Black Friday

One of the surest ways for me to upset folks is to blog about personal finance.

That's not surprising; the entire issue of personal finance/prosperity/money is pretty fraught within the overall Pagan community. There are likely a number of reasons for the "issues around this issue," including the squick of New Age Prosperity gurus, a still-lingering notion from the late 60s/early 70s that it's "wrong" for tarot readers, reiki workers, Pagan clergy, etc. to charge for their work (although that's become less of an issue lately and was always kind-of tempered with a grudging, "well, at least bartering would be ok"), and a general preference for a more egalitarian, less hierarchical community (and little separates and creates hierarchy within the overall culture than disparate economic circumstances). Lots of Pagans simply have priorities other than "material success" and many of us have very grave concerns about the planetary impact of overconsumption of Earth's resources. You can probably think of other reasons. And, Goddess knows, the current completely dysfunctional economy has vastly exacerbated all of these issues; it's pretty difficult to read advice about personal finances when your job's been send offshore, you've lost your home due to mortgage fraud, or a health problem bankrupts you after years of work, thrift, and prudence.

All of which often leads, in my humble experience, to people reacting to what they hear in their head rather than to what's actually being said.

Which is, as seems lately to be too regular a practice with me, a long wind-up for saying: For the love of the Goddess, do NOT put yourself into debt this holiday season. Debt, like fear, is the mind-killer. Debt can poison your life, threaten your home, ruin your chance for a comfortable old age. Kate Moss, the anorexic model who has done as much as any single human to poison the body image of millions of women, is infamously supposed to have remarked that "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." (Ms. Moss has, obviously, never had good caviar, the soup at Bayona, my friend E's apple pie, Son's bar-b-que, DiL's clam chowder, my friend B's chopped liver, or a well-buttered lobster roll on a hot day at the National Cathedral's annual flower sale. And she is poorer for the lack.) I've looked at debt from both sides now, and I will say that almost nothing that you buy on credit is as good as debt-free feels.

My "almost nothing" qualifier consists of this: (1) I think that education is priceless and that, since, sadly the United States doesn't support quality life-time education, it can make sense, over a lifetime, to borrow money for an education. Often, though not always, the investment is financially sensible, as a good education can result in earnings high enough to justify taking out the loan. I can also think of situations in which the way that education enhances everyday life can make it worthwhile to incur an educational debt even when it won't be financially rewarding and will require lifetime sacrifices in other areas. (Yesterday, I mentioned to family that G/Son is getting quite good at arithmetic and can count to 100. G/Son disappeared, and I thought at first that I'd embarrassed him by making him the center of attention. But in a moment he re-appeared from the table where he keeps his recent papers from Montessori school and said to his other grandparents, "I can count to 100 and this will help me." Then, he used the number chart that he'd handmade at school to count off the numbers from 1 to 100, including the teens which, for some odd reason, still give him a bit of trouble. Later in the evening, he brought me a map of the world that he'd colored in and showed me the names of the continents. I can't put a price on that.) (2) I think that, in some circumstances, borrowing money for a mortgage can make sense. Certainly, in the midst of today's mortgage fraud crisis (and it may take a number of years to work this out), and joblessness epidemic, I'd be very hesitant. You can always rent for one more year and put the difference in the bank. But buying a small home that you can pay off in 10 or 15 years can be a good investment because, even if the Catfood Commission reduces us to penury in our old age, one can at least be generally certain of a roof over one's head. (3) I think that, for people first starting out, and especially now while interest rates are quite low, if you live in an area where a car is necessary (and, ask, first: is it really necessary, right now?), it might make sense to borrow a small amount of money to buy your first car, especially if this will allow you to get to a job, get out of your house with your small child, get to college, etc. Eventually, your goal should be to be able to pay cash out of savings for a new car. (4) In some rare circumstances, when you are just starting out in life, it can make sense to use a credit card in emergencies. Here's the kind of emergency I mean: You're out of college, in your first home, with an infant. The used car that you bought a year ago, that you use to drop your child at day care and get to your job, needs a new radiator. Your trusted mechanic says that a new radiator will get you at least another 18 months out of this car. Your savings won't cover the repair. W/o the car, you'd have to take 3 busses to get your child to day care and yourself to work and then 3 busses the other way at the end of the day. Put the repair on your credit card and then cut expenses to the bone to pay it off as fast as humanly possible. Once it's paid off, start putting the amount of your monthly payment into the bank for at least a few months. Next time, you won't have to borrow to cover the repair. (5) You're in the middle of Full Catastrophe. You've lost your job, you've got huge medical bills, and you need to rent a U-Haul to move out of your house and in with a relative. You need another chemo treatment to stay alive. You need to buy a plane ticket home to see your dying mother.

Beyond those sorts of instances, my advice (and, feel free to ignore it or dispute it) is to not borrow money, esp. via credit cards. Whatever you think you need, you really don't. If you buy things with a credit card that you cannot pay off at the end of the month (ie, you're using the credit card for convenience or to earn airline miles) then you are, simply, living beyond your means. And you cannot live beyond your means for any length of time.

This time of year is especially difficult. No matter which, if any, holiday(s) we celebrate about now, there's a pressure to spend money whether we have it, or not. What kind of creepy parent wouldn't get their child everything they want for xmas? What kind of jerk can't donate to the office fund for the xmas party? What kind of friend are you if you don't buy cards to send to everyone you know? What sort of person doesn't get a gift for the doorman, the mailman, your secretary, the guy who does your hair? What kind of niece doesn't go buy her aunt another unwanted bottle of eau de toilette? Do you want to be the only one on your block without flashing lights that up your electric bill and pollute the planet? Everyone else you know can afford to go camping on the Winter Solstice. What kind of money-grubbing jerk won't contribute to the gift fund for the Circle? Are you really going to wear those thread-worn robes to the Solstice celebration?

Come on. Stop. We're Witches. We deliberately live outside the village, at the edge of the woods where things are wild. And one of the first elements of effective magic is the ability to perceive reality. Send an email: Dear Friends and Family, This year, with Bob out of work and my medical bills, we can't afford to send gifts. Please feel free to reciprocate by not sending gifts to us. We hope that you have a wonderful holiday and that you don't spend even one minute standing in line to buy "stuff" for us.

You'll feel better as soon as you hit "Send."

Here are some additional very worthwhile thoughts about spending money just now:

Every dollar we put into the strange river which is the economy is a vote for the kind of world we want to live in. Do you want a world of blood and exploitation (which is the one we live in now), or a world of art and effort and justice? The choice, as ever, is yours.

Picture found here.

People Keep Doing It; I'm Going to Keep Complaining About It

Here's an interesting article about a Pagan who claims that he was denied a permit to work as a limo driver because of his religion and his sexual preference for BDSM. The Pagan, Peter Hayes, makes some claims about his interview that, if true, would be pretty disturbing:

He applied for a chauffeur's permit with the Vancouver Police Department's taxi unit in May 2005, and was interviewed by Barker, who was tasked with vetting his application.

Hayes arrived at the interview dressed all in black: black trench coat, black shirt, black dress pants, black tie and shiny black military boots.

When Barker asked what the occasion was for all the black, Hayes testified that he said he always wore black, like many Pagans. [I'll admit that I know lots of non-Pagans who wear a lot of black and that I know many Pagans who dress in all the colors of the rainbow. The limos and town cars I've been in have all been driven by drivers wearing black suits and a white shirt. I'm unaware of any branch of Paganism that requires its members to wear all black, and one can question the intelligence both of dressing that way for such an interview and of immediately referring to one's religion, rather than just saying, "Oh, it's just how I usually dress," or something. However, neither the fact that Mr. Hayes wears black nor the fact that he's a Pagan appear to be legitimate reasons for denying him a permit to drive a limo.]

During the interview, Barker told Hayes that he would not be granted a permit.

Hayes testified before the tribunal that the officer called him a "sex cult leader" during the interview, and was refusing the permit because of that. [It's unclear how Mr. Hayes' sexual preferences came up during the interview.]

He also said that Barker was "completely unprofessional, snarky and demeaning," "intentionally aggressive" and "rude and insulting."

In a letter to the VPD, Hayes wrote that Barker told him he posed "an extreme risk of recruiting passengers/customers into my cult during work hours."

The authorities, obviously, tell a different story:

But Barker told the tribunal that he denied the permit after a background check revealed a series of troubling allegations against Hayes spanning 10 years.

In the mid-1990s, Hayes was charged with the sexual assault of a child, although he was eventually acquitted. A decade later, in 2003, neighbours called the police to say that Hayes had danced naked in his bedroom in view of small children, but no charges were laid.

That same year, Hayes's live-in girlfriend reported to police that he had pushed and scratched her, but she did not want to pursue charges.

Barker testified that even though Hayes had not been convicted of a crime, he was worried that he could "be alone in the limo with the doors locked, gosh knows where, with kids or a female relying on him to get her home."

The tribunal ruled that Barker's testimony was credible, and that he was unaware of Hayes's religion or BDSM practices before the interview. [The fact that he was unaware of Mr. Hayes' religion and sexual proclivities before the interview seems irrelevant. If he became aware of them during the interview and used them as the basis for denying a permit, that would seem to be inappropriate.]

This decision also appears to eliminate the opportunity for the relevant board to consider whether BDSM is a protected sexual orientation.

So, was this a case of discrimination? Reasonable caution? What's your take?

The article includes the all-too-frequent confusion as to whether or not to capitalize the word "Pagan." First, we get:

A Vancouver man's enthusiasm for bondage and his pagan beliefs were not the reason he was denied a permit to drive a limousine

but later in the article, we get:

According to tribunal documents, Hayes says that he is a practicing Pagan

.

This isn't complicated, people. "Pagan," as used here, is an umbrella term that describes a category of religions that include Wicca, Druidism, Asatru, etc., just as the term "Christian" describes a category of religions that includes Catholicism, Baptists, Methodists, etc. If you would capitalize "Christian," (an you know that you would) then you should capitalize "Pagan."

I guess that we should be grateful that the anonymous, meant-to-titillate photo chosen to illustrate the story focuses upon Mr. Hayes' sexual practices rather than upon his religion.

Picture found here.

Serene & Bright, And Lovely as a Lapland Night

Aurora Borealis timelapse HD - Tromsø 2010 from Tor Even Mathisen on Vimeo.

And we get to live here.

/hat tip NTodd's Ma

Thank You

Sun in Pisces and Gemini Ascendent, I have all of the signs in the Zodiac that look in two directions. As a result, I can often see both sides of any argument. It makes me a good lawyer, but, on occasion, an annoying friend and, to tell the truth, at times I can even frustrate myself: "Yes!" cannot be the answer to EVERY either/or question. Which is a long (two-sided) wind-up for saying that I can see both sides of the whole "gratitude" thing.

On the one hand (we Pisces haven't hands, but we Geminis have four!), I can agree with Barbara Ehrenreich that this whole "Bright Siding Thing" has gone way too far. Too many of us get talked into doing crazy shit in the name of being "positive," and the whole "be grateful" thing can cover an awful lot of privilege when it's directed at victims of abuse, people whose jobs got shipped off to someplace where there's available slave labor, or women with cancers growing in their breasts because it is profitable for multi-national companies to pollute our air, water, and food chain (Carolyn Myss has a standing invitation to bite me). My Ascendant Gemini comes with a rather well-developed capacity for cynicism and snark and there's a reason that my first poetry love was (and is) Dorothy Parker. As Derrick Jensen has said, there's actually something quite liberating about realizing that we're completely screwed; I've drawn energy from that wave for almost my life's entire dance. (Parker: "Drink and dance and laugh and lie. Love the reeling midnight through. For tomorrow we shall die. But, alas, we never do.")

On the other hand, I've found the spiritual practice of intelligent gratitude to be very rewarding. I work pretty hard at never having a drink of water and never eating a bite of food for which I don't stop and thank Earth, the people who worked to bring those gifts to me, and myself for the work I've done to ensure that I have what I need. I sit zazen almost every single day in my garden or my ritual room and send gratitude out to the Universe for my healthy, happy family, for a job that I love, for my circle of women, for the roof over my head, and for the absolute lagniappe (years after the breast cancer and the broken ankle that, even mere decades ago, would have killed me) of the moment when G/Son points to my computer and says, "Nonna, that word is 'fox,'" or says, "Nonna, I think your cold is better; I don't hear you coughing as much." When I was in my 20s and going through a very rough patch (personally, professionally, physically, and spiritually), I somehow, long before I'd read anything about practicing gratitude, began the practice of forcing myself to write down three good things that had happened every day. When I go back now and read that datebook, some of the things I had to count to get to three seem pretty strained (it was a tough time), but the practice was transformational for me. It forced me to focus on what I wanted more of and to stop only thinking about the things (almost everything, at that point) in my life that hurt. Whenever Son, growing up a Scorpio through and through, was mad at the world, I would say to him, "OK, that's all true. But tell me three good things that happened today." (Sometimes, I think he thought the best thing that could possibly happen in the whole world would be to have a mom who didn't ask idiotic questions. But he never got to be grateful for that.)

And, so. We have a secular holiday devoted to being grateful. We Americans should be not only grateful but also ashamed and afraid for the fact that we consume far more of the planet's resources than we ought. And we owe a debt of gratitude to so many.

Plants and Animals in the Garden,
We welcome you -- we invite you in -- we ask your forgiveness and
your understanding. Listen as we invokve your names, as we
also listen for you.
Little sparrows, quail, robins, and house finches who have died in our strawberry nets;
Young Cooper's Hawk who flew into our sweet pea trellis and broke your neck;
Numerous orange-bellied newts who died by our shears, in our irrigation pipes, by our cars, by our feet,
Slugs and snails whom we have pursued for years, feeding you to the ducks, crushing you, trapping you, picking you off and tossing you over our fences;
Gophers and moles, trapped and scorned by us, and also watched with love, admirations, and awe for your one-mindedness;
Sowbugs, spitbugs, earwigs, flea beetles, wooly aphids, rose-suckers, cutworms, millipedes and other insects whom we have lured and stopped;
Snakes and moths who have been caught in our water system and killed by our mowers;
Families of mice who have died in irrigation pipes, by electricity in our pump box, and by predators while nesting in our greenhouses;
Manure worms and earthworms, severed by spades, and numerous microscopic lifeforms in our compost system who have been burned by sunlight;
Feral cats and raccoons whom we've steadily chased from the garden;
Rats whom we've poisoned and trapped and drowned.
Deer chased at dawn and at midnight, routed by dogs, by farmers, by fences and numerous barriers;
Plants: colored lettuces, young broccoli, ripe strawberry and sweet apples, all of you who have lured the animals to your sides, and all plants we have shunned: poison hemlock, pigweed, bindweed, stinging nettle, bull thistle;
We call all plants we have removed by dividing you
and separating you, and deciding you no longer grow well here;
We invoke you and thank you and continue to learn from you. We will continue to practice with you and for you.

~by Wendy Johnson, Green Gulch Farm, in Earth Prayers from Around the World: 365 Prayers, Poems, and Invocations for Honoring the Earth, ed. by Eliz. Robers & Elias Amidon.

Photo by the blogger; if you copy, please link back.

For Fun

It is, after all, the secular season for gratitude.

hat tip: Margaret Roach at A Way to Garden.

Margaret's video about "Gardening How-To & Woo Woo" is also worth a watch. Love her discussion of how the garden and the gardener are one. And, of course, it reminds me of Yeats:

O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?

How can we know the gardener from the garden? I'd hope that, someday, in my case, you couldn't.

Bring Me Some Peace When There's Talk of War, When It's Hard to Find

Bring me some peace when there's talk of war, I've got peace on my mind.
Oh, peace is sweet, most any time, and, yet,
Bring me some peace when there's talk of war
And how easy we forget.



Tonight, I will light a candle for peace in Korea. You come, too.

I May Disagree, But That's Because I Think That We Can Learn to Control Population

There's Something Wrong

with a culture that refers to its gentials -- the organs that create life and give intense pleasure -- as junk.

I am just saying.

Do It

Why We Lose So Often

I think that "aspirin to lick" is going to become a catch-phrase for me.

Sing It, Sister

Judge Kimba Woods rocks.

Mr. Epstein will be permitted to attend the bris in the joyous event that a son is born. But the court would like to balance the scales. If a daughter is born there will be a public celebration in court with readings from poetry celebrating girls and women. So ordered, New York New York, 11/18/10.

Your Honor, if I may, I'd like to suggest the following poem. I'm sure my readers will have others.

/hat tip to Soprano in comments at Eschaton

Picture found here.

Food to Die For

While I'll admit to being a bit of a foodie, I grew up in the South and my mom was from even deeper in the South and I do love good Southern cooking, even if it's not as fashionable as some other forms of cuisine.

A few years ago, a friend gave me Food to Die For: A Book of Funeral Food, Tips, and Tales,. Now, down here, South of that line drawn by Mr. Mason and Mr. Dixon, when someone dies, we start to cook. It's almost as if we believe that you can stave off any more deaths if you just prepare enough food. Food almost immediately gets taken over to the family of the deceased and more food (usually, lots more food) is prepared for after the funeral when family and friends gather together for comfort. So I've come to love this book not only for its hint of Goth mixed with Southern Lady, and for its historical discussions of funeral customs, but also for its recipes, which I use for many occasions other than funerals.

I pulled it out a few days ago looking for appetizer ("pick-up food," according to the book) recipes that I could use for Thanksgiving. Cucumber Sandwiches, Cheese Straws, Ham Biscuits, Deviled Eggs, five different recipes for Pimento Cheese (I adore this stuff; do they even make it outside the South?), Hot Tomato Bouillon. As the book explains:

The greater the extent offerings for a bereaved household or funeral reception can be prepared before presenting, the better. Completely ready food is an act of great thoughtfulness appreciated by those staffing unfamiliar kitchens crowded with people and all sorts and conditions of food. . . . It could be said that the more a funeral repast resembles a cocktail party -- with or without the alcohol -- the better.

And the Goddess knows that if my own after-party does not resemble a rather nice cocktail party (avec the alcohol), my unquiet ghost is going to show up and want to know the reason why. My circle knows where the really good bottle of champagne is stowed.

I think I'm going to make ham biscuits, one of the simplest (make buttermilk biscuits, split them and butter the inside, fill with thinly-sliced Smithfield ham, serve with hot pepper jelly, if desired) and most delicious foods of the South, deviled eggs from a friend's recipe, and my own crab dip that, while not found in this recipe book is, indeed, to die for.

Picture (and another review of the book) found here.

Sunday Dance Blogging

Our Great Mother

Judith reads and sings her book, a must-have for any Wiccan bookshelf.

My New Name for a Blog

What Sia Said.

I already hated flying. In my lifetime, it's gone from a glamourous adventure to almost a mind-numbing pain in the ass. Frankly, I don't care who sees me naked. I'm an old woman who's had a number of surgeries; if it gets your rocks off, well, have at it. And as a breast cancer survivor I've been touched, squeezed, cut, poisoned, and examined so much that it's difficult for me to get too worked up.

But I'm fucking sick and tired of giving up my rights to a bunch of patriarchial nutjobs, made frantic by the fact that some other patriarchial nutjobs attacked a commercial building. Security theatre is for children. And I am not a child.

Kali, fuck; could we all act like Americans for a change and quit letting Osama win?

Picture found here.

Daily Practice

I know that I'm a bit of a broken record (now there's a term G/Son's generation won't get) about this, but one of the most important things that a Witch can do is to have a daily practice. One of my v favorite bloggers says that we Witches need to work all the time to answer the question: "What are Witches for?" And, I agree.

One of the things that we're for, IMHO, is for having a daily practice.

A daily practice is a way of checking in (of being in relationship with), daily, with Mama Gaia, your landbase, your watershed, the (perhaps quite tiny) "bit of Earth" of which you are the Witch. When I sit in my altar room and call the Elements, I announce myself: "I am Hecate, the Witch of this place," and by "this place," I mean the less-than-a-quarter-acre bit of Earth that I have delved, planted, laid upon, grounded in, weeded, raked, done magic upon, consumed the herbs grown from, and come to know these past seven years. When I wake in the morning, in the small room in the Northeast corner of my house (now refreshingly chilly and full of reminders of how lucky I am to have sheets, blankets, comforters, socks crocheted by my own grandma), I connect my roots with the roots of the three giant oaks, the two American wisteria, the two temple pines, the three Japanese maples, the many herbs, the gardenias and lilacs, the jack-in-the-pulpits, the drancunculus vulgaris, the toad lilies, and the daylilies that live here with me. I reach out and connect with the squirrels, and chipmunks, and cardinals, and bluejays, and Carolina waxwings, and rabbits, and foxes who live here with me.

When I eat my oatmeal and poached egg, I call upon Columbia, the Goddess of This Place, and Hygeia, a Goddess upon whom both I and my circle of women have called, and I ask for their blessings. I go out and give birdseed to the birds I know and I give coffee grounds to the gardenias. May we never hunger. May we never thirst.

When I go to work, I purposefully drive along-side my beloved Spout Run and my adored Potomac River and I give gifts to "my" Homeless Vet who waits by the entrance to the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge. These are the acts of a Witch.

When I get to work, I stop for a moment and invoke every woman who went before me, working with laws, words, her ability to write, and argue, and persuade. (What my secretary sees: "Just like every morning, she's taking off her sunglasses, rummaging in her purse, and putting on her reading glasses. Just like every morning, she stops, holds her hands over the keys, and then types in her password (just now "elegant editing.")) (What's really happening: Hecate recites her morning prayer: 'I am a manifestation of the Goddess. Mother, help me to grow into my Better Self. It's all real. It's all metaphor. There's always more.' Hecate stops for a moment and invokes Hatshepsut, Druidic women, Boadicea, QE I, Mistress Margaret Brent, Abigail Adams, Susan B. Anthony, and Athena, Goddess of politics and laws. Hecate invokes Hecate, Goddess of liminal spaces, the space where her words and arguments may create change. Hecate asks Mama Gaia for guidance. Hecate slips on reading glasses, sends reiki to her keyboard, and hits "Open" on the first e-mail of the day.)

At 11:00 and 3:00, my computer gives me a message: Time to get up, walk around and move, create some energy, and change, and movement. I walk the halls of my firm sending blessings to everyone there. "May we serve justice. May Fortuna bless our work." I return and face East, South, West, and North and ground in the zinging and singing and whirring swampy clay of Washington, D.C.

When I get home, I sink onto the rolled-up cotton yoga blanket before my altar, touch my forehead to the wood, and ground. Again.

Having a daily practice gives me the opportunity to connect with, send Reiki to, strengthen, and bless my own bit of Earth. It allows me to do the work of a Priestess, a Witch, a woman of Earth.

I believe, and I may be a crazy old woman but I do believe, that my daily practice does Earth good. And that, more than anything else, is what I am for. I am here to connect with the Earth and to let her know that she has an ally. I am here to connect with a run and a river and to let them know that they are seen, heard, loved, and experienced. I am here to drive over the bridge from Virginia to DC and to let the shining city on a swamp know that her ally is back, to get one v short glance of the statue of Columbia above the capital, and to let this polis know that she is loved in all her marble monuments and all her hidden gardens. I am here to minister to the trees, flowers, herbs, and animals of a tiny spot in northern Virginia and to send shining energy to them.

And that, as Mr. Frost explained, has made all the difference.

What are you for? What does your daily practice look like?

Photo by the author. If you copy, please link back.

Carrots

Not Even Pagans

A Rappahannock Halloween Festival from Bruce Dale on Vimeo.

Here's an amazing video, sent to me by my dear friend stoat, of a Halloween Festival held by a hunt club in Virginia. That's right. By a hunt club.

How many Pagan Samhein events have you been to that even come close to this?

I've been thinking a lot lately about how often we Pagans "skip" the elements of ritual that appeal to Younger Child. Maybe we, in the words of the LOLcat posters, R doing it wrong.

November

"November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring."
- Elizabeth Coatsworth

Picture found here.

It's More Like a War on Logic

So, I'm already seeing holiday displays at most local retailers. When you build your economy not on the needs of the planet and the true nurturing of humans but on getting people to buy (often on credit) increasingly larger and larger amounts of plastic stuff created in 3rd World sweat-shops, well, it's important to start in as soon as possible on the selling. But this post isn't about the economy.

This post is about the upcoming battle in the "War for Xmas." No, not the "War v. Xmas," that's a fundie lie; there never was and there is no such thing. Let's act like grown-ups for a moment, grown-ups possessed of some simple reasoning abilities and a basic understanding of how language works.

Right around the Winter Solstice, quite a number of different religions have a holiday of some form or another. In my religion, the Winter Solstice (Yule, as we sometimes call it) is the holiday. For Christians, the religious holiday is Christmas, a day (conveniently) located just a few days after the Winter Solstice, when they celebrate the birth of Jesus. Zorastrians celebrate Deygan. In Mali, they celebrate Goru, the arrival of their god, Amma. More: here. Those are religious holidays with, often, deep religious meaning for those who keep them.

And, at the same time, here in America, a secular holiday occurs around the period from December 25th through January 31st. It's not at all religious; in fact it's quite material and commercial. It's about enjoying winter sports such as ice skating or building snow men, about getting together with friends and family, about exchanging gifts, about decorating our houses and town squares (and, yes, our stores), about having a big feast, and, more and more, about watching sports events on tv. This secular holiday is celebrated by people of all different religions and by those who do not belong to any religion and who do not celebrate any religious holiday. I celebrate Yule on the Winter Solstice with the women in my circle and, a few days later, I celebrate the secular holiday with G/Son and his extended family. I get a lot of spiritual strength from doing the work of a Witch -- helping to turn the Wheel -- with my sisters. And, I get a lot of enjoyment out of seeing family, watching G/Son enjoy the decorated tree and his presents, catching up via cards with old acquaintances, and being able to pause for a moment before the new calendar year (my liturgical year starts on Samhein, October 31st, the occasion of yet another secular holiday). But I don't imagine that I need to force family members to be willing to celebrate the darkness, as my circle does, nor does, for example, my DiL's mother imagine that she must make me pray to Jesus. So what's the problem?

The problem comes from the fact that the secular holiday often, due to historical developments, goes by the name "Christmas," which is also the name of the Christian religious holiday. (And from the fact that there is a growing xian Dominionist movement in America.)

Now, you know, sensible grown ups can figure this out and deal with it.

We use the word "bank" to describe the place where we deposit our savings and to describe the the sloped ground that borders a stream. And, yet, no one expects the bank president to get upset when people use the word bank to discuss the place where they like to stand and fish, nor do we insist that all bank buildings contain a stream. We use the word "dear" to describe someone we love and the word "deer" to describe a forest animal, but no one insists that you love the deer in the forest or that your beloved is, in fact, a forest animal.

So it's time for the Christians to stop pretending that they can't understand the difference between a secular wintertime holiday and their own religious holiday simply because the same word is used for both of them. Frankly, I'd be quite happy to see a different term develop for the secular holiday, which is what I think has been happening for a number of years with the word "Holidays." (And, again, we don't insist, when someone in mid-December wishes us a "Happy Holiday" that they must mean the Fourth of July, just because the Fourth of July is a holiday). But that's precisely the thing that drives the xian Dominionists batshit insane: How dare the store employee wish them a "Happy Holiday" when they make their purchase! She should have said, "Merry Christmas!" "After all," they say, deliberately conflating their religious holiday with the secular holiday, "Jesus is the REASON for the [holiday] season!"

Really? Really?

Let's forget the fact that the sales clerk is mouthing something she's been told to say and that, honest, having done this job, the only thing that woman really wishes is that she were home, off her feet, and not dealing with grumpy shoppers. She doesn't know you and she's got zero interest in your religion, your secular holiday, or anything else about you. If she were told that one of her job duties was to wish you a "Merry Christmas," she wouldn't care a whit about how your religious holiday went and she'd do it even if she wishes that the baby Jesus had never been born. If she were told to wish you a "Joyous Goru," she really wouldn't care whether Amma arrived, or not. Let's forget the fact that a god whose power is threatened by what a store clerk says or by a secular holiday isn't much of a god. Let's forget how weird it is that you insist that your religious holiday be honored by commercial establishments. And, let's forget the fact that no matter how many times you say differently, America is not a "xian nation."

Let's just talk about acting like adults and recognizing that forcing your religion down everyone else's throat is not, shall we say, the best way to win converts. Let's talk about the fact that it is entirely possible for me to not believe in a friend's religion nor his religious holiday but to, still, in good will, wish him a happy secular holiday and to hope that his religious holiday is full of meaning for him. Let's talk about the fact that it's pretty hypocritical to dump on liberals for being "too politically correct" and then run around policing how people wish each other an enjoyable secular holiday.

Time are tough. A lot of people are out of work, can't afford needed medical care, have lost their homes, are watching their planet die and their kids face a grim future. We could all use a few days of friends, family, whatever feast we can scrape together, a few gifts for the kids, an excuse to build a snowman or watch the Nutcracker (Hecate's least favorite ballet, ever, but, still). Could the xian Dominionists for once drop the pretense that just because two words sound alike they must mean the same thing? Because, honest, you're not fooling anyone; you're just making yourself look absolutely ridiculous.

Dear Mr. President: The Millenials Are Not BabyBoomers. Deal.

Go read the whole thing.

Picture found here.

hat tip: Erin

Not That Complicated

hat tip: stoat

Teh Maths

Since he started Montessori school this Fall, G/Son has been making really big strides in learning to read and in learning about math. (A fussy former educator, I'm pretty happy w/ just about everything I've learned about his teacher, classmates, and school. Conversation today in the car: Nonna: "I hear that there's a creek at your school." G/Son: "Yes, it's a long walk from my classroom, but long walks outside are good for you, Nonna.")

A world-class worrier, I've never spent a moment worrying about this kid's ability to learn to read. But I am relieved to see his growing ability to think numerically. His dad was v good in math, which just goes to show you that it can't be all genes, genes, genes all the way down, because neither I nor Son's father had much facility with the maths. (Nor can it all be parental nurture all the way down, because the best thing I could do for Son's development as a mathematical human was to say, "Do your homework,"" and "Should I get you a tutor?" and, "Really, did you do your homework?") The only award at Son's high school that came with a check was the math award, which he won his senior year and applied to the purchase of his first computer.

I'm old enough to have grown up when it was definitely acceptable for girls to be good at English, Religion (I won that award every year at my Catholic school. Heh.), and the Social Sciences, but not at Arithmetic, Science, and Math. I come by my own inabilities honestly though, and not as a result of some "I'll be cute and act dumb" decision. My right brain abilities are as retarded as my left brain (and I'm just being honest here) abilities are advanced. I can't place one object in physical relationship to another object if my life depends upon it, and, often, that includes the physical relationship between my own body and the rest of the world. (Can you say multiple sprained and two broken ankles? I knew that you could.) There's a reason why I love ballet but didn't study it much beyond my early teens. I once spent the most intellectually intense hour of my life not figuring out an obscure legal concept but, instead, trying to figure out which rooms in my basement were under which rooms in the upstairs of my house and to be able to "feel" that my answers were right. No musical ability, no ability to draw or paint, no ability to read maps, no ability to sculpt, etc., etc. So, obviously, I honestly lack whatever it is that makes some people easily able to think about numbers. But I do imagine that, had I arrived here with a penis, someone would have been a bit more concerned about the inability of a clearly not-stupid person to do anything vaguely numerical.

Which is all a long way of saying that I'm quite relieved and happy to find G/Son enjoying his exploration of the world of numbers.

This morning, after an overnight at Nonna's house that involved watching Peter Pan (Nonna's inside-her-head-voice: "Someday, you are so going to get the concept of a 'puer aeternus'") , we were driving to G/Son's house, after a short stop for breakfast, and G/Son said to me, "Nonna, what if you have a 1 and a 0? That's not 1, because the 1 comes before the 0. That's ten." And (after thinking for a moment) I said, "That's right; when you write a 1 and a 0 together, it makes 10." G/Son said, "And, Nonna! Do you know what you get if you write a 2 and a 0 together?" Again, Nonna checked herself and said, "You get twenty?" G/Son said, "That's right. Because when the zero comes second, you are dealing with tens. Now, Nonna, ask me about what you get if you write a 3 and a zero together!" And, so, of course, I did and, so, of course, G/Son got it right. And, all the way from Nonna's cottage to G/Son's house, we played games about numbers and, then, in a feat unimaginable in any universe, the child dancing upon Gaia with about 25% of my defective genetic material counted from 1 to 200. What amazed me, and, really, this is the point of this post, and I DO have one, is how much fun this was for G/Son. Every time that he'd get another set of questions right ("What is 8 and 0? Eighty. What is 8 and 1? Eighty-one. What is 8 and 2? Eighty-two. . . . .") G/Son would just beam and, literally, laugh for joy. Whenever we got to a question that involved fives ("What do you get if you write 5 and 5 together?" "Fifty-five!") I would say, "Give me five!" and G/Son would chuckle with glee and slap my outstretched hand. The look of joy on his face was, well, to use a numerical expression, priceless.

If there's anything in the world that I wish for this child beyond good health, which, thank the Goddess, he seems to enjoy, it is joy in learning. G/Son: "Nonna! Ask me another one!"

I don't know what I may have done, in my (clearly) wicked youth or childhood, but, at some point, either Grace just took over or I may have done something good. At any rate, none of the boychilds that I have launched upon the world appear to bear my complete inability to manipulate numerical concepts. And, that is a v good thing.

You know, he goes right directly to my heart, completely w/o passing "go" this golden-haired elf, he does.

Picture found here.

Sunday Dance Blogging

People Keep Doing It; I'm Going to Keep Complaining About It

Here's a news article, admittedly written by a student (a freshman, one hopes, given the lack of organization), that manages, once again to demonstrate two of my pet peeves.

First, the author seems genuinely confused about the rules of capitalization. Take, for example:

As Shayne drifted away from Christianity, she learned more about paganism when she was in college.

or

Shane says 'paganism' is the general term for a variety of different religions, just as there are many denominations of Christianity. Paganism predates many of the monotheistic religions, including Judaism and Christianity.

Yet, at other times, we get:

Many holidays were originally Pagan-based. Halloween is called Samhain by Pagans, which represents the end of the year and is the shortest day in the year, Shayne explains.

If you're going to capitalize "Christianity," which is the name of a group of religions, then you should capitalize "Paganism," which is also the name of a group of religions. Simple.

And, then, of course, there's this:

Shane Camp, the president of the Pagan Alliance Club. He created the club because he says paganism is given a bad rap.

and

"There is a misconception that Pagans are Satan worshipers," says Lawhorne. For instance, the five points on the star, in Hollywood, represent evil and the calling of evil spirits. But Shayne says according to Pagan traditions, it is the calling of the five elements that make up life: water, air, earth, spirit and fire. It is a nature-based symbol.

As I've written many times before, this practice Pagans have of shooting themselves in the foot has got to stop. Shane, tell the reporter that you created the club so that campus Pagans could get together and discuss their religion, could organize the blood drives on campus that the article finally discusses, and could volunteer at the animal center. And there is NO reason to discuss the "misperception that Pagans are Satan worshipers." When you negate a frame, you invoke it. Besides, the main source of quotes about Pagans and Satan these days seems to me to be coming from -- Pagans.

Just stop it.

Picture found here.

Why Magic Works -- And Why It Takes Work

[The Second Law of Thermodynamics] has been simply summarized as follows: "The more complex a structure, the more energy it must dissipate to maintain all that complexity. This flux of energy make the system highly unstable, subject to internal fluctuations -- and sudden change. If these fluctuations or perturbations reach a critical size, they are amplified by the system's many connections and can drive the system into a new state -- even more ordered, coherent, and connected. The new state occurs as a sudden shift."

~Ilya Prigogine, Nobel Prize Winner, quoted in The Possible Human by Jean Houston.

Picture found here.

Saturday Garden Blogging

In Autumn, the leaves take over and it doesn't matter what color scheme you've worked on for your garden. And, it's wonderful.

Kali Fuck

Yes, they'll know we are xians by our love, by our love. And they'll know we are xians by our love!

Hecate

Lady of the Hounds

Hekate, Lady of Hounds
Dark-haired haunter of the crossroads
Threshold-crosser, Boundary-walker
Protect my home from all evil influences
From those who would wish me harm
And those who would harm me unwittingly
Dark-haired Goddess clad in spidersilk
The wolf and hound at Your side
The dark of the moon belongs to You
Hekate Triformus
Keeper of Keys and Walker of Ways
Let my partake of the secrets of the night
Let me speak with the animals at Your side
And share in Your khthonic wisdom
Let me return home to sleep in my bed once more,
To teach others of You, fierce Goddess
Let me be of Your wold,
Yet remain in mine.

~Amanda Sioux Blake in Bearing Torches; A Devotional Anthology for Hekate by Bibliotheca Alexandrina.

Picture found here.

Hey, Cindy, Go Talk to Your Old Man

Not Easy

Back from listening to the insightful and entertaining Janet Kane discuss levels of expression of each sign of the Zodiac.

You know, it's not easy to be a Pisces in this culture.

Based upon my 54 years of experience, I'd say that's about right. But like the YouTubes for gay teens, I would say that, "It does get better."

What's been the biggest challenge of living your sign?

Picture found here.

Wednesday Poetry Blogging

Autumn by William Morris

Laden Autumn here I stand
Worn of heart, and weak of hand:
Nought but rest seems good to me,
Speak the word that sets me free.

It's ok to be tired. That's what this season is for.

Picture found here.

Not Complicated

Can, we, however, please quit calling them the Bush "tax cuts" and call them what they really are: "The Bush Welfare for Paris Hilton Program"?

"No, But I've Thought It"

Oh, I hear you, babe.

And, Lately, There's a Lot to Be Bored By

Being in Relationship with Nature

The newsletter from G/Son's Montessori school (sent via paperless e-mail, the better to be shared w/ loving Nonnas!) has a wonderful article about helping each child to find a "sitting space" outside, someplace the child can go to to feel safe, alone, in nature.

Did you have a place like this, as a child?

When I was young, my sitting space was under a giant, old forsythia bush, big enough to have multiple rooms inside it, where you could crawl in under the branches and feel that you were, indeed, in your own little world. I made tea-sets out of sycamore leaves, stitched into little cups with their stems, crawled in there to read without being bothered, lay on my back and learned more than I knew at the time by watching how the sunlight filtered through the leaves and golden flowers.

When I got a bit older, I graduated to a secret cave made by three ancient pine trees, off in the far SouthWest of our yard, sappy branches for climbing and all. The needles made a fragrant bed and no sunlight penetrated here. I went there to "play Indian," "Indian" being about the only model I had for living in relationship with nature. I hid treasures there, watched the ants make colonies, and climbed up higher than my parents would have liked.

When I got even older, my sitting space was down beside a local creek, where I could watch water dance and play with stones, where I could project myself into dragonflies, skimming over the water, where I could put my hands on the sandy bank and believe myself home.

The newsletter from G/Son's school makes the point that ensuring a child a "sitting space" helps the child to develop a relationship with nature, especially as it changes from season to season. There's no program or structure. There's just a child, a special place, time, and nature.

I was thinking today that the concept reminds me of the speech that Le Petit Prince makes to the Earthly roses:

You are beautiful, but you are empty. One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you — the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose

.
Except that, I think that the opposite thing happens. When one learns to enter into relationship with one particular bit of nature, when one learns to communicate with the genius loci of one place, one comes, somehow to a deeper appreciation of all nature.

But I do think it is Le Petit Prince's practice that is important: watering one's rose, protecting it, sheltering it, killing (some of) the caterpillars for it, and listening to it, even when the rose grumbles (every rose I ever tried to raise did), boasts, or says nothing. And, that, I think, is the value, for both children and grown-ups, of a sitting place. Do you have one? Does the child in your life?

Nowadays, my sitting place is in my woodland garden, near my magnolia trees, beside the ferns, just near the spot where I make Hecate's depinion on the Dark Moon. And, of course, I can't go there w/o reciting to myself David McCord's wonderful poem:

This is my rock
And here I run
To steal the secret of the sun.

This is my rock
And here come I
Before the night has swept the sky.

This is my rock
This is the place
I meet the evening face to face.

If you don't have a "sitting space" how could you find one?

Picture found here.

Outside

When were you last outside?

"I believe that one of the greatest causes of the ecological crisis is the state of personal alienation from nature in which many people live. We lack a widespread sense of intimacy with the living world. Natural history has never been more popular in some ways, yet few people organize their lives around nature, or even allow it to affect them profoundly. Our depth of contact is too often wanting.

~Robert Michael Pyle

Sunday Ballet Blogging

Protecting Time in Nature

Writing about children, Richard Louv says:

It takes time -- loose, unstructured dreamtime -- to experience nature in a meaningful way. Unless parents are vigilant, such time becomes a scarce resource, because time is consumed by multiple invisible forces; because our culture currently places so little value on natural play.

What's true for children is, I think, true for all of us. It's difficult, for example, to head out to a park on just the Dark and Full Moons and expect to have a deep experience of nature. It's different if, in between the Moons, you've had what Louv talks about: time -- loose unstructured dreamtime -- to experience that same park in a meaningful way. Then, when you rush there from work on the Friday night of a Dark Moon, and hurry to the tree that you've come to know on a first-name basis, a few minutes of grounding may find you ready to practice your nature religion, to have a deep and meaningful experience with the object of your religion: nature, your landbase, your watertable, the Goddesses/Gods/Spirits of your place.
And as Louv says of children, we have to be vigilant about protecting our spiritual practice, about ensuring that we have loose, unstructured dreamtime out in nature. Otherwise, a million different "shoulds" encroach upon the time. Otherwise, you look up and realize that you spend hours a week watching tv and no time at all in nature. And the next thing you know, you say that you're practicing a nature religion, but you don't have a regular, intimate relationship with any specific part of nature, you just kind of like Capital-N-Nature in a vague, general way. Which may be OK, but it's a lot less than you're entitled to.

Picture found here

Saturday Poetry Blogging

TO LIVE IS MIRACLE ENOUGH

To live at all is miracle enough.
The doom of nations is another thing.
Here in my hammering blood-pulse is my proof.

Let every painter paint and poet sing
And all the sons of music ply their trade;
Machines are weaker than a beetle’s wing.

Swung out of sunlight into cosmic shade,
Come what come may, the imagination’s heart
Is constellation high and can’t be weighed.

Nor greed nor fear can tear our faith apart
When every heart-beat hammers out the proof
That life itself is miracle enough.

~Mervyn Peake

Picture found here.

Pretty Much

Dark of the Moon, New Beginnings

Dark Moon tonight. New beginnings. Dark of the Moon, plant a seed tonight. Dark of the Moon. What we envision, will come to be in the Full Moon's light.

What new thing are you working on?

What do you envision that will come to be in the Full Moon's light?

My goals for the coming Moon are pretty prosaic: I'm going to add two workouts with weights a week to my now-already-pretty-well-established-daily treadmill walking. (I'm an old woman. Suddenly, that whole weight-training-can-fight-inflamation-and-thus-stave-off-arthritis-stuff (given the pain in my hands from knitting the last couple of cowls) is starting to sound pretty good to me.) If I don't show up this same time next month and tell you that I've done 8 sessions at the gym, well, now that I've made it public, no worries, I'll do it. I'm working, too, on a commitment that I made a while back at an important ritual: I'm going to get out more and do more "fun" stuff, even if it is getting cold and even if I do have a ton of get-ready-for-Winter stuff to do in my garden. (Yes, fun can be very important. Especially if you're the oldest-daughter-super-achiever-type-A-introverted Queen of the To-Do List.) This weekend, I'm debating between this, a trip to one of my favorite places, a browsing (and, OK, a yarn-for-Yule-projects-buying) trip to my favorite yarn store, and listening to Congressional staffers gossip about the new Congress at Hawk & Dove.

What would you do if you had promised to go do something just for fun?

Picture found here.

Air

Art, especially sculpture, has always spoken so deeply to my Younger Self. And I've long been a huge fan of Andrew Goldsworthy's work. Lately, I've been getting a lot of inspiration for things in my own life from two artists whose works contain echoes of Goldsworthy. One is Patrick Dougherty. Here's a short video about how he creates interesting spaces from tree branches.



Dougherty has an exhibit at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden that I'm itching to go see; like most sculpture, his work doesn't translate all the way into two dimensions.

The sculpture at BBG is woven from nonnative woody material that was collected from Ocean Breeze Park on Staten Island. The harvesting site was chosen by BBG's director of Science because of its proximity to the Garden and its large population of nonnative willow (Salix atrocinerea), which is designated an invasive species in New York State. Removal of saplings of this species helped protect the site's excellent assemblage of herbaceous plants. The park is owned by the City of New York and is targeted for restoration under the City's PlaNYC sustainability initiative.

. . .

When asked about some of the words that came to mind as he contemplated what he wanted to build in Brooklyn, Dougherty smiled and said "lairs; a place for feral children and wayward adults."

Maybe I can borrow G/Son and we can go one weekend this Spring.

The second is Sally J. Smith who blogs here. I especially like how Smith's work honors the changing seasons. Here's a short video showing some of her works for this time of year:



And here's another, with ice sculptures for the coming Winter. I love the way that Smith intentionally incorporates the Sun and Moon (yes, the real ones! and she's not alone) into her work.



What inspires you right now?

Picture found here.

My New Name for a Blog

What Athenae Said.

So there's going to be a lot of ink expended over the next couple of weeks trying to figure out how this happened, as if it's a goddamn mystery. This economy blows goats, and instead of being out there every day yelling HEY WE TRIED TO FIX IT THOSE FUCKERS WOULDN'T LET US ALSO BUSH BAILED OUT THE BANKS NOT US, Democrats pretty much figured the midterms were gonna be a bloodbath and hunkered down and hoped it wouldn't hit them too hard. Because that works. That always works.

Here's the problem, you gutless fucks. You had majorities. And I KNOW, okay, but all America sees is that you had majorities and you wasted them. Because that's what the GOP told them, and you said, "buh buh buh" and couldn't point to anything you did right, not even with the unwashed hippies holding your arm up for you. You had majorities, and you had Harry Reid, refusing to be mean to Republicans by shoving stuff through. You had majorities, and you had Barack Obama acting like he was already an ex-president and could be gracious and social with these pricks. You had majorities, used them to do some stuff, and then sat back and acted like we should be grateful when we can fucking count.

We can fucking count, out here. We know what 51 means. We know what 257 means. We're not morons. And all the procedural whatsit you argue today, about ConservaDems and Blue Dogs, doesn't mean shit. You had it, and we worked hard to give it to you, and we see you calling things impossible which are just very hard, and we get fucking annoyed, because we don't get to get away with that shit. Not at our jobs and not in our lives.

Now, I'm not excusing the Party of I Hate You or these teabagging excuses for human beings who think education is vaguely homosexual in some sinister way, but I am saying that the lesson we're all going to take away from this is that America just isn't a Democratic nation and we should all tack to the right and us hippies should just die in a fire already, which is bullshit. The lesson we should take away from this is that America doesn't like [wimps], doesn't like whiners and it sure as fuck doesn't like parties that pretend to be able to do less than they can do just because they don't want to work that hard or have Chris Matthews call them mean.

You had majorities. You had power and you told us you were powerless. Why would anyone reward that with more power? Why would anyone think that's a good idea?
Schmucks.

Go leave her some love.

Also, Rahm Emanuel and Tim Kaine better never run into me in a dark alley. Way to fuck up everything Dr. Dean did, you two worthless, dipshit, running-dog, mercenaries.

And:



Besides:

Remember that the real work of change is always going on—if not in Washington, then in thousands of towns and neighborhoods and communities, if not in the halls of power, then in the streets. Don’t be complacent, but don’t despair. All around us are allies working for more justice, more freedom, more ecological balance, more peace. This is not a time to fall back, but to step up, to be bolder, braver, louder, funnier, more inventive, more outrageous, more committed. Political winds blow back and forth—hold to your deepest values, and we’ll stay the course.

~Starhawk

Finally, here's Digby, quoting Hillary Clinton, quoting Harriet Tubman:

I thought that Hillary Clinton had it right when she said at the Democratic Convention in 2008:
"My mother was born before women could vote, my daughter got to vote for her mother for President. This is the story of America, of women and men who defy the odds and never give up.

So how do we give this country back to them? By following the example of a brave New Yorker, a woman who risked her li[fe] to bring slaves to freedom along the underground railroad.

On that path to freedom, Harriet Tubman had one piece of advice:

‘If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. If they’re shouting after you, keep going. Don’t ever stop, keep going. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.’

And even in the darkest moments. That is what Americans have done. We have found the faith to keep going."

Keep the faith. And anyway, what choice do we have?

Picture found here.

But It Bends Towards Justice

The pessimist sees the problems in every opportunity. Whereas the optimist sees the opportunity in every problem

Never give in, never give in, never; never; never; never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.

~Winston Churchill

Obstructing Traffic

Nov. 14, 1917. The Night of Terror. Women were to be "taught a lesson" for wanting to vote.

I suppose that, tomorrow, you can find the time to vote. Don't you owe it to these women?

I do.

Word

Hat tip: Susie.

Also, just go read Dancing in the Streets by B. Ehrenreich.

I Sincerely Suggest That You Take Yourself to the Polls Tomorrow

No, I don't like all the choices that I've got. But I intend to exercise the choice that my dad preserved for me when, a kid right out of high school in a backwards, beet-farming, hick town in Colorado, he joined the Navy to make sure that Hitler and the Japanese Emperor didn't take away from working people (his one, true passion) the right to vote. I intend to exercise the choice that my foremothers won for me when they were jailed for demonstrating for votes for women outside the White House and were beaten, force fed, hung from their wrists all night, and forced to defend themselves against charges of being insane because they wanted women to have the right to vote. I intend to spend the 15 or 20 minutes that it will take to drive to my local community center, give my name to the registrar, go into the booth, and vote.

I shan't be gone long. You come, too.
Because I'm a woman. Because I'm a Witch. Because I'm a magic-worker. Because I can.

First of the Month Bazooms Blogging

Ladies! Listen up! Detecting breast cancer early is the key to surviving it! Breast Self Exams (BSEs) can help you to detect breast cancer in its earlier stages. So, on the first of every month, give yourself a breast self-exam. It's easy to do. Here's how. If you prefer to do your BSE at a particular time in your cycle, calendar it now. But, don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

And, once a year, get yourself a mammogram. Mammograms cost between $150 and $300. If you have to take a temp job one weekend a year, if you have to sell something on e-Bay, if you have to go cash in all the change in various jars all over the house, if you have to work the holiday season wrapping gifts at Macy's, for the love of the Goddess, please go get a mammogram once a year.

Or: The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention pays all or some of the cost of breast cancer screening services through its National Breast and Cervical Cancer Early Detection Program. This program provides mammograms and breast exams by a health professional to low-income, underinsured, and underserved women in all 50 states, six U.S. territories, the District of Columbia, and 14 American Indian/Alaska Native organizations. For more information, contact your state health department or call the Cancer Information Service at 1-800-4-CANCER.

I know that a recent study indicated that early detection via breast self exams might not be "cost effective." I'm not a scientist, but when I read those studies, they appear to be saying that sometimes women find a lump during the BSE that turns out not to be cancer. Those women have caused some expense and have gone through some discomfort in order to find out that the lump wasn't cancer. I don't know about you, but when that happens to me, as it has a few times since my first mammogram found a small, curable, cancerous lump, I go out and buy a new scarf, take myself out for a decadent lunch, call everyone I know, and declare it a good day.

Send me an email after you get your mammogram and I will do an annual free tarot reading for you. Just, please, examine your own breasts once a month and get your sweet, round ass to a mammogram once a year. If you have a deck, pick three cards and e-mail me at hecatedemetersdatter@hotmail.com. I'll email you back your reading. If you don't have a deck, go to Lunea's tarot listed on the right-hand side in my blog links. Pick three cards from her free, on-line tarot and email me at hecatedemetersdatter@hotmail.com. I'll email you back your reading.

Picture found here.

Sunday Dance Blogging