BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yeah, I know… Not exactly patriotic sounding given that this is July 4th and all. But, don’t read anything into that title. I’m NOT unpatriotic. I just don’t like parades.

I used to. Well… Sorta…

I mean, I watched the parades on Thanksgiving Day when I was a kid. We still turn them on in the morning while I am doing the last minute cooking before heading out to visit family. Or, as will be the case this November, the ton of cooking here at home because it’s the everyone goes elsewhere year. Since I have little family left, E K, the O-spring and I do it up big time here at the house. This allows for E K to have leftover turkey, which is one of her all time favorite things, surpassed only by leftover corned beef and leftover “Aunt Ida’s Stew.”

But, I’m getting off track, aren’t I?

When I was a kid my parents took me to see parades. I guess back then, as a child, they held a different kind of meaning, because I didn’t hate them. I wasn’t particularly fond of them, mind you, but I didn’t abhor them as I do these days.

In one case I actually enjoyed a parade. It was sometime around the late 60’s and it was the Christmas parade in “downtown” Fulton, Kentucky. For those of you who aren’t aware, Fulton, Kentucky is from whence I hail. Well, I was born in Fulton. I lived in the neighboring farm community of Water Valley. Of course, then we moved to Saint Louis and… well, there I go getting off track again.

So, the thing is, it was the late 60’s in Fulton, Kentucky. We were standing there watching the parade go past us and along came a contingent of ROTC types, led by a Majorette of sorts.

Now, obviously the picture to the left isn’t her. I mean, after all, that’s a doll in the pic. Not that the Majorette in question wasn’t a doll, because trust me, she was.

However, in this case, since she was leading a bunch of ROTC types, she was dressed in a skimpily “Majorettified” military uniform, complete with the black, vinyl go-go boots of the era. I suspect you could find something that closely approximates her attire by surfing the adult “costume” (wink wink) websites. But, I figured I shouldn’t grab any pics from there. I already get enough porn seeking traffic through here because I write about EKay’s dominatrixishness.

Anywho, on with the show… The doll in question was pretty, wearing a uniform, and man could she twirl that rubber tipped metal stick. Moreover, the baton twirling beauty smiled at me. Granted, she had a parade smile stapled to her face the entire time, but I’m relatively certain she smiled right at me. That’s the way I intend to remember it, at least.

But, after a moment or two she was gone, and the rest of the parade filed by, brought up in the rear by the jolly elf riding a firetruck. As usual,  Santa Claus  was tossing individually wrapped circus peanuts to the crowd. (They tended to survive the fall better than candy canes).

I didn’t get one though.

As the confections showered the onlookers, pelting us in the heads and bouncing onto the streets, bigger kids than me scrambled to collect them. My mom purposely stepped on one so she could save it for me, almost taking out the fingers of some man who had been reaching for it. But, the minute she moved her foot some twelve-year old vulture swooped in and took it. The little bastard.

But, that’s not why I hate parades.

Nope… I hate them because they are long, generally boring when you get right down to it, and they always involve crowds. I don’t do crowds.

But, it doesn’t really matter. I still have my fond memories of that parade all those years ago. Maybe I didn’t get a smashed circus peanut, but I did get a  sandwich at The Whistlin’ Pig (a Fulton, Kentucky institution). And guess what? My uniform wearing, smiling, baton twirling beauty of a Majorette was sitting at the table right next to ours.

More to come…

Murv

The other day a friend of mine (yes, I have friends) told me that a mutual friend had asked him “what had happened to me?” By this she apparently meant, “What life altering experience had slapped me in the back of the head with a 2 by 4 and made me eschew my spiritual path.”

I’ll be honest. This came as a shock to me because I was entirely unaware that I had done so. My spiritual path has grown immensely over the years, but it has never been abandoned. It has been right there with me all along.

Now, granted, I have not “self-identified” as Pagan for quite a long time now. There are numerous reasons for this, none of which we will go into here because my blog is generally a fun place – although, I will admit to soapboxing every now and again. And, as it happens, I will be doing so here today… But, I really don’t want to create too many suds, if you know what I mean, therefore we will stick to one brand of detergent for this missive.

So, anyway, back to “what happened to me”… To be perfectly honest, at the outset I didn’t really think too much about the “question.” After all, it had been years since I’d seen the particular individual who was making the actual query, so I had to assume she was mistaking growth for a “negative change” (in her eyes, at least). But, as it turns out I wasn’t able to keep it on the back burner for long, because soon afterward I started receiving the annual “what’s wrong with you?” emails from other folks…

Yes, I said annual…

You see, not a year goes by that I don’t receive at least a dozen or so queries from folks out there who cannot seem to understand why a guy who writes books about Witches, and who portrays Paganism in general – as well as various specific alternative religious practices – in a positive, and moreover accurate light, would stoop so low as to celebrate *GaSp!* Christmas… After all, anyone with any sense whatsoever can tell you that the historical probability that Jesus – if he even existed – couldn’t possibly have been born on December 25th. But, even more importantly, how dare me, a “Pagan Author,” celebrate a *GaSp!* Christian Holiday. Everyone knows they co-opted our celebration, so why am I choosing to observe it and lend credence to them? Have I *GaSp!* turned into a Christian?

Oh noes… Say it ain’t so!

I’ll be truthful here – At all of this nonsense I would expel a hearty laugh were it not so utterly sad and ridiculous. Instead, I find that I must expel a hearty and saddened sigh, complete with a shake of my head.

You see, what always seems to prompt these emails is the fact that E K, the O-Spring, and I exchange gifts on Christmas morning instead of Yule proper – that being the Winter Solstice. The complaint is, if we were “proper Pagans” we would exchange our gifts on the 21st of the month – or for the truly fundamental, 0 degrees Capricorn – instead of observing a *GaSp!* Christian Holiday.

Yes… Believe it or not, that is the basis of the “what’s wrong with you?” emails I receive each year… Some of them are actually flat out scathing, accusing me of undermining Paganism. Apparently I am a spy sent to infiltrate the ranks of Pagandom and infect it with Christmas Cheer… Who knew? Hell, I’ve even had people tell me they are never going to read my novels again, because obviously I am “not Pagan enough” to warrant their attention.

True story. Really. Even I couldn’t make this sh*t up.

So, allow me to point out a couple of things that might have some bearing on what is wrong with me…

1. My family and I celebrate Christmas as a secular holiday. This means the Coca-Cola Santa Claus and all that jazz, even though the O-Spring hasn’t believed in the jolly elf for many a year now.
2. We also celebrate Yule as a spiritual holiday. For us, this means a fire, a feast, and good friends present at both to help us usher in the light.

So, what does all this mean?  Well, depending on who you ask it apparently means that “I ain’t Pagan enough,” all because we wait an extra 4 days to open our presents.

Oh well… Guess I’d better turn in my broom…

More to come…

Murv