Ex Penna

...or a vampire or a werewolf.  Or to fly on a broomstick.  Or to live forever.  "You do have them, don't you?  Witches do that sort of thing, right?  'Cause I really, really need it." 



I think I've been asked for all these things and more.  Some experienced folks roll their eyes at these questions and change the subject, some launch into lectures on the use of true magic, and others sharpen their cynicism with snarky comments to shut down newbies who "still believe in that Hollywood stuff."

But it's not really the notion that it's "Hollywood stuff" that irks (especially since these are human dreams that predate and extend far beyond movies and media).  It's the idea that the person standing in front of you is so new and fresh that everything is possible to those who know how.  And they desperately hope you're one who knows how.  Is that so bad?  Is that something to squash?

I say no.  But, then again, I may have come to this a little differently than most.  Let me tell you about my first experience with the plausible impossible...

It was when Gigi was a baby and we lived in what could arguably be called the most social community we've ever been a part of.  We were a young family with lots of neighbors in a small area.  I always hung laundry with the lady who's backyard connected to ours.  My husband worked on cars with the guy across the road.  And there were kids everywhere.  A new mom with a newly toddling daughter was just too much fun to keep the kids away.  Going swimming in the creek, riding bike, climbing trees, and playing toys with Gigi was all the rage.  I had many summertime pre-teen visitors before I knew it, especially after they found out I was a witch.

That was the most exciting news ever, evidently, and word spread like wildfire.  Soon, I was barraged with questions and new faces popped in my door regularly.  With parents permission, they flipped through my books and even borrowed one or two.  They wanted to see my wand, know what everything on the altar did, and if witches have Christmas.  I didn't mind.  It was kind of cute.  So long as no parents got angry that their kids were asking me questions that I truthfully answered, all was well. 

On my wall was a fascinating object to these girls: my broom.  It hung over our large front window, it's unvarnished handle cradled in two black padded hooks.  I thought it looked rather pretty up there, but to the girls, it was a sure sign that I kept it up out of harm's way when I wasn't flying it through the air.

One day one of the girls asked the question directly.  I joked and said that it's much too cold at night for flying.  They persisted: did I, could I, actually fly it?  I asked simply "If I could fly on a broomstick, why would I own a car?"  They went silent and then the topic changed.  I left it at that.  I didn't want to kill the fun of the topic.  After all, who hasn't dreamed of flying away?  Isn't flying the ultimate freedom?  I didn't want to take that away so harshly.

Later we decided to go for a swim and after changing into suits we all met on the grassy hill before the creek side.  With Gigi wobbling along, I fell behind the giggling crowd of girls.  One girl fell behind with me.  She bit her lip and kept glancing at me like she wanted to say something but lacked the nerve.  Finally she leaned in and asked quietly, so the others couldn't hear, "Can't you...just...fly it a little?" My heart almost broke.  She was 12 and so willing to believe.  If I'd said I could manage about 5 feet off the ground, she'd have been there the next day to learn how.  How could I explain the truly impressive work of magic if I now flattened her hopes by telling her that the kind of magic she understood wasn't real? 


I saw in her the girl Gigi would one day become.  Do I tell her the version of life that was handed down to me by my mother, that life is full of pain and tough breaks?  Or should I tell her what I desperately wanted to believe myself, that life is endless possibility and you can accomplish anything your heart desires?  While she looked at me with big almost pleading eyes, I weighed my options.  In the end, I decided to tell her the truth, my way:

"I don't know how to fly it.  Maybe it can be done, but there are lots of things I haven't learned yet and that's one of them."

She listened quietly and stayed quiet for a long while after, clearly thinking.  I may have taken my previous stature down a bit in her eyes, but I tried my best to split the difference between pessimism and optimism.  One cannot be cured by the other, only killed.  In between, I believe, is real possibility.

So if you come to me for spells that give you night vision or the ability to talk to animals, I won't laugh or scoff.  I will do my best to help, because you are full of promise and light just in asking.  I could use twenty more students like that!  And, in fairness, there's actual traditional magic for a lot of this "Hollywood stuff."  Whether or not it works is for you to decide.  You may become a beautiful mermaid or you may have to say "There are lots of things I haven't learned yet and that's one of them."

Every living thing is subject to illness.  And whether it be from overexertion, lax care of our system, or simply exposure to more germs than we can fend off, witches get sick too.

I have traditionally looked at illness as a good time to take a break.  I would rest as much as possible, eat what was simple and soothing, and try not to do anything that required effort.  But that was way back before I was a parent, a witch, or a business owner.  Needless to say, things are different now.

Now I resist even admitting that I'm sick.  To admit it is to realize the need to deal with it, to fix it, to recuperate from it.  I need at least three solid days of symptoms so obvious that they cannot be ignored in order to face the truth.  But even after that, I might only permit myself to slow down if I'm in a particularly bad mood or if I can count on my husband to deal with the major items on the to-do list.  Otherwise, it's business as usual.  I won't usually even submit to medicines, be they from the store or from my mortar and pestle. And why?  Cause I'm sick, dammit!  I've got no time for that!  Yeah, I know...it doesn't make a lot of sense to me either.

But one thing I won't set aside at this time (unless ill to near-death) is magic.  All contradictions and stubbornness aside, this is an oft-debated issue that I find very simple.  When we're sick, we know we have energy for some things and not others.  We're not so depleted that we can't, for instance, muster the strength to walk upstairs to the bathroom or reach down to change our socks, even if we find something like grocery shopping too draining to face.  Just as the most exhausted parent is yet awake enough to run to the aid of their child if they roll out of bed, we all have what it takes, at all times, and in all states of being, to do what's necessary.

See?

Physical energy is no different than magical energy--sometimes it's up, sometimes down--but never gone or totally inaccessible.  Our abilities, during illness, don't suddenly dry up or go horribly astray to the point that they cannot be trusted.  If it is something important, the energy you need will be present.  Essentially these two forces are the same.  A fit, healthy person has more power at their disposal.  That's why taking good care of one's physical form is a facet of much of magical training.  But an unwell person can still focus their energy when it's needed--you work with what's available to you, no matter your circumstances. It's not fair to say that we should only ever cast when things are going our way.  Not only would that be impossible, it also defeats the very purpose of casting spells in the first place.

While I do believe in following the rhythms set for us by nature and our physical selves, I don't wish to be a slave to it.  Life never stops.  The present is an ever-changing space and we're always being presented with something new.  My family, friends, or customers need me?  I'm there.  Their situation is not going to stop for my fever any more than it's going to stop for my age (which is another tricky asset/liability issue).   This very moment may be the only right time to change course on their problem.  And maybe by pushing through the physical symptoms a caster can bring about a form of enlightenment.  Every now and then we need to remind ourselves of our strength.  We will always have the power to be where we need to be and do what needs done.  It is our will and our will be done.

The next time you find yourself down with a sickness, try some magic.  It doesn't have to be for healing, but definitely something you feel strongly about.  See yourself drop away all the physical stuff and dig into something deeper.  I'm not asking you to sacrifice sanity if you're in massive amounts of pain, have a temperature of 105, or are scheduled for surgery in 20 minutes.  But for anything less, give it a go.  See where it takes you.  The napping, sniffling, and hot ramen can wait a little bit longer. Your magic needs you now.

Today the bus arrived at the edge of our snowy yard promptly at 3:30 and I expected Gigi to leap promptly through the door and declare herself home from the forced labor camp that is middle school.  Instead she quietly slunk in, with a red face and redder eyes, her shoulders drooping so low I couldn't believe she was still upright.

Somehow this bold, smart, friendly girl had been viciously bullied on the bus.  Now I take the middle-of-the-road approach to school bullies.  One one hand, bullying has happened since the time of the cavemen and continues the be an issue, in one way or another, for adults as well as kids (pushy relatives telling you how to live your life, that jerk who's out to get your job, etc.).  If we're able, standing up to these people can be a real breakthrough.  Can we (should we?) really eradicate something that is old as time and that many accept as part of learning one's own strength?  On the other hand, bullying is a painful, unnecessary expression of pointless hate (or repressed desire, jealousy, fear, etc.).  How can we pretend that isn't a problem?  How can we accept it without showing our kids that we condone them becoming victims...or monsters?

Like any mother seeing her child hurt by another, I was ready for blood.  While I simmered, Gigi's dad sensibly called the school to let them know what happened. I probed Gigi for more information: no, it wasn't provoked; yes, others saw and they can be trusted to tell the truth if asked; yes, the bus driver saw but, no, it didn't make her stop.  It had begun with the other girl calling names and shrieking  (can you believe this??) "You're a witch!"  Gigi did as I said before and ignored her, but it only escalated now that she wasn't getting any reaction.  It ended with the girl taking scissors from her bag and trying to cut off Gigi's hair.  Hearing that, I wanted to march right over to that girl's house and shave her head bald and her mother's too, for good measure!

Gigi was upset for quite a while and especially embarrassed at having cried in front of older kids.  I explained things as best I could about how embarrassing things happen to everyone and that, to others, we usually don't look as bad as we think we do.  "It'll fade away and pretty soon, no one will remember a thing about it," I said.  But is that so?  Did it feel like that to me when I was her age?  My optimistic "mom talk" wasn't working.  I needed stronger medicine.  I needed magic.

Up until now (read Dreams and Curses), Gigi has learned and long worked with little magic -- healing, rain making, etc. -- and mostly in her own way, not formulated spells.  It has been time, in my estimation, to begin the work in earnest but it's been slow going without a clear focus to begin.  Was this a good focus?  Can curses properly propel a magical career?

In the end, it's up to every parent, teacher, guide, whathaveyou, to determine when the student is ready and how best to help them cross into the magical life.  If it "takes", great.  If not, try again another time, another way and hope for better success.  Some may disagree with my methods but the timing couldn't have been better.  She was totally ready.

I went to my work room and picked out my favorite spellbook.  Gigi sat sniffling on the couch as I opened the heavy book and sat it between us.  "Now, we're gonna fix this," I said.  "And we're gonna fix her, too!"


We looked through all sorts of curses, Gigi asked questions and I explained, we talked about herbs with bizarre properties, we cracked jokes and cackled at our own wickedness.  I looked at Gigi and her eyes weren't red anymore.  Her body was relaxed but her face was alive with curiosity.

We worked magic together--mother and child, fighting fire with fire.  Our visualizations fed one another, our chanting blending perfectly, growing rich and deep.  The candles burned brightly and reflected in her eyes, her smile.  I talked about having faith in the work because you put your all into it, and about letting that power unfold in its own way because it's on your side and knows just what to do.  I told her of the importance of faith in yourself because you will be the only one certain to always be there for you.  She sat up straight and looked proud, listening more intently than I've seen since she was a wee little girl and thought mommy was a genius.  The work done, we laughed and relaxed.  We washed our hands in special salts and had a hug before bed.  She fell asleep calmly, breathing deeply.

This isn't over and there are things yet to happen between me, this girl's parents, and the school.  But what happens next rests largely on what we did tonight.  There will be no "getting away with it" and no similar events in the future.  But, best of all, what this taught Gigi isn't over and never will be.  She's tougher than any opponent because she's got the will to be.  If it takes a little revenge to teach her that, then I say it's worth it.

Who says that black magic only brings sorrow?  All magic is done for the betterment of someone, somewhere.  The better is here and now--mother, daughter, partners and protectors.  The worse is with our enemies.  What they have asked for, they now receive.  Who are we to deny such a fervent request?

German imports!  :)

Ending the year well is never an easy task.  Maybe that's why I always stuff so much work into the month of December.  The effort I generally put into my home-life was rewarded with more hard work, preparing for our always massive celebration of Yule.  Though work it was--and with the same stress-inducing capability as any other--it was happy work filled with the pleasure of abundance.  Our table was as full as our house and everywhere were lights, music, and food.  Because this was a very special year (my brother and sister-in-law were visiting from Germany for the holidays), I was inspired to do even more!  I'm not terribly good at buying presents but I love to put on a party!

Me and enough dinner for 20 people. Instead, I served 7.  lol

Our ritual celebration is, by sharp contrast, almost quiet.  We rung in the longest night with a blazing fire in the cauldron, which in turn began the lighting of our annual handmade Yule log.  The blessings of each of the coming year's 12 months were invoked, one by one, and the whole of it was admired when it was all aglow with as much fondness as I believe we'll look on 2013 when it's all over in December.  An always raucous retelling of the story of Mother Berchta (delightlfully overacted, in our home, as a play with costumes) lightened the mood and we all enjoyed a little chaos within the well-worn boundaries of our ritual, our family, our home, our season. 

There is a business to big holidays, one that must be overseen with care and lots of effort.  But there really is nothing better than toiling for later joy--yours and others.  In baking, there is a sense of the pleasure of eating; in hanging decorations, the elation of a dark house glowing with lights and cheer; in making or buying presents, the excitement of opening them.  Those who put on such affairs do so because they can enjoy the preparation as though the day of its unwrapping had come.  And the more paper you put onto the big present of a holiday, the more there is to take off when it comes.  Putting on all those details can be quite a big job (or, rather, what seems like hundreds of little jobs!) but there is pleasure to be had in the work of it, if you're looking right.

Lit on Yule, the Log will be burned with the tree at the end of the season and the candles burned in turn on their month.

That's how I feel about my shop.  I have many projects already in place in my life (and, honestly, I always have.  It is my habit to celebrate the completion of one thing by taking on two more) and I don't always manage a perfect balance or keep a perfect schedule, but I love the process of trying.  The spark of an idea, piecing it all together, exploring options and interesting twists, seeing it complete and ready to meet the world ... each time I take on work--be it restocking, making custom items, or completely new listings--there is the pleasure of knowing that someone somewhere will see it as just the thing that they've been looking for.  

And now that we've entered the New Year and the busy season is waning, I see all the work yet to be done.  New items for you to view at your leisure from the virtual shelves of my shop, but also a great deal of magic that has been waiting.  As a professional witch, I do a lot of magic for others--sometimes purely because it needs done and not because I'm being paid.  I know it is against the morality of some folks but I cast spells for others unawares just as part of my practice.  If I'm planning two spells for this moon sign, what's one more?  It's good practice for me and a benefit to those I care about. 

This month I'm working on three (and it may be you!)-- a better business spell, a healing, and some money luck.  Each of the recipients knows well what I do, all could very much use a hand, but none asked for it outright.  To me the issue is a simple one.  It's raining and I've got two umbrellas; must I wait until you notice me standing there and call my name through the downpour?  Or may I just pop it open, hold it out for you, and go on my way?  It's still up to you to take it to shelter yourself.  It's still your job to walk to you destination.  My one act of generosity didn't turn you into an infant who can no longer help himself, nor did it ruin any lessons to be learned from your plight.  Maybe it taught you something that can be hard to learn--that sometimes people do nice things just because they wanted to do them.

Remember, Random Acts of Kindness Day is February 17

Maybe this, too, is a sort of toiling for joy.  There's little practical aid I can offer in the circumstances of these three people.  I'm no doctor and while feeling moderately secure financially, I haven't got what it takes to invest in a business nor to keep another's household afloat.  But I can offer magic and even when I'm busy and have work of my own to be done I can work for their causes as well.  And it makes me happy as any holiday--hectic but accomplished in the business of sharing joy.

For reasons unknown, I would love to be lazy.  Maybe it's the cold weather now settling in.  Maybe it's the long to-do list which faces me every year from October to February.  Or maybe it's the very thought of such delicious sloth that tantalizes me into a recurring daydream of doing absolutely nothing.

There I am, front and center, ready for the world.

If I were to do nothing, it would look quite impressive: sleeping in every day until I was bored with sleeping, eating oatmeal every morning, playing video games until my eyes hurt, watching old movies and seeing every moment uninterrupted and without occupying my hands, lounging in a hot bath for hours, flipping through books just to see the pretty pictures, daydreaming, falling asleep on the carpet, going out for a midnight drive, and dropping my dirty clothes on the floor.  Boy, would that be sweet.

But I don't think I would be very happy after a day or two (especially since, even in a fantasy with nothing to do, I've managed to make a fairly long to-do list for myself).  With nothing to work for, there is no purpose, no point to anything.  And soon leisure becomes as drab and colorless as the most tedious chore.  Where is the pleasure without the effort?  Where is the triumph without the struggle?  So, instead, I'm going to work hard and keep going.  I'm going to be posting new items on my shop (stay tuned!), making many more that will excite you all once they are complete, dip candles and refill other stock, while also keeping our household chugging along smoothly and preparing for our huge Yule celebrations that begin December first and don't quit until we all fall down exhausted on the 22nd.  As a bustling, busy, productivity-loving Capricorn, I doubt I could enjoy life any other way.

Best to you all as we enter the holiday season!

Quill

Okay, so I wasn't able to write from Salem.  But that's not for lack of thinking about it.  It was such a whirlwind of activity, that if not for the thousands of photos and bags of swag, I'd think I never went at all!  So let me break it down a little, for you and for me.

My husband and I set out 2 hours later than we'd planned.  Damn.  And I had to turn around after a mile because I forgot to bring shoes.  So not a very fortuitous beginning.  But after several double-checks of the house, many blessings, candle-burnings, and chanting (as well as a rockin' orange paisley dress that just refused to be found!  Grr!), we were off.  A cheerful and surprisingly speedy drive slowed to a halt at every exit in Boston, but with a constant flow of chants, we made it through without problems.  I have used the same chants since I first started practicing witchcraft at age 16.  By now they're thoroughly ingrained in me--just the first few words and they set to work.  That was good news for me because it was about this time that I remembered that I wasn't carrying my usual traveling companion--a handwritten book full of practical charms.  Rats!

We checked into our posh hotel with just enough time to change for the Witches Ball and be at the front door for the shuttle.  What perfect timing!  In previous years we drove into the city, which is not so bad...until you need to park.  Sadly, at this time of year Salem has one parking space for every 200 people seeking it.  But the shuttle is totally the way to go (Hudson, by the way.  Just remember Hudson).  We even got there in time to get the goodie bags that they give to the first 100 in the door.  Every year we fear we won't make it and every year we have with plenty time to spare.  That's a kind of magic, right there!

The High Priestess outside of her temple, the Boston Marriott.

The Ball was a flurry of excitement--people crowding every square inch of the ballroom, music loud enough to wake the dead, dancing, drinking, laughter, smoke, and lights...it was, as always, a sight to see.  We crowded to the front to watch the amazing Dragon Ritual Drummers as they called love and honor for the dead and worked a rhythm to make it impossible to stand still.  Now I'm no dancer, but they manage to get me moving every time.  There's a wide range of dance styles at the Ball (and pretty much anywhere Pagans congregate)--the I-go-to-nightclubs-every-weekend swagger, the sexy come-hither, lots of pseudo-bellydancing, wild arm thrashing, the I'm-also-talking and/or kissing sway, the drinking/head bobbing combo, and then moderate dancers like me.  Because of the available variety, it's quite easy to blend in no matter what your style.

And here's Mickey before we left home.  That head wasn't easy to hoist, so he requested no photos before the Ball unless absolutely necessary.  lol

Christian Day (our host) announced that the tables had been removed this year (as I noticed because it meant less to trip over.  After all, I was wearing a moon at my feet and a large headdress on top!) to eliminate wallflowers.  It worked quite well.  I had no intention of sitting still the whole time but the lack of rest space meant that nearly everyone was mingling the whole night.  For a couple who rarely get out like this, it was perfect!  Hubby and I made the rounds like bold souls, meeting new folks, seeing new costumes, getting pictures taken, and finding new enthusiasm for the dance.  A couple of drinks and a few fancy nibbles were surprisingly all I was interested in, despite the wide array available.  It was warm, wild, and much too much of everything to spend my time eating! 

To clear things up, this year's theme was "Witch and Famous," well-known historical and fictional witches and wizards.  My husband was the Sorcerer's Apprentice and I was the High Priestess of the tarot.  These were the most wildly original costumes we could manage after months of contemplation.  Naturally, mine was not original.  lol

That's me on the right, all aglow, and a sympathetic sister on the left.  Great minds think alike, I guess!

Though I was a shining beacon in the darkened ballroom, my husband was the one who got the attention!   As we had discovered earlier this year while visiting Disney World, the mere sight of a walking, talking Mickey Mouse does something strange to people.  Children flock to give hugs and high-fives.  Grown men and women throw themselves in his arms with love, laughter, and lavish kisses.  And tonight was no different.

Handfuls of pretty young women (and an enthusiastic young man!) took turns dancing with him like rock groupies.  It was quite a sight!  I took it as well as any wife can who watches her surprised and embarrassed hubby as he is worshiped with erotic dance like a golden idol.  Maybe it was Mickey's magnetic power of celebrity, maybe the familiarity of a good-natured character, or maybe it was his permanent smile of excitement...whatever it was, it was magic!

Of course I was thrilled when, in the midst of all the dancing and mingling, he was asked to come to the front of the room.  The winners were finally announced and he'd won 2nd prize--$200 to Pentacle Press!  What a thrill!  What bliss!  Mickey danced and smiled from the stage as I clapped like mad for his big win.  First prize went to a woman dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West who rode a broomstick atop an 8 foot pole.  For sheer dedication, misery, and boredom (there's no drinking, talking, or dancing when you spend the evening at the top of a pole), she is welcome to it.   

Two more things made this event huge.  The biggest was that I met Dorothy Morrison, who, oddly enough penned quite a few of the charms I used on the trip up to Mass. for safety and traffic woes.  On Sunday, I even did her charm for a parking place and we easily slid into a spot on a crowded street.  I was really looking forward to getting a signed copy of her newest book, "Utterly Wicked," but, alas, she was in the midst of a longer trip (including a Pagan festival in Florida) and didn't carry books with her.  Instead she offered to send me an autographed bookplate to put in my new copy.  Eeep!  So dang cool...   Now I don't think I'll be able to read her without hearing her characteristic voice.

And the second thing to make this such a special night was the way Christian Day--normally a sassy and somewhat aloof type--seemed to fawn over Mickey Mouse!  It was very sweet.  That's when I knew that the magic of the mouse was upon us all.  Just look at this smile---



The way back to the hotel seemed long and chilly compared to the loud and crowded Ball.  However, knowing the next day was all ours, with no schedule or plans, was very exciting!  So much of my thoughts had been wrapped up in that night that I nearly forgot the rest of the weekend! That and getting out of slippery satin and into an overstuffed bed to unpack our goodie bags was all new fun.  Hooray! 

Hotel breakfasts are always wonderful.  I think that if there were only one way to wake up every morning, I'd choose a hotel breakfast.  Ours was well stocked and we ate heartily so that we wouldn't have to stop for lunch.  We hit all the hot spots that day: all the shops along Essex (with special attention to my favorite shops, The Magic Parlor, Hex, Omen, The Barking Cat, Harrison's comics, and Witch City Consignment and a trip through the Psychic Fair) and some new goodies on Pickering Wharf, including a peek in the new Magica , The adorable Wynotts wand shop, and a great little place Arcana, whose very cool owners I met the night before.  The evening was chilly and my feet were sore.  We decided to have dinner at Life Alive for heaping bowls of udon miso and salads.  Warm and fed, we headed back to the hotel again for an unconventional night of cable TV, napping, waking, and delivery pizza. 

Sunday morning was a bummer.  Great breakfast, great weather, but always the shadow of leaving.  *sigh* But we managed to squeeze in one last jaunt into the city for shirts and other goodies to take home for other folks.  One last treat, a dandelion-chicory latte with rice milk and vanilla from Life Alive, and we were off.  I was happy for this last visit even though it set our schedule back.  Though maybe that was a mistake because right about then a lady named Sandy was terrorizing the East Coast, unbeknownst to us, and we were barely ahead of her. We left New York just as they were evacuating cities and the highway was stuffed with the cars of fleeing residents.  

We made it back in time to gather our kids from family and return home.  School had been cancelled for the next day, due to the impending storm, so time was no longer an issue.  But, quite happily, not a single drop of rain entered our house unbidden and not a single bit of damage was done to anything belonging to our loved ones, either.  Blessed be!

Salem this year was as it always is--beautiful, joyful, and surprising.  I would say that I could happily live there, but then, that might take away the pleasure of escaping to that lovely place every time autumn comes and life permits.  It could never be four walls and a roof, it is only ever a door.

My trip to Salem is coming closer by the minute.  I can almost hear its footsteps behind me.  How can I possibly feel like sighing in bliss and running in terror at the same time?  To begin with, this is the biggest event of our year (though possibly tying with Yule, a huge deal around here)--the Salem Witches Ball.   I am excited/petrified in a few different ways.  It's interesting to consider them all individually:

1. I'm thrilled to be attending the Ball for my third year.  It's an amazing event that's always different!
2. This is my chance to "get away from it all" and do something strictly relaxing with no goals for accomplishment nor productivity.  Ahhhh!
3. Working nonstop on our costumes (plus normal household stuff and working for my shop--updating listings, helping customers, mailing orders, etc.) has left me rather burnt out.  I need a vacation.
4. I am a nervous wreck about the costumes.  A happy, terrified, proud wreck.
5. Everything considered non-essential (like dusting, mopping, and sleep) has taken a back-seat to all immediately important activities.  I don't think I'll fully grasp the level of disarray it has become until after things settle down again.
6. My to-do list is still dangerously long.  So long, in fact, that if it were a snake, it could easily crush me to death.  My only hope is to slash away at it with a pen.
7. I am happiest when I'm busy, and I always bite off more than I can chew.  This time is no exception.

As you can see, at the moment I'm one mixed up sonofabitch.  lol  Right now I could use all the well-wishes you can spare.  (I will be sure to update this blog with lots of photos and news from the Witch City as repayment!)

Thinking of you as I pack up the broomstick and head North,

Quill