Category: etc.

Here’s a comment I received on my paper doll post. It went into moderation because it included a link. I still haven’t “approved” it and, well, I see no need to now. I won’t name the person here, but say only that he’s never made his presence known on this blog before. For all I know, he was a first-time visitor.

And if you’re reading this, friend, well, ya bugged me. You REALLY bugged me. But I’ll get to that.

On to the comment first.

(And the “definition” in this comment is where I simply cut and pasted the link he used as corroboration that I apparently worship dandelions or practice voodoo or WORSE!!)

Here we go:

I’m concerned you may have re-invented the “Poppet,” a device commonly used in Wicca and Santeria.

Definition: A poppet is a small doll or figure that represents a person in a ritual or spell. These items are NOT evil things for you to stick pins into. Poppets are frequently used in healing spells, and are usually hand-sewn and stuffed with the appropriate herbs. Magick of this kind is common in Santeria.

Of course, the purpose is prayer, not magic, but the similarity is, at least on the surface, disturbing.

Although it has to be said that Pagans do a lot of things Christians also do, such as prayer, fasting, eat, drink, et al. The mere presence of an equivalent in a non-Christian religion doesn’t mean they are one and the same thing. Must think about this…

Ya know, friend ….. thanks for your concern and sorry you’re disturbed and all, but if you’re going to lay a charge like that at my feet, you’d better do your homework. Seriously. And I’m not buying the guise of benign, Christian concern, either. You come on my blog as someone previously unknown to me, and THIS is where you comment and what you choose to comment upon? Listen to your WORDS. You are basically accusing me of engaging in occult practices and I CANNOT tell you how offensive that is to me. And you offer, as substantiation of your concern, a single link to a page that contains ONLY that definition above? NOTHING more? You have no other proof than that? So I guess it’s just maybe I’m an occultist?? I know I’m laying into you here and I wish I could say I am sorry, but I’m not. I imagine I don’t sound too “nice,” but I see no call to “niceness” in Scripture.

We ARE called to speak the truth, though.

So in speaking to THAT, I did your homework for you. I’m sure you won’t mind if I demonstrate the difference between my doll and these poppets and giddily demolish your charge, will you?

First, “poppets” ARE used in healing and other spells. They’re used for specific intents — “healing” of illnesses, for creativity, prosperity, help with relationships, improvement in grades, pretty much whatever. Lengthy rituals surround the use of these poppets.

Here are a couple of personal stories on the creation and ritual of poppets that I gleaned from a site called Earth Witchery. Oh, and these are not MY personal stories, just in case that’s NOT clear:

For a friend who was addicted to cocaine… On a very windy day when the moon was waning, I made a poppet out of red wax, for life force and survival energy. I used a piece of amethyst as its heart to give her a clear mind. To make the poppet symbolize her, I used pieces of her hair and carved a small tattoo on the poppet representing the one on her body. Once I felt the poppet was united with her, I used knot magick to rid her of the need for coke. I then made the cord into a necklace and let the magick take its course. Between the poppet and an intervention of friends, my friend had turned herself into a rehab center. It must have been hard but she is better now.

(Yeah. And I’m SURE it was mostly because of the poppet.)

Anyway, here’s another one:

I propose to make a healing poppet for my mother. She is 81 years old, visually impaired and has recently moved to a hostel [aged care facility] (ed. here: um, I think she means “hospice.” Maybe she needs a poppet to get ‘erself some brraaaains. But Gammie in a “hostel”? Now, that’s funny) where she is not settling well.

I have asked for guidance and will make paper poppets. The first will be on grey paper. I will cut out a small poppet and draw grey hair, closed eyes, and a sad mouth. I will write the reasons why mum had to leave her home. I will set up a cleansed area similar to an alter (we know, hon) and have ready a green or white candle, a shallow dish and a box of matches. I will also have another paper poppet of green or white paper and also coloured textas. I will call on my guardian, my guides, and Kwan Yin to assist me. I will meditate and ask my mother’s higher self if she will accept this healing. If the answer is positive, I will proceed.

I will light the candle and use it to light the grey poppet, which I will place in the shallow dish to burn. As this poppet burns, I will use the coloured textas to write on the other poppet all the benefits of being in her new place of residence. I will say these aloud as I write them on the front of the healing poppet. On the back of the poppet I will use the ashes of the grey poppet to draw, with my licked right forefinger, the Rune – Nauthiz- the banishing rune. This will help turn frustration and stress to one’s advantage and will help turn a bad situation into a good one.

Finally, another elaborate description of one practitioner’s ritual:

I was going to work on a prosperity poppet, but decided to work on one for protection instead. I am constructing it out of dogwood twigs, lashing the twigs together with black thread, so the twigs will be like the “skeleton,” using an acorn for the head. I’m using nine herbs, cotton thread, cotton, eucalyptus, sage, thyme, oak leaves, parsley, some dogwood shavings, fern and birch bark. I began consecrating these items and grinding them last night, meditating on the purpose all the while. Also I have mixed in nail clippings, my hair and some blood. I will be mixing this over the next two nights, completing the spell on the 20th during the full moon. On a piece of birch bark I will draw the rune of “Ohl” with Dragon’s Blood ink, roll it up and tie it to the “torso’ of the poppet with black thread. I’m fashioning clothes out of an old pair of shorts beyond repair but dear to me and an old t-shirt. I’m applying my own hair to the poppet. I won’t be doing the face thing since I feel that there will be enough of my own energy within the poppet already between my own “body parts” and my favorite clothes .

On the night of the full moon I will cast my circle, sew my clothes onto the little guy and stuff him. After I’m done stuffing him, I will be anointing him with cedarwood oil and placing him on the pentacle on my altar. I will meditate in his purpose and then dedicate him to the south and do my incantation.

Whhhhhewww!

Notice a similar theme in these descriptions, friend? Besides the gross, exhausting, and nearly obsessive-compulsive ritual of it all? I DO. A poppet for another person is meant to symbolize the OTHER person — with pieces of her hair, her characteristics, etc. For these occultists, the poppet becomes that person. Notice how the one description spoke of the poppet being “united” with her friend? I can’t help but notice, too, that these practitioners call on “guides” and “guardians” and “higher selves” for assistance in these poppet rituals. They chant and burn and futz about with herbs and twigs because they actually believe there is power these THINGS.

MY doll was an image of me, NOT my friend, with some verses from Psalms on the back.

I did not chant over her or burn her or smear her with blood. I did not draw runes on her or anoint her or dedicate her in ANY direction. There were no twigs or fingernails or ratty old shorts involved in her creation. I did not call on guides or guardians or Kwan Yin.

Rather ….. I sat at my kitchen table, sick and depressed, frankly, and needing to reach out to someone ELSE. As I created this doll, I thought of my friend far away who was sick, too, sicker than I. Thinking of that put things in some much needed perspective for me. During the process of making this little thing, somehow, I recovered small bits of myself that I’d lost over many, many months. Frequently, I found myself thinking of how WONDROUS it is that, as believers, we have this bond through the Holy Spirit. A bond that crosses all boundaries and covers all distance, connecting me to my friend. It is transcendent. I do not even understand it.

While I worked, I prayed, yes. I prayed that my friend might be encouraged by this small token of affection. I prayed that the Lord might use even someone like me, who at that moment was a low, self-pitying wretch, but someone who needed, who HOPED to be used for something right then, no matter how small.

In a way, my doll was a greeting card, although more elaborate, pehaps. And, you know, every Christmas, millions of people send out cards with their pictures on the front and a joyful greeting or some Scripture on the inside. Maybe even a prayer for the new year. Still other people actually send get well cards expressing fervent prayers for the restoration of a sick loved one. I wonder if you, friend, have ever sent out something like these yourself? Or received such evils into your house? *Gasp!*

This was just a paper doll with my picture and God’s Word on the back. By itself, it had no special powers except that it cheered both the giver and the receiver.

So, really, really, how dare you drag a such a simple thing through the mud of your “concerns”? How dare you throw careless words around with no corroboration? How dare you suggest it was something occultic and sully everything it meant? How dare you, without even knowing me, assume the worst of me?

Comment on this post, if you choose, but then, please don’t come back here again.

(And ….. you know ….. just now …. after I mixed Dolly’s toenail clippings and blood from her chopped-off heads into a roiling smelly brew which I used to doodle random runes on her butt, she bubbled to life long enough to say, “Taa-taa and tooodles, Judgey-duuudles!”)

All right. Love songs with Andrea Bocelli. Just a ramble here:

Katherine — “I Have Nothing”. She was a trainwreck. TrainWRECK. She was trying too hard, straining, forcefully strutting in hopes of having SOME impact. At one moment, as she was singing “don’t walk away from me,” a weird, inappropriate smile flashed. So disconnected and contrived. Bizarre. This should be a song all Idol contestants are steered away from, ALWAYS. Whitney Houston set the bar so high, it’s in the stratosphere. I liked her dress, though.

(By the way, I LOVED how, during the rehearsals, David Foster basically told them they all sucked. He was VERY blunt. He pushed them hard. I loved him for that.)

Elliott sang … something. I didn’t know the song. But, oh, he was GOOOOD!! On the downside, his eyes are always frozen somewhat, ah, unattractively. He needs coaching on the way he LOOKS when he sings, just like Clay Aiken did a few years ago. To me, he always looks like he’s reading off a TelePrompter or staring down the barrel of a shotgun. He doesn’t know what do to with his face. But he WAS good!!! And Poorla was a puddle. And Simon laughed at her. As did I.

Kellie — “Unchained Melody.” AGHHHH!!!! Well, all I can say is Pickler, meet Playboy.

Paris — “The Way We Were.” She CAN sing, but she sang this song like a girl. She IS a girl. She just needs to skip on home and live some life. Until then, she won’t be able to sing from her heart. It’s clear she’s never been in love, never really been tested or heartbroken. I mean, she smiled through this entire song. She had no clue. If she’d understood the song, you’d have seen it on her face. Remember Fantasia and “Summertime” a few years ago?

Taylor — “Just Once.” Why is he dressed like he’s got a best man gig after the show? Ick. He seemed out of sorts. I could swear I caught him looking for the exits. And he wasn’t breathing right. Oh, Taylor. Not good.

Chris — “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?” Well, he just brought it! He DID. Thank God. He saved the show, really. Good for you, Chris!!

LAWWDY, PEOPLE!!

I just called NFL house and freakin’ NFL player answered the phone!! Um, I recognize his voice. Where the hell was Jeeves to answer the phone??

Oh, and I was an idiot, of course. My voice suddenly squeaked reallyhighandfastandbreathlessandRETARDED!!

HoooRAAAY!!!!

You stay classy, San Diego.

We were in the car, having some kind of generic brand domestic squabble. A brief round of sparring followed by several moments of silence.

Then:

MB: Well?? What’s going on over there??

ME (with great energy): I’m gettin’ mad just THINKING about what you’re thinking about!

He burst out laughing. Squabble over.

So I’m reading something to My Beloved the other day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him DARE to sneak a peak at the book in his lap. WHAT?! Something more captivating than I AMMM??

Total mayhem ensues. Accusations, charges, counter-charges, interrogations.

Finally, he breaks down, confesses, agrees to listen as I finish my, uh, riveting dramatic reading.

And then comes this, said lightly and deftly, the plea bargain of someone who knows me a little TOO well and is accustomed to dealing with the impossible every day:

“Okay. Okay. I’m totally listening to you. And I won’t look at you, which I know you hate. And I won’t look at anything else, which I know you hate. Pro-ceed.”

Dashing off a newsy post here — kinda disjointed. Bear with me!

So you know how, whatever sport you follow, you have your certain favorites, those players who have your diehard support, no matter what may come? There’s just something about them. Maybe it’s that singular way they play. Maybe it’s the way they comport themselves off the field. Or the way they graciously handle winning and losing. Maybe they love their mommas. Or do charity work. Or maybe they look especially saucy in their uniforms. Maybe it’s a combination, but it’s something. They are apart in your mind from other players.

I have several of those in the NFL, in baseball, and in tennis.

And it just so happens that …. in 2 weeks I will be teaching a home school drama class IN THE HOME of one of my NFL favorites. He’s fairly recently retired actually, but he was always one of those players for me.

LAWDY!!! I mean, LAAWWWDDY!!!

I mean, just how many opportunities does this life present to discover that you really ARE one of those people that you secretly fear you could be, given the right circumstances? You know, the ones who fawn and blush and stutter and trip over the famous, making themselves memorable in the most appalling way? I mean, that just might be me and I simply cannot go on living if that is me.

So how did this happen, you ask? Well, Mr. NFL’s wife — the nicest but biggest flake in the world — sent her kid to my drama camp last summer. In September, when the school year started, she called to ask me if I’d teach a home school drama session — for a rather obscene amount of money, frankly. Sure thing, nice ‘n’ flaky NFL wife! I’m there!!

Then I didn’t hear from her and I didn’t hear from her. Months went by. I worked a bit on it, dropped it. Then I DID hear from her, only to learn that it had been postponed. Maybe in April, she says. Okay, I say, just let me know by the beginning of March.

Then I didn’t hear from her and I didn’t hear from her. Again. Then I emailed her. Nothing. I put aside ANY planning I’d even done on the damn thing and kicked myself for not asking for a sizeable deposit up front. I’m one savvy laaady, my friends.

Then out of the blue, about 10 days ago, a phone call. Tracey, she says, we’re so excited to have you start on April 26th!

Um, HUH?? WHA??

(And by the way, you are not “so excited,” you are “so escited.” I thought we made that abundantly clear already.)

So back to my WHA?? I was in no way ready to start on April 26th. I didn’t even know it was still “on,” much less that it was starting on April 26th. I’m not even available April 26th! AND, oh, have I mentioned that I’m thoroughly UNPREPARED?

So I hear her message, which she whispers, actually, and I’m kinda annoyed, both by its content and by the fact I virtually have to lay my head down on my machine just for the privilege of being exasperated. I call her back, fully intent on — oh, showing her! — and telling her what an impossible, rich, NFL flake she is, but instead, end up talking in a sweety-sweet voice that cannot possibly be mine if I’m to remain unkilled by myself AND promising her I can start May 3rd! Ooooh, yeah, Tracey, ya showed her! Ya showed her real good! Nice job being shamelessly seduced by the glow of NFL bling and fame, you drama whore, and by her fluttery whispery voice that made you feel that you and only YOU could teach these poor deprived kids the drama they so desperately need.

And see how I’m diligently preparing right at this moment? Ranting about it, as I am? I guess this seems wise and good to me, you know, because of my overall savviness. Frankly, I’m overcome with slackassery about the whole thing because I’m just waiting for Flaky NFL wife to call up and say, Oh, Tracey, we’ve decided to take Fancy and Cubby and go to the south of France instead. Ta!!

So look, Tracey, old girl, you’d really better getcher pants on about this. Really. You think you perform better under pressure. And …. uh, that’s usually true, but did you even HEAR how you crumbled in the face of fluttery NFL bling and fame?? You were a total pie-face.

The reality is, Tracey, that barring yet another change of plans, in about 2 weeks you’ll be driving your humble, little black car into the lush, ridiculous environs of Rancho Santa Fe, winding around those hills, trying to find their tony, ridiculous mansion.

Which makes me wonder: How do you find a rich person’s mansion? Are the addresses on the front of the mansions? Are they on the street curbs?? I’m sure I won’t even be able to SEE the front of the mansion, so putting the address there is pointless, right?

So, really, where are the addresses??

Sweet Moses. Now I’m freaking out. Where ARE the addresses on rich people’s mansions?? Do you need them or is there some other method of finding them? Will they just have their personal Jeeves on the cul-de-sac waving me in? Look for the tall and angular Jeeves, dahling, with the salt-and-pepper hair, waggling his hanky at you, not that tubby and sweaty Jeeves down the street with the perpetual grimace on his face.

LAWDY!!

I don’t wanna keep a lookout for Jeeveses!!

Seriously, I can’t do it if I can’t find the address and if I can’t find the address that means I’m desperately stupid and if I’m desperately stupid then I certainly can’t find the address OR keep a lookout for Jeeveses and do you see how this all goes ’round in a pathetic little circle?

All right, Tracey. Calm down. Just go there and do your best Maria-von-Trapp-does-drama routine. You’ve sure got the clothes for it. And your car ain’t much better than a bike, that’s for damn sure.

Maybe make up a little ditty for the kiddos, like this:

Let’s stahht at the very beginning
A very good place to stahht
When you read, you begin with A-B-C
When you act, you begin with me-me-me!

Chirren, repeating, pointing to themselves like good little robots:

ME-ME-ME

Tracey von Trapp:

The first 3 things just happen to be — me-me-me!

Chirren, pointing again:

ME-ME-ME!

Tracey von Trapp:

ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-MEEE!!!!

Okay. That’s it.

Perfect!

And I thought I wasn’t prepared.

“The American Songbook” American Idol.

I don’t really have a lot to say. I wasn’t holding out much hope tonight so I was doing dishes, actually, but I could still hear it. Let’s see. How’s this: Everyone was mostly good.

Except for …. KELLIE!

LORDDD!!! She’s so vapid, so empty. Can I just slap a blinking neon “VACANCY” sign on that bleach-blonde forehead?? Buh-BYE, Kellieeee! Enjoy your career a’pickin’ and a’grinnin’ at Dollywood.

Ace ….. um, that HAIR!! From the neck up, he looked like a member of the Ukrainian Women’s Gymastic Team. I mean, wha??? Gimme some balance beam, baby. NOW!!!

Katherine …. well, she FINALLY had her magic moment. She was a revelation.

And on an unrelated note: TomKat, your new baby girl is named Suri? Apparently, it means “princess” in Hebrew, chosen because … you’re both so Jewish?? And apparently, it means “red rose” in Persian, chosen because … you’re both so Iranian?? And how do you pronounce that, exactly? Is it “Sur-ee” as in “Surrey With the Fringe on Top”? Or is it “Sur-eye” as in “Sir, I need you to stop flashing your wee-wee at the kiddies”??

I mean, you REALLY named her Suri?!?

Xenu’s gonna be pissed, man.

AI does Queen. I’m very, very ….. concerned. Yes, concerned.

Well, nothin’ I can do about it. Here we go.

Hm…. Bucky is not really feelin’ the Fat-Bottomed Girls. He looks vaguely embarrassed to me, as if he’s thinking Hee hee …. I just said fat bottom. He doesn’t seem a real FAN of the Fat-Bottomed Girls, which I believe one truly needs to be to sing “Fat-Bottomed Girls, you make the rockin’ world go ’round.” I mean, just a thought.

Oh. You know which Fat-Bottomed Girl DID make the rockin’ world go ’round? MANDISA.

Ace (*KA-POWW*!): “We Will Rock You.” Sighhhh. You know that permanent scar baby-face Ace has? I’m pretty sure I now have one, too. On my eardrums. And …. um …. what was that let-me-walk-my-voice-down-the-stairs moment?? The bottom just fell out right there. Guess it was NOT a fat bottom — which is something he coulda used to cushion that spanking he got from the judges. (Simon: It was We Will Rock You Gently. Hahaha.)

Kellie: “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Aggghhh! The lighting on her!!! Sweet Moses!! You know, I once worked in a funeral home and, lemme tell ya, I’ve seen that face before. Blimey. All I can say is “Nothing really matters to meeeeee ……” And Simon’s comment is quite beyond her understanding so he has to simplify: “Okay, it worked.”

Chris: “Innuendo.” I didn’t like the song, but he sounded great. ‘Nuf said. Oh, wait. Not ‘nuf. May I say this? His voice could possibly get a bit wearing after a while. His vibrato-o-o-o-o-o is very wi-i-i-i-i-i-de. NOW ‘s ‘nuf.

Katherine: She loves herself, you know. “Who Wants to Live Forever.” Oh, my. She’s having a Celine Dion moment. And I. don’t. like. Celine Dion. I’m sorry. There’s just something about her. You know how we all have foods that we think we’re supposed to like, but we don’t, we JUST DON’T? No matter how hard you TRY to like that food, you just can’t? She’s that. And for me, it’s cheesecake. She’s my personal cheesecake. I feel I’m supposed to like it, people are surprised when I say I don’t like it because they LOOOVE it, but, well, too bad. More cheesecake for them, I guess.

Elliott: “Somebody to Love.” I love this song. And I like Elliott. Bring it, baby!! Oh, dear. I like his voice, but he just doesn’t have it for this song. Again, with the non-connection. But it sorta works, I guess.

Taylor: “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” What’s happening?? He missed the mic kick-down. WHAT are you DOING, Salt’n’Peppa Elvis?? WHAT’S with the tippy toe on the stairs?? You know, lately, he’s begun to make me verrry uncomfortable. I’m constantly worrying that he’ll throw out his back with his cra-a-a-a-zy, hunchy monkeyshines. Or worse, that he’ll split his pants, revealing smiley face boxers. Stuff like that makes me wanna cry. Randy and Paula like it, but, thank God, Simon says, “Taylor, ARE YOU DRUNK??”

Which gives me an idea: Next week, maybe I’ll watch and blog while drunk. And I don’t really drink, so that’d be somepin’, I’m tellin’ ya. One glass of wine, basically, and I’d be “hee hee ….. he just said fat bottom ….. hee hee …..”

You know, I may be onto something here. What if we all blogged AI drunk? Just a thought, really. (No, don’t start drinking NOW.)

And last …. Li’l Hattie McDaniel: “The Show Must Go On.” (Okay. I gotta admit, this is the least Hattie McDanielly she’s looked.) I don’t like this song. Or her outfit. And I could swear those are her old-timey stable wench boots from last week. Oh, bleah. Let’s just go with Simon’s comment: “I found it all a little weeahhd.”

Oh, I don’t know. I’m tired and cranky. So, yeah. It was all a little weeahhd.

Update: Cullen give his thoughts.

Dear reader Lyn of New Things has lost her mother. For many months now, she has been by her mother’s bedside, caring for her, loving her, knowing this moment would come. But the story she tells of her mother’s homecoming is so tender and loving, I feel I must share part of it with you and then urge you to make haste to her site to read the rest of it. The note Lyn’s young daughter writes to her Grandma is particularly touching …. and wise. Here’s a brief excerpt of Lyn’s story:

The day before Mom’s homegoing, her nurse was in her room, and could see that she was getting close to that point. She told us that if we had anything we needed to tell her, we needed to do so, because she was very close. We all began blessing her with words that we had stored in our hearts. There were tears shed as we prepared ourselves to let go, but Mom was not ready. She held on, and even pulled out of her deep sleep to laugh and eat and hug her grandbabies goodnight one last time. So much better did she appear, that the nurse called off 24 hour care and went home. Momma said “tell him he can go home, we don’t need him here.“ He checked her lungs–miraculously clear, breathing wonderfully! Her color had returned, as did her strength and her wit. She spoke of how it was time now for her “Homecoming” and what a wonderful day it would be. She wondered aloud if there would be any pain when it came that time, and over and over again, she said “Wonderful Homecoming,” “Wonderful Day.”

Please go read the whole story. It is so moving.

This is Tyson, the skateboarding bulldog!!

(And I’ve never been more ashamed about not knowing how to skateboard. Sheez LOUISE!!)

Click on link below to see him in action — oh, and watch him manuever through a TURN at one point. I think I have a wee crush on him.