Simple Magics of the Heart

I am a great believer in magic.  Not rabbit-in-a-hat magic (though that is cool), or magick with a 'k' (which inevitably includes the scent of patchouli, unshaved underarms and a tendency to misspell words by adding extra 'k', 'y' or 'e's here and there). Just the simple magics of everyday life- little customs and charms, stories, an awareness of what makes a moment special, makes a home safe.

Grendel and I were out and about Saturday after my endless testing at the Doctors (which included math, word memorization, drawing, 3d puzzles, common knowledge and the like- of which I found them very easy with the exception of the last math part which was a timed reciprocal adding...bleah.  Afterwards I was exhausted and not very good company....but still managed to stumble around....back to the story)- anyway, the boy and I had this conversation about houses and ghosts.  Little magics and things that he remembers, and it is curious because they are the same sort of things that it seems I have always known, always done.

Find a penny and put it on the lintel for luck, hang a mirror by the door, count crows, stamp white horses for a wish. Pick up pins, hunt for clovers, turn the broom upside down and say bless you- and if they sneeze often enough turn it into God bless you, God keep you and may all of your children have curly hair.  (Mother must of sneezed quite a bit).  And then there are my own quirks and things- our cottage is full of them, our decorating theme being 'curious hag' or something.  Windows full of bottles, wish stones on strings, walls of scissors and crosses, witch balls in the kitchen.  There is a cauldron on the hearth and way to many books (I keep bringing more home), we have a blackish cat, an abundance of keys, collections of stones and bones and strange papers from far away.  We find things- old letters, sharks teeth, shells, bottles- we are given things- quilts and lamps, bits of art, feathers.  Mr. Owens knows what to bring me for gifts- always has- from the first set of old keys to the shell he found Friday, pale orange and as long as the first joint on my thumb.

What is all this?  Simple magics.  Just things, stuff, ideas that we give a home to, that become part of us and define where we nest.  White dishes and open windows, lavender shirts hanging to dry. The quite in the morning and the constant work of the day, the way the doggs snore and the cat sleeps on the heating vent.  The stack of pillows on the bed, the milk in the fridge, the coffee and the tea.  There is nothing much elegant about it, or refined, perfect, immaculate, but there is a comfort here in our safe place, a happy air to our home.