Owls' Court

Matrix Reloaded, Redux

When my husband got home last night he was restless, so when he suggested going over to the Angrignon mall I was all for it. When we got there, we walked past the Famous Players marquee and lo and behold, Matrix Reloaded was playing in five theatres.

"I suppose this wasn't planned," I said.

"No!" he said. (And I believe him, because he's not very good at spontaneously checking out movie listings just for kicks.) "But look, there's one starting in half an hour. And since we're here..."

So we saw Matrix Reloaded again last night. All but the first ten minutes, that is, because the theatre where we were supposed to see it was all dark, and they'd relocated the viewing to another theatre without putting up a sign or a note or anything. What is customer service coming to these days?

Happy Friday to those whose work week ends today!

On Sight-Reading and Language

Orchestra last night was like a train wreck. We all should have just stayed home; I mean, for goodness' sake, we played the Grieg better the very first time when we were sight-reading it. Collectively, we appear to be at the stage where we know a bit, but not enough, so it's falling apart. The only thing more dangerous than not knowing anything about a subject is knowing a bit about it.

And, on a completely different topic, here's an example of why I love the English language:

Verse feet in the romances are predominantly iambic, but anapests and trochees that appear should often be taken as welcome prosodic variations.

And this morning I found this in the writing diary of Virginia Woolf:

Writing is not in the least an easy art. Thinking what to write, it seems easy; but the thought evaporates, runs hither and thither.

And that's it, really; when you think about it, and conceive of the finished product, it seems a piece of cake. Actually doing it, though; wrestling the language into some semblance of gawky order... now, that's anything but cake. More like cement and traffic-light brownies or something. Or whatever you can think of that describes hard and heavy and not what you were expecting when you put it in the oven at all.

Oh, and I saw the four Animatrix shorts plus Final Flight of the Osiris last night; a colleague of my husband's recorded them for us. I enjoyed them all for different reasons. I already had every intention to pick up the compilation DVD next week, but now I have even more motivation to do so.

I woke up at 4

I woke up at 4 AM this morning again, and as I lay awake, I worked out a story. I fell asleep again around 5.30, and when I woke up at 9, I turned on my laptop and wrote it.

Gone were the beautiful turns of phrase I had developed in bed, and the pacing is definitely different, but I have an entire six-page story done, finished. (For those who have been conditioned to think in numbers as of last November, that's a respectable 1,866 words.)

I need to do this more often. I used to imagine entire scenes in bed as I tried to fall asleep all the time. (My other productive time was in class at school, where I was trying to not fall asleep. Go figure.) Perhaps when my headaches lay me low I ought to go lie down in a dark room and let inspiration hit. It would certainly be productive, and it wouldn't hurt my eyes so much as trying to read does.

Nope. Still cranky. Still have

Nope. Still cranky. Still have a low-level headache.

Finished my edit, though.

Tim Burton is to direct

Tim Burton is to direct a live-action Charlie and the Chocolate Factory film?

This is going to be creepy. But then, a lot of Dahl is creepy, and people tend to miss it, focusing on the humour instead.

And an official bio of Joss Whedon has just been released. On Amazon, under the editorial reviews, is this gem posted by the man himself:

Joss Whedon
"Possibly the finest book of the century; It's exactly like A Tale of Two Cities, but with 30% more me."

Jealous? Who, Me?

My parents are back from their trip to Italy, and when my mother called last night she sounded like she'd been roaming the pages of Janson's History of Art, pages 278 to 473 inclusive (in the third edition; YMMV depending on the edition you consult, of course). I'm extremely happy for them; it sounds like they enjoyed themselves immensely, but I am just a teensy bit jealous. It comes from being so well educated, I think. If I'd never learned anything about art or history or Western Culture, then I'd have no reason to be envious, would I?

I'll be interested to see the success rate of this dreaming true thing I've been experiencing on and off. Some events I'd like to see happen, such as the wedding of two friends at a particular time of year, or last night's dream of a film starring Tom Cruise and Carrie-Anne Moss. Then there are others which I'd rather not see happen, like being told by a book rep during the winter that Terry Pratchett has just died. I think I'd like to be completely wrong on that last one, thanks.

Today, I sit down with my NaNo novel and edit, edit, edit. This will be Edit No. 4, and, I think, the final edit before I write query letters and choose sample chapters to submit to an as-of-yet undetermined list of publishers. One of my cats has graciously consented to be in my presence this morning, so maybe today I'm not as cranky as I have been. Or perhaps she's just acting out of pity, and it's pure charity. Whatever her motivation, today will feature Maggie, laptop, peppermint tea, and lotus incense. And Mozart, whose music appears throughout the novel. (Yeah, I know; a CD tray full of Mozart should drive me crackers by about noon. I'll strike back with Tori Amos when I can't stand it any more.)

Amused

Dinner's being made, so I'm still noodling about on the Wondrous Wide World of Web.

In seeking an author web site I found a welcome page for a hosting service which included the following:

Disclaimer:

Almost all of these sites assume you, Gentle Reader, don't have a problem with one, more, or all of the following, and moreover that you are of a legal age, height, weight, state of mind, state of reason, or state of confusion to view this content in your community, city, town, village, borough, township, county, region, ZIP or Postal Code, state, province, area or city code, time zone, country, continent, hemisphere, planet, solar system, galaxy, or parallel dimension to view the content therein. Not all views expressed are those of Mike and Lorrie, and I'm quite certain that views expressed by some of the sites' administrators are not shared by others. Viva free speech!

Non-Christian religions:

Neither Lorrie nor Mike follow an Abrahamic faith. Few of their friends do either. If that bothers you, browse somewhere else. This means that sites hosted here are cheerfully pagan, and almost all are of a Teutonocentric bent. That means Germanic. That does emphatically not mean "racist prat." Just so we're clear.

Unusual spiritual practices:

Not only do we worship strange gods, but we wholly advocate doing odd things with them once you have Their attention. Magic, poring over quaint, dusty volumes of forgotten lore, several other things. Mind you, people who didn't bail after the first one probably aren't going to leave us here, but I thought you should know.

I like people who display healthy senses of humour. It's good for the soul.

Apparently NASA had a sense of humour at one point too, but the proof's been removed:

Told for the truth, guys. NASA actually has a document on what to do in case of a Viking Raid. Here at last is proof that NASA and the government does have a sense of humor after all! (Has now been moved from the original NASA site...updated as of 11/17/99) (Found on this list of barbarian literature, of all places. I'm looking for Diana Paxson links, okay?)

PotPourri

"Want to watch The Fellowship of the Ring tonight?" I ask my husband as we finish unpacking groceries and washing dishes. I'm antsy, waiting for the theatrical release of The Two Towers to come out on DVD in a month.

He checks the clock; evaluates his mood; thinks about bedtime, and where to work dinner in.

"Sure," he says.

It's not just like tossing in a Disney movie, after all. You're talking about a four-hour commitment, for which you'll probably have to pack a lunch, or at least a snack.

To my astonishment, I discovered today that Emily has linked me on her writing blog! You all remember my references to Emily Horner and her word count acting as my stick and/or carrot from last November, I'm sure? I stop by her writing log every week or so. I tend to read entries as opposed to scanning links on the blogs that I read (although for kicks sometimes I click on a random link on someone's page), so I have no clue when this happened, but I'm terribly tickled. I'm always tickled when I find that somone who isn't a personal friend, who only knows me from my blog or on-line presence, has linked me.

And finally, from Caitlin R Kiernan:

"Where do you get your ideas?" Strike that. Reverse it.

"Where do they get me?"

Withdrawing

We just got back from buying groceries, and for kicks my husband tossed a box of Sugar Crisp into the basket. We opened it when we got home for a quick nibble while we put the groceries away, and dear gods, it’s just the taste I remember from the isolated encounters I’ve had here and there in the past. How on earth to kids get away with eating this candy for breakfast? I’d ration it out as a treat, or dessert.

Although I had a wonderful class on Saturday discussing films, I’m still in that odd anti-social mood, complete with persistent headache. I’m not fit company for man or beast, as my cats have plainly shown me. The light hurt my eyes all weekend too, which was absolutely no help when it came to trying to read or sit down at the computer. This may or may not have something to do with removing and washing the front windows. The amount of filth that came off them was absolutely disgusting. I’m betting they haven’t been washed in well over two years. The light quality has certainly changed in the living room.

And in an effort to help strengthen my bad wrist, I picked up a 2 lb weight at Canadian Tire yesterday. I’ve been doing over and underhand curls with it while I read, and it feels great. My husband had to remind me to work the other wrist too, just to balance things out. We’ll see how things develop.

Yup. Doing some serious withdrawing, in case you hadn’t noticed. These are the highlights of my life.

Did I mention I woke up at 3.30 AM and decided to research Norse deities, since sleep was denied me? And that I received my new Medicare card in the mail?

I taught another workshop last

I taught another workshop last night. Since registration has been terrible since the beginning of the year, this is actually only the second public workshop I've led in the past five months. It was nice to be back.

Also nice were the fees I collected. After paying for rental of the space, I have enough to relax, stop by the secondhand bookstore around the corner, and think about having a lime soda without feeling guilty regarding where the dollar-fifty ought to be going instead. The money's not the reason I teach, and I'll never make a living from it, but it's a nice perk.

Technopagans

Every once in a while, the technopagans I know joke about literally calling the quarters from circle with various hand-held communication devices. This is for them.

Quantity *and* Quality, Please...

Well, when I said last week that the cello section was getting smaller but better, I didn't mean to suggest that even less was more. Tonight we only had two celli present - myself, and one other. And of course, we sight-read completely new music: Bizet, Sibelius, and that odd Overture for an Unwritten Comedy which was written by a Canadian in the 1950s, and sounds like it. (No value judgement implied; I quite like some of the Canadian compositions from the latter half of the last century. It's just that this piece is going to contrast sharply with the others on the program.) None of us had heard it before, so we had no clue what we were aiming for.

On the other hand, the Sibelius was divine: slightly melancholy, slight macabre (even more so when Douglas gave us the story in a nutshell: a dying old woman, mistaking Death standing in the doorway for her longdead husband, rises and dances with him), and of course, in waltz time, my favourite. The Bizet was, well, Bizet. I have a love-hate relationship with Bizet. I like him sometimes; I hate him sometimes, usually when I'm playing his music. The rest of the time I'm terribly neutral about him.

A couple of people stopped by as we were packing up our instruments, and said that the celli had sounded quite good tonight. My fellow cellist looked at me after one such comment and said wryly, "Why do these compliments sound like condolences?" Okay, so we two aren't necessarily the strongest among the section, but we were sight-reading new music, after all, and apart from losing our place for a bit here and there, we didn't make any horrible mistakes.

In fact, I felt so good about what I did tonight that, as I did last week, I left rehearsal wanting to race home and play some more. The drive took all the wind out of my sails, though, and now I just want to soak in a bath and read, except that I've finished Lincoln's Dreams and I don't want to read the non-fiction I have on the go. I've recently re-read all the other Connie Willis in the house, so I suppose I'll wander around my shelves and pull something off at random.

Before I left tonight, my husband asked to read the two bonus chapters I wrote earlier this year to tie up loose ends in my NaNoWriMo novel. As I printed them out for him, I re-read bits and pieces of it. Damn, it's good. When I feel uninspired, I really ought to read my own work more often to get myself back in the mood. I've been dragging my feet about getting back to work on the Great Canadian Novel because I don't know enough about my protagonist's choice of action. I discovered the skeleton of a fantasy novel on my laptop last week that I'd forgotten I transcribed a year ago, so I could work on that as well. I also have a non-fiction book drafted out, so I can't even try to dodge writing by claiming that I have nothing different to work on. A young adult novel, a romantic comedy, a fantasy, and a non-fiction book; no matter how I feel when I get up in the mornings, I ought to be able to work on at least one of my projects. My reluctance to plunge into the GCN is colouring my whole writing approach, though, I think. I don't want to keep going until I know more, otherwise it just won't ring true. Sending a protagonist overseas when you don't know the city she's headed to is dicey.

Of course, this means I have to travel to France. Just for research, you understand.

I check out Neil Gaiman's

I check out Neil Gaiman's log every couple of weeks or so, and this morning I found a dizzying off-hand reference that made my blood pressure soar (in a good way):

finished the last tidy on the pre-outline story draft for the TAM LIN film I'm doing with Brian and Wendy Froud and Sony Animation

Gah! Being (a) a Neil Gaiman fan, (b) a Froud fan, and (c) a huge fan of the Scottish tale of Tam Lin, I am quite naturally over the moon.

I had the joy of

I had the joy of spending Victoria Day outside with a few good friends at a spontaneous picnic. Simple pleasures: roast chicken, a few different kinds of fresh bread, warm strawberries, grapes, cool drinks, and total relaxation. All stresses were forgotten as we nibbled and laughed and played with my lovely goddaughter, who had more energy than the adults lazing about. Plus, I got a bit of sun, which, if you've seen my milky-pale skin, is a blessing. I no longer look like a creature of the night.

I happened to stop in at the secondhand bookstore around the corner and brought home quite the find: a copy of Connie Willis' Lincoln's Dreams. I'm a huge Connie Willis fan. I am not, however, a fan of charging $9.99 for a two hundred page book, and for some reason I never picked this one up when it was cheaper. (Actually, I know the reason: I'm not a Civil War fan.)

Well, apart from being immensely smug about scoring a Connie Willis book secondhand, I discovered that this book fits right in to my life at the moment. It's not about the Civil War. (Well, sort of, but it's a means to a different end.) It's about dreams.

Now, I love how Connie Willis examines the whole what-is-real perception of reality, and time-travel, and life vs death. At this particular point in time, however, when part of my attempt to solve my sleep problems involves recording dreams, this particular book becomes even more fascinating. Especially since I've started noticing that every once in a while, I "dream true" - I'll write something down in my notebook when I wake up, and a couple of days later something very much like it happens in the real world.

There's no such thing as coincidence, I'm fond of telling my students, since everything's connected by energy of various sorts. I'm also a Jungian, which means that I subscribe to that whole collective unconscious idea. I also think that our human concept of time is a construct to make our lives easier, sort of like democracy. So, why can't someone start picking up the dreams of a man involved in the Civil War? What's to stop me from having the odd dream about something that (in our childlike perception of "linear time") hasn't happened yet? Why does man stubbornly insist that memory only stretches backwards, because he has experienced it? We know the future exists, because today was yesterday's future. By extension, we're living in someone's past.

Mankind places a lot of weight on what is verifiable by sensory proof, and yet is incredibly subjective about other concepts that require faith. Some are inviolate - of course it's true, even though it cannot be proven - and others are flatly dismissed without even a second thought - that's impossible. It's absolutely fascinating to see how uneven we are, and how strongly we'll defend certain ideas, yet obstinately push away others. Man's a hypocrite. A loveable, frustrating, contradictory, inconsistent hypocrite.

Peeps - unholy marshmallow creatures.

Peeps - unholy marshmallow creatures. Being more of a chocolate bunny girl myself, I didn't encounter Peeps until three years ago when a co-worker introduced me to the original Peep Research page. Then, it was LOTR as peformed by the little critters: Lord of the Peeps: The Fellowship of the Peep. Now, at last, someone has done a Peep study that touches my very heart: A study of small fluffy creatures and library research.

Why do people insist on

Why do people insist on painting cars yellow?

Three States Aim to Outlaw

Three States Aim to Outlaw Eco-Protests

What's next - complete abolishment of free speech?

And at the other end of the spectrum, science has established the optimum method of shoe lacing. Thank goodness; I don't know how much longer we could have gone on...

See what happens when I work at the computer? I blog as I find nifty stuff. When I don't work, I don't blog. You can be thankful or disappointed, as you like.

I'm done now, though. I need another Advil or two; my neck hurts.

After an hour and a

After an hour and a half break to take an Advil, make and eat dinner, and have a glass of wine, I'm back at the computer. Hey, don't try to stop me. I've been restless and not-work-y for the past ten days; let me work while I'm happy to work!

Besides, it benefits two parties: the employer who needs this freelance work done, and me, because my work makes money so that I can buy more books. (This is serious. I'm currently in the throes of Egyptian and Norse mythology heaven, and I've got a list of titles I want as long as my arm.) Plus I'm multi-tasking: while one page loads, I'm searching out new links with the other.

Eventually I'll stop, and I'll watch Buffy or something. Speaking of, was anyone else left a bit off-balance by the Angel season finale? It was great, and tied up loose ends while preparing for a new season, but I guess I'm just too used to mass violence and cataclysm on Angel these days. There was surprisingly little cataclysmic action in this episode. It made for a nice break for the characters, of course - who, come to think of it, were left as equally off-balance.

I've been sailing along through

I've been sailing along through this research, and all of a sudden, I'm forced to take another break; the server which hosts the pages I'm working on is overloaded and has politely asked me to come back later. Well, it's one way to make sure I take time to stretch and munch something, and pour myself some iced tea (I gave up on the hot kind; it kept cooling before I got to drink it).

On my travels about today, I came across this article on the growing pains of Ásatrú on the Ásatrú Folk Assembly site , the modern Norse reconstructionist religion, comparable to traditional Wicca being a reconstruction of Celtic-Britannic spirituality. It seems that they're addressing many of the same problems the eclectic Pagan community is addressing: the evolution from a hearth/home-based religion to a public religion, the problem of clergy, the problem of congregation in a non-organised religion, and the issue of money. I found it interesting.

Food for thought: If one

Food for thought:

If one is attempting to sculpt a three-dimensional Egyptian lotus, how on earth does one do it when the majority of Egyptian art is two-dimensional?

Back to work.

Apparently this one of those

Apparently this one of those days where I work non-stop and make up for the days when I can't face the computer.

My eyes hurt after four hours at the computer. And I really ought to make tea and have breakfast. Or lunch, evidently, now that I look at the clock...

Makes a Difference

Never underestimate the power a single lightbulb can have. No, that's not a pun; I'm serious. Yesterday I picked up two of those new-ish GE Reveal lightbulbs, the ones with a faint blue-violet tint to the glass. I put one in the light that hangs over my computer, and there's a world of difference. It's much more like natural light.

My next trip to the hardware store will involve the purchase of a club-pack of these things to put in every single socket in the apartment. I'm not kidding.

My husband made an official date with me to see Matrix Reloaded tomorrow after I teach. I anticipate much gleeful geeking out with colleagues next week, just as much geeking as X2 got. Well, maybe not; Matrix Reloaded doesn't have Hugh Jackman, after all. Keanu's just not in the same league, you know?

Refined

The cello section of my chamber orchestra has rather shrunk. Or perhaps the proper term to use would be "refined", which suggests a reduction with a positive result. There's four or five of us now, as opposed to the ten we had at the beginning of January. Our sound is now more focused, and certainly more dynamically accurate.

I've written polite rants before on how I feel regarding the devaluation of certain over-played pieces of classical music, so I won't repeat myself now. To my dismay, I found several of these "pops" on our Canada Day playlist: Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Grieg's Peer Gynt Suite no. 1 featuring "Morning" and "The Hall of the Mountain King", and Bizet's Carmen Suite no. 1. When I hear these on the radio, I cringe, and they leave me cold. Desensitisation will do that.

Playing them, however, is a different matter, I have discovered. When I played Strauss' Also Spracht Zarathrustra two years ago, I was blown away by the power and the building chords as they wove back and forth between the sections. As we've worked on Peer Gynt, I've discovered the uniquely Nordic harmonies and beautiful phrasing. Besides, it's just plain fun to be sawing furiously a haute volume by the final crashing chord of "Hall of the Mountain King"; everyone's grinning at the end. When you're actively engaged in the production of music, you hear it in a completely different way: from the inside out, as opposed to hearing a smooth unified product. The complexities and the various musical lines all become clearer, and I appreciate them more. Playing "pops" is redeeming them for me, somehow.

The only drawback is that we play Grieg over and over, faster and faster, and when I sat down this morning to practice, I couldn't because my fingers were too tender. Looks like I'll have to work on my calluses.

I've had a busy couple of days: renewing my health insurance card and my driver's license, doctor's appointments, grocery shopping, lunches and barbeques, and a full-blown Beltaine ritual that was a bit late but wonderful nonetheless. (Kudos to my husband for solo-leading a ritual for over twenty people for the very first time, and for giving me shivers when he read the Charge of the God.)

In various waiting rooms, I began and finished Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Forest House, which I hadn't read since it came out. I remember being disappointed with it at the time, and I can't understand why, now. Perhaps because I read it directly after I finished The Mists of Avalon, which is altogether a very different book.

We've finally constructed and arranged the various bits and pieces of furniture we picked up at Ikea this weekend (hot tip: if you have to go to Ikea, do it at 9 AM on a Saturday morning. There is no one there. No one. It's spooky.). We now have a pantry, and a cabinet under the bathroom sink, and a cupboard to store our towels. The best of all: we have a hanging iron rack for our pots and pans. I've always wanted one of these.

I still feel restless, and I can't sit at the computer for more than about fifteen minutes at a time, which rather limits the amount of work I can get done. If it were sunny out, I wonder if I would feel more focused, or just as unsettled.

Mothers' Day All Round

Today is my black and white cats' birthday! Yes, Roman and Maggie are twelve years old today. And if you think I didn't sing Happy Birthday to them, you're mistaken.

This was a weekend of feasting, and I still feel stuffed. We had sushi on Saturday night, and last night we went over to the South Shore and my father-in-law made his famous barbequed ribs for Mother's Day. There were suspiciously few bones among the ribs; there just seemed to be plenty of tender, juicy meat heaped on the platter. Not that I'm complaining.

My own mother, on the other hand, spent Mother's Day in Rome. My parents have finally taken a two-week trip over to Italy, as they've been wanting to do for a while now. The last e-mail my dad sent me before they left included an attachment of a photo he'd taken, of my mother reading my blog. So of course, I just had to post it:

Much to my joy chagrin

Much to my joy chagrin surprise, the little upscale deli/grocery around the corner sells Stewart's Key Lime soda, among the other fabulous Stewart's flavours. And it's cheaper than the two places I know that sell it downtown.

I must exercise great self-retraint so that lime soda remains a treat, and does not become a daily indulgence.

Mmm. Lime soda.

Restless

I've been strangely restless the past week or so, and full of contradiction: I'm tired, but I can't sleep; I don't want to be alone, but I don't want to be with people; I want to do something, but I can't settle down and concentrate on any one project.

"It's spring," people tell me, but I'm not satisfied with that.

"Maybe you feel unfulfilled because you no longer have a defined nine-to-five job," my husband suggested. That's not it either. I'm very happy to make my own hours, thanks.

Last night as I lay awake in bed, I think I might have hit on it. My spirituality is evolving again. True, spirituality is by definition an eternally changing process, as you grow and redefine your connection to the Divine. This time, though, I think my focus is shifting away from Celtic mythology where it's been firmly entrenched for the past eight years. This doesn't mean that all the work I've done so far is to be discounted; not in the least. I've grown and learned and exercised certain mental and spiritual muscles, so to speak, and I cherish every day of those eight years for the connections I've made and the knowledge I've gained, both spiritually and lore-wise. It simply means that there's another area of focus to which I now need to direct my attention. This isn't as sudden as it might seem, either; it's been nibbling at me for about five months. It's taken me that long to figure it out.

Well, I've figured out there's something I need to focus on. Now, figuring out what I'm supposed to be focusing on; that's the hard part.

Teutonic Reading List

Found completely by accident while researching ISBNs on Amazon.com: a recommended reading list for Teutonic mythology and religion entitled So You'd Like to be a Heathen Lore Whore.

This list includes the classic phrase, "A lot of people have called Heathenry "Paganism with Homework".

(If you're into Norse/Teutonic lore, this reading list kicks some serious ass, by the way.)

It just caught my eye and appealed to my whimsical love of language and the study of world religion - a Heathen Lore Whore. Not necessarily the words I would have chosen, but apt in my case nonetheless...

Films and Anniversaries

We saw X2.

One word: Kewl.

Okay, no, two words: Damned kewl.

Now I get to bounce up and down waiting for Matrix Reloaded and Finding Nemo.

Bounce bounce bounce.

Oh, and four years ago this weekend, my husband proposed to me. Needless to say, we consumed the rest of the Taylor Fladgate in celebration. I'm looking forward to many, many years of celebrating this weekend over and over again.

And for anyone who was concerned about my health, I'm back up to my regular summer weight. If I don't look like I am, it's due to my exuberant fashion choice to no longer disguise my body with clothes that are too big for me. Hail summer!

I'm experiencing the odd message

I'm experiencing the odd message that my web page (i.e. this blog) doesn't appear to have a default home page or is under construction when I try to reach it.

Anyone else experiencing technical difficulty?

Cool. Neil Gaiman was asked

Cool. Neil Gaiman was asked to sing the creepy rat song from Coraline at a signing, and he did.

I wish I'd been there. The creepy rat song is just, well, creepy.

Beltaine

Sigh.

Yesterday morning happened to be my couple of hours in the store. It also happened to be May 1, which many Pagan-type folk know as Beltaine.

Which means that yes, the media got hold of us at the store and asked us (a) if there were any public rituals going on last night, and (b) what the staff was doing to celebrate when they got together.

Now, most Pagan-type folk still live in a world that doesn't understand why they've chosen the path they follow, and what mankind does not know it generally fears, resulting in oppression and/or ridicule. Hence most Pagan-type folk don't really bruit it about that they're Pagan-type folk. Makes work environments safer, and family gatherings less violent.

What does this have to do with it being Beltaine? Well, it means that the media is decidedly not welcome at a ritual, because you never know what sound byte/camera shot might reveal your voice or face to those watching or listening. People's lives have been ruined, jobs lost, their places in the family disowned because of this. Religion is the one undefinable thing that runs so deep that it causes brother to turn against brother and nations to go to war, all in the name of their vision of deity.

So I'm afraid I annoyed the media representatives who called by telling them that there was no ritual available from which they could gather material. I wasn't lying, either. Most rituals are going on this weekend, and they needed material right away. (Pagan-type folk are practical people. They know that people are more likely to be free on a Saturday than a Thursday night.)

The whole popular misconception that the staff of a metaphysical shop worships together is amusing too. I must perforce shatter any romantic illusions my readers might have formed and say that in reality, we work together, and that's it. I mean, really. Do you go out with your entire staff to synagogue, to church, to temple, to mosque? No, I didn't think so.

As for the whole not celebrating on the actual holiday issue, I'm used to it. My father was an airline pilot, and when I was a kid he often wasn't home on Christmas Day. No problem; we'd either celebrate early, or the first day he was home after the 25th. It's just a day, after all. The important part of it revolves around family, and being together, and sharing. Ironically enough, that's what most Pagan holidays are about too: community, being together, and marking the seasonal changes. Yes, the media representatives were miffed that no one was celebrating Beltaine on Beltaine. I'm just glad that Beltaine gets celebrated at all. In the rain, or otherwise.

Besides, I think they would have been a little taken aback to hear how I was spending Beltaine eve. Home-made chicken fajitas, a TV double-header of Buffy and Angel, a bottle of Taylor Fladgate First Estate port, a lap full of cats, and the company of my husband. Hardly the stuff of legend.

So what's Beltaine?

So what's Beltaine?

Also celebrated as May Day, this festival begins at sundown on April 30.Traditionally, couples stay out overnight “bringing in the May”, or gathering spring flowers and greenery with which to create garlands, crowns and bouquets. It is a time of joyous celebration of the fertility displayed by the land as it further opens to the touch of the sun: trees have put forth new leaves and are now flowering, the new grass is lush and thick; the days grow ever longer and the rains nourish the new crops in the fields.

By extension, Beltaine is also a sexually licentious time. It is the beginning of the season favoured for marriages and handfastings, as well as for re-enactment of the Great Rite, the union between the God and the Goddess. Much poetry and folklore exists describing the abandonment with which dancing, singing and playing leads to lovemaking. Children conceived on this might are called “children of the Gods”, and are said to be blessed.

The Maypole is perhaps the most recognisable accessory to Mayday celebration. A dancing game in which men and women interweave ribbons attached to a high pole (passing one another with plenty of kisses!), this action is another form of the Great Rite, the pole representing the God and the ribbons which slowly enfold it representing the Goddess. Other familiar concepts at Beltaine include a bonfire through which people jump and/or drive livestock for purification and luck, and the Jack-of-the-Green, a man disguised in leaves who represents the Vegetation God or the Lord of the Forest. His elected consort is the May Queen, who will be presented with garlands and floral crowns.

This festival is opposite Samhain on the Wheel of the Year, and like that Sabbat is a night of divination as the veils grow thin. The Ancient Celts recognised only two seasons, summer and winter; as Samhain was the beginning of Winter, the dark half of the year, so Beltaine recognises the beginning of Summer, or the light half of the year.

Yeah. It's all about life, the way Samhain is all about death. Two sides of the same coin, after all. It's an essential part of the never-ending cycle: life, death; light, dark; summer, winter. Neither side carries more weight; both are equally important. We honour fertility and creation, and we honour the time of fallowness and destruction as well. It's like an Oreo: it just isn't an Oreo unless it has chocolate biscuits and a white cream filling. (Okay, and a glass of milk, too, but that's beside the point.)

I can't believe I just compared basic Pagan the(a)ology to a Mr Christie cookie product. Even worse, I can't believe it made sense to me.

Oreos are very Beltaine, though, don't you think? You know - gently pull apart the layers, to get to the... never mind.

Woo-hoo! Our dollar hit 70

Woo-hoo! Our dollar hit 70 cents US!

Break out the pinatas!

(Sad, I know. Anyone else remember when the Canadian dollar was worth more than the US dollar?)

Ah. Rain. Happy first day

Ah. Rain.

Happy first day of ancient Celtic summer. Yes, indeed.