Issue #54 - October 31st - November 6thOld friends and the reason why
Sister Janice to the Rescue
Samhain
Mystic Dick The Barmy Salami
Tales From The Frontline (Part 3)
When Bob Met Mommy and Daddy, part two
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Old friends and the reason whyShe was not smiling the last time I saw her, snow swirling about our feet and against the screen door through which we said goodbye. We were deep in the clutches of a Carroll County winter, and the skies at night were blacker than ever; you could almost see the northern lights, and it drove you crazy thinking you were hallucinating. It was not surprising, the lack of a smile, because Joanna never really smiles. She laughs suddenly when she’s amused, sometimes - more of a shout, really. When we were first friends, I thought it was the sign of a great and poetic soul - not smiling. One of these depressed geniuses. But then, I was sixteen. Her plane left the next day for Ireland - it was the 7th time in about as many years, and there had been several 6-8 month periods where she had lived there, or other places, like New York, or Baltimore. She never lived in the same place more than a year, and her average job lasted months at most. I couldn’t count the times she’d moved away and come back. Each time I cried myself to sleep for a few nights, and wondered how I was going to reconstruct my world, but sometime around the third move I stopped holding my breath. Walking in the black night, that winter, you could see a dim flicker of greenish white above the tops of the pines. It was always brighter when you weren’t looking, and most of the time you couldn’t even be sure it was there. So the days slipped by, and the snow got deeper, and there came word that Jo had gone to Italy to find herself there. And there were letters from other old friends, too, or word of them - weddings, funerals, children - this one engaged, that one disappeared, one even shot herself. They moved everywhere -- to California, New York, Oklahoma... I was lookin’ at old albums a lot that winter, wondering why people scatter so, and what they are all searching for, and what it means. Can they still mean anything to you, your friends, when they are lit like halcyon particles in the night, streaming to the ends of the earth, searching desperately for some kind of peace in their souls, always on the move? Do you have a place in your heart for those you love when they have made it clear, time and again, that the importance of their destiny overrules any ties they may have? Every day, our sun throws out billions of tiny charged particles at a speed of 400-700 kilometers an hour. These lost pieces of radioactivity become a streaming solar wind that whips about Earth’s magnetic fields and coalesces into brilliant flickering lights during the winters of both hemispheres. They are too far apart from each other ever to be seen or given notice, but somehow when they hit that belt of magnetism they draw together and shine amazingly. The northern lights. They are beautiful, these friends; and they know what they want, even though what they want is always different from what they wanted yesterday. Oh, Joanna. Change the scene, shake up the cards, move to a different village, different faces, different places, another chance to dramatize, to revolutionize her world. So we love them, even though they never seem to stay long enough for us to connect, because we were friends once, and because we loved them, and because we hope they find what they are looking for. Some people, when they are discontent, search their souls for the answer, but others begin to run, and sometimes they never stop running. All we can do is respect that choice. Jo is coming into town again tomorrow, before she’s off to Philadelphia 5 days later, and Italy after that. I will not cry. Well she says it’s only a matter of time
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Sister Janice to the RescueSister Janice is the Friends Of The Heroes agony aunt. She used to be a nun, but after becoming involved in an accident at her convent involving a papal emissary; the mother superior; the convent dog and a bottle of 'citrus fresh' bleach, she decided it was time to find herself a new career. These days she travels through the galaxies in a converted garden shed. Write to Sister Janice Slejj care of Friends of the Heroes. She will answer your problems and questions with the insight unique to a disco-loving alternative-gardening defrocked clergy member and cosmic adventurer...
Hello there, my little asteroids of adventure.
Eventually, I woke up on the floor of The Space Shed, after a difficult night, confronting Roger, my Cosmic Adventuring Companion, about his drinking problem. It turns out he had left me the following note.
Bored of being nothing, and being miserable. Went out to be nothing, and be happy. Don't get up, assume I'm still on board, and fly off into space. I'm not like you, and I'd get scared if I was marooned on a strange planet. Even this one. Especially this one, because I'm not ready to lose myself forever. Not just yet.
As I woke up, my dears, I of course remembered that I had a class to attend several light-years away from our current location, and that, in order to appeal to the denizens of the solar system to which I would be travelling, it was advisable to present them with a well-made space-cocktail. The class was a FANTASTIC success. The creatures all appreciated the True Healing Potential inherent in disco music, and by the end of it they were all joining me, flinging themselves around The Space Shed in abandon, and performing some bizarre ritual which, I'm told, had something to do with worshipping one of their more obscure Gods - one that takes the shape of a giant macadamia nut and, well, sits in a bowl not doing very much, from what I can tell. We celebrated with a couple of space-cocktails, and of course I joined in, not wishing to appear rude. I must have had something bad to eat, though, because I passed out, and woke up five days later.
Somebody was knocking at the door of the space-shed. A telegram. I didn't think they delivered those in space, but sure enough there was a little pink thing holding it out -
'Janice. You can imagine my shock when I realised he'd gone and got himself STUCK in such a situation. I only wish I could remember how to fly this thing. Roger always did that. I think it involves pulling a few levers, and pushing a few buttons, but I've already crashed into a few indignant space-cyclists, and narrowly missed what appeared, to all intents and purposes, to be a giant vibrator, floating aimlessly through space. I'm really not good at this, but I'm going to have to learn.
I have to get back to him, so that he knows it was all a terrible mistake. What, precisely, does 'in a dancing girl' mean?
I'm afraid I can't solve any more problems this week - a woman only has so much power, even a Cosmic Adventuring Advice Dispenser isn't entirely superhuman.
That boy needs a responsible adult at all times - I shudder to think how he'll cope without my guiding influence.
Yours, to the rescue,
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SamhainLong before I knew I was a witch, Halloween meant more to me than even Christmas. That's saying alot for a greedy American kid in the height of the abundance, that was the 50's. I loved the costumes, the cold and the scent of smoke in the air, the idea of spirits and dead things, and the idea that I might be able to comunicate with them. I knew that Nov. 1st was all saints day, and I knew that "the church" had covered over pagan holidays with their own. So it just made sense that Halloween must be a pagan holiday. I took alot of not so guilty pleasure dressing up and going from house to house.....not for the candy, but for wanting to be outside on a night that felt full of possiblities, where I saw things from the corner of my eyes, and felt a touch on my shoulder or a cool breath on my neck. I knew they were spirits. My learning that I was a witch came directly from these experiances. They were proof. I will never forget the first time I read of Samhain and realized that so many years before, I had begun this journey, to become a part of the pagan comunity. Even more important, I was beginning my journey towards my true self. I remember that as I read those simple lines [about Samhain being the beginning of the year for pagans and a time when the veil was thinest] my hands shook with joy. I had often been told by my mother I was "different"- she put an emphasis on that word. Sometimes it hurt and sometimes I was proud of it. She was right though. I was seeing and feeling things many others wouldn't or couldn't. Over the years this holiday has become even more full of possiblities. It is a time that I can honor my ancestors. I had always thought it strange that we [meaning Americans, I guess] don't have a holiday to honor our familes. If you look at the calendar, besides the Christian and Jewish holidays, all we have are Thanksgiving, Labor Day, and Veterans Day as well as presidents birthdays. Seems we honor work and politics more than anything else, but thats another subject! It is also a time I can commune with many other forms of life. I still try to spend most of my time outdoors on this day. As modern pagans we have a hodge podge of ideas, some leftover from ancient times and some new ideas. We are left to figure out how to celebrate this day, mostly on our own. I believe that our most important resourse, is the thoughts and feelings residing in our hearts. We have memories passed down to us from our ancestors, not just eye and hair color. It is these that we can draw from, especially in our celebration of Samhain. My kids don't share most of my views, but they all celebrate Samhain with me We make a meal. This year it will be Potato Soup with lots of onion and ground beef, homemade apple buns that my grandma taught me to make. We will also have salad, cheese and pickles, a non alchoholic chardonay for me, likely beer and whiskey for those that indulge, and the ever popular, baby formula for our newest family member. We set an altar with a black felt, flowers, a plate and bowl and several cups to share our dinner in honor of and for our ancestors. We also light a main candle. We have several tea lights so that anyone who cares to can light it to honor a specific person. It is a very special occaision with some solem and teary moments. I am very proud to have raised three kids who have such a reverance for family and ancestors. I think about how the many different countries and races have come together in my family. On this night, I can often see, just out of the corner of my eye, the big messy Swede, the japenese woman, the Scot in full dress kilt, the barefoot Indian in turban, the portugese sailor and the african slave woman. All these and more come and visit us. It is a family feast like no other. With my kids marrying and grandchildren here, we have many more ancestors visiting us. Now as you see, I am sentimental and just now, a little teary and so very grateful for all those who went before me. Who gave me green eyes, big strong german arms, a straight back, and the abilities to see in different ways, remembering the past while holding my baby granddaughters in my arms. My birthday being at the same time of year I think is no accident. I think I came back purposely in October. This year I am 50. This year I am coming more into my true self, in ways I had never imagined. This year, I am again reborn as the Crone. Thank you for the opportunity to share these many words with you. My wish for all of you in your coming year is to find joy in the everyday miracles, and the ability to transform your sorrows into strengths.
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Mystic Dick The Barmy SalamiThe story of Mystic Dick is not a long one but an interesting one. It begins with a young boy of three years of age being lost in a farmyard. Now his parents, were either stupid or couldn't be bothered, because they never found him and it was left to the pigs to raise him. The young lad had wandered into their sty, and there he stayed for the next ten years or so. It was a happy childhood for Dick and by the age of thirteen he could grunt and fight for food with the biggest and best of his brothers and sisters. But as is the way of all things, everything good must end, and he had to move on and find his way in the world. Thirteen and nowhere to go. He ended up in care and was forced to go to school lessons where he learnt to talk and walk upright. He managed to get an O- level in woodwork and one in food science but could not wait to move on to something new. At sixteen he got a place at stage school but that never worked out. He was always cast as a sheep in the Christmas nativity play and always messed up his lines by grunting instead of the making the customary bleating noise (sometimes you can't help going back to your roots). He also had two left feet and on one occasion, when the school put on a production of Fame, he knocked out half the cast when he tried to do the splits on stage. So at the age of eighteen he left the school for pastures new. He wandered about the world looking for a place to call his own when he came across the great one who's name was mad Alf and he moved in with him at his place a nice little dumpster outside the back door of a curry house. 'Why was Alf the great one?' I hear you ask. Well Alf had a talent. He could get money out of people without them suspecting it. Ok, most of the time it consisted of using a brick or a stick and a lot of bashing, but it worked and it kept the two of them going in curry's and the mystic brew known as tennants super lager. And it was one night, while on the mystic brew, that Dick found out he had the gift and he could see things that nobody else could. At first he was terrified to say anything to anybody but as the nights went on and the visions grew he eventually told Alf who knew exactly what to do. Alf, who was a shrewd business man, went straight to the army navy store and bought a nice four man tent (as size dose matter in this case), a folding picnic table, two folding chairs, a crystal ball, changed Dicks name by de-poll… Mystic Dick was born. Life was hard in the beginning as shortly afterwards he was left alone as Alf was taken away in a big white van and held at Her Majesties pleasure where he remains to this day. So what did Dick do then well he kept the business going and is still going strong to this day, he now travels the country passing on his wisdom and light to members of the public( whether they want it or not) and is seen at all the big parties and functions, he has passed on wisdom to many famous people and can be seen wandering from town to town in his mystical trench coat and sandal's . Some people think he is just a tramp but beware and not cross him as his powers run deep. So the next time you are out and about and a grubby old man asks you for fifty pence for a cup of tea and tells you something listen because you never know it could be him, it might even change your life and yes he will buy mystic brew instead of tea but hey he has to keep his powers going. We hope soon that he will start to write horoscopes and place them here for all you lucky readers but at the moment we are having trouble locating him. but as soon as we do you can bet he will be up for it.
Tales From The Frontline
The story so far: Bob and Paul went to Nottingham for a football match. They are in a city centre pub. We are not yet at the point where they actually watch the match. Bob's wife is still threatening to leave him. Paul becomes another person for the duration of a conversation with a minorly attractive female whilst Bob delights in a minor thigh-rubbing incident with an affluent 40-something. And they are steadily getting drunk. We continue… Part Three
"Eng-er-land Eng-er-land Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land Eng-er-land Eng-er-laa-and, Eng-er-land Eng-er-land Eng-er-land, Eng-er-lahnd ENG-ER-LAND!" Even more extraordinary is the power that 22 men kicking a pigs bladder about a field with curious white marks on it has on the nations psyche. As England and Turkey emerge from the tunnel for the start of the match, the entire pub forgets about the dishevelled Rick Waller clone (apart from the bouncers that is, who feel it is their job, their duty, to clamp down on such obscene affronts to public decency) and turn as one to the giant big TV screen that dominates one side of the pub. It is, to all intents and purposes, our own Mecca, our own stab at heaven.
"Yer fuckin see that?! Come on ref, yer fuckin' dick." Silence. Never had 500 grown men sobered up so quickly. David Beckham's nonsensical penalty miss was met by a collective shuffling of feet and sinking of hearts. It was, without a doubt, the worse penalty that any of us had ever seen. I looked at Bob. He looked at me. Not a word was spoken. It seemed as if, in those calamitous few moments after Golden Ball's penalty had sailed high into the Istanbul twilight, that the whole weight of the world fell upon our tired shoulders. It was as if we were witnessing the symbolic shredding of Empire all over again. England, our England, resorting to falling over itself, kicking at mud and air. I nodded at Bob, he, as much as I, aware of the symbolic significance of Beckham's penalty miss. "Mmmghhh…mmghgg…get out the…mgmhghhh…blurrrhhgggggghhhh" The funny thing, I thought, as Bob's puke cascaded out of his mouth, was that somehow carrots had got into the mixture. And Bob doesn't even like carrots. The referee blew for half time…. To be continued… +++Back to top+++ Back to current issue+++
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