I count myself in nothing else so fortunate as in a soul, remembering my good friends.
I have to say that I consider myself quite fortunate to call Spocko my friend. Some lovely Chinese health balls that Spocko gave to me sit on my altar and I use them whenever a ritual calls for making a lot of noise. I was present at Eschaton II where Spocko got one of the longest standing ovations that I (an aficionado of the ballet where prolonged standing ovations are common) have ever seen, for his work taking out talk radio hate hosts. Spocko often works years and years for a single "win," usually considering, experimenting with, and modifying multiple strategies. He's a true patriot, an American hero, and someone I'm honored to call "friend."
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."