What (Real ) Witches do on Halloween

To forestall any argument or bad feelings and bruised toes, let me start out by saying that if one walked into a room with ten Witches in it, one would find at least 23 different and often mutually exclusive opinions and 5 or six newsletters. It is not my intention to represent myself as any sort of expert of Traditions not my own.


A tradition, for the uninitiated, is like a denomination of Christianity. I am not even claiming to be an expert on Wicca. I am claiming to be an intelligent human with opinions, beliefs and experience to share.





That said, I will talk about what my Coven called Pleiades of the Tradition/Temple Caer Sidi did this Samhain - the Celtic name for the festival celebrated at the end of October.





Dates are slippery things. as every parent knows. And, kids operate on a different calendar than grown-ups. We have Mabon,Yule, and Samhain. They have Turkey Day, Present Day, and Candy Night, Once my children were mobile. I realized that, to preserve the fragile peace in my home, I had better not mess with Candy Night. Besides that, our Tradition uses a Lunar Calendar, and days run from sunset to sunset , Samhain would be over before the candles were lit.


Yule was not a problem-no kid in his/her eight mind is gonna complain about getting his/her presents four days SOONER than their Classmates! Consequently I proposed to the Coven that until our children were old enough to forgo the usual Halloween shenanigans, we would celebrate our religious holiday within a three day window of opportunity. The parents saw the wisdom of my suggestion, and no one else really had a reason why not, so my idea was adopted unanimously.





Tonight, I will watch scary movies on TV. My son will go out masquerading as a High School student (he's 16). My daughter will probably be a vampire.





This explains, I hope, why we did the Ritual of Samhain Thuersday night instead of tonight. My students are far flung nowadays, and have busy lives of their own. My husband of 28 years and the Elder of the Coven made use of my little 8' by 10' cubicle - pulling the curtains around us closed, and breathing a silent prayer that neither of my room-mates would take it into her head to need/want a nurse while we worked.

We started by casting a virtual Circle. Hospital rules and City Fire ordinances preclude the use of our usual candles and incense. We joined hands and pulled in energy, constructing a Circle in my tiny space. I read the second half of the Myth of the Goddess - a prose poem that describes a version of the Persephone Myth. The first half is read at Mabon, ending with the Priestess asking the God of the Underworld why He is the enemy of Life. In the second half, she receives teaching about why the seasons change, and why Witches do not believe there was ever war in Heaven. I looked over at our Elder, and saw him surreptitiously wipe a tear away. He has heard this story every year for nearly 30 years, and he gets misty every time. If he is reading this- That is one of the reasons I love you, Anarion.

We could not use candles or inscense, and I had to have electric light to read, and we did not waer robes, but Anarion did smuggle in a tablespoon or towo of a decent red wine, and i had saved some crackers from dinner. for Cakes and Wine, It is true that things in Circle happen in a place that is not a place in a time that is not a time. As we cast our tiny, claustrophobia-inducing Circle, the realities of my situation mlelted away. I stood in the Circle with my Brothers and invoked the Ancient Ones as if I stood in the grandest Temple on Earth. We reverently shared the cup and the bread, remebered our Brothers and Sisters who had passed on, prayed that we would always remember the Burning Times and never become oppressors in our turn.

The settings were spartan and the attendance meager, but those things didn't matter as we prayed, shared, and dreamed about the coming season of Winter.


When the simple rite of remeberance was over, we released the energies we had summoned for the Circle, and settled down to the feast - Anarion had brought fruit, bread and cheese, and Seqouia had provided more cheese and garlic nan, an Indian bread he knows I love.

We talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company. It wa s a weird and in some ways impoverished Samhain. I can no longer dance, we had no privacy for a Great Rite, and I did not have the necessaries for the scrying I usally do at Samhain. But, when it was all done, and we were ready to part, I asked the ritual question of our Elder-"Is your soul satisfied?" And, I believed him when he said it was.
I know running a Coven is like herding cats under the rosiest conditions, and these ain't them, but this Samhain was what a Wiccan Rite should be- warm, loving, balancing mirth and reverence. I think our depaerted Brothers and Sisters must have gone home smiling. I know we did.

I spent a pleasant lunch hour the other day with my friend Michael. He is a gentleman I met in the dayroom who can and does converse lucidly, even witily in English. One has only to look around this place to appreciate what a find he is!

I was telling him that I have, for 30+ years been a member of the Society for Creative Anachronisms. I am a Herald, responsible for matters of protocol, making announcements, and working out representative symbols with members- these are called devices, and decorate clothing, sheilds and items of clothing worn by members of this international Medieval Recreationist society. I explained my role to michael by saying that. not only did heralds say dumb things sometimes, they said them really LOUD! I remembered announcing a long, tedious introduction to some visiting VIP's . "Lord Such-n-Such of How's- Your =Father, and Lady Whosis...." It was hot, muggy, and no one was really listening. I made it through a long list of names, occaisonally stirring a little ripple of laughter when I mis-pronouced or mangled someone's name. (Hey, I was a rookie) One of the Ladies sailed by me dressed as a nun - "Sister Bernadette, " I announced in my biggest voice- the next lady did not offer a name . but an occupation. "and HER midwife" . A ripple of laughter became a roar- a very red faced herald disappeared toute suite!

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  I have one last article, which I hope will spark a discussion- what is the stupidest thing you have ever done with your clothes on? I had hard time choosing This question occurred to me while I was doing an Occupational Therapy exercise which involved standing up, taking clothespins from a box, adding them, one by one to a yardstick with alternating hands - to increase balance and muscle control. It is plenty stupid- but not a patch on the prise winner. The stupidest thing I ever did with my clothes on was taking a ride with a stranger one stormy night in Chicago. I was drenched, he was creepy. Stupidity. I got into the car and was not even surprised when he sailed past my turn off. "You're not in a hurry, are you?" he asked. Quick to inform him that I was :




• ln a BIG hurry




• NOT interested




• Prepared to jump out of the car and make my complaint heard in Municipal Court .

I was only wet and not dead or worse when he drove away.

See, I told you I was lucky! So, do, tell what's the stupidest thing You've done with your clothes on?

Triumph and Tragedy

I will start with a small triumph. Today, for the first time in two years, I walked , Not far. But. I had no walker, just the arm of an orderly. I am exhausted, but still glowing!

Now for a minor rant.about a major problem. Abuse of the helpless, of whatever age has been in the news a lot lately. The worst abuse, I am certain is the old paralyzing "Don't Care" syndrome. This pernicious affliction is characterized by lack of empathy, lowered expectations, and sinking temperatures, especially around the heart.

Yesterday, I was witness to an incidence of abuse that was the more horrible because the abusers did not intend or even realize that they had done anything wrong.
Both of my room mates suffer from dementia. Neither of them know if I am the Second Coming or the Easter Bunny. The lady on my left, I'll call her Lori, was dressed and ready to go to the day room after breakfast. The CNA assigned to my room went to find the huge, crane-like lifting machine that helps support people who can't walk while they are transferred from bed to wheelchair and back. Finding the one at this end of the hall was in use she made her first mistake. Instead of waiting the few minutes for the machine to be freed up, or going looking for one of the two other machines in other wings which might not be in use, she made her second mistake. She picked a big,healthy guy who was also afflicted with "Don't Care"-itis to help her. They just grabbed the poor lady under the arms and plumped her down into the chair by main force. I heard the noise!
It was loud enough to make me jump. I looked around and saw an expression of stark terror on her face! There was no way to explain what they were doing, even if they had cared enough to try - and she cannot speak to complain. I complained, and loudly. The answer I got was saddest of all the sad things about this story. The guy slunk away without a word, the CNA excused herself by saying the lifting machine was in use.

I spent 10 minutes soothing my room mate the only way I knew how,soft voice and smiles. her fear gradually faded, and she was taken to the day room. I hope she has forgotten. I never will.

Now, to take the bad taste away, another triumph. I had never known, before I started attending a class in Japanese Art that I was any kind of an artist at all. This year, our county fair had an art show, and some of our teacher;s students were invited to exhibit works. I was really speechless when the teacher asked if I would like to enter, I had never even thought I could draw, much less competed! I did enter the Fair,. My painting is what is called a Hai Ga - a work that combines a poem and a bamboo brush painting. I actually won an ugly pink fourth prize ribbon, The greatest thing about this triumph is that the judges did not know I am in a hospital, were unaware of my handicaps and prognosis, I did it on the strength of what I had been taught to do. Not even one pity point!

My World and Welcome to It

Hello! This premiere Edition of Living Among the Lily-Pads comes out on a very special day! I have a rant for you, some minor triumphs. and since this is our first meeting, a bit of an introduction. I hope you will enjoy reading my maunderings, and please do feel free to comment.

Comments which contain hateful language, blatant proseletizing, or obsenity will not be published, OK? I want this to be for mature audiences of whatever age.

Now, for the Intro!

I am a 58 year old woman who is a resident in a Health Centre in Southern CA. I am a surviver of child abuse, domestic violence, 5 brain operations, gastric bypass and pneumonia every year since I was two.

I live here because I have a non-cancerous brain tumor that affects how I walk, see, hear and speak English, my primary language , while paradoxically sparing my acquired language, Spanish. This is similar to a singer who stammers when he talks, but sings without a tremor.

I am not only luckier than I have any right to be. (see stupid things with my clothes on , below) I am also an Initiated Witch since Yule , 1975, and leader of one of the longest lived Wiccan Temples in this town. We have been practicing the Old Religion since 1980. As tome goes on, I will tell you how I got here from there.