Picture, if you will, a barely 29-year-old stay-at-home mother of three children. There I am, living in a decent little house with a lovely yard, devoted husband, and my babies (okay, so they were more like, a kindergartener, a toddler, and an infant). I have everything I’ve ever wanted. True, we have next-to-no money and I’m bordering on the brink of insanity, but for the most part, all is well. Some other stuff is going on though: I’m hearing my dead grandmother calling my name, I’m seeing a walk-beside animal (gleaming golden eyes at the end of the bed), I’m smelling a barn fire from a previous life, I’m being visited in my dreams by a woman in a gray cloak (regularly visited), I’m hearing a ghost in our pantry. But really, everything is fine. Or maybe it’s not…. I wake up one morning convinced that I need to have a blue crescent moon tattooed in the middle of my forehead (this would be before I read The Mists of Avalon, well BEFORE). Finally Daniel, in his ever-patient tone says, “you should maybe see someone.” YA THINK?!
He finds me a local psychic. I attend seminars, take classes, and generally learn that the things I am experiencing all have labels, titles, and names. Psychometry, spontaneous regressions, mediumship; glaring psychic abilities are spewing out of me. Oh right, I’m not losing my mind, I’m a witch.
(Side note here. I spent nearly every summer from the age of 10 to almost 17 with my maternal grandparents. He told me, “Julie-kins I love you so much. Don’t be a fishwife.” And she told me I was more special than I even realized (discussing, from the age of about 3, what a real witch was, and did, and saw, and heard), dragging me to temples, churches, spiritual book stores, missions, sacred sights across two states, and mystical shops of all varieties. They lived in Hawaii and the year before I graduated from high school, he said that the business was failing, they’d have to move back to the mainland. She promptly grew a brain tumour and died. I shut down, one of the last conversations we had together was that I would die before I turned 30.)
Now, here I was, coming to the last month of my 29th year. I finally saw what was happening (with the help of Dan of course, who never once said I was crazy). My grandmother had come back to remind me of my gifts, and my blessings. I embraced these experiences, was thankful for my ancient genetic knowledge (and the new-found labels), and I allowed a part of me to pass away. I had been angry at her for leaving me, but I had needed to acquire my little house, my beloved husband, and my brilliant children. Now all I had to do was mark the occasion and begin this part of my life. (And, I had NOT become a fishwife.)
For my 30th birthday Daniel gave me
Tomorrow: we Wave.
Cross stitch update, I just got a catalog in the mail yesterday from The Stitchery. It has some really good sales, and a new product (spoiler alert for tomorrow): The Great Wave Off Kanagawa pattern.