A Beltane reading

     

We've been living on pause for a while. It's time we tested our luck and were more generous with our gifts, including better responses to righteous fury.  This Empress, this softening, is the spirit of Beltane. Fecundity in all its forms. We are Makers. We create. We manifest miracles from nothing. Time to share the wealth. 

                                                                ~O~

A pair of adorable young men tapped on the door today. One of them had a great opener. He admired the bumper sticker collection on Colin's car. That was mildly disturbing because most of them are obscure references to metal bands or cult horror films. 

They reminded me of my own dance with the missionaries, so long ago.

    I put on my "What are you selling?" face, and tall cutie replied, "We're missionaries."

Younger, short, brown-eyed cutie clutched a very fat bible like a good luck charm. 

    I gave them a big smile and said, "Well, Happy Beltane, boys!" 

    Their looks of complete bewilderment were priceless. Neither had ever heard the word, so I enlightened them and went on to explain why pagans and witches have a lot of problems with their point of view, including that book they are so fond of, commissioned by the rich patriarchy of the day.

    I went on to ask if they knew about the Gnostics and why those books were not included in the bible. The were again, clueless. More education.

    They declined the water I offered. Sweet boys. If I had been dressed, I would have invited them into the kitchen for potato salad, lemonade, and my famous Evolution lecture. I can't mock them or get angry. It takes a lot of courage to do what they do. I just wish their energy and effort weren't so wasted.

Stitching these letters into place, building them from scraps, was so satisfying. I'm still working on forgiving myself for not taking them out in public somewhere. I was still aching and stiff from the back thing, and the plastic Adirondack lawn chairs are notorious back killers. I love sinking into them, but after 15 minutes, I'm really sorry that I did. 

I might go across the street and steal a better chair from the dead. Joyce won't mind. I'm also going to turn her flag upside down. 

Bailey still sneaks up on me for cuddles when Salem isn't looking. 

The only time I'm interested in cooking is when I have a woo-lee for something. 

I had no idea how to spell the word my mother always used for a craving. A quick search returned "voglia" which is Italian for "a need". 

A few days ago, the voglia was for my own potato salad. I would not eat any other potato salad even at gunpoint. Who knows wtf they put in there?

 

I only recently started leaving the red skins on the potatoes. Boil, cool. Add a little Hellmann's mayo, a splash of red wine vinegar, a half sweet onion. well diced. Black pepper, salt, and a pinch of oregano. I used to like to stir in a fat handful of Cajun peanuts, but they've gotten hard to find. It paired so well with a hacked-up apple-bourbon pork loin and caramelized onions.

                                                        ~O~

Sorry, AP for stealing this picture. Israel is burning, and they are asking for help.

I have a lot of thoughts about that, but what a striking photo. 

In the deepest contrast, my spirit animal prepares for the upcoming season of competition in an astoundingly frivolous sport.

 

And, best of all, Home, complete with devil chairs.

I wanted to light the fire pit last night for Beltane, but it was breezy and I need to empty it out to be sure nothing has nested in there. It's been a while since the last burn.