He's a witch

Alan, from Roberts Roost, left a comment on a recent post in which he defined a witch as "someone who is connected to the spirit of a place. She uses that connection to aid and protect her community."

I was thinking about the spirit of a place this morning as I was hiking in Rock Canyon and collecting squawbush berries. (By the way, the squawbush berries are almost too ripe right now. I'm making squawbush berry soda and Rosi is adding the berries to her homemade feta cheese. Did you know there's an apple and a peach tree along the trail to the canyon gate? And that there are pincherries growing near The Devil's Kitchen climbing nook? And that alfalfa grows all along the trail? There's tons of rogue catmint growing in the canyon. Catmint tea is a calmative. But don't drink it with milk or it will taste like creamy broccoli water. )

I like Alan's definition, how about you? The spirit of a place...

This boy on my lap is a witch. He will ignore you if you tell him that boys are "wizards".
xo,
gp

Window Seat, Cave Man, and Mr. and Mrs. Provo

Sometimes I am so delighted by my witchiness! sigh.

I just flew home. I was feeling oh so crowded on the plane thinking to myself, "I wish I had the window seat" when the guy next to me, in the window seat, started sneezing. and sneezing. He kept apologizing and reassuring me he did not have H1N1. You guys, I can tune out normal sneezing no problem. La dee da. But he kept SNEEZING. It got so bad that he could barely breathe in between sneezes. I asked him if he was allergic to anything? Nope. SNEEZE. Finally the flight attendants found him a new seat. And so Mr. Sneeze-out-his-brain moved a couple of rows back. And to everyone's relief stopped sneezing!

I think that guy was allergic to me.

But at least I got my window seat and I've never seen the Utah mountains so lusciously green.

Does it bother anyone that I pretend to be witchy? I think it's funny.

Hey! I'm officiating at my friends' after-the-temple wedding ceremony. I'm so nervous. and excited.

And remember soft-spoken Daniel who uses no money? From this film shoot in the treehouse? Well, he's featured on men.style.com. They show a picture of the cave he inhabits. Check him out here.

And lo and behold, Chicago's Daley Plaza Farmers' Market has a Provo Bakery! The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Provo, had never heard of their city in Utah! Now they know! My gosh, if there were a city named my last name i would make a pilgrimage for sure.

signed, missing tamtam and crew but will visit again very soon.

Typiquel Day

One of our backyard prairie mushrooms for break-the-fast.
Tara and I went hiking 'round the waterfalls.We held each other back from going for a swim... it was really very very hard to not jump in.

Ran into the super great Denny Jenks of the Adonis Bronze foundry who was helping the scouts put in signs along the trail. Denny and I used to work together in my former life as a public arts director. We got home to find a naughty dog named Farmer trying to impress some strangers/visitors by playing keep-away with mouse poison. This is Tara picking up pieces of poison while Farmer was at the pet hospital where all the veterinarians know him well. Update: Farmer is still foaming grey at the mouth from the poison's antidote. He thinks it's cool. On the other hand, the intended recipient, our greenhouse resident mouse whom we named "Leprechaun", has never touched the poison. I psychically warned him not to because life would suck if he touched it but to please leave my pumpkin seeds alone. Well, Leprechaun has heeded the don't touch the poison warning but still ate every pumpkin seed I planted.

Typical. Typiquel.

still rolling with it

HEY! guess what! construction is nearing completion. knock on wood (a familiar sound around here.)

meanwhile....

reposted from Sept. 17, 2007-
The One Who Cracked My Code

I’m currently looking forward to entering the stage of the enchantress. No, really it’s a stage. And it doesn’t mean that I will be sociable. Quite the opposite, it means that I will be a witch, in my shell, collecting my thoughts and HIDING… so as not to curse or bless you. Cackle.

And then there’s the crone. When for a week I’m eighty years old and have wisdom to spare and feel a bit less inhibited…because there is no time like the present, and then you die.

The seven days of virgin are among my favorite (not so for the O’lover). This is when my finger burns from the weight of my wedding ring. When I constantly forget that I share O’lover’s name. Mind you, I don’t like hurting O’s feelings when I take off without disclosing my destination but a virgin has untamable wonder and an unbroken stride (and little interest in men).

But really my absolute favorite stage is that of the mother. It’s when I’m clinging, and caring, when I nest and massage, and coo and pet. But 1% of the time it’s also when I over react and imagine offences. When the Mother Bear gets ticked off…heaven help you, my heart rate, and Ollie who has to mediate.

Before O’lover cracked my code my mysterious alternations between piety and caprice were a hairy rollercoaster ride I didn’t know I was on. And then the LIGHT. And we’re having fun.

Thanks Oliver.
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Ollie told me that this is a broadly applicable cycle. I just looked it up; read more about archetypes here.