Saturday, March 30, 2013

i made you an Easter card.sorta


 

Morning Has Broken

As Sung by Cat Stevens

lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon
 
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word
Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new

Friday, March 29, 2013

Easter's full moon musings

It would seem that I have missed the full moon, again it was hidden by clouds.  perhaps I should call it "the Hidden by Clouds Moon",  or "Last snows Moon", "Lingering under the Quilt Moon".    Or perhaps a hint to the cosmos,  "Winter's Farewell Moon" is in order.

The Easter, Moon, or the Pascal moon as we might be calling it had not the ancient Germanic, Anglo Saxon and Scandinavian ancestors not decided to use the name of Eostra or as she is know in modern time Ostara instead of  names which were derived from the Jewish Passover used by other Europeans , and are still used to this day.  According to the Venerable Bede {673?-735) the fourth month of the year was Esturmonath, named after Eostur, who was associate among other things with the the morning , dawn and the easterly direction.  April is the month that Easter usually falls in and this year even though it will be celebrated by most Christian in March, those of us who are Orthodox will be celebrating , or celebrating again on April 6th.

Sadly there is not nearly enough solid information about  Ostara.  Widely believed to be the  goddess of Spring who presided over celebration of the Vernal Equinox.   Ostara was also the maiden goddess, a symbol of fertility, goddess of the dawn, and of grain.  The tradition holds that water collected from springs at dawn, has healing powers may date back to the commemorations in honor of Ostara held at sunrise on the morning of the Vernal Equinox.

Ostara was also the goddess of grain, and perhaps by extension all seeds, both she and seeds are emblematic of the rebirth and fertility of the earth after the dead and barren landscape of winter

Ostera, as the tale tells was out walking one bitterly cold day, and found a bird nearly frozen to death, she transformed it into a rabbit. Rabbits being creatures able to withstand the cold. She herself was said to transform herself into a rabbit and scurry about, she was especially fond of white rabbits.   I find it interesting that  German children are told  that the Easter Hare lays all of the Easter eggs,  could this be that the Easter Hare is a female in disguise?

Though I don't know how long people have been have been balancing eggs at the time of the Vernal Equinox.  Eggs have been  a part of the celebration of springs arrival long before our brightly colored versions, the Anglo Saxons offered colored eggs at the Vernal Equinox.  Possibly placed on the graves as a revival charm.  The Greeks and Egyptians also placed eggs at grave sites.


While taking the boiled eggs out of an old enameled pot, I paused and mused at how  the last lone egg looked like some of my images of the full moon, floating in a dark sky surrounded by dots of star, or snow.   A dim memory flickered in my head of  learning how to candling eggs  with my aunt, when the egg seemed to glow from within. A  mixture of amazement and disbelief that little bit floating in it was really a chicken under construction.    



So dear reader I will treat you to a picture of the waxing gibbous moon through snowflakes. The late March full moon,  might  be well named if I were to call it the Egg Moon.

Bud Moon,  Cold’s End Moon, Crow Moon,  Daffodil Moon, Greening Moon, Moon of the Snowblind, Moon of the Whispering Wind, Moon of Winds Seed Moon, Sleepy Moon, , Storm Moon,  Violet Moon,  Windy Moon and Worm Moon.



snowflakes and the waxing giibous in the upper right

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Being Silly

 
Yeah, well some days when I "iz compooterin'" I feel like going for a Swim in Lake Silly. I am not sure of the first time I heard that expression, also  not sure of it's exact meaning, but I think it is something close to taking a actual event and turning it into something ridiculous.   And  that it is not used  in a complimentary way either.
Too bad, because being silly  can be....FUN.
Fun, laughing is fun, I won't tell you laughing is good for you finding out something is good for you can really ruin your enjoyment of it.
Misunderstanding stuff  on purpose can be great fun.  Take for example this British judicial humor , which takes to task the  out of touch upper classes, when a distinguished Judge asked "What are Diana Doors?' for those of you under 55, she was a rather glamorous actress.  and then there are those ubiquitous  LGM, with the acknowledged superior brains to go with their enlarge craniums, to whom our primitive electronic devices are a mystery.  To  poke fun at those who believe or actually are in authority, buy right of their intelligence.  A spin-off of which is making fun of the country cousins.  so expertly done by National Lampoons "Vacation" series
                              
If you are one who whistles past the graveyard, perhaps you find ways to make fears humorous.  though some fears are humorous in and of themselves, when you stop and think about them.
Making fun of our fears has a long been  associated with Halloween




 

Sometimes a real danger is begs being made fun of, like driving under the influence. though never legal it was once tolerated,  Witches, not so much.
So I  leave it to the reader to interpret this one.





And, then there is that rare  bit of humor with something for everyone.  And it even has a cat.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Ivy's new door

It was cold, really cold, ivy pulled the cover around her, and tried to go back to sleep, it would be light soon and then she would rekindle the fire. though she tried she couldn't seem to get warm enough to go back to sleep. Finally she tossed the blankets off and dragged on her clothes.  It felt like someone had left a window open.
the window in the kitchen door was shattered across the Kitchen floor, Ivy swept up as much glass and snow as she could and then went to the basement to get some cardboard, which she stapled in place.  IT was Sunday and she knew Skye wouldn't be coming around and getting glass in his pawpads.   After building a fire in the old woodstove, she cleaned  up the remains of the mess, and stepped outside to look at the the aluminum storm door, the self closing mechanism which had been threatening to come loose for some time and sometime during the snow and wind of last nights storm it finally did just that. 

 
Ivy decided she needed to call someone, she was never that good at fixing things, and as she turned to go indoors she heard a male voice shouting "Millie, Millie, where are you?"  and looked up to see and young man who looked like he had been rolling in the snow, Millie was hiding in the window well,  Ivy pointed the way, and the young man dove after the escaping snowball of a dog.  "Gottcha, ya !" he screamed,  he looked like a man wrestling a tiny snow covered bear.  Millie's tail was wagging and she was washing his face with her washrag tongue, he was laughing and saying " stop, it, now Millie, stop."   Ivy was laughing,  " I can fix that for you, if you like."  "No, charge for the labor, except for some coffee."   It was then she realised the young man was Mike from across the road.  "I'll be back as soon as I change, and get this little mutt dried off,"  Ivy didn't get a chance to answer, he was already across the road "Thanks!!, I'll put the coffee on." she yelled. 

The house was warmer, but still not warm enough to uncover Mr.Chips, I put on a proper pot of Swedish style coffee egg shells and all.  She always felt that  a stew on the stove and bread in the oven warmed up even a cold house, but almost before she had the soup pot on the stove, Mike was back toolbox in one hand and Millie on a leash in the other.  Millie was busily sniffing everything and generally trying to wrap the leash around Mike's ankles, something he deftly avoided,  as they crossed the yard. He knocked at the kitchen door before he  entered, " OH!  you really did make coffee., my coffee maker is broken and i have been drinking instant for days." he remarked.  Millie was nosing through Skye's blanket and toys and all of a sudden she plopped herself down and rested her head on her paws.   Ivy stifled a giggle saying "Almost ready, you move fast."  Millie was perfectly still except for her eyes which darted about taking in every detail. Mike had already measured the opening and was  talking on the phone, when ivy poured out a mug of fresh coffee and set it on the table.
Mike settled down at the table and  cupped his hands around the mug to warm them.  he looked up at Ivy who was mixing up something in a bowl.  ' I hope that I'm not interrupting Sunday dinner. I'll be done as fast as i can." Mike told Ivy.  "Well young man." Ivy stated "The least I can do for someone who gives up their Sunday is to make them some lunch."  'But i couldn't" Mike tried to protest, while  Ivy said "Not another word! Not another word, that's the way we do things around here."   The house was silent except for the ticking clock and and the sound of a growing friendship.   And for a few moments it stayed that way.

Millie jumped up her tail wagging furiously and and barking like an excited puppy, she ran to the door.  "That would be Jeff, with your new window."  Mike got up and went to the door.   Seeing the two men talking brought back  a time when there was always someone visiting on a Sunday afternoon.  over time she had become used to the silence. it had become her friend she was not the same person she had been, her world was changing and she was determined to change with it.  the door opened and Millie escaped, charging full speed at the Jeff, who scooped her up and pretended to wrestle with her, as ivy watched totally engrossed in the scene one very large man and one very small bearlike dog playing happily in the snow.  "Mrs. C?....Mrs. C." Mike said, "You caught me snooping!" Ivy replied.  "That's,understandable! They are really something when they get to be together.  Millie used to be his dog.  but what I was going to say was, turn down the furnace  so that you don't get and even bigger gas bill." "No furnace, just a woodstove, would you like some more coffee. Mike?" she queried. Mike shifted nervously "UMmmm."  "Oh it's thought that doorway and to your left, and you can help yourself to some coffee whenever." and with that Ivy disappeared down the cellar steps.

it was  warmer in the gloom of the basement, before putting more wood on the fire, Ivy hastily swept the floor, she  could hear Mike working on the door.  Millie and Jeff were still playing in the snow.   ivy was just glad to finally be warm.   The weather was changing, even the snow looked different. it wouldn't be long now before the spring rains would make the creek rise, and Daffodils would bloom where houses once stood.   She curled up in the old lawn chair and drifted into a deep sleep.

"Mrs C?. Mrs. C we're done." woke Ivy from her slumbers.  "I'll be right up!"  she announced as she gathered herself,  and putting a couple more logs on the fire she climbed the steps to see Mike holding on to a squirmimg Millie who was intent on getting away.  "Where's Jeff?"  "He went home." Mike said gripping Millie tighter " I wanted to show you your new door." "Very nice." she said as she looked it over, "Very nice indeed!" "Much better than the old one."  "Now, as i promised, some lunch for both of you. Millie first."

 
 
 
Ivy took the turkey red  towel that had belonged to her grandmother  off the bread and then sliced it, and carefully replaced the towel so the bread wouldn't dry out.  She uncovered,and ladle the stew onto plates,  while Mike poured the coffee,  Mike sat down and warmed his face with the steam.  "You don't see men who work indoors do that." Ivy blurted out.    Mike grinned.  "So young man tell me what brings you to our little town."  

Monday, March 11, 2013

Happy the man who....


Happy the Man

~~John Dryden

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Be fair or foul or rain or shine,
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

A few days ago someone pointed out to me that my  wishing for spring was a little like wishing my life away.  
Had to think about that for awhile, because it certainly is at least in part true.  Not living in the moment does mean that you are wishing your life away.  I will always prefer the warm weather months to winter, I will always long for the first flowers of spring, but that doesn't mean that  my life is on hold during the snowy seasons.  There are books to be read and seed catalogs to be studied, flower beds to plan, and closets to clean, old projects to finish and new ones to start,  and day trips to be thought up. even a little time spent  settled into the rocking chair daydreaming as the snow falls.  And when no one is looking  relishing it's beauty.


To spend one s time saying "I will start living, really living, when....." yes when does this that or the other thing that is the condition one is basing one's life and happiness start????   How long should one wait to start living, i mean "really living"of course.  and what does "really living" mean?   Does it mean being happy, does it mean being content, or smiling back at yourself in the mirror.   What happens if one tries to start "really living" without the proper conditions being met. 
Am I good at asking questions. or what?

Monday, March 4, 2013

Crone

                                                                      ~~unknown


child, maiden,mother,  crone
spring , summer, autumn. winter
exuberance, diligence, abundance, confidence
hope, progress, transformation, reward
wonder, education, knowledge, wisdom
dawn, daylight, twilight, night

birth, growth, maturity, death



The four seasons of the year, are linked with the four seasons of life. Winter is the Crone.   Her face, careworn, but softened by time, the spark of her life is fading she is preparing to pass on her legacy and complete her journey.  She like the earth has turned inward as her  life fades under winter's  frosts and snow, only to reemerge as new life.
 The traditionally maiden, mother, crone, framed a woman's life but Donna Henes proposed that there are 4 seasons to a woman's life; maiden. mother, queen and crone.  An idea that fits better with the gradual turning of one season to the next. Of one life to the next.



The Crone, gave birth to spring. summer, and autumn, she joins the end of the years turning with the beginning of the new year, she has see the wonders of youth, and the joys of love and lust, the pain and joy of giving birth, not only to her children and her ideas, but in her experience  and wisdom she has been the midwife to the next generation of ideas and children. in autumn she graced the world with her generosity and abundance, and as winter approached she began her journey back to the earth she came from.  Leaving her place  to be filled by new life,new ideas and new promise. 

Winter appears almost lifeless, for the most part. few plants remain green, there are a few birds, making their living on overwintering insects. The landscape is empty except for the animal tracks in the snow, a doe  that may-be still with last years faun and is already carrying a faun , a fox searches for unwary mice and  the owl calls for a mate.   Appearing to be dying, plants are merely waiting for the unseen work of their ever growing roots to swell buds into leaves at the first possible moment. Animals are waiting for those first green shoots, when they can provide for new life.















Familiars, with guest blogger Carolyn Emerick

Familiar and other sinister spirits riding with the witch, on a vintage Halloween postcard. | Source The Familiar Spirit: Compan...