Queen Of Wands

This is *not* from the Rider-Waite Tarot, but I like it

"Don't wait for help; you can perform magic on your own" this wasn't my fortune, it was Melissa's horoscope, but she sent it to me and I am happily appropriating it as a guiding voice. And so today I am going to speak of me, and magic and the Queen of Wands.

Long ago I learned how to read Tarot, using the old Rider-Waite deck that was passed along the family. Rider-Waite originally published the cards in 1907, but this deck isn't nearly that old- but it does date from 1959 (date of publication, not sure when we acquired it). I collected many decks over the years, giving away some of them, keeping some, using others for art projects or bookmarks. But the Rider-Waite is the one I use for reading, and it is carefully wrapped with a purple cord and soft cotton, stored in the sandalwood lined courtship box on the mantel. All these precautions are necessary, not just for reasons of mojo, but to preserve the cards from the oils and acids of the skin and air, insects and light. Yet some of them have been damaged from years of use, but they work the same, non-the-less.

I don't use them very often anymore- although I love to read them, I can never read for myself. Never been able to... I'm certain that they lay out just fine- but I am unable to be objective. I read for others though, and have read for profit in the Silver Dove and by request, I have read in bars in New Orleans, in parks, in coffee shops and hotels, and I taught Ariel how to read them for her senior project at school. I don't like reading for money although that is always a temptation- I like reading when people ask me to, and when I am in the mood. Same thing for palms- with even rarer instances of reading- I *have* to be in the groove for palms, otherwise I just see a hand. Nothing else. But then sometimes it comes on strong and I can see the story- and there is a compulsion to tell it, to others, to myself. Magic.

There are lots of explanations for the cards- Tarot cards date back to the middle ages and beyond, in different formats. Mainly as a game that became a prompt for interpretation. The symbols and names describe the archetypes and hero's journey as studied by Jung and Campbell, resonate within all of the stories that we tell each other, and the rituals and celebrations of our lives. The suits are easy enough- they are the old alchemical elements of earth, air, fire, water, found in their forms across all cultures. The magic of the deck can be found in the mathematical theory, supported by physics- both chaos physics and string. How it works is that a random selection of a set is placed in order- constructing a narrative. The selection of the cards can be attributed to magic, fate, fortune, the collective conscious, luck of the draw, the unconscious self - however you chose to see it. The skill of the reader is in decoding the images and creating a narrative that applies to the client. It's like writing a story for that person, at that time. Creative insights from another to help you see your situation anew.

Yet, yet I also believe in the magic of it, because that's what I do.

The Queen of Wands is my card at the moment, the card that signifies me. There is a prescriptive means of signification- according to coloration of the person, personality and response, inclination. Oddly enough, this usually fits- more archetypes. Wands are the symbol for fire and energy- not the element that I mostly am associated with- and yet, it is. I am full of creative energy, intellectual energy- the ability to question, think,discourse, write, create. My natural coloring is red hair and hazel eyes (of the green-brown variety), freckles everywhere, tall and large and strong but not particularly graceful or athletic. The queen of wands is shown with sunflowers, a cat, the season of summer, a throne of lions. The land behind her is barren- all of the green growth is contained in her wand and the sunflower she holds. The magic she makes on her own- and thus we come full circle.

Love Spoken Here

Today is Mother's birthday!  Happy, happy birthday!  I hope that I am still as smart and beautiful when I am 91....I know I will live to be at least 100, and I want to live as gracefully as she does-  which has been true for all of her life.  Style, grace, the ability to create surroundings that are aesthetic *and* authentic.  Not a put on style to suit current trends or tastes, not someone else's idea of elegance or chic, but a true display of her personal style.  Everything selected and placed with care and intention, but warm and resonant.  It is difficult to describe in words, but rather than a house where everyone is afraid to use the towels, or a house that looks like a recent tornado swept through, or a house that is 'delivered' directly from rooms-to-go, a house that is a home.  A home with interesting objects, family treasures, comfortable seating in an arrangement that works for everything (conversations, reading, tv watching), art and books and plants and bits of all of us.  The home is her artform, and she has always done it well.

When I write in the mornings- because that is my time- I sit at my grandfather's desk in the studio.  I drink my coffee out of a plain white mug (just like one of hers! champion of white dishes), and on my desk are a collection of treasures.  Baskets for mail.  A ceramic pot that says 'Ashes of Problem Students' given to me by the Raynor brothers long ago, a brass ink pot and quill from the manz, a beautiful dried flower picture from Romania, a small dragon from Oaxaca Mexico, an antique Krispy Kreme diner cup holding fossils from Sister Sue's, one of my small paintings, a dish with a fish on it that has been in the family forever, and the tin in the picture.  It's like everyone is right here with me when I write- (and there are other things- on the desk, on the wall, everyone is *right here*).

The tin is special, beyond special.  Mother made it long, long ago- it must of been in the 60's or 70's because I seem to remember it being on the desk at Headacher.  It is a simple tin- from something? coffee? hard candy? tea?  Painted black and collaged with clippings from the Abby Press.  (How amazing is it that I remember the name of the catalog?  It was a (what we might call new-ageish) spiritual store that sold religious and spiritual texts, signs, cards etc.  I really suspect that Mother got it because of all the lovely text~

Anyway, this tin cheers me and reminds me every morning with the words: "Love Spoken Here.  Home is where the Heart is. Be Happy, Be Beautiful- live fully each moment, cherish others and yourself. Love One Another, Bless this house O Lord we pray, keep it safe both night and day. God's peace be in this house.  Lord turn the routines of work into celebrations of love. Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure that you are. I love you."  Good blessings to greet the day with, good words to remember- and selected with love.

Made with care and enough craftmanship to last for...a very long time.  (Which is not easy. Trust me- working on tins is much more difficult than it looks and this has nary a bubble or loose edge even after all these years and all its travels).

The legacy is not just in the words- though they are important- the legacy is in the creation of something meaningful and beautiful from nothing.  The ability to create something at the moment that lasts forever- that carries with it a bit of spirit of the time and place and creator.  So today Mother, along with Birthday Wishes and Love, I am thanking you for showing me that magic- giving me the gift to pull the useful and the beautiful and the wise into the most humble objects.  To leave a voice that every day says: I love you.

Love in the Land of Chocolate

Mousies by Sam  

Cookies by Bre

I hadn't a chance to post the past few days- busy working, working, working on school stuff (start of new classes at ECU and NCVPS) plus finals at Trask- but this morning I actually have a few moments of 'free time' (cue laughter) and I really want to write.  Trask has been stressful the past few weeks- before break and afterwards- for some reason there is administrative chaos and a combination of 'cracking down' while still attempting to bribe the kids into doing well on exams by promising to relax some rules in the future.  Needless to say, I have managed to continuously screw up here and there- (my kids are too loud, I use to much paper, why are the ROTC kids playing RISK when they are finished with their work?, the T-shirt design needs edited yet again because the hands of our mascot might be interpreted as being a 'gang gesture' so could you just draw him without hands? seriously. seriously.)  So, add to this Mr. Owens trips to the dr. and worry over that (and he broke his little toe the other night as well- avoided sleeping Max and ran it into either the wall or my apothecary cabinet)...and the endless appeals to ECU to please, please, please continue my financial aid for my last three classes- and I have been quite stressy.  And unfortunately it shows- my class room is a mess, I've been snappish with the kids, just not myself.

Everyone knows though that I am comforted by food..... and they have brought me gifts the past two days.  A chocolate apple (which I ate before I could take a picture!).  Mousies made out of  Hershey's kisses, chocolate covered cherries and cookies.  Heart shaped cookies that spelled out "We love you Mama Owens" (yes, some of those got eaten before I could take a picture- and I did share them!).  I love that my kids care about me, and know that I love them.  Beyond the gift of food, the idea of how I play into their lives- I'm not their mother, but they see me as maternal.  Not a softy, but someone who cares about what they do and how they do it, and I try to listen to what they say, respect who they are.  Teach them how to see and create and learn and express- and I try to live up to the title of respect.  When they call me Mother, Mom, Mama (and yes, a few call me Grandma), it is a term of respect- I don't know if it is a local cultural thing, or a Southern thing, or common now- (I would never *dream* of calling my teachers Mother! or of talking to them...) but familiar titles are used here to indicate relationships.  When someone (of any age) is introduced as brother/sister, it could mean a family member, a religious title, or close friend.  The titles of Mother/Father/Grandparent can again mean family member, church elder or....basically...'parental figure' in an archetypal sense.  An Aunt or an Uncle is either a family member, distant relative, respected member of the community.  Abulita is the Spanish for Grandmother  but has become used by everyone as a title for the oldest female in the school.  (which is not me, and who is not Spanish, but *all* the kids call her Abulita).  Cousins are usually cousins, but 'cuz' is associated with gangs/friendships as well.....  As for their blood relatives, of course people are referred to by their normal titles, but you can tell that families are fractured because of the terms of 'biologicals', 'sperm donors', 'baby daddy/mama'...and the convoluted titles that somehow describe that your 'parent' is your Mother's second husbands third wife's boyfriends aunt.  I think we are looking to find families in the community because the old definition of family doesn't work for everyone- and yes, I do think of my 'kids' as my children.  And I love them dearly.

(The manz also comforted me with manzsketti and garlic bread...my diet is doomed...)

Night Light

Lava Lamp, with glitter.

Night lights.  Let me tell you about night lights, and beacons, and keeping the dark at bay.  When I was little (well, up until I went to college the first time) I required night lights as well as my little pillow and Lassie dog to sleep.  The pillow and Lassie were for comfort and safety, the night lights because I was afraid of the dark.  Well, not the dark, but the things I saw in the dark (real or imagined?  both, I think- I am a firm believer in spirits, and I know there were some about, and I hadn't yet made my peace with knowing them- crazy as that may sound, but that is a story for another day.)  Anyway- nightlights.  And it wasn't just me- but for practical/sensible reasons like safety, being able to navigate in the half-life of sleep without waking up to a bright light, whatever reason- my parents strongly believed in nightlights as well.  In the bathroom, the kitchen, sometimes the hall ways- bits of a glow to guide you.

After enduring roomates, romances, marriages and children I developed the reverse of needing a nightlight.  I can sleep anywhere, it is true- I am a natural, a champ, would be professional if there was such a thing- but I *do* have my preferences and demands.  No tv/radio/music please (especially tv on in the room I am trying to sleep in- that drives me nuts.), no night lights.  Now, I love sleeping in the sun, or by a night window- I love high hotels where the city lights up the sky- but no night lights.  I love sleeping with a votive candle burning (one of the tall Mexican candles in glass, quite safe, preferably the one to the Virgin of Guadalupe which is pale pink and scented faintly of roses).  But no electric night lights. I like the dark, dark rooms, looking about at the shadows when I wake between dreams.

Not so Mr. Owens.  He loves his night lights. He does respect the sanctity of the bedroom and my need for night, but the rest of the house is happily low-lit, fortunately with beautiful lamps collected from the auction.  In the living room there are two art deco style small bronze and stained glass lamps, and a similar lamp in the studio.  By the back door there is the reproduction turtle amber and bronze lamp for letting the dogs out.  And the plain-old stove light is always on for that part of the kitchen.  A candle in a jar for the bathroom- this one is scented like peppermint and snow. There is a lamp in the rose room, but that one isn't usually on unless we have company or I have been working in there.  But the all-star, must be on every night, doesn't match anything but love it anyway, is the purple glitter lava lamp on the tv.

This lamp, this incredible purple glitter lava lamp was acquired for a dollar/part of a trade during one of our roadshows in the summer.  I intended it to go to Grendel (thinking hip guy pad) but it only made it as far as our TV.  I will admit that it is beautiful and fun to watch at night- the purple, the glitter swirls, the little light stars cast out from the bottom and how they suit the background (which you can't see in the picture- our big blue barnstar is on the wall, and above it is the folk-art airplane- they look like part of the night sky).  During the day the lamp is not-so-pretty, but we love it none the less. It's a bit of magic in the night- bright and warm.

January Sunshine

Red Chairs outside the auction house- old photo.

This is not a recent photo- actually, it is a few years old.  But it has red chairs and sunshine, and today was one of those bright January southern days where the temperature is much to warm for winter and it feels like it should be spring- but it's not time yet, so everything gets a bit tired by the end of the day.  Like me.  I woke up full of ideas and creativity and energy- and spent some of it, made a bit of a thing, then had to nap.  When I nap it is long (always two hours) and a true deep sleep with heavy dreaming.  I was worried about sleeping so much- because I'm taking Ritalin now (which helps immensely with focusing) but it is supposed to keep you up.  They prescribe it for narcolepsy for heavens sake!  Yet, yet I am usually in bed before nine and sound asleep.  And if I am off during the day, I have my nap- if I am not off, I don't have it but stumble around brain dead for a bit.  I asked Dr. Lori about my sleeping so much- she thinks not to be worried because everything health wise tests fine (except I'm a bit heavy)- and it's not being physically tired (as in achy muscle tired) but just *sleepy*- it comes on in waves.  Her thought is that I exhaust myself rapidly mentally, because my mind is everywhere, and I'm multitasking, and I do brain-things very quickly- read, draw, create, type- so I just have to turn off and reboot every few hours like the old computers had to.  On the plus side of things, I am thinking up all sorts of wonderful things to do- which is good because all this excess brain stuff is being channeled into thinking/creating/learning/teaching instead of worrying/obsessing.   At least for the most part.

An Alter Ego~

Hilda by Duane Bryers

Finally a pin-up girl I can identify with!  I discovered the old Hilda pinups, and I like her- she is not small, cheerful, beautiful, goofy and a redhead.  Of course, I won't be trapsing about the world with only a bikini made of flowers (she tends to like those) or wear slippers-with-heels when handwashing (!) my long johns...but still, it is reassuring that other people find this attractive.

I fret about my weight constantly, and I do try- but then again, when I am feeling stressed I turn to food. (which is better than some other things- at least food is legal, cheap and does the job).  I know that I will never be skinny- but I don't want to get any bigger- just back down to a comfortable Hilda-esh size.  And to shape things up a bit.  Of course, I would like to have a magic solution to get there- because I love food and dislike exercise- but that's not going to happen so I have to do the work.  Eat less, cut out snacks, walk more blah,blah,blah.  My friend Donna, the band teacher, is doing the Dukan diet, which is Atkinsish...mostly meat. I could do that but.... meat is expensive.  And I'm lazy. Or something.  Or unmotivated.  When I talk to Dr. Lori, or my new therapist (hum... Dr Penland? Mike-the-Shrink? what am I going to call him?)  they agree that I should lose some weight to be healthy, and that it would help the self-esteem, but at the same time they both use the phrase "you have enough on your plate"  meaning that I have enough things to work on and stress about that I don't need this on the front burner right now.   And they are right, but I also don't need to put more of the weight on, and that calls for awareness and moderation.

So what I am going to do is what I do best- think about it, make some art about it- that helps me to reflect- figure out what I really want to do and how I am going to get there.  I tend to have the world-view habit of letting things go then trying to fix everything at once...and that is not practical-sensible-doable.  One thing at a time, one thing at a time, and in the meanwhile, I'll think about Hilda.

Strange Fruit

Under the surface, everything is different. Things change- and you have to let them, learn to love the change, accept them as they are, not as you thought they would be.  This applies to just about everything, and life is so much easier if you just let go of insisting that reality meets expectations.  You might be surprised at the results~ not that it is always an easy thing to do.

Yesterday, I learned this threefold.  First, Mr. Owens: he had to have surgery to remove a skin cancer (basal) from his face... he is *not* a doctor person.  This wasn't a light burn-off like the others- but a very large, serious place.  Which meant he was anxious and up all night (eventually I gave up and joined him about 3am), and we went in at 8- he dozed in the car, but that was about it.  We were at the doctors until about 1, he was a trooper (with a little help from more than one Valium - the 'numbing' shots were the worst part).  Other than the pain and the surgery, we actually had fun~ even though he doesn't like going to the doctor, once he is there he is a good patient. (if he likes the doctor.  otherwise, he leaves.)  Anyway, he was teasing the nurses, the doctor, me- asking a zillion questions, very polite and patient even when in obvious pain.  The nurses kept apologizing for hurting him, and he would say 'that's ok honey, no need to apologize, you are doing your job, and you are doing it well'.  We watched lobby-tv, which was the TODAY show without sound as the radio was on- and just talked and talked and laughed about all sorts of things.  I was there throughout the whole process, documenting, feeling both anxious that he was hurting and curious about the procedure.  I'm not squeamish at all, and would of been good at medical illustration stuff~   They did remove a huge cancer- about 3" x 2" in surface, but fortunately not deep like originally feared.  Then they sewed him up- which consisted of having to cut suture lines along the 'smile line' of the mouth and up towards the top of the cheek bone- he will have a dashing scar shaped like  < .  Many subdermal stitches, and about 30+ to close on the top.  The beard was saved entirely!  (The doctor was amazed at the beard- which was older than he was. We had a very young doctor, 3 years out of school, but very vey good). So what I learned from this was patience, endurance, kindness to those even when they are hurting you- that I married a kind, brave man who still gets scared.  And that's ok.

Second thing, was during those early morning hours I convinced him to watch Tangled with me.  He started to , then went off to soak in the tub- came back in a bit for the finish of it.  Tangled is the newish Disney move about Rapunzel.  I have always loved the story of Rapunzel- at least the first part- I always found the second part to be disturbing/confusing because it has been edited and redited that I am still searching for the original.  The one that seems true, and not a pastiche of another tale.  Tangled *barely* resembles the story.  It has a tower, the hair, Mother Gothel (that looks like Cher with curly hair) and that is it... and at first, I resented it.  Disney has a way with fairytales, restructuring them to suit the archetypes of America- in this case, the brave blonde princess (who is still a bit ditsy), the manipulative witch focused on age and beauty, the irresponsible young man that has a heart of gold... and they live happily ever after. Pretty much. The couple is rewarded with love and reinstatement to the castle (even though at the end she has cut her hair and transformed into a brunette), the witch is suitably punished - turning old, falling from the tower, hitting the ground and becoming dust.  I was not happy with Disney's version- it was so very far from the original- but after watching it and reflecting and thinking- I can like it for what it is.  I want to think some more about it, and about the original story, and how it translates across time, but I am willing to give it a chance.  I need to learn that it is ok for stories to have happy endings.

Thirdly, it is me.  I am a strange beast.  I'm not so good at certain things, and I need 'think time' to process every day.  I was up with the manz in the morning, and at the doctors all day, and then home again.  I expected to install him on the couch, baby him a bit, let him sleep off the pain, get some work done and maybe have time to play a bit on the computer (I play with words and pictures, like I'm doing now~).  No such luck.  He gets so highly wound up, and was so physically stressed that he *could not sleep*.  No matter that he had been up for over 24 hours (car naps don't count), had several valiums (around 2) to make it through the procedure, followed by his pain pill at home, ice pack, ice cream, nice cold drinks with straws... he could not wind down.  He tried the couch, the bed with Evie playing movies, the recliner with Netflix, the bed again..... eating, not eating, drinking, not drinking, another half a pill, talking to friends on the phone retelling the story...nada. no dice.  Awake (yes a bit stumbly and slurry- that due mainly to his face being extremely swollen and black and blue)...but not relaxing.  I started getting grumpy, because I wanted to take care of him, wanted to get some work done, and yes- I wanted some play/relaxing time as well.  He finally laid down in the bed, I switched to the big computer and got done mostly what I needed to (and which I should be doing right now, but I want to write)...and I bounced *way* off my diet with an icing rose, coconut m&m's, leftover ham with cheese- I eat when I am tired and frustrated and guilty and I was all three- tired from being up, frustrated that I had stuff to do,  guilty because I was snappish and not as nurturing as I should of been....but he is a forgiving soul and I tried my best.  I finally gave up at 7, he got up and I went to bed- and slept like a rock.  I am much better this morning (even though I have "tight-brain"  which means I am a bit stressy because I have things to do/think about that I am avoiding- money being one of the major ones)... but I have school today, managed to wash my hair this morning, and I feel better for writing this.  Thank-you for listening~