Reflections

Last week we had some terrible weather here in the (normally) lovely and rainy PNW. At home we were graced with about 10” of snow, and then followed by a large ice storm which caused many trees on the property to break, snap limbs or fall entirely. We were lucky in that nothing large landed on anything important, and I was thankful for that. The horses were not excited by all the breaking trees, and I admit it’s an unsettling sound, even during daylight. Last night we had a wind storm which (I heard) generated winds in excess of 80 mph, again littering barely cleared roadways with limbs and assorted detritus.

 We, along with many friends and neighbors experienced a multi-day power outage.  This allowed me plenty of time to think, do some cooking on the propane BBQ, and play cards by candlelight.

I was reminded why I appreciate my significant other.  After all, he’s one of my very favorite people to hang out with, and we had plenty of time to do so.

 I was reminded of the many things I have to be thankful for, instead of lamenting what I didn’t have in my life. Electrical outage aside (this means heat too!), we all have a list of what we don’t have…more power, a better job, more time…whatever it is, you have this list too.

But do you have a list of what you DO have? Mine list is not written down, but maybe it should be, much like goals should be (my goals aren’t really written down but I do communicate them to those in the circle of trust).  Actually, I think I’ll write a partial list for you (and me) now…

Things I have in my life that I am thankful for, in no particular order: My family (blood and chosen); my significant other to include his quirks, his music, and opinions (although not always in line with mine); my dear friends (you know who you are and you know why we are friends); my job (after all, someone has to pay for this stuff); my home (where better to keep my shinies?); my dance (it brings me joy); I’m thankful for the support of those who care about me. OK, there’s the big stuff.

Yes, I know this perhaps would be a more common Thanksgiving post, or maybe even a Valentine’s post, but shouldn’t we be thankful for what we have and those we love all year long? This is my boyfriend’s point of view also. Treat the things you love well all the time; be thankful for what you have.  

To quote a movie that I adore (and he does not!), “The greatest gift is to love, and be loved in return.” Reflect upon your gifts to and from the world and your loved ones. Say thank you, say I love you and mean them both.

Happy Place

When we’re stressed out, tired, or unhappy, inevitably someone will say “think about your happy place”.

What is a happy place to you? Where is your happy place? For me, it kind of depends on my mood, my location and the time of year. I think a variety of happy places are a good thing.

When I was a teenager growing up, I often went to the city. There, in my random wanderings, I found a spot. It was right by a bridge and there wasn’t a gate back then. I’d sit on the stone/cement steps at all odd hours, just thinking. I’d even sit there in the rain. It was a peaceful spot, and I could peer out the round hole, examining the nearly rusted-away wrought iron in it (wondering if there was ever any glass in it), listening to the sounds of nature and city at once. I was never bothered there, nor did I ever bother anyone else. On a recent trip “home”, I stopped there. The scene is now as you see it: a big locked gate and the ivy has overgrown the round hole. It’s still there, but inaccessible and therefore, alien to me in a way. I can’t get there from here anymore. I doubt the owners of the big mansion would appreciate me walking up to their door and requesting them to open the gate so I can sit there again. This one is only a happy place in my mind now, but a happy one nonetheless.

On the right you can still see part of that round "window".

I have some critters at home, although I’m not really sure who owns who. Meet Booger, nicknamed this mostly because he has a very funny attitude and personality. He is a registered Arabian stallion, and quite beautiful, but his personality even outshines his good looks. He’ll steal your pizza and run away with it; he’ll steal the dog bed drying on the deck, run away with it, rip it up and then lay down on it; he’ll drink your Irish Death stout and knock you over to get it; he plays with buckets and anything he can reach with his nimble nose. Hanging out with him, in any weather, is a treat and brings a special peace I can find few other places. You can be mad at the world, and he’s there for you to lean on, hug and hide under his huge mane. Of course, be mad at him, and he runs away, bouncing and farting.

Behold! Booger, Destroyer of Road Cones. Sorry about terrible photo quality!

Of course, in the arms of my chosen is always a happy place…but I’m not going to kiss and tell. I WILL say that he is a great supporter, and is there for me when I need it.

My current favorite new/old place and special treat is the sauna. Why haven’t I been using it? It’s at the gym (where I should ALSO be more often), right by work. Last night, we re-acquainted ourselves. It was a real joy and the dry heat felt really good after a long, strenuous workout. I felt rewarded!

So, think about where your happy spot is…if it’s a memory, a real or imagined place, or near a specific someone or something. Have a great day! I’m headed off to several of my favorite happy spots!

I Am Disappoint; The Way Ahead

I Am Disappoint; in myself, mainly. For me, that is the worst, because I am my own toughest critic.

We all do it, or at least most of us do. Our friends will remind us we are too hard on ourselves and how awesome we are. I’m sure glad I have friends/loved ones like that. Those are the people we need to surround ourselves with. Sometimes, even I need encouragement and a swift kick in the butt.

Friends should listen to your problems, encourage you to correct/fix/improve; real friends will kick you when you need it and tell you to fix your cranial rectitus. These voices of love, support and reason should be honored. After all, you are pretty special, right? Or else you wouldn’t have such great friends.

I am blessed with a multitude of friends from many walks of life. Yesterday, I was pretty sore with myself, probably unfairly, and one such friend arrived unexpectedly. She arrived with a big smile and even bigger hugs. And gifts. Woohoo!

I received emails from another friend who sympathized and encouraged. Our trio has decided to make efforts towards a common goal when we see one another, or at least make a better effort. Dancing is good for the soul, and although club dancing is a blast, I’m talking about structured dance. I’ll speak on that more at a later date.

Being further blessed with encouragement from my sister, I can only work on my personal goals, keeping their thoughts in mind. And to top it off, my fantastic partner made me a delicious steak salad for dinner. Things are looking up!!

This is how hard some goals feel, yet these men accomplished theirs.

Goal-setting is something I don’t particularly enjoy, at least not quantifiable goals. I’ve made a couple in the most recent arena, one is lofty, and one is totally attainable. I’m aiming high and if I only achieve the lesser goal, I’ll still be mightily pleased. While I’m trying not to be too disappointed, I’m quite frustrated with myself and a bit angry. At least I get things accomplished while angry, so I’m not too worried about the situation.

Interestingly, all the aforementioned friends and loved ones are gingers….you know, redheads. What is it about them or me that draws them into my life? I think it’s their fiery dispositions; after all, I was born one too. With that, I’ll pick up my own torch and continue this path to improvement.

Pinky Tuscadero

Wow, there’s a name that brings back memories. Happy Days! If you don’t recall, Pinky was a gorgeous red head that wore pink, rode a pink motorcycle (and jumped over Shriners on it), and drove a pink demolition derby car.  She was also Fonzie’s sweetheart. Featured in a few brief episodes, she was a name that I’ll always remember. She was tough, she was spunky, and she was cool.

She had a little sister that appeared a few later episodes, Leather Tuscadero. She played bass guitar and sang.

A pretty cool pair of TV-land sisters, if I say so myself.

Last night I stopped at a local nursery looking for a “Lenten Rose”. This plant is also known as a Christmas Rose , or by the botanical name of Hellebore. This plant is not a rose by any means, but it does bloom in the winter. Being hardy to -30F (yes, that minus sign is intentional), winter blooming and animals leave it alone, it seems a great addition to the dreary winter landscape. They come in many colors, but the only one available had pale pink/light green five petal flowers; all the foliage is a dark shiny green.  Mine is a color they call Rosemary, which seems entirely incongruous for the coloration, but that is just my opinion.

Hellebore, Rosemary coloration

It is also in excellent company as an extremely toxic plant; classed as heart poison, extremely hazardous. This darling is not joking around. Hellebrin is the active component in the plant. It seems ok to touch it, but you definitely do not want to eat this one. Symptoms of ingestion include such fun like colic, exhaustion, excessive GI tract distress, paralysis and various heart problems; death by respiratory distress. Modern physicians do actually use some of the hellebrin components for medicinal reasons.

Many plants in this world are not for human use or consumption. Just because it came from Mother Earth do not mean it is your friend. Be aware what you keep in your house and yard. You’d best be every bit as concerned about your plants as you are about chemical cleaners. Hellebore is poison; this is why animals leave it alone. I have a cat, Voodoo, that likes to tempt fate and chews on any lily flowers in a vase…then I get to clean up vomit. This is why we have no plants in the house.

Unfortunately, the nursery worker had no idea about the toxicity of this species.

Currently, my lovely pink hellebore is residing in my bathtub. I don’t quite know where to keep her yet; away from the cat, and away from my curious stallion. He tries to eat hamburgers, for crying out loud.

I’ve decided my plant is a “she”, and I’ve picked out her name. Pinky Tuscadero. Tough, pretty, and if you mess with her, you won’t like it.

Of beauty and apple trees

I think fondly of my mother. I don't see her often enough, and I feel guilty for it. We spent Christmas day with her, and she made a fabulous dinner that we enjoyed very much. After the dishes were cleared, we had more time to talk.

Day to day life leaves me harried, sometimes short-tempered or too succinct for good conversation at the end of the day. Some days work just wears me out. On these days, my occasional, brief conversations with her are punctuated with "uh-huh", "yeah" and "ok". Not a very good real conversation. But on this day, we easily went past that continued on to genuine discussion, rekindling some mutual interests and we made promises to "get together again soon". I intend to keep that promise, for I treasure my mother.

She was always my role model as a child/young woman/adult woman, and in so many ways. Beautiful, independent, vivacious, fun, intelligent...those are a few words I would select to describe her. She mostly raised me herself, at a time when society looked down upon divorcees, she worked hard and diligently in her medical career. I remember her heading to work in her nurse whites. Seeing her old nursing school cape takes me way back...she probably doesn’t know that I used to sneak it out of her closet and wear it a little bit. I admired her. I knew that she wasn't perfect, and never was; I never really held that childlike belief. I knew her as a person.

I'm biased, I have the most beautiful mother.



My favorite photo of my mom. <3



From my mother, I learned many things. I did not understand that women had a certain role in the workplace that was different than that of men. My mother worked alongside both men and women; she was respected and did well for herself. Her hobbies included several non-traditional things too. She had hotrods! She liked to fish, hunt and camp. I learned to love many of these same things, even if I do not actively pursue them at this juncture of my life.

I have to admit that my grandmother played a large part in this too, as an influence on my mother. Gram was also a nurse, a hunter, fisher, camper. Also very independent, she was the rebellious, beautiful daughter of Prohibitionist Great-Gram. Gram was glamorous and I was always amazed to see photos of her as a younger lady. I'll try get one from Mom and post it here.

Mom was also my first beauty role model. She isn't tall, leggy or scrawny like today's version of beauty. She's short-ish (thanks for the height Dad!), she's curvy but shapely. She has a fast smile and an easy laugh. She always looked great, even if she was wearing hunting clothes and no makeup. Again, she was my first fashion idol: independent, free, fun, comfortable, healthy, beautiful naturally.

As I grew older, I saw what "society" considered beautiful. I saw photos of Farrah Fawcett (RIP), I watched Linda Carter in Wonder Woman; I found them likewise beautiful. I never thought Twiggy was...attractive. Now, I'm not condemning what others consider beautiful, this was just from my young teen perspective. I was always a little odd; I started wearing black lipstick and dying my hair. My mother always stood beside me, chastising others for judging me based upon appearance without knowing me. My own HS principal called her once..."your daughter is a....a....a...Goth". My mom's response? "So? She's a good student, a lettered athlete. Why does this matter?" I will, mind you, always applaud her pluck when it came to defending me. I felt I was beautiful too.

I don't Mom knows how much I have always idolized her. I waxed eloquent on the subject after returning home after Christmas dinner; I doubt I can, or have, recaptured that feeling here. I've always loved and respected her as a child should, but I also love and admire her so greatly as an adult. She's everything I aspire to be. Beautiful, inside and out. Fiercely intelligent. A great friend. Oh, and she doesn't take anyone's shit.

I hope this apple didn't fall far from the tree....

Holidaze

We are in the throes of the 2011 holiday craze. I remember as a child the time between Samhain/Halloween and Thanksgiving seemed a lifetime; between Thanksgiving, my birthday and Yule/Christmas was always a blur. Now, I see Christmas stuff up alongside the Halloween decorations and Valentine’s beside the Christmas stuff. Wow. Slow down a little here folks.

Holiday season brings many emotions out in people that aren’t always the cheerful ones. While most of us do remember and cherish our families, there are many out there that are recently missing loved ones and the holiday season makes this transition even more difficult for some. I feel for you.

I prefer the older traditions, the slower pace of the holidays. Enjoy the seasons, watch the autumn leaves fall, and watch the spring flowers bloom. We recently had a lovely Winter Solstice dinner with wonderful friends. Gifts of food, companionship and conversation were given, after all, isn’t our time the most valuable gift of all?

Speaking of old holiday traditions, let’s talk about my new favorite one: Krampusnacht (Night of Krampus).

Krampus is a very old figure, associated with Saint Nicholas and celebrated in Germanic countries or countries with a strong Germanic influence, notably Austria, Germany, Hungary, and Romania. The celebrations were kept alive and typically held in the mountainous regions because the Church didn’t deign to proselytize there due to geography and population.

Based upon the tradition, I’m sure I would have been a better behaved child around the holidays if two things had been different: Krampus was around, and my birthday wasn’t.

Krampus is generally described as basically a devil; a traditional, Christian devil, replete with horns and cloven hooves.

Vintage Krampus postcard

Krampusnacht is December 5^th, and Saint Nicholas’ Day is December 6^th.  On December 5^th, Krampus creatures take to the streets, burdened with chains and warning bell, and threatening naughty children with a switch. That switch is the least of the punishments, however. In some tales, Krampus takes naughty children, stuffs them in a bag and potentially takes them to hell….some say Krampus feasts on bad children.  The traditional offering to Krampus is schnapps. What holiday isn’t made better with drunk devils running about? Krampusnacht is held in Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington as well as other, more traditional, locations worldwide.

Here's one of my favorite videos from a Krampuslauf (Krampus Run): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLnl5ZWG4tg

Then, the next morning, Saint Nicholas comes in and rewards the good children. If you are in the Old Country, you get candy and fruit in your best pair of shoes, if you polish them and leave them by the door. Hmmm.

Here in the US, we’ve sanitized and amalgamated the punishment and reward system to a “good” and “bad” list overseen by Santa Claus. He’s nice, he’s happy, he’s fat and laughs a lot. If you’re bad, you get coal…not very fearsome in my book.

 Further, in our efforts to not offend anyone, we’ve further denigrated the American traditions….schools don’t have Halloween anymore, it’s a Harvest Festival (and I’m all about that, but let the kids dress up at least, jeez); this year some schools quit singing a line from Deck the Halls, because of the reference to “gay apparel”. Seriously, people? The song is an old Welsh melody dating back to the 16^th century and the lyrics are American and date back to the late 19^th century thereabouts.

I’m so tired of thin skins. I can appreciate others’ holidays, but why do I have to change mine to suit others? That’s not acceptance.

So, this year, I have decided to change up my holidays a little next year. I’m bringing Krampus back into our Germanic family. Let’s bring back the scary side of Yule.

Welcome....and quince.

Well, I suppose an introduction would be appropriate, I wouldn't want to be rude.

I'm Morrigan. Hazel eyed, raven haired, tattooed and possessed of a wandering spirit. Yes, I am part Rom.

There are many things that I enjoy, but my favorites would be travel, history, dance, genealogy and food. And single malt Scotch....in no particular order. I have two adult children though some days I am quite unsure how they made it to that status. Life is, all in all, pretty darned good; not easy, mind you, but good.

Currently, I reside in the Pacific Northwest (or PNW) of the United States, I was raised in this area and am used to fir trees, mountains, snow, drizzle and fog. I am less used to that bright thing in the sky called the Sun. Besides this great area, I've spent considerable time in the Republic of Korea, Europe mainland and the United Kingdom. I have further travels that I would love to undertake and will do so when the time is right.

I'm lucky in the fact that several of my consuming hobbies can be lumped together and I can enjoy many at once, and by that, I reference the history, travel, genealogy and food.

Which brings me to the next topic: Christmas and my oh-so-impossible mother. She's not impossible as in intolerable, she's simply impossible to select a gift for. This year, I decided to learn how to can preserves because I wanted to make my mother some quince jam for a gift.

What is quince? Why quince jam?

Well, let me address the "what". Quince, Cydonia oblonga, is related to both apples and pears and actually resembles a cross between the two. A ripe fruit is bright yellow, covered in fuzz and very aromatic with a scent vaguely like honeysuckle, apples, pears, and a summer day. They smell divine. Common in the Middle East and Asia, they spread to Europe, the UK, and both North and South America. You may still find them on old farmsteads and untended ancient orchards.

However delicious they smell, they are usually not eaten in-hand due to a very grainy texture and because they are bitter. Raw quince makes raw rhubarb seem like a treat. On a side note, there are a few varieties that are sweet enough to be eaten out-of-hand, but they are uncommon and you generally will not know until you taste it.

To make them delicious, they must be cooked, usually with sugar. Sometimes they are served as a sweet (like a jam or a paste with tangy Spanish cheese), and sometimes they are used in savory cookery. The Romans ate them, if that tells you of their antiquity. You can find more information all over the web, if you are interested in this unusual cultivar. They are in season in the fall and winter, and some stores may even have some still in the produce section. Just ask your grocer.

This brings me back to the "why". My great-grandmother had an old farmstead in Oregon when I was a small child. See, the quince is a family tradition. I could buy the jam, of course, but I found the texture of the Persian jams to be too thick and not all that tasty. I decided to make it myself, for my mother. It was a rousing success and due to the large number of quince I purchased (my trees are too small to bear fruit yet), I ended up making quince-lemon jam, quince-orange flower jam, and cranberry-quince compote. All very delicious.

In the event you wish to grow your own quince, you can obtain trees from the fabulous people at Raintree Nursery in Morton, WA.

Welcome to my random musings and wanderings of spirit.