Category Archives: Art, Theatre, & Film

Better Than I Think I Am

I just watched an hour-long interview on Wicca and living as a Wiccan that I did with two students from Dawson college, about four years ago. I’d never seen it before; simply never got around to it. I think there was a move around that time, then the career thing really took off, and then another move, and a baby, and a few books happened in there too. HRH finally (!) connected the VCR this afternoon so that we could tape a TV show on Wicca tonight, and I found this videotape and wondered if it had room to record the show after the interview. We popped it in to cue it up, and we ended up watching most of it. Apart from wanting to create a drinking game in which the audience takes a shot every time I say “Precisely”, I am remarkably impressed. I look good, I sound good, and it’s a terrific piece in general. They did it for a film editing class, if I remember correctly.

I wish I could remember their names; one was called Carolyn, I do know that, and one was of Irish origin and the other of Greek background. There are no credits at the end of the interview, nor are there names on the thank you Post-It note they affixed to the case. If I had their names and contact info I could get in touch with them to congratulate them on planning and conducting an enjoyable interview, and doing a great editing job.

Impressive

A good way to bolster the ego: read one’s CV.

Damn, I have done some impressive stuff. And when it’s all down in black and white, it looks more real than it feels in my memory.

ETA: This wasn’t done just for thrills, mind you; I’m revamping it and focusing it and doing all the required tweaking to make it what it needs to be for various markets. You know; more of that Stuff that one forgets can and should be classified as Work.

Do You Have It?

I’ve been looking for some of my books recently, and some are missing. I have a bad habit of enthusiastically pressing books on people as they leave my home, and I forget to write down who has what.

Today I’m looking for Poppy Palin’s Craft of the Wild Witch: Green Spirituality & Natural Enchantment. Do any of my Gentle Readers perchance have my copy in their possession?

Actually, if you currently have any of my books I’d appreciate a note in the comments, even if you think that I remember that you have it. Despite your confidence in my mental recall, chances are good that I won’t notice that you have it until I need it.

Imbolc Blessings

A full moon last night, or more accurately this morning, at 12:45.

I love the images of Imbolc: White pillar candle in a silver bowl of snow. Berries in the offering bowl. Brid’s crosses, half-woven by candlelight.

Imbolc for me is about ten days of honoring. A few years ago I realised that the actual second of February doesn’t resonate with me as much as the days following it. Like other sabbats, the changing energy that the festival honours doesn’t happen all at once on a single day; energy is in constant motion, of course, and the sabbat is a day set aside to observe that ongoing change and to examine how one is responding to it. There are very few sabbats for which I can do this in a single day, however, and so the day of the sabbat often represents the beginning of ten or so days of introspection and reconnection.

We did our Imbolc ritual after Liam’s dinner. He watched me scoop freshly fallen snow up in the silver bowl and put it on the altar, then place the candle in the centre of it and put the bowl of berries next to it as an offering. We lit it and talked to him about how even though it was very very cold and snowy, the earth was already thinking about spring deep inside. “Candle,” he said, pointing to it, so we talked about the importance of light and warm hearths in the home too, and how Brid helps us make our home a loving one. Then he decided he wanted berries, so we went back into the kitchen and he ate most of what was left over. The last one he held in his hand and thought hard. “Do you want to give that to the Goddess?” I said. He nodded and ran into the living room to stand in front of the altar, reaching his hand up as high as it would go. I lifted him up, and he pointed to the goddess statue we have. “Lady!” he said, and put the berry in the curve of her arms. He’s a natural.

I have some very welcome meditation and honouring planned during this upcoming week. And I’ll be making my Brid’s crosses again, once I find appropriate material. I have to check to see if the corn husks I saved and dried will work properly. I think they will, once I soak them a bit to make them pliable.

And as my contribution to this year’s Imbolc poetry web, this poem about light returning:

A Winter Dawn

Above the marge of night a star still shines,
And on the frosty hills the sombre pines
Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low
Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow.

Through the pale arch of orient the morn
Comes in a milk-white splendor newly-born,
A sword of crimson cuts in twain the gray
Banners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day!

~ Lucy Maud Montgomery, 1899

(Editor’s note: For some reason this didn’t publish last Friday night, and as this is the first chance I’ve had to sit down since then I didn’t notice until now. Fixed.)

Monday Morning

Now that it’s a new work week, the professional issue that has gnawed at my sense of right and wrong all weekend has been handed to the appropriate person to deal with, and my job had just been made a whole lot easier. I can go back to doing what I’m supposed to do without stopping every few moments to do an hour of back-up research, which has been making my job take about three times longer as it ought to take.

I attended a lovely calm Imbolc ritual yesterday, which was a welcome oasis in the maelstrom of ethical indignation. I also took the evening off to watch Smallville, The Dresden Files, and Battlestar Galactica with HRH. (The Dresden Files, for those who also read Jim Butcher’s books and are curious, is not a bad adaptation. It doesn’t try to tell the story of the books themselves, and there are variations from the source material (Karrin is completely different, for example) but otherwise, it’s translated the feel and spirit of the books by doing something different with the source material.) It’s nice to have one night per week where we both settle down for appointment television, and talk intelligently about it during commerical breaks. Other than that, my weekend was pretty much devoted to work.

Speaking of, back to.