"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