Tag: Home
Herb Butters
Herb butters add a delightful flavor to vegetables, crackers, breads and meats. They are quick and easy to prepare and turn an ordinary dinner into a meal to remember
Hints:
-
Use unsalted butter
-
Use lemon zest to enhance flavor
-
Mix into softened butter or simmer
-
Herb butters get stronger with time. Refrigerate two to three weeks. Freeze two to three months
-
Add nuts just prior to serving
-
Chop fresh herbs, cut with scissors, or food process fully dry
-
Simmer herbs about ten minutes. Do not bubble.
Herb of the Day for May 11th is Lemon Grass
Herb of the Day
Lemon Grass
This herb is a native of Southeastern Asia growing in tropical climates all over the world. From a distance it may be mistaken as Johnson grass, but this herb is very useful. It yields the finest commercial lemon oil and make the best culinary herb for lemon lovers. The bulb helps digest fatty meats and its’ leaves flavor teas, seafood and vegetable. Grow me in full sun with lots of water. Propagate the herb from root division or buy a bulb at the Chinese vegetable market, root it in potting soil and it will be producing new leaves in three weeks.
I Was Never Promised
I Was Never Promised
I know as I sit here, I was never promised an easy life.
I was never promised happiness or comfortability.
I was never promised a roof over my head or food to eat on a daily basis.
I was never promised that my family or I would be healthy and I was never promised that I would develop friendships that I hold dearly.
I was never promised that today would be free and that I would have to exchange a day of my life for it.
I was never promised that I will make a better tomorrow and with the utmost humility, make a difference in many people’s lives.
I was never promised clothing to wear on a daily basis and a washing machine and dryer to clean and dry them.
I was never promised a direction in life and I certainly was not afforded a road map to get to where I belong.
I was never promised the luxury of an automobile or the money to put gas in it.
I was never promised that I would live in a modest home and fill it with the essentials to make a house, a home.
I was never promised, but I do promise, to never take for granted the things that have been so graciously given to me in my life…
I will give thanks on a daily basis for everything and everyone I touch and that touches me.
I, as I sit here writing this to you, I know in a blink of an eye, that all of these things that I have can be gone.
Gratitude, Gratitude, Gratitude…
— Copyright© 2010 Rich Barnes
Collecting and Preparing a Magickal Wood
Collecting and Preparing a Magickal Wood
Most Witches prefer to use a fallen branch rather than cutting a limb from a tree, feeling that taking from the tree with a blade is disrespectful. Others believe that if you ask the tree and indicate your purpose, you can tell if the tree gives permission by laying your hand softly on the bark. If you feel unhappy, sad, or like you’re being brushed off, permission is not granted. If, however, you feel a warm flowing sensation, then the tree has give its permission. An offering should always be left at the base of the tree if a branch is taken in this way.
The wood should be left in a warm, dry place and allowed to cure, if it was living when taken. Fallen branches may already be sufficiently dried. If in doubt, treat it as living wood. Some Witches prefer to leave the bark on the wood, where others peel away the bark with a pocket knife, then sand the surface with sandpaper until smooth to the touch. The soft surface takes paint and wood-burning techniques better than the bark. The choice is yours. As a final touch you may wish to wrap the handle portion with leather or other soft cloth. Some Witches add crystals and gems to the point that will direct the current, either gluing or wiring the stone into place with thin copper or silver wire.
Rose Dye
Rose Dye
The Native Americans removed the spine by rubbing the cactus in the sand.
Plant: Prickly pear cactus
Harvest time: September
Material: Fruit, fresh
Vessel: Earthenware or enamel kettle
Squeeze the juice from 2 pounds of cactus and strain into 3 gallons of water. Add 1 pound of yarn and soak for 1 week in a warm location. Rub the yarn daily. Rinse several times. To deepen the color, repeat the process a second time.
Light Yellow Dye
Light Yellow Dye
Plant: Wild celery Harvest time: June and July Material: Fresh flowers, leaves Vessel: Tin or aluminumBoil 1 pound of wild celery in 5 gallons of water for 2 hours. Strain; add 1/4 cup of raw alum and boil for 10 minutes. Add 1 pound of wet yarn and boil 15 minutes before rinsing.
Homemade Dandelion Syrup
Homemade Dandelion Syrup
I am wild about dandelions. Their greens deliver a fleeting sweetness at the first nod of spring (before succumbing to a load of bitterness) and inspired me to write about harvesting and eating them a few weeks ago, followed by a recipe for Cream of Dandelion Soup. So next up, I thought, I just have to make dandelion wine. I’ve tackled homemade paper and found making butter to be effortless, how hard can dandelion wine be?
Well. After reading about secondary fermentation vessels and yeast varieties and fermentation traps, I thought, uhmm, actually, I think it was dandelion syrup that I wanted to make.
Dandelion syrup can be used in many ways, on top of pancakes or plain yogurt, anywhere you use a sweetener, really, you name it. I started imagining dandelion cocktails come summer; homemade dandelion ice cream sweetened with dandelion syrup and speckled with dandelion petals; dandelion this and dandelion that. Dandelion everything.
In this country, dandelions abound–yet go unloved by most. I will spare you my conspiracy theories about the defamation of the dandelion; this rant includes evil-genius chemical companies, the accidental discovery of phenoxy type herbicides in the 1940s and the need to find a public enemy (that would be the dandelion) to ensure a long and profitable demand for the new herbicidal product.
Anyhow, the Roundup parade isn’t marching around my neck of the woods in Brooklyn. Here, the dandelions earnestly shimmy up through sidewalk cracks and inhabit even the most desolate patches of soil, which is really so heartening. This would all seem a great harbinger for my dandelion syrup endeavor. However, urban foraging has its own set of considerations, which include dogs and their lifted legs, roadside exhaust and the possibility of rodent poison. Which all kind of suck the charm right out of it. As chance would have it though, there is a large lawn at a nearby high school that is wonderfully unruly and thankfully untreated with chemicals. It is being organically planted with vegetable beds by the students, and the grass was rampant with dandelions. I asked, they said, “uhmm yeah, sure lady, take ‘em.” And take I did, 100 of them.
Once at home, my daughters and I, hands sticky with bright golden pollen, plucked off the petals and had a bowl of the loveliest plant matter: Soft, downy almost, and redolent with the scent of asparagus and carnations. What an oddly endearing base for a syrup.
So, dandelion syrup. I have long been intrigued by it—it’s at once kind of down-home American as well as cool French granny. It is a basic herbal infusion made into a simple syrup. I felt like I didn’t want to boil the bejeezus out of the blossoms, so I just brought them to a simmer and let them soak overnight. The puzzle for me was what sweetener to use. Traditionally white sugar is used, but white sugar lands last on my list of happy sweeteners. So, I played around with some other alternatives as well, all with quite different results.
• White sugar made a syrup with a faint taste of vanilla and very slightly nutty, it was really just mostly sweet and somewhat plain.
• Sucanat, one of my favorite sweeteners, was, as I expected, too heavy in flavor to let the subtle dandelion taste shine through. That said, it was very interesting; like an herbaceous molasses.
• Honey has that smooth edge that became more pronounced after simmering. I used a mild clover honey and the result was like a somewhat spicy and grassy honey.
• Agave syrup worked beautifully because it is such a clean-tasting sweetener—the syrup made with agave was sweet and clean, with bright green undertones.
So pick your dandelions, pick your sweetener and make some syrup. Many recipes call for lemon, which gives it a little kick of citrus. Suit yourself.
Ingredients
100 dandelion flowers, or 1 and 1/2 cups petals
1 cup sweetener (see above)
3 cups water
Juice of 1/2 lemon (optional)
1. Remove the petals from the sepal (the sepal consists of the small tight leaves that extend from the stem and grasp the flower). This takes a while to get the hang of, but gets much quicker as you go along. Be sure to not allow any green into the petals, it will add bitterness to the syrup.
2. Place the petals in a medium pot and cover with 3 cups water and bring to a simmer. Turn off the heat, cover and let sit overnight.
3. Strain dandelion water into a bowl, pressing on the flowers with the back of a spoon to extract all the liquid.
4. Return water to pot and add sweetener, and lemon juice if using, and simmer over low heat until thickened.
5. Allow to cool, and pour into a clean jar or bottle. Store covered in refrigerator.
Makes about 2 cups
Daily OM for April 14 – Gifts from the Universe
|
Gifts from the Universe
Accepting Your Family
Our families help us see where we have come from so that we may more clearly decide where we’d like to go.
Families can contain a fascinating grouping of personalities. Despite the potential for so many to have similar traits, there are many different ways to express them. As people marry into families and have children, even more personalities enter the picture. There may be some people that we would not choose to be related to, but that’s what friends are for.
If we trust in a universe that has a higher purpose for everything, then we must believe that family members are in our lives for a good reason. These reasons may be easy to see and appreciate with some, but others may offer us a challenge. With those, we can look for something we can learn or perhaps teach. In the modern world where everyone seeks to be individuals, many move far away from their families in an attempt to escape them. But when we’ve successfully built a world around us that requires no one’s help, our families are the people who are still attached to us. We can still choose whether or not to honor the family ties, and how to treat each other, but the fact remains that we are energetically tied to our families.
Our families help us see where we have come from so that we may more clearly decide where we’d like to go. If we can learn to accept our families for who they are, then we go out into the world armed with the ability to deal with anyone. Some families are better than others at preparing us for the world. What we learn from our families, even if they are simply blank spots on our family trees, becomes the basis of our identities as individuals. Rather than denying our connections, we can choose to accept their presence in our lives. Acceptance does not mean we have to like them; we simply acknowledge that we are connected to them and honor that connection for like it or not, there is a reason. When we can embrace all that they bring into our experience, we may be grateful for all we have learned from them and have to learn, while we experience everything that comes with family fully and completely.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: On Becoming a Grandmother
Chicken Soup for the Soul: On Becoming a Grandmother
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Grandmothers
BY: Terrie Todd
Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild.
~Welsh Proverb
I thought I was prepared. I was a mother, after all. I already knew what it meant to love someone so much it hurt. I understood the old adage that to be a parent is to walk around forever with your heart outside your body. I had written in my journal, revealing all the emotions I’d discovered tag-teaming in my heart: happiness, melancholy, anxiety, joy, anticipation, worry. I had seen the ultrasound pictures. I’d crocheted a soft, fuzzy blue blanket, patiently undoing all my bungled stitches and doing them over so it would be a perfect square. I had memorized the verses in Psalm 139 that tell how God wonderfully forms us in our mother’s womb. I had prayed for this child and for his parents daily since I learned of his existence. I had written letters to his mom and dad, assuring them how proud I was of them both, how I’d be as supportive as I knew how to be, how they would be excellent parents.
I’d prayed for myself, too. I’d wrestled with the idea that I was going to be a grandmother. Shouldn’t I be wiser first? Or sweeter? Or at the very least, a better cook? How exactly did one cram for this event? I had even admitted to myself that I would soon be sleeping with someone’s grandfather. That idea took a little getting used to, let me tell you!
I had bragged to my friends. I had celebrated with my mother. I had gifted my daughter-in-law with maternity clothes and bought the most irresistible little stuffed puppy for the baby.
I had done all of that. I thought I was prepared.
The day he was born, I rode along with his other grandparents to the hospital to meet our mutual little descendant for the first time. We were told to wait in the hallway while the nurses finished up whatever they were doing with him and his mother in the room. While I waited, I studied the instructional posters on the walls, filled with advice for new parents. I remembered how challenging those first few days could be. Given the hospital rules, I fully expected that my first sight of my little grandson would be in his plastic baby bed and I was prepared. But when I turned around, I instantly knew that no amount of groundwork could have prepared me for that moment. Instead of the expected baby bed, I was beholding my own firstborn carrying his firstborn in his arms.
I came unglued. Part of me was carried back twenty-six years to the day I first laid eyes on my son. But those twenty-six years had passed in an instant, and here I was looking at the next generation, with the same dark skin and the same head full of thick, dark hair. He was beautiful and I was smitten. I didn’t even try to check the tears running down my cheeks as I held him in my arms and hugged his dad as tight as I could with the baby between us. What a cherished moment!
This little boy is about to turn three years old and now has a baby brother. Every day brings new adventures, new things to learn, new memories to make, and new opportunities to wonder at the marvelous work of our Creator. These little guys have taught me that sometimes stopping to watch ducks is more important than getting in out of the rain. They’ve uncovered my own impatient ways, the ones I thought I had overcome. They’ve reminded me that time spent cuddling a sleeping baby in a rocking chair trumps pretty much anything.
Most of all, I’ve come to realize that no matter how hard I tried, I could not have prepared to love someone so profusely, or to learn so much from someone so small.
Herb of the Day: ASAFETIDA
Herb of the Day ASAFETIDA: Ferula asafoetida
Also called Stinking Gum.
Parts Used: Resin of the root
…Magical Uses: Use for prophetic dreams, exorcism, and protection. Worn in a bag around the neck, asafetida dispels diseases and evils of all kinds. (It literally repels evil spirits!) Add a clove of garlic to enhance the effect. Asafetida is a classic for exorcism and purification rites. Use it to smudg a ritual space with smoke. Unfortunately, though asafetida is powerful, it also has a horrible odor. Just the slightest whiff of the fragrance has been known to cause vomiting. Use with Care!
The pungent gum is extracted from the living rootstock by notching the plant at soil level. It was a popular Roman condiment. (If you can imagine that!) Research suggests the plant is anticoagulant and lowers blood pressure. Used to treat stomach ailments such as intestinal flu, gas, and bloating. Add a pinch to beans as they cook.
The herb is good in cases of Candida albicans. Has been used for asthma, broncitis, and whooping cough because of it’s antispasmodic properties and is a good herb for croup and colic in babies (newborns should get it through their mother’s milk). Another method is to give it to infants via the rectum – make an emulsion with four parts asafetida to one hundred parts water and insert. It has been used as a sedative for hysteria and convulsion.
Please Note: This herb tastes awful and is perhaps best taken in capsule form, one hundred millegrams to one gram being the dose.
Posted by Lady Abigail
Herbal Tips for Your Kitchen
Now that Spring is here, we will be having fresh vegetables and herbs shortly. Knowing how to use the herbs properly will give a new taste sensation to your meals. You can use tried and true recipes or make-up your own. Either way when you cook with herbs, you will have a fantastic meal the whole family will enjoy.
Hints for Using Herbs
-
Serving Rule: Two teaspoons of minced, fresh herbs will flavor four servings One teaspoon dried herbs or seeds serves four. Delicately flavored herbs, like marjoram can be use more liberally.
-
For soups and stews, add fresh herbs during the last twenty minutes.
-
To develop the flavor of freshly dried herbs, soak them for ten minutes in lemon juice, stock or oil before cooking.
-
Before cooking rub fresh herbs between clean hands to release their unique flavor in the volatile oils. This will accelerate flavoring as your entrée cooks.
-
Firmly press herbs into the flesh of meats, fish, or poultry before cooking to enhance aroma and taste. No sauce or further preparation will be necessary.
-
Flavor salad dressing by soaking herbs in it for thirty minutes to an hour before serving. Use one teaspoon of herbs to one cup of dressing.
-
Microwave: Whenever possible, saute herbal blends in a small amount of liquid, stock, butter or oil before adding to a microwave dish to assure flavor.
-
Sugar can be flavored by layering twelve to fifteen rose geranium or lemon rose geranium leaves on top of one pound of sugar. Any flavor of geranium leaves will do. Keep it covered until ready to use. Flavored sugar adds a delicate flavor to biscuits, cookies and muffins,
-
A substitute for lemon peel in baked goods is finely chopped lemon balm, lemon thyme or lemon vervain.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Always At My Back
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Always at My Back
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad
BY: Wendy Walker
What a child doesn’t receive he can seldom later give.
~P.D. James, Time to Be in Earnest
My relationship with my father is complicated. It always has been. We are alike in many ways and this only adds to the complications. But there was one time when it was simple, when I was just a daughter and he a father, and it is this one time that I remember with great affection.
I was in college, probably my freshman year. I attended school only two hours away from my parents’ house, so I came home every break I got to see friends from high school, or to sleep and eat free groceries. Occasionally, I brought friends with me. It was a great place to escape the many pressures of college and growing up, and to be someone’s child again.
On one break, I came home early to catch up with my best friend from high school. My mother’s sister was visiting, so I camped out in the basement bedroom — which was just fine by me because it made for easy entry in the early morning hours. My friend’s mother took us to a movie and we made it an early night. The house was dark when I came home, but David Letterman was still on. I watched some TV and then went to bed myself.
A few hours later, I woke up with a horrible pain in my gut. I didn’t know this at the time, but it was similar to labor contractions — only it didn’t come and go in waves of torment. The torment was constant. I tried to get comfortable and fall back asleep, but that wasn’t happening. So, clutching the walls as I walked, I made my way up two flights of stairs to the bathroom medicine chest. I scoured the shelves for anything that might help — antacids, Tylenol, Motrin. My aunt, who was sleeping in the next room, heard the commotion and came out to see what was going on. She had been a drug counselor at one time in her life, and had keen hearing for roaming teenagers. By the time she found me, I was doubled over and getting dizzy. She rushed down the hall to my parents’ bedroom, and by the time they arrived, I had passed out on the floor.
I woke up in the nearest bed with all three of them around me. They immediately began questioning me. Where had I been? What had I done? What had I eaten? Did I take any drugs (that one from my aunt)? The answer was, simply, movie and popcorn. They checked for signs of appendicitis and gave me some Motrin. I can’t remember whether I fell asleep again or just waited out the night, but in the morning the pain was still there, full on.
My father was dressed for work, but he called in to say he would be late, then bundled me in the car and drove me to the emergency room at one of the local hospitals. It was the usual scene — crowded, chaotic and filled with the distinctive feeling that comes from being at the mercy of a headless bureaucratic machine. We checked in and sat in the chairs waiting for our turn. The one thing about my father that is easy to understand is that he has never been a patient man, and this is especially true when someone he loves is suffering. I was far too distracted by my own pain to notice it then, but his patience was depleting as the minutes, then hours ticked by.
We made it, finally, to an exam room and that’s where the waiting really began. Seeing that I needed observation, the first doctor came, then quickly left us in a line for admission to a regular room. Only the line was very long. Four hours passed. My father came and went from the room as I lay there in fetal position, breathing through the pain and freezing cold with only a hospital sheet and my father’s coat to cover me. Out of everything that day, the pain in my gut, the eventual needle sticks and IVs, it’s the cold in that room that I remember most vividly. Eventually, I began to shiver and my lips started to turn purple. I needed to be admitted, and soon.
Typically, my father’s lack of patience resulted in, let’s say, fervent advocacy. But not on this day. On this day, there was no arguing with nurses or yelling at desk clerks. Instead, my father asked someone if they were prepared to admit me that moment. When they couldn’t give him an answer, he simply grabbed the bag with my clothing, draped his coat around me, and carried me — out of the room, past the hospital staff that tried to stop him, through the security doors, the room with the chairs, out the front door and into his car.
With me dressed in a hospital gown and his overcoat, he drove to a second hospital, a second emergency room. He carried me again to the admitting desk and within an hour, I had been admitted to the hospital for observation. I stayed there for two days, at which point the pain was gone and written off as a stomach bug. But that’s not why I remember the story.
People who know me well know that I am no shrinking violet. Had I been capable of removing myself to a second hospital that day, there is no doubt that I would have done it and that my father would have encouraged me to do it myself, taking pride in having raised a strong, independent woman. But on that day, I was not a strong, independent woman. I was a child rendered helpless by pain. I was a daughter in need of protection. There was no one in the world I needed more than my father, and he was there.
It’s not often that people are put to a test. Indeed, it is precisely those rare times that make the headlines — heroic firefighters storming a building, pilots landing planes under extreme duress, bystanders pulling a stranger from the train tracks. I can’t imagine any comfort greater than knowing there is someone in your life who will never fail to have your back and do whatever is needed to protect you. I had that in my father.
I am a mother now, and I know what it feels like on the other side of that equation. I can feel it inside me, this likeness I have to my father. Some of it presents an ongoing struggle. Lack of patience probably tops that list. But I gladly take it all to have that one thing of his that I can bestow upon my own children. There are times when I can see it on their faces, this knowledge that I am strong, and that no matter what, I have their backs.
Chicken Soup for the Soul – The Long Road Home
The Long Road Home
As I arrive home from college for the first time, I realize many things have changed—in my family and in myself.
BY: Lia Gay
I find myself packing again. Well, let’s be completely honest, this isn’t really packing it’s shoving three weeks’ worth of dirty clothes into a suitcase and having my roommate sit on it so I can get it to close.
This time is different; this isn’t the same nostalgic trip down memory lane as when I packed before college. This is the “night before my first trip home frantic pack.” So you get the idea—my plane leaves in two hours, and no, college didn’t teach me to procrastinate. I was experienced in that art long before I stepped onto my college campus.
So now that I’m packed, I have a minute to examine my emotions about my first trip home. I’m excited. My best friend, Matt, picks me up, groggy, for our 4:00 a.m. drive. My expectations are that I am going home to what I left: my parents, home-cooked meals, friends with whom I shared distinctive bonds and my long-distance boyfriend, whom I have been dying to see. I am happy at college, but a trip home, to my family and friends, sounds like just the thing I need to prepare me for the pre-finals crunch.
I think I will catch up on the missed hours of sleep on the plane. Instead, I look around and realize that most of the exhausted passengers are students just like me. Below us, in the cargo bin, sits a year’s worth of dirty laundry at least.
I miss my connecting flight, so I am later than expected. I step off the plane to find my mom frantic, thinking I had been “abducted” on the trip home. I look at her puzzled. I guess in a mother’s eyes there is no logical explanation for being late, such as the obvious flight trouble. I assure her that I am fine and that I don’t need to fly as an “unaccompanied minor” on the way back.
A few hours later, I’m back at the airport, waiting for my boyfriend’s arrival home. He steps off the plane with the same groggy but excited look I wore hours before. We drive over to see my dad, who seems calmer than my mother had been. I ask to see my room, expecting to find my shrine, my old pompoms, prom pictures, candid photos of friends and dolls scattered about. To my surprise, everything is gone; there’s not even a trace I had ever lived in the room. I’m starting to wonder if I really had been abducted on the way home. It’s as if the second I became a “college” student, I had ceased to exist.
I start to wonder what else had changed since I’d been gone. My parents are in an awkward transition, wondering how to treat me now. They wrestle with whether to treat me—still their daughter—as one of them, an adult, or as the child they feel they sent away months earlier.
I run into two of my best friends from high school; we stare blankly at each other. We ask the simple questions and give simple, abrupt answers. It’s as if we have nothing to say to each other. I wonder how things have changed so much in such a small amount of time. We used to laugh and promise that no matter how far away we were, our love for each other would never change. Their interests don’t interest me anymore, and I find myself unable to relate my life to theirs.
I had been so excited to come home, but now I just look at it all and wonder: Is it me?
Why hadn’t the world stood still here while I was gone? My room isn’t the same, my friends and I don’t share the same bond, and my parents don’t know how to treat me—or who I am, for that matter.
I get back to school feeling half-fulfilled, but not disappointed. I sit up in my bed in my dorm room, surrounded by my pictures, dolls and mementos. As I wonder what has happened, I realize that I can’t expect the world to stand still and move forward at the same time. I can’t change and expect that things at home will stay the same. I have to find comfort in what has changed and what is new; keep the memories, but live in the present.
A few weeks later, I’m packing again, this time for winter break. My mom meets me at the curb. I have come home accepting the changes, not only in my surroundings, but most of all in me.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Forever Changed
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Forever Changed
Chicken Soup for the Soul: New Moms
BY: Michelle Sedas
The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.
~Rajneesh
On March 9, 2004, the day my first child was born, I became forever changed. As I held my newborn baby, I recalled a moment, nearly two years before, when I was hospitalized for a second time in my life for depression. As I stood waiting to be discharged, I vowed to get better, to never return physically or mentally to that place. It was on this day that I made a promise to myself to do whatever it took to overcome this debilitating illness so that I could one day be a depression-free new mom.
As I built my new life, I went to counseling, twice a week at first, and less frequently over time. I worked on my counseling exercises at home. I read uplifting books, exercised, ate well, and began to interact again socially with others. I started a new, part-time, low-stress job where I felt I was making a difference. Months later, to my delight, I became pregnant. And for nine months, in preparation for first-time motherhood, I continued to improve upon my mental state of mind.
Then the day came when my baby, Diego, was born. It was like a scene in a movie. The doctor set him upon my chest, and I looked in awe at this tiny creature who moments before had been nicely snuggled within my warm womb. I soaked up his essence, the tiny fingers and toes, the soft, damp skin, and something inside of me clicked. My old self faded away, and a new person emerged: “Michelle the Mother.” At that moment, I knew in my heart that those turbulent, depressed years were in the past. I was now a mother, responsible for taking care of a helpless, innocent baby, and I wholeheartedly accepted this job. My focus was now on providing the most wonderful environment I could for this precious one that God had entrusted into my care. I knew then that I would love this baby with all of my heart and soul, and that I would continue to keep my mind healthy so I could be the best mother possible for him.
As the days passed, I sang him made-up songs. Cheerfully, I woke up in the middle of the night to feed him. I gently rocked him when he cried (which was often!). I had fallen completely in love with my angel. Many of my family and friends saw the change within me. My mom said my face looked different. I “glowed.” “Michelle the Mother” was a title that suited me well. But as much as motherhood had changed me, and as happy as I felt, I knew that I was predisposed to postpartum depression. I vigilantly kept a check on my state of mind, doing whatever I could to stay healthy, allowing me to remain a depression-free new mom.
Becoming a new mother has proven to be the most positive, life-altering experience of my existence. While there are times when those clouds of depression still threaten to overwhelm me, my love for my children propels me forward. My two angels have rekindled my inner light and left me forever changed.
Summoning Faeries
Summoning Faeries
by C. Cheek
Call them spirits, call them genii loci, call them lare or fey, the faeries that our ancestors knew and loved and feared are still with us today. Faeries have been courted since time immeasurable to guard the hearth, prevent stillbirths and keep the wolves from the flock. Making offerings to these faeries is an ancient tradition, one at the core of many forms of witchcraft. By learning where these fey gather, we can tap into their power. They are accessible. They are not mortal, but they take an interest in mortal affairs. Not only are they able to help us in our lives — they want to help. The fey can aid us in raising energy for spell work, they have the power to heal, and they make excellent guardians — sometimes attaching themselves to a home or bloodline for centuries. If we gain their favor, they can bring us fortune and prosperity, and, perhaps even more important, they can bring us wisdom and a connection with the divine.
The practice of courting faeries has waned, but the spirits themselves live on, hiding unseen in apartment complexes as they once hid in barns. Tradition says they can be summoned with simple gifts of food. Why not rekindle the friendship that humans and fey once shared? They still have the ability to bless and protect humans, all for the price of a crust of bread, or a dish of milk left out overnight. Make an offering, inviting the fey into your home so you can reap this benefit. It’s just like feeding birds: put out the food, and they will come. Simple, right?
A friend of mine used to live just west of Phoenix, and she liked to put out blocks of seed for quail in her back yard. The quail came, and it delighted her to watch them nibble at the block early in the morning. The doves fluttered around, cooing, and later the sparrows would gather to eat what remained. Then she moved to the piñon forests of central Arizona. Her new home, on the outskirts of Prescott, has even more wildlife than her old home in the suburbs did. Once again, she put out blocks of seed for the birds; only this time, it wasn’t quail that came. Javalinas — huge wild pigs — came down to the house, grunting and snorting and devouring all the seeds. Not only that, but once they associated her with food, they dug through her garbage and chased her when she tried to shoo them away. Quail are cute and harmless, but Javalinas can cause serious damage to both people and property. Her gift was accepted, but not by the recipient she wanted. Why should it be different with the fey?
Many of us, in our attempts to protect our homes, would like a little divine assistance. We’ve heard the tales of the tailor aided by the wee folk, or the milkmaid who got a new gown by sharing her bread with a forest gnome. Perhaps with an invitation, some respect and a few simple offerings, these gentle faeries will take a liking to us and shower us with their blessings. Why not invite them all into our homes, into our lives? If your intentions are good, then only good will come to you, right? Wrong. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Anything that has the power to heal also has the power to harm. The fey are not all benevolent. Remember the tales of children snatched by phookas, or milk soured in the pail. Be careful whom you invite into your home.
But how? First of all, tailor your ritual to specific fey. You wouldn’t print out fliers and distribute them at bikers’ shops if you wanted to have a genteel tea party. Why should it be different for faeries? Even the best families have a few black sheep, and even the nicest neighborhoods have a worn -down house. No matter how thorough your purification spells, a few malevolent spirits may still linger.
Be aware of your surroundings. Has anyone died in or near your home? How about your neighbor’s home, if you live in an apartment building? Imagine the following scenario: You’ve just moved into your new apartment. After purifying it, you wish to welcome the local spirits. Now imagine that, unbeknownst to you, the previous occupant of the apartment above you was murdered by his or her spouse. You could be asking an angry ghost to haunt you. Casting a general summoning near restless spirits is a bad idea.
So, how do you find out who’s around you? Observation. Are there places nearby that seem to always be unlucky? The parking meter that runs out a minute before you get there to put another quarter in. The sunny spot on your balcony that nevertheless kills every single marigold. Does your computer lock up more in this apartment than your old one? Sometimes too many things go wrong at once for coincidence. If you happen to live in a place with trickster faeries then you’ll want to do something about the malevolent beings before trying to summon the good ones.
There are three ways to do this: the passive way, the aggressive way and the middling road. The middling road would be to simply ask the spirit or faerie to leave. This may not work — some houses remain haunted forever, and many towns have bridges that the psychically sensitive refuse to cross late at night. If asking nicely doesn’t work, you can try appeasement. In the old days, they’d offer sacrifices, like paying “insurance” money to the local mafia to avoid getting into “accidents.” This is the passive way, and it is a good choice for the kind of people who let birds eat all the fruit they want rather than putting up nets. The aggressive way would be to cast a banishing — bell, book, candle and all. If you have reason to believe that truly evil spirits haunt the place where you live, this is a good solution, especially if you can’t afford to move.
Now you’ve evicted the troublemakers, and you want the good local spirits to feel welcome. After all, getting in touch with the otherworldly is what being a witch is about, right? How do you issue invitations only to your friends? Chances are, if you’ve lived in a place long enough, meditated often enough, you already know the local fey quite well. Maybe they don’t have names yet, maybe you don’t know what they look like, but you’ve got a nodding acquaintance. Give them names and a shape to wear. That warm protective spirit under the stairs might look like a kindly old man. That especially peaceful bench in the park might be watched over by a tall faerie in a blue gown. How does a stray dog learn its name? You start using it.
But what if it’s too late? What if, in a burst of enthusiasm, you passed out the spiritual fliers, and now you’ve got an out-of-control house party? It’s time for damage control. First, just like you would with a house party, designate some rooms out of bounds. Any room with a baby in it should be securely warded. While the Irish custom of hanging a pair of open scissors above the baby’s crib is a bad idea, there are other charms to protect children from evil. Egyptians use kohl and the sign of the eye. The Irish use rowan or iron, and nearly every culture uses salt. Pregnant women and women who are still recovering from childbirth are also susceptible to faerie attacks. Some books recommend pointing the toes of shoes away from the bed to keep the fey away. Most books about faeries will include some charm for warding, and experience will tell you which ones work.
Second, through meditation and visualization, find out the natures of the spirits living with you. Once you know who they are, you can clothe them in names. If you’re good at drawing, you can make sketches until one feels right. Alternately, you can look through books with pictures of the fey until you find an image that captures the spirits of those in your house. Don’t worry if they’re not exact. Faeries are mutable creatures, often take more than one shape, and if you treat them as benevolent protectors, they are more likely to stay that way. Like a stray dog, they want to know the name by which you call them, even if it’s not their only name.
Third, set aside specific places for them. Some people like to use birdhouses as faerie inns. Whether the faeries actually enter the dwelling or not is inconsequential — it’s sympathetic magic that says, “Here’s a place for you to be.” Leave your offerings in the same location every time — under the footbridge, in the corner of the kitchen, or even on your altar. Chances are, you’ll feel the presence grow stronger there.
Finally, treat your spiritual guests with respect. No one wants to be begged constantly for favors, especially not an immortal being who was once worshipped as a god. You shouldn’t shower them with gratitude, or try too hard to pin them down — both of these things make the fey want to leave. When feeding the birds in my yard, I pour the birdseed, stand back and if the sparrows choose to eat, I simply enjoy their presence. Just like with birds, you have to acknowledge that the fey are wild beings. Strive to live in harmony, neither asking too much nor giving too much, and the fey just might decide to offer blessings of their own free will.
References
Bonwick, James. Irish Druids and Old Irish Religions. Dorset Press, 1986.
Coven of Silver Light. Faerie Magick. http://members.lycos.co.uk/covensilverlight/faeriemagick.htm, Feb. 15, 2005.
de Grandis, Francesca. Ritual: How to Meet a Faerie. www.feri.com/frand/Wicca5.html, Feb. 19, 2005.
Fabrisia. History of Italian Stregheria. www.fabrisa.com/history.htm Feb. 15, 2005.
Franklin, Anna and Paul Mason. Fairy Lore. Capall Bann Publishing, 1999.
Froud, Brian and Alan Lee. Faeries. New York: Harry N. Abrams. Inc., 1978.
Good News, I survived the day and ain’t in jail,lol!
I am sorry about no posts this morning. It started out a good morning. I got up around 7:00, fixed coffee, laid down in the floor to watch TV till the coffee got ready. The next thing I knew it was 11:14. Oh, crap, I had to take a shower, put on my makeup, grab a bit to eat and get a cup of coffee. I have long, red, curly hair and to keep the fuzz down. I put in leave in conditioner and then let it air dry. Probably why I have been sick so much this winter. Then not to mention I still had to wrap the gifts and we had to leave an hour earlier than the party. Remember they live 90 miles away for us. Then after that here comes my biggest baby of all, my hubby. There are times, men make me sick (sorry fellas). I mean it takes me an hour or two to get ready. How long does it take him 30 minutes if that long. I had been running around like a chicken with her head chopped off. And he casually gets up, climbs in the shower, gets out, shaves and puts on his clothes and he is ready to go (if only I was that lucky 😦 ). Anyway we get on our way to the birthday party. It was at McDonald’s, I didn’t even know they had birthday parties. My son told me that his mother-in-law’s sister won it at a local telethon last fall. We pulled up and apparently we were running early or else everyone else was running late. It was a nice Birthday Party. McDonald’s gives them hats and they get free happy meals and they also provide a cake. I skipped the cake and went for a Strawberry Milkshake. Boy, are those things good and fatten I would imagine. Blows my exercising all to heck. But things went better than expected. Of course, his mother-in-law aren’t speaking, which she isn’t worth wasting the breath on. We got ready to leave, grandma on the other side of the family came over to give me a hug and grabbed my necklace and commented how pretty it was. I think she was looking for little witches on brooms or little horny devils on it. Fooled her, lol! But your own kids can embarrass you more than anything. My daughter wasn’t suppose to be there, she is on call the weekend. But she decided to show up. Which I was glad to see her and her husband. We all sit together and I had on this long, black, shimmery ring, It has a very gorgeous figree pattern on it. The first thing my daughter does is to tell me she wants it. I said ok. Well she just has to ask at the top of her voice, “Is it cursed.” Why would I be wearing something cursed. Well you know what I mean? She ended up giving me the ring back it hurt her finger. My mother-in-law use to say, “If she knew then what she knows now, she would have had puppies.” I am beginning to see her point of view. But all in all, it was a good day. I came home and passed out in the floor. I wasn’t planning on doing that. I have found a book with some sensuous romantic spells. If they don’t get your blood boiling, then you aren’t human, my friend. Well I am off to do some posting. Thank you for understanding about this morning and I hope you enjoy the spells.



You must be logged in to post a comment.