Several years ago, when I was in my early-to-mid 20s, my youngest sister and I spent a crisp winter solstice evening in downtown Deland Florida with a good friend of ours. It was an enchanting night of hopeful year-end novice spellwork, rooftop cocktails and stargazing, and the loveliest feeling of warmth and camaraderie and peace. I’ve yet to spend a winter solstice in such splendid company since.
To be truthful, I’ve not dedicated much time or preparation at all since then to sabbats or esbats or any manner of pagan pursuits. Perhaps my beliefs have changed; ceremony and all the trappings of ritual aren’t nearly so meaningful if there is a loss or change in beliefs -and if you’re just going through the motions, what’s the point at all?
I suppose though, whatever your beliefs, it’s difficult to deny the existence of the passage of the seasons and the seasonal interplay between light and darkness. These natural phenomena are occurring whether or not you celebrate anything today, whether or not you believe in Sun Gods or Yule Kings or the birth of some divine savior. Even if you’re not lighting candles or making wreaths or raising lanterns or planning the slightest bit of introspection or spiritual reflection, well…regardless, of your beliefs and associated rites and rituals, it is still the shortest day of the year in the northern hemisphere. You still have to crawl out of bed, get dressed, and go about your day.
My long-winded and very roundabout point is this: if you’re not doing anything else today, on the winter solstice (or maybe it is tomorrow? whatever), you should at least get dressed. Right? And if you’re bothering to get dressed, why not do it in style? See below for some solstice outfit inspiration (updated annually with an additional newly created ensemble!) for either ignoring or celebrating the gods and the earth, the light, and the dark. Either way, you’ll look marvelous.
Please note that while you may click on the first five ensembles for a link to a page that will show you details for the items used, the remainder were created using a site that no longer exists, and those details are now lost…
Someone inquired as to whether I would be sharing a Yule/Midwinter playlist this year, but alas, I have had no time. I have, however, put together a small collection of my frozen playlists of yesteryear. Please to enjoy throughout this week before your winter holiday.
My mother, my sister and I; I am feeding my sister her foot. Fuck her if she can’t take a joke.
“Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke”.
My mother would often declare this with regard to just about everything – I still don’t even precisely know when this is an appropriate tack to take, but it remains one of my favorite inner-monologue responses to this day. It so perfectly encapsulates her attitude about life and everything attached to it.
I recall telephoning her one afternoon after a particularly rotten day at work, early on in my job, when I hadn’t quite toughened up and gotten on board with how my particular employer operated. I had been called into the office and essentially advised that I needed to make some changes or I was done there. In a teary phone call I relayed all of this to her, and, though I didn’t ask her, the question hung in the air, over the miles between us. What should I do?
“Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. Just quit. You’ll find something else.”
I laughed and calmed down and the next day I went to work and did not quit. That was terrible advice. My mother quit a lot of jobs and burned a lot of bridges and I did not want to be my mother in that respect.
Today marks two years since my mother passed and this phrase has worked its way insidiously into mine and all of my sister’s vernacular. I suspect none of us really know what it means, but it somehow now always feels fitting.
Two years ago last night my mother called to tell me her doctor notified her that she was doing much better, the chemo was doing its job, and she was on her way to some kind of recovery. She informed me that she wanted prime rib for Christmas dinner. I was irritated because I figured she wasn’t going to show up anyway – she often promised an appearance at family dinners and then backed out at the last minute – and then I would have made a pain-in-the-ass prime rib for nothing. I told her I would make it happen, but that she had better show up for dinner if she knew what was good for her.
This was the last conversation I was to ever have with my mother; the next day she was dead.
A gathering of death related links that I have encountered in the past month or so. From somber to hilarious, from informative to creepy, here’s a snippet of things that have been reported on or journaled about in or related to the Death Industry recently.
This was originally written for After Dark In The Playing Fields, back in 2010. I thought I would share it here today, as I recently saw this book again at my sister’s house and it has of late been in my thoughts.
I am really at a loss as to how to properly introduce the following item from my past. There are some memories of beloved childhood belongings that just Make Sense – a cherished stuffed animal, for example: a once sweet-faced and shiny marble-eyed bunny rabbit, worn down to rags and nubs from time spent dragging it to and fro through sandboxes, bathtubs and brambles.
Not only did I love this Bunny -I know she loved me too. She loved me so much, I am absolutely certain that she did not mind when, 30 years later – just this past May – I buried her under an old oak tree with my wonderful little cat who had just died. They had both provided comfort and companionship and happiness for me for so many years, it only made Perfect Sense to me to keep them together.
It is fitting then, one should look back at these treasured keepsakes, these fond remembrances and feel a pleasant rush of happiness and harmony. Of feeling safe and at peace. Of the world Making Sense.
Crash Helmet is definitely not one of these items. Even as children, when presented with this book, I recall my sister and I wearing identical looks of abject horror while thumbing through it. I am not sure who gifted it to us, but to this day I wonder what on earth they must have been thinking. I realize that most children’s books are full of crazy, nonsensical plots and unusual characters – that is what makes them so much fun for young people to read, and so memorable many years later. This one however seems particularly demented, and two more wildly unattractive protagonists I have never seen.
A story by Harry Allard and illustrated by Jean-Claude Suares, Crash Helmet follows Elmer, a suave and lonely vulture who runs a gas station in New Mexico who meets Violet, a 5000 year old mummy on a motorcycle. Violet “is charmed by Elmer’s smooth dancing and Elmer is awed by Violet’s fearlessness.” As the two of them try to eke out a living in the desert, they discover “that what they lack in common sense they more than make up in imagination and daring”.
I am not sure it is often that one can trace back to the exact moment the world wobbled, tilted, and subsequently righted itself, but this is as close as it gets for me…. I believe that from that time on my perception of things were a bit skewed for it. This is not all a bad thing, of course! Obviously we had not encountered much weirdness in our lives up until this point, but after repeated, repulsed readings, we grew more and more appreciative of it and the absurdity contained within. I think it probably contributed to our general eccentricities as we grew older!
Of course, we had since lost the copy that we grew up with. I was recently lucky enough to track down another, and surprised myself by how excited I was to tear open the small package and hold the book in my hands again. Having scanned the pages in (the rest you can find below), it is at this moment wrapped in brown paper and in the post on its way to my sister. She is not expecting it, and I cannot imagine what she will think when she opens the package.
I hope though, she will smile and exclaim “This old thing! This strange old thing! How I loved it – how happy I am to see it again.” I hope that after the unusual twists and unexpected turns our lives have taken since that time, she finds comfort in it, as perhaps A Thing That Now Makes Sense.
I recently had the distinct pleasure of writing a course guide for the uninitiated and those new to the splendors of Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and their myriad, wonderful fragrances. You can find it over at Haute Macabre.
And because I don’t know how to be brief and possess the uncanny (and not at all annoying!) ability to make a long story even longer, you will find it broken down into three installments, for easier reading:
It gets a little personal, I’m afraid. I find it difficult to separate a beloved thing from the experiences I’ve had while adoring that thing -so there are more than a few anecdotes and opinions. It cannot be helped!
I have loved Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, their people, and their fragrances for a very long time now and I do hope I’ve done them justice with my words. Let me know what you think! Have I missed anything? What are your favorites scents and collections? Favorite BPAL memories over the years?
It’s getting to be that time of year again. That time wherein you, with growing unease and guilt which will soon turn to a strange resentment, realize that it’s the eighth year in a row you’ve promised yourself that you wouldn’t forget to send holiday cards out to friends and loved ones and yet here you are waiting until the very last minute and it’s very likely that you don’t even have all of the addresses that you need. You certainly don’t have any actual cards handy.
(And speaking of cards, your cousin sends out cards in a timely fashion every single year, and she even hand-makes them for God’s sake. Why can’t you be more like your cousin?)
When it comes to store bought greeting cards, if you are anything like me, you most likely don’t care overly much for the dopey, saccharine offerings immediately available in your Barnes & Noble or Hallmark or where ever normal people do their shopping for such things. Babies in mangers and wise men and red nosed children building snowmen? UGH. GROSS.
In this vein I’ve* put together a Hexmas card list brimming with dark themes and weird imagery from artisans whose aesthetics I greatly admire. Below you’ll find humor and beauty and even a bit of naughtiness; Krampus and ghosts and cats – a little bit of something for everyone! Or, well, at least folks like us.
And of course, if you think there is something/someone I have missed – please let me know in the comments!
*with thanks to Becky, Jamie, and Kate for your suggestions!
Come Wander with Me / Deliverance, Anna von Hausswolff | Hellebore, Julia Kent | Impaled Matador, Disemballerina | Pleione, Musicformessier | Shadow Sun, Christina Vantzou | Grey Days, Chelsea Wolfe | From The Mouth Of The Sun, Woven Tide | Stop Suffering, Tropic Of Cancer | From Here, Stephen Vitiello + Molly Berg | Haunted Houses, Emma Ruth Rundle
A gathering of death related links that I have encountered in the past month or so. From somber to hilarious, from informative to creepy, here’s a snippet of things that have been reported on or journaled about in or related to the Death Industry recently.
