Spooktacular Bliss

As a child, I wanted Morticia and Gomez Addams to be my parents. How cool would it be to live in such an extraordinary house with your own mad scientist lab, unusual creatures, and live a life where every day was Halloween? Nothing you did could be strange enough. Nothing you tried would ever be considered ridiculous, ludicrous, or unrealistic. You would always be encouraged to go farther, to not hold yourself back, to just go balls-to-wall freaky and be appreciated for it.

*happy sigh*

Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents very much. Yes, they are human beings with issues, but overall they were damn fine parents and I am one of few who can attest I had a happy childhood.

But….as a kid we all fantasized about having a different life. Waking up one day and realizing you’re a princess or your father is Superman or your parents are super-secret agents. My fantasy was that I was an Addams. An Addams that dressed in GAP clothes, collected comic books, wrote horror stories at the age of 11, played with Legos and Barbies, and looked like your average, extra tall girl.

I suppose, to coin a phrase from Seanan McGuire, I am a Pumpkin Girl. One who likes to be pretty and carry a chainsaw. Or in my case, feel pretty and squeal with delight at how cute Alien is. Who doesn’t like Lovecraft, but adores Gaiman. Who dresses in jeans and high heeled boots, but wishes she lived in a Tim Burton movie.

The thought trigger behind this declaration is on the full moon of this month, I experienced a perfect piece of time. You’ve had them. A moment that is so intricate and perfect and naturally choreographed, no one could have been able to orchestrate it any better if they tried. Well, every October on the Labyrinth Moon, a few friends and I have continued a tradition I started years ago, the tradition of pathworking in a corn maze. Very simple, yet very powerful.

We did our customary prayers before entering the maze and with no help from the Hint Cards, we traversed the maze by our intuition and our goddess alone. There have been years of mud, rain, and clear skies. This year was the most amazing ever. There was a thin cloud cover to keep the heat in, but the moon’s rays illuminated the clouds like a low burning candle. The maze was well kept and the corn was very, very high; leaning and stretching like bony fingers from the ground. Next door was the pricier, and more popular, “Haunted Maze” where one could hear the teenage girls scream, the teenage boys guffaw, and the chainsaws….well…..chainsaw. Theme music from movies like “The Omen”, “Jaws” and “Halloween” crept effortlessly over the corn fields like dark silk. A nearby oak tree, massive in its age and wisdom, had thick, webby fog.

My friend and I took in the atmosphere and took our time walking the different paths. Occasionally we would hear an ominous gong sound within the heart of the maze. I put my ear close to the corn, “Do they have speakers in this maze too? I thought it was just the Haunted one?” The gong ricocheted off the mist and the corn and added an extra touch of spookiness.

Finally, after completing half the maze, we turned left, and were greeted with a straight path that led to a completely open area. I sucked in my breath. Before our eyes, mist was swirling around the tops of the corn. Spirals of movement could be seen and for the first time that evening, we witnessed a thinning of the veil. Swirls danced around. “I think I just saw a fae,” muttered my friend. We slowly stepped into the opening and realized it was in the shape of a heart. We were literally in the heart of the maze. In the center of that heart was a Tibetian bell. On that bell was a sign, “This bell represents your dream. Let others hear your dreams.” So we did. We each struck the bell 3-5 times and our dreams rippled out into the corn field and beyond the veil.

I stopped. I took a moment. Turning slowly round (and then twirling like Julie Andrews) I soaked in the mist, the low hanging fog, the eerie oak tree, the corn marking the boundary of this scared space, and the music…..by the gods I was so full of bliss and glee, I could’ve just popped. Or melted. Or both. I felt like I was in the middle of a Tim Burton movie and that the headless horseman was going to come riding out of the corn any second. Knowing me I would wave hello and duck.

It was a perfect piece of time. A spooktacular bliss that I shall cherish and tuck away with my two other perfect moments:

1. Senior year in high school, homecoming game, Halloween night. The moon was full and before half-time, the game was called off due to the impressive fog bank that rolled in. I remember walking back to the school and not being able to see anything beyond a five foot radius. Yet I could hear everyone else; their voices distorted and echoey as the fog warped reality. I loved every minute of it.

2. July 4th a few years ago in Logan, Ohio. I was visiting friends and the custom was to watch the fireworks being lit in the next county. How do we do that? By going to the highest point in town. And where was that? In a small, very old cemetery where an oak tree named Thor resided. Other people brought lawn chairs, but I opted to politely ask a resident if I may please use his headstone as my seat. He didn’t mind at all. So I sat there. On a headstone, in a cemetery, watching the fireworks as the lightening bugs floated about.

Perfect.

What’s your spooktacular bliss?

Buried Nuts

While opening my bedroom window, I was treated to a show by our resident Squirrel. He was brown/gray with a blue silver tail and a VERY big boy. No other squirrels dare mess with him.

Because I was out of his view, I had the luxury of watching him dart, twitch, and search around a nearby bush for a nut. Little paws dug here and poked there. Finally, success. Squirrel darted to the base of a pine tree and cleaned all the dirt off the nut in a rather OCD fashion. It was really cute. Then without further ado, he popped it into his mouth and carried it up the tree which then met with the local Squirrel Freeway System (aka neighbor’s fence) and he bounced off. Not darted, not skittered, he actually boingy’d along the fence line.

Quite entertaining.

On a completely different, though perhaps similar note, I was lucky enough to capture this shot of a local Red-Tailed Hawk. He’s been hanging out by a environmentally protected marsh area near the local library. I had the fortune of having my camera on me, so I pulled over, took a few pix and this was my favorite.

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Note to Self — Self, when you have the funds to get a new camera, make sure the zoom capabilities knock your socks off.

Lacey Prayer Shawl

Last week was our Knitting Guild’s first meeting of the new year. As is per their custom, it was time to show off projects which encompassed the theme of 2009: Lace. They had two categories for entry — Novice and Experienced.

“Do they mean our knitting skills in general or are they referring to lace experience?,” I whispered to Suz.

“Lace experience,” she answered.

We both submitted our entries into the Novice category and to my surprise, out of the 80-90 members of the guild, only 30 women participated. I assumed there would be more as Lace was quite the popular technique to learn last year.

Once all the entries were on display it was time for the vote. Neither Suz or I won, but we weren’t expecting to as there were some amazingly GORGEOUS lace creations. Some were very intricate, others used bold displays of colour, and the Novice piece which won was a blanket with pineapples on it. The Experienced winner was a luscious brown lace shawl with beadwork. Stunning.

Finally, they also offered a drawing to those who participated. They wanted folks to feel they had a chance to win something. Three drawings, three prizes. Guess who won the third and final prize? Yup! I was beyond stunned as I approached the front of the room to unwrap the last gift. Out of the tissue paper I pulled out a skein of scrumptious sea green mohair yarn and a scarf lace pattern called “Fallen Feathers”. How perfect! *laughs*

My prayer shawl in full length is roughly 5′ – 5′.5″ feet long.

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Close up of the intricacy.

Even closer, and crappier, shot of the draping effect of the shawl.

All that is left to do is attach tassels and it will be ready for a ritual or festival.

The Henna Experiment

Roughly a month ago, I had discovered the hair colour I used for the past few years had been discontinued. L’OREAL Feria’s Bright Red Copper gave me the intensity and radio-activeness I had desired for years. When it was taken off the shelves because it simply didn’t sell as well as their more “mundane” Power Reds, I went on a search for the perfect replacement.

I Googled, I searched, I inquired, and I sought. Like the Holy Grail of hair colours, I was bound and determined to find it again. Most folks may not understand what the big deal is, but for those of you who colour your fine tresses — you get it. Your hairstyle is a definite marker of who you are. It is the first thing people notice (in my opinion) and it’s a representation of the spirit you possess. There’s a reason why so many former blonds, who went brunette, go back to blond — it suits them. Any other colour feels like one is wearing a business suit two sizes too small.

After a few days into my mission, I found a possibility – HENNA. Henna? I tried Henna over a decade ago and it barely made a reddish dent into my stubborn cowlick hair. The site I visited was Mehandi.com. What caught my eye was not only the intensity of the red produced by their henna, which is a translucent dye, but that it was body henna. Apparently henna marketed for hair is not really 100% henna afterall. Huh.

The next two weeks I read through their forum, jotted down notes, and decided to order a few samples. I concocted mixtures of three different kinds of henna to see which had the dye I desired. Results? Punjabi Prime won by a landslide.

Last week I ordered my 500gms of Punjabi Prime and a dozen plastic gloves. I did some samples on my hair: one batch with water/lemon juice/henna, the other apple juice/henna. Henna is an amazing thing. When one first rinses it out of their hair, all they see is ZOMG BRIGHT ORANGE. Fine for me, I’m used to vibrant colour. Yet over the next one to three days, as it oxidizes, it darkens and reddens. Plus, and THIS part I love, it does not fade. The intensity stays so much so, that every six weeks rather than having to redo my whole head to recapture the brilliantness of it, I merely have to do the roots.

Back to the hair samples — turned out the one in lemon juice gave the henna a more orangey, brassy colour. However, the apple juice sample still gave the coppery colour, but it was more rich and intense.

Last night I took the plunge and mixed my 500gms of Punjabi Prime Henna with 6 -8 cups of apple juice into a bowl. I let it sit overnight, roughly 12 hours so the dye could release, and at 10am this morning, I started applying the paste. It was smooth and creamy like whipped mashed potatoes. And after all the hub bub I read about the smell? I didn’t mind it actually. The coolness of the henna against my scalp felt wonderful, like a mud mask. It took me roughly an hour to apply the paste to every inch of hair I could find and then some of the spots I missed. Next I wrapped my locks up into some suran wrap where I looked like an anime alien character and I let it sit for about 5 hours. I’m sure 2 hours would have sufficed, but as this was my first attempt at Henna, I didn’t want to take any chances of it not being long enough and having to re-do.

Next came the part I dreaded. In the Henna For Hair forums, many women warned of how dry henna makes your hair (or more specfically, the acidic compound you use to release the dye: lemon juice, oj, apple juice, etc.) and one would have to use A LOT of conditioner to get it relatively normal. That and getting the henna out took forever. Well, I followed one poster’s advice and let my head soak in the tub for 10 minutes. It was lovely actually, laying there in the warm water as the scent of henna eased my muscles. I started to swish my head back and forth like a washing machine, and I could feel my once plastered hair give way and float in the water. The henna was all out. No clumps. No major mess. No picking any remnants out of my hair. It merely started dissolving and turned the bath water a deep reddish brown.

I flipped on the shower and applied two large helpings of conditioner. Let it sit for two minutes and rinsed. Done. No trauma, no straw-like hair, no extra conditioning.

When I stepped out the tub, the first thing I saw in the mirror was the bright orange roots. “Yes!! I’m back!!” Combing it was a breeze and my hair feels the healthiest it has in years.

Yeah. This henna is damn good stuff.

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Yule Squid is Coming to Town

Last night I had a very interesting experience regarding group mentality. I was invited, via livestream video, into the home of Amanda Fucking Palmer who put on a small concert and chatted with fans while sipping red red wine.

It was an awesome time which I shall blog about tomorrow. What brings me to this post is during her webcast, she floated a plastic squid playfully across the screen. All 1,000 of us fans were laughing pretty hard and saying so in the chat room.

I then remembered a truly rocking piece of artwork by Hwango at DeviantArt.com.

A geeky smile crept across my face and I immediately chatted, “Behold it is the festive YULE SQUID.”

To my utter amazement, within seconds, people started typing YULE SQUID over and over and over again. You see, I am usually one or five steps behind what is considered currently hip. When I find out about something, my uber in-the-know friends were already made aware a few weeks prior. I mean, they introduced me to LOLcats SIX MONTHS after the site went live. But I’ve gotten better, the delay has shrunken considerably.

So when I saw all these chatters chime in with “Yule Squid”, I figured that, oh yes, yet again I was behind on the hipness. They all know about Yule Squid. Imagine my shock this morning when I found out I wasn’t. Google “YULE SQUID” and the first and only link you get is to Hwango’s original artwork. Nothing else. Peoples’ reactions to a fun concept was equivalent to me sitting at the back of the class, mumbling it, and having people next to me raise their hands in eagerness to share with teacher Amanda. I find the lemming reaction utterly fascinating.

Was my quick blurb original? No. It was inspired. Yet to see Amanda Fucking Palmer (for indeed, that is her name) lean towards the webcam, scan the chat room, and chuckle, “Yule Squid. That’s awesome. They’re saying ‘Yule Squid’,” did place a cozy over my geek-filled heart.

And if you wish to spread the holiday message of Yule Squid, the artist has set up a Cafepress shop right here.