The makeup, hair, and costumes were wonderful, and every bit as subtle as the rest of the film. The score was so close to being perfect for film that I just might buy the soundtrack.

I am, after close to twenty watchings, still amazed how little special effects the directors used, and how well it worked.

The second film is “The Simian Line”, with an impressive lineup; Lynn Redgrave (her talent and beauty are timeless), Harry Connick, Jr. (CopyCat), Cindy Crawford (she is a talented actress as well as having lasting beauty), Tyne Daly (I think she is very underrated), William Hurt (if he is in a film I will watch because he’s in it), Monica Keena, Samantha Mathis,  and Jamey Sheridan (Randall Flagg in The Stand).  This ensemble is like the team that always wins, you can’t go wrong.  The story is well-written, the characters are believable and 4-dimensional, the lack of CGAs or special effects is refreshing.

The makeup, film-making, and editing are well and deftly done.  You cannot help but be drawn into the story and watch until the final credits are rolling.

This is a movie to watch with your sweetheart, and snuggle closer as the story unfolds, and be drawn into the world of The Simian Line.

The third film is a sleeper, it got lost in the shuffle when it came out, and shouldn’t have been.  If you get the chance to rent “The Man from Earth” please do so.

With one set, one costume, and some limited outdoor shots, this film relies on the story and interaction between the characters to keep you interested, and succeeds with ease.

I enjoyed watching the relationships between the characters, and the characters themselves grow and change through the film, and felt sympathetic for each one in turn.

I can’t tell you too much about the story without spoiling it.  Alll I can say is that one of the characters is an immortal, not through magic, but via a freak of genetics.

So, there you are, my online friends and family, three films for you to check out.

I would recommend either movie for friends and family, they don’t rely on nudity, foul language, sexuality, or violence to keep you interested; just good, old-fashioned filmmaking.

An Interesting Question

One of my groups of ‘E-Friends’ has this cool round of “Question of the Day” that the ‘leader’ sends to every member to answer and share with everyone else.

Today, the leader, Kathy, sent out an excellent question to ask yourself:

When I die, what will I be remembered the most/least for?

I thought it would be more accurate if I didn’t look in at me, but out towards the people in my life that know me the ‘best’ and go through their comments about me for a somewhat more accurate answer to the question.

Start, of course, with what you hear the most.

“Oh ______ you are so ________, I love that in you/I wish I were like that/I respect that about you!”

I would really like to hear everyone’s response to this one.  I was very surprised, and more than a little embarrased.

The things about me that bothered people are either behaviours that I am trying to change, or I have to have something repaired (i.e. get dentures/bridgework/lose some more weight) to fix a particular problem.

The only things I found that were said more than once and weren’t really complimentary were my weirdness (it’s true, I read the dictionary for fun!), my woo-woo side (metaphysics, and multiple faiths), being the typical dotty artiste, and the intent writer who feels the eternal odd kid, and my temper… everyone who has seen me *snap* will agree, the worst thing to see, and the thing that is seen the least, is my rage. 

That wasn’t what embarrassed me, it was when I started totting up compliments, not just words either, deeds as well.

I have been told as far back as I can remember how intelligent and smart I am, how talented an artist and writer I am, how well I can help people, how much fun it is to be with me, ad infinitum. 

Even those don’t humble me the as much as when people go on and on about how good I am.  I don’t think I’m that good, the way I conduct myself in the world is the way people should be. 

I really would like to hear what your ‘voices’ say to you, and that it is happy words you find.

Wednesday Plans

This last Wednesday, my sister-witch Melanie and I went out together.  We went to a pub where friends of hers were doing Acoustic Night.

The band’s name is ‘Krak Smokin’ Grannies’; don’t let the name put you off.  They did a delightful range of music, pop, folk, country, and soft rock.

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=213915111

The band’s guitarist, Kerry Jackson, is the consummate professional.  Even when his band-mates took breaks he kept on playing and singing in his clear, expressive voice.

The bass guitarist, Jim Van Streader, plays smooth, confident riffs as well as harmonising well with the guitarist and lead vocalist.

The vocalist, Rich Charlton, has a lovely voice, and harmonises well with his mates.  He has a pure, smooth tenor, and uses it well.

I would like to hear their ‘plugged in’ music, for the drummer, Gary Bruzzese isn’t there on Wednesdays.

The music was loud enough to fill the venue, but not loud to the point of annoyance or headaches.

All in all, I want to hear them perform again, and am looking forward to next Wednesday’s Acoustic set.  If any of you are in the area, I would recommend stopping by the Red Owl in Tempe, Az. and listen to some good local musicians do their thing.

1- The Star Snakes

 

The Star Snakes

The Light had shattered before it

Followed the Ash of the World-Seed

Throughout the once-empty Void.

Connecting itself to the closest

World-Seeds scattering through the Heavens

With tender bonds of Silvery Love.

The Shards of Light slowed

As they found a Resting Place

In the now-filling Void.

The World-Seeds danced around

The Light Shards that loved them.

In the Shards Eyes opened slowly,

Lit by Inner Flames and Love.

And so it was that the Star Snakes

Were awakened, and give home

To the World-Seeds that they loved.

The Star Snakes breathed across

The World-Seeds and freed them

From frozen Prisons of Ice.

Now warm and free the World-Seeds

Waxed impatient, wanting to be filled

With burgeoning Life.

Blessed by the Star Snakes.

First Enchanteur’s Journey Card

 

In the Beginning, was the Void. 

Empty and waiting for fullness.

The Void waited for the generosity of Life.

Life brought forth a gift for the Void. 

In Awareness the Great World-Seed was born.

The Void welcomed the Great World-Seed, 

Containing all realities and possibilities.

The Seed floated in Nothingness,

The perfect dark and silence.

The Nothingness was broken by Light.

Light burned the Seed to ash,

Which became uncountable World-Seeds,

Still lifeless, the World-Seeds waited, feeling cold .

At last came Warmth, comforting the World Seeds.

The World-Seeds hung in silence,

No sounds came to them. 

They were dry, incomplete and barren.

On the Cusp of Everything

Float the World-Seeds. 

Hail the Promise of Seeds

 

Another Wonderful Adventure is Afoot

Travelling With Le Enchanteur

A group of us at Soul Food Cafe, are packing our bags for another virtual adventure.  The creatrix and Queen of Soul Food Cafe, Heather Blakey, is known as le Enchanteur (among other characters of her creation) in some parts of Soul Food, and it is Enchanteur that will be travelling with this group.

We have each been asked to create a role for ourselves, and our adventure will be recorded through the eyes and minds of the characters we create.

This is an excellent way to explore avenues of creativity, and genres we not normally play/work with.

Having been a multi-disciplinary artist from very early on, and played with a lot of genres; horror, comedy, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, and a historical or two.  I’ve also written prose, poetry, and lyrics.

So, I have chosen to return to my first love, a love that had been denied me due to a worsening in my eyesight.  That was before I bought PSP X1.

Now I am exploring PSP X1 as gleefully as a child on Christmas morning.  I have been creating ‘tags’, collages, and retouching photos I’ve taken with my digital camera.

Now, I plan to combine writing and artwork, returning to fantasy territory again, I will be “The Keeper of the Cards”  As I journey through Lemuria I plan to be creating a mythos and Tarot deck combined.

Be sure to keep peeking back, and checking

Travelling With Le Enchanteur

regularly to see what all of us are doing.

Rudy the Skid Row Reindeer

My family are all a tad… offbeat, to put it kindly.  My Aunt is the most musical one of us, and she seems to have started our ‘game’ of rewriting song lyrics.

This year I give you:

 

Rudy the Skid Row Reindeer

 “Rudy the Skid-Row Reindeer,

Had some very rheumy eyes

And if you ever saw him

You would have to say he’s fried. 

All of the other Hobos

Used to laugh and call him names

They never let poor Rudy

Join in any Hobo Games.

Then one frigid Christmas Eve

Santa came to say,

“Rudy you must be 90-proof

Shall we fly from roof-to-roof?” 

Then all the Hobos loved him

And they shouted out in a wheeze

“Rudy the Skid-Row Reindeer

Boozer, you will never freeze!”

Let’s try this and see what happens

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

Where to find my pictures online

Having PSP XI has made it possible for me to return to my first love, visual arts.  For the past couple months I have been playing with images, both my own and some I’ve found floating about the Internet.

A number of them are what are known as: ‘Signature Tags’; those are small, decorative images for e-mails, online journals, as well as online ‘manners’. 

Signature tags vary in size from 1″X1″, up to 5″X5″, and will have an individual’s name on them, and can have a short saying on them. 

The tags for manners are called ‘Extras’, and they will be an image with a word or words like, ‘Please’, ‘Thank you’, and phrases like, ‘Praying for You’, ‘Happy Birthday’, and ‘Merry Christmas’.

Tags are fairly easy and fun to make, and they offer an almost immediate reward in that you can see them devoloping as you add this, or apply a special effect.

You can find my photos and signature tags at:

http://public.fotki.com/GwenGuin/

You’re welcom to go peeking in there at any time, and see what I’ve been up to visually.  It is a good thing I have PSP XI, my words seem to have gone on a winter holiday, without me!!!

Bookworm Frenzy!!!

I had a genuine, full-blown Bookworm Frenzy this past week.  Mum, Matt and myself hit the secondhand stores of Mesa and Apache Junction.  We went to one in Mesa that we hadn’t been to in a while. 

Boy what a pleasant surprise!!  The store had been revamped and repriced.  All books were ten eensy-weensy little cents apiece.

Upon hearing this I immediately went into book buying mode!  I bought some lovely books of novellas, short stories, and a volume of mostly new naughty limericks!!

Don’t worry, dear readers, I shan’t repeat any here, where young skips might see it.  I only share them with adults that won’t be offended by language or content.

I also got my eager, greedy little fingers on a dozen or more hardcover full-length novels, covering a range of authors from Margaret Mitchell, Isaac Asimov, and Dorothy Gilman to Phyllis A. Whitney, Stephen King, and Anne McCaffrey.

I also bought a batch o’ books for my Grimoire; Chinese Astrology, Wiccan Beliefs and Practices, and The Metaphysical Bible Dictionary; Nutritional Healing, a book on Herbalism whose information’s timeliness belies its quaint dust jacket; a diminutive tome on Palmistry, and a textbook on Astronomy.

If reading those doesn’t make my brains ooze through the sutures in my skull; I don’t know what to tell you!!

Not too long ago, I found a book called “The Star Borne”, I let the book fall open to a random page; doing this while thinking of a question is called Bibliomancy, which is a practice best left to the ‘professionals’, in this case people who hve practiced this art for years and decades, and have the strength of confidence and familiarity.

Anywhooodlz, I just read a random passage from the book, “The Star-Borne”, and let it filter down through my subconscious and pack up again, rather like reverse osmosis.  It was quite pertinent to where I am at in my life-path.

The Metaphysical Bible Dictionary is an imposing book, meant to be nibbled at in managable bits.  I have also poked my nose into the Chinese Astrology book, and laughed while nodding my head in complete agreement.

One other find was three or four coffee table books, Everyone in the house collects them, we have them on cats, birds, fish, horses, and so on.

Like I’ve said, the three of us are all book lovers, and the lines of interest have blurred a bit in the past couple years.  So you will be hearing about more books fairly soon.

And to leave you with a smile…

Gwenerrella Has A Scary Story

Yes!!  Our Gwenerrella has a spooky story to tell you!!

Hi!  I gotsa spooky story ta tells ya!!  My friends wanna hear it too.

Theys Loodlelalla an’ Sassy. 

 

Loodlelalla gotsa black eye from beatin’ up da bully dat was teasin’ Sassy.

Sassy is one a my favouritest friends, she’s funny an’ smart, an’ she lissens ta me.

Once upon a time, there was a fam’ly that liveded by a semmaterry.  There was da Momma, Daddy, an’ three little kids.  One day, Momma askded da biggest one to go to da store an’ buy some libber for dinner.

 Da biggest one goed to da store an’ bought some candy, and toys for de kids, an’ then dinnunt have any money leftded for da libber. She was scareded to go home, but she knowed Momma was gonna be lookin’ for ‘em. 

So da kid stopded in da semmaterry and founded somebody that was dead but not inna ground .  Da kid tookded out they’s libber an’ took it home for Momma to cook for dinner. 

When dinner was already, da kid dinnunt wanna eat none, and said they tummy hurted.  Momma sended her ta bed and tol’ her ta feels better. 

Den she goed asleep and got waked up later, accause she heared somebuddy walkin’ and sayin’. “I want my libber!” 

She getted real scareded, and hided under the blankets, and acted like she was asleep. 

But she could hear dem feets walkin’… 

Thump!  Thump!  Thump! 

An’ she could hear ‘em sayin’… 

“I want my libber!” 

It getted louder an’ closer.   

Thump!  Thump!  Thump! 

“I want my libber!” 

Den she could hear de buddy she takeded da libber from walkin’ onna driveway. 

Crunch!  Crunch!  Crunch! 

Da girl feelded unner the piddow an’ feelded da candy unner there.  She getted even more scareded, an hollered for Momma. Momma dinnunt say nuthin’, an Daddy dinnunt, nobuddy sayed anything when da girl callded for ‘em.   

She getted up an’ peekded out da winnow and dere was da man hers takeded da libber from, comin’ up onnna porch. 

“I’s onna front porch, I wants my libber!” 

The door wented creeeeeeeeeeeeeeek an she could hear da man inna house!  She getted sooo scareded dat she started cryin’, real quiet.  

Thump1   Thump!   Thump! 

“I’s inna libbing room I wants my libber!” 

Den da girl heared da man onna first step goin’ up to da bedrooms.  Groooooooaaaaaannnnnnnn!  Goed the loose bored.

 

“I’s onna first step I wants my libber!” 

Thump!  Thump! 

“I’s onna second step I wants my libber!” 

Thump!  Thump! 

Da gitl was snifflin’ by den, an’ the piddow was getting’ wet. 

Thump!  Thump! 

“I’s onna forth step I wants my libber!” 

Hers tried to holler but she counnent make any noise. 

Thump!  Thump! 

Thump!  Thump! 

Thump!  Thump! 

“I’s onna sebbenth step I wants my libber!” 

Now da girl getted eben more scareded accause she knowed dere was onny ten steps to da bedrooms. 

Thump!  Thump! 

Thump!  Thump! 

“I’s onna las’ step I wants my libber!” 

Da girl was so scareded dat she wetted the bed and was cryin’ loud. 

Thump!  Thump! 

Thump!  Thump! 

Thump!  Thump! 

“I’s at yous bedroom door I wants my libber!” 

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!   Now da kid could smell da man, an he smelded awful. 

“I WANT MY LIBBER!” 

But Daddy neber tellded us what happeneded to da kid.  He neber telleded us if da man getted his libber back ever. 

Return to the Red Death

This tale requires a wee bit of an explanation, back in 2004, as part of a Soul Food Cafe project,  I was to write an article on the Red Death ( a la, E. A. Poe’s tale, “The Mask of the Red Death”.  The first article is the one I wrote in 2004, the second one is the update I wrote in 2007.  

FATALITIES FROM THE RED DEATH RISE SHARPLY

by Gwen Myers

UPI: (Budapest, Transylvania). A mysterious illness is decimating Clan Dracül. The descendants of Vlad (the Impaler), once quite numerous, are dwindling at an alarming rate. Clan Dracül once flew at over 10,000 strong.

Due to fatalities from the ‘Red Death’, as it is being called, there are barely 2,000 adult Dracül able to take wing and feed. The Eldars and flightless young are the hardest hit by the Red Death. The Eldars feed least often and suffer the worst deaths from the disease. The young slowly die of starvation when the parents die of the Red Death.

Researchers, in lightproof laboratories, race to find a vaccine or cure while the population is still large enough to prevent inbreeding. Clan Dracül has not forgotten the horrors and sports that marred earlier generations, and does not wish to return to the era of infanticide and heartbreak.

The symptoms of the Red Death include deep red colouration of the face, difficulty in feeding, loss of primary and secondary fangs with concomitant inability to feed and death by starvation.

The only correlation found thus far is a possible similarity in the habits of food. A great number of the prey of Red Death fatalities are known among the prey as “Tweakers” and it is theorised that a commonality among the “Tweaker” prey may be the root cause.

As a precaution Clan Dracül members are advised to avoid prey that smell or behave abnormally. A strong medicinal smell or extreme restlessness seem to be signs of “Tweaker” prey and as such should be avoided.

There is a growing concern in the Council of Clan Dracül will need to create “New Blood” to remain vital and viable in the Vampyrric community. The persecutions and wholesale slaughter of the first “New Blood” search are fresh in the memories of all Vampyrric Clans. There has been enough intermarriage between European Vampyrric Clans that for Clan Dracül to survive, the “New Blood” search, may have to be undertaken soon.   

My friend Shiloh put this tale up on her website and I got an idea for a follow up article: 

 My friend Shiloh put this tale up on her website and I got an idea for a follow up article: 

(from the Transylvanian Journal of Vampyrric Medicine) 

CORRELATION AND CURE FOUND FOR RED DEATH

By Gwen Myers

 UPI: (Budapest, Transylvania) The Transylvanian Journal of Vampyrric Medicine  announced last Tuesday, 23, October, 2007 that the causative agent for the affliction known as “The Red Death” has been isolated, and a cure found for this scourge of the 21^st Century. 

The early theory of a commonality in the habits of prey proved to correct when researchers isolated the compound “Methamphetamine” from the blood of prey.  This is a recreational substance that is both highly addictive and destructive. 

Apparently the prey exhibits many of  the same symptoms as do the Vampyres, and the compound can cause fatalities amongst the prey. 

The intensive study isolated a treatment , beginning with the rare practice of both transfusions and hemodialysis of anyone exposed to the tainted prey, for not less than a full lunar month, and intravenous feeding until the individual is well enough to be fitted with a bridge of primary and secondary fangs. 

It is agreed that anyone who has ingested the tainted food be checked frequently for at least one calendar year to prevent  a relapse of the disorder. 

This treatment has even revived those Vampyres in the first stages of the Premature Hibernatory Phase Syndrome, once thought to be incurable.  As is commonly known, vampyres that suffer from Premature Hibernatory Phase Syndrome  will fall into the Hibernation phase of Vampyrism when they do not have the reserves to support their bodily functions and when the reserves are depleted the vampyre dies of starvation. 

This is a breath of hope for Clan Dracül, along with the offer from unrelated Clans the world over  to ally  their younger vampyres with Clan Dracül , both to swell their ranks, and prevent inbreeding as well as the need for a “New Blood” search. 

Even with this miracle, Clan Dracül may take centuries to regain their pre-Red Death size of 10,000 on the wing.

So, You Want A Scary Movie??

       #-One of the 8 Films 2 Die 4    

       *- More Than One Copy

       + Also own the book  

American Psycho *- You cannot help but be glued  to this one, even though it is over 2 hours long.    Disturbing, realistic, and well-performed by the star.

Amityville Horror (new)- One of the very few remakes that impressed me.  The original version with James Brolin is still my favourite, it can scare the socks off you without special effects.

Assignment Outer Space

Astronaut’s Wife * Subtle, insidious and scary.  Brad Pitt is well-cast as the astronaut.  Can stand up to more than one watching.

Audrey Rose- How can you go wrong with this one?  The beautiful, haunted girl; and Anthony Hopkins as Audrey’s father.

Bad Seed, The- Still one of the scariest films I’ve seen, right up there with Psycho!!!

Bell, Book, and Candle – A perfect movie, definitely one to watch over and over!

Big Bad Wolf- Sick, funny, and played way over the top, not one for the little ones though.

Black Sheep- Hehehehehehe!!!!  One word… “Werewool”!!!! Brilliant film from New Zealand.

Blood and Chocolate-Utterly fascinating, sexy and yummy, destined to be one of the greatest werewolf films.  Does for werewolves what Gary Oldman did for vampyres.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula- How many people wanted to be bitten after seeing this??  I’ve watched it about 10 times and haven’t even started to get bored with it.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer * Such a charming premise! 

Canterville Ghost- Patrick Stewart is delightful as a ghostly curmudgeon.

Cell, The- Amazing on so may levels, the story is excellent, the premise believable, the acting is some of the best performances, the way the film is presented is perfect.  Another one to watch over and over.

Cellular- Wow.

Chiller

Chronicles of the Raven

Clearing, The

Corpse Bride, The- An animated musical that will charm you, and delight you.  Makes Goth a little more accessible to mainstream society.

Cosmic War of the Planets- Can we say “Creature Feature’ boys and girls?

Cujo +- This is one of the scariest dog films,period.

Cursed- The Werewolves are teenyboppers, again.

Danika

Dark Crystal, The- A good scary movie for the kids, how can you go wrong with Jim Henson’s Muppets?

Dark Ride#- A good show to watch in the dark, with popcorn and a macabre sense of humour!

Dead Birds

Death Race 2000- Camp, camp, camp!!  Sylvester Stallone’s very first film role.  I never tire of watching this and laughing helplessly.

Death Tunnel

Deliverance- Didn’t this one scare you silly too??

Demon

Demonic

Destroy All Planets

Don’t Say a Word *

Dream Catcher *  +  Those ____ Weasels!!!!  Eeeeeeek!!

Easy Virtue

Edward Scissorhands- Johnny Depp is stunning as the lead character, the film is surreal, funny, and charming.  I paid full price for this little goodie!!

Expecting Mercy

Exorcist * +- Hands down, one of the most terrifying films I have ever seen! 

First Born

Fright Night*- Another one for pyjama parties!!

From Hell *- Johnny Depp is again in his element as the man trying to catch Bloody Jack in London’s West End, excellent sets and story, I will be seeing it again.

Gamera the Invincible- One word- Drive-Ins!!!

Gamera vs. Monster X- Triple Feature Monster Movie Festival!

Gamera vs. Gaos- “The concession stand is now closing.”

Giant Gila Monster, The- A classic!!

Godzilla- Look out Raymond!!  AS good as the remake was, I still prefer the classic Godzilla.

Godsend- Mutant human-alien babies… bizarre end makes it worth watching.

Gojira- The real ‘original’ beastie.

Grudge, The- Even with subtitles, the original version is worth owning.

  

Halloween- Let the slashing begin!!!

Hannibal * +- Oh mannnnnnnn, Anthony Hopkins is amazing!!!

Hannibal Rising * +- This kid is going places, he is talented, savvy, and striking as a physical presence.

Hide and Seek

Howling*, The- NOt the best werewolf film available, but the story and the performances shine.

  

Identity *- A ‘Thinking’ man’s slasher film, John Cuzac is great, as are the rest of the cast.  I’ve seen it about four times already.

It  +- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!  I still don’t like clowns!!!!

Jacob’s Ladder *- Very well written, performed, and filmed, with stunning special effects it is a film that can keep you mesmerised.

Jamaica Inn

Jaws +- I still look at ocean swells and see that giahugic dorsal fin cutting silent and swift through them.

Jeepers Creepers -I dig the bat-creature!!!

Jeeper Creepers 2- Hold onto your spear-cannon, He’s back!

Labrynth *- Another film I can watch over and over.  David Bowie is as talented an actor as he is a musician, great for a family-friendly Halloween Party.

Lady In the Water *- One of M. NIght Shmalyan’s best tales.  I was glued to the film, and fascinated by the story, and the end left me feeling… glorified.  More than worth the 20$ U.S. that I paid for it.

Lawnmower Man +- A film to flop across your bed and watch in the dark, visually stunning and masterfully performed.

Legend of Hell House ~ A mid-70’s horror film, imported from across the big pond.  A must-see, especially in French, with the subtitles, it is far, far too funny to miss.

Maximum Overdrive +- AC/DC music and Emilio Estevez, perfect to go with a Stephen King tale of machines gone mad.

Mazes and Monsters

Mimic- “Mr. Funny Shoes Man”.

Monster from a Prehistoric Planet- “Mom?  I gotta go to the bathroom…”

Murders In The Rue Morgue + Edgar Allen Poe, need I say more?

My Little Eye

Mystic River *- Very good, another film thsy can stand up to more than one viewing.

Night of the Living Dead- Yes.  The original black and white version.

Omen*, The  (the Original)- How could anyone ever try to top Gregory Peck’s performance in this??

Others*, The- A ghost story of a different sheet!

Phantasm- Amyone who has seen this will remember the silver flying ball, and the ‘Tall Man’. shiver, shiver

Pick Me Up

Premonition

Prince of Darkness *- I can’t tell you how many time we have watched this, and never tire of it.  Alice Cooper is excellent in his role, and the story is believable.

Progeny, The- Another Evil-Mutant baby movie.

Pulse- I still haven’t worked up the nerve to watch it again!!

Ravenous

Red Dragon * +- Thomas Harris, Hannibal the Cannibal, and another psycho, who could ask for more to sink into the couch on a stormy evening?

Reincarnation #- Man do the Oriental countries make some awesome horror films!!!  They bring the best of their histories and cultures into every production.

Resident Evil*- Way cool, and good scare-ride from beginning to end.  Blessed with awesome special effects.

Riding the bullet +- Again, Stephen King, ’nuff said!

Rock, The- It may not be a ‘horror film’ per se, but the idea is scary as heck to me!!  Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage are well suited to their roles.

Room 1408- Even scarier than the ads!!  So good I forgot about the pause button on the remote and sat there with my mouth hanging open through the whole film.  John Cusack and  Samuel L. Jackson are excellent as always, and another Stephen King tale to boot!!

Rosemary’s Baby- “He has his father’s eyes.”

Rose Red *- A helluva haunted house tale, worth watching to the 2-DVD long movie!  Another Stephen King tale, it is always fun to watch for Stephen himself in his films.

Sabotage

Serpent and the Rainbow, The

Session 9 *-  Twisted, eerie, with great sets, and a tale that sticks with you long after you’re done watching the film.

Seven *- Brad Pitt, and Morgan Freeman shine in their roles(when don’t they?), the story is tight, and gets tighter through the whole film.

Severed- A movie to have a couple drinks with friends and laugh, with ther remote close at hand for the extra-gory scenes!!

Sight, The- Keanu Reeves and Jodie Foster are excellent in this film, I think I’ve seen it three times now.

Silence of the Lambs *, The- “I ate his liver with some Fava beans and a nice Chianti.”- Anothony Hopkins brought Hannibal the Cannibal into three-dimensional terrifying life.  Jodie Foster was, as always intense, and mesmering with her delicate beauty.

Silent Night, Bloody Night- HAhahahahahaha!!!!

Silent Hill_ Mum and I were watching this in the dark, and it scared me so bad I had to crawl into bed with Mum!!!

Silver Bullet +- Gary Busey and a werewolf, another good Stephen King tale!

Slash

Sleepers- Back to Stephen King we go!  Werecats, and pretty girls as their ‘prey’.

Someone is Watching

Species- I love this film, I think I’ve seen it a half-dozen times already and still love the interplay between the characters and the story too.

Stand, The + (the unedited version)- I think there should be one day a year where fans of the Stand can take the day off and park in front of the Big-screen watching this one!!  It scares the pants off you, and yet the end leaves you with a sense of optimism.

Stir of Echoes *- Kevin Bacon is excellent in this, with a subtle and hypnotic performance.  Another film worth buying to watch over and over.

Storm of the Century +- “Give me what I want and I’ll go away.”  Another Stephen King tale, a screenplay to be exact, and chillingly real.

Storm Tracker

Stranger, The  

Tales From the Darkside- Too much fun!!

Ted Bundy Story, The- Creepy enough, without the terrible fact that he was real.

Tell-Tale Heart, The + 

Thesis- Only available in Spanish, yet I was fascinated by the story, and even eatched it a second time.

Thirst, The

Tommyknockers * +, The- “Late last night, and the night before, Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers, knockin’ at my door.”

Tooth Fairy-Scarier than the title suggests.

Unrest#- Very good, worth more than one watching.

Undead- This Ozzie import is marvellous, I loved how some situations were portrayed!

Underworld- I wanted to be the first size 3X Death Dealer, how about you?

Underworld Evolution- One of the very few sequels that is as good as the original.

Unnamable- A campy tale of a succubus!

Urban Legend- A tongue-in-cheek slasher film.

Urban Legends- Dead Mary#- Hehehehe, I ave so much fun with the hapless people stranded in a remote cabin sort of spooky movies.

Vampires- A JohnCarpenter tale with some awesome action and special effects.

Virtuosity-WOW!!  A stunning technology gone wild film, the special effects are dizzying.

Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet- “Mom!!  The skeeters are bitin’ me!!”

Wait until Dark

War of the Monsters- “Are they all asleep yet honey?”

Warlock- A delightful tale of sorcery, time travel, and culture clash.  Julian Sands is right as a warlock, and does a difficult role justice.

Warning From Space- My brother and I have yet to be able to see all of this one, we laugh so hard we hve to stop the DVD so we can breathe!!!

Warriors of the Wasteland*-A spahetti sci-fi!!!!!

We All Scream For Ice Cream

When a Stranger Calls

White Noise- Goodness me!!!!  This one gave me the willies!!!

Willow- Altogether too charming to not buy, and another great film for family parties.  Val Kilmer is delightful in his role.

WishMaster

WishMaster 2

Witches of Eastwick, The- Doesn’t Jack Nicholson make an awesomely seductive devil??

Wolf *- Anpther amazing performance by Jack Nicholson, he portays an insidious descent into semi-bestiality.

Wolfen *  +- This is a Whitley Strieber tale well worth buying the book and watching the film.  Alber Finney, and Gregory Hines work so well toghether it is a delight to watch them in a scene together.

Yongary, Monster from the Deep- “Honey, why do let the kids watch these awful things??”

Young Frankenstein- Do I have to say anything??

Mum was on Vacation!!!

Almost a month ago Mum went on a mini-vacation. My brother Jim took Mum to Mexico.   My niece had asked for that for her birthday, so Mum saved up money and off to Mexico, on the Sea of Cortez they went. 

‘They’ were Mum, my brother Jim, my Niece Kryssi, Jim’s sweetie Carol, her daughters Jess and Jenn, and Kryssi’s sweetie Troy. Jim vacations in Mexico regularly so he knew where to go, how to get there, what needs to go with, and the cool places to go in Rocky Point. 

They rented a gorgeous condo right on the beach, and Mum had a mini-suite all to herself, she and Kryssi are still talking about it!! 

My brother Jim refused to let Mum pay for part of the condo they rented, which I thought was so wonderfully Jim that I got teary-eyed when Mum told me he did that.  She came back completely relaxed, tanned, burned, sandy, and with skinny braids in the top if her hair, she also brought back goodies for Matt and I.   

Since Mum had been saving up money for her vacation, she was able to spend more on gifts than she had planned.  She bought Matt a gorgeous, solid silver skull necklace to hang from his rear-view mirror.   She bought herself three pair of silver and turquoise earrings, one pair were dainty little dragonflies, another were Kokopellis, and the third were an abstraction of Native American styles. She also bought herself a charming lizard pendant on a rawhide thong to hang from her rear-view mirror.   

I made out like the pirate I delight in being, she bought me a silver pendant of a dragon wrapped around a Gothic Cross on a rawhide thong, a bead necklace made with tiny, golden-brown glass beads and a gorgeous iridescent tiger-eye as the pendant, and the ring.   

The ring was custom ordered, made of solid silver, it has a broad flat band and the top of the ring is three beautifully cast wolves, two are standing shoulder-to-shoulder looking forward, and the third is sitting on her haunches, howling to the rest of the pack.  I fell in love with it the moment she showed it to me, and have worn it on my right pinky finger every day since.  

I even wore it while I ‘programmed’, harmonized, and charged two awesome clusters of clear quartz crystal I want to use in healing magic.  So, because of that, the ring is now one of my ‘tools of magic’. 

‘Tools of magic’ are material things that have been made a trigger for specific thought-patterns and exercises to help you get into the space you need to be in to what is called ‘magic’.  

I’ll tell you about the crystals in my next post, so don’t worry dears, you’ll not be left in the dark for long!!

For Our Heather

Heather Blakey, the creatress of Soul Food Cafe, is a remarkable woman, and she is fortunate enough to have the Raven as her Totem Animal.

My Druid Animals Tarot Deck has the loveliest card for Raven, and my Animal Guides book has this to say about the Raven Totem:

Raven represents the ability to go into the Darkness and bring forth the Light.  Northwestern American Indians believe that Raven stole the Sunlight from one who would keep the world in Darkness, therefore Raven is symbolic of the Eternal Cycle of Life and Death.

In Norse mythology Odin had two Ravens that served as his Messengers, their names were Hugin (thought) and Munin (memory).

Because of their ability to mimic other animals’ sounds, Raven is associated with the ability to communicate, and is an extremely powerful creative Totem.

An entirely appropos Totem for a woman who awakens the creative life of those who seek out her virtual Queendom of Soul Food Cafe.

Now I wonder…

I was trying to organise my bedroom the other day, not an easy task considering that my bedroom is also my altar, library, studio, and entertainment centre!!

One of the things was photographs… they’ve overflowed three photo albums, and now one of those zippered notebook critters that is supposed to hold all of your school stuff, supposed to…

Anywhooodlz, I ran across a photo and I am wondering; does anyone recognise this girl??

 

My Newest Book

When I told you about my Tarot Cards the other day, I mentioned the book that I had to buy.  It is “The Woman’s Encyclopædia of Myths and Secrets” by Barbara G. Walker.  It is a fat, fascinating book, I haven’t yet immersed myself in it, but I did peek, and I found the following entry under the letter “M”.

 Mama- (mah mah)- Tale of the great Goddess Ma, or Mama, the world’s basic name for “mother’s breasts”.  Mother Kali was sometimes Mamaki, spirit of the world’s “Fertilising Waters”.  She was also Mamata, spirit of ‘mine-ness’ or belonging, binding members of the same matrilineal clan together through the blood of mothers.   

In Mesopotamia, She was Mami, Mammitu, or Mama, the Creatress who made mankind out of clay and nourished Her creatures with Her own “magic fluids”.

Searching randomly I found:

 Devi: “Goddess”, the Sanskrit root word for many of the Indo-European names for the Great Mother.  The teachings of Krishna or Shiva were addressed to the Devi as interrogator of the catechism; She was also addressed as ‘Dearly Beloved’, the ‘Shakti’, a convention copied by the New Testament.  Krishna’s virgin mother was he ‘maiden form’, Devaki.  The Goddess’s title as “the way leading to the Gods” was Devayani, the Divine Yoni.  As the virgin mother of Mahavira she was Devananda, “Blessed Goddess”.  A Czech name for the mother goddess, Devana, came from the same root, as also the Latin Diana, Minoan Diwija, Serbian Diiwica, and the Roman Diviana- all meaning “The Divinity”. I can see many hours spent lost between the pages of this addition to my grimoire, or ‘Witch’s Library’, which is a collection of books that have taught and inspired the individual Witch through her life-journeys.

Would you believe? Three More Decks!

A day or so ago Mum, Matt and myself made the trek into Mesa to one of our favourite places, Bookman’s.  They sell new and used books, videotapes, CD’s, DVD’s, Computer Games and some delightful knick-knacks.  We make it a point to go there maybe once every three months or so, because it is so easy to spend a chunk o’ change there, without going wild.

They have a wonderful selection of Metaphysics/New Age/Occult books and supplies.  I very rarely make it past there before saying, “Enough.” to myself.  This time I did, because I bought Mum an audiobook.  I rationalised it to her, when she fussed about my buying her a present, by saying I wanted to hear it myself. *smirking with delight*

Anywhoo, that was after I found three decks of Tarot cards and a wondrous book that I just could not leave behind.  I felt as though it had waited for me to find it, and when I get that sort of feeling I am meant to have that particular item for whatever reason, even though the reason may not show itself for a while.

The last time I felt that way was with the bag of costume jewellery in the second-hand store; but that is another story.  Right now, back to the Tarot cards.

      

The first deck I found was “The Well Worn Path Oracle Cards”, which turned out to be a lovely, beautifully illustrated set of cards rich with Wiccan/Pagan symbolism, including the one that is already my personal favourite, “The Crone”.

Then I found a deck called “The Faerie’s Oracle”, and the illustrations on this deck resonate so easily with my personal wavelegths that reading them promises to be deep and effortless.

 

The deck that disarmed, charmed and delighted me is the third deck.  As soon as I saw the box, I knew I had to buy them in honour of my brother Matt!  I was still in the car when I opened the deck, and started oooooh’ing and aaaaahhhh’ing over the individual cards.  I can see this making the Tarot more comprehensible to a lot of Y-chromosomers out there.

    

‘The Baseball Tarot” is awesome, the illustrations, and the choices for individual cards and suits.  I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of the suits: Bats,   Mitts, Bases, and Balls, instead of Wands, Cups,Swords and Pentacles!!  Isn’t that just too delightful?

In the Major Arcana, ‘The Fool’ becomes ‘The Rookie’, and ‘The World’ is, of course, “The World Series’. The card that tickles me to no end is ‘The Emperor becoming “The Umpire”!  I can hardly wait to do a reading with them!

She Thinks She Is A Comedienne!!

Yes, Gwenerrella is talking again, and she wants to tell us all a joke…

  

  

      

  

Its all Matt’s Fault!!

I must explain this post, it isn’t a One-Eyed Red tale.  It is one of those ‘Pirate Puns’ I have been subjecting my readers to.

The very first ‘Pirate Pun’ was from my brother Matt, every one since then was my ‘work’.

When I subjected Matt to the following pun he almost laughed in spite of himself, then groaned and said, “I’v created a monster, haven’t I?”

Where do pirates buy their spyglasses?

Why, fro’ the Aye Doctor, accourse!!

hehe-He-hehehehehehehe!!!

Run, it’s… Bombazilla!!!!

Thanks to Shiloh, there has been a new character who has come to inhabit its own twisted corner of my psyche.  Her name is Bombazilla, and despite her looming, fearful visage she is a sweet-tempered, loving mutated dinosaur.  Bombazilla is raising her three little ‘Zillas without a Mr. Zilla, which gives rise to some ‘interesting’ situations.

Today, Bombazilla is treating herself to a dip in the ‘jacuzzi’, freshly refilled after the unfortunate ‘bubble bath’ incident.

The little Zillas are still in hot water (pardon the pun), over the said incident, when three gallons of Lavender and Chamomile bubble bath ended up in the jacuzzi, and all over the deck, patio, and backyard.

So without further ado, this is Bombazilla, waiting for the water to finish heating in her jacuzzi.  Unfortunately, a jacuzzi large enough to hold the whole Zilla family can’t be filled quickly by ‘normal’ means.

So, Bombazilla made world news when she refilled her jacuzzi:

Glacial lake disappears in southern Chile

Scientists found a 100-feet-deep crater in late May were lake had been

AP This undated combo image released by CONAF, Chile’s National Forest Service, shows a 2-hectare lake at the Huemules National Park that mysteriously disappeared in the southernmost region of Magallanes, Chile. Park rangers on a routine monthly patrol discovered in late May, 2007, that the lake had dried up.

Be Afraid, Be very afraid!!

         

         

         

                  

A poem to share…

MEDICINE WOMAN

There hadn’t been a time
She wasn’t ‘magical’,in the sense
That she could do from birth,
Things others feared to believe.

Banal minds couldn’t conceive
Of her gifts being real.
She would know everyone’s
Mood and health from birth.

And send her Spirit flying
Out of her body to travel,
To seek out the roadways
Of the Universe.

And it was these things
Saving her from collapse
When she failed to listen.
Icarus-like, burned away.

She had drunk deeply
Of the Inner Darkness
For as long as she had
Breathed on her own.

She tried to learn when
She stumbled over obstacles
And there were times too,
That she fell and cried aloud.

Always her Will helped her rise
While imagination held the key
To both healing and solace
When neither was within belief.

She had been flung, screaming,
Into a Crucible of her own make.
And therein, was she purified
By the flames of deep passions.

There were things that she
Would mourn never knowing.
And others that she let go,
Knowing they were not needed.

She would know loves
That were transcendent.
And they would have all
The contact they needed.

These loves may never
Be consummated in touch,
Yet they are fulfilling
Wondrous with tender love.

All the same, she was human,
Prey to the trials that teach
Us to show compassion
For one another always.

She had lost everything
She believed a part
Of her life forever,
Her connexion with Man.

As she lived her life
She learned deep truths.
And in learning them
She was annealed.

In this way does the
Iron Will of Woman
Become a fine blade
Worthy of the gods.

She is one of the few
Who will become a Mother
To those who gather near her
She helps them grow.

With her beatitude and
Her boundless love
She will be an encouraging
Voice along Spirit roads.

“See, you have been
Traveling the right Path!
Oh sweet children
Of my heart and spirit.”

The Medicine Woman
Is like the tender heart
Of the All-Mother,
Her face lit from within.

Embrace her when
You find her and
Drink reverently
Of her joyous love.

Medicine Woman
The guide to the
Lost spirits who are
Seeking their Home.

My PSP is back!!!!!

When my new-to-me computer crashed, and wouldn’t revive, I was deprived of my delightful new toy: Paint Shop Pro Photo XI.  After a marathon burn-to-CDR-and-delete session I was able to install it on this pc. 

I was as happy as a kid at Christmas to ‘get it back’, I had barely begun to explore it, never mind test the limits of the programme!!

Anywhooodlz, the first thing I wanted to get back was the marvellous fonts I had downloaded to go with my PSP.  Yes, I am a word junkie, right down to the style of the letters matching the feel of the words.

I finally got them all downloaded and working at about 2 AM and when I got up and going today I created this doodle.  I have been wanting to do it for the better part of a week but circumstances kept it from happening as quickly as I would have liked.  Sssoo, at last:

I GOT FONTS!!

 

4th of July Fireworks

Here in the States, 4th of July is celebrated with picnics, marching bands, and lots of fireworks, the never-get-tired-of wonder of night skies.

Where I live with Mum, and my brother Matt, we can sit on the back porch to watch the fireworks show at the local high school.  This year Mum and Matt suffered a severe ‘food coma’ after munching on the spicy BBQ pork ribs, with fixin’s a-plenty.

So, there I was, just me and my camera when the fireworks actually began.  I popped out to the ‘back yard’ that faces an 8-lane superhighway. 

Standing on rough paving tiles, still hot from the 110+ degree, and playing with camera; all by my lonesome and snapping pics as fast as I could.

I didn’t waste any time finding out how to time my shots with the fireworks, so that the fireworks would be caught at their brightest moment of glory.

Hopping from foot to foot early on and able to stand still by midpoint as I flashed ny way through 2 new sets of batteries! 

Anywhoo, my dear regular readers, here is my 4th of July, shared with you, so my ‘Oooooooo’s and Aaaaahhh’s’ weren’t alone. 

 

First Doodle

SUNDAY , 7th July 2007

\

Once again Shiloh and I are working on similar things on our blogs.  We are both playing with a doodle-a-day theme.  This is my first entry, simply, ‘Fishy Gal’.

So I Have Built This for Tara

My dear friends,

I have been reading of the proposal to turn the Hill of Tara into a motorway, and I personally feel that that is an inexcusable insult on too many levels to not speak out against it.

If you want to know more information go to:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hilloftara

I have been hearing cries from the world over, and so, my Solstice Day begins with this, my gift, One Solitary Witch’s Spirit, reaching out to Tara. 

My Circle for Tara:

On the back
Of the dragon
That beneath
Fair Tara sleeps,
I shall dance.

In my Solitary Circle,
I can go anywhere,
Anywhen I wish to be.
And so it comes to pass
That my Spirit flies;
Away to Tara I must go.

Follow me, follow me
Away to Tara all
Spirits do fly.
Called home by
The Hill of Kings’
call to arms.

Across Her breast
None dare reach.
The Furies and Fates
In mighty wrath
Will ever defend
Tara in need.

I call to you
O Spirits of
Wind and Rain.
Bringers of’Storm
Hear our plea
Let Tara remain.
 

I am calling now
O Eternal Embers,
Stalwart Goddess
Generous and strong.
Fire, do dance
With Lady Earth.

To You I will cry
O Endless Heavens,
Send down your
Timelessness to
Your Fair Daughter.
Sweet Tara’s Hills.

River’s Waters, and
Salty Seas,  rise up.
Green Erin’s Sister.
A part of her Story
Would be forever
Erased, but unforgotten.

Spirit of the Grasses
And flowers of Wild.
Hold fast to Earth
Let not Tara’s
Raiment fair
Be torn away.

Roots of Mighty Oak,
Tendrils of Mistletoe
Reach out your
Partnered arms.
Stay the blade
Ere it wounds Tara.

The light of a thousand
Burning Torches dance
Solstice Bonfire glows.
Beneath the Sickle
Moon’s silvery
Light and Touch.

The fire and courage
Of Epona’s children
Bring your power hence.
The Hill of Kings
To progress should
Never fall.

Blesssed be,
Namaste and amen.
Gwen M. Myers
Of the County Cork Fords.

Memories of Books

Everyone has memories that remain, new and shiny as patent-leather shoes, in their spirit and shape who they are and become.

One of my earliest memories is of a coffee-table book that my Mum had.  It was a wondrous book for a visual child trapped in orthopaedic shoes and leg braces to lose herself in.

It was a retelling of the Classic Greek Myths; and it was blessed with some amazing illustrations.  The images looked like they were bits of construction paper, cut with safety scissors and library pasted in place to form the elements of the illustrations.

For years I wondered how Queen Jocasta (from Oedipus) had managed to hang herself with her girdle, the only ones I had ever seem were those tummy control horrors of the late 50’s that looked more like an instrument of torture than ladies’ underthings!!

Still, those stories stayed with me, and birthed a lifelong love affaire with mythology in me.  Greek, Roman, Norse, Germanic, Middle and Far Eastern, Native American; they were all something to be savoured, over and over, until my favourites were committed to memory.

I wish I could find that book again, I remember it with that much affection.  Sitting in Mum’s lap, reading the words slowly with her, I didn’t feel as much of a freak as I did when the other kids were out running and playing, while I clanked about like some android from a bad black-and-white horror film.

My love of mythology surpassed even my love of horses.  When other kids were playing baseball and riding bicycles, I was with Prometheus when he stole fire for mankind.  I watched Arachne spin her tapestry and her fate, I saw how Hera responded to Zeus’ wandering eye and appetite.

Even more, I rode on Pegasus, and drank from his spring on Mount Cynthus as poets did then.  I saw Apollo harness his golden horses of flame to their chariot of the sun to begin a new day.

I drank from the goblet of immortality with Ganymede, and descended into Hades with Persephone, and heard the cries of suffering from the damned of the day.

And in these fancies I was never the freak with pop-bottle glasses and an eye patch; nor was I stuck sitting quietly and reading when my heart wanted to be playing alongside my brothers, breathing air that wasn’t tainted by my parents’ unhappinesses.

When people speak of freedom, I see that book opened across my lap, the images come alive, and me with them.

You can say, “But it was just a book!” if you wish.  To me it was doorway, one that I now leap fearlessly through to create my tales.

The Things Children Will Think Up

Back when we still lived in our ‘hometown’ of Flint, Michigan (Cars, Bars, and a few Weirdoes) my brothers and I were wont to create our own games.  Mum and Dad were separated, and there was never the money to stretch far enough for new toys or games.

Reading had always been a part of my family’s life, starting with the earliest ‘baby’  books, up to sharing novels that we enjoy.  Because we swapped books back and forth, each other’s interests rubbed off.  We all learned to be interested in history from Grandma DeShaw, the Sciences from Mum, and the Occult Sciences (or Metaphysics) from me.

And the novels!!!  Oh all those glorious stories!!  I was reading, retaining and comprehending College-Level Genetics Textbooks at the age of 9 so I bypassed a lot of those simplistic books.  I think I went directly from “Dick and Jane” to William Peter Blatty, Shakespeare, Stephen King, and suchlike.

Yes, the whole family adores scary tales, the more believable and chilling, the better.  Which is where this memory comes from- 

All four of us had read a book of short stories aloud to one another, and one of them stuck more than the others.  In the story, a man ate or drank something nasty, and it changed him.  He turned grey and slimy as a Banana Slug, all of his senses were altered, and the disease passed through the population like wildfire.  The people that contracted it were called ‘Dermies’, and that was the basis for one of our favourite games.

It could only be played at night, with the curtains drawn and all the lights off, so the house was delightfully eerie.

Dermies was an offshoot of classic ‘Tag’; one person was ‘It’, but, instead of being ‘It’ they were the ‘Dermie’ and their touch passed the onus of ‘Dermie-ism’ on to the next player.

Like Tag, Dermies was a physical game, you ran from the Dermie to avoid being touched.  Instead of being played outside we played it in the house, especially on stormy nights.

We would all run through the house shrieking “Dermies” at the top of our voices.  Furniture was to be leapt over or bounced off of.  There were no rules to speak of, except for not being able to tag the person that just made you the dermie, and it was verboten to close any doors.

This game was never played in the presence of adults, oh no!!  This was a game we didn’t share with too many friends.  Most of the kids in the neighbourhood were…

What is a nice way to put it???  Their family trees had no branches, perhaps.  And they were more hillbilly than Jed, Ellie Mae, and the rest of their kin. 

Anywhooodles, None of us wes ever seriously hurt whilst playing Dermies, and even more amazing, the game never degenerated into a fist-fight.  Mum heard about it from our next-door neighbours, the McCanns.  So, we were forced to tell her why we were running through a darkened house shrieking like a trio of Harpies.

Mum, being delightfully Mum, laughed until she hurt, and told us to tell Mary so she wouldn’t worry about us. 

After we discovered that Mary McCann kept a loving eye on us while Mum was going to college full-time and working 3 or 4 part-time jobs to support us we added a mischievious fillip to the game.

Before we would actually start our game we would all bounce up and down on Mum’s bed and wave to Mary M. as we peeped over the curtains in Mum’s bedroom window.

Mary, being a ‘Universal Mom’, didn’t get upset over this, oh no!!  She laughed until she hurt every time we did it, and she would call her husband to the window to watch as well.

No one could ever accuse our family of lacking imagination and a sense of fun!!!!

She’s A TattleTale

When her mother finds out what Gwenerrella is talking about, the fur will really fly!!!

     

   

That child couldn’t keep a secret to save her life!!!

Gwenerrella Oooooooppsss…

Gwenerrella has quite the tale to tell you this week.

      

      

  

The things that Gwenerrella feels she needs to tell us are a scandal!!

Gwenerrella #3

 Gwenerrella is devolping her own personality, and even I am surprised by the things she says.

Gwenerrella 2

I have been trying for 2 days to post my next Gwenerrella instalment.  With family crises, my own health problems, trying to spend time with my family I have been unable to do so until now.

So without further ado, here is the next Gwenerrella:

Gwenerrella 1

And so begins the tale of Gwenerrella, a sad little ghost of a human, more than a little warped by life.

First Peek

I am creating a little cartoon person, and the poor little duffer will be the… ahem

Expression of My Darknesses.

My friend Shiloh, I know I’ve told you of Shiloh, she gave me the nickname “Gwenerrella”, after hearing of the dynamics of the three of us that live together.

As Shiloh was coining this nickname, I was a member of the PSP group:

DDreamscapes,

 a creative exchange of artistic images, and techniques from all over the ‘Net, with a taste for Goth, macabre, and dark fantasy imagery.

I couldn’t help but be charmed by the frail waifs of Goth children, and they settled happily into my subconscious.  Once Shiloh started calling me Gwenerrella, it was a done deal.

I started playing with my own little Goth girl, Gwenerrella.

  Meet Gwenerrella, you’ll be seeing her from time to time.

My first Deck

I did say that I was going to start with my oldest deck and work forward from there. 

I don’t have my very first deck any more, they met an untimely death in a swimming accident.

So, I’ll start with the deck I was given to replace them.  My Grandmother DeShaw bought me the deck with 3 books on interpreting them for Christmas of 1977.  At that point I already had been doing the Tarot for 4 years.

The deck she gave me was the Rider-Waite Tarot, I still use them regularly because they seem to work the best for any ‘material’ questions; “Will I get a raise?”  “Should I buy that new house?”   “Will I find my ‘dream job’?”.

The deck itself is velvety from use and more than a tad flexible.  They’re the 4X6-inch size, so they require a bit of a stretch to shuffle, I tell newcomers that they can look at that as a stretching exercise.

Yes Folks, Another Deck!

The family made a Bookman’s raid the other day, and it happened.  They had 2 different decks of Tarot cards.  The Pheonix Oracle Deck for Past-Life Studies, and The Sacred Path Cards for Self-Discovery Through Native American American Wisdom.  I couldn’t afford both so I carried them to see which one was easier to put down.  Once I knew that, I knew whick deck to get…

The one I couldn’t put down and walk away from, of course.  *giggle, giggle*

That was the Sacred Path Cards, I am sharing a picture of one of the cards:

# 27 Cradleboard

The Wildish Woman

I had a trial of PSP 8, when that ran out I had to wait for my order of PSP 11 to arrive, which it finally did yesterday.  This card had been waiting for that to happen, so I am back in the groove!!

The Hell-Cat of Mesa

My friend, Anita Marie, is an talented writer, and she has inspired me again:

http://anita64.wordpress.com/2007/05/12/insanity-jones/#comment-2121

Anita love, thank you again and always!

This is the tale of how the family’s cat, Kliban, came to join us; for everyone except us he was a terror on dainty cream-coloured paws.  Small children wept in terror at the sight of him, dogs climbed trees to escape his wrath, and adults begged us to keep him inside when they were out, so they could go about their business unmolested by 35 pounds of pure meanness. 

Once upon a time, when Mesa was a quiet family town, a family, not too different from the rest, accidentally acquired a cat.  Not just any cat, one that had sorrowful and miserable beginnings.

This cat, actually a half-grown, 3/4 wild kitten, was adopted to the family’s next-door neighbour, along with a springer spaniel, and chocolate lab puppy for her toddler aged daughters.  This was an excellent arrangement for everyone but the kitten.

Bad enough to have been the shameful result of a mesalliance between a Siamese mother, and marmalade tabby alley cat father.  But then to be thrust into a household with small children, who delighted in pulling his tail and ears; and two playful puppies that insisted on drowning his feline dignity in friendly sl0bber.

The poor little guy, he was called ‘Kitty-Gato’, he was homely, and out of place in what was supposed to be his home.  He did what any self-respecting feline would do about being mauled so thoughtlessly, he unsheathed his claws.

He was quickly called, “Mean.” and became a Cattus Non Grata in his own home.  He was tossed into an alley and promptly discarded from family memory.

Poor Kitty-Gato, abandoned, hurt and confused as to why he was evicted; struggled to eke out some existence in the shadows and alleys of that part of town.

He was tough, fearless and mean as a fighter, undeniable as a lover, and looking for the love a human being again (for he remembered petting).

He made it through the summer, an impressive feat in weather that is consistently over 100 and even 110 degrees F., life was getting a tad easier for him, as he had caught the eye of several nests of humans that left food out for him.  Still he had not found ‘his’ family and place.

One day, he heard a soft pop, a terrible sting between his eyes and the sound of mean laughter.  He wasn’t badly wounded, just a scrape  following the curve of his skull.

A few days later he was feeling sickly, his head was throbbing, too hot and heavy to carry properly, and he felt the infection was starting to spread from the scrape through his blood.

He went to one of the nests of humans he visited and cried for help.  These humans were wiser than many about cats and called him into their nest.  One of the older females said, “You can’t leave him out in this weather Pat.”

Pat agreed and called him to a dish of warm, tasty food, diced to bite sized pieces for him.  He ate a few bites, and then went to where the humans were eating the very same thing he had been given.

He went to the older female and asked her to get the nasty-sickness-stuff off his face.  He was delighted at the understanding in this nest, and stayed by the humans, just enjoying their combined energies.

The nasty-sickness-stuff started running down his face again and he went to the older female to ask her to take it away again.  She turned to a younger female and scolded her as she wiped the mess from his face again.

The younger female lifted him into her arms and looked closely at his head.  He felt her her heart send him a rush of love and healing.  She took him to another room and washed his head and the wound gently, making sure that they got as much of the nasty-sickness-stuff out of him as possible.

If that weren’t a wonder enough in his short span of life then, the humans left their nest and came back with something their hearts told him would drive the sickness from his blood and head. 

Without complaint or fight he accepted the tickly-fizzy water on the scrape after they had cleaned it out, then they packed the sickness-killing dust into the wound and snuggled him close and made their purring at him.

He knew at that moment that he had found his people and place, and his heart swelled to hold all of the people now precious to him.  Heady with acceptance and love he relaxed in safety, and groomed himself glossy, before napping on a soft chair and aweakening later to more of the humans’ food in a dish for him, with milk to drink and cool clean water.

He recovered quickly, and defended his territory and humans with all the courage of his Siamese forbears.  One cool day, the younger female human that had rescued him was visiting with his former human female, and the former female remarked something to his new female, who immediately smelled of battle-anger and snarled something back to his former human.

The former human backed a step away, accepting his new female’s claim of territory and partnership with him.  At that moment he was irrevocably bound forever to his new family, there would never be any human that could take their place in his heart.

He wore his new name, Kliban, with pride for his family had chosen it for him.  His home almost always had someone that would pet or snuggle him, he often ate the same food as they, as well as his own food.

Though his humans changed nests more than once he went with them, and forged a new territory wherever they were.  He spent a long and happy life with one or the other of the humans, even the she-kitten of one of his humans after she joined them.

Yes, Kliban was named after the artist B. Kliban who made his Cat famous at the same time as our Kliban.  Below is one of the family’s favourite Kliban Cats:

My Pirate Alter-Ego is returned!

After wintering on her secret island hideaway, my One-Eyed Red is back aboard the Calabar Felonway.

http://calabar.wordpress.com/2007/05/10/back-aboard-home/

Tales From the Bookworm’s Nest

Tonight’s post is in memoriam of Mairi, for her goodness and faith.  We will meet again in the Summerland .

Love,

Gwen

Like the title says, this is where I will be babbling about books of all sorts.  I love books, all kinds. I don’t just read them, nothing so retiring and lady-like as that for this Crazy Lady!  *snickering mischievously*

No, I devour books, in greedy chunks, then small sensuous nibbles, and Falstaffian quaffings.  My ex swore up and down that I was a member of the ‘Page-A-Minute’ Club, because of my reading  appetites.  He said that I read so fast I can read a page a minute. Anyway, I tasted three of the books last night, and my bro Matt took a nibble from two of them tonight.  The one that caught me was “Anam Cara; the Book of Celtic Wisdom” by John O’Donohue.  I let the book fall open of it’s own and this is what I read first in this book:“Prayer is the act and presence of sending the Light of Love from the bountifulness of Your Love to other people to heal, free and bless them.”

That resonated powerfully in my spirit, and I have been going back to that quote and seeking its depths more fearlessly with every  visit.

What moved me most at first was the honesty of the statement, that is what prayer is supposed to be.  A gift of faith and love from you to another spirit.

Then I noted that the writer did not designate a certain style of prayer, or any specific faith.  This is something I believe: That prayer is prayer, no matter how one prays; faith is faith- it should uplift and inspire.

And third, the assertion that all prayer is imbued with the Power of Love and Light, and is equal in the eyes of the Supreme Being(s). 

Imagine the power if the followers of every faith on this planet prayed together.

If every spirit sang at the same time, there would be a moment of peace, then another.  How far could that flame of a moment burn?

Alas, as long as people choose to label and then discriminate, that will only be a dream. 

 Haven’t we learned recently just how small our world is?  We can circle the globe in an eyeblink, touch the lives of people we may never see, and be healed by the touch of someone halfway around the globe.

Stop for a moment, breath, feel, know that the moment is as short as a heartbeat, yet it lives forever in memory.  Then, imagine someone living faraway is standing beneath the same sun and moon, breathing the same air, do not give them a name or face, let that come later.

For now picture a silhouette, rich dark shades, limned in burnished gold; and call it ‘friend’.

Now, greet your new friend, with a smile, a handclasp, or perhaps a joyous hug.  Your friend and you have touched; made a connexion and now love can flow from one to the other freely.

Celebrate the connexion and the love.

Celebrate the beauty of shared prayer.

Celebrate the magic of friendship.

Amen, Namaste, and Blessed Be,

GwenGuin

A Fun Film For The Family

Last night Mom and I went shopping, which is nothing new around here.  We bought another DVD, between Mum, Matt, and myself we have the better part of 1,000 DVD’S, and the same for CD’s, so that too, is nothing new.

This was one of the few times that we spent $20 on a single DVD, we picked up “Night At The Museum”.  Matt and I have wanted to see that, so Mum said all right and got it.

Well, I am very picky about my comedy films, if they have no ‘heart’ they aren’t worth seeing.  This film is worth the $20 Mum paid for it, and it will be watched more than once.

The story was charming, and despite the fantastical nature of the premise was done in such a way as to be nearly believable. 

Ben Stiller, Dick Van Dyke, Mickey Rooney, and Robin Williams all did marvellous jobs with their characters; but, Dexter, the Capuchin Monkey stole every scene he was in.

Ben Stiller was right at home in the character he potrayed; Dick Van Dyke was a surprise as a bad guy ( he did it quite well), Mickey Rooney was fiesty, fearless, and pugnacious as only he can be.  The best performance (in my humble opinion) was Robin Williams as Teddy Roosevelt.  His acting abilities shine best when he is not typecast, and he can be something other than a manic doofuss.

The visual effects were utterly amazing, from the animals coming to life at night, to the tiny men from the dioramas not getting along with their neighbours.

My personal favourites were Attila the Hun, and King AkmenRa.  Attila was utterly delightful, and the filmmakers did not have him speaking Modern English!!

AkmenRa on the other hand, was every inch an Egyptian Pharaoh, and had the loveliest accented speaking style  and he had the face of a Pharoah.   I predict a lot of girls having a crush on the actor .

The actress portraying Sacagewea is stunningly beautiful without a bunch of Hollywood-ish artifice.

The characters of Jedediah and Octavius were an excellent team, delightful as enemies, and doubly so as partners.  The cowboy (Jedediah) and the Roman General (Octavius) driving a RC monster pickup through Central Park, dragging a bone behind them is just too funny.

The very best thing in the film, for me, was the Tyrranosaur skeleton, ‘Rexy’.  From the first time I saw him’in action’ I was charmed, disarmed and completely in love with a bag o’ bones.

All in all, a film to own and enjoy over and over.  Myself, I am looking forward to seeing what I missed by laughing the first time ’round.

Rolling Thunder NC 2

This is my soapbox, where I stand up and speak on what I feel needs to be said.

Yesterday I ranted about prejudice, and today is more of the same thing; except, today I’m not off on a tear about treating ‘disabled’ people the same as the rest of your friends.

Today, I am sharing an e-mail I was sent by an e-friend.  So basically all I really need to say is this.

Don’t  judge someone on appearances alone.

This is what I was sent:

Rolling Thunder NC 2]Viper: Most of you I’d be proud to  know.

 Just to let you know we care.
For all who Know Motorcycle Riders

 

I  saw you hug your purse

closer to you in the

grocery store line.

But you didn’t see me,

put an extra $10.00

in the collection plate

last Sunday.

I saw you pull

your child closer

when we passed

each other on 

the sidewalk.

But you didn’t see me,

playing Santa

at the local mall   

I saw you  change

your mind about going

into the restaurant.

But you didn’t see me,

attending a meeting

to raise more money 

for the hurricane relief.   

I saw you roll up

your window and

shake your head

when I drove  by.  

But you didn’t see me,

driving behind you

when you flicked your   

cigarette butt

out the car window.  

I saw you frown at me

when I smiled at

your children. 

But you didn’t see me,

when I took

time off from work

to run toys

to the homeless.

I  saw you stare

at my long hair. 

But you didn’t see me,

and my friends

cut ten inches off for 

Locks of Love.   

I saw you roll

your eyes at

our leather coats

and gloves.  

But you didn’t see me,

and my brothers

donate our old coats

and  gloves to those

that had none. 

I saw you look in

fright at my tattoos.

But you didn’t see me  

cry as my children

were born and have 

their names written

over and in my heart.

I saw you change lanes

while rushing off

to go somewhere.  

But you didn’t see me, 

going home to

be with my family. 

I saw you complain

about how loud

and noisy

our bikes can be. 

But you didn’t see me,

when you were

changing the CD and

drifted  into my lane. 

I saw you yelling at

your kids in the car. 

But you didn’t see me 

pat my child’s hands,

knowing he was 

safe behind me. 

I saw you reading the

newspaper or map

as you drove

down the road. 

But you didn’t see me 

squeeze my wife’s leg

when she told me

to take the  next turn.  

I saw you  race down  

the road in the rain. 

But you didn’t see me  

get soaked to the skin

so my son could 

have  the car  

to go on his date. 

I saw you  run

the yellow light 

just to save a

few minutes of time. 

But you didn’t see me 

trying to turn right.

I saw you cut me off

because you needed

to be in the lane I was in. 

But you didn’t see me 

leave the road. 

I saw you,

waiting impatiently 

for my friends to pass.

But you didn’t see me.

I wasn’t there.   

I saw you go home

to your family.

But you didn’t see me. 

Because I died that

day you cut me off.  

I was just a biker. 

A person with friends

and a family.   

But  you didn’t see me.

   Repost this around in hopes that people will understand the biker  community.   I hope you never loose someone that rides.  Have a great week my friends.

B.A.D.D.

B.A.D.D.-Blogging Against Disablism Day- May 1, 2007. 

http://blobolobolob.blogspot.com/2007/04/blogging-against-disablism-day-will-be.html#code

Disability- This is what the Dictionary says:

Main Entry: dis·abil·i·ty

Function: noun
Pronunciation: “di-s&-’bi-l&-te
1 a : the condition of being disabled b : inability to pursue an occupation because of physical or mental impairment
2 : lack of legal qualification to do something
3 : a disqualification, restriction, or disadvantage.

Okay, that is what we get in the dictionary.

What does it mean in a real-life setting?

That means that every displaced homemaker would be disabled because her time spent being a wife and mother does not qualify her for anything other than menial work at the lowest end of the income brackets. 

So, therefore it would seem we need a clearer definition of what disability really is.

A secretary that loses an arm accidentally  She cannot be a secretary like she had been, that took two functioning hands.  But, is she  still able to work, and recieve benefits and a ‘living’ wage for her work.  … yes or no to being disabled?

A person has spent most of their lives in dismal situations, abuse, violence, hopelessness, neglect and loneliness, and a sense of utter aloneness are all they know of life.  They have been so damaged/burdened by their past that they are nearly paralysed with depression.  If the depression has reached a point to where it is crippling the person emotionally.

Disabled or not?

 Who is able to say what person(s) are disabled or not?

Can you, or anyone, tell if someone is disabled just by looking at them?  Also, can you tell how disabled someone may be by just looking?

What then, should be the standard for classifying someone as ‘disabled’.  For the sake of a starting point, let us say that someone is ‘disabled’ when they are constrained from normal activities by disease processes, or injuries.

We also must consider, is this something that can be reasonably expected to be cured, treated, or handled in such a manner that the person can return to their previous life?  i.e.- reconstractive surgery, retraining, control of the disease process through medication, physical therapy, and other therapeutic mileus.

If the answer is no, then to what degree is the person disabled, and who is qualified to determine this?  How can we, in our arrogance, even call it a disability?

A friend of mine is disabled, on a legal level, yet on the everday plane of life, she has a full life, with family, friends, dreams, talents, and hopes like everyone else.  She is determined to have a full life, and not allow herself to be limited by a label.  Yet, her disease process is incurable.  That will never change. 

I feel her to be inspirational because she chooses to be alive every morning when she wakes up.  Instead of becoming bitter and mean, she is loving, caring, cheerful, and a true friend.

There are many times I would like to just up and quit, cry, “Enough!!” and hide in bed until time is no more.  I think of my friend, and I am ashamed of myself for whinging so.  I get up, choose to be cheerful, and get on with my life.

She and I got into a serious discussion about whether things like depression are a disability.  She does nor suffer from the sort of depression that I speak of.  The depression I speak of is not a few days of being blue, or sad.  If someone has just lost someone or something precious to them, they have the right to be depressed and mourn.  That sort of depression is not disabling, it is just something we all have to deal with now and again.

The depression I speak of (and struggle to live with) is something that eats away at a person, never really leaving, not even in moments of joy.  It is the bastard child a family wants to hide, creeping and mewling through your subconscious.  It is far, far too easy to fall back into its’ tarpit-like depths.  Despite medication (2 different anti-depressants both at maximum dosage), and counselling for almost 4 years I am still as depressed as I was at nadir.  I just deal with it a little better (sometimes!).

I am not whining or seeking pity, pity is far more crippling than a lot of disabilities in our age of ‘adaptive devices’.  The technology allows people that cannot control any part of their body other than their eyes to communicate with the rest of the world.

Aha!!  After a verbal wandering I have come to the crux of the matter.  As long as we look at the label ‘disabled’ those with disabilities will be kept apart from the rest of mankind, out of ignorance, fear, or just plain meanness.

The one thing that needs most to be done, is the one that is well-nigh impossible to do is this:

Do not look at my differences, seek our commonalities.

Do not assume that I am not intelligent because of my label, allow me the dignity to be myself.

Do not treat me differently from ‘normal’ friends, be willing to point out my faults and argue with me.

Ask me if I would like some help, there are many things I would prefer to do myself.

And above all, DO NOT BE ASHAMED OF  OR FOR ME!!!  I am just another fubar’ed human like the rest of the people, and I deserve the same courtesy and respect as everyone else.

I Really Like Scary Movies!!

I am a big fan of scary movies, I have been since I was still a grade-schooler; whether we’re giggling over the ‘original’ “The Fly” (I’ve always loved the scene with the fly/man combo caught in the spiderweb at the end of that one)or, we are clutching one another’s hands, and cringing at the bugs in “Silent Hill”, the horror film genre is always a source of fun and delight.

Is it any wonder then, that I am especially fond of Anita Marie Moscoso’s work on Soul Food Cafe?-

 http://dailywriting.net/MoscosoWeb.htm

 http://anita64.wordpress.com

Anita has also been the hostess and creator of Soul Food Cafe’s Halloween Parties-

Halloween at The Chamber of Horrors

HALLOWEEN HILL

Anita’s stories are skilfully written and wonderfully chilling, always a pleasure, and you can sample the writing of some of Soul Food’s finest writers through her Halloween Parties.  It is barely Beltane (5-01) and I am already looking forward to Samhain(10-31)!!

Ya Just Gotta Know??

So you want to know what Tarot decks I have, eh?  All right, refill your cold drink, use the loo, and get comfortable!!  I have 18 different decks, all with a history behind them.  I think we’ll all deal with them better one at a time.  So, I will start with my oldest (the deck I’ve owned the longest) deck, and move forward in time.  Doing it thataway, we may never finish, for I can always find another deck to add to my library of cards.

I may even add something about my I Ching coins, and my Rune Stones!!

Another Way To Deck Someone

I have been telling fortunes with the Tarot since 1973, and not to brag, buI am good at it.  So, I was quite pleased to see a member of Soul Food Cafe start a blog on Tarot Cards and Cartomancy:

Le Monde de Tarot

I will be posting on this blog, sharing my 18 different Tarot Decks, and experiences with over a 1/3 of a century of using the Tarot.  For anyone that is interested check out

Le Monde de Tarot

and discover what is within all of us, spirit knowledge.

My Animal Guides Card

A Nibble Down Memory Lane

As I am writing this I am watching the Food Channel, the last show was about fast food.  I was overjoyed to see that they included Drive-In Movie Theatres.

Bammm!!  I was 8 or 9 years old, at the South Dort Drive-In, lost in one of those magical summer nights.  Drive-In Movies are threaded through so many memories of at least 3 generations.  Back in the era of Detroit ‘tuna boat’ convertibles it was the best of both worlds.

On a post on one of a number of blogs that are worth checking out often,  http://gtcroatan.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-liked-shark.html

 is one of my childhood experiences with films.

The heart of the group is Heather Blakey, midwife and mother of Soul Food Cafe:

http://www.squidoo.com/heatherblakey/

You can find your way around with the help of:

http://www.dailywriting.net/RiversleighABC.htm 

Anywhoo, back to the drive-in movie theatre. The family had a ‘lead sled’ of a Pontiac 4-dr hardtop, so we were about perfect to go to the drive-in.  Everyone had their own door and window, highly important for three quarrelsome siblings.Before we go to the drive-in we go through the ritual of ‘getting everything together’, such a tidy, calm euphemism for everyone indulging in a free-for-all of gathering blankets, pillows, munchies and stuffing them all in the car.  There had to be room for the battered camping ice chest, full of ice, and cold drinks.  Close at hand were disposable cups and a bag to keep our trash in.

It would be early sunset when we arrived, wanting to get in one of the rows ‘up front’ so Mum and I could see clearly.  One of the drive-ins we went to regularly back in Michigan had a playground at the front of the gravel parking area.There was no need to make lines on the ground for parking, the upright, reflective white-painted stands for the speakers you hung on the windows of your car doors so you would hear the movies better  marked parking for movie-goers .While the sun was setting, parents relaxed and had a peaceful conversation while the kids filled the playground with energy and innocence.  The swings were almost always full, the monkey bars held fast under the complement of children hanging and swinging from wherever they were able to grip, the ‘kiddie’ and ‘real’ slides had chattering lines, and the ’roundie-downdie’ (a low metal carousel)  was a pile of shrieks and a colourful blur.

The night promised to be clear, calm, and cooler than a house without a/c and lacking in good air circulation.  As the sun splashed the western horizon with colours of lava, and the trees became inky shapes, the mosquitos awakened, ready for another night’s gory feast.

So quickly the light  dimmed enough that children of all ages were called back to the family car.  Everyone would be barely settled and getting ready for the cartoons before the movies and impatience set in.

First a car, then other cars would turn the lights on, illuminating the ganzfeld of a screen.  Still, the screen remained stubbornly white. 

Soon the horns began their clarion of frustration, ‘we want to see the cartoons now’-itis plagued the carloads of children, whose whines were trapped inside the vehicles.

At last!!  They run a few ads for the snack bar and coming attractions while it becomes truly night-dark.  Now it is time for the cartoons!

Laughter spilled across the drive-in through windows open to the breeze, now laced with the bite of dozens of insect repellent incense-critters, named “Pic”.

Through the cartoons the smaller children are fed and settled in to fall asleep before the  movies even began.

Breathing cool air, and the scent of fries and oni0n rings frying in the concession stand, the crunch of your potato chips and the icy slide of Coke in glass bottles.

The stars are unimaginable in number, and sparkling on the onyx of night sky. With the majority of kids that would fuss being asleep or close to it, you could hear the speakers being turned down.

Then is when the drive in experienice was at the very best.  Everyone still awake settled in to watch the films, the triple-feature Godzilla festivals were the best.

We always cheered for Godzilla, having a great affection for the character that is a rubber mutant lizard suit that covers a man.  We especially adored Godzilla’s battle-cry, recently I discovered that his trademark squeal-to-growl-to-roar was a violin, the bow is dragged up the strings instead of across, that sound is slowed to the cry that became synonomous with Gojira. 

By the time the final feature is over, everyone is ready to go home and seek their own comfy beds.  As we sink into deep sleep, we scratch the bites from the mosquitos that braved the Pic fumes and won out to their vampyrric feast.

This was a regular thing in the summers of my childhood and early teen years; even after the family moved from Michigan to Arizona we continued to go to the drive-in; now we also had a treat called the ‘carload’ features.  Those were the ones that a pack of giggling teenageers went to, just $5.00 for a car packed with classmates taking a break from cruising Main and hanging out at the Jack-in-the-Box.

Inspiration to Stay Gone

I’m sure everyone has experienced a song that, from the first time you hear it, resonates powerfully with some part of your life.

I have had that, more than once.  Today, I want to talk about a song, just some words and instruments on a compact disc.  Nothing really special, you say.  Perhaps not, I’ll tell you and let you be the judge.

A few years ago, my life was in utter shambles, my marriage was over, I was unemployed, homeless, deeply depressed, and on the verge of just…

giving…

up. 

I am not ashamed to say that I have been battling a deep, suicidal depression as far back as I can remember.  The fact that I am here telling you about it says clearly which is winning.  LOL

Well, there I was, physically ill, emotionally crippled, no job, no money, living in the loft of  friend’s barn with my cats.  They were one of the main reasons I didn’t curl up and die. 

This was in the middle of winter in Oregon.  The barn was a working barn- no show here.  The piggery and farrowing shed were downstairs from the loft I called ‘home’.  The barn also was gome to chicken and turkey chicks, in their season.

I tell you this not for your pity, I don’t pity myself and I don’t want others to pity me.  I am setting the scene, so you have an idea of where I was at, on all levels.

 There was a hard freeze, it lasted for over a week, with daytime temps below freezing.  The loft I called home was not weatherproof, or anything.  When it was 22 deg. F. outside, the loft warmed up to a whopping 24 deg. F.!!

The cats and I slept under close to a dozen layers of covers to stay warm, and every day I broke the ice on the cats’ water dish so they could drink.

It would have been so easy to just knuckle under and return to an abusive addict of a husband and be warm at night, and not be limited to food prepared in the house, or food that needed no preparation.

My favourite band, Rush, had released a new CD around that time.  It was named “Vapor Trails, and the very first song ‘clicked’ with me.  “One Little Victory”.  Here are the lyrics:

ONE LITTLE VICTORY

A certain measure of innocence

willing to appears naive
a certain degree of imagination
a measure of make-beleive

a certain degree of surrender
to the forces of light and heat
a shot of satisfaction

Celebrate the moment
as it turns into one more
another chance at victory
another chance to score

the measure of the moment
is a difference of degree
just one little victory
a spirite breaking free
one little victory
the greatest act can be one little victory

a certain measure of righteousness
a certain amout of force
a certain degree of determination
daring on a different course

acertain amout of resistance
to the force of life and love
a certain measure of tolerence
a willingness to rise above
2002 Neil Peart 

Every time I thought about going back to a situation that was killing me slowly, I would pop that disc in my pc, and by the time that song was finished I was able to tolerate the cold and difficulties of living in a barn.

The Lone Wolf

The Lone Wolf Card, also known as the Loner.

The Wounded Healer

This card is The Wounded Healer. 

Musical Inspirations

Ask any music lover, they will tell you how music can inspire, reassure, and awaken a person.  Everyone has some piece(s) of music that never lose their power to stir the spirit and uplift the heart.

Neil Peart, writer, lyricist, poet and drummer for the band Rush speaks of the ’soundtrack to one’s life’. 

Expanding on that idea, I think I will begin listing the songs that have to the power to uplift, comfort, and transport me to places of memory that I had consciously forgotten.

Needless to say, I have a serious love affaire with music, all kinds.  I have classical, rock, pop, folk, country-western, celtic, Native American, South American, African, musicals, and yes… even some old-sch0ol rap.

If we go way, way back in my life we discover that my first musical memories were Classical Piano and Ballet, the lush musicals of Rogers and Hammerstien, and their ilk.

To this day I cannot whistle to anything other than classical music.  I hear classical and I visualise my Aunt practicing at the piano, so precise and skilled.

My favourite musical was “The King and I”, just typing the name has the memories dancing in my mind.  Yul Brynner, the first of the sexy bald men, and still the best.  With those bright eyes and the laugh lines around them he came across as very likeable.

But, I have wandered away from the centre of my topic.  Musical Inspirations.  Mine, and yours.

So, we go back, back in the mists of the ages, to the Era of the vinyl LP.  *chortling at my own foolishness*  Only someone who has listened to a vinyl record on a portable record player with a penny taped to the tone arm could ever understand the entire vinyl experience.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the digital age.  CD’s and DVD’s are far superior, durability and clarity-wise to 8-tracks, 45’s LP’s and cassettes.

On the other side of the coin is this:  We are far less ‘involved’ in the listening process than we were, pre-digitally.  Just pop the CD in and off we go.  With vinyl, if you wanted a record, and your record player to last, there was an entire ritual to listening to a record.

I have a turntable (record payer) that was over 400$ back in the early 80’s.  The stylus was 240$ ‘back in the day’, so I was determined to keep both my records and my turntable in good playing condition.

I started with an anti-static creature that looked like a felt washer that covered the enitire turntable itself.  The came the record washing kit.  Yes, I am one of those weirdoes that minutely examines and then cleans a record before I put it on my turntable.

I admit that I am a ’stereo snob’, and I have more money invested in my stereo components than in my TV, VCR, DVD player, and PC.  I have 2 sets of speakers, one for loud music, and the other for soft background music.  Oh, and I batter studio-quality headphones to crackling insipdness in less than 2 years.

I consider ‘listening’ to music as a form of play, it is almost never a passive experience.  When I listen to music, it is on a variety of levels at once.  I  am listening to the overall composition, individual performances, the clarity of emoting, the quality of the recording itself, the lyrics, and the mixing of any piece all at once.

Passive listening is for finding all the marvellous subliminal bits in music I am familiar with.  And… music is a wonderful creativity enhancer.

After this long of a babble I think I may have to talk about a single song in my next entry.  Rest assured that you will be hearing about a lot of different genres, and performers.

I would like very much to hear of the music that moves you, and brings out the best in you.  Happy Listening!!

You Inspire Me-Shiloh

I have a friend, Shiloh, and she is one of my dearest friends.  We share a lot of interests and leanings, and can even write together amicably.  Shiloh has her own direction, and I have had the privilege of watching her creative wings open more fully.

We are both writers, as well as working with visual arts.  We have more then one work that is a duet of our writing ‘voices’. 

Our moust recent collaboration is the Soul Collage Cards we are creating and posting on our personal blogs.

When I logged online today, I was all prickly and hypersensitive from a heavy-duty session with my counsellor.  Not long after I signed on Shiloh sent me the link to her post for today, and by the time I had looked at the card st least three different ways, and read the post twice, I had this sappy grin all over my face, it is still hanging on the corner of my mouth over an hour later.

http://sunnydreamer.net/apriljune/the_loner.shtml

Shiloh is always a decent, honest and fearless lady as well as being a truly caring individual.  Her writings reflect this.  She posts almost every single day, so there is always something new to read, and often do yourself.

The Rage Card

Does rage need an explanation?

The Loss Card

This last Thursday, I lost one of my oldest friends, and from the sorrow I feel was born the Loss Card.

My view of the Inner Child

Everyone has an inner child, whether they wish it or no.  It is what we do with our inner child that counts.

On my Inner Child Card is a view if the warm ocean waters from whence all life of this planet sprung.  In this instance it is the awe of seeing the truth of it through the sheer immensity of Mother Earth’s birth waters.

I also have a mother manatee and her calf.  The mother is gently guiding her young in the ways of being a manatee, as our human mothers are supposed to try and do with us; as we should do with our young.  The world will be tough enough, it can be far worse without the silent awareness that the maternal nest is a place of love, safety, and healing.

The dog tenderly grooming the kitten is both a childhood memory, and a reminder that mother love knows no race, gender, religion, or age.  Mother love rises above preconcieved notions, and societal expectations.  Our inner child needs that love.

 If we have not known that in our childhood, we can always discover a spiritual mother in our travels and through that ‘mother’ learn what was not there in our physical childhood.

The inner child is also playful, silly, and full of wonder.  Yes, our inner child can get in trouble when it is expressed out of context.  It is the inner child’s capacity for play that all of us need.  We can all get wrapped (rapt?) up in the minutae of everyday life and our personal joy diminishes.  Play does not have to be playing with Tonka Trucks in the sand, unless you can and want to do that.  Play can be watching a movie with the family, going out and taking some pictures, or doing the crossword in the paper.  It is what you get from your play that is important.

The flock of butterflies symbolises a child’s capacity for awe.  Yes, awe.  We all need those moments when awe about something lifts our spirit above the mundane and gives us a taste of glory.  The butterflies tell us that it is necessary to stop and smell the roses.  Those breaks from the headlong race of modern ’society’ are what help to sustain our spirits.

There is a beat-up teddy bear in there, a symbol of deep attachments we can form in our lifetime.  Family, friends, co-workers, and neighbours that have slipped into the gravity sphere of our lives and now orbit the core of us.

There is a slip of paper that says simply, ‘Dreams’, for it is childhood dreams and daydreams that the coming adult will be rooted to.

Last, but not least there are two fairies on the card, they symbolise our ability to believe.  A child will belive a good portion of what they are told, even patently tall tales we tell to call up a child’s laughter.

Without a child’s utter trust, and their ability to believe without concrete proof, faith is a weak thing and easily discarded from our lives.

Our Inner Child is needed, they help keep us sane and functioning, hold friends and family dear, cope with stresses, lighten our burdens, and give us goals to work towards.  What we need to learn is how to express our inner child in a fashion that is an asset instead of a hindrance.

The Second Card Hurries Along

I listened to the demanding clamour of this card all night Saturday, and realised it was taking ‘Play’s’ place by virtue of sheer, strident volume.

So, the card itself became an annoying jumble of fonts, colours, and words.  As the voice of impatience is loud, it is also thoughtless, seeing no vision other than it’s own appetite.

 To tame the dragon of impatience, one must use wiles and gentleness.  Wiles, so you can think around the squalls for attention and gentleness to outmanouvre without causing harm.

A Cool Site

 My friend Shiloh and I have a number of collaborative projects we’ve worked on, and actually finished a fair number of them!!  All the while our friendship has grown even more precious, and our teamwork is a fertile valley.

Our newest collaboration is via:

http://www.kaleidosoul.com/index.html

This is an amazing site for all creatives.  She and I will each be posting our cards on our personal blogs, along with a smallish amount of interpretation.

You can find Shiloh’s cards posted here:

http://sunnydreamer.net/soulcollage.shtml

The Inner Child Card

The first card to call to me was The Inner Child: I want it to summon images of trust, innocence, joy, belief, wonder, and the unconditional love of the mother figure (not necessarily a mother).

I hope that people feel that same excitement at simple things, and belief that Mother/Father can make it all better with a kiss. 

 In a layout it should mean the ability to recapture your own childhood’s essence and infuse it into your everyday life. It can warn that a lack of trust is impeding you, or that you are placing your trust in someone/thing that is not trustworthy.

Please let me know what you see in this card, or make your own card and tell me about it.

Beginning my deck

If you want to build anything, a house, story, picture or relationship, you need to start with the framework.  It is as simple as that!!

Drawing on a classic Tarot deck’s construct I want to build a deck that has at least 7 sub-sections.

Spirit Journey- these will be single cards, to represent events that anyone can experience in their lifetime.  I don’t know yet how many cards I will make.  We’ll find that out together.

There will be six basic suits (like hearts, clubs and diamonds), the ones that I have at this time are:

The Earth Suit: Care and feeding of your physical self.

The Air Suit: Stimulation and expansion of your mind.

The Water Suit: Travelling the labrynth of your heart.

The Fire Suit: Understanding the need for your passions

The Dream Suit: Seeing what your dreams say about you.

The Wood Suit: the synthesis of all of your knowledge and experience.

The card that calls to me right now is labelled ‘The Inner Child’, I will start working on the images for that, and the interpretation of it today.  I would like to see and hear what each of you find in this site and ongoing exercise.

I hope you’re looking forward to this as much as I am!!

These Are Fun To Do #1

My friend Shiloh regularly posts writing prompts, and exercises to wake up your mind.  Below is one that I am sharing.

Our newest collaboration is via

http://www.kaleidosoul.com/index.html

This is an amazing site for all creatives. She and I will each be posting our cards on our personal blogs, along with a smallish amount of interpretation.

http://sunnydreamer.net/soulcollage.shtml

Links Just As I Said I Would!!

http://heroinesjourney.wordpress.com/2006/09/08/song-of-star-woman/

http://cityofladies.wordpress.com/2006/09/07/starsinger-tales-part-1/

http://cityofladies.wordpress.com/2006/09/08/song-of-the-stars-part-ii/

http://cityofladies.wordpress.com/2006/09/12/song-of-the-stars-part-iii/

http://cityofladies.wordpress.com/2006/10/09/song-of-the-stars-part-iv/

Inspiration

I’ve been bumming around our little rock for many lifetimes, and I love Mother Earth more with every wonder I am blessed to see.  No, I am not your average human being, no-one is.

I just want to share what I have come to understand, and, hopefully, encourage some of you to explore the possibilities you can visualise.

Not just practical things, like getting that job you want, or sharing your love with that special someone.  Things you thought existed only in dreams, the ability to turn past heartbreaks into future joy, and the understanding of self that grows clearer every time you reach another milestone.

In the Tarot, especially the Thoth-Crowley deck, the Queen of Wands represents a woman who has gained self-mastery, wisdom if you will.  She is pictured with flowing locks of reddish-blonde hair and a leopard is her companion.  They started their journey as a woman with black hair and her companion was a panther.

She has known suffering, and instead of being defeated by it, it has purified and empowered her.  She knows the people around her are still struggling with their own growth, and her compassion begs her to pause, and lend help to those travelling their own Healing Road.

For anyone who wants to understand the Healing Road better, I recommend reading “Ghost Rider” by Neil Peart.  He writes lucidly of his own journey on the Healing Road, and his honesty is inspiring for anyone who is themself, travelling a path towards growth, healing and understanding.

I will add other books and exercises that have helped me to pass through my own Crucible, and solidify into a better, stronger woman than I was when I first found myself there.

You can find the magic of inspiration, and banish the feelings of, “Am I the only one out there that is living this?”  You can find the blessing of friends that have had the same thoughts, goals and experiences that you do.