Sahmain Greetings

I love this time of year when we can roam about, fully out of the closet about our witchiness.  While my three little guys are getting ready for the big night on the 31st, I love the days right now with the changing leaves, the change in temperature, the change in the food we eat.  It's fairly safe to say that I enjoy the change of seasons and all that represents.

One change I'm going to embrace is this: I need to do something differently in the way I operate as a type A witch. Now that I've started school and life is moving more rapidly along than normal, I find myself a bit adrift. In my last post, I noted how poorly a job I've done at keeping Spirit with me during challenging times, and really, what's the point of having Spirit in your life at all if you don't usher it in during the best and worst times of life? Talk about not fully exploiting your resources.

While I've never felt more organized (you should see my house--it's insane. I'm not sure what's gotten into me), I am really stressed out. There's a lot going on behind the scenes here, namely that Cute Husband is planning on a very long trip for work and we are mentally and emotionally preparing not to have him in our lives next year. I know this is taking its toll in ways I don't realize yet, but I've determined not to let this control how well I live. It's not unusual for him to go away, but the last time he was gone for so long, I ended up in the hospital from the stress of it all. I don't want to do that again. I know there's a smarter and better way to manage.

Last night, while I was trying to decompress after the kids went to bed, after calling the dr.'s answering service to investigate the source of an angry full body rash on my oldest (looks like another allergy to antibiotics), and after spending the day shuttling the children to different activities while adjusting to the absence of my husband for the next week, I lay in bed, watching a dumb reality tv show while knitting a hat. I sat there, mindlessly watching a medium talk about her life and convincing people that she could talk to their dead loved ones, and she said something that made me stop knitting, close my eyes, and smile. "You can't do it alone," she said, to a shocked middle aged man, "Spirit is standing right beside you to help every step of the way." Now, I don't believe she was speaking directly to me, but I couldn't help but be grateful for that little coincidence in timing.

It crossed my mind that she's right--Spirit is standing right next to me, able to help me when I need it. My task is to best figure out how to access it and believe that all will be well. A favorite writer posted something online yesterday about a parable of a little sparrow found lying on its back with its scrawny legs pressed up against the sky. A cat or something walked up to it and asked what it thought it was doing, and the sparrow replied, "I heard the sky was falling, so I thought I'd try to help keep it up where it belongs." I laughed at the vision, and realize that's what I'm trying to do myself. I'm trying to manage all of the details of our life with the idea that I'm going to make it fit into a certain packaged idea of how I want things to be. I'm trying to make it all work. I'm going to control the outcome, when that's not really possible, is it?

Part of the frustration I feel right now is the uncertainty of my husband's safety during his next job away. He's going to a dangerous place to do dangerous things, and this scares me. I was hoping that my little guys would just be thinking about the absence in terms of time away from us, but then my smart little witch in all her 7 year old wisdom asked me this, as we sat eating lunch yesterday at a deli near our home. "What if Dad d.i.e.s.?" she spelled, so as not to have to say the word out loud. I promised her that he always comes home to us, but how can I make such a promise? And how can I comfort these guys when I feel the same fears? I cried a little when they weren't watching, but what do I know?

So last night as I lay in bed, I thought it might be a good idea to find a way to link in with all that matters to me about being part of a larger web. Linking in with any community that feeds us right now, and finding ways to be outside, to feel part of something beautiful and meaningful and that doesn't allow us to be crippled by our fears. I am a work in progress, no doubt, but am hopeful that just this little crack of clarity is enough to move me toward changing how I function.

The Power of Receiving

One of the things that always makes me smile is when my friend and soul sister Joy says this to me: "Tell yourself that you are open to receive all the blessings of the Universe." It's actually really simple and doesn't require much undue effort. The act of opening up to receive is quite powerful, though, in a world where we are taught that it is better to give, to be busy, to achieve--to operate from a place of action and doing, instead of being given permission to sit, be open, and accept.

I think it's fair to say that we find value in our ability to get things done. There is purpose in making a list and crossing things off, one by one, so that at the end of the day, we can sit back and revel in our ability to achieve results. What doesn't happen and isn't valued nearly so much is the converse idea: to sit back, contemplate, and accept--to receive. We can accomplish quite a bit by doing, but we can accomplish just as much by being, by choosing to receive all the gifts of the Universe. It's a natural duality. And it's one that I could use some practice on.

Elfin One passed along the book "The Power of Receiving" by Amanda Owen. In it, she outlines how we can achieve our goals not just by plodding energetically and full of productivity toward that goal, but by developing a system whereby we can be open to receiving it into our consciousness. It's a fascinating study of how to manifest what we want by using a different strategy than we might be used to. I'm still in the early part of the book, but am already floored by her simple but intuitive approach.

In the meantime, I'm going to practice being more open and more receptive. We'll see how it goes.

I Dwell in Possibility

It's been a while, and I've completed a fascinating experiment: I'm horrible at merging my spirit life with my everyday. So much of creating this blog space was about incorporating a little bit of Spirit in the mundane details of my life, yet I've been neglecting to do any of it, including the blogging. I vow to do better.

The last time I posted, I was waiting to hear how my life was about to change. I spent the better part of spring and most of the beginning of summer waiting to hear about just that, and I did a terrible job of worrying about it instead of just trusting all would be well. I did get the scholarship and I did get into my counseling program, but I did harass the hell out of my two favorite witches, Cute Husband and my mom the entire time. I was awful about accepting that I couldn't be in control of the outcome. I worried. I paced. I chewed on the different outcomes...it was agonizing and I just couldn't stop. 

And of course it was all right. You'd think I'd have learned by now that it all would be fine. That I'd get what I need, and that the Universe would provide. And what I've learned, again, is that it would serve me well to try to keep my finger off the control panel and just let happen what's going to happen anyway. At no point in all these months did I trust in the process, usher in Spirit to lend a helping hand, or did I just settle into the flow. Apparently, I'm a very type A witch.

Luckily enough, there's always the chance for redemption, and I'm grateful that I have this space to come back to. Throughout these past months, I've come to understand that operating at high speed without giving myself over to a spiritual hit every now and then depletes me. I fill up my time with other things that don't feed me, and that's not helpful. The good thing is that there are endless possibilities for improvement.

On The Cusp

I'm sure there are many astrologically important symbols to represent life on the cusp of change, but frankly, I can't be bothered to look them up. I don't need to do any in depth readings to understand that my life is about to change in a profound way and that I'm poised on that cusp with a choice. My typical reaction to change is deep and committed resistance. I'm old enough now in my 41 year old dotage to recognize that this reaction hasn't always served me very well and is actually pretty destructive. So I'm going to try something new.

I've had the wonderful luxury of being able to stay at home with Sweet Boy and my two little witches while they were little. I got to see all of their milestones, be with them as they learned to navigate the world, and connect with them deeply to create a sense of safety and love in their lives. I was not always so good with the details, but have loved that I was able always to be there for them. And I have complained the entire time about the sheer tedium of being a stay-at-home mom. I wouldn't have minded the mothering part; it's the housewife job that I loathe and am not so good at doing. Nothing makes me want to jump off a bridge more than deciding whether I should clean out the refrigerator or sort through the hand-me-downs to take to Goodwill. I could give a rat's ass about most of the details of running a house, and wouldn't mind in the least outsourcing some of those decisions, which, really, just isn't ever going to happen.

Nonetheless, there are days of great joy and days of abject boredom. I went through a crisis last year when I realized that the lack of intellectual motivation in my day job was making me feel like my brain would permanently atrophy if I didn't do something else. Blackwood, my wise and cute younger brother, helped me realize that it's okay to pursue another dream without having to give up on the idea that I could still try to be a good mother. I guess I always thought I had to choose one or the other: stay at home with my kids until they were old enough to vote, or have a career. It's been tricky for me to get my head around the idea that I actually can do both things, and this is rather a terrifying event on my personal horizon.

I'm waiting, on the cusp here, to learn whether I get accepted into a degree program for counseling, and also whether it will be funded by a scholarship. Both will determine how I manage my current day job of running the house and caring for these little ones. Normally, I'd be pacing around, needing an answer, but I'm trying to just sit here in the quiet unknown for a little longer and enjoy where I am for now, until the next piece of the puzzle drops and my life changes. It's sort of like that time just before it starts to rain, when the air is heavy and the leaves on the trees look their greenest and fullest. It's sort of exciting to know that something is going to happen.

In the same way, Cute Husband's job has me waiting, too. It turns out that he's going to be moving away from us for a while to work--longer than he ever has before. Before we knew what was going to happen, we were a happy little family unit living completely in the now. He and I know that's all going to change dramatically. It's a lot to process, and we haven't yet told our kids. I want them to be blissfully ignorant for a little while longer yet, as sometimes not knowing is a gift.

When he has gone overseas before for 6 or 7 months at a stretch, I have often suffered in missing him and a lot of that suffering is due to not wanting to accept the fact that he had to be there. I complained that it wasn't fair, that he was forced into making unfair choices, that it wasn't fair that he was missing Sweet Boy's life. The overall theme being that life wasn't being fair. I am hopeful that now that I know he'll be moving away for almost a year, and then living overseas for a full year following that, that I'll be able to accept that it has to happen that way in order for us to create some physical stability for our three guys here. They won't have to switch school, they won't have to make new friends, they won't have to leave the house and neighborhood they love, and they won't have to feel uprooted. They'll just miss their dad terribly. And so will I.

But, resisting it isn't going to make it any easier. And so here I sit, hopeful that I have the strength to follow my own advice and recognize that I can choose to look at our situation for what it is--a change in the way that we are together. We'll create something new, and we'll try to accept it for what it is instead of wishing it were different. We'll see how it goes.

All Good Things in Good Time

Wise philosopher Thomas Petty once penned, "The waiting is the hardest part," and I think he was on to something. It might be an easy thing to overlook, but really, the waiting is the point sometimes. "Wait and see", "more will be revealed", and the ever condescending "this too shall pass" all seem to point to the notion that with patience, waiting will be worth it. Seeds will grow into plants, babies will be nourished in the womb, attraction will grow to love...Well, I call bullshit. Here's why:

Sometimes, waiting isn't such a hot idea. Sometimes, things require immediate action. You'll burn the risotto if you leave it sitting in the pan for too long, gazing out the window looking into the wood of a summer's nigh'...I mean, come on already. I know I've said before that nothing is an emergency, but sometimes there's a very fine line between waiting for something to follow its course and just wasting time because you're afraid to address an issue head-on. And it is this, I suppose, that I'm fired up about today.

I guess when you come right down to it, I just don't want the people I love to be wasting so much damn time. Let's live a little. Let loose, take a risk. Follow your dreams, follow your heart, follow the yellow brick road or whatever it is that inspires you to be your best self. Isn't that what we've been put here to do?

Well, Pixie Girl. Aren't you the smartie pants and don't you have it all figured out? How's that working for you these days? Funny you should ask: it's not. I've spent the last ten days absorbing the energetic musings of my little people whom I've just pushed out the door to school. And I've done nothing. Nothing at all. Today was the first I've pulled out my cards and done a reading, and to be honest, I'm a little miffed not to have been able to move forward on other projects that I have on tap. My real job has been getting in the way.

Hm, so maybe the ranting against the people in your life who aren't taking action might be a little, shall we say, hypocritical, then? Hmm, oh Wise One with your bossy blog posts telling everyone else what to do? Well, funny you ask. I guess I'm a bit tired of waiting to get my shizz in order. One could argue that all good things happen as they should, in their own good time, but I'm not buying it. We make our own luck and our own choices. I'm off to get moving on some things: namely, fine-tuning my application to grad school, finishing the damn laundry, and logging some miles for a race I'm training for. 

What about you?

Beach Bliss

So this last weekend found me up north again, visiting my family this time, at my mom's beach house. For the record, I feel so blessed that she lets us come up there and soak in all that wonderful energy floating around. What a gift!

Also, I was able to link up with my little brother, Blackwood, and his boyfriend, The Tinkerer. They made the long haul up north for a stay just short of 48 hours, and it was a fun-filled couple of days together. We snuck away for a stretch on Saturday afternoon, leaving my little people and our other siblings at the house while we found a new metaphysical book store. The going, the doing, the browsing and the subsequent shopping in the quaint little seaside town were some of my favorite parts of the weekend. I always get a great hit of Spirit when I'm with those two. They live so strongly in their beliefs that I always come away feeling more attuned to my own beliefs as a result.

On the way to the bookstore, I mentioned to Blackwood that I was feeling ready to set up my altar and get things moving along, but that I'm heeding the advice of my cards and taking things slowly within this learning process. He and The Tinkerer took it upon themselves to find some altar items for me while we were walking through the shops, and in his sweet way, he presented me with the perfect pieces that honors what I honor. I was completely touched.

We also spent some time talking about relationships, and how the ones with which we struggle are really about us. Every time I see my friend make a decision that is fueled by her addiction instead of by truth, it actually stirs up in me the feelings I had for almost two decades when I watched my youngest brother lose himself and his life to heroin. I get addled, but that's my issue, not hers. I am still struggling to find my place within the friendship, but the lucky thing is this: there's no emergency. I have enough distance to watch things unfold for a while without needing to do something obnoxious or damaging. I can take my judgment over here in this little corner and sit still for a while until I work that out and get over things, or decide to change something.

Perhaps I should do a little magick to work some this out a bit. Perhaps I'll hurry along and set up my altar after all, especially now that I have some pieces of the beach with me. I'm curious how this will fly with my very traditional mother-in-law who is planning to visit at the end of the weekend. Could be funny.

Fairy Magick

Well, the fairies seemed to want that last post all to themselves. They've come up a lot for me lately, as I'm currently reading a chapter book with my little witch called Ruby the Red from the Rainbow Fairy collection. Also, the fairy trees we made this winter are colorful little pops of energy when you stare out the back door into the yard. They always make me smile. Here's a picture:

 It's not the best visual, but there are three containters: a lady bug, dragonfly, and blue glass vase that each holds one wish from each of my little people here at the house. They're a little water logged from the recent rains, but the ink has washed away and the bottoms of the vase are filled with colorful pink water, which makes the girls think there's magick at work.

I've mentioned before that my fairy cards are in hiding, and it's been part of my goal to unearth them, along with countless other items that have yet to be unpacked from our last move. I could use a little help from them, as what I'm doing doesn't seem to be working.

This past weekend I met up with Gypsy Girl at a borrowed beach house up north. We spent some time playing with our cards and catching up on the details of our lives, and it was restorative as all get out. We also linked up with Elfin One, a bit, on the phone, and it was great to be all together in the same place, albeit briefly. I am so lucky to have enduring friendships that evolve right along with me, and I know that tending to them with texts, email and calls is another way to connect to Spirit, as these relationships feed me in a way that no others do.

I have begun to struggle a little with one of my relationships, however, because I can't understand why a dear friend is unwilling to live her best life. Listen to me, all powerful one over here who thinks she knows it all. But really, it's hard sometimes to sit back and watch someone you love not take that next step that will make her happy, that will fill her up with purpose and power, and that will let her be her very best self. It's actually more than hard--it's agonizing. I want so much to help, to push just a little harder, to help her to see that it's okay to be scared, but that sometimes the best change comes from the scariest starting point. But how can I do this? What's my place in this friendship? What are my rights? The part of me that knows how not to ruin the friendship sits and quietly supports. But the part of me that wants to be fed by truth, by absolute and essential truth, can't stand it anymore. There's sometimes a great amount of pretending that goes on, and frankly, my bullshit-o-meter is at zero. I'm tired of pretending, and tired of trying to dance around the very large elephant sitting in the center of every single conversation we have.

On Thursday, I have my next Covenant Circle meeting, and our topic is "Suffering," which comes at a good time for me, clearly. I think I'll introduce this idea of suffering in the friendship I'm struggling with, as I'm not sure that my sweet friend realizes that she's got to be getting fed somehow by this suffering on some level. We all do this, I think, unknowingly. I am having such difficulty watching it unfold any longer. It doesn't help that there's a level of addiction being fed, as there's fundamentally something that's broken at the heart of it all. I just wish I could stop being so angry about it and move back to where I've been for years now, sending love and light, praying, being supportive. But this makes me suffer.  What to do?

In the way of true cowards, I can speak freely about it on this post because my friend doesn't read this blog. And I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate hearing about my trouble with the friendship in such an open forum. But it helps me to recognize that once you open the door on truth, you can just shut it again and pretend it never was opened.

A Little Help From Our Friends

Just when I think I've reached my limit with this house and its mind of its own, I read this lovely excerpt from Blackwood (powerful leader of a NC coven and adorable younger brother) who suggests welcoming the fairies into the mix to help get your home in order. He writes: "As a hedge witch who is interested in hearth and home, contacting the fairies is an excellent idea.  While home is a place to relax, it takes a lot of energy to maintain a healthy, happy home.  The fairies can help lighten your load."  

Retreat

Recently, I've been hunkering down and working on my essay, and have to confess that I have no idea how I'm going to go back to school and balance my normal "work" at home if I can't even get the application together without the house falling apart. It's slow going and sort of exasperating, the level of organization it takes to run a house. To be honest, I rather loathe it. I was not cut out to be a homemaker, I think, and we will be happiest someday if we could outsource all the parts of homemaking that don't feed us.

Ha! Wouldn't that be lovely?! Not going to happen for this chic. I am trying to create a sense of purpose and joy in undertaking the things around the house I most detest. I don't enjoy searching for lost socks. I rather don't appreciate scrubbing pink Dora toothpaste from the light switch in the upstairs bathroom. I could do without rehanging the front shingle that fell off the house during the last hurricane. I wouldn't mind someone else doing these things. Somedays I actually wonder if I could conjure up the money and person to come in and take over. Again, this just isn't going to happen. I usually whine about it for a while, then go make something delicious in the kitchen and feel that all's right with the world again.

Am looking forward to having a mini retreat this weekend at a borrowed beach house. No children or Cute Husband, no real responsibilities, and a world of quiet. I am looking forward to reconnecting with Spirit, watching some dvds of Downton Abbey, and catching up with my favorite soul sisters. Most likely I'll be touching base from there with you all, too.

One, Two, Three...Click

At the end of The Wizard of Oz Dorothy wants nothing more than to go home. Glenda, the Good Witch, tells Dorothy that she just has to click her heels three times to find herself right back where she started, in her own backyard. I love this idea that we already have everything we need, and that when we go searching, usually we end up right back where we started, too. This resonates pretty fiercely for someone who has moved every two years in the past 20. It used to be that I had start-over-itis, and looked forward to exploring the next place we lived. After about two years, I'd start to get restless. I took great pride that in my last teaching position, I stayed for three years. It seemed like an enormous accomplishment for me.

This wanderlust has served me well. I've met wonderful people, stepped in plenty of different oceans, climbed some mountains, lived in a country that spoke languages different than mine, learned some cultural sensitivity, and mostly, learned how fantastic it feels to go home. Home has always symbolized where my mom is, and if you met her, you'd understand why. In a life of constant motion and travel, she has always been the anchor for me. I could always just go home, settle in, and get back my bearings.

While we were living overseas, my mom got breast cancer and it was perhaps the biggest wake up call of my life to date. She is healthy and fine now, but it slowly dawned on me that if you don't create in yourself your own anchor, you might someday become unmoored. This is hard to do, for me at least, in a life of constant motion. For myself and the family I'm raising, I realized that I needed to do a better job of creating that sense of home for ourselves, regardless of where we lived. This is what I'm up to right now. I'm digging in, despite hitting the two year mark, when typically the brown cardboard moving boxes magically appear. I'm so grateful for the reprieve, and look forward to at least one more year here in this home we love.

When I was in high school, I took a French class and was the only student in it. My teacher was sort of lazy, but she was more creative than I gave her credit for at the time. During that year, she assigned Candide for me to read, an endlessly long (for me) and meandering story that tested my limited knowledge of French and caused me some anguish. Back then, I sort of nodded a lot when she explained the nuances of Voltaire's philosophical musings, the basic jist of which was, "Il faut cultiver notre jardin" which loosely translated means, "One must cultivate our garden." At the time, I thought it was a sort of lame ending for a book, but when I lived in North Africa, worrying about my mother during her sickness, and craving being closer to home, Candide's revelation kept circling through my brain.

And I got it, really, that all he's saying is that we need to cultivate our own garden, tend to our own business and needs, and instead of traveling all over the globe, we can just look, ahem, in our own backyard. Wiser, more grounded folk might not need to travel to another continent to figure this out. What can you do? This is apparently my process.

On a literal level, there's something to be said for being in one spot long enough to plant roots--both in the everyday details of life, and in the flower beds out back. Growing something takes a long time: friendships, routines, a sense of home. And if you sit still long enough, you can let things compost a bit. I've been doing a lot of this lately, and it's sort of wonderful. When you aren't up and moving, you can focus on big picture things in a different way.

All this is to say that I am planting something pretty exciting in this garden of mine. Today I wrote the rough draft of an essay I'm preparing for an application to graduate school. I want to get a degree in counseling, so today I started. Of course, it's an online degree program that I can pack up and move to the next place. What's most exciting to me is that this degree is just training me to do what I already feel I do. I already am who I need to be to chase after this dream--it just fits me. So today after I finished my first draft, I smiled and thought of those ruby slippers, not because I was feeling nostalgic, but because it's refreshing to feel like I'm traveling a path that's of my own making, and that is my life's purpose. I mean that's not something that happens to me every day. It's worth some red glitter.

Thanks to Brigit

When I used to imagine what it would be like to have the time and courage to witch out a little, I always envisioned myself in some cottage in the forest, where I could say things like, "This morn I walked in the wood and wandered the path of green" or some such crap. It might look something like this:

It's taken me a while to realize that that cottage in the forest is an ideal and that the goal here in all of this lifey muck is to create that cottage where I am, to be where I live, and to give that ideal some legs in my real life. So instead of waiting to move to the Cotswalds to wander my gardens in a gauzy white gown with a wreath of roses in my hair, I will do what I can where I am. Take the kids to school, clip coupons, switch the laundry, and then, in the middle of all that, say a prayer beneath the full moon, or stir the cauldron in the kitchen while I'm making Sloppy Joe's for dinner.

I don't think I understood this fully until I visited Brigit's chapel this past summer in Kildare. While there, I wandered the grounds, prayed inside the fire pit behind the church, and felt on a very deep level that I had been there before a long time ago. The message I took home with me was this: I may have once been a devoted follower of Brigit, and may have served her in a life of spiritual austerity, but this is now, and being Pixie Girl in the here and now, I can still serve her in the time in which I am living. My service to the magickal might not seem as sacred in a house with aluminum siding than in a thatched roof hut, but that's all just a matter of perception.  It's all one.

"I'm Not a Witch--I'm Your Wife!"

I was watching The Wizard of Oz on Saturday morning with my two witches in training (6 and 3 years old), and was struck by the idea that the whole concept of a witch has been around forever, yet there's still an enormous stigma attached to saying out loud that you believe in them. We seem to inundate our children with fairies and witches and princesses, convince them that these things are the magical parts of life, and then when they're old enough to know better, we tell them all of that stuff was just make believe and to get on board with what real life is all about. It's a strange cycle. They have to unlearn to live with a sense of magic and wonder in life to cope as adults, yet it seems to me that a little magic is exactly what we could all stand to have a little more of.

(Note: My little brother/Witchy mentor who is an official Wiccan leader has told me that when we say magick, we need to misspell it. Good to know.)

I spent some of my teen years and early 20s re-watching The Princess Bride, a movie about true love, honor, and yes, a bit of magick. My favorite character is played by Carol Kane. She is married to Miracle Max, the dishonored medicine man who the king's son banished from the kingdom. The main characters end up at Max's house when they need a miracle. Billy Crystal plays this shlumpy character with perfection, and Carol Kane plays his crone wife with great hilarity. Here's a photo of her:

At one point, Mad Max tells the main characters that he can't create magick anymore, and Kane comes screeching onto the screen screaming, "Liar! Liar!" Mad Max says, "Go away, Witch!" and she retorts, "I'm not a witch! I'm your wife!"

This scene always knocks me out. I throw around this line from time to time when Cute Husband comments on my time with my two favorite witches, Gypsy Girl and Elfin One. It takes us back to when we were dating and would loaf around watching movies together on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

It's hard to incorporate a sense of magick into your life if you don't acknowledge that it's floating all around us anyway, despite what we're taught to believe. I'm working hard at staying plugged in. Some days it's easier than others.

Book of Shadows

From what it sounds like, any witch worth her broomstick needs to have a Book of Shadows. My understanding of the BOS is that this is a journal to track your magical work. It's a place where you write down spells, acknowledge your rules of magic, and is a sacred tool to be used as you practice your craft. For me, it sounds like a cook book of sorts, a place where you essentially spell out the recipes for the magic you're creating.

I have never been particularly drawn to creating a BOS because it reminds me of all those episodes of Charmed that I watched in my 30s when I should have been doing more productive things. Also, the whole idea of a Book of Shadows feels a little creepy and conjures up for me images like this:

(which feels a little too Dungeons and Dragon-y for me).

But if I refer back to an earlier posting, I recall that I'm going to start where I am and just "Be Pixie Girl", and in regard to my BOS, I'm going to find something that fits me a little bit more appropriately.  Here's one idea:

I love that she's a fellow red-head and that she seems positively bored, and is therefore looking as if she doesn't take everything too seriously. I also like this hand-made option:

I was never a good girlie girl in that I don't really know how to put together a scrap-book. However, being a former teacher, I know a thing or two about the 3 ring binder, so I'm hopeful to be able to construct a BOS that is appealing to my eye, user-friendly, and feels like it belongs to me.

Bridgie

I cannot honor Brigit without mentioning my favorite Brigit of all: earth mom to one of my oldest, dearest friends, goddess among men, divine worker among sick children, and one mean cook. When I think about the powerful women I know, she is at the top of my list. I've known her for most of my life, and have to be honest that she's always scared me just the tiniest bit. If you saw her, you'd immediately be impressed by her grace, poise and beauty, but you'd also get just the slightest vibe that this is not a woman to mess with.

Bridgie is no-nonsense, practical, and deeply insightful, in so much that if you're, say, being a little mean to her daughter in seventh grade because you're jealous of how beautiful, smart, and overall amazing this girl is, you might want to avoid seeing Bridgie around because she might just want to kick your ass, in a purely metaphorical way. She's a little funny that way--you don't mess with the people she loves. She is fierce and strong and says the things that need to be said when no one else wants to say them. And yet, if you need some comfort, or support, or kindness, she provides it freely and with great love.

I know her best through her daughter, Gyspy Girl, who is my go-to soul sister. You need truth, good advice, someone to tell you, "Everything will be fine?" She's the one to do it. As my mom would say, Gypsy Girl didn't "just lick that off the wall." She learned it from her mom.

And then, just this small thing: she talks to the ghost that lives in her old farm-house.

It's not that often that you meet a nurse practitioner with a Master's Degree working in a world-renowned hospital who tends to children fighting cancer during the day, and then goes home at night to scold a ghost for tossing all the baskets off the tops of the kitchen cabinets. Yet Bridgie just naturally has the ability to work seamlessly in both dimensions. What's exceptional about her is that she doesn't create any fan-fare about any of her roles; she just quietly goes about her business, and it's a beautiful thing to know that she is in the world, doing important work with the grace and passion that makes her so powerful.

Not a bad introduction to the power of Brigit.

Imbolc is on the Horizon: Brigit Post 1

Seeing as this is the year that I've been seriously feeling Brigit, I'm going to spend a little time in the next week sending her some love. Imbolc marks the half-way point between the winter and spring solstice, and is the Irish day of celebration for Brigit, saint and Pagan Goddess alike.

When Cute Husband and I were traipsing joyfully around Ireland this summer, we had no real agenda, other than to follow our noses and find lovely things to eat, see, and do. One of the few items on my list of things to see was to visit Kildare, where Brigit's cathedral is located. We hadn't planned to do this until the end of the trip, and I was really looking forward to seeing it. On our first day of wandering, we decided to drive west from Dublin to Galway, which took about four hours. On the way, we got a little hungry, and went looking for a place to stop for lunch. We were en route to Connemara, winding our way through gorgeous emerald grass and treacherous stretches of road (the Irish just plow through the narrow two lane roads at great speed), and kept seeing signs for Brigit's Garden. Upon finding a brief write up in our Lonely Planet guidebook, we decided to check it out.

We turned off the main road and meandered along a sleepy back road, passing farms and climbing up hills which would crest and provide the most beautiful green vistas. Cute Husband's allergies were in full force as every single thing was in bloom. It was a rich and gorgeous setting, and when we pulled into the parking lot, we were thrilled to see just a few cars parked outside the walkway into the garden. Initially, we were just hoping to satisfy our appetites, but after a delicious meal in the funky, organic kitchen (with its own French chef), we began to make our way through the garden. Here's the entrance:

This was such an extraordinary find. The garden was an interactive art gallery, essentially, with sculpture and playful touches, all honoring Brigit as Goddess. The garden itself was divided into the four Pagan seasons of the year, and within each section, there was sculpture and structured space to honor the traits of each season. It was so clever and beautifully constructed. There was not a soul around, so we were able to spend quiet time exploring and delighting in each discovery. I especially loved the fairy hill and the thatched huts, as it brought to life my ideas of what Irish fairy tales have always meant to me.

Here's a picture of a fairy tree, with written notes attached to the limbs of the trees, sending out their wishes to the fairies:

(My favorite wishes were the ones that read: "I hope my gram isn't sick anymore" and "I just want to hold Mara O'Donnell in my arms once more." They slayed me.)

Inside the thatched hut was a beautiful meditation space, with long pillows on window seats and a desk with scraps of bright paper, string and a pen for writing out your wishes. I loved these fairy trees so much.  Here are some more:

We continued to roam, and found Brigit's throne and fire pit, and at this point I was feeling seriously witchy. Cute Husband, who is completely against any kind of religion and who is absolutely, wonderfully supportive of my spiritual leanings, started wandering off to explore while I walked through the space dedicated to Brigit. Here's what the design looks like of the pathway leading up to her throne:

Here's the walkway looking from the throne:

And here is the final destination, Brigit's Throne and Fire Pit:

(Doesn't that throne look familiar?)

I desperately wanted my witches (Gypsy Girl and Elfin One) with me to see this, and also I wanted my sweet mom to be there with me. She would have been so deeply delighted. I thought, too, of the Brigit who has had a significant effect on my belief in life beyond the veil. Imagine being a little kid, going over to your friend's 200 year old farm house for a play-date, and hearing how her very powerful, serious yet lovely mom talks to the ghost who lives with them. 

At any rate, here's the first of a few posts in honor of Brigit. After seeing how her Irish family continues to honor her, how could I not be in awe of this Goddess?

Confessions of the Magpie

In an effort to listen to my cards, to honor my new commitment to keep it real, and to respect people for who they are, I've spent some days recently chewing on a problem. We're here, in the same house now going on 1.5 years, and it's time to decide how deeply to dig in to our life here. In the next few months, we'll learn where Cute Husband's job will send us next, and while I'd love to stay put, chances are high that we'll have to relocate. I desperately want to stay, but I'm not holding my breath. Also, I could stomp my feet and refuse to go, but I'm just grateful he has a job, so I'm not going to push it.

While we're waiting, I'm still interested in making connections with people here, cultivating a spirit of shared community, and feeling like we actually live/belong here, even if it's going to be temporary. Cute Husband works in a job that's fairly specific and is comprised of manly men doing manly things, who happen to be some of the best at that in the world. While I am not one of those men, and am not the best at anything in the world (although I do make a mean chocolate chip cookie), I tend to try to stay connected to the other wives in this community because we share the same weird lives. I have made some tremendous friends who are family to me, yet I've also met my share of women who are a little lacking in the depth department, who are a little caught up in image, and a bit too impressed with their husband's line of work. Sometimes Alpha Males marry Alpha Females, and many of the Alpha Females around me are kind and wonderful; many are hell on wheels.

My problem is this: it is easier and less work to fall in with the women around me whose lives mirror mine so closely in the day to day, than to seek out a brand new community of women who don't understand what it's like to move so frequently and to be so far from home. I'm a little lazy that way. The positive side of this is that there is always instant short-hand with the other work wives, and an instant community. I'm not reinventing the wheel every two years when we move. It seems wise to live where I am, to take advantage of the blessings of having this community available to me, and to know that there are women around me who get my life.

But sometimes, these ladies are a little daunting to be around. For example, when my husband travels for 6 months, I don't decide to sail across the Atlantic to England by myself in a small sailboat. I don't run Iron Man tri-athalons, and I don't go to medical school. All I really want to do is sit on my couch and read until he gets back. I love being surrounded by these wonderful and engaging women, but the part of me that is a wee bit more competitive than I'm comfortable with starts to rear its ugly head, and then I'm up shit's creek. I torture myself by comparing myself to these people, when really, there's no need.

I also have just the slightest tendency to be attracted to the shiny, pretty surface of things when my competitive juices start flowing, like a magpie on the hunt for more things to line her nest with. It is the shiny things I'm trying to get rid of in my life these days. I don't want to feel like I have to keep up, or measure myself against anyone but me. Frankly, it's exhausting and secondly, it distracts me from being me and doing the things that feed me.

This is one of those things I discovered last year on the couch, and I admit to being pretty ashamed about it. Once I realized, though, that I was spending so much time and energy on something so shallow, something that seemed shiny but lacked real substance, I promised myself to stop, and to honor the parts of me that aren't like everyone else. That make me Me.

You can imagine how effortless that has been.

So yesterday, I decided to put my money where my mouth is, and after a few days of dithering, came to a decision that pleases me. I was invited to two events on the same day: a Wives' party in the morning, hosted by one of the Alpha Females, and a Covenant Circle, hosted by an older woman through my lovely, wackadoo church in the evening. I knew that the party in the morning would be fun, that I'd meet some new ladies, and that I'd come home feeling a hit of energy that comes from a party. I also knew that high would last approximately through dinner, and then it would just be an empty memory that didn't have any real meaning. Yes, it would be fun, but what would I have to show for it? How would it feed me?

The Covenant Circle was also a meeting of women, and I was curious what we would accomplish. It turned out that we are a mix of Jews, recovering Catholics, former Methodists, and a stray witch who shared coffee, banana chocolate chip muffins, and two hours' worth of conversation about Big Picture Ideas: Faith, Fear, Courage, etc. The Circle felt a little bit magical, to be honest. I can't remember a time when I was in a room full of strangers sharing such intimate ideas on how we view existence.

If ever the Universe was sending me a pop quiz, it was then. I had a very clear choice: chase after something frothy and light, or dig in a little, and spend time exploring what I believe, what I seek, and what feeds me. And not to exploit the metaphor too far, but I left last night's Circle with a full spirit.

I know, I know--I could have gone to both events, but I'm tired of chasing the wrong dream. I don't begrudge anyone who would rather go to a party because it's fun. For me, though, I want to spend my time focusing on what makes me most happy--most content--and for now, this is so.

So mote it be, sister.

Welcome, Follower!

I don't mean to brag, but I officially have "a following" (even if that follower happens to be one of my best friends whom I met 35 years ago on the elementary school playground). It's exciting to think that I'm not just writing into the void where no one is listening. Thanks for your support.

Faith

I've been reading a little too much Anne Lamott today, so I apologize if I start to sound like her. She's one of my favorite writers and one of those authors I go to when I need a spiritual hit. While Lamott writes primarily about her born again Christian faith, she doesn't shove it down the reader's throat, which is a nice change of pace for most books about religion. She just tells you in the plainest language how she discovered faith, and how much that has shaped her life.

We have some interesting books at our house about faith or the lack of it. It's a wonder that Cute Husband and I can agree on anything, as I'm all about fairies and stardust and the magic of the Universe, and he isn't buying into any of it. None of it, not the Christians, the Jews, Islam--anything that has a figurehead at the helm and that promotes any kind of a religious following. Cute Husband, who is one of the most culturally curious and sensitive beings I know, cannot fathom why we would choose to put all of our personal stock and our power into believing in fairy tales. And while he respects that others have a strong sense of faith and belief, he likens believing in religion as believing in a magic purple elephant, or worship of The Artichoke, or anything similarly odd. He just doesn't believe that we being the rational and logical beings that we are would so willingly hand over all of our power to something that most probably doesn't exist, because really, how can it?

Clearly, we have some differences.

But I like that he still has a spiritual core despite loathing organized religion, and really, he's sort of a free spirit, tree-hugging natural guy, has an amazing heart, and is damn cute. I think I've reached the point where I don't care what people worship as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. While this is a lovely thing in the abstract, the problems arise when someone's religious beliefs butt heads with compassion, the rules of humanity, and personal freedoms. When religion begins to shape the laws that are being made, or when they color how people treat each other--then we've got some problems on our hands.

Kitchen Witch

My magic happens in the kitchen. There's nothing more fun for me than roasting a chicken or throwing together some soup, baking fresh bread and then eating it warm from the oven while the butter on top melts. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because you get to spend days before putting together your menu, running around to different markets procuring your ingredients, and then you have to spend the entire day in the kitchen, making food taste delicious. It's heaven.

The only thing that makes being in the kitchen better is having fresh herbs to play around with as I'm working some magic. My goal this year is to plant an herb garden and be able to dry the herbs to use throughout next winter (if we get to stay and don't have to move again). I'm looking forward to it.

I thought you might like to see a photo of my kitchen witch/crone. She's carved from wood from the Black Forest and was bought in Germany in the 1960s where my grandparents were serving during their military years. My Aunt Jacki, my mom's little sister, kept this witch in her bedroom, which was directly across the hallway from mine when I was growing up. Each morning, I'd look into her room and see it sitting next to her bed, as I'd hustle down the stairs, afraid that something was going to come after me. (Her room was adjacent to the attic, which scared the bejeezus out of me). I've always felt sad that she had the witch in her possession, as it was my grandmother's before she passed away the year that I was born. Aunt Jacki was 16 when she lost her mom, which is why we were all living together. She was my favorite aunt, and always felt more like a big sister to me than an authority figure. She passed away when she turned 40, about 13 years ago.

When I was celebrating my marriage to Cute Husband at a party my parents threw for us, Aunt Jacki's husband came and brought along the kitchen witch, as I'd always mentioned how much it reminded me of growing up with her. I was teary when he gave it to me, and it's maintained a prominent spot in each kitchen I've since lived in, which now has numbered somewhere around 6 different locations in the past ten years. Seeing the witch reminds me of where I come from, and that there are women all around me, on this side of the veil and on the other, who inspire and support me daily.

I also like to think about what artisan decided to craft that charming and mysterious face on a witch, and why. She's become a talisman of sorts to me, and I've recently been leaving little bits of herbs in an offering before her while I light a candle and state my intention for the day. She just looks on, casting that smile, and let's me know that I share my sacred kitchen space with kind souls.

Yule Never Guess What I'm Having Trouble Taking Down

I love Yule. I love all the lights, the ornaments on the tree, the holly, fresh greens. All of it. I'm not quite finished welcoming the return of sun, and am slightly attached to the lovely decor of the season. The tree is nude, and all the decorations are neatly packed away. I just can't bear to part with the greens.

Composting

When we lived in Africa, is was an enormous surprise to realize that trash removal was rather hit or miss; sometimes your trash bag would make it into the truck intact, and sometimes the feral cats in the neighborhood would tear that bag to shreds, and your trash would litter your front walk under you until you cleaned it up. There were no sturdy plastic or metal trash cans left out on the street because they would be stolen in the middle of the night if left unattended. The "developing" country we lived in didn't participate in recycling because they couldn't really control the regular waste population.

I mention this only because it was the first time I really thought about where our trash ended up. It was pretty much in my face that by throwing out a dirty diaper, and then walking around it the next day on the way to the bus stop that the trash was ultimately my responsibility because I had produced it. We started to try to change the way we operated and to produce less waste, but it was slow-going in Africa. They had bigger fish to fry than worrying about co-mingling their recyclables.

We've been consuming a ton since we moved back; I don't really understand it. We were satisfied living a pared down existence in Africa. But when I got back into the groove of life in America, I couldn't really stop myself from indulging deeply in my creature comforts. It was overwhelming, honestly, to be able to buy what ever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. I could pay for everything with a debit card-I didn't even need cash. I felt so wealthy, so full of bounty. It was a trip.

But, it's been quite a wake-up call to realize that all that spending, all that consuming, has created so much waste in my life. I have grown sick of seeing the over-flowing recycling bin each week, and I'm shocked with myself about the amount of stuff we have. We still have more boxes of stuff that have yet to be unpacked from our last move. I'm not really even sure what to do with it all. It's mostly stacked in the garage, waiting for me to sort through it. And frankly, most days I don't have the strength.

Luckily, I got a small kick in the arse from the Universe this year's end by taking a look at our finances, and it comes as no surprise that wasteful spending tends to catch up with you. It seemed prudent that we tighten the belt around here, and frankly, I was ready for it. It's as if I'd spent myself into a stupor, like the food coma after Thanksgiving dinner. We're at a point where it's become necessary to make some changes financially, and is completely in line with my spiritual shifts. It has, as they say, come to a head.

Last spring, I started gardening in our sweet little back yard. I set up a compost pile with the hope that we could limit our waste and create something productive from it. I don't normally ever get to the planting phase of garden tending. We usually move every two years, and just when I make friends with the garden, it's time to pack the boxes and move to the next place. Last spring, out of sheer desperation to feel a bit more dug in to my life, I started goofing around out there. I planted our first veggie garden, cleared out the beds, mulched, and just tried to get a sense of what the garden's personality was like. I didn't know where things would thrive, or how much water the soil kept. It was a brand new relationship, and I loved it. (Also, no one really wants to weed with you, so you can listen to your iPod in relative peace for hours doing productive, meditative labor).

Sweet Boy, my 8 year old, immediately took to the idea of composting, and he helped maintain our compost pile with a fervor. We set aside table scraps, egg shells, veggie and fruit peels, and tried to be mindful of what we put in the compost pile and in the trash can. I admit to being a little distracted by the whole process, and found the compost bowl to get in the way when I cooked dinner. I liked the idea of it, but it was sort of a hassle. Once summer hit, and I was out of commission following surgery, the compost pile was relatively abandoned.

This Christmas, my brother in law sent Sweet Boy a compost machine, and it has reignited our interest in putting our waste to good use. It comes at an interesting time for me, as I'm looking at the way I've been spending my time: shuttling kids to school, keeping the house in order, keeping up appearances. I haven't found it to be terribly fulfilling, this house-wife gig, and it dawned on me recently that I've been focusing on things I don't really care about. I don't care if the yard is a bit too carefree for the neighbors, or that I'm not driving a Volvo. I don't care that the other wives in Cute Husband's work community are coiffed and polished and beautifully put together. I don't care about how clean my house is. I use to be really preoccupied with getting this image right, but the more time I spent keeping in step with these empty impositions on my time, the less connected I felt to Spirit and to myself. The less I felt truly productive.

So, I guess it's good timing, this myriad composting. I think there's something pretty valuable to be learned now, looking back on the choices I made over the past year and figuring out what to make from them. I'm lucky to get to have the chance to understand what really matters to me, and to concentrate on those things that make me happy. It makes me happy to sort through the things we no longer need and find a home for them. I'm happy to have the time to pay attention to the way we eat, to have to scrutinize how we're spending our pennies, and how best to live a life that's a bit more simple. Taking the time to pay attention keeps me in the moment, as trite as it sounds to say. And it is with these little steps, these small things we do each day, that builds something rich and nourishing. How much better does it get than that?

Coming Out of the Closet

Why am I in the closet in the first place? Fair question. In part, because Cute Husband has a weird job with all sorts of secrecy issues (he's not a spy or anything) that sort of demands sensitivity with our personal information being displayed on the Internet. In part, because Cute Husband is extraordinarily private with the details of our life together, and I want to honor and respect that. In part, because I'm on the heels of a return from living in a country for two years where witchcraft was considered haram (Arabic for forbidden), and where witches weren't exactly welcomed. And in part, because I have always been a woman who has enjoyed "passing" in main stream life instead of being obviously "out there." You might argue that I'm still not quite all out, and you'd be right. But, as I said, I'm starting where I am right now, and for now, that's the best I can do.

So what does that mean, then, and what sort of witch am I? I'm still figuring this out myself. Having lived in a country where religion governs everything, including all sorts of personal freedoms, and then coming back home to America, I am still overwhelmed with the amount of religious freedom we get to have, and which we just take for granted. It's wonderful to be able to do--no one arrests you or kills you because you have chosen to believe something different than what the government tells you. You can worship whatever you wish--I like that in a country. And so, here I am, 40-something-witch-type with strong fae and pixie leanings, recognizing that I'm allowed to be whatever I want to be. It's sort of intoxicating.

I could probably write a book on what I learned about religion and how that influences a culture having lived in a Muslim country, but I won't bore you with my ideas on that.

For now, I'm just celebrating my decision to make the leap.

Lessons from the Tower

Last spring I turned 40 and it was pretty life-changing. The winter before was one of the bleakest periods of my life, as I spent most days stuck on the couch, mourning the loss of my youngest brother to a heroin overdose. I couldn't get out of that funk until I read of the death of a woman I went to college with, and with whom I hadn't been particularly close, but still knew in passing. She died just months shy of her 40th birthday, and reading her blog The Carcinista, I felt her spirit rousing mine to get my arse off the couch and start living.

So forty days before my birthday, I started a program to celebrate myself a little bit each day. It wasn't anything miraculous-some days I'd just treat myself to a red velvet cupcake from my favorite lunch place, or I'd take a little extra time getting ready in the morning. My first purchase to launch the forty day fete de Pixie Girl was a set of new tarot cards. As a ten year anniversary present, Cute Husband proposed we take a summer trip to Ireland, where I'd never been, and I was thrilled to be able finally to connect with my spiritual and familial heritage spot. In that vein, I splurged on The Sacred Circle Tarot: a celtic pagan journey by Anna Franklin and Paul Mason. I can't tell you how thrilled I was to hold these beauties in my hand when they arrived in the mail.

Now, my two favorite witches, Gypsy Girl and Elfin One, and I have been noodling around with our tarot cards for about ten years now. I have not really progressed at all with any particular acuity, but let's just say this might not be an area where I'll ever be particularly gifted. In fact, I always have to use my book when I do a reading. This new set of cards was to replace my Faery Oracle cards by Brian Froud that have been in hiding somewhere in the house since my last move. I've tried to get them to come out from wherever they are, with no luck. So it seemed appropriate to break in some new cards before venturing to the emerald Homeland.

I'm thinking that there were a few things that pulled me out of my funk last spring, and these cards were enormously helpful. For one thing, there's something to be said for sitting in a quiet space, meditating on something beautiful, with the hope that that beautiful thing can wash over you for a bit. What I needed was that piece of Spirit to walk back in through the door and shake me up, even if all that meant was that I hauled myself to grab a cupcake or take a walk somewhere. I began to see that with each day, a little window of clarity would wake up in me, and if you've ever had a good reading, you know that usually Spirit waits for you to be ready for what it wants to tell you. I didn't get any earth shattering messages last spring; I was just reminded to take care of myself.

Recognizing how short life is, both by reading The Carcinista and by thinking of my younger brother, I started to understand that I was just kind of skating through the events of my life. I was so low and out of it that I couldn't really feel the joy in my life, and that completely bummed me out. I wanted to feel reconnected. I just didn't know how to get there. My Celtic cards were like breadcrumbs leading me back to the path home.

Also, my kick ass husband surprised me by arranging for my two best friends and favorite witches to come into town during my birthday weekend. I had Spirit taking care of me on one side, and my three strongest fans doing the same on this side. Talk about blessings. This launched me into a new year, and with that start, pretty amazing things began to happen.

Long story short, I began to get some interesting glimpses of myself, through a more Spirit minded veil that I was paying attention to a lot of things I don't really think matter on a grand scale, but that I was spending too much time on. Once you see the truth, you can't pretend you didn't see it. So it was that I sat down one day last week, cards at the ready, and had a spread for the New Year. And wouldn't you know it, now that I'm strong and revitalized, out popped The Tower. Holy shiz.

Talk about a wake-up call. The Tower has always symbolized (for me) that the way you've been deluding yourself is about to blow up in your face. I sat there in front of my spread, sweating a little bit, and took a moment to talk myself off the ledge. But really, it dawned on me that this wasn't real news to me. I knew that I hadn't been connecting as I want to be with Spirit, that I wasn't creating a space for nature in my life, that my kitchen witch soul was sort of fudging it lately out of business and boredom, and that when it came right down to it, that I was pretending to be someone I'm not.

All this on a quiet Tuesday morning.

This was what it has taken for me to realize that I need to do a better job of keeping it real. It's why I'm now starting to inch my way out of the broom closet, to be a little more open in sharing what I really believe, and for living my beliefs. I'm fairly certain I won't be doing tarot spreads at the neighborhood's next book club, but you never know. I figure if not now, then when?

Be Pixie Girl

In part, this blog is borne out of some advice from Gretchen Ruben's "The Happiness Project", which I'm currently undertaking with my two favorite witches, Gypsy Girl and Elfin One. In her study of what makes people feel happiness, Ruben identifies some fundamental truths for her readers, one of which is "Be Gretchen", or rather, be yourself as much as possible. This means that she is starting from where and who she is. She focuses on her experience, her belief system, and her areas of interest instead of trying to encompass the ideas others might find to be important to her research.

So taking that advice on-board, I'm going on the record as saying that I'm going to "Be Pixie Girl", meaning I'm starting where I am. I am certain there will be opinions that I express which cause some conflict, that I will be narrow-minded and limited while addressing the myriad "first world problems" that most Americans are blessed to be plagued with and about which I constantly whine. I apologize if it offends someone else's sensibilities that I believe in essential oils to boost your energy while believing in Botox to nail your crow's feet. I am a walking contradiction sometimes, but I'm trying my best to just "Be Pixie Girl", as best as I can.

Welcome

If you've landed here on my blog, I'm hopeful you find something up-lifting to read during your visit. I've started this as a place to share some ideas I have about keeping it real. I'm 40, live in a leafy neighborhood, am in the process of raising some beautiful little spirits, am married to the tall, dark and handsome man of my dreams, and all this time, I've realized that perhaps I've taken a step or two off the path I always thought I'd be living, and have become a little preoccupied.

This means that I once used to find incredible joy in camping, hiking, and exploring nature, whereas now, I'm so caught up in making sure that things look a certain way, I seem to have forgotten where I came from. It's as if I've lost that "merry wanderer" in me somewhere on the way to Target. This blog is my way of taking myself back, I suppose, and stepping back onto the path where I started.

I am still working through the technical side of the blog-sphere, so please bear with me while I get things up and running.

Pixie Girl