Brooms

The other day- when I picked him up from SCAD- Grendel said "I need a broom". On a purely practical level, this means that his roommates were hassling him about his hair again (it's very long, he sheds) but on an archetypal level a broom is a symbol of transport, change, longing to clear away the old and sweep in the new. When I was going through all that heartbreak-breakup-drama this winter, all I wanted was a new broom. I didn't make the connection then- all I knew is that I longed for a broom, wanted a broom, made art about brooms, obsessed about brooms- I *needed* a broom. Grendel bought me this one for Christmas- sturdy, utilitarian, perfect. (and yes, those are dog scratches all over the door...just another artifact of life, someday I'll paint it, but right now they are reminders...)

Anyway, back to brooms. They are the threshold between worlds- you can jump them to get married or bar the devil from your door. They must never be bought or they will not be lucky, or yours- brooms must be given, found or stolen. They shouldn't be stored bristle down- the luck with drain out (and your bristles will get squashed and bent and do that curvy side-sweep thing). If you want to know the truth about something, question the person while sweeping with a broom made by a blind man. If you move, leave your broom behind- it has swept up the luck of a place and you should pass it on to the next occupant. Brooms are made to be used, and they become sullen if they are not. If a secret is told and you want it to remain a secret- sweep the room the secret was told in. Brooms collect secrets, hold them close until you shake them free. Keep your broom by the door and no ill will can enter that way- lay the broom across the threshold to keep death or the devil at bay. For posterity, sweep cinnamon towards your house- for generosity, sweep cinnamon away...

Superstitions, folktales, magic, belief, truths, nonsense- call this what you will. I believe in the truths about brooms therefore they work for me. Today Grendel is getting on that plane, going to Arizona, investigating a new life. He has admitted (in an early morning note part admission of nerves, part plea for waffles and bacon) that he is "worried about this whole ordeal". That's ok. If he chooses this school or not doesn't really matter to me- what does matter is that he is doing this *by himself*, making this decision *by himself*, going on this quest *by himself*. The first true adult decision of his life- he's finding his broom.