Run, Don't Walk

I am coming up on the 34th anniversary of my initiation at Yule, and not much scares me. The other day, I saw something that gave me nightmares. It was an article written by my magical teacher and published on Witchvox

It was not the contents of the article that scared me, it was the name signed on the bottom. I cannot mention it here because of that pesky rule in the Law about not exposing any of the Craft to any tribunal outside. Any of you who have heard about Randy, the Alley God, and/or the Octopus Enthroned will know who (s)he is.

I studied under this person for 4 1/2 years. They were the greatest privilege,and the direst trial of my life. (S)he was/is brilliant, an excellent communicator, and could be kind, funny, charming, the whole dream teacher. (S)he could also be tyrannical, arbitrary and violently abusive.

It is that violence that scared me, still does. And, that fear in my heart is why I am writing. To a student, a teacher is a lesser God. A teacher holds the student's soul in their hands. A Teacher who abuses this holy trust can do irreparable damage. I speak from experience. I have permanent damage to my left eye from a fist, permanent damage to my self image from the emotional abuse, and a murdered familiar to remind me.

Students, Dedicants, and prospective Witches, I implore you, before you sign on, check out your Teacher. What is his/her standing in the community? Have there been a rash of un- or poorly explained departures from their group? Yes, we are beset with our share of genuinely unprepared and unworthy students, but is this teacher's luck unusually bad?

If, after you have begun training with them you find they are making demands on you that contravene your instincive boundaries, taking more and more and more control of your life, cut you off from harmless non-Craft friends, or make you feel just wrong , RUN, do not walk as far away as possible.

I did not. Consequently, I was shamed, beaten, estranged from my family, and generally abused. I know how bad it is to love one's abuser almost more than one loves one's own life. Teachers can have that power. Mine did. Because I was unwary, trusting, and young for my age, I allowed it to happen to me. Please, be forewarned, and do not let it happen to you.

Wicca respects the relationship between a student and their Teacher, and being interfered with so often , we are loath to interfere. Still we owe i t to those whose lives are in our care to demand of ourselves the highest level of ethical behavior, and to deal summarily with those who offer themselves as Teachers , but refuse to do the same. I am available to advise and help, May the Lady bless!
Mare

Health Update

Update:

A few months ago, my legs started to swell. In a matter of weeks, my thighs had put on 60 lbs. of flabby. watery tissue that felt like overstretched water balloons. Just my thighs. Since then, I have developed small, red, weeping lesions that start like water blisters and HURT. I am not processing vluids well, apparently, so I lymph is buiding up in my soft tissues.

I saw the Dernatologist Monday. He was soft spoken, kindly, and , thank the Goddess, gentle. He did a punch biopsy on the lesions and said in a few days we will know if what I have is dermatopolymyicitis (The condition that killed my dad )or not. It is a rare condition,and the sores do not look like Poly to him, but with a positive history in the family, we are not taking chances.

Like I needed this! Anywaym any spare good thoughts and/or well wishes lying around, I would appreciatr it if you sent them my way. I live in a hospital so the treatment should be easy to get, right? Wrong! So far, no one has made a motion to do the treatments the nice doctor ordered to relieve me. the next step is for me to lodge a complaint with the administrator, but I hope it doesn't have to go that far.

You'd think these people would realizr that following Dr's orders means LESS work in the long run, not to mention less a$$ chewing by admin. But , NO!

More news as it comes in.

I Remember Mama

Seems like my mother has been on my mind a lot lately. Maybe it's because the holiday season is where her talents really shone. She was the first person in her family to achieve a higher education, much less a MFA- and she outdid herself this time of year with dinner parties, decorations, and all that stuff she held so dear.

I remember especially poignantly this year, when I am in the health center, in an 8' X 10' cubicle, dreaming of home. On Christmas Eve, every year, we decorated the tree. Mother and I did, Dad supervised, criticised, and drank wayyy too much eggnog.

The tree held her treasures, hundred -year- old glass ornaments from Germany, and wax- dipped folded-paper creations only a kid could make, and only a Mother could love. I remember being endlessly fascinated by those little lights filled with colored water that bubbled . One year, she invested in a white flocked tree, and decorated it with nothing but huge red velvet bows. Dad and I did not usually agree on such things but that year we presented a united front- it was hideous!

We went to Midnight Mass every year. Before we went, I was allowed to open just one present, my choice. The rest of the loot had to wait, theoretically, until after breakfast on Christmas. but in practice we usually couldn't wait. and opened presents while we were enjoying Mother's 4 alarm chili- cooked all afternoon every Christmas Eve. Back then, When God was a Boy, we had to fast before Mass, so we were pretty hungry by the time we got home from church, being tantalized all day by the odors of cooking chili and stollen (a light coffee-cake-type bread ). That was for breakfast.

I remember my fifth birthday. I was born in January, so I guess all the Holiday magic had not worn off yet. Mother transformed our living room into an Italian restaurant, complete with card tables set up with candles in wine bottles and red - checked oilcloth table cloths. All the guests were served a spaghetti dinner as well as cake and ice-cream. We did not have a perspiring accordionist, but if she could have found one, he would have been there. That kind of attention to details was her genius.

I remember my thirteenth birthday, I met a fellow who became my first teen - age crush, He wowed me by wearing a white dinner jacket to the party. We played a lot of kissing games that night. His first gift to me did not bode well for the relationship, however. He brought me a rattlesnake skin mounted on a piece of fibre glass.

We lasted through the Summer. Then, I bowed to social pressure and broke off with him. He had a reputation for being "wild". In those days, my own reputation was at risk because of his. Wherever you are, honey, we both missed good bets, and I hope you are happy, and still a bit wild.

I remember hearing tales of what a practical joker Mother was. When she was newly married and Dad was at sea, she wrote to tell him she was considering dyeing her hair blond. Dad thundered back that he forbade her to do any such thing! He could not have picked an approach more calculated to get Mother's 'Irish' up. but. he was young too, and from a family where Papa was BOSS. Mother said nothing more about it, but right before the ship was due back in port, she cut the long blond curls off an old doll of mine, and tucked them under a babushka tied over her own hair,just the white-blond wisps peeking out. Then she went down to the pier to meet Dad's ship. I don't know what Dad said when he saw her, but I do know Dad never said 'I forbid you' to Mother ever again!

More Heraldic Adventures

I am glad to say that my gaffe with the midwife was not the end of my Heraldic career. I continued to prove the truth of my observation about saying stupid things loudly for years!

The first really dumb thing I said was an affirmative to the question, "Are you doing to the Orange County Fair?" It is, like many such extravaganzas, a yearly celebration of nothing much in particular -characterized by lots of hoopla, incredible food. and moth-eaten carnival rides. I was a rookie- green enough to grow, and sublimely ignorant of the realities of my situation. In short, I had nary a clue. I should have gotten one, maybe when our local VIP who was wheelchair bound got the trots from something he ate, and had to leave the first day. Nope/ Then. the Lady who took over for him running our little reenactment passed the buck to me- She had a habit of saying stupid things too - like "We'll be fine. What can go wrong?" But, not being a Herald, she was able to whisper.

What could go wrong was that our VIPs turned into a mini-epidemic, our Canadian visitor who was underage spent all his food vouchers on beer, and the whole weekend violently expelling from either his upper or lower digestive tract, and a visiting VIP and entourage were on there way to complicate matters.
He was my superior, in SCA terms, and I was bound and determined to impress him. When he went anywhere in character, I rang my bell and announced in my loudest voice- "Make way! Way for the king's Herald! " Once everyone in the fair was heartily sick of both my imperious blowhard of a boss, his entourage, and that noisy kid with the freaking' bell, the stage was set for my next adventure in stupidity. We got food vouchers every day, which we were expected to turn in at food/drink vendors at the fair . Except the guy from Canada, the folks did pretty well- no one had any real complaints. Until, my aforementioned boss decided he wanted some ice cream from one of those little hand-dipped ice cream kiosks on the midway. I ran and got my bell, the folks lined up, and we made our noisy way to the stand.
I was busily collecting orders for flavors and desired toppings, figuring I would show the Big Guy how efficient I was - when a marvelous coincidence occurred to me. All of the women in our group had opted for chips and sprinkles and whatnot. The men on the other hand , had opted for peanuts and almonds and coconut, Almost before the glow of the light bulb faded, I said, in my clearest ringing tone "Hey! the girls are the ones without the nuts!" Above the guffaws, I heard my boss's voice. "Just discovered that, have we?"

I wish I could tell you that I learned from what went down in the unofficial annals of the Society as the Orange County Disaster, I really do.
Sadly this was not the case, More to follow...