Year Three

 Time moves in strange ways. I don't understand how it sometimes feels like days or weeks, while other times it feels like sluggish decades, since daddy died. 

There are good days and bad days. I thought this would for sure be one of the bad ones, but today was actually pretty decent. I picked up the copy of The Neverending Story the local bookstore ordered for me. I mentioned to my bestie a couple of weeks ago that I am eager to enter my Stevie Nicks phase of life by wearing lots of shawls...and this bitch mailed me a magnificent shawl that showed up today. Also I got to eat sushi. Everything is great.

And that is making me kinda sad. Like I didn't love my daddy enough to cry today, or something. Like I'm the worst daughter ever because I'm not sitting under the tree where I put his ashes - the ashes I had to fight to get my hands on because the step-monsters were hell bent on keeping them purely out of spite. 

But I think about it every day. The ache in my heart is there. I suspect it'll be there as long as I live. Proof of my love, and I don't need any yearly anniversary to be reminded of something I'm always aware of. 

One of my babies got married back in October, and included daddy's tarot deck as part of a shrine to our dearly departed during the wedding. I desperately wanted to keep this deck since I have so very little left of him, but handing it down to the next generation just felt right. 

The little I have of his is more important to me than anything the stepmonsters stole. I have his copy of Raymond Buckland's Complete Book of Witchcraft, which he gave to me. My altar is a table he carved himself, another thing he gave to me. His big statue of Baphomet, which is almost as old as I am, is sitting outside on my balcony, looking lovely next to my little outdoor sanctuary. His other Baphomet sits next to a picture of him, his own little shrine. Every day, I am bathed in the love and light of this world, none of which I'd know without him. 

Hail the Traveler, on this the third year of his journey to and through the Summerland. I miss you every day, but you are neither gone, nor forgotten. 

Love you, daddy. 💕

The Weird True Stories PeeWee Used To Tell Me

 PeeWee was what we called my great grandmother. I have no idea why, that's just who she was, and that's what everybody called her. 

She was born in 1903 in some rural shithole in smalltown, USA. Very fire and brimstone, southern baptist, sicko kiddie diddling husband - you know, the usual. Wouldn't let us wear shorts, beat us, blah blah blah. I honestly hated that woman.

But on hot summer nights, when it was too muggy to sit inside our unconditioned mobile home, I remember her in her old porch rocker, us chirrens sitting around her feet, begging her to sing to us the old creepy bluegrass/country songs she liked to sing in her warbly old church lady voice. Like this one, but old lady. She'd also tell us these over the top, fantastic stories that I used to think were made up for our benefit, but as an adult I found out at least 2 of them were very, very TRUE so now I'm wondering about the third.

Story One
There was this old fortune teller witch who lived nearby, she'd tell you the gender of your unborn child, let you know where to find your dirty cheating husband, she even solved a murder in Coweta County where some farmer dumped another guy in a well (they made a movie about that one).According to PeeWee, the locals accused the woman of being an agent of Satan, which she absolutely denied. Supposedly, her grave stone was struck by and destroyed by lightning on 3 separate occasions, which I guess had something to do with the devil? Also, her brain was sent off to whatever university to be studied to see if they could find the source of her psychic powers. Oh, and she had like a million dollars hidden in the walls of her old, dilapidated house. 

Sounds like typical, Appalachian country folk tales, right? Except her name was Mayhayley Lancaster, and she was 100% real. The murder thing? Real. The psychic shit? Real. And there was so much more to her than that, she was a lawyer, a midwife, an activist and political advocate, and more. Go on and look her up. She's got her own wikipedia page, a billion youtube videos, and even a couple of books. 

Story Two

PeeWee used to work in the cotton mill, and told us all about the time when the national guard showed up, parked one of those big gatling guns at the end of Park Avenue, pointed at the homes of the mill workers to intimidate them. The guard kicked people out of their houses and even murdered a few townspeople...why? Because the mills had been working everyone to death and people were trying to unionize. The big machine gun on wheels part used to freak me out and I thought there was no way a governor would have sent in the NATIONAL FRIKKIN GUARD to murder their own citizens, simply for asking for humane working conditions.

But this is the south, and the mill owners made their fortune off the backs of their slave laborers, so it should really come as no surprise to learn they continued this tradition. I found out PeeWee's crazy story was true about 30 years later, when I was given the book pictured. It's actually so much worse than I was told as a child, but according to my great grandmother, the violence was much, much worse than what the author here was aware of, because the news of these killings and beatings were heavily suppressed.

Story Three
This one was never confirmed. I have no way to confirm it. But PeeWee's other 2 insane stories turned out to be true, so this doesn't seem terribly farfetched.

In addition, PeeWee's brother Amos (whom we called Wig....fuck if I know why), in his old age, used to speak his thoughts out loud. Most of the time it was perfectly mundane things, remembering something his mama told him, some funny story about a long dead cousin, and...this one. in full detail. More detail than PeeWee gave us.

So, the story goes, when they were young, they were doing something around the village square, somewhere near Roanoke, Alabama. Som even I don't remember had taken place...church, maybe? Some kind of fair? I really don't recall. But, there was a reason why everyone was out that day. A shadow blocks out the sun, and they turn their faces to the sky, expecting a storm cloud, and instead witnessing a massive bird. Thunderbird, they called it. Black, with a wingspan the size of a biplane. It looked like a hawk, she said, but so so so much bigger then any they'd seen before. Everyone out went running for some nearby barn. Were barns normal in small, podunk towns back then? In the chaos, a small toddler was left behind, and this giant, plane sized bird swooped down, snatched up this baby, and flew off again. But they called the baby a "colored baby" because they were old at the retelling, this supposedly happened sometime in the 1910s, and that language was just how everyone talked, gross as it is. PeeWee left the story at that, but in Wig's demented old man ramblings, they later found some of the baby's bones on some rocky outcropping. 

So, that's it. Those are my great grandmama's stories.

Chasing Coven

Okay, well....I'm over it. I'm so over it. So, so, so, sooo over it.

Have you ever tried to sell anything on Facebook? If so, you're probably familiar with the 500,000 "Is this still available?" messages that come flying at you out of nowhere, dinging your messenger all hours of the day and night, and when you try to respond to any of them, you get silence in response. (On an only slightly related note, I'm so glad I deleted that fucking app and all its other related apps.)

Anyhoot, I think I mentioned here that I'd added my area to the online coven finder, right? So far, the experience has been really similar to facebook marketplace. I've had several inquiries; most go nowhere after initial contact. It's really odd, actually, because the introductory email is usually fairly simple.

"Hello, my name is PersonFace. I found you on WebsiteName. I live in Area and have been practicing since SpecificDate. I've been looking for a coven and wonder if you can answer some questions for me."  

And I answer with the same sort of generic energy. Of course, I'm more than happy to answer your questions, here's some recommended but not mandatory reading material, let me know how I can help, blessed be, so on and so forth. I used to be much more enthusiastic about it, writing out these long, thoughtful, personalized emails that didn't actually seem to gain any more response than the generic does. 

So far:

• half never respond again
• the reply email reiterates wanting to ask questions but never actually asks any questions
• a handful make it as far as exchanging numbers, but fizzle out quickly

Now, I mean no disrespect when I say this, but to me it feels like a lot of these people are expecting something more glamourous...like I slip our business card in at the end of the email - something all black with a glowing rune or the eye of Sauron on it, giving a cryptic but yet also plainly stated secret location for our midnight mass where initiation takes place immediately but also this person remains a quiet outside observer. We begin by showing you everything we got. 

I could be very wrong about that, but it's almost like I can feel the sigh of disappointment in some of these emails when I reply with something completely benign and ordinary. All of the enthusiasm and unasked questions just seem to die. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it feels like a pretty predictable pattern. 

That's okay, though. I could be wrong, but even if I'm right, all it means is that the people who are only in it for the vibe or curiosity or passing interest sorta weed themselves out. 

Everyone wins. Yay. 

I Took a Ride on the Egg Cleanse Bandwagon

 You've seen it, I'm sure. I hear it's all the rage on TikTok but I don't use that creepy app, so I wouldn't know, but I see them fairly regularly on reddit and the comments are usually moaning and groaning about it.

So I decided to give it a whirl.
The short and sweet version, in case you are unaware - you take an egg, purify it in whatever way you see fit, and rub it all over your face and body. Then you crack it into a tall glass of room temperature water, wait about 10 minutes, and interpret its meaning. There are 500,930,213,444 cheat sheets available online, most of them copied nearly verbatim off each other, but if you want to be really obnoxious about it, you, too, can go on reddit, explain that you're a "baby witch" and beg someone to interpret it for you. They totally love that over there.

Sadly, I've chosen to do it by myself, and this is my result.

First things to note - my yolk is intact, the water is clean, there are no spots or discolorations or blemishes anywhere. There is some slight webbing in the egg white, and according to the cheat sheets that indicates some kind of negativity, but it's all very low lying. Below the yolk, not climbing up into the water. Nothing jagged, nothing sharp. also note that the webbing doesn't actually make contact with the yolk. 

There is a single, long strand toward the left, connecting a very large surface bubble to the egg white on the bottom. The cheat sheets suggest that bubbles are the result of the negativity being lifted away from you, and if that's the case, this seems like a lovely omen. It's like a UFO beaming up all the angry cows hanging around my feet. 

There's another, smaller bubble hovering over the yolk...it's not connected the way the other one is, but maybe it's like an eggy version of a guardian angel, watching from up high. 

Overall, not terribly eventful, but good things rarely are. I'd like to take comfort in the thought that whatever ick is being thunk in my direction is beneath me. 

Kbai. <3

The Herb Shop Lady Doesn't Like Me

 I swear, I've never done anything to her. I'm friendly with everyone else who works there, not like besties or anything, but we'll chitchat casually about our cats, some new product, blah blah blah. 

So, I'm in there today (or technically yesterday) looking for shampoo bars. I've been trying to reduce the amount of plastic waste I create by simply existing, and I feel like bathroom stock is my biggest contributor - shampoo, conditioner, lotions, body wash, and about 20,000 skincare products. Anyhoot, they have shampoo bars, but they're like $15 each. $15! WTF?!? How am I supposed to support my local economy when you're pricing me out of it? And it's not even my local economy, it's some corporate brand called Kitsch that'll eventually be bought out by Unilever or P&G or some other monster, like how Clorox bought out Burt's Bees and absolutely ruined it.

I decided I'll instead find bar shampoo on Etsy (small businesses do still exist there, as long as you can avoid all the AI and dropshipping slop) and wandered aimlessly into their small metaphysical/witchy section. I picked up a bell that looked nearly identical to one my dad owned and decided I wanted it, despite what I just said about dropshipping 2 seconds ago. I'm making small talk with one of the employees about it, and there's this other lady who works there with the most sour look on her face. She always looks sour when I'm in there, but RBF is totally a thing so I've never judged her for it. I've seen her be friendly with other customers, even though I've never really interacted with her, myself.  But it's nearing closing time, I'm the only customer left in the store and I'm ready to check out. Other employee and I are going off about bells and altars and what she wants to do with her altar, and RBF just like...stomps off. Yes, stomps. Like a toddler, even though she and other girlie had been chatting just fine 20 seconds before I walked up.

It just sorta clicked then. She doesn't have RBF, she just doesn't like me. That's kind of awesome, isn't it? I seriously love that for her. I'm not trying to be snarky or anything, I just think it's kinda cool that there's something about me that sets this woman off. 

She looks close to my age. Does she know me? Did we go to school together? Have we clashed in some way?  Did I accidentally flirt with her boyfriend once when we were 12 and she's been holding a burning grudge ever since? That's actually happened to me before*. Or maybe I got the leading role in the 5th grade production of West Side Story she wanted for herself and we've secretly been mortal enemies ever since.

It could also be that she just doesn't like me, with no real reason for it. Gods know I've run into people before who rub me the wrong way, like their voice grates on my nerves or some other minor, inconsequential thing like that. There are weirdos out that who chose to vote for Donald Trump because they thought Kamala Harris had an annoying laugh. It could be anything. It could be nothing. 

Life is wild. I love it.

*okay so there's this lady we'll call Elle who I went to high school with. I didn't know her, but in 8th grade I was casual friends with this boy named Jay. Jay had some kind of crush on me, but never asked me out or made a move so it was a non-issue. I only even knew because one of his guy friends told me. Jay and I never had any classes together so our interactions were strictly cafeteria based and after 8th grade I never spoke to him again.
Elle started dating Jay in 9th grade, and sought me out, followed me around, and it was weird. The first time she introduced herself to me, she was like "Hi, I'm Elle, didn't my boyfriend used to have a crush on you in 8th grade?"

Me: "I don't know, who's your boyfriend?"

Elle: "Jay Something."

Me: "Oh, yeah I know him but I haven't talked to him since we left middle school."

Elle: "Okay but didn't he used to have a crush on you?"

And every single fucking time I've seen her since then, that's how she introduces herself. "Hi, I'm Elle, remember me? My high school boyfriend used to have a crush on you."

She added MY ENTIRE FAMILY on facebook, she chased me down in the <business name> parking lot to catch up, followed me inside the business, then proceeded to tell the employees all about my updated info while we were there. We weren't friends online, but if I made a public post, she would copy it verbatim and post it herself. It was fucking weird. 

Everything is Happening All at Once and....

 I'm so overwhelmed. In a good way, I mean it's not like I'm complaining, but going from 0 to 100 in a matter of days has been...a lot.

I welcome the change of pace, though. With everything going on in the world right now, I've been kinda super mega anxious about all the worst things, so it's nice to have something NOT batshitcrazy happening right now. 

So, a few much needed updates:

Xmas came and went since I was last here.
The US government is literally murdering people.
I made a broom. Like, from scratch. Yeah, I know!
Alexis threw me a Twilight themed birthday. Ha. 
I quit facebook again. Seriously, fuck that place.
The Gh3yz got married. <3
I'm learning to play guitar. I'm not very good.
I painted my mother a lovely swan keepsake cigar box.
I got a most bombass Athame and a tea kettle. Huzzah.

And finally, Janie had her very last tea party at the meadery.  

And since I can't put 300 photos in here (well, I could, but who wants to deal with all that scrolling?) I just made a fancy collage to show you all the most important bits. 

I love you all. All 2 of you.

Cheers.

My Shitty Reading List: Twilight, Pt 2 - In Defense of Renee

 A couple of years ago, I wrote this little thing about all the things that male Twilight so awful and yet so fascinating. You can Click Here if you feel like reading it. I thought I was done with it, but nooooooo. 

I'm aggro'd by all of the Renee hate/Charlie love. I see so many stupid ass meme propping Bella's dad, while absolutely trashing her mom. I guess I sorta get it? How dare this woman allow her daughter to move in with an incompetent father, whom we worship. How dare she get remarried after 15+ years single. Yada yada yada, 

But here's my issue. Everything everyone accuses Renee of being, Charlie is that x1000. 
That whole parentification thing you're always accusing Renee of doing? Yeah, Bella's second night at her dad's house has her doing the grocery shopping, the cooking, AND all the cleaning as Charlie sits on his butt watching TV the whole time. And in one of the only instances we do see him attempt to cook, he manages to fuck up spaghetti by turning it into a single, solid noodle log. On the other hand, Bella describes her mother as an "imaginative" cook, and while not all of her experiments were edible, they seem to be fairly reliable. 

And while Charlie was spending a whopping 2 weeks a year with his daughter, dragging her out fishing against her will (which she describes in the books as "traumatic") Renee was spending the rest of the year taking her daughter on real vacations, putting her in extracurricular activities like ballet.

Oh, but Renee AbAnDoNeD her! The fuck she did. God forbid the child she raised single handedly spend a whole year, OF HER OWN VOLITION, under the roof of her deadbeat dad, who she doesn't even call dad! Her mother was very worried about Bella being stuck in that shithole town with no sun, and literally on the second page of the very first chapter she tells Bella "You can come home whenever you want - I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

Meanwhile, what's Charlie doing? Working late and going fishing for the entire weekend, allowing his daughter to hang out with literal vampires all willy nilly. He lives under the same damn roof but has no clue what she's doing or where she is, he shows up long enough to eat and watch TV. Meanwhile, his daughter's vampire boyfriend is sneaking in the window every single night to sleep in her bed while Charlie is snoring away in the next room.

Look, is Renee perfect? Not even. But the most problematic thing she's ever done is forgetting her clothes at the dry cleaners and occasionally cooking something that didn't work out. Oh, the horror. Who's there in Bella's hospital room when Bella wakes up after almost dying? Not Charlie. Who does Bella call her "best friend" throughout the entirety of Book 1? Not Charlie.  Who repeatedly tries to maintain contact with their kid despite the long distance? Not Charlie. And even when Renee does eventually back off, it's only at Bella's insistence.

I hate the idea that Charlie can do the BARE ASS MINIMUM for his own child, yet somehow he's a hero for....what, exactly? Letting her stay at his house? Graciously allowing her to cook and clean for him? Never once, throughout the entire series, doing one single thing that could be interpreted as quality time with his child?

The bar really is in hell, y'all.