tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27820594590677012122024-02-21T07:23:01.869-05:00the world between the treessearching for the truth in mythology, history, music, art, science, and every-day life.Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-91827326973799914052014-10-24T15:21:00.000-04:002014-10-24T15:21:25.555-04:00Costumes and Facebook<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWhoHw_HDRxjTpCYRIvoofooKihwlEHFz9OiP9Kl6dj_TXXBL1MJn2ErOWFXQC51HXwwERsjaB726mCNytM43JJR5my3qa8skutZs8_htjBIvShjtUyIRFwMotbDowkaI6oiwcRP-MQ8/s1600/spike-drusilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWhoHw_HDRxjTpCYRIvoofooKihwlEHFz9OiP9Kl6dj_TXXBL1MJn2ErOWFXQC51HXwwERsjaB726mCNytM43JJR5my3qa8skutZs8_htjBIvShjtUyIRFwMotbDowkaI6oiwcRP-MQ8/s1600/spike-drusilla.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">Spike and Drusilla (aka our Samhaine</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">Costumes this year). Pic from </span></strong><a href="http://spinoff.comicbookresources.com/2012/08/27/fan-expo-james-marsters-and-juliet-landau-look-back-on-buffy/" target="_blank"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">here</span></strong></a><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">.</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It’s been several months since I have actually written a meaningful, lengthy post. I have had a plethora of experiences in recent months—hell, in recent years—that keep pulling me away from my many hobbies, such that I find myself increasingly having to pick and choose what to pursue at any given time. I am slowly working my way into another bout where writing takes my primary focus (at least, when I am not at work), but I still have a handful more of sewing projects and art projects to complete before I can dive in unencumbered. My hobbies have always rotated in cycles of prominence, even when I have been blessed with enough time to properly pursue more than one at a time. With work being what it is, as well as the increased workload at home with recovering from all the wedding-related crafting aftermath and preparing our household to bring in a new furry companion by way of adopting a retired racer from a local Greyhound rescue, I have barely been able to pursue more than a reaction-based project management. By which I mean, “Holy crap it’s already October and I haven’t finished making my Halloween costume yet and our friends are hosting a housewarming/costume party that night and we’ve been planning on being Drusilla and Spike for AGES!!!” followed by “Holy crap it’s already Renaissance Festival Season and we already purchased tickets but I need a new corset and I bought that evergreen stretch panne velvet to make a dress out of to go with a new corset but then I never got around to it!” and so on and so forth. Reaction Crafting. I prefer pre-planned crafting, although having a purpose beyond that of “I want to make this just because” is sometimes helpful with enforcing a completion deadline.<br />
<br />
So anyway, life has been more or less pretty good lately, apart from this recent bout of Facebook’s latest shenanigans with closing the accounts of people who don’t use their legal names in their profiles (because that totally makes sense….not. Evil Facebook Monster.) While I have not personally been affected by this situation since my personal page is in my legal name and only my public artist page is in the name I use online/professionally/in the Pagan community, I am seriously considering deleting my accounts altogether. There are several reasons I haven’t yet, chiefly among them that I want to maintain my public page as Anden Jade and to do so, I have to maintain a personal account to be the admin. However, there’s also the convenience of using social media as a means to stay in touch with my distant friends and family. People I know, love and care about are spread all across the world. They are scattered across time zones, countries and continents, even hemispheres. Long distance phone calls are expensive, and I suck at talking on the phone anyway (I prefer to plan what I am going to say plus I am not good are picking up on tone, so conversations in which I cannot physically see the person I am talking to and use their body language to further interpret their intent are difficult for me). Even with those drawbacks, I think I am going to send a blast message to all of my Facebook friends, telling them that I am finally deleting my account so if they want to keep in contact, they better send me a working email or phone number, and if they want pictures or more thorough updates that require little effort on their part…I can link them to my blog.<br />
<br />
One day when I am a big famous artist/musician/writer/crafter/Pagan/General/feminist/et cetera I will be able to affect some real change.<br />
<br />
In the mean time, I will just have to spill out some semi-intelligent blog posts about why this or that is annoying, or look at what I made today, or hey these are my thoughts on puppies. Speaking of puppies, do keep posted for updates about the retired racer we are adopting! There will, of course, be pics.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-80928996130307737032014-10-14T10:29:00.001-04:002014-10-14T10:29:21.078-04:00Deirdre's FirebirdIt’s been a while. Don’t worry—not going anywhere permanently, just busy writing elsewhere…as in, my story! We’re about halfway done with writing the supplemental scenes, and once those are complete I will splice them into the primary narrative. The end result should be a much better novel. In the mean time, here’s a snippet of Deirdre’s <em>Firebird</em> song to tide you over:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I wandered beneath the sky,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The saddest, sweetest song heard I;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The firebird with feathers fair</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Was passing sadly, sweetly by.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I followed her without a care,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though branches tangled in my hair;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No rest nor peace nor sleep knew I</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While she floated through the air.</span><br />
<br />
Oh yeah, and the wedding and honeymoon were both awesome. Pictures will be posted eventually.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-90625301636576603162014-06-30T11:59:00.000-04:002014-06-30T11:59:23.842-04:00In The Night Forest<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>In the night wood I tread softly; </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>the leaves no rustling make.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The moss absorbs my footsteps,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>and the stones cover my wake.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Yet throughout my silent travels,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>in my head there is a tune;</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>my blood sings with the magic, while</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>the wolves sing with the moon.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I do not fear the fanged ones</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>on their swift and silent paws,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>for I was there in the darkness</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>before the birth of the stars.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I was there at their dawning, and</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I will be there at their end.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I am neither creator nor destroyer,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>but in the night forest I tread.</strong></span>
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-45545548358552065082014-03-17T07:18:00.000-04:002014-03-17T07:21:45.271-04:00Webs And Those Who Weave Them<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxuWH7Kbn1arVsh6R5gYo1jXel9_z8TTfj4vDEOEEvuryDhaCkgNLFp2R_DKEjwTrOj32q4prjcMklpyaN8428oMuhJH_RwIaOVA_aSDvYHsvIgWBZdJC7GvENdxoYGIToHtXpWiDwy0/s1600/loom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxuWH7Kbn1arVsh6R5gYo1jXel9_z8TTfj4vDEOEEvuryDhaCkgNLFp2R_DKEjwTrOj32q4prjcMklpyaN8428oMuhJH_RwIaOVA_aSDvYHsvIgWBZdJC7GvENdxoYGIToHtXpWiDwy0/s1600/loom.jpg" height="320" width="182" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em><a href="http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/daily_living/text/clothing.htm" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">Viking Loom</span></a></em></strong><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">. Culturally, the</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">sierrens from Aorea are similar</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">to the vikings from Earth.</span></td></tr>
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Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons and daughters of the earth. We did not weave the web of life, we are merely strands in it. Whatever we do to the web we do to ourselves.<br />
~ Chief Sealth
<br />
<br />
As I have discussed before, whenever I begin a project, I begin with the bones. In sculpture that usually means I first create a wire frame; in art, a pencil sketch. In my fiction writing I begin with a different kind of sketch: dialogue.
<br />
<br />
Because I am a perfectionist and can never be satisfied with the state of my story—if you’ll recall, I recently announced finishing it and sending it out to a second round of readers—I have started changing things again. Drastically. The story some of you have already read will still be there, largely unchanged, but it will now take up little more than half of the novel’s overall weight. There’s so much mythology and backstory and a whole slew of interesting (at least, to me) characters that make the “modern” day journey necessary, that when I go back and read my story as a stranger would—without knowing all the backstory of the world of Aorea—it seems very thin and contrived to me. Sure, some of my characters explain bits and pieces of the history, but I’m a writer; I’d rather <em>show</em> the readers that history than have someone else tell it, even if they’re using my words.
<br />
<br />
Thus, I have started writing new scenes, a whole army of new scenes, that I will splice throughout the story such that the end result is almost two stories comprised into one book, alternating between the “flashbacks” (the history and mythology of the world itself that leads up to the journey being necessary) and the “present day” story that is already written. I have written thirteen dialogue sketches so far. Thirteen. I have about ten or so more to go, and then, of course, I have to flesh them out, edit them, put them in order, figure out how and where I want to cut them in to the main narrative. I think the final product will be significantly better than the first and even than the second, and although my novel will be much longer than I originally intended, and although I will be introducing a shitton of semi-new elements, I think the final product will ultimately make more sense and convey the main theme I’ve been trying to convey from the very beginning: we’re all connected. Everything is connected. Decisions made and actions taken generations ago affect the outcomes of actions taken today.
<br />
<br />
Fingers crossed, anyway.
<br />
<br />
I have always tended to borrow heavily from traditional mythology (with a twist) to supplement my own stories, whether through world-building or just by having my characters familiar with certain mythological themes that help them in their own quest. Some of my characters will look quite familiar to those versed in Slavic mythology, even down to derivations of their names; however, I tend to pick and choose those aspects of a particular myth or mythological figure that best fits my needs, except for those instances where strong cross-cultural similarities exist. In those instances, I keep the predominant traits as well.
<br />
<br />
One of the central histories from the world in which my stories take place—Aorea—involves a retelling of the myth of Arachne mixed with various versions of spinning Fates, granted I use a very different cast of characters. The central myth binding my created world together involves a woman weaving at a semi-immortal loom and watching the fate of multiple worlds unfold upon the cloth. While the first of these demi-goddess women weavers (there will be seven total) was quite the mage in her own right, as was her heir and daughter, nevertheless the magic of the visions is tied to the loom, not the Spinner. The visions in the loom, in fact, stem from the powerful soul trapped within it whom the Spinners are truly there to guard; watching the visions unfold across the cloth is just a fun side-gig.
<br />
<br />
Thus, I present to you a snippet of dialogue sketch from one of my newly written scenes. Without giving too much away, in this scene three siblings from the world of Daem have found their way through Earth and into Aorea, where they are plotting their next move from a room in a sierren inn. The two brothers are Dimeldor (oldest) and Derrien (youngest), and their sister is Antiln (middle).
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Dimeldor</span></strong>: These creatures are little wiser than the last. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: I feel there is much we can gain here, much to learn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Derrien</span></strong>: Have you had another vision? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: Not since we left Daem, but the path I saw on that day is beginning to unfold. Our journey will not go unrewarded. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Dimeldor</span></strong>: I tire of your empty prophecies, sister. I would rather take what is ours and leave. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: Caution, dear brother. We must first observe, and then our path will be made clear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Derrien</span></strong>: You speak of paths. I thought this was our path? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Dimeldor</span></strong>: You told us if we joined you in your quest, we would find magic of our own to take. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Derrien</span></strong>: You promised us we would become like gods and rule our world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: And now I promise you that we will rule not just Daem, but all three of these worlds. One will reign over our home with all of our brethren bowing at his feet; one will rule the land we left with those primitive tribes as his servants; and I will reign supreme over this rich, bright, shining land we have just found. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Dimeldor</span></strong>: Why do you get to rule this place? I am the eldest. The best world should be mine by birthright. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: I will rule where I will because I have the power. Do not forget that you are nothing without me. You would become but ash in the wind were it not for my aid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Dimeldor</span></strong>: Empty prophecies, empty threats. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: cyan;">***</span><em>Antiln taps into the magic of the land and causes Dimeldor’s blood to sear and boil in his veins. Writhing in pain, he falls to his knees and yields</em><span style="color: cyan;">***</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: Pledge your loyalty to me, dear brothers, and I will let you live and even rule over Daem and that second, wretched world. Betray me, and you will know agony, misery and despair before I finally grant you the release of death. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: cyan;"><strong>Derrien</strong> and <strong>Dimeldor</strong></span>: We will serve you, dear sister, until our dying breath and beyond. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: cyan;">Antiln</span></strong>: Then you will know power greater than you have ever imagined. The magic here is a gravity, drawing all things to its center. I will find that center, and I will make it mine.</span>
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-53205666642833921442014-02-18T12:52:00.000-05:002014-02-18T12:52:33.424-05:00Tradition vs. Self Debate<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQAa_d84kn0sh9suCkvt51WYjv6XchLSzEZqCkPiWImlwW0dtfPfBuA0HseamCZntTyliel4RakVoelnoR6cKiH5EFO_MIirubBIlH3lbKzTxgU3SMrg7PBduYVDA2SMwMiOyigFBLQA/s1600/CTSJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQAa_d84kn0sh9suCkvt51WYjv6XchLSzEZqCkPiWImlwW0dtfPfBuA0HseamCZntTyliel4RakVoelnoR6cKiH5EFO_MIirubBIlH3lbKzTxgU3SMrg7PBduYVDA2SMwMiOyigFBLQA/s1600/CTSJ.jpg" height="160" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #9fc5e8;">Circle: The Spinner's Journey</span></strong></em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So I have some good news, and then I have some choices.
<br />
<br />
The good news is that I am finally done rewriting and editing (for the bazillionth time) my first novel, The Spinner’s Journey. Considering I have spent the last decade perfecting this 229 page young adult adventure story set in the fantastical world of Aorea, I’m pretty pleased with myself.
<br />
<br />
So now I have another decision to make: attempt to find an agent who will not screw me over with the publishing companies, or just self-publish and by so doing, accept that I will never make money as an author since I have precisely zero time to promote my own work and host book signings.
<br />
<br />
I have mixed feelings about both options, and it seems my peers are mixed across the board as for which option is better. So here is the list of pros and cons of each one, traditional production versus self publication, as I see them. Perhaps writing them down will help me figure out which way I’d rather go.
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: cyan; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pros of Traditional Publishing</span><span style="background-color: black; color: cyan; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">:</span></strong><br />
<ul>
<li>If I find a good agent who believes in my work and my vision, I may one day be listed as an author for one of the same publishing companies that published my favorite books, which would be epic.</li>
<li>Greater chance of recognition and distribution to book sellers to get my work out there, so to speak.</li>
<li>Greater respectability/credibility as a byproduct of an existing system that incorporates a multi-layered editing/critiquing process designed to make my novel as great as it can possibly be.</li>
<li>Contracts that protect my creative work more effectively from copyright infringement than if I were to just, say, post it on the ‘net.</li>
<li>The cost of publication doesn’t come out of my own pocket, which let’s be real, isn’t exactly empty but certainly isn’t deep.</li>
<li>All the promotion and marketing that I don’t have time to do by myself, someone else will do for me. Dude. Maybe my book could be a movie… </li>
</ul>
<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Cons of Traditional Publishing:</strong></span></span></span><br />
<ul>
<li>Every author I’ve ever seen/heard/read/interviewed seems to absolutely hate the big-name publishing company who stripped away all their creative rights to their own work (and yet they still used them), and then changed a bunch of random things and published something very different than what the author originally wanted, because by that point it’s not the author’s work anymore anyway.</li>
<li>Having to sign away my first born child and gods know what else in return for a faceless corporation to sell a book, sorta in my name, that is nothing like the manuscript I originally sent them.</li>
<li>Having my work dumbed down so it appeals more to the barely-literate masses…and please keep in mind that “barely literate” is not the judgment I would pass, but rather the assumption big name publishers seem to make about the masses, considering every novel that pops up on my kindle recommendations is basically the same novel, just with a slightly different title. Hello, am I the only one sick of teen paranormal romance? Yeesh! There’s hardly even a kissing-scene in my novel and even that one little PG scene, I’ve debated removing entirely (although, as I finished my most recent round of edits, I realized there is a lot of completely asexual nudity in my story; my characters always seem to end up naked and yet not banging…I guess they’re too busy being badasses who upon occasion accidentally end up separated from their clothing).
</li>
</ul>
<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Pros of Self-Publishing:</strong></span></span></span><br />
<ul>
<li>My work is mine. Always and completely. No one has publishing, reprinting or other related rights to my work except for me.</li>
<li>My novel will never go out of print as long as I want it to remain printable.</li>
<li>The novel I publish will be the same novel I send to get published.</li>
<li>No shady deals with third parties, unless you count the people running the printer, and I’m not particularly worried about them wanting to sign away my future children.</li>
<li>I get to design and format and illustrate and all that other fun stuff my artist-side just adores doing.</li>
<li>Upon a very rare occasion, self-published authors have been known to get later picked up by actual publishing companies anyway, and it’s easier to maintain some creative rights to your own work when a version of it already exists in print. </li>
</ul>
<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Cons of Self-Publishing:</strong></span></span></span><br />
<ul>
<li>The downside of no third party involvement is a lack of credibility, since literally anyone can self-publish…and if anyone can do it, is it worth doing? I’ve always believed in rising to the occasion, meeting the challenge, taking the hard road over the easy, over-used trail, so naturally the fact that self-publication requires no challenge or filtration process disturbs me.</li>
<li>If literally any bloke can crap out a hundred pages of gibberish then shell out some cash to get that gibberish in print…do I want my own novel, that I slaved over for years and poured my heart and soul into, to be associated with that level of non-work? I know it’s a rather elitist perspective, but I want my novel to be a good novel, not just something that a few of my friends read out of pity and then quickly throw away or worse, forget.</li>
<li>I have to fund the production, marketing and distribution of my book completely by myself. Again…pockets. Depth. Not so much.</li>
<li>Generally book sellers like Barnes & Nobel don’t buy from self-published authors unless they come with a helluva sell-back plan, which oh yeah—costs yet more of my own money.</li>
<li>I don’t have time to market my own stuff! If I ever want to be publicized, not just published, that involves a huge time commitment that my very-busy day job of oh, say, being in the Army, doesn’t really support. I can’t exactly take an extended lunch break to conduct a reading and signing at the local book club to promote my latest publication.
</li>
</ul>
So that’s where I’m at right now. Some of my friends—Orion included—are totally on board the self-publish train. Others, such as Amphitrite, are urging me to seek an agent and begin the lengthy process of reading rejection letters (at least I have a lot of experience in dealing with rejection and not letting it get me down). A lot of the best agents don’t take queries from first time authors, or else they only read a query if it comes with a referral. So yeah. Lots of rejection letters in my future. However, apparently there is a third option that is somewhere in between the two extremes that other of my friends and acquaintances are familiar with, so I’ll be looking into that third, hybrid-option as well.
<br />
<br />
Having read back over my pros and cons list, I think I’m going to start drafting a query letter. The worst that can happen is I receive a world of no from every agent and waste a book of stamps.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-50180895014523234822014-02-10T16:22:00.000-05:002014-02-10T16:22:24.322-05:00Slavic Tarot: Major Arcana, Part 2<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QEstiw_xd0dAM-wTWowNFoM1XOnql9b8bEPMEegqP3Tv-qaPGPy-sz59qvjuJtJuwZNR02NiyL9jHhSBfVIqk3319v7Az67t68lFSnuKM_L2OFvDDPwZIyWe4gS5M0otIo4ELPzQhQY/s1600/firebird2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QEstiw_xd0dAM-wTWowNFoM1XOnql9b8bEPMEegqP3Tv-qaPGPy-sz59qvjuJtJuwZNR02NiyL9jHhSBfVIqk3319v7Az67t68lFSnuKM_L2OFvDDPwZIyWe4gS5M0otIo4ELPzQhQY/s1600/firebird2.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: black;"><em>Firebird</em>, by yours truly. If you really</span></span></strong><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: black;"><strong>like </strong><strong>it, you can buy it from </strong></span></span><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/ACJade" target="_blank"><strong><span style="background-color: black;">here</span></strong></a><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">!</span></strong></td></tr>
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So I took another unannounced, several-months-long blogging hiatus. Sue me. Actually, on second thought, please don’t, because I really don’t make that much money and trust me, a lawsuit over my being a bad blogger and ruining your day for my bad blogular habits really won’t be worth the court fees, let alone the price of a lawyer.
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Anywho, following <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2013/11/slavic-tarot-major-aracan-part-1.html" target="_blank">my last post</a> concerning my latest long-term project of developing my very own tarot deck devoted to Slavic Mythology, I have been quite the busy beaver. I spent two weeks in the field with my old unit, outprocessed, started a fantastic new job with a new unit, celebrated the return of my fiancé Orion from his deployment, and started training for a marathon. My new job keeps me significantly busier than did my old job—I am now the happy Executive Officer of a wonderful Company—and furthermore, marathon training has monopolized my weekends. Luckily, the marathon is now only a few weeks away, and so you should be hearing more from me in the ensuing months than in the previous, well, three.
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And now I shall, in keeping with the theme of my previous post, continue with a follow up detailing the rest of my my dreamed-up Major Arcana for the eventual Slavic Tarot production! Hope you enjoy my summaries.
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<strong><u>XII. The Hanged Man: Rusalka (Русалка)</u></strong> - The Rusalki (singular: Rusalka) have sometimes been compared to the Sirens of Greco-Roman myth, and tales of such creatures as the Rusalki indeed populate every mythology I have yet come across (the fox-women of Japan and the seal-people of the Celtic islands, for yet more examples). In Slavic myth, a Rusalka is a beautiful female spirit who haunts a particular body of water, usually a pond, river or waterfall. She is sometimes said to be the vengeful ghost of a drowned maiden, generally one who was unhappy in life, was cheated on by her lover, killed herself via water like Ophelia, or was even murdered. Tales of the Rusalki frequently depict them luring men—particularly young, pretty ones—to watery deaths in an attempt to assuage their own loneliness. For more information, you can see one of my previous posts dedicated to these ghostly femme fatales <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-was-planning-on-posting-series-of.html" target="_blank">here</a>.
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<strong><u>XIII. Death: Baba Yaga (Баба-Яга)</u></strong> - Oh boy, where do I begin with this one? One of my favorite scary-Cthonic-demigods of all time, I wrote an entire thesis paper in college about this particular hag. Twenty-five pages. In Russian, mind you. Pretty much the most difficult thing I have ever done, and I’m not exactly the kind of person who shies away from challenges. Thus, all I will do here is link you to some of the previous posts I have written concerning this most delightfully complex figure from the Slavic Pantheon: <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/08/introduction-to-amazon-legacy-baba-yaga.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2011/01/revisiting-russian-mythology.html" target="_blank">here</a>.
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<strong><u>XIV. Temperance: The Zarya (Заря)</u></strong> - Now, you may be wondering why I have chosen to use the Zarya—which represent the Morning and Evening Stars—to represent the Temperance card instead of, well, the Star. I made this choice because of the qualities the Zarya, also sometimes called the Zorya, the Svezda or any other number of names, represent. The Zarya are guardian goddesses who personify not only the two stars that flank either end of the nighttime, but also the dawn and the auroras. They guard the doomsday hound, known as Simargl, who is chained to the star Polaris (you can find this star located in the constellation Ursa Minor). Should the chain holding Simargl break, he will eat the constellation and the entire universe as we know it will come to an end. The Zarya serve the sun god Dazbog, and are sometimes even said to be his daughters. Zarya Utrennyaya opens the gates of his palace each morning and Zarya Vechernyaya closes the gates each night. Supposedly these two maidens dwell on an oceanic island paradise along with the Sun and his attendants: the North, West and East winds. Not sure whatever happened to the South wind. Maybe he wasn’t invited.
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<strong><u>XV. The Devil: Veles (Велес)</u></strong> - Veles is the mischievous god of the damp underworld, and he was also associated with agriculture and cattle. He is the opposite and enemy of Perun, and their battles were known to wreck havoc on the world and accounted for multiple natural disasters. Bringer of storms and slayer of oath-breakers, Veles’ wrath is swift and final. He would upon occasion send the spirits of the dead to the living realms as his heralds and messengers, which I imagine would be a rather spooky experience for the recipients of said messages. He ruled from the roots of the World Tree.
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<strong><u>XVI. The Tower: Zmey Gorynych (Змей Горыныч)</u></strong> - Zmey Gorynych was a giant, green, three-headed dragon who breathed fire and reigned down utter destruction on all who fell into his path. Slavic myth contains many tales of dragons and wyrms and other such wonderous and scary beasts, but Zmey Gornych was probably one of the most infamous. He was supposedly slain by Dobynyna Nikitich (literally, “Good/nice/sweet Nikitich”), which I bet was a pretty difficult feat to accomplish considering that the Zmey’s heads will regrow if all three of them are not severed simultaneously.
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<strong><u>XVII. The Star: The Firebird (Жар-птица)</u></strong> - Ah, the Firebird. Another of my mythological obsessions—I even incorporated a firebird feather into the <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2011/07/tattoo-firebird.html" target="_blank">tattoo</a> on my foot—the firebird is said to sing with a woman’s voice and sometimes wear a woman’s face, leading unwary wanderers (usually male, and usually heroes) on endless journeys through the deep woods of Eastern Europe with nothing but her beauty and her song. These poor, sad heroes fall in love with the sadness and beauty of her music, and are thus doomed to follow her until they can follow no more and simply waste away. She is a symbol of freedom, independence and femininity, and no matter how many times she is sought and even temporarily caught, no cage can contain her for long.
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<strong><u>XVIII. The Moon: Werewolf (Волколак)</u></strong> - The origins of the werewolf mythology are frequently traced back to Eastern Europe, so I felt that there was no more appropriate legend to depict the mysterious cycles of the moon than the lycans whose transformations are ruled by that same cycle. Dangerous, deadly and often misunderstood in popular culture like so many other figures whose origins trace back to the land of the Slavs, the werewolf continues to be a source of fascination and fear. I’m really looking forward to paining this one; I think my depiction may just surprise you.<br />
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<strong><u>XIX. The Sun: Dazbog (Дажьбог)</u></strong> - Several other summaries have included references to Dazbog, god of the sun. He is the master and sometime father of the Zarya, who open and close the gates to his palace each morning and night so that he can ride in his chariot across the heavens. Like Svarog, Dazbog is sometimes compared to Vulcan or Haephestus. Some sources even state the Dazbog is the son of Svarog, which would make sense considering both deity’s associations with fire, the sun and sky; however, it is generally Dazbog who is said to literally embody the sun and heavenly fires, whereas Svarog is generally the embodiment of the forge and earthly fires. Mythology is complicated. If you’ve read my blog or any other blog or hell, any book about any mythology at all, this concept should not be particularly mind-boggling.<br />
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<strong><u>XX. Judgment: Vila (Вила)</u></strong> - Popularized by a cameo in Harry Potter—Fleur ring a bell?—the Vili (singular: Vila) are related to the Rusalki, although they are seldom traced as the spirits of drowned woman. Both Rusalki and Vili could be described as beautiful and terrible female spirits who sing, but there the similarities end. The Vili can form large gusts of wind that lift houses into the air, and are said to be fierce warriors who cause the earth to shake with their battles, earning them comparisons to the Norse Valkyries. However, they also have healing abilities as well as the gifts of prophecy, and have been known to help worthy humans (but you don’t want to piss them off; they’ve also been known to lure young men to dance with them, which can be either very good or very, very bood for said young man). As keepers of judgment and punishers of oath-breakers, they slaughter those who merit their wrath.
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<strong><u>XXI. The World: Mother Moist Earth (Мать Сыра Земля)</u></strong> - Mother Moist Earth is the personification of the natural world in Slavic myth. She is the field and the forest, providing a home to all who dwell upon her. In the Skazki when a hero would be instructed to kiss his mother, the correct response was for him to fall to his knees and kiss the ground beneath his feet. This demonstrates to me the level of respect and veneration ancient Slavs felt for their Mother Moist Earth, who—as the mother of Mokosh, who also served as one of her handmaidens—would be like the Titan Rhea/Gaia and the mother of all the gods and goddess. Thus, she seemed a very obvious and clear choice for me to represent the culmination of the Major Arcana that is the World card.
More on Mother Moist Earth <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/08/introduction-to-amazon-legacy-mati-syra.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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This concludes my summary of the Major Arcana in my Slavic Tarot dreams. I am still deciding on what Slavic symbols I want to use specifically for each suit of the Minor Arcana—right now, the only thing I’ve settled on is using kukri, which were the curved blades used by Cossacks and other Slavic warrior tribes, in place of the traditional western swords—and so there will likely be a few more posts concerning this latest project of mine. Eventually. I still have lots of nuptial preparations to finish before I can really throw myself into making the paintings for each and every card, writing up more thorough and professional-sounding summaries, and then getting all those paintings shrunk down into nice, tarot-sized cards. Should be fun! Should take me a while.
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Thus, until next time, fare thee well and blessed be!
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-80078989384932109592013-11-08T13:08:00.000-05:002013-11-08T13:12:00.429-05:00Slavic Tarot: Major Arcana, Part 1<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE1NG1a1MjCQOOjjOCqqAFe19HrY8-hityu2kWmxeWBnTpzWl4MHPFaryx4Ydo8CSOd50SPacm6KejCH4DrWmjj0AoVeCEClv2hSBDdOEJ3yUPckULLuhdNe0OlSyEuNsjCoFNQXJcmk/s1600/Perun__the_thunder_god_by_DusanMarkovic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE1NG1a1MjCQOOjjOCqqAFe19HrY8-hityu2kWmxeWBnTpzWl4MHPFaryx4Ydo8CSOd50SPacm6KejCH4DrWmjj0AoVeCEClv2hSBDdOEJ3yUPckULLuhdNe0OlSyEuNsjCoFNQXJcmk/s320/Perun__the_thunder_god_by_DusanMarkovic.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #d0e0e3;">Perun, The Thunder God by</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #d0e0e3;">DusanMarkovic (</span></strong><a href="http://dusanmarkovic.deviantart.com/art/Perun-the-thunder-god-143446926" target="_blank"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #d0e0e3;">Deviantart</span></strong></a><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #d0e0e3;">)</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I’ve decided on what my next big project will be. It will likely take me several years to complete, especially all of the artwork, but I believe it will be a worthy endeavor of my time and talents, especially as my next big project represents the marriage of several of my favorite interests: Slavic mythology and fairy tales, art, storytelling, and the tarot. What will this next big project be, you ask? I will be creating my own tarot deck based on the gods, heroes and villains of Slavic lore. I will create a unique painting for each of the cards, and the originals will be for sale on my Etsy shoppe once they are all complete and scanned and turned into tiny pictures on the tarot cards…which is why this project will take me several years.
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Thus far I have settled on the individuals that I feel best represent (or provide a unique and meaningful alternative to) the Major Arcana. Some of the archetypes in a traditional tarot deck, based on the Rider-Waite Smith version, do not have appropriate equivalents in the magic and myths of the Slavs. Thus, in some cases—such as the high priestess—the archetype wears a much darker face. Eastern Europe, especially the areas now known as Russia, was and is a harsh place to eke out a living. Their mythology—and thus, this tarot deck I am now imagining—reflect that harshness. Without further ado, I shall run down my summary of the Major Arcana of my Slavic Tarot.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>0. The Fool: Ivan-Durak (Иван-дурак)</u></strong> - The youngest of three peasant brothers, Ivan-Durak is simple, straightforward, and friendly. His joviality often leads others to misjudge him as a fool, but his guileless and likeable nature assists him on all of his journeys. The unlikely hero, Ivan-Durak always overcomes his humble roots to achieve great rewards (and often marry a princess).
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>I. The Magician: Vasilisa the Beautiful (Василиса Прекрасная)</u></strong> - Vasilisa the Beautiful is the dutiful daughter of a peasant, whose evil stepmother and stepsisters drive her from their cottage in search of fire to re-light their hearth. Along the way she enters the hut of Baba-Yaga, who gives her a list of impossible tasks to complete by sunset. Vasilisa, aided by her magical doll, accomplishes all of the tasks. In return, Baba-Yaga bestows upon her the gift of a flaming skull atop a wooden torch. When Vasilisa takes the torch home, the skulls eyes glow and burn her evil stepmother and stepsisters to ashes. Vasilisa marries a prince and lives happily ever after.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>II. The High Priestess: Vedma (Ведьма)</u></strong> - Vedma was the figure from whom all modern witch stereotypes stem, to include the riding upon a broomstick and cackling at the moon. She was always depicted as an old woman with great knowledge and power, and she was feared by all and respected by other magical practitioners. Neither innately good nor evil, the original lore of the Vedma is difficult to trace, as the medieval witch hunts came to Eastern Europe and tainted the stories with human victims accused of cavorting with the devil. However, as a powerful, independent and knowledgeable female figure, the Vedma is an appropriate representation of the dark and twilit magic of the Slavic realms.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>III. The Emperor: Perun (Перун)</u></strong> - Perun is the supreme sky-god of thunder and lightning in most Slavic pantheons, with comparisons to both Zeus and Thor. He is most often depicted as an imposing figure of masculinity with a copper-colored beard and wielding a giant axe (or, in some cases, hammer). Those who displease him meet an untimely end as he hurls the axe at their heads, and he is feared by all the evil spirits who plague the land. The axe, once thrown, always returns to him. He is the consort of Mokosh, and he rules from the top branches of the World Tree.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>IV. The Empress: Mokosh (Мокошь)</u></strong> - Mokosh is the supreme mother goddess of traditional women’s things, activities, and destinies; she watches over spinning, weaving, sewing, embroidery, and other such things. She is the consort of Perun as well as one of the handmaidens of Mother Moist Earth. She lives with Perun at the top of the World Tree, overlooking the realm of the mortals. She is wise and ageless, and often depicted with a spindle in hand, and traces her lineage back to the mother aspect in the Paleolithic goddess triad (where she was depicted with lozenges, spirals and horses, sometimes even antlers).
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>V. The Heirophant: Svarog (Сварог)</u></strong> - The god of fire, blacksmithing and other crafts, Svarog is the forger of divine weapons, a skilled god, and the father of Dazbog (the sun). His name means a place of brightness or fire, such as a forge. He is often compared to Hephaestus or Vulcan, but his associations with the bright open sky also earn him comparisons to Perun; as such, some argue that Svarog was the supreme deity in the Slavic pantheon instead.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>VI. The Lovers: Jarilo and Morena (Ярило и Марена)</u></strong> - A tale of the seasons, full of life, love and death. Jarilo and Morena are the children of Perun and Mokosh. The twins were both born on the night of the new year; however, Jarilo was immediately snatched away by Veles and raised in the underworld. In the spring, Jarilo returned full grown to the land of the living to be reunited with Morena, and the two quickly fell in love. The beginning of summer marked their wedding, bringing peace between the land of the living and the dead and ensuring an abundant harvest. However, come autumn, Jarilo’s attentions wandered, and Morena slew him in swift revenge. In mourning over her dead husband, Morena transformed into a cold and frozen hag; as goes her nature, so goes the natural world into winter. By the end of the new year, Morena also died, and the two siblings could finally be reborn to begin their cycle anew with the coming year.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>VII. Chariot: Sventovit (Святовит)</u></strong> - As the god of war and divination, Sventovit is often depicted riding a white horse into battle. Sventovit is said to have four faces that could look simultaneously in each of the cardinal directions, as well as the past, present and future (much like the Roman Janus). Like Svarog, Sventovit’s many faces and associations also earn him a chance to compete with Perun for the position of supreme Slavic deity.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>VIII. Strength: Ilya Muromets (Илья́ Му́ромец)</u></strong> - Ilya Muromets was one of the old heroes from Kieven Rus, who suffered a serious illness in his youth that left him paralyzed until age 33, when he was miraculously healed by two wandering pilgrims. Shortly thereafter, a dying knight named Svyatogor gifted Ilya with superhuman strength. Ilya then set off to liberate the besieged city of Kiev and served Prince Vladimir Krasnoye Solnyshko. In his travels, Ilya Muromets singlehandedly defeated the nomads invading the city of Chernigov, earned a knighthood from a local ruler, killed the monster Nightingale the Robber (he was a douche—murdered travelers with a whistle—so don’t be fooled by the pretty name), and earned himself the right to be called the embodiment of all strength.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>IX. Hermit: Koschei the Deathless (Коще́й Бессме́ртный)</u></strong> - Koshei the Deathless is not immortal, but rather very difficult to kill. He keeps his soul—or his death—inside a needle, which is hidden in an egg, which is inside a duck, which is inside a hare, which is locked inside an iron chest that was buried inside a giant green oak tree, which grew on the island of Buyan in the middle of the ocean. With his soul separate from his body, he is unkillable by conventional means. Known to live mostly alone and possibly a relative of the famously fearsome Baba-Yaga, Koshei occasionally kidnaps the wives, girlfriends and princesses of Slavic heroes in a vain attempt to assuage his own loneliness, and thus he often presents as a villain in the Skazki (Fairy Tales). But just think of all the knowledge he’s learned over all those years of deathlessness!
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>X. Wheel of Fortune: Sadko (Садко)</u></strong> - Sadko, a poor gusli-player, struck a deal with the Sea Tsar and became the richest merchant in all of Novgorod; however, he never paid his debt to the sea. Thus, one day as his ship was sailing over the sea, the Sea Tsar called him down below the depths. Sadko journeyed to the oceanic otherworld and settled an argument between the Sea Tsar and his wife. In return the Sea Tsar promised him the hand of the most beautiful mermaid in all of the oceans, and paraded each one before him. Sadko chose the last maiden in the line, a scrawny, nervous thing, as his bride, but did not consummate the marriage; rather, Sadko simply went to sleep. When he awoke, he found himself on the shoreline, with his human wife waiting for him, and his merchant ship returned to him from across the sea, laden with even greater riches than ever before.
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><u>XI. Justice: Leshy (Ле́ший)</u></strong> - Leshy are guardian spirits of the forest and protectors of all therein. They have long green beards and hair made of living vines, bright green eyes, blue blood, and pale white skin. They can teach magic to those who befriend them, or punish those who desecrate the forest. They steal the axes of woodcutters and cause other mischief to the unwary. The Leshy, if angered, can also tickle their victims to death. If a Leshy crosses a wanderer’s path in the forest, the wanderer will become hopelessly lost. To protect oneself from their wrath, wear clothing backwards and inside out, and wear shoes on the wrong feet.</span>
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And that is all the time I have right now; I will continue the list on another day, probably not until after my unit returns from the field. In the meantime, here’s a sneak preview of the rest of the Major Arcana you have to look forward to!
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XII. The Hanged Man: Rusalka (Русалка)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XIII. Death: Baba Yaga (Баба-Яга)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XIV. Temperance: The Zarya (Заря)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XV. The Devil: Veles (Велес)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XVI. The Tower: Zmey Gorynych (Змей Горыныч)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XVII. The Star: The Firebird (Жар-птица)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XVIII. The Moon: Werewolf (Волколак)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XIX. The Sun: Dazbog (Дажьбог)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XX. Judgment: Vila (Вила)</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>XXI. The World: Mother Moist Earth (Мать Сыра Земля)</strong></span>
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-69539896206150243502013-11-04T10:32:00.000-05:002013-11-04T10:32:08.135-05:00Samhaine In Circle<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbReOVCxTSII9eh_5WaH3h_lbDNRQUjiF5cTp7e-SPOjRz2tuoZo97GwUPuPlctN1x0SVGQ5Pfjrsb80ADYqiM1cxu1jqu5ZYbwjvQZKbdpCsIdpFkOOIJOEJ87KX5INRhEG0YLbWKQM/s1600/morrigan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbReOVCxTSII9eh_5WaH3h_lbDNRQUjiF5cTp7e-SPOjRz2tuoZo97GwUPuPlctN1x0SVGQ5Pfjrsb80ADYqiM1cxu1jqu5ZYbwjvQZKbdpCsIdpFkOOIJOEJ87KX5INRhEG0YLbWKQM/s320/morrigan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: black;"><em>Morrighan</em> by Mary McAndrew.</span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">Original painting and prints available </span></strong><a href="http://marymcandrew.com/gallery/goddesses/morrigan/" target="_blank"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">here</span></strong></a><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">.</span></strong></td></tr>
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No tribal rite has yet been recorded which attempts to keep winter from descending; on the contrary: the rites all prepare the community to endure, together with the rest of nature, the season of the terrible cold.<br />
~ Joseph Campbell
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As the words of House Stark frequently remind us, winter is coming. Now, autumn isn’t much of an autumn here in Texas—it’s generally a few days of people wondering, “Wait, it was 100+ degrees last week, wtf happened!?” and then suddenly it’s wintertime, and by winter I mean cold, dreary, somewhat rainy and always windy weather that lasts until around Feb/March—but we are in the middle of the transition right about now. Here, when I tell people that autumn is my favorite season, they always ask me to clarify: “Wait, Texas-autumn or Eastcoast-autumn?” My answer, it should come without a surprise, is never “Texas.”
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Mood: missing my two-up, two down (VA).
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But at least the weekend, although all too short, was a refreshing step away from the stress and craziness of work and into the closest thing Texas has to a forest for another glorious camping weekend with my circle friends. We celebrated Samhaine by remembering our ancestors and dressing as some of our favorite deities if they were walking about in the 21st Century. I raided my own closet for a black wig, black leather leggings, black leather boots, a red chiffon dress and a black leather belt to represent the Morrighan, Celtic goddess of war, sex, sorcery, thresholds and general badassery. There was one other Morrighan in the crowd, as well as two Lughs, the Dagda, Brigid, Danu, Lilith, Isis, the Rainbow Spirit, Coyote, Mother Earth, three women who chose to simply represent the Maiden-Mother-Crone triad, and Kami (Shinto name for the life-spirit/force/energy/power that flows through and connects all of the universe). It was quite the gathering of deities in modern form. I’m sure I am missing a few, but those are the main ones I can remember right now. We each introduced ourselves and then hailed the deity we chose to represent.
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Usually if I concentrate, quiet my breathing and focus inward, I can feel my deities watching over me along with any number of spirit guides and curious presences from the local landbase; however, while publicly calling to the Morrighan and inviting her into the circle, I felt almost as if I was channeling her words as much as I was inviting her, like she was already there and guiding me to speak what she wanted said. It was a pretty cool feeling. She may be a scary deity, but she protects those who can protect themselves, and she looks after those who please her. I count myself very blessed that I seem to be, as a whole, on her good side.
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But anywho…now that the weekend is over, I’m back to the daily, stressful grind. As of Friday I will be stuck in the field again, most likely without internet for at least a few days and possibly the whole time. We should be coming back out just in time for Thanksgiving, and then I immediately start clearing my present unit. The closer I get to that magical date, the less nervous and the more disillusioned I appear to become. I really just want to leave, to just get it over with and move. I’m not leaving Texas—couldn’t be quite that lucky yet, perhaps next year—but at least I’ll be surrounded by my own kind again. Le sigh.
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In related news, anyone know any good cat-sitters in the area? I can’t exactly take my kitty-cat with me to the field. I mean, I’m sure little kitty Hera would have a blast hunting ginormous crickets and snuggling up in my sleeping system at night, but she would get bored in the little 7x7 foot crew tent all day.
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Not to mention the fact that I’m *not* allowed to bring her…
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The cat-sitter hunt continues.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-30319343378067724422013-10-31T11:27:00.000-04:002013-10-31T11:27:19.429-04:00Fall Festival And Other Updates<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWih1AFSUT5XvYCkn0yEMb1PMjO213WdSOd1cdGHSjTJ6ssywLcvtxjZeB4K8aRuc1WJb5F8BU5jIWrTQMlcKvL4c6N5dGx1U-IOIXrV3d69JR-ukEfI5bDw4-8zFTMdx_f00ECRCmyIk/s1600/FallFest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWih1AFSUT5XvYCkn0yEMb1PMjO213WdSOd1cdGHSjTJ6ssywLcvtxjZeB4K8aRuc1WJb5F8BU5jIWrTQMlcKvL4c6N5dGx1U-IOIXrV3d69JR-ukEfI5bDw4-8zFTMdx_f00ECRCmyIk/s320/FallFest.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #93c47d;">My vendor display! Check that awesome banner</span></strong>.</td></tr>
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Well, the Fall Festival came and went, and then my unit went out to the field. We have a brief reprieve before we head back out into the wastelands and shrubbery that pass for woods in Texas, and then you won’t hear from me again for another two or three weeks. But alas, so many updates and so little time. I’ll just hit the highlights and then get back on my merry working way.
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The Fall Festival was a success, all things considered. The weather held out, so the worst of the wind and rain didn’t hit us until it was time to take down the vendor tents anyway. I met some wonderfully nice people (only one of whom attempted to “save” me) and handed out numerous business cards. Did I mention I have business cards? Now, whenever someone makes a purchase from my <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/ACJade" target="_blank">Etsy shoppe</a>, I will have a lovely business card to send with the item ordered! I might have overkilled the number I purchased but I plan on using them for many, many months and years to come. But back to the Fall Festival. I made several purchases, and my one regret is that I did not make a gift of one of them. There was a young woman, perhaps in her teens, browsing with her father. She absolutely adored one of the purple, leaf-shaped pendants I had made, strung on a black suede cord. She wanted it and she asked her father for money. It was one of my more inexpensive items, as there was not a lot of heavy beadwork and the piece did not require hours and hours to assemble, but her father—without even asking the price—simply growled, “No,” and then stomped away. Head hung, she followed after him. Now, looking back, I really wish I had just boxed the damn thing up and handed it to her with a whispered, “Shhhh…don’t tell anyone I’m this nice.” However, it all happened so quickly that she was gone before I could make a gift of the pendant. Le sigh.
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The Festival ended all too quickly, although meeting that many new people and having to wear a smile all day was quite exhausting for me (especially considering my hermit-like tendencies). I could also have done without the grabbing hands of snot-nosed children tugging on my jewelry displays…I mean, is it so much to ask that if you are going to allow your four year old to touch EVERY single necklace and bracelet and pendant I have available—quite enthusiastically, mind you—that you at least consider BUYING one for yourself? Or them. Either way, ugh. Here endeth all discussions of Fall Festival until, well, next time.
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In other news, I recently received confirmation that I am moving to a new unit. I’m not leaving my present station—that’s still a year or two in the future—but I am moving to the other side of post. I’m not sure what my job will be over there, but hopefully the grass is indeed as green as I imagine. Sure, I hate my current job, but I love the people I work with, and the people I work for could definitely be way worse. Nonetheless, I am curious/excited/nervous about the job move. It could be good or bad, and fingers crossed for the former.
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My friends and I celebrated Halloween (well, sorta) last weekend, heading down to Austin in our LOTR themed costumes. The Hobbit among us was quite the hit, so we’d usually send him into the bar first, at which point people would giggle and ask for his photo amid “OMG you are a HOBBIT” declarations. His response—“Just wait, I have my whole fellowship behind me”—would be the cue for the rest of us to roll inside with our elfin gowns, wizarding robes and dwarven beards. We had a blast.
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Naturally there were some confused stares and “Game of Thrones?” queries, but hey—we can’t all be lucky enough to be nerds.
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Finally, I’m afraid I must leave you on a somber note with a request for prayers and healing thoughts. A friend of mine was recently struck by lightning while training in the field and has been in a coma since. Please direct healing energy his way, and light a candle for either a swift recovery or a painless transition to the other side.
No warrior wants to go out that way; we'd rather live long lives with our broken knees and stories about the good old days and how the Army got soft, or else we'd like to go down in a blaze of glory. Training accidents and nature strikes are not what is supposed to slay us.Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-5883071266148877332013-10-08T00:37:00.002-04:002013-10-08T00:37:17.771-04:00Reviving Vasilisa<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6PQTb2W9d9UC25kPoVJ8so6rOnNEkFIEJAsHsV-JOruxeDSJyP6MYxXtr48xr4AW40jtX97wxYTh7AMPPF8Jp-4YbbhUyWEgr07pjya8Xiql02nSFKfHuExg2v1HmifQ2TFsefDF4oUA/s1600/Firebird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6PQTb2W9d9UC25kPoVJ8so6rOnNEkFIEJAsHsV-JOruxeDSJyP6MYxXtr48xr4AW40jtX97wxYTh7AMPPF8Jp-4YbbhUyWEgr07pjya8Xiql02nSFKfHuExg2v1HmifQ2TFsefDF4oUA/s320/Firebird.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: orange;">My <em>Firebird</em> painting? Totally relevant.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: orange;">Trust me. If you copy, please link back.</span></strong></td></tr>
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Warning! This post references a LOT of my much older blogtacular ramblings as well as some outside concepts best explained by others, so it's a little on the link-heavy side. Now on to the updates!<br />
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As I posted over on the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AndenJade" target="_blank">book of face</a> yesterday, it’s official: I will be a vendor in a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/graceumcfallfestival" target="_blank">Fall Festival</a> hosted by a local Methodist church this weekend! Not exactly my usual clientele, but perhaps they will still like my obnoxiously colorful jewelry with nature and faerie themes. I am leaving my post-apocalyptic paintings and goddess sculptures at home, and instead I will be focusing on showcasing the mounds of jewelry I’ve made over the past year or so. So, if you are in the central Texas region on 12 October, swing by Grace United Methodist Church’s Fall Festival, at which yours truly will be sporting a lovely table with all the sparkly goodies from <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/ACJade" target="_blank">The Shoppe Between The Trees</a> and then some!<br />
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In other news, you may not hear from me towards the end of October and mid November. My unit will be in the field for a large part of the fall, and I will not have access to the endless interwebs (nor, much to my deployed fiancé’s distress, a phone). I will attempt to take a break from the insane amounts of Samhaine and Handfasting related crafting projects I presently have underway to post an update on how the Fall Festival went, but no promises! I have four more Halloween costumes to finish, another dress to make, a dress to re-size, and gods only know what else has slipped my mind. Our guest bedroom has become my room of unfinished crafts. <br />
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Bottom Line: posting may be sporadic throughout this Autumn, so I will try to make them worthwhile when I can. Now, onto the good stuff! Today, let’s ponder about a topic that is near and dear to my heart, and has caused me much pondering of late. <br />
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Давайте поговорим о русских сказках, в частности, Василису Прекрасную! Or, for you non Russian speakers (which according to my stats are the majority of you, but believe it or not my blog does get regular traffic from all over Eastern Europe), let’s talk about Russian fairy tales, specifically, Vasilisa the Beautiful! This is not the first post I have written about Russian folklore, nor is it<a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/08/oregon-chai-and-vasilisa-beautiful.html" target="_blank"> the first dedicated to that dutiful daughter who faced Baba-Yaga and won</a>. Now, as some of you likely know, I majored in Russian and International Relations in college, and I wrote my Honors Thesis about <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/08/introduction-to-amazon-legacy-baba-yaga.html" target="_blank">Baba-Yaga</a> as a symbol of initiation into adulthood. Thus, I have always had a soft spot for old bony-shanks. And, as the Slavic Cinderella, I have always had a soft spot for Vasilisa as well. <br />
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Vasilsa and Baba-Yaga represent two opposite ends of the spectrum of womanhood: one is an archetypal maiden; the other, undoubtedly a crone. One is just beginning her life, and the other is both ancient and timeless as death. Vasilisa undergoes a change in the tale, growing from an innocent child into a young woman. She comes from her humble, girlhood roots to earn her right to be an adult, and at the end of it all she is a woman ready for marriage. This is a common theme in Slavic folklore. What you don’t see as prevalent in Russian myth as in some other cultures, are the heroines who are clearly the heroine, but remain unmarried. Cue: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_and_Daphne" target="_blank">Daphne</a>. The endgame of every Slavic fairy tale in which a woman is the lead is marriage. Even in many of the male-centric adventure stories, the heroes complete their three tasks and at the end, they marry the princess. We see this theme repeated in Disney movies, in other culture’s fairy tales, in modern literature; this theme being that You, as a human being, are not complete until You are part of a Married Couple. Obviously I am making some generalizations here—there are plenty of counter examples available, even the <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-was-planning-on-posting-series-of.html" target="_blank">Rusalki</a> come to mind, albeit they are not heroines by any stretch of the imagination in traditional folklore—but my point is that, according to myth and other cultural stories, we as humans are not complete until we are aligned and bound to our other halves, and those who remain single—particularly if they are female—are somehow….wrong. Rusalki, the firebird, Baba-Yaga, crazy-cat-lady. <br />
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And I don’t necessarily agree. <br />
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Sure, Vasilisa is a great heroine, a wonderful role model for obeying her elders even when they are clearly full of crap and do not have her best interests at heart. She’s a great passive character, perfectly passive, even. She obeys her evil stepmother. She outwits Baba-Yaga by listening to the advice of a magic doll, for frak’s sake. But as naive as she may be as a child, I do not think she is necessarily more fully human once she exits the Yaga’s hut and marries a prince. To reference the all-wise Buffy, her cookie dough is done baking when it is done baking, regardless of her relationship status. The end game is to become more fully who and what you are, not necessarily to find that other someone to make you perfectly happy (and then by uniting with them, becoming complete). You are complete when you reach <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self_actualization" target="_blank">self-actualization</a>, in psychological terms, and it has nothing to do with being single or married. <br />
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I know this may sound hypocritical for someone in a committed relationship; however, happy as I am with my fiancé, I am not necessarily a more complete human being now that I have him around. Or, had the case been otherwise, if I had settled on a her instead of a him. Things just happen, and sometimes you find someone who you fit with, who also happens to fit with you, and things work out so perfectly that it would take a clinical idiot to ruin them. I’m lucky enough that I found such a relationship. <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2011/11/ftx-price-of-greatness.html" target="_blank">But I am still an independent, complete person</a>. I am not an independent half. I am not a half of a whole. Neither is he, for that matter. Yes, I believe that he is my soul mate, and that we have lived many lives together already, and that we have been searching for each other unknowingly in this life until we finally met. Yet our being with each other in the present does <span style="font-size: large;">not</span> invalidate our time before we met. We were as human before as we are now. <br />
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Is my cookie dough done baking? Of course not; as long as we live, we are changing. We are in a constant state of flux. We grow, we deteriorate, we decay, and then new growth eventually takes place from the ashes of the old. Whether you are Vasilisa the Beautiful, Baba-Yaga, or Ivan the Fool (perhaps more on that particular hero one day), you are a complete human being simply because you are. You do not need another person to make you whole; you are whole already.Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-77386861743192061742013-10-02T12:19:00.002-04:002013-10-02T12:19:10.336-04:00Nostalgia<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the woods
where I grew up.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the
mountains, miss the trees.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the
ever-present, overwhelming<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sense of mystery.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss my friends
from childhood<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">(even those who
were mean to me).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the way my
heart would break<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>every time a boy didn’t talk to me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And
I’ll never get it all back;<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">life
goes on even when your soul is cracked<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in half.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the wind
over the lake.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the
sunburns, miss the rain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the utter
certainty that I would<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>never change my name.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss the grass
beneath bare feet.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss playing the
lava-game.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I miss a home where
I belonged;<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>since I left, nothing’s been the same.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And
I’ll never get it all back;<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">life
goes on even as the gods, they laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And
I’ll never reclaim those days;<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">innocence
lost, imagination chained.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But
if you keep holding my hand—<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">my
love, my hunter, my king, my man—<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
might just make it through;<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">even
a perfect past can’t compare<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to a future with you.</span></b>Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-4457513468393727102013-10-01T15:28:00.000-04:002013-10-01T15:28:21.032-04:00Not Fading<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1ko1gjFjjO6q6UCiLhXb7N8xkm-mthJZEzehtDbJAu6RBRRsHbTrCjfAx6Jl9S-t1y6Hi_KVG_KtVwWGZt6wCWAm9gyIn_4tz1xmoFX0kVOIcYMRRDyjxWQbx8kZxcnNo86o_wgPj5Y/s1600/HuntersDance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1ko1gjFjjO6q6UCiLhXb7N8xkm-mthJZEzehtDbJAu6RBRRsHbTrCjfAx6Jl9S-t1y6Hi_KVG_KtVwWGZt6wCWAm9gyIn_4tz1xmoFX0kVOIcYMRRDyjxWQbx8kZxcnNo86o_wgPj5Y/s320/HuntersDance.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #6aa84f; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Dudes with horns holding Greenman masks?</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #6aa84f; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Won't be for sale at a Christian-run Fall Fest.</span></strong></td></tr>
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First off, I promise I’m not going anywhere! I know it’s been a little while, but I promise I won’t fade away for half a year again…at least not any time soon. My day job has just been incredibly busy as of late, not to mention a very full social schedule as I attempt to fill up as much time as possible and therefore stave off the encroaching omg-my-fiance-is-still-deployed-and-I’m-trying-not-to-think-about-how-much-that-freaks-me-out loneliness. So yeah. I’ve been busy. Nothing new, of course, but some weeks are busier than other weeks, and the last two weeks I barely had time to breathe, let alone blog, and I probably only slept about two to three hours a night. <br />
<br />
Secondly, MABON WAS AWESOME! I am aware that writing in all caps on the internet is frequently interpreted as yelling; however, yelling, in this case, seems very appropriate to me because it’s one of those things I really just wanted to shout at everyone I saw. The running commentary in my head, while I was busier than ever at work, was something along the lines of this: <br />
<br />
<em>Me (thinking):</em> “Omg, I had SO MUCH FUN camping out in the woods and celebrating the autumn equinox and it was SO RELAXING that I just want to scream, and hello random person I work with who knows very little about me and probably already thinks I’m crazy—I want to tell you ALL ABOUT Mah CAMPING WEEKENDDDDDD YAY! But we are in a meeting so instead I will keep my mouth shut and continue doodling in my notes.” <br />
<br />
But I digress. <br />
<br />
Thirdly, as I recently mentioned on my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AndenJade" target="_blank">public facebook page</a>, I may be a vendor in an upcoming festival! I was approached through my <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/ACJade" target="_blank">Etsy shop</a> last week about perhaps participating as a vendor at a local event, and so after some thought—the crowd didn’t exactly seem like the usual clientele for fantasy, mythology, and Paganism inspired jewelry/art, so I was hesitant to agree outright—I eventually accepted and submitted an application. I should find out in the next few days, after they review the photos of my merchandise (I decided to forego the art and just offer jewelry), I should find out whether or not my acceptance of their interest in my jewelry is…accepted. Convoluted, I know. The whole time I kept thinking, “Wait, <em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>you</strong></span></em> approached <em><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">me</span></strong></em>…I have to apply to what? And then you’ll decide? Odd.” But I don’t make the rules; I simply must abide by them if I want the opportunity to share my sparkly, overly colorful jewelry with my local community. I figure, at a minimum, making things gives me so much joy, that this is my chance to share it and hope that my little creations bring as much joy to others. Once I know whether or not I got accepted to be a vendor, I will submit more information about the festival here and on facebook and twitter and and and….<br />
<br />
So, definitely a little excited about everything going on in my life. Now, if only that Orion of mine can hurry up and come back from playing in the sandbox so that he can join in on all the exciting newness, that would be grand.
</div>
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-11190509093093761252013-09-20T12:29:00.000-04:002013-09-20T12:29:01.987-04:00Mulled Wine Rocks<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSNU14s3hxgRyO7C5i8RCAroRCBz6tKvUltj4KTx0EthtptcAzwYrxKb7eAJ4hah8FbFxjkuN9o2Zm2hRBufrmjLgjf7PO1gyPVHyfJZ7Q8JxS5MTBnQujyes0McZbogAIXp0rjmhsrE/s1600/mulledwine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSNU14s3hxgRyO7C5i8RCAroRCBz6tKvUltj4KTx0EthtptcAzwYrxKb7eAJ4hah8FbFxjkuN9o2Zm2hRBufrmjLgjf7PO1gyPVHyfJZ7Q8JxS5MTBnQujyes0McZbogAIXp0rjmhsrE/s200/mulledwine.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">My mulled wine simmering away</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">in my cauldron I mean crock pot</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It’s been a long week. I’m used to having long days (are there any other kind anymore, seriously?) but this past week was especially hectic, and I am just thankful I made it through until Friday. Now if I can just make it until the end of the day, I have a gloriously relaxing weekend in the woods to look forward to in celebration of the Autumn Equinox and Mabon, one of my favorite holidays—second only to Samhaine. By the way, my costume this year is already complete :) I knocked it out a few weekends ago whilst watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy, extended editions, of course. My friends and I are all dressing up as elves, dwarves and hobbits and hitting the fabulous streets of Austin, TX for the weekend prior to Halloween/Samhaine. So if you see an elegantly dressed lady-elf in forest-green satin, pine-green silk, leaf-green chiffon and ocean-teal velvet, that’s me! So feel free to come up to me and go, “Oh hey there, crazy person! I read your blog! You should really edit more.” <br />
<br />
I don’t anticipate being recognized. <br />
<br />
But I digress. Back to Mabon and the awesomeness that will ensue this weekend. As I mentioned in my previous post, I have recently started attending the weekly meetings of a local Open Circle. Thus, for the first time ever, I will be attending a truly group ritual, in the woods, with a bonfire. I am so unbelievably excited!! I spent all last evening gathering supplies and mulling wine, which I then bottled and put in the fridge to chill (gotta account for this Texas heat…no hot beverages here). Naturally I sampled the end product last night while it was still warm and fresh out of the crock pot, oozing spiciness and orange tang. I plan on sampling the chilled version this evening after work—you know, just to make sure it still tastes right—whilst packing my cooler and preparing my “milk and honey corn pudding” batter for the potluck. See, before Saturday’s sunset ritual, they have a potluck dinner; so I plan on using my trusty crock pot to slow-cook some corn pudding. It is a harvest celebration, after all. So I figure, I pre-make the batter, put all the mixed up ingredients in a giant ziplock bag (or two) and keep it in my cooler until it’s time to start cooking. <br />
<br />
Thus, in light of it being officially autumn here soon (some lucky places have already started experiencing this most wonderful of seasons), I will share my mulled wine recipe. Once upon a time, I used to host a lot of Halloween parties (high school) and then Christmas/Yule parties (college). While I began with mulling cider, by the time all my friends—or at least most of them—were of age, I graduated to mulling wine. Before I had a crock pot I would just use a giant stock pot and let it simmer on the stove, so that method is also a good one, you just have to watch the pot more to make sure it doesn’t start outright boiling. You don’t want to be cooking off any of the alcohol, if it is wine you happen to be mulling. That said, in a pinch, you can always spike the end product with brandy or cognac if you are afraid your wine lost its kick. <br />
<br />
First off, you need to be gathering your ingredients. Any fruits (preferably citrus) or spices of the cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, allspice variety (whole or coarsely ground is best so that you can easily remove them later) you desire. Here’s what I used: <br />
<br />
<strong>Ingredients</strong>:<br />
<ul>
<li>One orange, cut into quarters</li>
<li>Four sticks cinnamon</li>
<li>Mulling spices (whole cloves, large pieces of allspice, some dried bits of orange peel) </li>
<li>2x extra large bottles of dry red (I used a Gallo Family Merlot; you can totally mull cheap wine! In fact, the cheaper the better, because you won’t tell the difference in the end) </li>
<li>Sugar or honey (I used about 1 cup of sugar, but you can use as much as 2 or just go all out and make it super sweet) </li>
</ul>
<strong>Directions</strong>: <br />
<br />
A) <u>Crock pot method</u>. <br />
<ol>
<li>Open wine bottles. Pour wine in crock pot. </li>
<li>Squeeze juice from orange sections into wine. Plop squeezed orange sections into the wine afterwards for extra pulpy goodness and orangey flavor. </li>
<li>Drop in your spices (cinnamon sticks, cloves, allspice, and whatever else you want to use) and sugar. Stir with obnoxiously large wooden spoon. Cackle. </li>
<li>Cover and cook on high for about 2 hours or on low for about 4. You can cook it longer if you want, but you don’t want it to boil; just heat up and simmer and get the wine all delightfully infused with the spice and fruit flavors. </li>
<li>Reduce crock pot to “keep warm” (If you have that setting, or else just keep it on low and remove the lid) and serve with a ladle. Be careful; it’s hot. Drinkable, but hot. </li>
</ol>
B) <u>Stovetop method</u>. <br />
<ol>
<li>Follow steps 1-3 above, substituting a large stock pot or sauce pan for the crock pot. The most imporant part is the cackling; if fascilitates the strirring.</li>
<li>Bring mixture to a simmer over medium heat. </li>
<li>Let simmer for about 10 minutes then reduce heat to medium-low for at least an hour. </li>
<li>Keep warm on low heat and serve with a ladle. </li>
</ol>
C) <u>If you desire to chill your mulled wine and serve it cold, more like a sangria</u>: <br />
<ol>
<li>Carefully—it will spill, so do this process either over the sink or over the pot so that you don't waste the runoff—ladle the warm mulled wine into a bottle (or two, or three). Using a funnel would probably help, but I don't happen to own one, so this step was particularly messy for me.</li>
<li>Refrigerate overnight or until it's reached the desired coolness. </li>
<li>Serve over ice in cute little tumblers.</li>
</ol>
=And there you have it, folks! Hot or cold, mulled wine is delicious. It’s known as Glühwein (pronounced <em>GLUE-vine</em>) in Germany and глинтвейн (pronounced <em>GLINT-vine</em>) in Russia. I’ve drunk it both places, and I’ve made it several times, and let me tell you there is almost no way to mess it up. Whatever fruits and spices you thrown in there, it’s going to taste good. Kind of like tiramisu: the basic ingredients are just so yummy, that it’s hard to find a bad version of it. Some mulled wines are sweeter than others; some are more alcoholic than others. I prefer to preserve the wine of mine instead of spiking it further, because then it’s hard to keep track of exactly how much alcohol is in there, but either way, the bottom line here is that mulled wine rocks, and you should go make some. <br />
<br />
Right now. Go.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-55939942956777446882013-09-12T12:47:00.001-04:002013-09-12T12:50:28.709-04:00Circles, Antimatter, And Humanoid Gods<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEzlG84syswGDmzIUFtuAPVyf2EGPubiOlbsG_2vDj8I1m_CrYT3YvlpLCD8jhyaJWEIVTEu2c88VARi7GmYCHhOQMpDCEsSg00cxdFWAyxC-u5bq8hNxRkkJPIQVih7uOqyicYaKROo/s1600/Meresimen_osiris_quatre_fils_four_sons_horus_Louvre_N4024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEzlG84syswGDmzIUFtuAPVyf2EGPubiOlbsG_2vDj8I1m_CrYT3YvlpLCD8jhyaJWEIVTEu2c88VARi7GmYCHhOQMpDCEsSg00cxdFWAyxC-u5bq8hNxRkkJPIQVih7uOqyicYaKROo/s200/Meresimen_osiris_quatre_fils_four_sons_horus_Louvre_N4024.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">Ancient Egyptian art depicting </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">some </span></strong><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">of their gods of </span></strong><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">the</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">Underworld.</span></strong><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;"> I believe it is </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">currently on display </span></strong><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">at the</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;"> Louvre, </span></strong><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">but unfortunately</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;"> I could find out little else</span></strong><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #f6b26b;">.</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
About the gods I have no means of knowing either that they exist or that they do not exist or what they are to look at. Many things prevent my knowing. Among others, the fact that they are never seen.<br />
~ Protagoras
<br />
<br />
Yesterday I did something I have never done before.
<br />
<br />
I attended an open circle.
<br />
<br />
Now, I have known of this circle’s existence pretty much since I have been living in Texas, but I was always weirdly nervous about getting involved. At first, the only information I found about them online seemed vague at best and mostly from the early 2000’s, so I wasn’t even sure if they were still active. Then, once I discovered they were still very much around, I instead found excuses for not reaching out to them: I was busy, I was a Platoon Leader, I never got off work early enough, what if I’m the only officer there, what if I don’t fit in, what if I’m not Pagan enough, what if I do something wrong, what if they make me call the quarters at my first ritual and I mess it up and forget which direction is north... <br />
<br />
I’ve never been anything but a solitary practitioner, apart from working a few rites or occasionally reading Tarot with bestie Amphitrite, and those hardly counted as group rituals. However, after talking over my irrational fears (which I acknowledged they were, but still feared nonetheless) with Orion the other day, I decided that I was just going to go and see what happened.
<br />
<br />
So I went.
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>And it was freaking</strong> <strong><span style="font-size: large;">awesome</span></strong></span>.
<br />
<br />
We did not work any magic; rather, it was a class and a discussion on topics relevant to modern Paganism in preparation for next weekend’s Mabon ritual—which I fully intend to attend. They meet weekly to have classes and discussions, and then celebrate the Sabbats and Esbats in a sanctuary set up at a local grove. I am so beyond excited it’s not even funny. Everyone was super nice and welcoming—I got lots of hugs as the newcomer—and came from all walks of life and levels of experience. The group leader/sponsor described them as a collection of “chronic non-joiners, geeks, and crafty people,” so I knew almost immediately that I had found a home.
<br />
<br />
The discussion was themed around the harvest, with a focus on the concept of sacrifice: its origins, connotations, and modern representations. Now, another one of the things I was concerned about before meeting everyone, was that I would be too intellectual for the group; however, as soon as the discussion started, I knew that fear had been not only vain but completely unfounded. If anything, I felt like the dumb one in the crowd. I was certainly the quietest, but that was more out of respect for my position as newcomer. I did not want to rush right in spouting off my opinion on everything; I prefer to ease my way into group settings, and right now I have the luxury of time to do just that.
<br />
<br />
One of the most interesting concepts we discussed, however, was the way we as a species used to make our gods look like us, even up to the point of deifying famous figures (the statue of <a href="http://www.smithsonianlegacies.si.edu/objectdescription.cfm?ID=66" target="_blank">George Washington as Jupiter</a>, specifically, was mentioned). Many cultures view/ed their deity/ies as, at a minimum, humanoid. There were variations upon the humanoid figure, such as the many-armed blue skinned gods from India and the animal-headed gods of Egypt, but even these were still basically humanoid in their design. And that’s what got me thinking. Why?
<br />
<br />
As one who was baptized Byzantine Rite and raised very strictly Catholic, the concept of gods and men reflecting each other is not unknown to me. That said, in my youth I was more accustomed to hearing that God (the Yahweh one) created men in His image; but as a student of Latin and the accompanying culture, I was also familiar with the reverse concept. According to the Romans, we created the gods in our image, not the other way around. The Ancient Greeks and Romans were avid proponents of deities being reflective of humanity, even (and especially) including their faults: the jealousy of Hera/Juno, the vanity of Aphrodite/Venus, the womanizing douchebaggery of Zeus/Jupiter, just to name a few of the more popular godly faults. “To err is human,” as the common phrase goes, and yet in some lost societies, to err was also divine—a direct contradiction to the much quoted Christian adage that “God doesn’t make mistakes.”
<br />
<br />
And yet we have all the evidence of the universe before us. Bad things happen to good people. Birth defects. Disease. Natural disaster. Poverty, hunger, famine. Black holes. War. And yet we also have the miracle of nebulae, the delicate balancing act of matter versus antimatter that allows the entire universe to precariously remain in existence. (In case you are unfamiliar with antimatter, basically it is the same as matter only the reverse, and when in contact, the two explode in a massive release of energy and then cancel each other out….but yet we are still here. Mind blown yet? Mine kinda is. More information <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antimatter" target="_blank">here</a>, which despite being from Wikipedia is actually a pretty fair summary.)
<br />
<br />
Divine mistake or not, we are here. We exist. Life exists, and is living, here on Earth, in this time and space. So here’s my theory. We make our gods look like us because we want to become god-like ourselves. They represent an achievable, attainable possible future: us, but improved. More powerful. More knowledgeable. Stronger. Sometimes we even make them omniscient, sometimes omnipotent. Eternal (literally, existing outside of time, rather than lasting forever, albeit both may be correct interpretations). We, as a species, strive to be all of these things, but in our struggle to achieve more power and knowledge and strength we leave a mass of troubles in our wake (war, poverty, and other products of pillage and plunder). We use our tools and technology to further the eons-old struggle for survival of the fittest, only we call it something else. We enact the dance of predator and prey on a global level, and we call it international relations.
<br />
<br />
We call it politics.
<br />
<br />
And here I will stop, before I start spouting off about something that could get me in trouble. I hope, at least, that I have provided some food for thought. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-66206762335911801852013-09-10T12:07:00.001-04:002013-09-10T12:07:31.951-04:00Remembering Smurf the Nordic Bard<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How else do you honor a musician than with a song?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has been a decade and your legacy lives on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been trying to write for you a song all of these years,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">but nothing ever fits, nothing ever fits.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember when we were twelve, we’d argue all day long</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">about which one of us played the better guitar.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I hope that when I die, you’ll meet me at the gate</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">so we can finally finish our musical debate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You were so unique, walking your own path,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">brave as any Viking with blue hair and an axe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You lived with no apologies, excuses nor regrets;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I always envied that, I always envied that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>And when you left us we asked ourselves,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>if you knew how many lives you’d touched,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>how many friends would cry at your funeral,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>wondering what we all did wrong,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>wondering what we could have done.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For ten years I’ve been haunted by my last words to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If only I’d known then how soon they would come true.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I promised you a story at 3am that night, but I was tired,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and instead I said, “There isn’t enough time."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s never enough time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>And when you left us we asked ourselves,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>if you know how many friends you had,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>how many messages left on your coffin lid</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>asked you what we all did wrong,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>and what more we could have done.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>And when you left us we asked ourselves,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>if you knew how many lives you’d touched,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>how many friends would cry at your funeral,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>wondering what we all did wrong,</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>wondering what we could have done.</strong></span>Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-23937416672257692342013-09-09T12:34:00.002-04:002013-09-09T14:00:00.034-04:00Digging For Bones<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVS5ainWC-yB14F7HwLWKJOh0sg8oXokfihRuoVVXLu3UxgE8vXdAPj-A5VLwzgXoqaaKdSknqolBWJajInf7rYir5-HsVA809bCdvncuyJ23D4N6GqPjD6FXXpaRtc1-pkdsy8zQ3SY/s1600/Aorea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVS5ainWC-yB14F7HwLWKJOh0sg8oXokfihRuoVVXLu3UxgE8vXdAPj-A5VLwzgXoqaaKdSknqolBWJajInf7rYir5-HsVA809bCdvncuyJ23D4N6GqPjD6FXXpaRtc1-pkdsy8zQ3SY/s320/Aorea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #93c47d;"><span style="background-color: black;"><em>Circle: The Spinner's Journey</em> Cover Art painted by </span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #93c47d;">yours truly, so if you copy it, please link back!</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have a very specific process for writing my stories, and it’s quite different from the free-style writing I use here on my blog or when composing lyrics and poetry. If anything, my method for producing a story shares more in common with my method for making statues: I start with the bones, then add in the meat and finish everything up with the skin and details. For statues, this translates into building a frame out of wire, fleshing that out with metal foil as necessary (for larger pieces, mostly), then adding the outer layer of clay in which all the pretty little details are set. Once it’s baked, the painting begins.
In writing my stories, the process goes something like this:
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<br />
<ol>
<li>Stream of consciousness-style chapter summary (the vision) </li>
<li>Dialogue sketch (the bones) </li>
<li>Descriptions of action (the meat) </li>
<li>Descriptions of place (the skin) </li>
<li>Editing (the details) </li>
</ol>
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My stories—likely a product of my obsession with any show created by Joss Whedon—are rather dialogue-driven, so the dialogue is where I start the active process. The summaries tend to be the freestyle, unedited, ungrammatical, hand-jammed ramblings of a writing-as-you-think-it production that is illegible to all but me. Thus, the real work begins with the bones: the dialogue. Sometimes the words my characters speak come to me in the way that poetry does; I don’t think about what I’m writing, I just let the ink flow and it miraculously sounds kinda good. Sometimes I realize I have a notebook and a few minutes to kill, so I’ll brainstorm briefly about what scene I need to write next, and then I’ll start the conversation in the middle. More often than not, a random line will pop in my head, and I’ll think to myself, “That is totally something Gren would say about Ruv when he’s complaining to Hal,” and so I write it down and before I know it I’ve got three pages of scribbled conversation between my protagonists.
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I look at my pre-story dialogue as sketches, and so that’s what I call them: dialogue sketches. They outline the chapters, provide commentary on the action, and reveal aspects of my character’s personalities that occasionally I didn’t even know until, well, I just let them start talking. I’ve never written a play, but I have read a few. My dialogue sketches look something like a screenplay when they’re done, except my characters never exit stage left. Rather, they whip out a sword and start fighting a dragon only to discover that even the dragon is feeling a bit chatty.
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The reason I bring up my dialogue sketches is because I’ve produced a LOT of them recently. As you may know, I finished the preliminary draft of the first novel in the <em>Circle</em> series, titled <em>The Spinner’s Journey</em>. (On a side note, if you are unfamiliar with my story’s premise, you might want to check out the <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/p/my-bookshelf.html" target="_blank">Bookshelf</a> tab at the top of this site; there you will find story summaries, character profiles, and explanations of Aorean geography.) However, as it took me so long to finish the novel, the first few chapters stylistically did not fit with the later chapters, and Present-Anden disagreed with Past-Anden about the way the adventure should ultimately begin; thus, I decided to rewrite the first three chapters.
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Which means starting all over again with the dialogue sketches.
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The prologue and first chapter are already complete, so I’ve moved on to chapter two, which is where the protagonists really come together as a whole. Three of them—Mari, Gren and Hal—begin the story as old friends; but they are not a complete group until they bring in Laria, and only when they are complete can they begin the journey to ward off chaos for another thousand years. How do they begin their journey, you ask? Why, with a song, of course! And here is that song, as a nifty sneak-preview of the revamped beginning to <em>The Spinner’s Journey</em>:
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Through the mists of time and space, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where rivers speak and birches sway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Into the flaming forest land, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bring us all, hand in hand.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bring us all, our journey begun; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bring us whole, each and everyone, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Into the mystic land of old, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where all dreams and stories unfold.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Through the mists of space and time, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The shifting fabric, dark and light, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Into the flaming forest land: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bring us all, hand in hand.</span>
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-50296681831363580972013-08-27T13:24:00.000-04:002013-08-28T10:42:28.935-04:00Bridal DIY: The Dress, Part 1<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLuhlpHpSOkK7BV83_ByQAuA7sVEQbAK46I0nEz03E0-Dl_86HDsUf6bZsMucHK8ktqjoeG3U8SNpkfMgwy8McRda0jlSUehHuXAQIJpaCMYrmpVpGcbbwzFBZKPtzW3mQ5hoqIqMkLA/s1600/2013-07-29_07-42-28_863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLuhlpHpSOkK7BV83_ByQAuA7sVEQbAK46I0nEz03E0-Dl_86HDsUf6bZsMucHK8ktqjoeG3U8SNpkfMgwy8McRda0jlSUehHuXAQIJpaCMYrmpVpGcbbwzFBZKPtzW3mQ5hoqIqMkLA/s320/2013-07-29_07-42-28_863.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Detail of the back of the dress, mild corset-like lacing</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the craftiness continues! As promised, this will be the first part in a series concerning How I Am Making My Wedding Dress. This installment of Bridal DIY: The Dress will cover the big muscle movements of the creation, such as the inner and outer lining, chiffon overlay, and tulle netting underskirt. I'm sorry there aren't more pictures of the process, but I didn't think of taking any pictures of the process until, well, very recently...and all of the big stuff is already done. I think the end result will reflect the cultural mish-mash I am going for, which is somewhere between Greek Goddess, Celtic Faerie Princess and Steampunk with a little bit of Hippie thrown in for extra flavor.
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In the words of one of my best friends, “So basically it will be like everything else in your closet.”
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She’s not wrong.
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I will admit I cheated slightly, in that I half-used a pattern—originally purchased for a formal dress I wore to a Military Ball (see <a href="http://www.thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2013/03/first-attempt-at-formalwear.html" target="_blank">here</a> for that post)—but I reused the pattern mostly to get my sizing right. I cut the inner and outer lining in the bust and torso region based on the pattern dimensions and then freehanded the rest (skirt, overlay, etc). True story. I didn’t even draw it out or pin it first (which, unless you’re psychotic like me, is not a method I would recommend attempting). The top part of the commercial pattern (<a href="http://www.joann.com/simplicity-pattern-2400d5-jessica-mcclintock-special-occasion-sz-4-12/zprd_11105392a/" target="_blank">this one</a>, in case you’re curious) resembled the basic shape I wanted to use for my wedding dress since I am mildly obsessed with sweetheart necklines and firmly believe in showing off my epic shoulders with a strapless gown. Ok, so my shoulders aren’t all that epic, but they are mine and I like them, plus I have a very special tattoo that needs to be visible.
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So. Here are my tips, relatively in chronological order, of things I’ve learned from the process.
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1) <strong>Decide on a design.</strong> If your crafting process is anything like my crafting process, the original design is a fluid thing that will change a lot by the time everything is finished; however, it still helps get things started if you draw a few sketches first. The ones I drew are mostly doodles in one notebook or another. I am trying to post pictures, but either blogger or my computer is being lame because even though the photos are upright on my computer, for some reason when I try posting them on blogger they are either upside down or sideways...so hopefully eventually they will let me get this photo upload right.<br />
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2)<strong> Acquire your fabric.</strong> I actually purchased my fabric (<a href="http://www.onlinefabricstore.net/apparel-fabric/taffeta/crushed-taffeta/champagne-crushed-taffeta-fabric-.htm" target="_blank">this</a> and <a href="http://www.onlinefabricstore.net/silk-chiffon-fabric/ivory-silk-chiffon-fabric-.htm" target="_blank">this</a>) before I had completely finalized my design, and then once the fabric came in and I was able to play with it, I had a better idea of what the end result would turn out to be. I knew I wanted a flowy, dreamy overlay, and I knew I didn’t want to wear white. I ended up with a champagne color that in person looks much more like a pale gold, and then a very soft, very nice ivory silk chiffon. I wanted to still look somewhat like a bride, but I didn’t want to look like every other bride. Shocking, I know. I also used a lot of tulle netting in pale gold that matched the taffeta, but you can find tulle pretty much everywhere.
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3) <strong>If you plan on washing/dry cleaning your dress when it’s done, wash/dry clean the fabric before you cut.</strong> For this particular dress, I really only plan on wearing it once, so all I did was iron out the chiffon so it wasn’t so crinkled. The crushed taffeta already had a texture to it that ironing would ruin, so I did absolutely nothing to pre-treat that fabric. For the second dress I’m making (yes, I will be changing into a new dress for the reception) as well as the bridesmaids’ dresses, I will wash that fabric before I do anything with it since those dresses are intended for multiple wear.
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4) <strong>MEASURE YOURSELF. Or better yet, GET SOMEONE ELSE TO MEASURE YOU.</strong> If you’re using a pattern, you need to know your actual measurements, not your regular size. Pattern sizes are very different from commercial sizes. For example, in commercial sizes I am a 6 at my hips and a 0 up top, which makes for very difficult dress shopping (one of the reasons I originally got into making my own clothes); however, in pattern sizes, I am usually somewhere between an 8 and a 12. Luckily patterns come in multi-size cuts, so my ridiculous cartoon proportions are easily accommodated. (In case you’re wondering what my measurements are and why they’re so difficult to shop for, I’m 31in at the bust, 25in at the waist, and 38in at the hips…like I said: cartoon proportions, or else maybe a pear.)
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5) <strong>Sketch, Pin, Cut.</strong> If you’re using a pattern, use sharp, small pins and use as many as possible with the fabric as flat as possible. I usually use the guest bed as my cutting surface because it’s the right height for me, but if you’re taller (which is likely the case, as I am vertically challenged) a table may work out better for you. Spread it out, double it over, whatever. It depends on what you’re cutting. Be cognizant of where your folds are, if the fabric has a noticeable grain, or a pattern. “With nap” versus “without nap” took me a long time to figure out, but luckily Google came to the rescue with the answer. If using a pattern, just follow the layout directions for with versus without nap, and it helps to highlight or mark which layout you’re using beforehand so it’s easier to not get confused. If you’re not using a pattern because you’re insane like me, it helps to still have a sketch. You can use chalk—I believe they make a specific type of chalk for sewing, but I don’t own any and I’ve never used it—or else you can purchase a disappearing ink pen, which I do own but have never used, so I can’t vouch for its efficacy. Or, if you’re truly insane like I tend to be, you can just eyeball and freehand cut. I wouldn’t recommend this method unless you are familiar with the trial-and-error method of getting the right size, and I definitely wouldn’t recommend it for something like formalwear unless you’re going for a boho look. My method was somewhere in between pinning a pattern and freehanding, as I used the pattern sizing for the torso portion and then just expanded it freehand-style for the skirt. As for the overlay….I freehanded the whole thing. Also not recommended for chiffon, but hey it worked out well enough for me, so you can probably do it too. I recommend cutting everything you need before you start sewing, so then you have ALL of your pieces already cut, and then you can just keep them organized in whatever order makes sense to you, or label them with a sticky note. I did no such thing, and in hindsight I should have, because let me tell you—all pieces of chiffon look the same, because damn that fabric likes to shift and stretch into a shapeless monstrosity. It all turned out ok in the end, but it was way more difficult than it could have been had I followed my own advice, or anyone’s advice, really.
As you can see below, little Kitty Hera likes to help cutting the fabric by grooming herself on top of it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vMvJZspgdPDS6N8-jNGsOzrCnsbxckmlyYvRgn7tuMyVsNCuFYWLE5EXKOunpQ2TSozjedMG9CEsCdZKpSeThrwLw_rmu0o6mhVu4BuQjQjSvNuM6ODCsIG3qPiDvmqWMu2KRHAXuZE/s1600/2013-07-07_17-13-18_440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vMvJZspgdPDS6N8-jNGsOzrCnsbxckmlyYvRgn7tuMyVsNCuFYWLE5EXKOunpQ2TSozjedMG9CEsCdZKpSeThrwLw_rmu0o6mhVu4BuQjQjSvNuM6ODCsIG3qPiDvmqWMu2KRHAXuZE/s400/2013-07-07_17-13-18_440.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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6) <strong>Follow the directions, or else just start pinning seams.</strong> If you’re using a pattern, the directions—complete with illustrations, yay!—tend to be pretty clear, and they get easier to read the more times you use them. My first time using a pattern was for the dress I made for the Military ball, and it took me about four hours of just staring at the directions before they started to make any kind of sense to me. However, since then I’ve begun using more patterns for different little things, and now I can read them pretty easily. It’s just a matter of becoming versed in the pattern lingo. Once again, Google comes to the rescue whenever you have a question! Or if you’re still confused, I check my email daily—<a href="mailto:anden.jade37@gmail.com" target="_blank">contact me here</a>—and I can help clarify something in layman’s terms, or in crazy-person’s terms, or I can give you pattern-less sewing tips. Whatever. I ignored the pattern for this part because I knew what I was doing, so I just attacked it with pins. I made the outer lining out of the taffeta first, then the inner lining using leftover taffeta, then the overlay.
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7) <strong>If you are less than well-endowed (like me), add boobs.</strong> They have all kinds of nifty padded, molded, foam, cotton, et cetera boob-shapes you can sew into a dress, and they go especially nicely with corset like creations. I used molded foam boobs with almost no padding, just the nice round shape, and sewed them into the inner lining after I had connected all of the fabric. I recommend adding these before you add the bones and connect everything, but I got a little carried away and had to sew them in by hand after the majority of the dress was assembled…my bad.
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8) <strong>If you’re making anything corsety, add bones to the inner lining.</strong> Sewing bones in a dress/shirt is a total pain, but like anything it gets easier with practice. You can either sew them into the seam allowance if you left enough room, or you can make little pockets and sew them in wherever you want, which is generally the method I use, but as I’ve said a billion times already in this post, I’m a little crazy with these things and my methods are not the standard practice. I always have a hard time trying to explain how exactly I make the things that I do, because my thought process isn’t in words, it’s in seeing the end result and then and occasionally seeing the steps to get there, but more often than not I just see what I want in my head and I just start executing. It’s mostly pictures up in this brain of mine, at least where crafting is concerned, and the rest of the space is song lyrics and stories I haven’t written yet.
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There’s no room for mental math.
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9) <strong>Connect your layers!</strong> For me, this meant the overlay (chiffon), outer lining (taffeta) and inner lining (more taffeta, but this time with boobs and bones). Again, I was slightly dumb so I added the bones and the boobs after these three pieces were assembled, but that is not a method I would recommend because it was very difficult to add them in that way, and would probably have looked better if I put them in before. My philosophy has always been that it’s ok for the inside to look like a hot mess because no one sees it but you, but I’m trying this whole thing where I make the inside and the outside both look good, or at least more professional. So far I have one success in that department—my Samhaine costume for this year, but more on that later—an unfortunately my wedding dress is only halfway a success. I may add *another* layer of lining, this time out of an actual lining fabric, to my dress once everything else is complete just to cover up some of the messier seams.
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPTY6g3NMR9KPKGEY9zVc4K4T9jL3TJxcoberT95dC-3MUECEwchx_gV4Dk1AodIZ8vST2U4sfb_m8qf3eYtJN2rwygUmShIKlKdQTyysG4LURRHHIhuJB1qZFF9GjTlmSX2v6mnog-o/s1600/2013-08-15_08-15-11_101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPTY6g3NMR9KPKGEY9zVc4K4T9jL3TJxcoberT95dC-3MUECEwchx_gV4Dk1AodIZ8vST2U4sfb_m8qf3eYtJN2rwygUmShIKlKdQTyysG4LURRHHIhuJB1qZFF9GjTlmSX2v6mnog-o/s400/2013-08-15_08-15-11_101.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">Here you can see the overlay of the skirt with some</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">of the shirring detail I'm adding to the bottom.</span></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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10) <strong>Seal all your seams!</strong> You can do this throughout, which is usually what I do, but it helps to keep edges from fraying if they are not enclosed (i.e., French seams). I didn’t figure out how to do French seams until after I had sewed the inner and outer lining, but in hindsight I intend to only use those from now on because they’re freaking awesome and they look SO much nicer. However, if you have just normal seams, you can iron them flat and then put fabric glue (I’m a fan of <a href="http://www.joann.com/aleene-s-8-oz-original-tacky-glue/prd53029/" target="_blank">this kind</a>, it dries clear and is very strong, and doesn’t come off in the washing machine) or a no-fray type thing. Make sure you test a section first so you know how your fabric is going to react. Some types, like thicker satin, are perfectly fine because the glue/no-fray doesn’t show through; however, I didn’t use this on the chiffon, which is transparent, because it bleeds through (obviously) and looks bad. Hence, test. Then seal.
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That’s all I have for now, as this is turning out to be quite the lengthy post, and I mainly wanted to hit some highlights for dress construction that a pattern may ignore, or online sewing tutorials seem to think you already know, or for the free-hand pattern-less constructioners like me. Surely I’m not the only one out there, right? RIGHT!?
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[echoes, cricket chirping]
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-63005066420049907742013-08-16T10:23:00.000-04:002013-08-16T10:24:49.537-04:00Cano VitaeWhile driving home for work yesterday evening, a twist of melody and some words popped into my brain, so I shut down my radio and started humming along like the crazy songwriter I am without any regard whatsoever to who sees me singing in my car. So. By the time I got home, I had the first stanza locked down pretty tight. I pulled out a notebook and knocked out the rest in a fraction of the time it took me to drive home in the first place. Thus, a new song was born. Once I replace the batteries in my guitar tuner--Princess, my Gibson Cascade, is decidedly out of tune and my ear is not quite what it used to be for matching the right pitch (thanks, Army)--I will work on the music portion. Having recently decided to ignore all of the sappy, annoying, broken-hearted emo songs I wrote in college entirely and revamp my sound with my present musical soul, this is the first song in that series. Recordings--eventually--to follow. For now, enjoy the words! The title, "Cano Vitae," means "I sing of life" in Latin. You know how much I love naming my songs in that wonderful, immortal language.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been listening to the silence,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> trying to figure out what it says, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> but the words are getting harder to decipher. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because silence speaks with a voice</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> that few have ever heard, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and I am no exception to this either. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been looking at the wind, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> trying to see it clearly, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> but all that I can see is where it’s been. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I swear that it’s mocking me, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> casually floating through the trees, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> all the while keeping its face hidden. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been dancing in the rain, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> trying to feel the sunshine, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> but I guess Apollo’s sleeping in the clouds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everywhere I turn, the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> is turning faster, and the music</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> always seems to be too loud. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been running through the woods, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> trying not to lose your trail, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> but as for prey, you’ve proven yourself clever. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps you are faster than I; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> only one of us will eat tonight, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> but the song of life is never truly over. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The song of life is never truly over.</span>
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-25496960987091623852013-08-05T23:45:00.000-04:002013-08-05T23:45:31.630-04:00Verba Immortalis<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXUci0pwQmXHYcPMLeEq274nXjZaWylnCY7p-eQOirQki_OC51vXPJx6kxTd2uCW66nbUi8NfaQc0bT5S-CY4YOEmlNyFIDspqt5YWndcAgeB16hrebRB1VkkYsKo3Affu_QCp00D5YY/s1600/Venus-Appearing-to-Aeneas-on-the-Shores-of-Carthage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXUci0pwQmXHYcPMLeEq274nXjZaWylnCY7p-eQOirQki_OC51vXPJx6kxTd2uCW66nbUi8NfaQc0bT5S-CY4YOEmlNyFIDspqt5YWndcAgeB16hrebRB1VkkYsKo3Affu_QCp00D5YY/s320/Venus-Appearing-to-Aeneas-on-the-Shores-of-Carthage.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Giambattista Tiepolo, <i>Venus Appearing </i></span></b></div>
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<i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">to Aeneas on the Shores of Carthage.</span></b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Virgil's <i>Aeneid</i>. Now there's a hell</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">of a read (says 5 years of latin).</span></b></div>
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If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing.<br />
~ Benjamin Franklin
<br />
<br />
Color me patriotic but apart from their rampant sexism and occasional hypocrisies, I’ve always been a fan of our founding fathers, even good old Ben. I came across this quotation the other day, and it resonated with my present situation. I am standing at a crossroads, wondering what my legacy will be; hell, I’m wondering what I even <i>want</i> my legacy to be. Am I creating things worth reading, seeing, listening to? Are my voice and my presence affecting a positive, lasting change in my environment? Am I living a life worth remembering? I would like to think so, but for obvious reasons I do not have an objective opinion on the matter.
<br />
<br />
I have this really annoying, awkward love/hate relationship with my day job. The Army certainly keeps me busy, and while I was a Platoon Leader I felt that I legitimately was able to make a difference in the lives of my Soldiers, which was all that mattered to me. Now that I’m on staff, the difference I make is subtle at best and not nearly as gratifying, and it occurs to me that all of the preparation and training and education I received as a Cadet was to prepare me for a job that I have already done and will not ever be able to do again. My PL time, as much as I hate to admit it, is over. For the vast majority of my career, should I stay in, I will be on staff in a support role, not a leadership one, and I will only get further and further away from the Soldiers as I continue to get promoted through the ranks.
<br />
<br />
Part of me can’t wait to step into that next leadership role: Company Command. Part of me still believes that all the staff time and bureaucracy and sexism and frustration are really worth stomaching just for those brief, awesome leadership opportunities. Soldiers are amazing. Period. And being a Platoon Leader was the best experience of my life, this coming from someone who has gone cliff diving off of waterfalls inside a cave in the middle of the Belizean rain forest. (Yes, I know; check my privilege.)<br />
<br />
However, an increasingly large part of me wonders if the brief rewards of the Army are worth the numerous, immense down sides. Sexism so ingrained in the culture of the organization that 99% of them don’t even realize they are being sexist, no matter how many Equal Opportunity and SHARP “training” sessions the organization swallows. Part of me is sick of always being the only woman in the room, in the conference, in the group, in the formation, at PT. It’s frustrating and it’s annoying as hell, and if I complain about anything at all, I’m told to stop being a girl. I could wear the subtlest, most natural of makeup, paint nothing but clear strengthener on my nails, or barely spritz on the subtlest of perfume and I get accused of trying to attract, distract, or otherwise act inappropriately around the men at work. I know because it’s happened too many times to count. Clear nailpolish! CLEAR! So I never wear makeup in uniform, not even mascara, or nail polish or perfume. Ok, I still use my scented hair products and deodorant, but come on. I’ve gotta have something.
<br />
<br />
But the constant, sometimes subtle but more often quite blatant, sexism isn’t the only headache of the military lifestyle. Prolonged separation from loved ones, for example. Even as busy as I keep myself, Orion’s deployment has hardly been easy thus far and I’m only 1/9 of the way through the wait. Based on my own experience with deployment, you’re as likely to get stuck there for an extra three months as you are to actually return roundabouts the time they initially tell you. Waiting isn’t easy, and unlike most “Army wives” I understand what he’s doing, what he’s going through, why I can’t hear from him as often as I’d like, precisely how much danger he’s really in that he can’t tell me. Being dual-military has it’s ups and downs. We have the mutual understanding of our jobs and how time consuming and mentally/emotionally draining they are, but at the same time, we have jobs that are time consuming and mentally/emotionally draining. Even when we are together, there isn’t much left of daylight (if any) when our workdays finally end, and those workdays usually begin long before the sun rises.
<br />
<br />
So I wonder what, and where, I want to leave my legacy. Do I want to make a career out of the Army, fighting tooth and nail for recognition as an equal in what will likely never be an equal organization—certainly not within my lifetime—or do I want to just fulfill my commitment and then pursue something else? I wonder what kind of wake my magical practice leaves behind me, if there’s even a dent in the ether. I wonder if all the little things I make and draw and paint and bedazzle will be appreciated by anyone other than me.<br />
<br />
I wonder if my words are worth reading.<br />
<br />
Sure, <i>I</i> like all the things I make, and I enjoy making them. I love the way my guitar feels in my hands when I’m in the middle of composing a new song. I love the satisfaction I get when I finish writing or editing a chapter in one of my stories (yep; editing the first and starting to write the second). I love the calluses on my fingertips from sewing and sculpting and playing. I even love how my fingernails bear the proof of my crafting, as they will never be long and luxurious, painted or no.<br />
<br />
But does anyone else? I make all these necklaces and pendants and earrings and bracelets and paintings and statues and a bazillion other things, but I tend to either keep them myself or give them away to friends and family. My family has always been supportive of my “hobbies,” but that’s how they seem to view them: just hobbies. Just expensive habits I have that cause me to shudder with glee when entering a craft store, and they're not entirely wrong. I presently spend far more money funding my hobbies than I earn from them, but creation has never been about money for me. It’s always been about joy. My creations, my art, my music—they bring joy to me. They are an outlet for my emotions, the high ones and the lows, and when the act of creation is complete,<i> I</i> feel complete. I hope that my creations bring as much joy to those who see them, hear them, read them as they do to me, but the insecure part of me wonders if it’s possible that my intense joy in creation could transfer like that.
<br />
<br />
I’ve always strived to live my life as a beacon, a ray of hope to light the way for the lost and the, well, hopeless. I firmly believe in living by example, so I try my very bestest to walk my own talk. It’s not easy, and I’m human, so I slip up now and then; but on balance, I think I do a pretty good job. So I hope that is what turns out to be my legacy: that whatever I decide—to stay in the Army until I retire, or to get out at the end of my commitment and focus on family and my hobbies and whatever other career path comes my way—I can lead others toward love, life and hope, that my life was one worth remembering.
<br />
<br />
And, of course, one day I’d like to write something worth reading…but we can’t all be Virgil.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-40379691467425794732013-08-02T00:14:00.000-04:002013-08-02T00:14:23.305-04:00Lammas Runes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOk95KLwTn2r1zshLWJ5T_ByS_U_HIg8recKfe4gPAZBm0-TjfKVie2w9I5r4s0OnK3LgzTK6wJZE67l3CAbR-Wt1tgCbfaeAyDO43r04KxQO33x1ZVm1fJ_2o_D0SKIP9l1b1avFPuY/s1600/lughnasadh-bill-oliver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOk95KLwTn2r1zshLWJ5T_ByS_U_HIg8recKfe4gPAZBm0-TjfKVie2w9I5r4s0OnK3LgzTK6wJZE67l3CAbR-Wt1tgCbfaeAyDO43r04KxQO33x1ZVm1fJ_2o_D0SKIP9l1b1avFPuY/s200/lughnasadh-bill-oliver.jpg" width="160" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="background-color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">Bill Oliver, <i>Lughnasadh</i></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Considering today marks a holiday for my spirituality, with the celebration beginning at sunset yesterday for those of the Celtic persuasion (like yours truly) and continuing until sunset today, this will be one of my more Pagan-centric posts. Of course, if you are a regular reader instead of one who just google-image searches the Virginian flag and subsequently stumbles across <a href="http://thoughtsoftheanden.blogspot.com/2010/10/sic-semper-tyrannis.html" target="_blank">my state-riotic rant</a>, you probably don’t require a disclaimer. Thus, without further ado, Merry Lammas or Happy <a href="http://www.druidry.org/druid-way/teaching-and-practice/druid-festivals/lughnasadh/deeper-lughnasadh" target="_blank">Lughnasadh</a>! Whichever title you prefer.<br />
<br />
Ideally in the World Between the Trees, I would have properly kicked off my celebration of the first harvest with a riotous, community-oriented bonfire feast, with lots of corn cakes and wheat-based products we harvested ourselves from our own fields, served with honey from our very own bees. Unfortunately, I live in a semi-urban apartment and my fields are full of concrete with not a forest to be seen for miles upon miles in any direction, unless you count the shrubs and cacti, which I don’t. <br />
<br />
Around festival time my pining for my home state nestled in glorious Appalachia always peaks. <br />
<br />
Also, unfortunately, I remain a solitary practitioner. The closest thing I have ever had to a coven is scattered far and wide across the continental US (namely, my mother, my aunt, one of my cousins, and my bestie Amphitrite). So instead, after a long and arduous day of (ugh I hate it) paperwork and meetings and briefings, followed by the usual domestic chores of cleaning out kitty litter and omg what do I have to eat in my damn kitchen that won’t kill me, I wasn’t exactly in a celebratory mood. Instead, I marked off another day on my calendar, watched a few episodes of <i>Merlin</i> whilst munching on some still-edible leftovers, cuddled my kitten and—wait for it—got my creativity on. <br />
<br />
Yes, that’s right, I celebrated my Lammas by making something for my wedding. I began the project last night when the sky first started to darken, and finished it today around the time the sky went completely dark. What did I make, you ask? Well, let me tell you; or better yet, let me show you: <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNFZmJwcNwwMFOD6HazCaLPHhPNle52qDE49VB85k58tpRmmZcjARwnU6ArDuGHaBQffZUUtVck1ZtsXQmWFrDaz93IrEnaCqfZAQYUWt_afU8zWRXCTWFj1JvttzpvU9b7Nzd5laTRU/s1600/OghamRunes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNFZmJwcNwwMFOD6HazCaLPHhPNle52qDE49VB85k58tpRmmZcjARwnU6ArDuGHaBQffZUUtVck1ZtsXQmWFrDaz93IrEnaCqfZAQYUWt_afU8zWRXCTWFj1JvttzpvU9b7Nzd5laTRU/s400/OghamRunes.jpg" width="322" /></a></div>
<br />
Aren’t they lovely? And what do you know, they match my handfasting color(s) to boot! Since our Pagan/Technically-Agnostic-But-Sorta-Super-Openminded-Christian celebration of love and family will be predominantly Celtic-themed (with a touch of my Eastern European heritage thrown into the mix, mostly with traditions for the reception), I’ve decided to use Ogham tree-correspondences in place of table numbers. Each table, in stead of a number, will be assigned a tree from the old Irish alphabet (sometimes referred to, in fact, as the “language of trees,” as each letter corresponds to a tree or tree-like plant/shrub [let’s be real…honeysuckle? really? you ran out of other ideas?]). Amphitrite and I will be making centerpieces—eventually—out of recycled wine bottles, feathers, moss, reclaimed branches/twigs, whatever I find in the woods, and flowers once a) I know how many guests are coming and b) I know how many guests fit at each table. Since each centerpiece will also have a sign with the type of tree (or tree-like shrub) from the Ogham attached to it, I also envision a little dangling rune with the actual Ogham on it nestled somewhere in the woodsy-wino monstrosity. <br />
<br />
So I made a set of Ogham runes to celebrate Lammas. <br />
<br />
(Whilst drinking a bottle of Chianti.) <br />
<br />
I cut 25 pieces of permanently dyed gold-toned armature wire (leftover from what Orion and I used to make the skeleton frames for our cake topper statues) to form little loops, which I then immersed in a slightly teardrop shaped pebble of polymer clay. Then I focused my intent by thinking of the corresponding tree as I carved the Ogham into each one, starting with beith (b – birch) and working my way down to phagos (ae – beech). I carved the stemline first, then carved the cross lines left to right. Once every rune was carved, I laid them all out in a baking pan and fired them in the oven to harden the clay. A good rule of thumb with Sculpey—my preferred brand of polymer clay—is 275 degrees and 15min for each ¼ thickness. When I’m making pendants or something small like this, however, I tend to just put it in the oven for a standard 20min. <br />
<br />
After they were done baking, I paused the process of creation and went to bed. I restarted the process this evening, following a very relaxing trip to the spa—it was about time again for another back facial, and my gods are those amazing—with mixing my paints. I wanted a nice, deep forest green, so that they would match the green in my family’s and Orion’s family’s tartans, as well as the fabric I chose to make my bridesmaids’ dresses. To achieve this color, I mixed silver with three different shades of green (hooker’s green hue permanent, phthalocyanine green, and deep green permanent) of acrylic paint. I’m very happy with the resultant blend, which reminds me of an emerald cabochon crossed with a Japanese beetle and then blessed by a Faerie princess. Three layers later and once the green dried, I mixed gold with primary yellow and yellow oxide to color the carved rune like an inlay. Once the gold dried, I finally sealed each one with a high-gloss varnish to preserve the paint and prevent chipping. <br />
<br />
Voila! Ogham runes to add a subtly magical, Druidish touch to my table centerpieces, and which I can definitely reuse after the handfasting for all sorts of home-décor and blessing projects. I could even turn them into pendants, worn to evoke the aspects of a particular tree or color or bird or any of the other correspondences tied to each Ogham letter. The net cost of making them, as they were entirely constructed of items I already had from previous projects, was next to nothing, whereas the enjoyment and personal satisfaction I received from creating them cannot be measured. The hardest part was keeping Little Kitty Hera out of the paint! <br />
<br />
I deem this a successful Lammas, and that was quite a tasty Chianti. <br />
<br />Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-31434673477413831752013-07-31T09:49:00.000-04:002013-07-31T09:49:59.549-04:00Sci Fi Shindig Menu & More<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbjZrEqD9A2c0etAolxgakT0WhN5z2TlruUHE31QQRPeio46ZPIIEnWlAAB3iRlJa0J9dJoiCFtP8d7sgr8vNpnJqA1I_EkqfJnghP71b6qBzxyDAS67TrkTu7bKhHppFfZyl1tb2Kj8/s1600/Farscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbjZrEqD9A2c0etAolxgakT0WhN5z2TlruUHE31QQRPeio46ZPIIEnWlAAB3iRlJa0J9dJoiCFtP8d7sgr8vNpnJqA1I_EkqfJnghP71b6qBzxyDAS67TrkTu7bKhHppFfZyl1tb2Kj8/s1600/Farscape.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #8e7cc3;"><strong>John Criton. I would marry him if he </strong></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #8e7cc3;"><strong>weren't </strong></span><span style="background-color: black; color: #8e7cc3;"><strong>taken. Or, well, if I weren't too</strong>.</span></td></tr>
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Our weavings in the cosmic web are not self-contained. Rather, they are part of the design of our collective humanity. <br />
~ Lisa Hunt
<br />
<br />
I have good news and bad news. The good news is that Saturday evening’s Science Fiction Shindig was a colossal success. The bad news is that I neglected to take any pictures, so I have nothing to show for it except some leftover jello and a few burnt out glowsticks. But let’s focus on the positives, shall we?
<br />
<br />
I decorated my apartment with pink and green glowsticks and necklaces, tying some to ribbons and draping the ribbons across doorways. The table was spread with a psychedelic plastic tablecloth in rainbow colors to give it a sort of nebulous feel, and I used a shiny tire rim that kinda looked like a spaceship as a centerpiece. We had <em>Star Wars</em> paper plates and <em>Avengers</em> napkins, and I even made menus framed by aluminum foil and hot pink duct tape to both explain the culinary options and their science fictiony significance.
<br />
<br />
Concerning food we paid homage to many different shows, including <em>Star Trek</em>, <em>Star Wars</em>, <em>Farscape</em>, <em>Stargate SG1</em>, <em>Battlestar Galactica</em> and <em>Firefly</em>. I served gagh (<em>Star Trek</em>), which while the Klingons would cry foul for my lack of worms, turned out rather tasty, if a bit spicier than intended. I sautéed glass noodles in soy sauce, hoison, siracha and Chinese 5 spice powder. The end result was a translucent reddish-brown mass of writhing, worm-like noodles. Luckily my guests were neither grossed out by the wormy resemblance nor opposed to the fire from the siracha, so the gagh went quickly and I had very little left.
<br />
<br />
As <em>Farscape</em> is my official favorite show of all time (I’ve actually seen that more times through than Buffy, believe it or not), I simply had to represent it. Thus, I made food cubes. Well, I called them food cubes—as did my guests—but they were more or less sugar cookies dyed green and coated in green sprinkles. I molded the cookie dough into squares before I baked them, but apparently cookies expand (hey, I’m not a baker!) so I ended up with a bunch of geometrically surprising shapes as the food cube cookies pushed into one another. I had zero food cubes left over. ZERO. And I had made quite a few. Just goes to show that you can’t judge based on appearances, because the cookies were neither food-cube nor cookie-shaped (nor cookie-colored) but the flavor was all there! Now I suppose I should start making cupcakes to use all my left over food coloring.
<br />
<br />
To pay my respects to <em>Stargate</em>, I made three flavors of jello and served them in a three-part acrylic serving dish (which I’m pretty sure it was designed to serve dips/condiments, but hey, jello in square molds works). They always seem to be serving jello in the DFAC at Stargate HQ, so it seemed appropriate. Also there’s nothing more science fictiony than a cousine that not only comes in ridiculous colors, but also jiggles. I went with bright green (s’lime), blood red (cherry) and neon yellow (pineapple).
<br />
<br />
Out of necessity for a main dish, and because no one in the crowd was vegetarian, I grilled some steaks and called them “cloned cattle” (<em>Battlestar Galactica</em>; they clone their meat-producing animals for sustainability). I just prepped it with a dry rub of finely ground coffee, Cajun seasoning, chili powder, and garlic. It may sound weird but coffee-based rubs go really well with a thicker cut, especially if you’re forced to, you know, George Foreman it because an outdoor grill is a fire hazard in your urban environment. Anywho, no complaints on the steak and several asked me for the dry rub recipe, so I’ll call that a win.
<br />
<br />
As most of us were avid <em>Firefly</em> fans—and they eat a lot of Asian food in <em>Firefly</em>—two of my guests (they’re married) brought home made spring rolls, which were absolutely delicious! So yay for that :] I might have eaten more of those than I did my own food cube cookies, and I was picking the cookies off as they cooled. I mean, I had to eat the broken ones, naturally.
<br />
<br />
Finally, we had beverages. As the entire crowd were responsible adults of drinking age, we had two alcoholic options and one virgin (I called it “galactic lemonade,” but it was just your standard pink lemonade served in a really cool container). From <em>Star Wars</em> I made some blue milk, which for me amounted to vanilla vodka, blue curacao and, of course, milk. I used skim milk because that’s all I buy but also threw in a little half & half for extra smoothness, and the end result was a sweet, creamy, sky-blue concoction of deliciousness. I served it chilled in a giant blue milk bottle, so the aesthetic result was both old-fashioned and futuristic, further adding to the <em>Star Wars</em> feel. The other adult beverage was two bottles of sangria that one of my guests brought (he was wearing a blue Star Trek shirt—oh yes, drool away!) and once we cracked out the Sangria it didn’t last long.
<br />
<br />
So that comprises my menu for the Sci-Fi Shindig. Now that you are all salivating in hunger—or grossed out, as the case may be—we can move onto a rundown of the entertainment for the night. I cracked out my ginormous collection of science fiction DVDs, to include all my shows and movies (some big-theater productions, some B-grade ones) and let my guests pick. We ended up first watching <em>Serenity</em>, which even though about half of us had seen it before we all still got choked up at the end, and then <em>The Fifth Element</em>. All in all, I am super proud of myself for pulling off such a gathering of nerds with food and movies and drinks and decorations despite my incredibly cramped schedule. Last week was particularly hectic; we have a lot of big projects going on at work right now. Craziness.
<br />
<br />
And Kitty Hera! She was so well behaved. She played with her toys and sat on each guest’s lap in turn begging for attention, and then when the crowd got a little too much for her she just curled up inside her pet-carrier (I leave it open for her so she gets used to it) and took a nap. She did not scratch or bite anyone, although occasionally she did play-pounce on their ankles as they sat on the couch and she darted out from underneath it. She likes to do that. Everyone seemed to be as taken with her as I was, and miraculously at work—most of these scif-fi nerd friends are my coworkers—no one makes fun of me for being a crazy cat lady anymore. Little Kitty Hera won over their hearts for me.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-56347303396127952102013-07-21T00:44:00.000-04:002013-07-21T00:44:42.277-04:00Starship Nerd On The Horizon<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjvRBwy48egXS5MVJvDfuB1zq5Eh0Hn9AQcmUB87MU7WpXAo3LEHcyGhzOUJmC6osgBji4nK1NbL_U_BdhxVH-T9Lw4er0mu_9CfiU0p_Zkc-eKaVuK50IFgiWc45U1qO_2j_IWzomdQ/s1600/starship_troopers_large_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjvRBwy48egXS5MVJvDfuB1zq5Eh0Hn9AQcmUB87MU7WpXAo3LEHcyGhzOUJmC6osgBji4nK1NbL_U_BdhxVH-T9Lw4er0mu_9CfiU0p_Zkc-eKaVuK50IFgiWc45U1qO_2j_IWzomdQ/s320/starship_troopers_large_05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;">Are you ready? I am SO ready!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My geekdom, like my craftiness, is about to swing into full effect.
<br />
<br />
This weekend I will be hosting a science-fiction nerd-fest, full of gagh and blue milk and loads of food cubes, possibly even some fish fingers and custard. Extra points if you understood all four of those references without googling them! I’m also trying to think of a way to make the light fruit the faeries ate in True Blood; I’m envisioning glowsticks in the bottom of a bowl full of pears. I know, True Blood is more fantasy than sci-fi, but it’s close enough and unfortunately science fiction food tends towards the gross.<br />
<br />
To further my geekdom, I’ll also be attending a one-day-only showing of Starship Troopers in theaters with effectively the same group of nerd-friends that will be joining me for gagh. (For the record, I will not actually be serving worms.)<br />
<br />
The best part: we’ll be dressing up for it.<br />
<br />
In.<br />
<br />
Costume.<br />
<br />
Yes, several weeks from now, my friends and I will be storming a theater dressed as members of the Mobile Infantry. We’re heading to Wall Mart tomorrow to pick up some costume supplies. Twill be epic. Anywho, rest assured, dear readers, there will be awesome nerdy sci-fi pictures on here soon! <br />
<br />
But back to Starship Troopers. <br />
<br />
Having seen the movie multiple times on cable (because let’s be real, when is it *not* on one of the crappy channels?) before Orion forced me to read the book—it’s his all time favorite—I have come to realize that the movie is essentially a joke. I do not know much about director who made it, or really anyone involved in the process, but having now read the book I would say that one of two things happened:<br />
<br />
1) The movie director read the first five pages of the book and then stopped, or<br />
<br />
2) The movie director absolutely hated the book and wanted to parody it.<br />
<br />
Either way, let’s all agree now that the movie, while intensely entertaining, completely butchered the book. Yet there are some things in each that I prefer, such as the complex political subtext in the book, the badassery of the Mobile Infantry, and Carmen shaving her head. In the movie I like the gender equality of the MI unites (yay! Dizzy is a girl! In the book she is a he, and he dies in the first few pages…a detail the director chose to ignore, and I’m actually glad he did as it brought to mind Starbuck’s upgrade in the retelling of Battlestar Galactica). The movie glosses over the “skinnies,” and focuses on the battles with the bugs.
Did I mention I really, really dislike the idea of giant bugs? Perhaps I have subjected myself to one too many B-grade sci fi movies full of giant, writhing insects. Or arachnids.<br />
<br />
But whether in the world of the book or the realm of the movie, I would love to be a member of the Mobile Infantry. Just imagine! The training (in the book) was so intense, so inspiring, and at times reminded me of my college days—only briefly, however—and at other times caused me to think that perhaps I might not be able to make it through such an ordeal, and I very, very rarely think I may not be able to do something, so naturally that made me want to try even more. Perhaps Starship Troopers is one of the reasons I would jump in a heartbeat to go SF or Infantry if they open them up to my gender. Sure, Congress said, “You will let women in!” but nothing has changed, not yet. The Army gets to decide how—if ever—they will allow women to participate in combat. Right, because bullets and IEDs discriminate based on gender.<br />
<br />
But that’s a whole ‘nother topic, one that is likely to set my raging feminist on a lengthy tangent, and right now I’d rather focus on my nerd-dom. <br />
<br />
Mobile Infantry. Mobile Suits. I really, really want a Mobile Suit. The capabilities! The weaponry! In a way they brought me back to when I used to watch Gundam Wing on Toonami, lusting after their version of the Mobile Suits. Reading about them in Starship Troopers straight up made me drool, and the movie just skips them entirely. What a shame. But for the upcoming theater showing, we will be rocking the movie-version of the Mobile Infantry uniform. Without the suits, though, they’re really just your standard issue Infantry grunts. So we’ll be wearing black t-shirts, military-esque pants, vests, black-spray painted ray guns. We’re still trying to plan out how we’ll make/acquire the helmets, but it shouldn’t be too hard. We are clever little nerds, after all.<br />
<br />
In conclusion: Nerdom in full effect. All systems go.Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-80725371578087883402013-07-15T15:44:00.001-04:002013-07-15T15:52:10.504-04:00Of Councils And Unicorns<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFCBmsWrPFuJEgTMwceUjQhxqcStAB-7LXuNFw999Cq4VJ_Sb5l_qA8KaeHMpz3MXVLRqSD626vHfvgzyvUy8FuHuWhv1pjVol09TVaTONMyFjbwyKcWTvSFtj4jYgWoauvkaOH9N9A4/s1600/gold_unicorn_copyright_SnowSkadi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFCBmsWrPFuJEgTMwceUjQhxqcStAB-7LXuNFw999Cq4VJ_Sb5l_qA8KaeHMpz3MXVLRqSD626vHfvgzyvUy8FuHuWhv1pjVol09TVaTONMyFjbwyKcWTvSFtj4jYgWoauvkaOH9N9A4/s200/gold_unicorn_copyright_SnowSkadi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="background-color: black;">Snow Skadi, <em>Gold Unicorn</em></span></span></strong></td></tr>
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“A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
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When I was a child, I was obsessed with unicorns. By “child,” what I really mean is “from toddler years up through time now,” and by “obsessed,” well, I mean that unicorns have remained an ongoing fascination with greater and lesser periods of intensity. Watching Rainbow Brite was my introduction to magical, horned horses, and my fascination culminated with a compilation of literary works devoted to the unicorn for a middle school literature class. I remember being about 12 or 13 and traipsing around the woods behind my house with my best friend Amphitrite, searching for traces of them. We followed hoof prints that likely belonged to deer, and we collected twisted pieces of wood that we called shards of alicorn. We glimpsed shadows in the distance and raced after them, wandering and wondering in equal parts. We’d stay out until the darkness finally chased us home, where we would drink tea and giggle over our secret adventures in the forest. We never found any unicorns, but the magic was there. The magic is always there in childhood escapades. <br />
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Then came high school, and my priorities shifted: cross country, homework, papers and projects, boys, college. I still secretly read stories about unicorns and wrote them as characters into my own, and I still would go for hikes whenever the notion struck me, but I was not searching for unicorns anymore. I was searching for something equally elusive and magical: myself. Then came college, and after that work, and now I am left wondering what my original point was. <br />
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Ah, yes. Unicorns. Recently I dreamt a dream about a unicorn and the consequences of its presence. It was the first dream in quite some time that I remembered upon waking, so I spent several weeks chewing on its potential meaning. The dream and its interpretation follow below: <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was in a rich, dense forest wearing its late-summer emerald green. I was standing with a group of faceless friends about 100m from a mist-enshrouded lake. There was a wide, pine-needle coated path leading down to the lake’s edge, where an old, crumbling dock extended over the water. Suddenly I saw movement, and my friends urged me to go down to the water to see what it was. I approached slowly, and out of the mist stepped a tall, slender horse with a honey-brown coat and a golden mane and tail. A pale, latticed and spiraled bone horn protruded from its forehead, and I recognized it as a unicorn. I felt my breath catch in my throat, and I was afraid to go any closer lest I scare it away. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The unicorn looked directly at me, lowering its head, and so I called out softly, “Hello?” Then it nodded to me, and I returned to my slow, cautious approach, holding my empty hands out in front of me. As I got closer, I could hear the unicorn’s voice in my head, greeting me, although I did not see his mouth move. Eventually I was close enough to put my hand on his neck, which I did. He was warm and smelled like earth and lake. He told me his name, and I told him mine, and we talked quietly for what felt like hours in dream-time. Then I asked him if I could take a picture with him to show my mom, and he said yes, so I pulled out my phone and took a selfie with a unicorn (probably one of the more random details, but hey, even in my dreams apparently I wield a smart phone). Then he told me that he had to go, and he turned and faded back into the mist on the lake. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next thing I remember, I was in a coffee shop, and a faceless man in a suit and tie approached me. He told me that I was summoned to testify and present evidence at a military council concerning the existence of unicorns. I asked him why, and he said the government found out about my photo, and that I had no choice but to give it up to the Army. He left, and I immediately tried to call my mom and Amphitrite, but in my dream neither answered their phones. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I was waiting in a paneled room, sitting alone on a wooden bench. I was wearing my military dress uniform, and I waited for what felt like forever, feeling very anxious. Eventually a door opened, and an older man with a kindly face entered. He was also wearing a dress uniform, and I saw that he was a Lieutenant Colonel. He stopped in front of me and told me it was time, so I stood and followed him through the door into a much larger, open chamber spread out like a giant courtroom with benches and pews and a council of gray-haired, uniformed men at the very front. The officer walked me to the front of the room, which was filled with military personnel and government officials. I was terrified, but I was determined not to let my nervousness show. I also remember being painfully aware of the fact that not only was I the lowest-ranking person in the room, but that I was also the only female.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then, before I ever reached the podium, I woke up. That was it. No conclusion, no resolution, just me walking through a room full of critical eyes, unsure if I was going to prove that unicorns existed or protect their existence by saying nothing. My feeling, upon waking, can only be described as unsettled.</span> <br />
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I have talked to several people about this dream, to include my fiancé Orion, my mother, my brother, and of course Amphitrite (who remains one of the best dream-interpreters I know). If you try to look up unicorn appearance in dream interpretation resources, you’re going to find a different meaning in every single source. In Chinese folklore dreaming about a unicorn was a mixed symbol, representing the imminent arrival or death of a loved one (or, in some cases, an important political figure). While remembering this tidbit of information from one of my research-heavy periods of fascination, I was particularly nervous about my fiance’s deployment; however, the unicorn from my dream was decidedly Western in appearance (despite being brown and gold instead of the more stereotypical white), as opposed to the Asian styled dragon-deer-horse-ox creature combo. Thus, that fear was at least temporarily quieted. In Western folklore the unicorn is far more often a symbol of purity and magic and innocence, not a harbinger of death. <br />
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Dreams are tricksy creatures. They come into our brains at night, amusing and scaring and confusing us while we sleep; but the tricksiest dreams are the ones that linger, that paw at the edges of our waking psyche, wanting to be revisited and reborn. This was the first time I have ever, in my many years of persistent fascination, actually dreamt of a unicorn. My dreams frequently take me into summer woods and post-apocalyptic cities; I’ve walked through the mouth of a sun-god; I’ve been a superhero, fought demons with magic and zombies with swords, and chased giant spotted ants through a fire. But prior to that night several weeks ago, I have never dreamt of a unicorn. So I’m wondering why. Why now, why after 24+ years, after a lull of not thinking about unicorns at all, do I finally see one in my dreams? <br />
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I think I saw one because I needed to. Magic and mystery were missing from my life—I have been as remiss in my magical practice as I have been in my blogging—with all my energy being channeled into work, which in the case of the dream was represented by the government wanting to take the one magical thing left in my life (the photograph of myself and the unicorn) and turn it to their own benefit. I didn’t want to share the photograph; I wanted to keep it to myself, to hold onto the memory of the magic. <br />
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So that’s what I’m trying to do, remember the magic.
Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-61091573447064066142013-07-14T14:44:00.000-04:002013-07-14T14:44:37.493-04:00Critical Rebuttal-ing<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloDXJDVfNRTGuaW6OpngWmOFYn9ZNwx90ajYjcPGMVqJundWEaEnaY_99ffFwGesohmPEDUQqNEO08hC_-2LY0pbCjUiz3Ca30B0IEdVP8lbj7nBCtaPgixMlN74NnrKHjigecrU097c/s1600/gustave-francois-lasellaz-french-painter-paintings-young-seamstress-with-kitten.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloDXJDVfNRTGuaW6OpngWmOFYn9ZNwx90ajYjcPGMVqJundWEaEnaY_99ffFwGesohmPEDUQqNEO08hC_-2LY0pbCjUiz3Ca30B0IEdVP8lbj7nBCtaPgixMlN74NnrKHjigecrU097c/s320/gustave-francois-lasellaz-french-painter-paintings-young-seamstress-with-kitten.png" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Gustave Francois Lasellaz,</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Young Seamstress with Kitten</i></span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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So little kitty Hera seems to be settling in just wonderfully. I spent my lazy Sunday morning watching the Tale of Desperaux on Netflix, and Hera kept stalking and attempting to catch all of the mice and rats on the screen! It was the cutest/most infuriating thing ever, and I naturally melted and laughed the whole time. She’s just so darn adorable. I’m so glad this little rambunctious kitten found me :) she has SUCH a big personality!
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In other news, I’ve discovered that sewing silk chiffon is a colossal pain in the ass, but the fabric is worth the effort because it’s just so gorgeous and flowy and ethereal that I can’t imagine using anything else in my wedding dress. Layered over the champagne crushed taffeta, the overall dress should turn out well, especially with the Venice lace trim I’ll be adding along the edges and seams…which brings me to a brief rant.
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Yes, I am making my own wedding dress. I would also like to make my bridesmaid’s dresses. Many of my friends (to include my three bridesmaids, who will be sporting my handiwork, and thus arguably are the most important voices in the matter) are hugely supportive of the idea, saying they’re excited to see the end result and think that making the dresses will be even more meaningful. However, some people are rather critical, saying that my wedding day is not my personal art show, and that making a wedding dress is a huge undertaking. So what follows is my rebuttal to each of the primary complaints I have been fielding from certain individuals. (Side note: love you, Mom!)
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1) But it’s SUCH A BIG PROJECT!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I know that making a dress of this scale is a huge undertaking. Hello, I’m not an idiot (just ambitious). I have several motivations for a project of this magnitude, not least among them that I need a massive undertaking to keep me sufficiently busy and distracted while the love of my life is in the dreaded sandbox. Even with four dresses, a sporran, place cards and table centerpieces, and whatever else strikes my fancy I may run out of projects. I’m a very efficient worker, always have been, and nine months is a long time for me to be productive. At the rate I’m going, my dress alone won’t take more than a month.</blockquote>
2) But it’s SO MUCH WORK!<br />
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Not to me, it isn’t. I love sewing and painting and sculpting and beading and making things. The act of creation for me isn’t work, it’s like breathing. I need to be able to make something new to keep sane. It’s part of what makes me who I am. When I’m working on a new project, the more complicated and difficult, the better; the less I have to think about what I’m doing, it just comes into being like I’m being used as a medium for creation.</blockquote>
3) But why would you MAKE something you can BUY?<br />
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….Why would I buy something I can make? That way I get to enjoy the process of making it, not just the one day I get to wear it. (Also, why would I have a dress I only can wear once whereas I can make one that is both bride-like and more versatile!) Not to mention I have a very specific vision in my head of what I want to look like walking down the aisle, what I want my Orion to see, and it would cost an inordinate amount of money to get that custom made because I am certainly not going to find it on a rack at David’s Bridal. However, if I make it, I only have to pay for the supplies—which although they may be expensive, the fabric itself is significantly less expensive than a custom-made dress. </blockquote>
4) But a wedding dress is SO IMPORTANT! Why risk it? What if you make a mistake?<br />
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Yes, the dress is important. Culturally, I get that. I get that getting married is a huge flippin deal in modern society, and on some levels I agree that it should be, but a dress is a dress is a dress. Yes, I want to be beautiful and gorgeous on the day I get handfasted to my soulmate in the eyes of the gods and everyone, but the clothes don’t make the person—I do. I make me. So when I’m saying “I do,” or whatever it is we decide to say, I want to look like me. As for making a mistake, that’s all part of the process. If something unintended works itself into the design, I’ll work around it as I always do to make something even better than what I first imagined. This is me, not wearing my *worried* face.</blockquote>
5) Your wedding ceremony is not your own personal art show!<br />
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Really? Now we’re just being hypocritical. It’s a day that’s all about me, but I’m not supposed to show off my talents or cleverness or creations, I’m just supposed to stand there and smile and look pretty. Modern society makes such a huge deal about the Bride getting everything she wants on her perfect magical wedding day, and yet my wanting to *make* my dress is somehow going too far? I’m not trying to show off what I can do. Everyone who knows me, knows what I can do. My sole goal in wanting to create my dress and my bridesmaids’ dresses is to bring as much joy as possible to all those involved with completely unique and beautiful clothes for a very special day. It’s not like I’m going to be hanging my paintings all over the place. Hells, I would rather the finished products be so good that no one can even tell they were made by me.</blockquote>
So that’s my rant. The primary complaints I’ve been fielding (again, love you Mom!) and my rebuttal. I mean, am I crazy for wanting to make my own dress? Or even three more? I think it will be fun and relaxing and sufficiently distracting, especially with little kitty Hera trying to help by forever stalking my scissors…or sleeping in the box my Charmed DVDs came in like any good familiar.Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2782059459067701212.post-50011751449998265232013-07-10T11:46:00.000-04:002013-07-10T11:47:46.952-04:00Deployment Kitty<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iN4IRULqkHpRJATONLeoBAVn31X4eFJXqrgUYlj3K8BrBg0UEdbR-s2lVQt0xg7LkjWI864drBpOZos52le3qhDQN5wahrwt8JpAdKZjU0CSFRtsslb4WdoEbhugVWAxH3EDSHqOxYs/s1600/kitten+sewing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iN4IRULqkHpRJATONLeoBAVn31X4eFJXqrgUYlj3K8BrBg0UEdbR-s2lVQt0xg7LkjWI864drBpOZos52le3qhDQN5wahrwt8JpAdKZjU0CSFRtsslb4WdoEbhugVWAxH3EDSHqOxYs/s200/kitten+sewing.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Little Kitty Hera seems to think</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">that she can best help me sew by</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">stalking my scissors and then</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">pouncing on top the fabric</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">as I try to cut it.</span></strong></td></tr>
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I know, I know, it’s been months. Consider me properly chastised for bad blogular behavior. Even my Twitter, Etsy and Facebook pages are hurting. It’s been hectic and crazy as always, but even extra so, and I have lots of news to report on what has kept me away from the interwebs so long. Some of this news is of the very depressing kind, some of it is on the opposite end of the spectrum. I’ll start with a quick rundown of the highlights, and then we’ll see where I end up from there.
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1) My fiancé deployed to the dreaded sandbox. He made it over there safely, and I hear from him as often as he can spare, but it still sucks. Having now experienced both the leaving and the being left behind due to the Military, I much prefer the leaving. Being left behind sucks way more.
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2) I am no longer a Platoon Leader. My year and some change finally caught up to me, and they drug me out of my Platoon kicking and screaming and forced me into a staff job. The one perk: my work life now resembles a more standard 9 to 5 job, except for the fact that my days still start at 0430 and go until about 1730 or 1800 (5:30pm or 6pm for you non-military types). I still terribly, terribly miss my Platoon, and I’ve been stuck on staff for over a month now…I am just not at all a staff officer. Not remotely.
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3) In other very sad news, my family’s dog, Achilles, died recently. She was epileptic and only about four years old, a wonderful Greater Swiss Mountain puppy with just the sweetest personality of any dog ever, and we all loved her dearly. I would always wrestle her when I was home to visit, and although she easily weighed the same as I do, she wasn’t too difficult to get into a submissive position (probably because she refused to use her teeth and claws, which would have been the obvious advantage for her in any wrestling contest with a human of equal weight). Anyway, my mom called me in the middle of the night after it happened. They had let her out to pee for the evening before bed, and she had a seizure and hit her head and fell into the lake and drowned. It was over very quickly, but still…we were all heartbroken. I cried most of that night, and in my dreams my little Achilles came to visit me, so I gave her a hug and told her to go play with the other puppies. She always took her guard dog duties very seriously, so I am sure she is still doing her job and keeping my parents and youngest brother safe along with Atilla and Cookie, the other two puppies we lost.
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4) In slightly less depressing news, with the help of my wonderful and amazing fiancé Orion (well, he helped until he deployed, and then I finished it), we constructed a replica of us in our wedding wear for the big ceremony and reception to use as our cake toppers. The resulting statue was a little heavy to put on top a cake—at least in my (not so) humble opinion—but I figure we’re using multiple cakes on stands instead of a layered monstrosity anyway, so why not have the statue on a pedestal too! The final product looks pretty awesome, if I say so myself, and is definitely the best thing I have yet made. The little Orion portion is sporting a kilt in his family tartan, old-school style, and the little Anden is wearing the dress I’m making. Orion helped me construct the frame/skeletons out of armature wire, which for me has always been the trickiest part. Armature wire is very unforgiving and very stubborn, so it was a huge help having an extra set of (much stronger) hands to bend it into the right humanoid shape. He made the skeleton for the mini-me, and I made the skeleton for the mini-him. Then, unfortunately, he deployed and I had to complete the rest on my own, but the adding of the foil and then the sculpey and then the painting are the easy parts.
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5) So this last story starts out a little pathetic, but it ultimately ends on a happy note, promise. So. There I am, 4th of July, the day after I dropped off my fiancé at his unit for their deployment. It’s about 2200 (10pm) and I never even bothered to change out of my pajamas or brush my teeth or hair all day, so I’m pretty much as messy as I get. I’m sitting on the couch with a gallon bucket of Blue Bell on my lap, watching The Glass House on cable, and eyeing the wine rack…when all of a sudden this loud, pitiful meowing comes from outside my apartment. I am not entirely sure whether I am really hearing what I think I’m hearing, so I mute the television and listen more closely, and sure enough it’s some very sad-sounding meows, accompanied by the neighbor’s dogs yapping and some very suspicious sounding teenage laughter. So I sigh, put my ice cream back in the freezer, put on some real clothes as quick as I can, pull my hair into a somewhat less-messy ponytail, throw on a pair of flip flops and head outside. But by the time I get there—roughly 2215 or so—there’s no dog, cat, or kids in sight. I walk around the apartment complex for a while, but see nothing and no one. So eventually I give up and go back inside.
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Then, about an hour later, I hear the sad meowing come back. No dogs or kids laughing this time, so I just go outside immediately and low and behold, there’s a little kitten right on my doorstep looking thin and underfed and very, very lonesome. So I call to her, and she jumps right up into my arms and starts purring. She was mostly black with little brown speckles all over her, like a reversed tortoise-shell pattern almost, with one golden-cream colored paw. She had a collar on, but no identification or anything, and she seemed pretty thin. I took her inside and gave her some milk—it was all that I had, although in hindsight apparently milk is difficult for cats to digest—and then promptly started kitty-proofing my apartment. As an artist I tend to have my crafts spread all over the place, but I couldn’t have a little kitten accidently swallowing a bead or heaven-forbid a needle, so I picked up everything and ran the vacuum just to be safe.
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Now, Orion and I debated getting a kitten before he left so that I would have something to cuddle while he was gone, but we ultimately decided to not acquire a pet since it would bond with me and then resent him when he returned for taking my attention away from it. He kept joking that I would come home from work today and he would have brought me a kitten from the pound, and I kept telling him he better not. His point was always, “If I bring you home a kitten, you can’t say no. You’re going to keep it.” And I would always reply, “I know, but they’re work and responsibility and I’m barely home as it is, and with all my projects I like to do, they’ll be destroying them and getting in the way! The wedding dress I’m working on—all that silk chiffon—will be clawed to shreds! We can’t get a pet.” But clearly the gods had other things in mind for me, because this little kitten chose me. She parked herself on my doorstep and mewled until I let her in, and she seems bonded with me from the first.
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I took her to the vet the next day to see if she had a microchip or if they recognized her, but there was nothing and they’d never seen her before, nor had anyone in my apartment complex. The vets said she’s about 6 months old, although she’s very small for her age which means she was probably on her own for a while. She now has kitten food and all her shots, an appointment to get spayed, more toys than she knows what to do with, a catnip-infused scratching post, a fuzzy cat bed complete with pom-pom she paws at, spectacular purple-glitter food & water bowls…she’s already spoiled rotten and made herself completely at home. Little Kitty Hera prowls around my apartment like she owns the place, to include my lap. She demands that I hold and pet her for at least 20 minutes whenever I return from work, and makes the cutest little half-purr, half-meow, half-chirping sound when she wants attention…which is more or less all the time. She even stalks me and then pounces up on my lap to give me little kitty-kisses on my nose.
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Like I said…spoiled rotten.
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So I am now the adopted mommy of a kitten—I maintain that she found me, rather than the other way around—and I have a new collar, complete with protective pentacle charm, already in the mail. Now that I seem to have acquired a real familiar, I should probably start brushing up on my magical practice. Apart from daily lighting a candle for my fiancé while he’s away, I have been somewhat lapse in that area of my life. It’s definitely time to get back involved. The gods are calling me, and they sent me a kitten to show the way.Anden Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04053381467866809033noreply@blogger.com0