No Frith With Bullies

Yesterday in one of the regional Heathen groups I am part of on Facebook, someone asked if anyone could recommend a more conservative Heathen group/kindred/space for ritual. Because all the groups they’d met thus far are too liberal. Too leftist. Too anti-Trump.

If you don’t know, Heathenry is one of the more conservative branches of paganism. Racism and bigotry have a significant role in the personal practices of a decent portion of the Heathen population of the United States. So that person’s comments about too liberal and too leftist people being hard to share a horn with hit the some of the folks in the group pretty hard. Lazily phrased or not, a dog whistle is still a dog whistle.

The person also made it clear that they’re unwilling to let go of the swastika just because some “mad man in Germany used it.”

Before you tell me that some Eastern European groups are trying to reclaim it, I need you to know that I don’t care. I live in Brooklyn, where one in four people is Jewish. My neighborhood is distinctly Jewish. The building next to mine is a yeshiva. There are five synagogues within walking distance from my home. My polling place is a Jewish Community Center.

The thought of the fear and anger that my neighbors would feel at the sight of that awful symbol on display is heartbreaking.

I don’t know most of the people in my building, let alone the people in my neighborhood. But I will absolutely stand between them and anyone who would do them harm. Not because the Havamal says to but because my mother raised me to stand up to bullies.

And that person in the Facebook group was a bully. A bully who proudly stated that they voted for Trump.

The regional Facebook group has just over 700 members, and I have stood in ritual space with at least 200 of them. I have shared meals with them and played with their kids. I have purchased their art and listened to their stories and songs around a fire. I have witnessed their tears and laughter. I have shared my wyrd with them. Some of them I barely know, but others are My People, my family.

So when I saw this person who I had never met post in the regional group for our community that they had voted for the man who hates a HUGE portion of our community and would do it again…well. I was taken aback.

My greater regional community is more conservative than they are liberal, and at times that frustrates me. I know that a lot of them likely voted for Trump. Some of them might do it again. But I hope that when they step into their polling places in November, they remember what I said to that person who didn’t want to share a horn with leftists and anti-Trumpers even as they demanded our hospitality:

There are disabled people in this community. There are LGBTQ+ people in this community. There are BIPoC in this community. There are people of Jewish backgrounds in this community. There are neurodivergent people in this community.

Like it or not the political is personal for most of the people in this community. Wyrd means something to a lot of us too.

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.

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.