Homemade Holiday Gifts:

The Best Intentions Don’t Always Count

I have to say that the best types of Holiday gifts are handmade. The thought, the time, the creativity put into them brings to fruition a tangible object to remind you of that person’s caring and presence in your life.

So, another year has gone by and I do not have all the hand-made gifts prepared for my family.

What’s new?

What is that saying about the road being paved with good intentions?

Well, I wouldn’t say I’m going to hell, but – me in a nutshell – I have all this ambition to do wonderful things, but in the end they just never get done.

I have all these wonderful ideas saved on Pinterest, bookmarked on my web browser, and even printed out and left getting crinkled and stained on my kitchen island at home. All these ideas, collecting dust and becoming tarnished in the back of my mind – it’s no wonder I always feel like I’m forgetting to do something.

This year, I had it in mind to create something wonderful for everyone in my family from herbs and plants I grew in my very own garden. However, the rainy summer season didn’t leave me with much to use. Not to mention, what little time I had when I wasn’t working was used for harnessing my writing, raising my children, and trying to keep that one scrap of energy left for my wonderful, loving, partner in crime – husband.

One of my favorite places for herbal remedies and creative ideas is Mountain Rose Herbs. Not only do they give you recipes and ideas, but they even have most of the ingredients. Remember that quality and standards are always important as well. The herbs you get from Mountain Rose Herbs are grown by them and/or ethically sourced, not farmed in some 3rd world country with children harvesting and fertilizing the products with their tears….(shivers down my spine).

If you can’t find supplies there, you can find them on Amazon, sometimes even cheaper. Things like fancy jars, droppers, decorative ribbons and such are easily found on Amazon.

Here are some gift ideas I had for this year that never came to be.

How to Make Natural Fire Starters


Possible herbs, spices and resins:

Other supplies and ingredients:

  • Cupcake Papers
  • Beeswax (2 cups of beeswax pastilles or about 230 grams will make about 12 fire starters)
  • Candle wick or string—12 pieces cut to about 4 inches
  • Parchment paper


  1. Begin heating beeswax in a double boiler.
  2. Place cupcake papers in a cupcake pan.
  3. Fill cupcake liners 1/4 to 1/2 full with herb mixture of choice. (You’ll want to reserve your more beautiful herbs for the topping, so I like to use evergreens, herbal powders, resins and orange peel in the bottom of the liners).
  4. Once beeswax is melted, dip your wicks to lightly coat with wax and set aside on parchment paper.
  5. Begin pouring rest of melted wax over the herbs in the cupcake liners until it just covers the material (about 2-3 tablespoons each).
  6. Using a cinnamon stick or chop stick, push a wick down to the bottom of each cupcake paper OR create a U-shape with the wick and stuff both ends all the way down. You can then snip after drying to create a double-wick for faster burning.
  7. Add your more decorative ingredients on the top and allow to fully cool.
  8. Snip your wicks to about 1 inch.

Pro Tips

  • Pouring three fire starters at a time makes it easy to check on them as they begin to dry. Sometimes the wicks need rebalancing.
  • If your mixture dries before you can add your toppings, you can pop the cupcake pan in the oven on the lowest settling to melt the wax.
  • Cleaning a beeswax mess is always a common question! The best way is to melt the wax on your utensils or cupcake pan and then wipe away with a disposable rag or paper towel. Then you can wash it with soap and hot water.
  • You can fill the cupcake papers all the way if you’d like, but they take much longer to burn and if you’re looking to get your fire going faster, I recommend only filling to the 1/4 or 1/2 mark.

Living in the North County, upstate New York, a lot of my family members use wood heat, so this kind of gift would be ideal…

Another homemade gift idea for some relaxation, and “me-time” for my loved ones, would be a fancied up recycled jar with bath bomb “yummies” inside.

Fizzing Lavender Bath Bomb Powder

Makes enough for one bath.



  1. In a bowl, combine baking soda and lavender essential oil and stir to combine.
  2. Add citric acid, lavender flowers, and jojoba oil. Mix thoroughly.
  3. If making ahead, store in airtight container in cool, dark area away from moisture and out of the reach of children and pets.

To Use: Pour the mixture in the bath after the tub is filled to take full advantage of the fizz

HECK! I MIGHT EVEN JUST MAKE THIS FOR MYSELF (said in a Harry Caray voice – you do remember who Harry Caray is, right?)

So I guess the next couple of weeks are going to involve the usual scrounging to buy gifts for everyone….wish me luck!

The Power of an Acorn

While wandering the cemetery of Sleepy Hollow, my husband and I came upon a grave with two young girls’ names on it. I can’t remember their names or how old they were, but something drew me closer to the stone. That is, until my little dog Gilda started barking at it. I was amused and curious as to what could have triggered her to bark, and I was reaching my hand towards the stone when my husband called out.

“I wouldn’t if I were you. If she doesn’t like that stone it probably means something.” My husband, ever the realist, yet underneath, believes in something more went on to warn me. “If you bring some bad MOJO home, you’re on your own.”

So, we moved on, in search of the Revolutionary War memorial, Rockefeller’s grave, and Carnegie’s grave.

Walking along I came across some acorns and, out of instinct, reached down and grabbed a few to put in my pocket. At the time, I thought maybe they would be a sort of protection against any negative spirits. Looking it up now, I see they carry much more power with them.

According to whitewitchparlour.com

Acorn Magick

Alchemyinctarot.com uses them throughout the year sustainably.

Witchy Tip

And according to deviantart.com Acorns symbolize “Change, growth, hidden secrets, strength, good luck, protection, wisdom, and personal power. A dried acorn is an excellent natural amulet for keeping a youthful appearance.”

Book of Shadows: Herb Grimoire - Acorn

With this being said, I believe I will hold on to these acorns, keep a couple on my window and, perhaps, try to make one into a necklace or just hold on to it as a worry stone, of sorts. Then, this summer maybe I will try to plant them and see what comes to bloom.

If anything, at least it will be a beautiful reminder of a lovely getaway with my husband.

See his apprehension in the background? I had my acorns at this point and felt much more confident in our safety.

An Historical Weekend Away

Dating my Husband

Another lovely holiday here and gone and way too much food eaten….I’m still eating it.

After Thanksgiving with my family my husband and I left our children with my mother, Noodle, as they call her, and took off for a VERY belated honeymoon. We haven’t been away, just the two of us, since 2015 or 16, and we were married in 2019, so we were due for a getaway.

Our destination? Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown, NY.

I was a little disappointed. We had come during the off season so a lot of the things I wanted to see were closed or just not happening. The TaSh Farmers Market, which had been previously listed as running was nowhere to be found at Patriots Park. The threat of snow and the cold winds must have put an early halt to that.

The Tarrytown Music Hall was closed too. I really wanted to take a paranormal investigation tour.

Haunting stones of Sleepy Hollow

We even missed the last tour at the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, but that was still fun hiking through and looking up Rockefeller and Carnegie’s grave sites. I even grabbed some acorns for sacred protection after Gilda kept barking at a gravestone of two sisters buried side-by-side.

“If all is not well, yet all is coming well. In this faith we find peace.” Words that resonate today.
Carnegie’s tombstone was so much smaller than the younger Rockefeller brother’s.
Is she waiting for him?
The winding path of life and death.
Hollowed out stump in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery – looks kind of like a heart for loved ones lost.

We stayed at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel in Tarrytown, which may have been one of my favorite parts of the trip. Just lazing around in a hotel with no responsibilities – except for letting little Gilda, our 9 month old Morkie, out to relieve herself.

The first morning, we found a cute diner downtown to get some coffee and, for me anyway, load up on carbs to get us through a day of walking.

Our first order of business was a walking tour of the Lyndhurst Mansion. It was no Biltmore, as my husband said, but it was still beautiful. Full of art, books, history, and the essence of the 3 families who left items every time they sold. Since it was a summer home, they didn’t feel the need to move all their furniture when they left.

Lyndhurst Mansion
Entrance Hall
William Paulding Jr.

William Paulding Jr. hired Alexander Jackson Davis to design and build what was first known as the “Knoll” mansion, which was completed in 1842 as a gothic style summer home on the Hudson.

Oldest piece of art in in the mansion
Ichabod Crane courting Katrina

In 1864, George Merritt purchased and rehired Davis to double the size of the mansion and renamed it Lyndenhurst (later shortened to Lyndhurst) after all the Lynden trees Merritt had planted on the property. He also built the massive greenhouse on the property, which made a brief appearance in the filming of the 1971 picture, House of Dark Shadows.

Tiffany meets the Angel of the Arts
Royal slumber
Sleeping beneath the stars

Jay Gould purchased Lyndhurst, and updated the interior design in 1880. The mansion stayed in the Gould family passing down from daughter to sister before Anna Gould, Duchess of Talleyrand-Perigord passed in 1961, bequeathing the estate to the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

Beauty and splendor from tip to toe
My Big-Daddie-Time looking at Grandfather-Time

Between the Lyndhurst tour and our adventures through the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, we were pooped! A bottle of wine, some take out Italian, and we were passed out in front of a college football game in our cozy hotel room.

All in all, the rekindling, or rather, reminding of how much we enjoy each other’s company might have been the biggest take-away from our trip. The drive, the walks and the lazy evenings brought us closer, and reminded us that we are first and foremost, best friends.

So Happy Together
My Rock beneath this testament-of-time tree

The best words of advice I ever got from someone when I got married – “Never stop dating each other.”

The Unwanted Pilgrimage of Angeline

I could hear the screams of my family as I ran through the woods, my dark hair catching in the branches that seemed to reach for me as I made my escape. Just like theirs. They had reached for me through the flames as the townsfolk had lit the pier under their feet. The spit and sweat hissed in the crackling orange and blue as their cries grew louder and then out of breath.

I did what any 15 year old, scared child would do. I ran. Ran before anyone knew I was there, before they knew I was the one who should burn. Me, not them.

The smoke was rising and I could see it over the trees when I made it to the other side of the thicket and found sanctuary in the caves at the bottom of the mountains. I could hear thunder rumbling in the distance and knew that the heavens were just as angry as I. I wanted to voice my anger into the clouds, but fear kept me from harmonizing with the earth quaking blasts that still couldn’t drown out the pleas of my dying mother, father and little sister.

I don’t know how I made it out of there alive, or how long I had stayed in those caves, but the laughter of men pulled me from my cocoon of stone. I knew I shouldn’t reveal myself. What if they recognized me? Yet, something inside, maybe it was my destiny, pulled me up and pushed me forward. At the entrance to the cave four red coats were sitting around a small fire playfully picking on each other and having a clasping each other around the shoulders, the way men do.

The smell of tea and meat must have been what drew me, because my stomach immediately began to speak. Even the men could hear it, for they jumped up from their stone seats with their hands on their weapons. All except for one who stretched his arm towards me with a piece of bread that I savagely snatched before retreating into the shadows of my cave.

The other men, still weary, but curious as to who could have been hiding in this cave without them knowing, leaned towards me as I shoved as much bread in my mouth as I could.

“Would you like a drink?” the soldier who had offered me some bread asked. I could see his blue eyes and pale face peering at me through the shelter of the shadows.

He held out a sack for me to drink from, which I cautiously grabbed, withdrew again and guzzled, washing the smoke from my throat. The alcohol immediately went to my head, but when I had my fill and the soldiers still hadn’t moved I felt my confidence rise. I slowly made my way out of the depths of the cave towards the stunned gentlemen. It was only as I came into the sunlight that I realized how young they were.

Four young redcoats, possibly 12 – 15, their guns then relaxed by their sides as they took in the site of my very dirty, cold, tattered figure. My skirts had been torn to ribbons in my flight through the woods, and my dark hair, usually done up under a my cap, stood out all around me like I had been struck by lightning.

It was the blue eyed gentleman, the eldest of the group, who spoke first.

“You must be cold,” he said holding his hand out to me. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”

I took his hand and stepped down from my perch of rocks and into the folds of the red quartet as they all started chatting in whispers as they stared me down. They didn’t know what to make of the crazy mess before them.

Only the kind, blue eyed boy looked into my eyes and tried to converse.

“You have such dark eyes, I can hardly tell where the center ends and the color begins,” he said, tentatively hooking his finger under my chin to tilt my face up towards the light.

Standing next to each other, we were a yin and yang of blond vs. black, blue vs. deep, dark brown. But the touch of his finger against the skin of my jaw made me jump, my tattered hem sweeping into the fire. The next thing I knew, I was on fire.

I screamed as a vision of my sister, orange red licking over her body as she straining against the rope tying her to the steak, and she reached towards me, pleading for help.

Luckily, the fair soldier was quick to act, squatting down in the dirt to put my skirts out, but it was too late. My sister’s desperation still was still inked onto the backs of my eyes as the smell of burning singed my nostrils…again. The electricity shot to my head, which was too tired and tortured for any more bursts of adrenaline, and I fainted to the ground.

When I awoke I found myself moving. I jumped upright, not understanding how I had come to be wherever I was, but was immediately thrown down again by the movement of my surroundings.

I felt like a caged animal, enclosed in canvas above and wood beneath my dirt stained palms. My head was spinning as what I realized was a carriage hopped over another bump in the road and came to a halt.

The fair soldier popped his head through the flaps of the moving tent I was in.

“You’re awake!” he said, smiling with his blue eyes crinkling in the corners. “We weren’t sure what to do with you, so we brought you to commander Heath. He’s riding on ahead. I’ll go tell him you’re awake.”

With that the flap of fabric closed again and I was left to gain my bearings.

Images of the cave and the fire were swimming through my head when, like a flash of lightning, my burning family came before me. I curled into a ball and screamed into my lap, but no tears came forth. The blaze must have burned those all up. I felt a tingling in my palms and the bottoms of my feet, but I couldn’t see past the visions of the fiery pier.

The flap of the wagon opened again, revealing a dark, very tall, aflame and decorated in his red coat. His eyes burned into mine and a crooked smile crept up the side of his face.

“This must be the last of the devil’s soldiers that stupid town is quibbling about,” Commander Heath said, with a indignant huff. “You, girl,” he barked at me. “What is your name?”

“Angeline,” I whispered, the sound of my own voice startled me having not uttered a word in days.

“Angeline, you say?” he turned to the fair soldier beside him. “Thomas, make sure she doesn’t leave this wagon. I think we will clean this one up and bring her with us to America.” He turned back to me and smiled again. “Might be fun…”

Freaky Flames: 10 Fire Ghost Photos | Ghosts and Ghouls

The canvas closed in around me as the realization hit that not only would I never see my family again, but this evil man wasn’t going to let me see my home again either.

Ironically, in the end, he would never see home again either, but would be left to freeze to death in Charlottesville, Va with the rest of Burgoyne’s Convention Army. However scared I was then, glimpsing his frozen future at least gave me heart to brave the ride to the coast where I was forced onto a ship to make the long, arduous journey to America.

To be continued….

The Birth of a New Story of an Old Witch

Oh, the life of a writer. Getting inspiration from every day things and getting to put your own spin on it – even pretending you are living those lives you read about and write about.

If only I could live like this 24/7.

I guess I will just have to settle for my little bursts of writing energy when my day-job, family responsibilities, and every day tasks.

Damn these morals….

Yesterday, while on my lunch break, I found a very sad, but very interesting story on Instagram from the lovely Kristin Lisenby’s @eastandalchemy. She talked about an unmarried maid in Dartmoor, UK who committed suicide when she was found she had become pregnant with her deceitful lover’s child. Not only was sex out of wedlock a sin in these days, but committing suicide on top of that was cause for her body to be disposed of, barbarically, outside of town at a crossroads so that her spirit should never be able to find its way home.

Kristin Lisenby’s @eastandalchemy.

Her name was Kitty Jay and her grave, now marked with a stone, can be found with fresh flowers laid upon it. No one knows who brings the flowers, but they are always there.

I looked this mythical story up and it’s true. Click here to see the full story and other Dartmoor legends.

How wonderfully mystical, magical, and downright sad is this story….right up my alley.


It was this story that triggered a memory of a witch’s story a little closer to home. Well, the home of my past – Saratoga Springs, NY, to be exact.

It was in Saratoga back in the late 1700’s, early 1800’s that Angeline Tubbs was also betrayed by a man and cast aside to make her own way in a very harsh and unforgiving world. Angeline first made her living as a trapper, but in the usual fashion, her solitary, independent life was misunderstood and she was deemed a witch by the cruel public.

That’s how witches are born….

She went with it! She started charging people for spells, trinkets and readings.

She was even, unsuccessfully, hung at one point for either being a witch or theft. When the noose broke nobody tried again.

It’s hard to keep her story straight. She seemed to have changed it up to keep up the mystery. She lied about her heritage and age, and told everyone she would die when the last of her 21 cats died. According to different historical Saratogian articles and her obituary, she was found in 1863 dead in her bed with her last cat.

Here is another woman, betrayed by the man she loved and finding solace in her death was able to give one final F.U. to those who wronged her.

What fascinates me the most about this story though, is the fact that Angeline’s spirit has been seen a few times – perched on the cliffs of Mt. Vista during storms, arms outstretched and screaming to the heavens or unseen spirits.

I picture her to be like Ouiser, from Steel Magnolias. Grumpy, but loving to those who have earned her trust. Her cats, for one. Also, another woman in town, ridiculed by the public because she suffered from dementia.

No man is an island, as the metaphysical poet, John Donne said.

No witch is completely solitary either, I say. I want to write about this woman, this relationship with her fellow outcast, her cats, and the storms she screams in to.

Maybe one of my next posts will be a story.

I can test it out with your guys and see if I should delve further…

What do you think?

The Dangers of Writing

Writing can be a dangerous occupation, especially for an addictive personality.

I read this article this morning about the dangers authors of the past faced.

One of the number one causes of a writer’s demise was the sedentary lifestyle, which can be murder on the body.

Not to mention the overbearing routines of author’s like Franz Kafka, Herman Melville and George Orwell. Who basically worked themselves into weakened states, burning the candle from both ends, as they say.

Then, throw in addictions like Honore de Balzac’s love of caffeine – he OD’d on the stuff, by the way – or Ayn Rand’s use of amphetamines, and you have a mortal combination of success and destruction.

It’s all in the name of literature, wealth, fame, and achievement. The need to create can be overpowering, but the legacy and the fear of becoming forgotten can be even greater motivators.

It’s interesting, Ayn Rand’s use of Benzedrine helped her finish her 2nd book, but at the cost of her mental well being when she almost suffered a complete nervous break down. Yet, she still stuck by her philosophy – Objectivism.

According to the Oxford dictionary, this means that she believed “certain things, especially moral truths, exist independently of human knowledge or perception of them.” It is a “tendency to lay stress on what is external to or independent of the mind.”

Basically, Ayn describes man as unconsciously driven by the pursuit of happiness. He receives validation outside of himself through achievement.

Study.com defines Objectivism as “a system of philosophy created by Ayn Rand [that] has 4 main principles: objective reality, absolute reason, individualism, and laissez-faire capitalism.”

Objective reality – things are still happening even when we do not see, taste, touch, hear, or smell them. Your basic tree falling in the woods and nobody is around to hear it – it still makes a sound.

Absolute reason – faith not included, just like batteries.

Individualism – one person is more important than the whole.

Laissez-faire capitalism – the economy and government are two separate entities and a person can only better their own economic and social standing.

I agree with Ms. Rand that the world is a very selfish place. Everyone seems to be in it for their own good, even charitably, but still making themselves look good in the public eye.

It’s egotistical morality, or “morality of selfish egoism,” as Ari Armstrong explained it.

Jonathan Freedland explained it in The New Age of Ayn Rand: How She Won over Trump and Silicon Valley – “Objectivism, she called it, distilled by her as the belief that ‘man exists for his own sake, that the pursuit of his own happiness is his highest moral purpose, that he must not sacrifice himself to others, nor sacrifice others to himself.’ She had lots to say about everything else too – an avowed atheist, she was dismissive of any knowledge that was not rooted in what you could see in front of your eyes. She had no patience for ‘instinct’ or ‘intuition’ … or any form of ‘just knowing’.”

As a very intuitive person, I have a hard time seeing this or agreeing with her.

So, through her own pursuit of happiness, Ayn Rand almost destroyed herself trying to get her 2nd book written and sent in to the publishers on time. Her mood swings and irritability were nothing compared to her need to get that book published. It was her legacy.

Amphetamines though – the muse of the damned.

I’m all for ambition, but I’m not about to kill myself for a “garden [I’ll] never get to see.” – Hamilton

If you would like to read Ayn’s works or any of these other authors’ life shortening works for yourself, see below for links to purchase from Amazon, and help me become an Amazon Affiliate.

Cheers, and remember to go easy on yourself my fellow story creators and wordsmiths.

Honore de Balzac

Franz Kafka

Herman Melville

George Orwell

Ayn Rand Fountainhead & Atlas Shrugged

A Blast from the Past for THIS Dandelion in the Attic

There I was, going about my day, completely happy with the amount of books stacked precariously on my book shelves and my nightstand, when out of the blue V.C. Andrews flashes before my eyes in a Simon & Schuster e-mail.

I had completely forgotten about that author….

Flowers in the Attic anyone?

I read the whole series back when I was in high school and couldn’t get enough! I’ve forgotten what happened after the first book – it’s been so long – but, thanks to the movie version based on the Flowers in the Attic book, I remember how wonderfully horrible the Dollanganger siblings’ story was. I know it went on to get quite intense when it came to the familial relationships created (I don’t want to ruin this for anyone who hasn’t read it), but I also remember that being my first introduction to romance scenes. Those of you who have read it can understand the parental me’s intake of breath here.

It’s a wonder I have any kind of positive outlook on romance with my literature fetishes back then.

R.L. Stein, V.C. Andrews, John Grisham, Stephen King, Mary Higgins Clark….I was quite the dark “depressed child,” as my friend, Veronica, used to call my tastes.

Let’s discuss, for a minute, the fact that murder, death, incest, magic and violence where a big part of my escapism as a teenager. I think I grew up to be a pretty balanced individual, but maybe I would have had an easier time if I picked some happier fiction to immerse myself in.

Too late now!

If you’re in the mood to get deep and dark, pick up your copy of the Flowers in the Attic Series here.

I know I have been pushing the material world with ads in my blogs lately, but hear me out. You can take care of those on your Christmas lists, help me get my Amazon Affiliate accreditation at the same time, and feel really good about helping a lady out. You know, so I can keep bringing you more uplifting content every day.

Maybe you just want to buy the book or series for yourself and relive your youthful soul-searching days. Crack the spine and bring yourself back to a time in which you couldn’t get your nose out of those books.

I can already see my younger self in one of the middle rows of the school bus, bouncing down the road with my knees pushed up against the sea ahead of me, perfectly comfortable in my cocoon of book-worm-ness.

Maybe you want to know more about this woman, V.C. Andrews, and what kind of person could have written such graphically psychological horrors.

According to the Amazon book description of The Woman Beyond the Attic: The V.C. Andrews Story, ghost written by Andrew Neiderman, “Cleo Virginia Andrews lived a fascinating life. Born to modest means, she came of age in the American South during the Great Depression and faced a series of increasingly challenging health issues. Yet, once she rose to international literary fame, she prided herself on her intense privacy.”

And if you’re REALLY into VC Andrews, or just feeling a bit nostalgic, head over to Facebook.com and look up the OfficialVCAndrews

Oh, to be an author with such an intense following that you need to hide and be considered a “private” person by your adoring fans. Then, flash forward, there is another author who wants to write about YOU! I don’t believe I will ever get to that level, but I am at least grateful for my followers here.


No matter what, I’m grateful.

Finding Meaning and Power Within Myself

Today’s post is brought to you by gratitude and the ability to be flexible to change.

Kristen Bell's CBD brand Happy Dance is parents' latest aid for  pandemic-fueled anxieties | Ad Age
Kristin Bell Happy Dance ad

First of all, let’s all take a breath and a moment to be grateful for the little things. Happy Dance Hand Lotion…..soothing, calming and just down-right yummy on your skin.

It’s a great gift for yourself or your fellow dry handed friends. This is not a plug, I’m just really enjoying my little bottle.

CBD Hand Cream – Happy Dance

Not to mention, Kristin Bell’s name is on the brand and I have found her to be quite the uplifting, comical spirit in my world lately.

Happy Dance is a little on the expensive side, because of the CBD content, but it really makes my hands feel smooth.

One less thing to distract me and worry about –


Now down to the nitty gritty….

I have been dabbling a little in Tarot lately – connecting with my intuition to try and work on the parts of me that need help. – Mentality, mainly, but I know I need to go back on a diet soon too.

Schitts Creek GIF - Schitts Creek David - Discover & Share GIFs

Body shaming is one thing, but being hard on yourself just for what you’re feeling is another.

I don’t know about you, but I always feel like I need to work on me, my reactions to others, and how hard I am on myself.

Anyone else out there with me?

So, I have been journaling, reviewing my cards, and seeing how I can interpret them for some psychological education and anxiety reducing self-actualization.

If you would like to do the same, and follow me in my journey, I would highly suggest using the standard Rider Tarot deck. It’s the most common and goes along with many of your average “how-to” texts. I have been using Mary K. Greer’s 2nd Edition of “Tarot for Your Self: A Workbook for Personal Transformation,” and I’m already enjoying myself in my Tarot and internal education.

So, through Mary K. Greer’s instruction I have found that my personality and soul card are both The Empress.

How did I find this?

Well, I took my birth month, day and year and added them together. Then I took that answer and added each of those digits together to get a number within the 1-22 range, since that’s how many Major Arcana cards are in a Rider-Waite-Smith deck.

Example: If you were born, say October 14, 1947, you would add like so….


Then you add each digit:


So 18 would be your Personality Number.

Then, 1+8=9

So 9 would be your Soul Number.

In some cases, like mine, the first number you get is already a single digit, so you can’t narrow it down anymore. So that number is BOTH your Personality and Soul Number.

Then, using the prime numbers of your Personality and Soul Number, you can find your Hidden Factor or Teacher Cards.

Mine were The World and the Hanged Man.

The World Major Arcana Tarot card.
The Hanged Man Major Arcana Tarot card.
The Hanged Man & The World

So, basically, there is so much for me to learn. My life revolves around love, creative imagination, and nature’s creations.

What does your life revolve around?

I would LOVE to hear what my readers come up with.

Comment, follow, and enjoy.

Social Inadequacy

Another Product of COVID

As a child, when lost in a crowd, we are taught to stay put and wait for our parent(s) to find us. We are told to seek help from a woman with children, or a police officer.

Moira Rose Schitts Creek GIF - Moira Rose Schitts Creek It Depends GIFs
Moira’s back….

But what do you do if you’re lost in a crowd as an adult?

With COVID creating micro-social scenes, a lot of people I know, myself included, have lost the ability to be comfortable in large crowds.

Living in the Adirondacks makes it easier to practice social distancing, while still getting out of your home. Can’t say the same for those poor souls in the city.

If I lived alone, and didn’t have a job, I could probably go for days without talking to anyone.

As an introvert, I don’t think I would mind that so much. It’s easy to find peace, quiet, and solitude in the forest.

However, that just makes reentering the modern world that much harder.

Superstar GIF - Superstar GIFs
In a Mary Katherine Gallagher state over here….

Whenever I have to go into “the city” and the stores are FULL of people, I can feel myself sweating. I can feel my jaw clenching, and part of me freezes and doesn’t want to move for fear of being talked to or, God forbid, bumped into.

It’s that “lost in the crowd” feeling.

I could look around for a woman with children or a police officer, but I don’t think that’s going to help my mental and emotional state right now.

“Anyone have a Xanax?” I could shout down the aisles, but I don’t think that would go over quite well.

What are your coping mechanisms in this crazy COVID world we live in these days?

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Parental Helplessness

Yesterday was a little rough. I started writing a post, but got sidetracked with life.

My youngest, who had RSV last week, but was doing better, spiked a 104 fever last night. RSV is still kicking my poor baby’s butt.

One of the worst parts about RSV is that you can’t really do much about it. Just give them Tylenol and Ibuprofen for the fever and keep ’em hydrated.

Have any of my parent readers had to deal with this with their children?

Did you feel as helpless as I do?