those
most noble beasts of
burden licking entrails from
their own hands, hanging
Wise Ones, burning
timeless, bleeding witches. And
we were blood blazed and
all lost in that warm, liquid
squall of pain.
But
survivors, gleaming now
-open
- we
rock soft cradles. We
hush their old tongues, the
smell of their chambers, the
echoes of their knives. We
lift mead to lips. We
quiet memories.
But
-
past
our Circles, the
night air stirs. Those
most noble beasts flick
at moon shadows with
long, steely, bodkins.
They
remember.
Katharine
Clark
Samhain
2013
Rufus
Update:
Rufus' labs came back, and the results are positive. My poor
baby definitely has prostate Cancer. For now, he is on medication to
retard tumor growth and relieve inflammation. He also still gets his
medicated baths. He seems to be much less itchy, and he is having
less accidents and more comfort when using his tray.
The
vet says he has about a year, so perhaps we'll see out another Samhain
together. In celebration of his life, I present Rufus and his
Halloweens. There are two years missing: he was a bumble bee his
first year, and last year I just didn't feel well enough for
costumes. Otherwise, I think it's obvious which outfits he liked, and
those that didn't thrill him:
The Daisy: It was a cute idea, but didn't pull off too well.
The Pumpkin: The look says it all.
We disagreed about the Lobster. I thought it was great. He thought he looked like a geek dressed for a Star Trek convention.
He wanted this costume. He saw the picture and kept pawing it. I gave in. Once in the costume, he discovered that he had no way to pee. His stress was incredible. I actually wrote a story for Broomstix about it, and Robin Ator did the illustration below:
I hated the fish eating the shih tzu look. He, on the other hand, kept smiling.
He also loved his hot dog outfit. I guess anything was better than the lobster.
Finally, this year, I found not only a costume we both loved, but one in which he actually posed. I present Rufus, the "cock" of the walk.
I really hope he's with me next year. We have an idea that will top even this!
In
Sherlock News:
We
have a PBS date!!! Sherlock returns January 19,2014.
This
was an issue that came up in discussion with a friend last night. It
really doesn't matter what prompted it: they were fairly trivial
events. However, it served to press that one button of mine marked:
“What are you, twelve?”
I
asked people, on two different occasions, to simply tell the truth.
They were legit requests, but I was as interested in the nature of
the responses as I was the answers themselves. Everything would be
OK. (In other words, it wouldn't turn into a “confronting mum”
moment. We've all had them: “ Did you break your sister's glasses?
Just tell me the truth. It will be OK.”
“Yes,
Mummy, I did.”
“What
the HELL were you thinking? Do you think money grows on trees? You
children have no gratitude, no concept of hard work, or how much it
takes to provide..etc.” ...You get it.)
No,
this was a simple, “Tell me and I will understand.” One did as
requested. With the other, I got crickets. Oh, yeah... there may
have been a tumbleweed in the background. I wasn't quite sure.
No
one welcomes argument. No one that I know seeks emotional eruptions
or a war of barbed, verbal arrows (especially since most of my
friends are past menopause). A request for the truth may appear to
be an emotional trap, which might illicit one of several reactions:
Lie
like Hell
Take
the victim route and try to turn tables
Hide
in silence (see above crickets/tumbleweeds)
Tell
the Truth
The
Truth is hard. It requires Courage, something we seem to possess in
ever diminishing quantity. Yet, as people on a spiritual path, isn't
Truth and Honesty – each according to our hearts – aspects of
the Wisdom towards which we strive? Is it that hard to drop the
mental gymnastics, (Do they really want to know? Am I going to
hear about this for the next 6 months? How can I make this go
away?), speak your Truth with
Compassion, and accept the consequences? Is hiding behind silence the
decision of a mature adult, or more akin to a kid ducking behind the
bushes when their parent calls them by their full name?
Little
white lies, lies to placate others, lies of convenience... who hasn't
told these? Hey, I'm not
throwing the first stone. But just because it's common doesn't make
it right. When someone requests the Truth, we should put honor
before evasion.
We
all feel betrayed when Washington makes promises, refuses to speak
fairly, when “politician” automatically drums up images of snake
oil salesmen. We detest the eternal waves of dishonesty and
blame-laying. We ask how these people can behave this way.
Look
in a mirror. As Pogo says:
Thankfully,
other conversations this week weren't quite so weighty. I was
demonstrating the singing bowl for a friend, especially in connection
with the vibrancy of crystals.
Afterwards,
I was contemplating how vibration, frequency, and tonality were so
vital in my Wiccan practice. In fact, music has woven itself into
the very fabric of my life (and not just ritualistically).
I'm
a Wagner fan. I often wonder how I can be, given the man's personal
philosophy. I've come to the conclusion that no soul is 100% evil,
and his music is the expression of what Light he possessed. As such,
I'm amazed how certain of his musical creations can elevate my
emotions and my connection to a Higher Good. Chief among these is
Tannhäuser, specifically the Pilgrim's Chorus. ( Ah yes, those
of you who know me sense where I am heading...yes, Susan, YOU...)
Here
is The Pilgrim's Chorus. You obviously don't have to listen to the
entire thing; just enough to get the flavor.
This
was forever altered, one Saturday morning, when the above indicated
SUSAN called me and, in a voice that rang with tense immediacy, said,
“Hang up and put on channel 5...NOW!”
I
did. That was the moment that changed everything.
That's
right – Elmer Fudd. He's serenading Bugs Bunny's “Broo-hilda”
using the Pilgrim's Chorus score. Do you know what I think of now,
when I hear the Pilgrim's Song? That's right , “Oh, Broohilda,
you're so wov-ly...”
Someday
I will repay the favor, Susan. Just watch me. I have infinite
patience.
And
now, Chuck Jones has been incorporated into my spiritual practice.
Grand.
Just
Grand.
Meanwhile...
the new issue of Fate Magazine
is out, with my “Glastonbury Tale” article. Those of you who
signed up for a comp. Copy at Para-X: your names have been passed on
to the publisher, and you should get your copies soon.
HOWEVER, here's a cover I like
even better!
I've always said there were
people I consider “my kids” regardless of their biological
origins: Jennifer, Keith William, and - since 2010 - Benedict
Cumberbatch. I'm not a swooning fangirl; I always felt totally
maternal towards this talented man, who is younger than my other
kids. I want him to find the right gal, have the children he wants –
be successful (I backed the right horse there) – as any mother
would. Then I saw the above cover.
Maybe I need to revisit the
“truth” of those maternal instincts because -
Hi,
everyone! Let me start off by thanking those of you who stopped by
the Para-X last Saturday, and those who were there in spirit.
Particularly, I want to thank my assistants Jen, Claude, Keith, and
Charlene for doing the lugging, the set-up, and the salesmanship.
Claude, you were an excellent lecture assistant. The attendees loved
you.
The
sales were OK, but the swag bags went like hotcakes. Thanks,
Phyllis, for the Fate Magazines. People signed up for their comp
copy of the next issue, in which my Glastonbury article appears.
Perhaps best of all was the media contact. The Star Ledger did a
piece, mostly focused on my artist pal Lauren Curtis and her very
long nails.
photo via The Star Ledger
The
Sentinel did an article, which included a photo of me lecturing.
Unfortunately, my eyes were closed. I look like The Sleeping Prophet
or...dare I say it...Cartman! (Respect my paranormal au-thor-i-tay!).
I
was also lucky enough to speak with a gal from Weird New Jersey, who
hopes to do an article on the Expo. That would be lovely, as Graven
Images Oracle seems like something that would be right up their
alley.
Now
about the title of this entry.....Rufus is not a well pup. His
toilet habits have changed, he is constantly itching and chewing, his
skin is pink, he had a bladder infection in the Spring which came
from nowhere, etc. They say a mother knows her child, and I know my
dog. We took him to his usual vet, who gave him his usual pills.
Rufus improved, but never got completely better.
Claude said I should try her new local vet, with whom she was very
impressed. So was I. Excellent communication (copies of everything
e-mailed to you, phone calls for follow-ups. Wow.), comfortable with
the pets, nice staff. Long story short - Rufus is full of yeast, and
his bladder has lots of tiny stones.
Initially,
we thought he would need surgery, but there is a possibility we can
avoid all that with diet change. It all depends on the composition
of the stones. So, please, spare a prayer for my little Woobie. Can
you say no to this face?
One
funny incident came out of all this. The vet called a prescription
into the Pharmacy. When I got home I realized the CVS would not
connect Rufus Clark with Katharine Clark. I called the pharmacy and
checked that they had the order, told them he was my shih tzu, and
that they should charge the medicine to my card and deliver it to my
house...
“Is
this his first prescription with us?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.
We can't combine accounts. He has to come fill out his customer
information sheet.”
“I'm
afraid that's not possible,” I said, sadly. “Rufus doesn't have
hands.”
There
was a pregnant pause.
“I'm
sooo sorry!” The clerk sounded embarrassed.
“Plus
he has a tendency to eat pens when he's frustrated. I never could get
him to learn cursive, what with his paws..”
“His...paws..?..”
“Yes!”
I kinda shouted. “I didn't say he was my SON, I said he was my
SHIH TZU!”
“This
med is for a ...dog?”
“Did
you notice who called in the script?”
“Monroe
Animal Hospi...”
“There's
your first clue, dear.”
Word
must have gotten around the pharmacy because, when I called to check
on the status this morning, the nice male clerk on the phone said,
“Script for Rufus? Oh yeah...it's here alright!”
Oh
yeah. I'm sure it is.
On
the Sherlockian front, I saw this picture on a Tumblr site:
Look
closely. The bag he's carrying says, “Take photos with Sherlock
Holmes for any donation, and help save Undershaw – Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle's historic home.”
I
like to remind fans, from time to time, that the home was saved from
being converted into condos, but it is a long way away from being
restored.
This
is the house that Doyle built, and where he wrote Hound of the
Baskervilles. There is an organization dedicated to saving
Undershaw, and they have a great website: www.saveundershaw.com.
Learn about the place. See pictures of how it now looks. Think how
it can be again. They even have a shop were all kinds of things can
be purchased, or you can just pledge.
This
bloke is willing to don a deerstalker and Inverness cape, stand in
the rain, and be photographed with strange tourists for the cause.
Surely we can spend a few quid on a book or a mug in the name of
fandom and history!
Take
care, everyone. Be careful – it's Samhain season. Updates on Rufus
next week.
