Tonight we mark the passing of an “old year” and the beginning of a “new” one. I accept that this date is traditionally marked as the closing of the “old year” by western culture. And I am also aware that for many other cultures, it is not. Paganism has taught me that there are many days marked as the New Year, depending on tradition and place. It could really be any time of year, but the important thing is that we choose one – ONE – defining day to mark the end of something and the start of something else. That’s us human beings again: trying to quantify everything; trying to put lines and edges on that which is cyclical and eternal.
And on one hand it makes perfect sense, and on the other hand it makes none. I take the concept of the Wheel of the Year very seriously; it is my favorite aspect of Paganism. The perfect ring, no discernable beginning nor end, flowing from life to death and back to life again. You could spin that Wheel, and put a pin on any place it chanced to stop, and say, “There. There it is: the point at which it all ends and then begins again,” but you’re fooling yourself. I see in my mind’s eye the Goddess and the God laughing at our silly attempts to create demarcation where there is none, never was, and never will be.
Still, we are human. And a calendar only has so many pages. There must come a point when the last page is ripped off, and we open a fresh, blank booklet of little squares. We mark off the birthdays and anniversaries that mean something to us, and fill in appointments and conferences and nights out. The Wheel may turn on, and the dates may be arbitrary, but to function as a society, we do need to agree on when things should occur.
Happy New Year to you all: tonight, tomorrow, every day. May each day find you making a resolution to be good to yourself, to give to others, to live your beliefs, to be kind, and to love with all your heart. Bless you all, and thank you for being my friend.
On Wednesdays we wear pink, and on Sundays, we share!
Today I self-promote and share the Sunday Stew, a Pagan e-pub. I have a Seuss parody in there, so give it a thorough eyeballing. Also included: your tarot, some scrumptious recipes, an interview with Ly De Angeles (!!!) and Yule offerings a-plenty. Enjoy!
Buckle’s love for Pat was plain. He was determined to make her adjustment to life among the squishy people pleasant and trouble-free.
Pat has a very different temperament than Buckle, though. She is not one to throw herself into an activity. She has to ease into things slowly.
Buckle had her playing Rock Band right away. Pat has a soft, tremulous voice which … well, it’s hard to say it, but she really isn’t a very good singer at all. Buckle does not mind one bit. He smiles as she warbles along to his favorite David Bowie songs. When she sat down on the guitar, though – that’s when Pat shone. She has a natural sense of rhythm and tremendous enthusiasm. Together they are unbeatable.
Buckle taught Pat how to crochet. He loves making little hats for himself. Pat tried her best. She had a difficult time. I came home one day to find her wandering around inside a skein of yarn. She went in looking for the free end and couldn’t find her way out. She did get the hang of it eventually. She crocheted Buckle a gorgeous scarf in his favorite colors. Buckle made her a cute pair of pink slipper socks, with sequins for some razz-ma-tazz. She loves them, and looks at them every day, since she has no feet.
Buckle has been very patient. He spoke up and asked for a car seat for Pat so she could go travelling with us. He taught her how to do eyeball stands (so now I yell at both of them.) He got her hooked on watching “Barbie: Life in the Dream House.” Pat gives Buckle purpose, and Buckle gives Pat a sense of peace and belonging. They both give me something to think about, every day.
Up next: Will our happy couple find more interests and hobbies to share? Will Buckle’s increased confidence lead him to trouble? Will Pat ever find her way out of my yarn box? You know where to find the answers!
This may be the oldest of my “Greatest Hits” I share with you; at least from the internet age. My first on-line family was a group dedicated to a soap opera. I’m no longer a fan, but coming across this old parody, I realize not much has changed as far as this particular plot device goes.
(to the tune of “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend”)
A push off a cliff may be quite detrimental,
but dying doesn’t mean you’re dead.
A campaign by fans who are so sentimental
can mean your return – and even free you from an urn!
You may drown and not be found
or an anvil may fall on your head;
If it’s storyline driven,
you’ll come back to the livin’!
Dying doesn’t mean you’re dead!
If you’re in the water, your jet ski could blow up,
but dying doesn’t mean you’re dead.
Your widower’s wedding’s the best time to show up
to reveal to him: The victim was your evil twin.
Writers know fans watch the show
no matter what drivel they’re fed.
Whether plagued by disaster
or buried in plaster;
He began to spend long hours staring out the window, sighing occasionally. He added old Air Supply songs to his iPod. He nicked all my Jane Austen books.
We brought home other rocks from the lake, some painted, some plain. Buckle always enjoyed socializing with them, reminiscing about their days on the shore. Soon it became obvious that one of these rocks stood apart from the rest. One rainy afternoon, Buckle rummaged through my craft supplies, and brought me a set of google eyes and some glue. I set to work, while Buckle paced nervously back and forth on the table. The minute they were secure, Buckle gazed anxiously into her eyes. Was this the wee nugget of his dreams?
Pat looked all around in amazement. She glanced down at the craft supplies scattered across the table, and her gaze fixed upon a spool of pink ribbon. In short order, she was gussied up and ready to meet her new friend.
It was a magic moment. They were made for each other.
Buckle was enchanted with Pat. His eyes glowed whenever he looked at her. Pat was quite overwhelmed by her new surroundings, and relied on Buckle’s comfort and reassurance. There was so much to learn, and she was lucky to have such a devoted companion. Neither would ever be lonely again.
Will the course of true love run smooth, or are they in for a rocky road? Will Pat share Buckle’s interests in baking, music, and ancient Mesopotamian texts and architecture? Find out soon, in “Buckle: the True Story (part four)”!
Buckle settled easily into his new home, chattering with the family all day long. He speaks no English, yet has little difficulty making his needs clear. He wrote letters back to his friends at the lake, letting them know that he was happy, and inquiring after their health. (Other then some algae issues, they were well.)
Buckle can be a bit of a daredevil; I often find him attempting eyeball stands. I warn him and warn him, but he thinks it’s fun. He is also very interested in cooking, and likes to sit right on the handle of a pot to see what’s going on. I worry about his feathers.
Buckle loves music, and is always ready to play Rock Band with the kids. His favorite song is “Rock Lobster.” He is a huge fan of The Rolling Stones and Rush (it isn’t always about puns.) I often hear him chirruping away to himself.
Buckle camped with us at several more state parks, always behaving himself beautifully. He hiked in Genesee County, and traversed the Allegheny foothills. His knowledge of geology impressed us. He saw an old friend at Sonnenberg mansion, and made new friends wherever he went. He is so genial and charming, everyone loves him at once.
Yes, Buckle felt he was where he was always meant to be: with a family who loved him. Yet, something seemed to be missing from his life …
Is it his inability to play the violin? His sense of emptiness after he finished “Firefly” on Netflix? What troubles our hero? Find out next time, in “Buckle: The True Story (part three)”!