Grandmother Witch

      My present arrived early.  For Mother's Day I purchased for myself a new Sony AX200 with zoom lens.  It is way cool, and I am way too ignorant to operate it yet.  It arrived Friday and so far I managed to set the date and time.  Hey I rock!  Not bad for an old Mom.  Dena, Ruthie and I are heading to Yosemite National Park in June for a week vacation and to attend our friend's wedding.  I needed a new super-d-duper camera.  Now if I can just wade through the owner's manual.  Forty years ago at the Nikon School of Photography I learned that a professional photographer was one who had read the owner's manual for his own camera.  Is this like riding a bike?  Mmm, I don't think I could do that either!

Blessed B

And a special blessing for Mothers Everywhere.

     My nephew made a most startling observation this morning as we sipped our coffee on the front porch.  His apology for such a sexist comment was drowned nearly by a burst of laughter from yours truly.  I had just asked where the beautiful sunshine and blue skies had disappeared to, having woken to a glorious day.  Now the roiling dark clouds in numerous shades of gray were heading in with just the hint of moisture with them on the cold wind.  "Auntie Debbie," he said, "this is Washington.  You know this area must have been created by a woman, no place else is quite as moody."

     As my laughter eased it seemed to me that it had never occurred to me that perhaps it had taken both sexes to create the world.  I supposed with his reasoning it was a male entity who created the tropics.  Best of all though, I happen to live in a "female" zone.  How appropriate for a Goddess worshipper like myself.  Paganism is so fundamentally human in my opinion. 

     David has moved back in with his Mom for the time being.  She graciously gave him her bedroom, and we have moved the dining table to the front porch, after just having purchased it a couple of months back.  Now her princess bed adorns the dining room along with her TV and office furniture.  She hung delicate lace curtains at the window to the porch and strung ornamental flower lights at the valance which are quite pretty.  We are quite happy with the effect, and both enjoy the presence of a man in our feminine nest.  I suspect David also enjoys being here. 

     His nights off are during the work week for Sis and I, and as a professional chef we are looking forward to having him cook for us.  That reminds me I need to get his recipe for chicken marsala.  We now have someone to play cards with although we are still looking for a fourth for pinochle.  Ruthieroo, adores her cousins so she is happy that David will be around during her visits.

     When I finish writing this it is back to working in the garden.  We planted three rose bushes after work Friday when the sun was shining, along with the lilac we have been hauling from one apartment to the next.  As I finished patting the soil over it Sis said that now we could never move again, because she couldn't leave the lilac!  Crazy Sister of mine, she forgets that as much as we love this house we are at the whim of landlords.  I now have anemones, foxglove and lilies to plant.  Hope everyone has a wonderful Mother's Day next Sunday. 

Blessed Be

Okay, so the sun came out for the Mariners yesterday, and they won!  So why am I continuing to gripe about the weather?  Because today it's crap so far.  Cloudy, cold; definitely not reminiscent of mid-April.  It's rumored that it will be in the seventies this weekend.  I hope so.  I am so busy being a cry-baby that I am afraid I may of flown right over the important thing.  They won, people!  Hooray for the Mariners!  It's nice having Ken Griffey, Jr. back.   Somehow it just feels right.  Okay, so what that we are in first place this early.  Can they manage to stick around until September.  A feeling in my gut says yes!!!

    The above paragraph was written a couple of days ago, and finally I am getting around to catching this blog up.  The weather has been better I admit, but last night it rained after I went to bed.  I didn't know that when I got up after 2 AM to glance out the kitchen window to notice that the running lights were on for my car!  Damn, I grabbed the keys and without stopping to put on shoes I ran out to turn them off.  As I ran off the end of the porch to land in a miry slop, I discovered that it had rained.  I turned out the lights but as I turned to step back on the porch, there on top of the garbage can sat a rat!   Now, I hadn't bothered shutting the door and the rat was now between me and the entry to the kitchen (beside the also open pantry door).  I froze, he didn't (notice how rats always get the masculine pronoun applied).  I tossed and turned the rest of the night wondering where he had run. 

     Today is beautiful!  Warm, blue sky, fluffy clouds.  It is supposed to be nice all weekend, and my plans have changed.  No Ruthieroo to amuse me, I will be doing laundry and curling up with Kathryn Magendie's newly released book Tender Graces.  The cover says it is a gentle yet unflinching look at how we find our way home.  I had to laugh at Kat's eagerness as she waited for Bell Bridge Books to send it out, that she was anxious to hold, and smell it.  As a writer (yet to be published) I can relate with her joy.  I wrote to her and told her I thought it smelled pretty good.

Blessed Be

     Okay, I know that officially it won't be Spring for six more days, but still I can't remember ever seeing snow this late in the year in Seattle.  Tuesday is St. Patrick's Day, but I certainly wouldn't want to be marching in any parades with the temperatures we are having.  Today for example was one of those wonderful March days that provide a sampling of weather enough to please anyone.  Usually I like to snuggle up on the couch with a blanky, hot cocoa and the remote.  However, I also went to Costco yesterday and bought bulb to plant around the property, and to Lowe's to buy a chain saw.  I have cabin fever and couldn't get outdoors soon enough.  Sis and I did put up a supply of firewood which is stack and drying on the porch as I write this, but it was cold!  I have stayed dressed in sweats and gloves most of the day running back and forth to the basement between drops of rain or sleet to do the laundry.  I'm not really sure if it was the weather or the fact that I never did get my cocoa that bothered me most.

     Maybe because this is our first spring and summer coming up in this house, I am eager to be about the property seeing what I have to work with.  I want to keep a natural look to the landscape, planting just the right perennials where I think they will suit best.  Sis bought roses yesterday and now I have to find a way to incorporate them in what was supposed to be a more wild landscape.  Sis loves roses though and usually plants them everywhere we move.  I am leaning to beside the front steps.  That appears to be the sunniest part of the property, and the most refined.  At Lowe's yesterday we say many outdoor fireplaces that will be suitable for putting up on the porch, although I will have to figure out a way to vent the smoke off the porch.

     I spoke on the phone with Ruthieroo just moments before beginning this blog, and she told me that it snowed in Federal Way today.  Out my bedroom window where I now sit, there is blue sky over the city skyline, and white clouds on top of the hillside directly in front of the window.  When I last ran to the laundry it was black sky and big globby (which I know is not a word)except to describe rain in Seattle)) raindrops.  There really aren't enough words in English to describe the rain in Seattle.  So again I ask, where is Spring.  On the 21st will the weather magically improve.  Or can I count on that happening on St. Paddy's Day. 

Blessed Be

Tonight Bill Maher returns to HBO for the start of the new season.  When the show broke for the winter hiatus we had just elected a new president and I am publishing here today the reaction of that election on the November "New Rules" segment of the show below.  You may also read this at Bill's own web site

Real Time With BillMaher /NewRules.  Reading about how we felt just a few short months ago, I remembered how Obama took vacation in Hawaii just before the election, and how that photo of him slipped into the news, in a bathing suit with those six pack abs (okay, I exaggerate, but there was definition).  I know how Hollywood manufactures those six pack images, and I can't help but wonder.  Were Obama's spray painted on, a photo op arranged and joila, we get a glimpse at our "Super Hero" and Mama-Mia (fanning myself) what a body!  Would Obama's team have sunk to such crass tactics, I ask?  I am not sure, I'd like to think not, and frankly I don't care.  I like him.  After these first few months, I still like the guy.  So without further ado, I give you my other hero, (and he is definitely no Messiah) Bill Maher:  (I'm throwing in this picture of Sean Penn because he's hot, absolutely could not think of another reason)

New Rule: Stop saying that we've overcome racism just because we've found a qualified black man and elected him president. Everybody knows we won't have true equality until we elect a dumb, unqualified black man. [slide of Bush doing African dance]
New Rule: When you say you're not comparing someone to Hitler, you're comparing them to Hitler. This week, a Georgia congressman said, "I'm not comparing Obama to Adolf Hitler. What I'm saying is there's the potential of going down that road." Well, Congressman, I'm not comparing your head to a butt-plug, but it does seem to spend a lot of time up your ass.
New Rule: Stop calling it "Scotch" tape. I ate a whole roll; I didn't even get tipsy.
New Rule: Hank Paulson must drop the $700 billion in bailout money from a plane and let everyone scramble for it on the ground. Sure, it'll be chaos, but at least this way we have a chance of getting our money back.
New Rule: Stop following me around the parking lot so you can take my spot. I don't even have a car! I'm just wandering around because Obama won and I'm on acid!
New Rule: Go away! [slide of Sarah Palin and John McCain on talk shows] If John McCain and Sarah Palin want to keep appearing on television, they must sing or do magic tricks. If we wanted to keep seeing you, we would have voted for you.
Now, Sarah, you walk away with $150,000 in parting gifts, and our thanks for playing our game. Now, go back to Alaska and wait for your year's supply of Rice-A-Roni.
The last time I saw a loser hang around this long was Sanjayah.
And, finally, New Rule: The rest of the world can go back to being completely jealous of America. Yes...our majority white country just freely elected a black president; something no other democracy has ever done. Take that, Canada! Where's your Nubian warrior president? Your head of state is a boring white dude named Stephen Harper. And mine is a kick-ass black ninja named Barack Hussein Obama!
That's right, everybody. I take back every bad thing I ever said about the good old U.S.A. I've gone from "God damn America" to "God damn, America!"
I feel like a hockey mom at the state fair getting felt up by Hank Williams Jr. While fireworks go off and Jesus appears in my cotton candy. It would be stupid not to be stupid about it.
So, I'd like to take this moment when we've finally got one right, to bask in a little unwarranted, unapologetic, irrational, faux patriotism. Or, as Fox News calls it, "regular programming."
Now, I might regret this. It's kind of like going grocery shopping when you're high. But, here goes, world...[with patriotic music under]
We're Americans. We built the Golden Gate Bridge and Hoover Dam and Joan Rivers. We're the only country that can look at a sandwich made of ice cream and chocolate cookies covered in fudge and think, "Ah, you think we could fry that?"
And you know what? YES, WE CAN!
They may have 72 virgins, but we have 31 Flavors.
You know what our favorite burger topping is? Another burger!
We invented rock 'n' roll, jazz, funk, R&B, and hip-hop. Without our music, your iPods would be filled with ABBA, Menudo and Men At Work. And you wouldn't have iPods.
Not only did we create the Internet, we're the ones who filled it up with porn.
Jefferson lived here. And Miles Davis and Mark Twain and Frank Lloyd Wright and a lot of other people Sarah Palin never heard of.
In America, strippers and Disney stars have an equal right to be named "Hannah Montana."
And I was freely able to make a movie saying there's no afterlife, and you could watch it while eating crap that'll kill you. But, that's okay, because our corn-fed high school sophomores are bigger than your soldiers, and they're better armed.
I ask you, in what other nation would they tax young people to make sure old people can afford erections?
What you call "football," we call "soccer." And what you call "war crimes," we call "football."
So, let me just say it again: we elected a black guy, and it was because he was the best candidate. Not because it was some cheap gimmick. And we should know, because we are also the country that invented cheap gimmicks.
Yes, America is like Jessica Simpson. Sometimes it's so stupid it embarrasses you, but, on the other hand, how about them titties?!

    Wow it has been a busy month and a month of new discoveries.  In hopping around from blog to blog I have learned some fascinating things about the techno side of blogging, as well as finding that my "friends" here are just like my friends in the real world.  Each has their own style and each has an opinion they are more than happy to share.  I have to admit, the longer I spend "here" the more real it all becomes.  The sophistication that WL Spaces is developing, may seem daunting at first, but like most things in life, a little use and the familiarity begins to just sink in.   In other words, I've come a long way from my computer being a spreadsheet, or a deck of cards.  When was the last time you played "Freecell"?  I'm still exploring options for my music.  Thanks to my son I was able to use his link for "La Vie En Rose" because the web host where I was trying to store the song isn't compatible with posting music to another site.  I will learn all this, but sometimes it feels like I learn one thing, then lose another.  "O bother!" 

     Blog It by Earth Sprite inspired this article, because like her, I was curious about all the buttons on the bottom of the blogs, like "Blog It".  I think you will find the discussion going on over at her space rather interesting.  I say, experiment!  Go ahead, click on that link, you know you want to.  Just be like Nike and "Do it".  Go on over and share your thoughts.  But Wait!  Don't forget to leave a comment here as well.  It will hurt my feelings if you don't.  As for me, I want to go learn more neat tricks from MS, well as soon as I set the table.  Life just keeps getting in the way of blogging!

Blessed be!

     Well, I survived the move, the inauguration and now looking forward to Super Bowl, I think.  At least I am looking forward to seeing the Boss at halftime.  I am disappointed that my Eagles couldn't quite make it.  Interesting game, but it wasn't meant to be.  Super Bowl XLIII this link will take you to the official site of the game, which is pretty cool.  I hope that I will be able to watch the VH1 Pepsi Smash Super Bowl Bash because last year I didn't get to watch any of it.  Was I moving?  Probably.  I can't say that my enthusiasm for football is the same as it used to be.  At one time football (American) was Zen to me.  As I get older it just seems that there are more important things in life.  But still there is The Boss, so I will be watching. 

     So friends I will leave you with this link to my favorite Springsteen tune, one we did not play at my brother's funeral.  It seemed a little tacky under the circumstances, even if it was his favorite song by the boss.  The Boss "I'm On Fire & More. . .

     The first white Christmas in Seattle in 147 years has come and gone.  And no Son, I don't remember the last one.  We showed the apartment today to a nice couple who seemed to like it very much, so now the packing has started.  I am praying that the weather stays warm for the move.  It will be so nice to get the move over with and begin snuggling down for the winter in the new (see previous blog entry) house.  We will once again be able to put up our bird feeders, and next fall we will be able to plant bulbs to make the house pretty in the Spring.  All I remember of 2008 was the politics!  Hopefully 2009 will be more relaxed. 

     Once the move is behind us then I will hunker down and start work on the book.  The characters are living for now in my head and I am enjoying having them frolic there for now.  After all most of them are children in Chapter One so it's fun to imagine what the summer of 1794 in Paris must have been like once Robespierre was disposed of.  I shudder to think what the previous years during the Reign of Terror must have been like for children and teenagers.  How as a parent would one justify the daily carnage happening in The Place de le Revolution where the guillotine stood as a constant reminder of what was going on.  I have yet to find one passage that sums up the actual feeling of daily life in Paris.  I can only imagine and try to bring it to life for my readers.  I am fascinated by the impressions made on my young heroine Eliza Monroe at her boarding school in Saint Germaine, as she spent three of the most impressionable years of her life under the tutelage of Madame Campan, former First Lady in waiting to Marie Antoinette.  By the bonds of a life time friendship she formed with Hortense de Beauharnaise and her brother Eugene.  I dream about them at night.  It's so strange it feels like I know them.

     It was nice to get out of the house this afternoon and take Ruthieroo shopping for clothes at Macy's.  I think she likes very much her new long sweaters which can be layered and will look good over slacks or jeans.  Well back to packing.

Blessed be and Happy New Year!

These are pictures of the house that the landlords used in their Craig's List ad.  I hope they publish here, but I am not sure if the format will work or not.  My fingers are crossed. 

All the snow fall means we are postponing Christmas until Saturday.  It has been a real pain, but also very beautiful to look at.

Hope everyone enjoys their holidays.

I thought I might mention that the picture with the patterned floor is the kitchen and that monstrosity mounted on the wall is an old farm kitchen.  So goodbye to the Bosch dishwasher for now.  We have been searching on-line for portable dishwashers.  We would like to put a skirt on the sink which I vaguely remember people doing in the old days to hide the plumbing when they couldn't afford custom built cabintry.  I think it is going to be fun improving this house. 

     Just when it gets to the point where both Sis and I agree that we are satisfied with our apartment in Leschi, enough to stay until it is time to buy, what do I go and do?  Find the perfect little house in West Seattle for us.  We went to see it this morning and both thought it was cute.  One problem, though, the owners are out of state and will want the house for themselves when they decide to move back.  Not that they will for at least a year, but after that who knows.  The other night we did see a house for rent on the Northwest slope of Beacon Hill.  It was dark out, and there must of been forty cement steps up to the house from the street.  I could see no other way into the house, but Sis and I decided we "Just wanted to take a look" on our way home from West Seattle.  So I pulled up front and there were the owner's who promptly pointed out that there was a long private driveway that led to the back of the house.  Well that was going to take care of the hauling fireplace logs. 

     It has a simple floor plan than wanders through a huge livingroom, huge dining room, kitchen, bathroom with claw-foot tub, on through the first bedroom which is on the back side, and then the front bedroom.  The bathroom has two doors; one to the kitchen and one into the back bedroom.  All the rooms but the kitchen have hardwood floors and there is a fireplace in the livingroom.  There is a huge front porch that runs the width of the house and a nice porch on the back.  There is a full basement with washer and dryer and tons of room for storage.  Because of the North slope angle of the property there is a spectacular view of downtown from the dining room and the kitchen.  So we filled out the aps and talked to the landlords for quite awhile.  We were looking for a house that would have a long lease, and they are taking into consideration doing some modernizing in the kitchen if we agree to sign for two years.  We laughed and asked we we could just stay there until we die.  Funny. 

     While writing this Sis comes in and says, "Hey I found another house with four bedrooms!"  I asked where but it is out Rainier Valley off of Othello.  I said, "No way!"  I want that city view. 

     As I mentioned previously, my sister already decorated the house and now it seems that Christmas Eve is not going to be at my ex-husband's, but here at our house.  I am not sure how I feel about this because in my heart I know that there is no way that my ex will ever be able to get his girlfriend, who suffers from MS out of the house to come here.  Usually we all (including my nephews and their kin) go to their place.  It will be having to drive a forty mile trip to go get Ruthie and return to Seattle with her, and that will mean taking her away from Randy.  I am very uncomfortable with the way this is going.  Sis wants me to invite my older daughter and her family as well, and if everyone shows up it will be a full house with many family member's who really don't care for each other.  I knew there was a reason I became Wiccan. 

     My daughter sent me the following story and by the time I finished it I had tears in my eyes.  I hope that you will appreciate what a generic holiday the Solstice is becoming.  If this doesn't have you decorating cookies, the house, yourself you are more a Scrooge than I am.  So no Bah Humbugs.

Happy Solstice and Blessed be!

Santa's Wisdom Teachings

...A Pagan Yuletide Story

Five minutes before the Winter Solstice circle was scheduled to begin, my mother called. Since I'm the only one in our coven who doesn't run on Pagan Standard Time, I took the call. Half the people hadn't arrived, and those who had wouldn't settle down to business for at least twenty minutes.

"Merry Christmas, Frannie."

"Hi, Mom. I don't do Christmas."

"Maybe not--but I do, so I'll say it." she told me in her sassy voice, kind of sweet and vinegary at the same time. "If I can respect your freedom of religion, you can respect my freedom of speech."

I grinned and rolled my eyes. "And the score is Mom -one, Fran - nothing. But I love you, anyway."

People were bustling around in the next room, setting up the altar, decking the halls with what I considered excessive amounts of holly and ivy, and singing something like, "O, Solstice Tree."

"It sounds like a...holiday party." Mom said.

"We're doing Winter Solstice tonight."

"Oh. That's sort of like your version of Christmas, right?"

I wanted to snap back that Christmas was the Christian version of Solstice, but I held back.

"We celebrate the return of the sun. It's a lot quieter than Christmas. No shopping sprees, no pine needles and tinsel on the floor, and it doesn't wipe me out. I remember how you had always worked yourself to a frazzle by December 26."

"Oh honey, I loved doing all that stuff. I wouldn't trade those memories for all the spare time in the world. I wish you and Jack would loosen up a little for the baby's sake. When you were little, you enjoyed Easter bunnies and trick-or-treating and Christmas things. Since you've gotten into this Wicca religion, you sound a lot like Aunt Betty the year she was a Jehovah's Witness."

I laughed nervously. "Yeah. How is Aunt Betty?"

"Fine. She's into the Celestine Prophecy now, and she seems quite happy. Y'know," she went on, "Aunt Betty always said the Jehovah's Witnesses said those holiday things were Pagan. So I don't see why you've given them up."

"Uh, they've been commercialized and polluted beyond recognition. We're into very simple, quiet celebrations."

"Well," she said dubiously, "as long as you're happy."

Sometimes long distance is better than being there, 'cause your mother can't give you the look that makes you agree with everything she says. Jack rescued me by interrupting.

Hi, Ma." he called to the phone as he waved a beribboned sprig of mistletoe over my head. Then he kissed me, one of those quick noisy ones. I frowned at him.

"Druidic tradition, Fran. Swear to Goddess."

"Of course it is. Did the Druids use plastic berries?"

"Always. We'll be needing you in about five minutes."

"Okay. Gotta go, Mom. Love you."

We had a nice, serene kind of Solstice Circle. No jingling bells or filked-out Christmas Carols. Soon after the last coven member left, Jack was ready to pack it in.

"The baby's nestled all snug in her bed," he said with a yawn, "I think I'll go settle in for a long winter's nap."

I heaved a martyred sigh. He grinned unrepentantly, kissed me, called me a grinch, and went to bed. I stayed up and puttered around the house, trying to unwind. I sifted through the day's mail, ditched the flyers urging us to purchase all the Seasonal Joy we could afford or charge.

I opened the card from his parents. Another sermonette: a manger scene and a bible verse, with a handwritten note expressing his mother's fervent hope that God's love and Christmas spirit would fill our hearts in this blessed season. She means well, really. I amused myself by picking out every Pagan element I could find in the card.

When the mail had been sorted, I got up and started turning our ritual room back into a living room. As if the greeting card had carried a virus, I found myself humming Christmas carols. I turned on the classic rock station, but they were playing that Lennon-Ono Christmas song. I switched stations. The weatherman assured me that there was only a twenty percent chance of snow. Then, by Loki, the deejay let Bruce Springsteen insult my ears crooning, "yah better watch out, yah better not pout." I tried the Oldies station. Elvis lives, and he does Christmas songs. Okay, fine. We'll do classical ~ no, we won't. They're playing Handel's Messiah. Maybe the community radio station would have something secular humanist.

"Ahora, escucharemos a Jose Feliciano canta `Feliz Navidad'."

I was getting annoyed. The radio doesn't usually get this saturated with holiday mush until the twenty-fourth.

"This is too weird." I said to the radio, "Cut that crap out."

The country station had some Kenny Rogers Christmas tune, the first rock station had gone from John and Yoko's Christmas song to Simon and Garfunkel's "Silent Night," and the other rock station still had Springsteen reliving his childhood. "--I'm tellin' you why. Santa Claus is comin' to town!" he bellowed.

I was about to pick out a nice secular CD when there was a knock at the door. Now, it could have been a coven member who'd forgotten something. It could have been someone with car trouble. It could have been any number of things, but it certainly couldn't have been a stout guy in a red suit--snowy beard, rosy cheeks, and all--backed by eight reindeer and a sleigh. I blinked, wondered crazily where Rudolph was, and blinked again. There were nine reindeer. Our twenty-percent chance of snow had frosted the dead grass and was continuing to float down in fat flakes.

"Hi, Frannie." he said warmly, "I've missed you."

"I'm stone cold sober, and you don't exist."

He looked at me with a mixture of sorrow and compassion and sighed heavily.

"That's why I miss you, Frannie. Can I come in? We need to talk."

I couldn't quite bring myself to slam the door on this vision, hallucination, or whatever. So I let him in, because that made more sense then letting all the cold air in while I argued with someone who wasn't there.

As he stepped in, a thought crossed my mind about various entities needing an invitation to get in houses. He flashed me a smile that would melt the polar caps.

"Don't you miss Christmas, Frannie?"

"No." I said flatly, "Apparently you don't see me when I'm sleeping and waking these days. I haven't been Christian for years."

"Oh, now don't let that stop you. We both know this holiday's older than that. Yule trees and Saturnalia and here-comes-the- sun, doodoodendoodoo."

I raised an eyebrow at the Beatles reference, then gave him my standard sermonette on the appropriation and adulteration that made Christmas no longer a Pagan holiday. I had done my homework. I listed centuries, I named names--St. Nicholas among them.

"In the twentieth century version," I assured him, "Christmas is two parts crass commercialism mixed with one part blind faith in a religion I rejected years ago." I gave him my best lines, the ones that had convinced my coven to abstain from Christmassy cliches. My hallucination sat in Jack's favorite chair, nodding patiently at me.

"And you," I added nastily,"come here talking about ancient customs when you--in your current form--were invented in the nineteenth century by, um... Clement C. Moore."

He laughed, a rolling, belly-deep chuckle unlike any department-store Santa I'd ever heard.

"Of course I change my form now and then to suit fashion. Don't you? And does that stop you from being yourself?" He said, and asked me if I remembered Real Magic, by Isaac Bonewits.

I gaped at him for a moment, then caught myself. "This is like `Labyrinth', right? I'm having a dream that pretends to be real, but is only made from pieces of things in my memory. You don't look a thing like David Bowie."

"Bonewits has this Switchboard Theory." Santa went on amiably, "The energy you put into your beliefs influences the real existence of the archetypal-- oh, let me put it simpler: `in the beginning, Man created God'. Ian Anderson."

He lit a long-stemmed pipe. The tobacco had a mild and somehow Christmassy smell, and every puff sent up a wreath of smoke. "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than Bonewits tells it, but that's close enough for mortals. Are you with me so far?"

"Oh, sure." I lied as unconvincingly as possible.

Santa sighed heavily.

"When's the last time you left out hot tea and cookies for me?"

"When I figured out my parents were eating them."

"Frannie, Frannie. Remember pinda balls, from Hinduism?"

"Rice balls left as offerings for ancestors and gods."

"Do Hindus really believe that the ancestors and gods eat pinda balls?"

"All right, y'got me there. They say that spirits consume the spiritual essence, then mortals can have what's left."

"Mm-hm." Santa smiled at me compassionately through his snowy beard.

I rallied quickly. "What about the toys? I know for a fact they aren't made by you and a bunch of non-union Elves."

"Oh, that's quite true. Manufacturing physical objects out of magical energy is terribly expensive and breaks several laws of Nature--She only allows us to do that on special occasions. It certainly couldn't be done globally and annually. Now, the missus and the Elves and I really do have a shop at the North Pole. Not the sort of thing the Air Force would ever find. What we make up there is what makes this time a holiday, no matter what religion it's called."

"Don't tell me," I said, rolling my eyes, "you make the sun come back."

"Oh my, no. The solar cycle stuff, the Reason For The Season, isn't my department. My part is making it a holiday. We make a mild, non-addictive psychedelic thing called Christmas spirit. Try some."

He dipped his fingers in a pocket and tossed red-gold-green- silver glitter at me. I could have ducked. I don't know why I didn't.

It smelled like snow, and pine needles, and cedar chips in the fireplace. It smelled like fruitcake, cornbread savory herbal stuffing, like that foamy white stuff you spray on the window with stencils. It felt like a crisp wind, Grandma's hugs, fuzzy new mittens, pine needles scrunching under my slippers. I saw twinkly lights, mistletoe in the doorway, smiling faces from years gone by. Several Christmas carols played almost simultaneously in a kind of medley. I fought my way back to my living room and glared sternly at the hallucination in Jack's chair.

"Fun stuff. Does the DEA know about this?"

"Oh, Frannie. Why are you such a hard case? I told you it's non-addictive and has no harmful side effects. Would Santa Claus lie to you?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. We looked at each other a while.

"Can I have some more of that glittery stuff?"

"Mmmm. I think you need something stronger. Try a sugarplum."

I tasted rum ball. Peppermint. Those hard candies with the picture all the way through. Mama's favorite fudge. A chorus line of Christmas candies danced through my mouth. The Swedish Angel Chimes, run on candle power, say tingatingatingating . Mama, with a funny smile, promised to give Santa my letter.

Greeting cards taped on the refrigerator door. We rode through the tree farm on a straw-filled trailer pulled by a red and green tractor, looking for a perfect pine. It was so big, Daddy had to cut a bit off so the star wouldn't scrape the ceiling. Lights, ornaments, tinsel. Daddy lifted me up to the mantle to hang my stocking. My dolls stayed up to see Santa Claus, and in the morning they all had new clothes. Grandma carried in platters with the world's biggest Christmas dinner. Joey's Christmas puppy chased my Christmas kitten up the tree and it would have fallen over but Daddy held it while Mama got the kitten out. Daddy said every bad word there was but he kept laughing anyway. I sneaked my favorite plastic horse into the nativity scene, between the camels and the donkey.

I came back to reality slowly, with a silly smile on my face and a tickly feeling behind my eyes like they wanted to cry. The phrase "visions of sugarplums" took on a whole new meaning.

"How long has it been," Santa asked, "since you played with a nativity set?-"

"But it symbolizes--"

"The winter-born king. The sacred Mother and her sun-child. Got a problem with that? You could redecorate it with pentagrams if you like, they'll look fine. As for the Christianization, I've heard who you invoke at Imbolc."

"But Bridgid was a Goddess for centuries before the Catholic Church-oh." I crossed my arms and tried to glare at him, but failed. "You're a sneaky old Elf, y'know?"

"The term is `Jolly Old Elf.' Care for another sugarplum?" I did. I tasted gingerbread. My first nip of soy eggnog the way the grown-ups drink it. Fresh sugar cookies, shaped like trees and decked with colored frosting. Dad had been laid off, but we managed a lot of cheer. They told us Christmas would be "slim pickings." Joey and I smiled bravely when Mama brought home that spindly spruce. We loaded down our "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree" with every light and ornament it could hold. Popcorn and cranberry strings for the outdoor trees. Mistletoe in the hall: plastic mistletoe, real kisses. Joey and I snipped and glued and stitched and painted treasures to give as presents.

We agonized over our "Santa" letters...by now we knew where the goodies came from, and we tried to compromise between what we longed for and they thought they could afford. Every day we hoped the factory would reopen. When Joey's dog ate my mitten, I wasn't brave. I knew that meant I'd get mittens for Christmas, and one less toy. I cried. On December twenty-fifth we opened our presents ve-ery slo-wly, drawing out the experience. We made a show of cheer over our socks and shirts and meager haul of toys. I got red mittens. We could tell Mama and Daddy were proud of us for being so brave, because they were grinning like crazy.

"Go out to the garage for apples." Mama told us, "We'll have apple pancakes."

I don't remember having the pancakes. There was a dollhouse in the garage. No mass-produced aluminum thing but a homemade plywood dollhouse with wall-papered walls and real curtains and thread-spool chairs. My dolls were inside, with newly sewn clothes. Joey was on his knees in front of a plywood barn with hay in the loft. His old farm implements had new paint. Our plastic animals were corralled in popsicle stick fences. The garage smelled like apples and hay, the cement was bone-chilling under my slippers, and I was crying.

My knees were drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. My chest felt tight, like ice cracking in sunshine. Santa offered me a huge white handkerchief. When all the ice in my chest had melted, he cleared his throat. He was pretty misty-eyed, too.

"Want to come sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?"

"You've already given it to me." But I sat on his lap anyway, and kissed his rosy cheek until he did his famous laugh.

"I'd better go now, Frannie. I have other stops to make, and you have work to do."

"Right. I'd better pop the corn tonight, it strings best when it's stale."

I let him out the door. The reindeer were pawing impatiently at the moon-kissed new-fallen snow. I'd swear Rudolph winked at me.

"Don't forget the hot tea and cookies."

"Right. Uh, December twenty-fourth, or Solstice, or what?"

He shrugged. "Whatever night you expect me, I'll be there. Eh, don't wait up. Visits like this are tightly rationed. Laws of Nature, y'know, and She's strict with them."

"Gotcha.

Thanks, Santa." I kissed his cheek again. "Happy Holidays."

The phrase had a nice, non-denominational ring to it. I thought I'd call my parents and in-laws soon and try it out on them.

Santa laid his finger aside of his nose and nodded.

"Blessed be, Frannie."

The sleigh soared up, and Santa really did exclaim something. It sounded like old German. Smart-aleck Elf.

When I closed the door, the radio was playing Jethro Tull's "Solstice Bells."

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!   *<(;~p

(author unknown)

     "If God did not exist, it would have been necessary to have invented him," is probably the quote for which Voltaire is most well known.  I tried to read Candide when I was a young girl in Cambridge, Massachusetts, but floundered in it's wordy style.  I could probably manage to get through it today, because my taste in literature has matured, but I probably won't attempt it until I am of a more advanced age.  Philosophy really is for the old, which is a shame.  It is meant to influence the young.  This quote of Voltaire is responsible for attributing atheism as his belief system which doesn't make any sense to me.  It is a question that begins with the assumption that God does indeed exist!  This portrait of the writer was done when he was twenty-four.  His writing like that of Rousseau is considered to have had a great influence on both the French and American revolutions.  It is in that vein that I felt it necessary to place the links to him as well as Rousseau.  Pleasant research and reading friends.

Blessed Be

“The first man who, having fenced in a piece of land, said "This is mine," and found people naive enough to believe him, that man was the true founder of civil society. From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this imposter; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody.”

— Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on Inequality, 1754

Again this research is so fascinating.  My sister asks if I will ever write the book, and I confess I understand why the writer's of historical novels often spend many years in research.  Each discovery sends us off down other paths, only to discover a whole new way of thinking or approaching one's subject.  In setting my book during the early years of Napoleon's ascent in Paris, it seemed prudent to refresh my knowledge of the Reign of Terror.  Let's just say that all roads leading to the Revolution sent pathways off to Rousseau, philosopher, musician, political writer and novelist.  Sixteen years after his death, the French felt the imperative to dig him up and re-inter him in the Pantheon, where his tomb is across from one time friend, and then enemy; Voltaire!

     I know that I haven't blogged or visited around your spaces, but I want to reassure everyone that all is well, and this research keeps me so busy that I have also cut out watching most of my favorite shows.  I am still watching Boston Legal because it is their last season, and it would feel like I was cheating on James Spader  if I didn't watch that.  Thank goodness for DVR because during those times when I do want to take a break and visit with Sis we find it is at a time when nothing we want to watch is on.  During those times we generally watch The View, it's possible to watch and carry on a conversation.

     Believe it or not I got home from work Monday (Sis stayed home, enjoying a 4 day weekend) to pleased as punch, still in her nightgown with delicious smells emanating from the kitchen.  Then she starting singing "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," and since she can't carry a tune to save her life, I was spared anymore of the lyric, but happily discovered the Christmas displays were evident in the livingroom.  It is really pretty, takes up no room and is really pretty.  I must say it was nice, and I could kick myself now for being just like a hardworking husband coming home, "Have you been in your nightgown all day, or did you just now put it on."  Poor Sis, blushed and confessed she was still in it.  Ladies, please don't do this if you value your marriage. 

As I watch the States turning blue I am so happy tonight.  Bless Barack and his family, and may the Goddess in her wisdom protect him and those he holds dear.   

    Last night I watched the movie which gave Marion Cotillard  the Oscar for her performance as Edith Piaf  in La Vie en Rose.  I have always found the melody nostagic to this famous song, but it wasn't until today that I discovered why.  I must have seen the famous Sparrow of France Edith Piaf perform the song on The Ed Sullivan show when I was about five years old.  From that time on I wanted to grow up and be a French singer.  Naturally at that age I didn't conceive of the problems involved for an American of Irish-German descent to achieve such a goal.  Like most children my goals were constantly changing, and until watching the movie last night I had forgotten.  I understand why the actress who portrayed the delightful character of Fanny Chenal in one of my favorite movies A Good Year.  I confess it was that movie that turned me into a huge Russell Crowe  fan.

     This morning Penny's delivered my new bed frame.  I really like it, and this room just gets better day by day.  It is so easy to work on the computer in the middle of the night now if the writing bug strikes.  I can't believe that it is November already.  I look out the window from up here in my Eagle's Nest and the colors are so vibrant.  J'étais heureux de voir toutes les couleurs automnales de la taille du nid de mon aigle.  There are streets that seem to be internally lit by the aura of the fall leaves.  I also notice with some regret that yesterday's rain has freed some of the leaves from the branches, and my view of the lake becomes more spread out.  Before it was a peek-a-boo look, now so much more glossy surface is exposed.  I am inspired, but still there is laundry and dusting to do.  C'est la vie, mais je préfère la vie en rose.  A bed of roses!