Kith and Kin

I just have to get this out of my system.

Trying to work my way through a (by now, late) *D* post for the Pagan Blog Project, I keep thinking I should share this one thing.

If you look back at my Open Letter post, you’ll know that “somewitch got mad at me” back in the day and “yelled into the darkness” that all sorts of hellishness befall me.  Following that, I got all sorts of unexpected and much needed blessings.

I can only assume something similar is happening again. Only now, I don’t need anything – but I’m getting divine Tiffany’s boxes all the same.

The mailman brought me an unexpected, unsought, unforseen check for 2x my mortgage payment (nearly 8% of my annual income). It came from a refund resulting from a random audit of on an eight-year-old legal transaction. Talk about audits-ending-in-legal-action gone right!

While I’m not in need of cosmetic procedures, TBW has no problem with a solid facial now and then. While taking the Eldest to a dermatologist appointment (for a benign issues, no worries folks), I was randomly selected by the aesthetistician for a free full-on spa-day complete with sandblasting, spackle, and reinflating the tires.[1]

Those are nice presents, but the best gifts I’ve gotten in the past two weeks have been blood. Hooo, boys and girls, The Bad Witch’s sister called her out of the blue – literally on a Tuesday – just to say, “I love you, baby sister.” Tell ya what – you can have everything else as long as I can keep that. Then she offered to bring me chickens and art.[2] We are a strange brood.

I also found – or rather was found by – a cousin on a local Pagans page on Facebook. She and I were *tight* as teenagers. I’m overjoyed to be back in regular contact with her, of course. But I’m even more overjoyed that this contact has revealed that I have a set of openly Pagan family members. Like the denouement of a Keanu Reeves film, one wild and seemingly impossible revelation after another, lead me to a week of: “Waaaaaaiiiiiit a minute . . . do you mean to tell me . . . ?”

  • The giant cauldron in Auntie Milly’s yard is *not* for soup?
  • Auntie Mame makes multi-county famous healing potions? And her daughter, and granddaughter have the family book of what??
  • Those weren’t “just any masons” at Uncle Coop’s funeral?
  • All the stuff I teased about Momma calling gran’s “Indian Ways” are no joke to the rest of my kin?[3] My mom is actually the odd-man-out? (Wrap your head around that for a minute. Then help me get my head wrapped around it. I thought I was the black sheep. I’ve been Jacob’s Spotted Sheep all along![4])
  • Yes, it kinda does explain why there was no infant mortality during The Great Depression and in Lower Appalachia in our rather sizable family.

Hot damn. The Bad Witch comes by it honest. Of the whole big family, less-than a third of the families are actually non-Pagan. And aside from Momma, those are preachers (even the women). My mind is blown in the best possible way.

I may need to get on my dad’s family’s Facebook page more often.[5] Who knows what I’ll learn.

This is all to say, if you’ve been cast as a bad witch and a bad witch starts casting at you? Chin up. Energy is energy. If you surround yourself with goodness, the bad shit can’t land on you. Especially not if you swift that energy into your realm of goodness. (Now where did I put that spell-post?). Like the end of Sleeping Beauty (Disney, 1959) where the fairies turn rocks into bubbles, arrows into flowers, and boiling oil into a rainbow. If it starts raining, it will be like a Skittles commercial. The Bad Witch says open wide!

[1] The gods sure do know how to make a Bad Witch feel like Miss Pagan Homecoming Queen. So – to whomever cast that energy out there for me, thanks!

[2] Fertilized eggs from the coolest bred chickens I’ve ever seen, an incubator, and paintings – painted by The Bad Sister to be sold at a local Pagan art fair. “Anything I can do to help you out.”

[3] “Youse Guys” is *not* something I picked up from living in Chicago for 30 years? The Gaga is not idiosyncratic to just my family? “Sav” is short for “savage” not “salve”? Likewise it’s “savy” not “savvy.” Yup. I’m an Apple.

[4] In Genesis, Jacob takes the spotted apportionment of Laben’s flock as Rachel’s dowry. Some folks say Jacob was being magnanimous to Laben. I say Jacob was a smart son’a’bitch. Spotty sheep are heartier than white ones. Let Laben have his vanity. Jacob needed robust sheep.

It’s always good to know the whole Bible story when we reference them. It’s also good to know the context of a tale. Just knowing who’s whose son is one thing and something we can look up on Wikipedia (which is always right, I know) – knowing what that son is notorious for having done (and his later relationship to slavery) is quite another thing. It usually requires having read a few, um, books.

Funny – Auntie Lot (no kidding) called me Little Benjamin –while Momma called me Little Heathen.

[5] Yea, his family is a big deal. Yea, we were among the first to settle the colonies. Yea, we have a well-documented history with the Cherokee nation. Yea, we have a FB page with hundreds of family members all posting stuff like, “This is my grandma’s picture; she’s 80 with hardly any wrinkles. Who out there looks like us?” and “I’m looking for descendants of Uncle Aster to get together for his 100th birthday.” It’s good to know one’s real-real roots.