And oh, the Wheel turns...

 It's been ages, literally, since I wrote here. The sun is bright this morning, as though it knows today is the Vernal Equinox and we all need it to be warmer and brighter today, of all days. 

4 years since I celebrated this turning in a world forever changed. 

4 years since we locked ourselves inside our homes, hoping to never have to do that again... and eventually hoping we could do that again. 

4 years. Millions dead. 

And the sun rose this morning as it did yesterday, and the day before, and as it will tomorrow because we believe. 

Some call today Ostara, based on a bald faced lie about a goddess we have no real information on in an effort to rise against Christianity in this country. 

I celebrate today for what it is, the turning of the sun, a marker of the year where the sunrise comes sooner and the sunset comes later. I celebrate today with friends, with my plants, with a wedding ring on my finger and a reminder that 2 years ago today is when we announced our engagement. I celebrate today clearer headed than I have been in years, since the hectic times of planning a wedding and the year of coming down from that rush. 

I planned a wedding while the world argued about vaccinations, while we watched our loved ones become ill and watched few become well again. I made my dress, we did tastings with staff in masks, I added hand sanitizer and masks to the items to order for the reception and prayed for good weather so we could be outdoors for the whole thing. My greatest fear for the day was that someone would come down ill with Covid. Many brides in the last 4 years probably shared that fear. There is no support group for that. But no one got sick from my wedding, and that's the best blessing I could ask for. I came away from the day with too much cake and married to the man who had been my partner for the last decade. I could ask for nothing more. 

I will admit that today snuck up on me. In the past I've dyed eggs, made a lemon raspberry pudding pie, I've had a feast ready for dinner. Today... I didn't even look at the calendar in time to know that I'd scheduled dinner with a friend tonight on the feast night. I won't cancel the plans, my husband will not begrudge me a night out, but it will be different. 

The pandemic isn't over, people still die needlessly, and the land may never recover but we celebrate anyway, our small holy days, and we live our lives because that's all we can do. 

Trying something new

I speak to you on an irregular basis, but I'm trying something new...

I am now offering tarot readings through this link:
Tarot Readings

I will read for you 5 cards, from one of the following deck types:
 - Traditional
 - Oracle
 - Fae

If you would like a specific question answered, I can do that too. It is an additional charge to the standard reading. I will turn three cards from your requested deck.

You will receive a photo of the spread and a translation of the what the cards have to say.

Blesings

The Mother, when you're actually an Aunt

I've been down for a while, sorry dear readers (who have likely gone but ah well)...

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I have started a post about the being in the time of Mother about 20 times now. Frankly, it's hard to look at this objectively as I approach my 40th birthday.

It's no secret - I have no children of my own and I never wanted any. I'm not going to go rush out now and have some either. I'm in a loving, committed relationship with a man who has a wonderful daughter. She calls me step-mother, and that warms my heart.

I look like a mother. My body is soft in the way women who have given birth often have soft bodies. My waist is not tiny. My belly is not flat. My chest is not perky. I am nearly 40 years old and I have not had an easy life.

I have nephews and nieces, both biological and chosen, and they love me as I love them. I've comforted them when they cried or got hurt, and my body likely reminded them of their mother - soft and caring and warm. That makes me happy.

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To be in the "Motherhood" of your life means to know that you are now there for others in the way that once a woman older than you was there for you. It took me a little to get used to this, and I still rebel against it because "I'M NOT OLD, I'M NOT A MOTHER" but yes, I am. I am going to be 40 - that's older than 2/3 of the people in my company. I could be their mother, and not by getting pregnant at 16. Legitimately, I would have been in my early 20's. It's a thought that is hard to think, and it doesn't go away.

I mother many things - my plants, my niblings, my friends and loved ones when they're sick. I mother my office sometimes, in a "den mother" sort of way, and also look them dead in the eye and tell them to grow up and clean up their own dishes because "I'm not their mother" - which is what they need to hear.

I am the old woman in the office sometimes. I am the oldest woman in my office, by 15 years at least. It puts me in a weird position, but one that I'm coming to understand.

See, at my office I sit in a row of my own in the office. In the central area are all the general staff. Around the perimeter, in offices with doors, are the senior staff. And in-between is me - a wise older woman sitting and keeping watch over everything, not in either space completely, part of both but part of neither. People who come to my desk have to come here specifically. It's easy to forget my desk is here on their way to one of the senior staff's offices.

I'm the woman at the hedge, learning to be the wise old woman in the woods.

It's not just at my office either. When I look back across my path (and if this isn't something you've done I highly recommend you do) I see the transitions I couldn't when I was looking forward. I see the gentle curve of my path as it wound away from the Maiden, away from the wonder of being young, and toward a path where those who needed a mother figure could find one.

I didn't realize that by not having my own children I left myself free to be like a mother to many who needed someone like me. I'm the other sort of mother - I'm the Aunt.
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Aunts are free to be things that a Mother isn't - we're more mobile. Our schedules are freer for many reasons, not the least of which is that we have time to ourselves, and so can choose to share that with whomever we wish. Being an Aunt means that at a moments notice a Mother can call you can say "I need you here NOW" and you can drop things and run, because that's how your life works.

It is a liberating role, and not one to be taken lightly. To commit your time to being family to someone who isn't your blood is no small thing. It requires patience and understanding. It required giving up some things sometimes, and it requires saying no sometimes too.

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If you are an Aunt, treasure it. Be happy and love your niblings and be mother to those who need one.

Too much time

All my thoughts these days have been "there's not enough time, there's not enough time." I feel like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, constantly staring at my watch, running headlong into whatever.

And then I stop and look around, and you know what I see? I see projects I cannot finish because I cannot start them. And the longer I wait, the harder it is to start them. So they never get started...
and then I'm rushing to finish them by the deadline and I feel sick the whole time. I'm facing that now and Goddess willing, I won't screw it up.

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Composing my time is like composing art. You have to plan it. I haven't planned effectively and it shows to anyone who actually knows me. It's easier to hide these days and again - not great.

So I started journaling and you know what? I'm not missing time. I'm not running out of time. I'm running out of mental space and just like when you don't clear things off your phone, my brain is screaming that I don't have enough free space and it's not letting new things in. Except, unlike your phone, I can defrag my brain.

Meditation. Time at the altar. Time with my cards. That's how I'm defragging my brain. I'm not letting the tasks overwhelm me - once they're written down, I don't have to think about them until it's time. The clock tells me when it's time. Defragging.

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Short post, I know, but I'll leave you with this:

it's easier to start the next project if you don't wait too long after the last one. The longer you wait, the harder it is. Even if what you do is small, don't wait. Just don't wait.

Another short breath, another painful scream, another shuddering sigh

Since that horrible night in November of 2016, the lives of many people have consisted of crying, of screaming, of fear. I have no idea how they get through these days. I'm not sure I know how I get through these days.

See, I'm white. I'm female. I present straight despite the honest truth that I'm bisexual. But to the world who doesn't know me I'm just some nice white girl living with a nice white boy in what is basically the suburbs. They don't know I have an altar in the kitchen, in the garden, and in my bedroom. They don't know about the women I've dated long term. They see nothing amiss - and even on Halloween when I sit in front of my home in all my witchy splendor, goblet in my hand, hat on my head, multiple carved pumpkins around me and lit up by the beauty of the night... they think I'm playing pretend like their toddler who is dressed up like Elsa.

I don't walk down the street in fear of ICE. But my neighbors do. Their families do. My coworkers do.

I don't walk down the street in fear of the police. But members of my community do. Some of my friends do.

I do walk in fear of men sometimes. And of women sometimes. I've been assaulted. I know what the warning signs are. My fears are different, but no less there.

But even for all my fears - I know that no government agency will bust down my door or shoot me during a traffic stop or rip me from my family. I can use my whiteness. I can use my privilege. I have to - it's the least I can do.

So how do I do that? I vote. I talk to my neighbors and friends and find out how I can be an ally. I write letters and call and sign petitions to my Congresspeople. I do what I can from where I am to better the lives of those who have no voice. It is the least I can do.

Magically I work too. HectateDemeter, in her wisdom, has channeled the power of ancient rites into modern workings. It worked for the witches then, it can work for us. Her latest post is here, the Magical Battle for America for 5-28-18, and I highly suggest you join us. It goes back for months, but it's not necessary to go backward and do them unless you want to. Join us now and keep joining us moving forward. The more we have at the battle front, the better.

Remember to breathe. We have to keep breathing. Ours needs to be steady to comfort those whose cannot be. And if you are the ones I'm working to help, then know that I won't stop working for you. We need to help each other. It's the only way we'll survive.

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Even as this was written, a friend of mine put out a call to help save a National Park Service Historic Site... the memorial at the USS Arizona in Hawaii. Yes. A place so visited, so hugely popular a tourist destination shut its doors indefinitely because of a lack of funding. A memorial to the men and women who died in a surprise attack that rocked the nation is in danger of closing.

What does this mean? It means our government is crumbling. Our land and our history are being wiped away in favor of greedy contracts. There are men and women alive today who remember the day that is now a memorial that becomes more visible and more painful with every tide and they read today that the government doesn't care enough about the suffering and lessons of that day to keep that memorial open and running by funding them as they should be funded. Can you imagine what their feeling? Can you fathom being told your suffering was insignificant? Many can. Maybe you can.

We have to funnel the pain and hurt and anguish and rage we're feeling into action. We can't let it overwhelm us. We'll all drown like those poor souls on the Arizona. We're already drowning.


My wish for you as we move into the hot, muggy, heady days of summer is this - remember the fight but don't wallow in the fight. Celebrate. Make love. Hold your friends and family near you. Keep your counsel and use your voice when you can. Be kind to yourself when you can't. No one can fight all the time, but the fight won't stop if we all fight when we can.

Also, drink water. :)

I'm Wicked through and through

I've been listening to the soundtrack to Wicked a lot lately, it's one of my favorites. Over the years I've shared this with a lot of people, mostly in the car as we all sing along on our way to wherever. It hasn't always had the best memories for me though.

I was on a roadtrip with a guy I was seeing, and I got to pick the music. So I turned on Wicked and sung along- I was driving, it was my turn. He's not singing along, but he didn't know the musical so I wasn't surprised. We wind our way through the whole thing, all the ups and downs, all the revelations and realizations and end up at the finale as we always do, mournful and knowledgeable. I sighed, as I usually do at the end, and laughed a little, and made the offhand comment that I was way more an Elphaba than a Glinda.

He screamed at me. He ranted at me for nearly 20 minutes about how I needed to be my own person and I needed to grow up and it was immature to think that I was like some made up character and why couldn't I be my own person... I didn't say anything. I tried, I started to rebut his argument logically and with fact and reason and I got screamed at again.

I shut up.

That whole interaction stayed with me for a long time, and I stopped sharing things with him that I cared about. The relationship ended soon after, and it took me another 6 months to completely escape his attentions, and another 6 months after that to leave the state completely. It was the shortest and most painful of my relationships, and the one with the most lasting damage. Thankfully not all of it was irreparable - thanks in large part to my family and true friends.

Listening to the soundtrack again the other day, it dawned on me why he was so pissed that I was more Elphaba than Glinda - Elphaba lived her own life. She didn't listen to anyone else. She did her own thing, made up her own mind, chose her own path and was wicked - not because she was mean spirited, but because that's the role she was shoved in to, fit best in to, fell into and couldn't escape. She was wicked because the world wouldn't give her a chance. They painted her the villain from the womb.

He hated that because he wanted someone who would do as she was told, no matter what, no matter how or when or why. He didn't want a woman to think for herself. And so thinking myself in line with a woman who changed the world? That was right out.

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It's spring again, and my garden is awake, and the magic comes easier these days. I find my comfort in the Spring and Fall. Beltane was lovely this year, and I look forward to the upcoming feast days with a smile, knowing I'm in a place where my magic and my heart can reside easily and safely.

A lot of my practice these days includes giving thanks for my life as it is now. I'm thankful for the pains I've gone through as well - they've shaped me, maybe not changed for the better, but changed for good. I can say though, that I am better off for the changes I've gone through.

Go into your magic with a smile, find your path, and walk it. The sun is up.

A crackling in the air

and POOF!

I love those moments.

.................. it's no secret the last few months have been HORRIFIC for me. Constant stress. Constant inability to sleep well or rest, upset stomach all the time, rumbling GI tract... all the villainous stress wreaking havoc on my body and mind.

Then, slowly, the light comes again. The stress lowers. The clouds retreat and look a little less threatening.

I can breathe again, and it doesn't hurt as much. There's still pain, but the hard times are not over yet.

How can I tell that things are getting better? I have that itchy "someone's coming" again. I didn't for a while, a long while, and it bothered me that it was gone - like losing the ability to feel one of your fingers. Now that it's back (and wow is it back) I smiled all afternoon. I got more good news this afternoon too and yeah... the shoulders are a little easier today.

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Recipe time! I am a kitchen witch after all.

Ok, so today I'm laying on you a recipe I've tried a few times with great success: REAL Irish soda bread. (yes, i know it's past st. patrick's day. no, i don't care)

So the stuff you buy in the store all chock full of caraway seeds or raisins or some rubbish is tasty, but crumbly and not actually soda bread. Too many ingredients, see? Think about it - Soda bread by definition isn't a yeast bread. You need something to make it rise, and you need those ingredients to be easy, cheap, and available. Flour, Buttermilk, Salt, Baking Soda. That's it. Nothing else.

The Irish were making a quick, no rise, straight bake bread that was hearty, filling, cheap, and easy. No knead. In fact, the less you stir it the better off you are. I did a little researching (and talked to a few of my Irish friends) and yes - this is the soda bread they know and love. The other stuff? Eh. Not so much.

Ok! on to the recipe. I made this on St. Patrick's day, and left the window open for a while while I made a ginormous pot of potato leek and bacon soup to go with the bread. (yeah, that's the right order. try it, I recommend it highly) I also recommend leaving a small saucer of buttermilk out for the Faerie over night... you know why. ;)

Old School Irish Soda Bread - this will take you off to their website and I recommend you pin it or bookmark it or print it out and save it forever because you will always want to make this bread.

and, because I love you guys... Potato Leek Soup, Irish style

Eat well, thank the gods, and rest.