The Care and Feeding of Gods and ghosts

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Every morning I wake up, brush my teeth, forget to drink some water, and exchange well wishes for the day with my friend Annie. We usually talk about our plans for the day; Annie often goes out into the world, and I stay in and do handicrafts like the old person I secretly am.

Today things took a bit of a turn. I still woke up, brushed my teeth, forgot my water, and said hello to Annie. But then things got Spoopy.

Y’all. Annie saw a ghost.

This prompted a conversation about how to deal with seeing ghosts and what we should do for them and other entities that we might encounter in our day-to-day lives. FYI, Annie says hello to them; while I opt, I tell them to stop being creepers and to have a cookie.

And now I am here, sipping iced coffee (still haven’t had that water) and writing about what I do when ghosts, gods, and toddlers abound, and someone has to feed them.

In my opinion, the best food for all three is Oreos. They’re vegan, tasty, widely available in the US where I live, and often stores have their brand version that is equally great at half the cost. You can also get Oreos in various flavors year-round if that is your thing.

But my opinion isn’t the only thing that counts when it comes to offerings. Especially when it comes to your practice. Offerings should be tailored to you and the entity you are dealing with. People can say all day long that Odin likes wine, but if you’re under twenty-one in the US, you aren’t going to be able to offer Old One Eye any kind of alcohol. That means thinking about what you can do within the limits of your life. Too young to buy wine? Looks like Odin gets grape juice. After all, wine is basically sharp grape juice right? I can honestly tell you that Odin has been given worse offerings.

When giving offerings to any gods, I recommend looking at what they are associated with – either via the Lore or community gnosis (aka community UPG) – and then sorting out what you can do from the confines of your life/current situation.

Remember too that water is always a suitable offering. Not just for the gods, but for your beloved dead, any ghosties running around your space, and for all living things.

Want to make an offering to your Uncle Frank, who just passed (I am talking about myself here)? Offer a glass of water. Want to honor your land wights? Water. The Goddess Eir? Water.

Given what we have learned about the US’s infrastructure in the past few years and the absolute refusal by our government to stop Line3, a clean glass of water isn’t a simple offering. It’s an increasingly rare and precious gift.

It’s also something you can earth – aka pouring out onto grass/into moving water – without causing damage to the environment. The same can’t be said for offerings of alcohol, other liquids, or food. Not that those things are bad offerings; they’re lovely offerings. Just make sure you dispose of them in other ways. Liquid offerings can be poured down the sink. It’s a liminal space that is perfect for disposing of liquids that can’t or shouldn’t be poured on the earth. The trash is a perfectly acceptable place to put food that has been offered. If you’d rather not use your kitchen trash, you can always take the offering directly to the cans that get emptied by your municipality’s sanitation workers. If you compost, you can drop it in there (make sure to follow local composting guidelines).

However you dispose of it, please remember that the offerings were given to the entity in question and now belong to them. Earthing the offering a bit after it was given (I wait 24 hours) is perfectly acceptable. Eating or drinking the offering after you gave it is not usually well-received. At least not in Heathenry. My husband is a Hindu, and we eat any food offered to Krishna, as per his faith and cultural traditions. We don’t do the same with offerings to our house spirits, ancestors, or the gods of my tradition. I admit that this is a bit confusing for Haggis, but he is still young, and I get a general feeling that the gods know that and behave accordingly.

If you have a system or deal worked out with your gods (ancestors, ghosts, etc.), and you are allowed to eat or drink the offerings after they are made, cool beans. I am not here to tell you that your practice is wrong. If you don’t have a system or deal worked out, though, my suggestion of keeping your hands off their offerings is a good place to start. Remember, you can always make yourself something to eat or drink as well. Sitting their offering on your table while you eat your meal or having tea/coffee/water at the altar while offering them their own mug or glass is absolutely acceptable. It will likely help you to build your relationship with the entity in question as well.

So remember: Oreos and Storeos are good. Clean water is better. Something that holds meaning to you is best.

If you can’t think of something to offer, or you are in a place where offerings of food and drinks aren’t an option, I highly recommend contacting your representatives in congress and senate, Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland, and the White House about protecting our water from oil and tar sands pipelines. And then go drink a glass of clean water. 

Which is exactly what I am going to do now.

Loki isn’t the problem. YOU are the problem.

I understand the irony of this post given that I am a Heathen who is talking to you from the other side of a keyboard but:
Keyboard Lokeans are fucking annoying.

I am a Lokean. I have been for my entire life. Loki has a place where I am. He always has, and he always will. I used to think that the best way to make people accept Loki was to write ranting posts on Tumblr or on a blog or Facebook. I was ready to fight for Loki in online spaces and was bitter when people didn’t take me – or Loki – seriously.

I don’t remember who or what it was that led to the realization that Doing The Work meant meeting other Heathens in person. But that realization came, and I stopped writing rants on the internet and started attending events in person. I quietly and respectfully showed up and got involved. I followed the rules, made friends, and talked about my personal practice, which was and remains Loki worship heavy.

Do you know what happened? People slowly but steadily became more accepting of Loki’s worship at their events. They saw me, a kinda bland mom-friend who always has snacks and is willing to help out when needed, and realized that maybe, just maybe, these Loki Folk aren’t all that bad.

I wasn’t alone out there. There are plenty of Loki folk like me. Just regular people who pay their bills, love their families and honor Loki. And we’ve all been out here slowly and steadily carving out space for ourselves, Loki, and His folk.

I’m writing this post because someone decided to take issue with The Troth and the former Loki ban. I am a Troth member. My kindred is a Troth kindred, and two of my kinsman are Troth officials. They have been participating in the Loki blots I run the entire time I’ve known them. One of them was a bit Loki shy when we met, but he gives Loki His due and has never been anything but loving and respectful to Loki or me. Those two Troth officials in my kindred are my brothers by choice. They share my Wyrd and knew what they were getting into when we decided to form North River Kindred.

The Troth isn’t perfect. No organization is. But the difference between the members of the Troth and the person who wrote that opinion piece is this:

The Troth has rolled up its sleeves, and the members are doing the work. That writer? All they are doing is writing angry posts filled with misleading information.

North River Kindred has a private Loki blot this weekend – typically, it’s public, but there is still a pandemic outside – and I will sit with my kindred and honor Loki. We will speak His name over the horn and share jokes and stories in His name. There will be food and laughter, which is typical for most Heathen gatherings. There might also be tears because Loki is a cleansing fire that helps to reshape and reform us.

If you don’t have a group to honor Loki with but want to do something, I suggest cupcakes/donuts/cookies and coffee. Make an offering and say something like, “Thanks for the lessons you teach and the gifts you brought the gods.” If you don’t want anything from Loki, make that clear. He’s helpful, so you really need to stress that you don’t want anything. Be respectful and polite, though.

If you have kids and you want to make it a family offering, go get some bubbles and blow them together in Loki’s name. Loki loves kids, and an offering of play and bubbles is perfect for Him. Again, stress that you don’t want anything and say that the bubbles, play, and laughter are being done in His name as thanks for the lessons He teaches and the gifts He brought the gods.

If you don’t want to do anything for Loki, that is okay too. There is no rule saying you have to honor every god. I don’t do anything for most of the gods because I don’t have a desire to. And so far, that seems to be just fine with Them.

If you don’t want to honor Loki, don’t. If you want to honor Him, do that. Either way, I am asking that you do what so many Internet Lokeans can’t seem to do: be kind to people.

After all, Hospitality is a cornerstone of Heathenry. If you want to be included, you need to learn to be a good guest and a good host. The best way to do that is to get off your butt and interact with actual Heathens in real-time (either in person or via Zoom).

If you aren’t willing to do that and you aren’t ready to roll up your sleeves and Do The Work, you aren’t much more than that “Old Man Yells At Cloud” meme.

The Old Ways

I don’t know which one of you needs to hear this, but here we go:

You are not a Viking. 

I know you want to argue. I know that you are convinced that your 13% Scandinavian DNA makes you a Viking and thus the rightful heir to Heathenry and everything it entails. People in the US hate being told who we are and what we can and can’t do, so I get why it might be shocking or irritating to learn that you aren’t a Viking. 

But the facts are the facts, and as a lot of right-wing people like to point out, facts don’t care about your feelings.

Heathenry in the United States is thick with people who are convinced that if we could just return to The Old Ways, they’d be great warriors. That sagas would be written about their adventures, and that their names would be spoken with reverence. 

I promise that that isn’t what will happen. Returning to The Old Ways wouldn’t do anything more than kill a lot of folks. A good portion of the population doesn’t know how to cook or build a fire, not to mention make clothing, plant and maintain crops, or basic animal husbandry. Oh, and medical skills. Who is your medic? Where did they study? Do they also know how to make medicine out of local plants? 

Have you considered that The Old Ways includes not having vaccines for things like measles and polio? From April to September of 2019, there was a measles outbreak in New York state. Over a thousand cases were reported in that span, seven hundred of them right here in NYC. And that is with the majority of the population already having been vaccinated. 

Imagine how bad it was, way back in The Old Days, before widespread vaccinations were available. 

Also, and I really can’t stress this enough, “I wish it was like the old days” and “I wish we could go back to the old ways” are gross, coded statements. 

When you say them, the rest of us hear, “I don’t like that BIPoC, folks with disabilities, LGBTQ+ folks, and the fact that women have rights.” 

I’m white, and I know it hurts our collective feelings when we are called out for our bigoted rhetoric, but facts are facts. And the fact is that those statements are harmful. Another fact? Your fetishization of Vikings isn’t culture. It’s a kink that the rest of us didn’t sign up to participate in. 

If you want to play Viking for the weekend, I suggest you join the SCA. If you’d like to actually learn about Heathenry, please look into The Troth and/or pick up a copy of A Practical Heathen’s Guide to Asatru by Patricia Lafayllve.

It has been said that Heathenry is the religion with homework. That used to be true, back in the old days when we were few and far between. There are more of us now, and some truly wonderful people have helped build up an honest to gods Heathen culture. Heathenry isn’t about Vikings and The Old Ways. It’s about living our lives now. Building a better world for each other right now. Real actual Heathens have a whole planet to save, babies to raise, dinner to cook, paychecks to earn, and blots to attend. So we reserve our Viking Days for the Renaissance Faire or the SCA and live our day-to-day lives in ways that honor the gods and the community. 

I know it sucks to realize that we’re all ordinary people with “boring” lives, but Vikings were farmers. I bet they’d have loved being able to have supper with their kids regularly and to live past 35. I know I’m enjoying it. 

Watermelon Woes

I ordered groceries this morning and saw that watermelon was on sale. I couldn’t pass up the deal because it’s hotter than Hel’s front porch outside, and y’girl needs all the water she can get. 

What was supposed to be a mini watermelon turned out to be regular-sized. I only paid the sale price, so I’m not complaining about that at all. What I am complaining about, however, is my feral goblin child and his deep-seated need to throw things. Remember that time, just a few sentences ago, when I said that it’s hot outside? Because it is. Between the heat and the lack of a covid vaccine for kids under twelve, we are staying inside. If you’re wondering whether or not this is pleasing Haggis, please note that no, it is very much not pleasing him. 

I don’t blame him. He’s been cooped up for 18 months. 

Our usual walks have been put on hold because of the heat and poor air quality – I have asthma and anything above 40 causes an asthma attack. So this poor kid is full of toddler energy and has nowhere for it to go. 

Enter the watermelon. 

I will be honest here. I was a jackass and left it on the kitchen table. I have been dealing with kids in one way or another for 25 years. I knew better than to leave the watermelon on the table. But I did it anyway, and Haggis made sure I remembered why it was a mistake. 

While I was minding my own business and drinking my coffee, he decided to knock some packages of naan and the paper towels off the kitchen table. I turned in my chair, my iced coffee halfway to my mouth, and told him to knock it off. I expected him to be squatting beside the naan and preparing to throw it around a bit. I hoped he wasn’t unrolling the paper towels. 

What I saw was my son’s perfect little hands rolling the watermelon back and forth with a sparkle of something in his eye. I know now that it was mischief. Which makes sense given his age and, y’know, the whole Lokean thing I have going on. 

I am ashamed to admit I yelled at him to stop. My husband did as well. Our “no!” and “don’t you dare” were met with a slow-motion roll of the watermelon right off the table and onto the floor.

Fun fact: that watermelon was super ripe and juicy. I know because I saw the puddle it made on the floor in the three seconds it took for my husband to run into the kitchen and scoop it up. 

It was super annoying that Haggis broke open the watermelon, but it also got me to get off my rear and do something with it. 

This is why I now have a dozen watermelon ice pops, a tray of watermelon ice cubes, and a bowl of watermelon to snack on. I was also able to give Loki a pint of watermelon-strawberry juice and make an offering at our family altar to the land and house spirits as well as the ancestors and gods. Oh, and to make an impromptu offering of watermelon to Eir when a friend posted on Facebook that their family could use some blessings. 

If Haggis hadn’t rolled that watermelon off the table, it would still be sitting there, and, truth be told, at least half of it would have gone to waste. 

If you’re wondering what this has to do with anything, here is your answer:

It’s July. This month has been dedicated to Loki by his folk for nine years now. Some call it July for Loki. Others call it Lokabrenna. Personally, I dedicate both July and August to Loki because it’s easier than remembering when Sirius rises. Either way, this time is for Loki, and nothing is more Loki to me than a toddler throwing a watermelon on the floor so Loki can have some agua fresca. 

Before you get it twisted, no, I don’t actually think Loki inspired my three-year-old to toss the melon on the floor. I do, however, think that Loki was pleased with what came after. 

Happy July for Loki/Lokabrenna/Dog Days of Summer. 

Eat some watermelon and hug your babies.

This IS who we are.

I’ve been trying to find my words regarding what happened in Washington DC on January 6th. I sat back and let the comments and opinions of Heathen folks on social media wash over me. Today I have words—several of them.

First, I want to state for the record that Jacob Chansley – aka Jake Angeli, aka QAnon Shaman – does represent a faction of modern Heathenry in the United States. I don’t want to say that because he’s anathema. But facts are facts, and the reality is that there is a racism problem within US Heathenry, and there has been from the very beginning. I know that people don’t like to hear that. The idea of racist Heathens at our events or in our communities makes us all uncomfortable. Because if we admit they are here, we must acknowledge that people we know and care about are problematic. 

It’s a hard and painful thing to admit, but it is also necessary.

In the past three days, I have seen posts across multiple social media platforms stating that Chansley/Angeli isn’t “one of us.” Claiming that he doesn’t represent Asatru/Heathenry/Norse Paganism and that his actions aren’t a reflection of our communities. 

Real talk? That is tone-deaf, naive, and not a little stupid. 

In the eyes of the public, that buffalo pelt clad idiot represents our communities. His torso had our sacred symbols on full display. He committed acts of treason and terrorism, and he did what so many armchair Vikings on the internet want to do. He led his people into battle. He is famous. The world knows his name and sees his tattoos/body paint, and they understand that he is one of us. 

What we need to do now is own the problem of racism that plagues our faith and culture. We need to accept that this problem is something that we have let grow because we chose not to address the elephant in the room. It’s all well and good to buy shirts that say shit like “this hammer smashes fascists” and “fuck the nazis,” but that is, at best, armchair activism. It’s lip service. It’s easy. 

What isn’t easy is sitting your friend down who makes racist jokes and explaining to them that their jokes aren’t funny. Nor is it easy to call out our kinfolk who proudly display the Confederate flag even though it has been used to terrorize black people for the past 165 years. 

It’s not easy to tell people that being friendly with members of the AFA is a passive show that they support the AFA’s message. 

It’s not easy to plant your feet and say, “your support of Donald Trump made it clear to me that you don’t respect my humanity because he has made it clear that he doesn’t.” 

What is right isn’t always what is easy. 

Heathens say that we are our deeds, and the reality here is this:

We have looked away from the uncomfortable behaviors of people in our community. That is who we are because that is what we have done. 

Every single time we allowed problematic behavior, regardless of how minor, we made it clear that that behavior was acceptable to us. We allowed that behavior, and it grew into the cancer of racism and bigotry in modern US Heathenry. 

Jacob Chansley/Jake Angeli is one of us because we allowed him to be. He is our problem, and we need to address it. 

One more thing before I go: Don’t ask BIPoC how we can fix this issue. It’s not their job to fix our fuck ups. White people have been taught to expect black people to pop in like fairy godparents and fix our problems. 

News flash: that isn’t going to happen. I told you what to do already. Confront the bullshit you see in your communities, and don’t rest until the people pulling that shit work on themselves. If they don’t stop their nonsense, kick them to the curb and spread the word that they aren’t welcome in Heathen spaces. 

Nip that shit in the bud. Because if we don’t, this won’t stop happening. 

Springing Forward into A Global Pandemic

I had a plan when I started this blog post a week ago. I was going to complain about Daylight Savings Time, lament the fact that I had to miss my kindred Spring ritual because I’d be in another state, and then post about making cookies with Haggis.

And then COVID-19 hit the fan.

NYC has a curfew; our flight to Texas isn’t happening, Ian will be working from home starting tomorrow and ending ???

The POTUS just got on television and said this could last well into August.

I am sitting here wondering how I am going to entertain my kid inside all day, every day without allowing him a lot of screen time.

While activities for Haggis are going to happen, right now, I want to focus on how we can be good members of our community.

Have you seen those lists of song lyrics that last for twenty seconds floating around social media? Me too. Guess what? I came up with something too.

Michaela Macha wrote and posted Frigga Loves Me over on Odin’s Gift. It’s a song I’ve sung to Haggis since he was born, and around 3 am this morning, I woke up and wrote a verse for Eir. If you sing it in the same tune as “Jesus Loves Me,” it will last 23 seconds. The recommended minimum length for handwashing is 20 seconds. Coincidence? No, not really. I planned it that way.

Here are the lyrics I wrote:

Eir does love me
This I know
For my Kindred tells me so.
Washing my hands while singing this song,
Helps to keep our community strong!
Yes Eir does love me!
Yes Eir cares for me!
I help Eir protect the community!
By washing while singing this song!

If you aren’t familiar with the tune of the song, please feel free to follow this link to Michaela’s song. There is an MP3 there that will help. As my lyrics are new, they aren’t included, but it’s something that will translate.
I plan to sing the song while washing Haggis’ hands – and my own – from now until he can sing it himself. The point here is to make sure he always washes for at least 20 seconds, but this will also (I hope) reinforce the fact that deeds are important in Heathenry, and it is our job to be the good we want to see in the world.

Take care of yourselves, y’all. And don’t hoard resources. Only dragons hoard. And you know what Heathens do to dragons.

Lefse, Mother’s Night, and Yule

My kinswoman Kristen came over last week, and we tried our hand at making lefse. Neither of us had ever made it before, and I hadn’t even eaten it. Kristen’s childhood adventures in lefse eating were all we had going for us.

Or so we thought.

Y’see, Kristen and I both did some research, and we both come from long lines of Capable Scandinavian Women™. Between that and the fact that we are both foodies with mild Alton Brown addictions, we were able to handle lefse rolling and cooking like pros. Was it the best lefse Kristen had ever eaten? No. It wasn’t even close. But it was delicious, and it tasted like victory and warm hugs from various Great Grandmothers, so we decided to call our piles of lefse a win.

Speaking of hugs from Great Grandmothers;

Tonight is Mothernight (Mother’s Night/Modranecht). When I was little, my dad told me that Mothernight is the night that Odin and the Wild Host ride out into the world to collect souls for Valhalla. He whispered of Odin’s dead peeking in windows and looking for people who didn’t know enough not to look outside on this holy and horrifying night. As a kid – and an adult – I loved looking out into the cold winter nights and praying for snow. Every night I would beg Jack Frost, Odin, the stars, and Steve Pool – the weatherman in the area I grew up in – for snow. Except on the 20th of December.

On the 20th of December, I don’t look out the window. I keep the blinds down, the lights on my Yule tree stay on, and a candle gets lit and placed on a window sill. The flame is a warning and a welcome. It tells the Host that they have to stay out and lets my Dis know that they can come in.

My first Yule/Christmas with Ian saw us flying out to Washington for the holiday. We flew on Mothernight, and I kept the window shade down and sweated through my clothes because I just knew that we were tempting fate and that Odin was going to kick our asses all over the sky.
We got to SeaTac just fine. But the fear was there. Fourteen years later, the fear is still there. I know the fear is irrational. I’ve spoken with some of my Heathen friends about Mothernight and the lore surrounding it, but Mothernight is something I know in my heart, not my head. So I will light a candle and place it on the sill tonight, and I won’t look outside even though I’ll want to so badly I’ll be able to taste it.

I’m not going to tell Haggis the same Wild Hunt/Host stories my dad told me because I want him to adore Mothernight. I want this to be a time of family and comfort for him, not a time a fear. There is a time for ghost stories during Yule, but Mothernight is not it. Instead of whispering scary stories in Haggis’ ears, I am going to have him help me make cookies, and tonight we will leave cookies, coffee, and tea out for our Dis. Ian and I will say the names of nine of our Beloved Mothers, and when Haggis can speak more clearly, he will say their names too. I think that will be a great way to start Yule.

Speaking of Yule;

This weekend is crazy busy with Yule activities. Mothernight tonight, North River Kindred’s Yule celebration Saturday night into Sunday – which we won’t be attending because we all have a gross cold -, and then a visit from one of my Mama-kin on Sunday. This weekend is also the Winter Solstice, so we need to make risgrøt for our house wights. We leave them offerings at the cross quarters, and at Yule they leave Haggis a handmade gift and a book (this year he is getting a new set of mittens and The Snowman). As he gets older, I’ll have to make his handmade gifts while he sleeps or is off somewhere else, but as he is two, I not only made them around him, I checked to make sure they fit as I was making them.

I never realized how the magic of Yule/Christmas grows in a person. I always just assumed that we all adored this time of years as kids from the moment we were born. That isn’t true, and as a Mama, I am torn between eagerly hoping Haggis loves Yule this year and praying that he will stay little for just one more moment. I know I’m not alone in wishing for more days of magic and wonder with my kid. I figure that the way I feel about him right now – proud, scared, and very much in love – is how our Foremothers felt when they had their babies.

I was going to tie in our lefse adventures by saying that our “long lines of Capable Scandinavian Women™” probably felt that way as they watched Kristen and I panic attack our way through the lefse making process. But I don’t think they were scared.
I think they were proud of us. I know they are proud of us. I felt it when Kristen rolled that first perfect circle. I heard it as we both groaned in pleasure with our first bites. I saw it in the glint of light off Kristen’s Great Grandma Mae’s watch. It echoed in my bones a few days later when Ian and I munched on lefse and watched Olaf’s Frozen Adventure (where a family mentions lefse making being their Yule tradition).
Lefse wasn’t something I grew up with, but it is something Haggis is growing up with. All because Kristen had Foremothers who made it and who still whisper in her ears and guide her hands.

Hail our Beloved Mothers!
Hail our Disir!
Hail Great Grandma Mae!

A tale of puddles and Great Grandmas…well. One Great Grandma.

Today I wrote thank you notes to all the folks who got Haggis something for his birthday. I had him use crayons to add his thoughts, as well. Afterward, we put on our finest rain gear and puddle-stomped our way to the local post box. Haggis’ right rainboot flew off no less than three times. Don’t worry; he didn’t let the lack of boot stop him from stomp, stomp, stomping his way down the street. Sock be damned. 

Today I vacuumed the common areas of the apartment and mopped the kitchen. I also made dinner, did a load of dishes, washed the stove, taught Haggis where to put the recycling, folded some towels, and remembered to take my allergy pill. 

Oh! And I started to crochet a pair of mittens for Haggis that he promptly frogged (undoing knitting/crochet is called frogging because you “rip it, rip it”). 

I’ll be honest, I was only seven rows into the cuff, but the frogging irritated me more than the puddle soaked sock did. 

Instead of yelling – which I am trying to stop doing – I sighed, moved the project, and went back to making dinner. Because I can always restart the mitten, the world won’t stop turning because a two-year-old disrespected my WIP. I also thought about my Great Grandma. She and I weren’t all that close, but since having Haggis, I’ve gained a respect for her that I never had when she was alive. 

Towards the end of my pregnancy, my kinsman did a rune reading for me. According to the runes, I would turn to my female ancestors to help me through the birthing process. I didn’t. 

I did, however, ask them for strength a few hours after Haggis was born when a nurse came into my room to tell me that Haggis was in the NICU. I turned to them when I had to schlep, three days post c-section, to the Upper East Side of Manhattan (from fucking Bed-Stuy) to see my baby who was still in the NICU. 

I remember holding him in the NICU and thinking about my Great Grandmother bring my Uncle Rudy home from the hospital. He was so small when he was born that they told her he would die. Instead of accepting that fate, she turned on the oven and kept him in a box on the open oven door until he was healthy enough to move to a proper bed. My Uncle, who is a fucking riot, by the way, didn’t die. He lived, and because I was told that story about him when I was a kid, I was able to push through the fear and worry I had for Haggis so I could be the Mama he needed. 

I think about my Great Grandmother a lot now that I’m a parent. When I leave offerings for my Ancestors, she is my main focus. I get the impression that she is the loudest voice that guides the runes I pull, and sometimes I think I can hear her telling me to take better care of myself. I’m trying to listen. I’m trying to be as gentle with myself as I am with Haggis. I don’t know a lot about my Great Grandma’s upbringing, and I’m not here to talk about what may or may not have been her reality back then. All I know is this: Great Grandma wanted good things for the three generations of grandkids she was able to meet in her life. And I know, in my heart of hearts, that she wants good things for Haggis too. 

Parenting is difficult, but I figure that between Ian, my family and friends, and Great Grandma, I can do this. 

The picture below is Grandma and Uncle Rudy, by the way. See, told you he grew up just fine. 

Also, if you haven’t done so recently – or ever – maybe leave a bit of food or drink out for your ancestors. They do a lot for you, and it’s important to let them know they are appreciated. If your blood kin were a bunch of assholes, you don’t need to leave them anything. Ancestors are more than blood. Anyone who has passed that influenced your life in a way you appreciate is an Ancestor (even if you never met them). If anyone says different you send them to me. I’ll set em straight.

 

A Wild Haggis

Haggis has been called Haggis since I first learned I was pregnant. It’s the only name used for my kid on social media/the internet and as such folks tend to think it is his real name. This has led to more than one person linking me to stories about wild haggis in Scotland. I always laugh when I see the stories because my Haggis is roughly the same size (though far cuter) as those fictitious creatures. And thanks to an acquaintance telling me about Wildschooling, my Haggis is just as wild at the mythical beasts in those stories.

For years I complained that NYC doesn’t have enough green spaces. I bitched and moaned at the idea of a child of mine growing up surrounded by pavement. And then I got pregnant and was reminded repeatedly that NYC has landvættir and thriving green spaces.

Brooklyn isn’t as wild as the spaces I frequented in my youth back in the Pacific Northwest, but it has secret bits of nature that consistently take me by surprise. Our neighborhood has lawns with actual grass and trees every few feet. There are birds and flowers of all shapes and colors. In the summer dragonflies are everywhere and a train ride 20 minutes in either direction can land us at Prospect Park (and it’s zoo) or Coney Island (which has an aquarium).

Haggis doesn’t have a lot of woods to run around in and he doesn’t get to plant a garden with Da as we’d envisioned, but he gets to touch trees and walk to see the fish pond down the street. He gets to run around in a park where our kindred has been leaving offerings and honoring landvættir for a handful of years.

He’s learning and growing so much and this city and it’s wights are helping to shape the person he will become.

Now if only they’d help me teach him not to lick the low fences around trees.

 

We: Himself & I.

In 2011 I promised Loki I would make him a batch of cupcakes using a really tasty sounding spice cake recipe I found online.

I can’t find the recipe anymore and spice cake mix is oddly thin on the ground in NYC but I finally – finally – made Himself some cupcakes. I used funfetti instead of spice cake and the frosting was a mix of blue and green store-bought instead of the whiskey and caramel butter cream I envisioned eight years ago. These have sprinkles and raspberry jam filling and are, frankly, way more indicative of my relationship with Loki than the other cupcakes would have been.

Haggis helped mix the ingredients and scooped out some of the batter. It was a family affair and, even if I do say so myself, the final product is nice.

I meant to make a dozen large cupcakes but after they were all measured out I noticed that there was just enough batter left for Loki to get himself a small cake as well. I’ll admit that I laughed when I realized that he was getting more than I bargained for. That’s also indicative of our relationship.

I have no idea what else I should write so I will end with this:

Hail Scar-Lip.

Hail Flame hair.

Hail Loki, you magnificent pain in the ass.

I love you.