Category Archives: Weather, Seasons, & Celebrations

And Lo, The Water Fell

Woke up this morning to a dark, dark sky.

“Maybe it will rain,” I said.

“Maybe,” said my husband. “But I doubt it.”

“Maybe it will rain so you can come home and we can run about downtown this afternoon, assuming the bank unfreezes my account,” I said.

“No,” my husband said morosely. “It’s just going to play with our minds.”

He left for work. I watched the sky for a bit. It really was much too dark to just be overcast.

It raineth. Oh, ye of little faith.

Today

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: I love hearing music I’ve played in concert on the radio. Particularly the fourth movement to Beethoven’s second symphony. I get all excited. Small things amuse, I know.

I also became strangely excited when I realised that it was so darned cold in the office this morning that I had to go put socks on. After a summer of bare feet, it Meant Something.

The computer finally defragged, on the fourth go-round. I can’t see that it’s any quicker, but it sure moved stuff around. This morning I installed a pop-up ad blocker, which works beautifully – so well, in fact, that I couldn’t get the YACCS comments boxes to come up on a blog this morning. Oh, right – they’re pop-up windows. Duh. Must hold Ctrl down while clicking on link. Small price to pay, though.

I was looking out the window this morning, waiting for my tea to steep, and I saw a man walk casually into the depanneur across from us. He had a ball cap on and a messenger-style bag over his shoulder, and wore a denim button-down shirt. It was around seven-fifteen, and all of a sudden I got hit by a wave of back-to-schoolness. For a moment, I, too, wished I had somewhere to be, to dress up and pack my bag and leave the house for, walking down the street early in the morning, when the light is still clear and cool, and on your way to the bus stop, you can swing by the dep for an orange juice and maybe a granola bar.

Only for a moment, though. Then I came back into the office with my tea, sat down, and looked at my list of work things I had drafted for today, with CBC Radio Two on behind me, with cats chasing one another around the apartment, and torn jeans and a summer sweater on.

Hallowe’en 02

Operation Hallowe’en has begun.

Muah-hah-hah-hah!

I have cut the paper pattern out; I have cut jacquard pieces out for trim; I have dyed said jacquard pieces; I currently have another six meters of dyed fabric drip-drying in my bathtub. I have purchased Fimo and sparkly things and been successfully creative in that department as well.

The dryer downstairs is being used by someone who obviously does not comprehend how imperative it is that I dry those six meters of wet fabric RIGHT NOW so I can cut out more fabric and move on to the sewing. I’m on a roll, here. S/he is being most annoying.

I was worried about the dying process, but it was a beautiful success. What was once a medium blue is now a lovely ripply pewter grey, and the jacquard pattern shows up much better to boot. I’m now a dye convert. Now if I find a fabric that I love in a shade that’s not quite right, Dylon it is! None of that Tintex stuff; I’ve had such horrible results with that before. (It occurs to me that I have enough of the blue jacquard left to make a corset. A-ha! Do I leave it blue, or do I find a sage green dye? Must put that on the List Of Things To Think About.)

Onward, ever onward. Muah-hah-hah-hah-hah!

Contradiction

Yesterday was another odd day.

I met with Ceri to exchange our creative efforts for the two previous weeks, and I was late; I had been involved in my writing, finally looked at the clock, and proceeded to dash about trying to print things out, change, and catch a bus. I hate being rushed. I also dislike waking up and being slightly out of sorts, which I was yesterday; not in a bad mood, just slightly out of step with everything else. Ceri offered me tea and made me a grilled cheese sandwich, like any good Maritimer would if you collapsed in their kitchen and said, “I feel wrong.” It helped. So did the Advil.

I had dinner with MLG which was as enjoyable as always, and yet uncomfortable on other levels. We’d made the date previous to my implosion on Sunday, so rather than having an evening getting away from it all, we ended up troubleshooting and problem-solving, which isn’t a bad thing, just not what I had originally intended. Although I am an excellent listener, I am admittedly reluctant to ask people for help, and these days I’m incredibly blessed to have people who see that I need it and give it to me whether I’ve asked or not. I think that reluctance partially stems from the belief that my feelings and problems are private, and partially from the desire to not burden others (who have their own problems) with mine as well. To a certain extent, it’s also learned behaviour: throughout high school and CEGEP, my friends would pour their problems out to me, but when I tried to share my own, they were uninterested. The idea that people are determined to get me to talk and open up is rather new. I am, however, looking forward to a day when I can have a conversation with other adults that doesn’t revolve around my problems. I get twitchy when a conversation rests on me for too long and start looking for a place to hide, and when you’re in a corner at a pub with a single rather sharp individual, hiding is rather difficult. I suppose this is good for me – doesn’t it build character or something?

Apart from dinner being terribly delicious (nothing like colcannon when you need comfort food!) and being introduced to Boddingtons, I acquired a battery for my laptop, hurrah! I got home and spent an embarrassing amount of time looking for the slot to install it before realising that the only logical place for it to go was the CD-ROM drive slot, so I took out the disc drive and lo and behold, the battery slid right in. The unit didn’t self-destruct when I turned it on this morning, so I must have done something right – it has even produced a battery indicator on the display. I feel more freedom already. The Loyola campus library is three minutes away from me, and I have many fond memories of hours spent there before and after class during my BA years; there’s also a perfectly lovely park across the way which I will have to test out soon as a writing location as well.

I have an odd contradiction of feeling about my home these days. I want to cocoon, to stay home, read, and write; on the other hand, I’m feeling a little house-bound by the recent weather and want to be Out Doing Things. The latter is a very new experience for me, so I’m indulging it at the right times. In fact, Ceri and I are headed for more fabric stores today, questing for the perfect trim for sewing projects. Little expeditions like this are just perfect; they get me out, I can read on the metro, I share a couple of hours with another intelligent life form other than a cat, and then I’m home again. I have discovered by not working for an employer during the week, I no longer feel like I Have To Have Fun on my days off; as a result, when the sun goes down I no longer feel as if I’ve wasted a day somehow. This is a definite improvement.

They say it will rain this weekend. They said that last weekend too. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Retreat Recap

I�m back! Why do camping trips always seem like something you need a vacation to recuperate from?

We were one hundred and seventy eight Pagans, in a group campsite that had a couple of Boy Scout troops at the end. We all had coven banners up with animals on them by our campsites; by the end of their stay, they had marked �Lewisberry Coven� under their troop number on their site signs. It was so darned cute. Apparently we weren’t all that bad: when at the end of our main ritual we gave a wolf howl, they howled back (as Scouts are taught to do!). At the end of the weekend, though, their sites had been taken by a Baptist group. When one of the Pennsylvania people had to fetch something as we were packing up, she moaned, �Please don�t make me go past the Baptists � they�re singing, and playing the flute�. The contrast was hilarious.

Something I discovered: my stomach doesn�t like American food. I think it has something to do with the water. One of my fellow Canadian campers also pointed out that the US has different food regulations, so even if it�s the same brand of something I consume with no difficulty in Canada, the US equivalent might have different ingredients.

Their roads are so good! Smooth, well-marked (except for the construction, and the very sudden exits off a 65 mph highway onto a hairpin 35 mph exit ramp), and the two directions are separated for the most part, so you aren�t staring into the headlights of oncoming highway traffic. We drove the I-81 and the I-83 down through New York and Pennsylvania; I don�t know if other interstates are comparable or not. Driving home, in fact, I was inspired by the helpful and repetitive signs to create a little bit of Highway Haiku:

Watch For Falling Rocks
Buckle up for Safety Please
Bridge May Be Icy

Our border crossings both ways were nice and smooth too. If you cross into the US, make sure to smile and wave at the eight visible and likely many more hidden cameras that record you and your vehicle from every imaginable angle. (From my husband as the border guard steps out of his shelter: �God! When did they start arming the border guards? That gun is the length of his thigh!�)

My husband and I had the honour to stand as temple summoners/wedding guards/quarter officers at a marriage (no, we had no idea � we would have brought nicer clothes if we�d had any inkling!). This was an on-site request from the High Priestess and Clan Mother, who had never seen us in ritual before and could have been inviting disaster; as it was, we rose to her trust and the occasion. We ended up being honoured quite unexpectedly for it later on in the day, thereby yet again proving the �what you do returns to you� concept quite nicely to our minds. So, to Tracy and Ken, congratulations! It was an honour to stand at your backs.

We were welcomed at every turn. It was a group of balanced, strong (in more than one sense of the word), happy, secure, and relaxed people, all which was a nice change from the Pagan community in Montreal. No one was snippy, no one was criticising; the internal politics were straightforward and dealt with on a level that I wish all groups could operate on, Pagan or otherwise. It never degenerated into a happy-clappy hugfest; sure, things got teary at times, but they were tears from being moved at the knowledge that these people would stand behind you no matter what, whether you�d been a member of the Tradition for ten years or ten days. This unity is unique in a Tradition: generally groups hive off and sever contact from a mother group. My Tradition reunites yearly, re-affirming strength, maintaining continuity, and creating a sense of family. I am honoured to have been chosen to be part of it, and to have grown as much as I have within its context. My spiritual path, although I don�t talk about it much, is of great importance to me as I move through the challenges life presents: it is strength; it is celebration; it is balance; and it is joy. And now, it has been proven to me that it is family, as well.

The Little Things Count

So I spent yesterday with Ceri, and all day something was lurking in the back of my mind, and it had something to do with Ceri herself (indirectly), and Saturday night when I went to a ritual.

It nibbled, and nibbled, and every time I tried to look at it it would vanish into the shadowy depths of my subconscious again. All Sunday it lurked and gnawed. Something like this is like having a mosquito in the room with you: you can hear it, and you know it’s there, but you’ll never see it, and it just gets more and more irritating.

When I go to ritual I usually wear a hand-made anklet of amber and onyx. I rarely wear it for any other reason, and if I do, I have to be feeling really special. As I did up the clasp on Saturday night I thought about wearing it more often, but I’m always afraid it will break. This casual observation must have been what started that lurky thought that hung around for a day or so. Ceri and I looked at a lot of fabric and trims yesterday, and Ceri mentioned making her wedding dress. The niggling feeling that I was forgetting something floated closer to the surface, but still didn’t make it all the way to conscious thought. It wasn’t until I was in a bath last night that I finally, triumphantly, dragged that thought out into the light, kicking and screaming.

I bought another anklet in Halifax last September the day of Ceri’s wedding, so I could wear an anklet all the time.

There.

When I emerged from the bath I hunted through my jewelry box until I found it, underneath some stone necklaces. Out of sight, out of mind. Figures.

I shouldn’t feel this smug and content about remembering a delicate silver anklet. Really.