Balance

I missed my post yesterday because I was finishing up with moving, but I want you to know that I'm still around.
A friend posted this on Facebook, and I saw a lesson. I think it is slightly different for anyone who sees it, but to me it's all about balance.
Balance is something I'm always working on in my life - family, day job, editing work, writing, fun... The lesson I saw in this video reminds me that it's important to keep all things in balance and in their proper order and place. When one thing it's taken away from that balance, the whole thing is undone.
Even when you think the thing you took away is the least important or will have the least impact on the whole.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6rX1AEi57c&feature=youtube_gdata_player

'Tis the Season to Trash-Talk Christianity.

As a proud pagan, I really enjoy the time before the Winter Solstice. I just love everything about this season. Making preparations for the rebirth of the sun, wrapping gifts for friends and family, baking cookies, listening to festive music, and my personal favorite holiday activity: Christian Bashing.

This glorious tradition has been gaining popularity over the years as Paganism is becoming a recognized and accepted religion in many parts of the world. Combined with freedom of speech and a misguided need for Pagans to "put Christianity in its place" (for all the wrong its done to us over many thousands of years), Christian Bashing seems harmless enough to most, who tend to see it with humor and bringing holidays "back to their REAL roots".

Let's take a look at some of the cheerful things that I, as a Pagan, will have to endure on all social media for the next month as we prepare to love our neighbours, celebrate new life, and share joy and happiness throughout our communities.

The "your story isn't as original as you think, you copyrighting cult!" argument aid. 

The ever lovely breakdown of common days through the calender, complete with mixed-cultural origins.

Possibly the only one of these that is actually not bad.

To the new or particularly wounded Pagan, these images are empowering and a way to deal with deep-seeded issues Christianity brings up. After all, most pagans these days are converts from Christianity, and what better way to show full support of a new religious choice than to actively trash-talk the previous one followed?

Before some of you jump down my throat for being insensitive, let me say this. Yes, historically, Christianity has done some crappy things to Pagans, and we are not their only "victims"- if we go back to the very beginning, Judaism was really their first target.  Every religion has suffered at their hands, either through crusades, missionary works, or blatant slaughter.  Some pagans have a more personal issue with Christianity, like I do, and choose to work out their issues negatively instead of constructively. 

The biggest flaw in the Pagan plan to Christian Bash society is also what makes Pagans just as hypocritical as some of Christian, and indeed any other religious, zealots. The trait that Pagans are most proud of is their downfall and takes away all credibility to their complaints about Christianity.

Our faith prides itself on accepting individual spiritual paths. It even, to some degree, encourages eclectic practices to customize spirituality for each person as much as possible. But within this, we are facing HUGE faults.

Firstly, honouring everyone's individual spirituality INCLUDES faiths that are not pagan at all. Every faith deserves the same respect, that includes Christianity. That includes Judaism. That includes Islam, and Shintoism, and Hinduism, and any other religion the world has. You cannot expect the world to respect your spirituality and spiritual rights if you cannot respect theirs in turn. 

Secondly, Christianity did nothing to Paganism that it didn't do to itself first. What, you may say? Back before Paganism became the umbrella term for all polytheist faiths, each "sect" of paganism belonged specifically to one culture, and we are naive to believe that these cultures got along without issue. Pagans killed, raped and plundered other pagans long before the Christians came about. Christianity stole our holidays? We stole holidays from each other. Christianity stole our myths? We stole and interchanged deities from each other long before they did.  Christianity stole our symbolism? Please. There's a reason a lot of animals and symbols share meanings cross-culturally, and it isn't because pagans held conferences and decided on them. 

The term "Eclectic" itself should shame any pagan who uses it and still insists on Christian Bashing.  As the Calender meme above pointed out, the days of the week are named mostly after Norse Deities. However, the generic "Moon" and "Sun" are in there with no specific ties, and just to mix things up a little, lets throw in "Saturn"- a decidedly Roman deity. Talk about stealing for convenience.  Add to that Valentine's Day accusation, and suddenly Christian-bashers have no legs to stand on without being hypocritical to the core (For those unaware, Imbolg is a Celtic term for a holiday in early February that celebrates newborn lambs, and the Goddess of Light/Fire, Brighid. Where does the Valentines association come from then? A Greek/Roman 3-day Festival of Love, totally unconnected to the Celtic tradition in every way.).

As if Christmas wasn't bad enough, here are my "favorite" Christian bashing memes that take this lovely part of the Holidays above and beyond Christmas:

First up, we have the Easter meme. It isn't even trying to be passively aggressive, especially since Easter takes place the month after Pagans celebrate our "Sex day" (also known as Ostara).

I don't even know what to add, this speaks for itself.

The one below is possibly the best one I've seen yet. It points out that America shouldn't love Christianity as much as it does simply because its modeled after Ancient Greek politics, and at the time, those the Greeks were pagan. Good job, whoever created this useless meme. This is REALLY the way to gain respect for our religion.

Pointing out that no matter what, America is wrong for being primarily Christian.

All I've really got left to say is that for the upcoming holidays, be it Yule, Christmas, Ramadan or Hanukkah, I wish everyone the joy and happiness that this season inspires, and I hope that one day, the love at the centre of all religious teachings will surpass the hatred and distrust, and we can all appreciate each other's spirituality without judgement or preconceptions.

Flash Fiction - Spectre

Oh, dear. I've had this post written for days, and I was really excited to share it with you. Unfortunately, I've been distracted lately because my husband and I are enduring the nightmare that is the home-buying process and preparations for moving house.

Better late than never, I suppose...

I hope you enjoy my little flash fiction. I would very much love to hear your opinion on it.

*     *     *

Spectre

Image copyright 2012 by Stacey Brewer

Trust.

How can you ask it of me after all this time? Every night you call me down the light-tunnel, and every night I fly to you only to be banished every morning. You swear you won't, but we both know you will call me again and again with the same words and promises and the same request: Trust. And you know - we both know - I will come.

Every night I come, and every morning I ask myself why. Why do I keep coming back? Why do we do this over and over again?

As I stand fading like a wraith in the brightening dawn, I have only one answer:

We... were...

                       ...

                             ... so...

                                           ...

                                                  ...

                                                          ... happy...

                                                                              ...

Wishful Wednesdays: Trapped!

This week, we discovered the illustrations of artist and author Elizabeth Mueller.

Here's our favorite:

Go say hello, and tell her the girls at Dreamers Imaginarium sent you!

http://www.elizabethmueller.com/

Disclaimer: We at the Dreamers Imaginarium neither support nor condone the practice of faerie trapping. No faeries were trapped or in any way harmed in creation of this post.

Sister of my Soul

We all have moments in our lives when we question what we believe in and how we have come to see the world. For me, this moment occurred while simply looking for a way to communicate more purposefully with the Faerie people that had become part of my life. Instead, I experienced something I will never forget.

During meditation, I went to my usual place: a stone staircase near a waterfall in Kilkenny, Ireland. I took in the beauty of the area, and was preparing to climb down the mossy rocks to the edge of the falls, when something stopped me.

Copyright 2013 to Bobbi St. Jean.

I turned around and saw a very tall, very dark Faerie walking down a set of steps towards me. Oddly, I was not fearful even though I knew she was not the kind to be hospitable with humans. There was something familiar about her, something my soul seemed to recognize even though she was physically hard to see clearly.

"You are here." She stated simply when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Then, she reached her hand out to me. This Faerie woman was roughly a head taller than me, and I could feel magic emanating from her. I knew better than to refuse her, though I did not touch her either. I simply took a step forward, and found my scenery changed immediately. 

Instead of the calm serenity of a forest with a lazy waterfall, I found myself standing in front of a wall. This wall, unlike those we see in our world, was made up of vines and plants that were thickly knit together. The outermost layers had brambles and roses growing, with poison Ivy and poison Oak interlaced throughout. Every few feet, I saw towering trees with platforms and doorways, presumably guard towers, and little glowing crystals dotted the wall at regular intervals.

As I looked at the wall, I noticed that it was moving, growing, knitting tighter together with every second. I looked to my Faerie companion, but she didn’t seem to notice the wall at all. She led me to the left until we reached an Oak tree tower. This tower had outgrown roots, the trunk’s base was lifted roughly 15ft off the ground to show off its elegantly twisted mess of roots. We walked under the roots, and a set of doors materialized (or I hadn’t noticed it until then. Both are equally possible). They were silver filigree, the pattern depicting the moon phases, the seasons, and many flowers and herbs. Several gemstones, pearls and other precious metals were laid into the doors to accent the metal work. To this day, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

My escort pulled a large, matching silver key from a cord around her neck and, instead of putting it into the keyhole, she ran the key along the seam where the doors met. They opened, and we went through, she in her detached air, and myself in awe and amazement.

Photo Copyright 2013 to Bobbi St. Jean

"Your doors are beautiful." I said to her after a moment or two.

"They are not ours. They are yours." I waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing more. She led me to a garden a few feet inside the doors and we sat on a carved stone bench beneath an apple tree.

I looked to her for a moment and realized she had taken her shroud off. I could see her clearly now. Her hair was curled and dark, black like the deepest winter’s night sky. Her skin was creamy, pale, but reflected a slight golden hue that spoke of time spent in the sun. She had rounded features, not the sharp ones I had always envisioned Fae would have. Her lips were a soft pink, her eyes a vibrant violet. She wore no make-up, yet she was more beautiful than any model found in our world. She was tall, graceful, but not as lithe and thin as I had always believed Faeries would be. She had curves to her, though the long dress and satin cloak she wore did a good job of concealing them. She bore a circlet of silver on her head, and wore pearls, moonstones and sapphires in a beautiful floral array at her neck and ears.

"You are new here, new to us. You wish to see more of us, but it is we who need to see more of you first. You have opened yourself to us, but we are not so trusting. You should not be either. Sidhe and humans have long had rivalries, be wary of this as you progress in your journey."

I nodded, then asked, “If I should be wary of the Sidhe, why should I trust your words, why should I trust you?”

A smile broke on her lips, the first real sign of expression I had seen from her so far. She looked at me then, meeting my gaze for the first time. I felt my heart lift, fill with joy and peace. My stomach fluttered, my skin began to tingle and I could feel the crackle of static in the air, the feeling of Magic.

"Because you and I are twins. Trust me because I share your soul."

Introducing Sofiana Rich

I have always been interested in all things mystical. Tarot, numerology, astrology, palmistry... In the hands of a skilled reader and insightful interpreter, they can each offer a fascinating way to look at yourself. I have had several such readings from several different sources. I initially approached the exercise as a skeptic, but I was surprised at how accurate and helpful my readings have been.

Through the magic of Facebook, I have met a lot of really great and interesting people. One of those is Sofiana Rich - a professional name she uses for privacy purposes, but I am blessed to know her personally as well. She offered to give me a demonstration numerology reading (my first!) to share here for anyone who might be as curious or fascinated as I am.

There are several ways to approach a numerology reading. Numbers can be calculated based on a person's name or birth date. For this demonstration, Sofie chose to read my Life Lesson Number, which is calculated by adding together the numerals in my date of birth then adding those numbers together until you arrive at a single digit number (there are cases where a two-digit number is used, but I'll leave that to those who know much more that I).

My Life Lesson Number is 7, so here's what that means straight from Sofie:

Your Life Lesson number is 7. This expresses traits that you are here to incorporate into your being and, therefore, will be tested on them often. At least until you've learned the accompanying lessons.

You have strong intuition and insight. When you choose to honor that intuition, your words are full of wisdom, which they are meant to be. You are a person who ought to strive to remain silent unless speaking from Wisdom. You are here to develop your mind, so you need to read, think, and meditate. You must embrace spending time by yourself, preferably in nature. Quiet, natural places will be most helpful in delving into your deepest thoughts, which is where/how you will uncover your destiny.

This is the number of the dreamer and the philosopher. You are likely drawn by the mysterious and mystical. If you believe in, and practice using, your intuition it can be developed into an effective tool in helping other people.

Pythagoras considered 7 the most sacred of all the numbers, and in ancient times children born under this number were trained from childhood to serve as priests or priestesses.

It can be easy for you to see through the outer masks that people wear, straight into the truth of their motives and being. This can make others uncomfortable around you, especially if their motives are suspect.

You like the quiet life, preferring the country to the city. You have a love affair with words, being a person of the mind.

You should develop selflessness and compassion, which will help you to create the world you know could exist. When the world doesn't match your ideal you may become frustrated and depressed. Developing your mind, your intuition, compassion and selflessness will help you combat the depression as well as help you manifest a better world.

Overall, you have a sound, creative mind.

Here is a direct quote about Key VII "The Chariot", your corresponding Tarot card: ""The Chariot represents receptivity to the will of the one Source. The keyword attributed to this card is fence or enclosure, and its sense function is speech. Every word we speak is a fence enclosing an idea or thought. An eloquent vocabulary is a powerful tool for protection and preservation, as well as advancement. When we speak we set in motion a vibration that acts upon the ethers, space, and akasha...It is only when we become still, quiet and receptive that we can be victorious. Then the primal force can work through us." (Numerology and The Divine Triangle by Faith Javane and Dusty Bunker, p142)

* * *

Wow! Thanks, Sofie. That was awesome! I really do see a lot of truth in this reading and a lot of things to think on.

If you're as interested in this sort of thing as I am, I recommend you visit Sofie yourself. You can find her Facebook profile HERE and her Facebook page "Delphic Pandora" HERE. Tell her I sent you. ;)

Wishful Wednesday: Meet Annah

“Even a girl from a distant world can dream of reaching for the stars.”

We recently had the pleasure of visiting with author Clay Gilbert and the subject of his most recent novel, Annah, available now from Rara Avis, an imprint of PDMI Publishing, during Annah's blog tour.

(Looking very comfortable as they lounged on our office sofa, we began to probe them for extremely privileged information.)
 So, Clay, what were your initial thoughts towards Annah when she approached you?

Clay: She tried to approach me when I was very young—in my early teens.  We wrote a story together called Anna, which was about a man from Earth—whose name wasn't Holder, although he was middle-aged like Holder is in the current novel—who crash lands on a planet, which didn't have a name in that version, and meets a disembodied alien being, whom he never sees, but who seems ancient.  There was no romance in it, and not much conflict.  It was kind of like a science fiction version of The Giving Tree.  But by contrast, that had a point.

(Annah interjects)
Annah: You were not ready.  You did not have the language, or the ability to understand.  You were a seed-youth, barely more than a bloomling.”

Clay: I seem to recall your parents said something like that to you.  And I thought you told Holder that age is only a number.

(Annah smiles.)
Annah: Hmmph. You are too much like him sometimes, you know.

Clay: Yeah, she says that a lot.

It sounds like that's a good thing, Annah. Is that why you choose Clay to write your story out of all Earth's possible biographers?

Annah: Yes, somewhat.  He knew someone once who reminded me of me, and in fact, together, they reminded me of Holder and myself.  And I thought, because of that, he would be someone who could tell my story—and help me to be better understood, too.

Clay, I understand Annah is impatient for her story to be told. How would she prefer you to record her story so it's done faster?  

Clay: Maybe for me to sleep less?  Not write books besides hers?  I don't know.  Maybe you should ask her.

(Annah makes herself stop laughing, clears her throat, and sits up straight, but can't resist smiling.)
Annah: Honestly.  You make me sound terrible.  It is not really that bad.  I know you have other responsibilities.  I am only excited about telling the story—but I know you are too.

Does that mean, then, that Clay has been given creative license with your biography, or are you strict on accuracy?

(Clay answers first.)
Clay: Annah herself doesn't care—any more than I think Selya, the first Shaper, and one of Annah's people's other spiritual figures, would have.  But it's important to me to get things right.  I wouldn't want someone botching my life's story, just because they thought another way of telling it sounded better.

(Annah steps in, looking somewhat annoyed.)
Annah: I am not a 'prophet.'  I am a teacher and an Elder of the path of Shaping.  I am not special—not any more than others.  The First Ones are special.

So then would your people call Selya, the first Shaper, a prophet?  Would they say she was special?

(Annah replies, in a quiet, calm voice.)
Annah: They might.  But she would not.

Annah, you mentioned the First Ones. Are they forerunners in your race, or are they a collective term you use to refer to in your telling of God?  

Annah: For one thing, I do not understand the singular language that many humans use on this subject.  My people say, and I understand many humans think in these terms as well, that the beings who brought the Sea of Stars, and all the worlds in it, into being are many, and varied themselves.  We call them the First Ones, because they came before us.  But we do not kneel before them, or consider ourselves unworthy to approach them.  We are their children, as we are the children of our world.  And we thank them for our lives, and for their love—and they are, or should be—the center of our lives, not distant and unreachable.  Not separate.  We are a part of them, if we will only open our eyes and see.

That is a very lovely vision of creation. The First Ones obviously play a large part in your culture. However, what about other phenomena like, for example, the idea of  "Sacred Geometry"?  

Annah: I believe that it is so.  I believe that the First Ones have left their fingerprints; their signatures, on all of their work, even as the Shapers of all worlds do—for Shaping is only a shadow and a symbol for the work of the First Ones.  But Holder and I are—researching--this very idea.  And there will be stories told about that, down the path a bit.

That sounds fantastic! We can't wait to hear more about following additions to your story. Unfortunately, that's all the time we have for today. It's been lovely hosting you both, thank you so much for visiting.

Feel free to visit Clay and/or Annah at her website, where you can read more about Annah via her personal blog, see the entirety of her blog tour, and stay updated on future book releases in her series.

The End of a Bad Day.

Bad days suck. Especially when they start at 4:15 am, and don't end until 11:30 pm.

 

This weekend, the hubby and I decided to venture to the Fraser Valley to visit my dad for the long weekend. I started freaking out a little before we left - My dad is notorious for being anti-technology, and I'm in the middle of trying to complete in NaNoWriMo. However, things were going much better than anticipated. In the evening, I'd sit down and write a couple thousand words (staying steadily behind on my daily quota), but I was determined not to let it get away from me.

 

Then Sunday happened.

 

Firstly, we woke up at 4:15. 'We' includes a 2 year old, which as any parent will know, is the furthest thing from ideal. Despite my growing headache, I was optimistic. We took a couple rifles, packed a cooler for lunch, armed ourselves with warm beverages, and were off. 2 hours later, we arrived at the very broad area of Boston Bar.
 

We proceeded to spend the next 11 hours driving up old logging trails as we searched for fall deer, grouse and quail. In the front seat, my dad drove and my hubby sat shotgun with a rifle, prepared to leap from the car in the event a bird was spotted. My son, his car seat in the middle of the back bench, and I were left to our own devices. Mostly, we slept and cuddled, but over all, our presence was greatly unnecessary. In 11 hours, I spoke a total of twenty-five words, most of which happened when we stopped for lunch.


The drive back in the dark allowed for some time to contemplate my day. It left me with a sour taste in my mouth. All I'd done was watch my son, sleep, and take up space in the back of a truck when I could have spent the day still watching my son, but also writing, doing laundry, packing for our departure back home, etc... .

We finally arrived at my dad's house, and I was irrationally angry - the kind of anger that draws unwarranted tears. After unpacking, and refraining from scolding my hubby for allowing our son outside in his soft-soled slippers, I secluded myself in our bedroom and took a breather.




Copyright 2013 to Bobbi St.Jean

I was projecting my negative emotions, and letting some of my fears get the better of me. Perhaps my hubby thinks my dream of becoming a published author is a waste of time. Perhaps my dad agrees, or thinks I should spend more time advancing my education to get a "real" career. Maybe I was afraid that if I failed in my personal goals now, I'd continually fail and not achieve the dreams I've had since late elementary school.

Regardless of what caused my mood, it had nothing to do with my family. It was all on me. In my own perceptions of what I should have been doing with my time, I let myself become unable to enjoy the day I'd spent with them. I, like so many people in this day and age, had become so focused on my own little world that I'd neglected to find the joy in being with people who love me, and whom I love back.

So, at the end of my terrible day, I decided to stop and re-centre myself. Instead of  allowing everything bad to crowd my mind, I focused on the best part.

 We'd chosen a gorgeous place for lunch; It was just to the right of an absolutely breath-taking waterfall. We were stopped for nearly an hour, and I let the sounds of the waterfall soak into my being. Even living on an island as I do, hearing running water is rare, and waterfalls have always been my weakness. The serene scene was augmented by my son, who enjoyed his first time in "real" outdoors, and the laughter of my hubby and father as they shared funny stories or jokes.

Looking back to this weekend, I know I won't be remembering how horrible I felt, or how I hadn't written my daily quota of words. I would remember watching my family interact beside a beautiful natural setting in my home province with nothing on their minds except being with each other.

Breathe, Believe, Be

Everything will be alright in the end... if it's not alright then it's not yet the end.

~~ Sonny, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2012)

I don't know where this quote originally came from (I believe John Lennon said a variation on it), but I heard it in the (amazing) film, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. This quote has been much on my mind lately. I have had a couple of occasions in as many days to share it with people who I thought needed to hear it. And so, I was inspired to share the following post from my previous blog.

*   *   *

Something very interesting happened to me a few years back.  I realized, one day, that I am old enough to know stuff.  Not just stuff I read somewhere or heard from someone else.  I actually have enough life experience to back up what I know.  I'm not sure when that happened, but I suppose it happens to everyone eventually.

When I was 21, I was almost killed by a drunk driver.  I spent the following year in excruciating pain while I waited for my shattered leg to heal and relearned how to do almost everything without the use of my now-paralyzed right hand.

When I was 31, my husband and I lost almost everything we owned in a tornado.  We picked up what we could save, discarded what we couldn't, and went forward from there.

People still ask me how I dealt with those things.  I learned to do three things.  I find these three things can get me through pretty much everything from daily frustrations like heavy traffic to tragedies that you always hope you never have to face:

1. Breathe

Take a deep breath.  Then take another one.  People have a tendency to hold their breath when something hurts (physically, emotionally, or in any other way).  Physical therapy taught me that you have to breathe through pain.  All holding your breath does is deprive you of air.  Hold your breath too much and you eventually pass out.

2. Believe

Believe that it's going to be OK.  Believe in yourself and your strength.  Believe that God will handle whatever you can't.

3. Be

Be calm.  Be brave.  Remember that ultimately nothing lasts forever.  Be aware of the big picture, but just work on the next thing that needs you attention.  Don't try to take step number 327 when you're still on step number 3.

And that's it.  That's my big secret to surviving the things that I could have allowed to crush me.  I don't have any great, profound wisdom.  All I have is just three simple, little steps.

Wishful Wednesdays: Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

http://bohemiart.deviantart.com/art/by-the-name-of-Annabel-lee-352148401

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me-

Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

-Edgar Allan Poe

A Chill in the Air.

Google Search for Fog. Labeled free for re-use.

On the Pacific coast of Canada, we always know when Fall is over.

In most places, its signified by frost, snow, or a severe lack of leaves on trees. Breath is visible in the air, and it's cold if you venture outside. In my town, the quaint Harbour City of Nanaimo, Fall's end means one thing, and one thing only. Fog.

If you've ever wondered what living in a cloud is like, let me tell you it's not pleasant. Beautiful though it may be, and as romantic as walking through condensed mist down streets can be, the chill - the bone-marrow deep chill- afterwards is not worth fulfilling the fantasy. Blankets, scalding baths, and even the stiffest straight scotch cannot fend that off once it sets in.

My solution to the BC winter? Wake up, wrap a fleece blanket around yourself, put fuzzy socks on and make a pot of tea. While it steeps, take a wake-up sipper of your favorite 15 year old whiskey, and enjoy the beauty of the fog from inside, nestled on a couch with a favorite book or a plate of breakfast.

An Ode to Boxes (as moving day approaches)

Oh, pretty boxes,
Why can't you fill yourselves
With cans out of the pantry
And dishes from the shelves?

And all the linens within the closet
Into your open mouths deposit,
And all the rugs around the floor,
The junk from in the kitchen drawer,

The movies, books, and art supplies.
And  knick-knacks, pictures, shoes, and clothes
Pack them right before my eyes.

Stack yourselves up to the ceiling
I beg you. See?
I'm even kneeling!

Then -- when all the packing's done --
Into the truck march one by one,
Then take yourselves across the miles
And sort into organized piles,

And unpack all
And put it away,
So I can find other ways to spend my day.

Oh, pretty boxes,
Why can't you pack yourselves,
With cans out of the pantry
And dishes from the shelves?