Short Stories, Fiction, Non-fiction, Poetry

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Mary Jane Hammill Carter (my mom): Eulogy

I’ve been struggling all week to know what to say about my mom. It’s going to be hard for me to say anything, so I know you’ll bear with me.

My mom was born Mary Jane Hammill on September 14, 1942, in Lincolnville, Maine. Obviously that means her birthday is this week. I think she would want us to celebrate rather than mourn and in that spirit I brought a cake that she would like. I also brought some of her jewelry so anyone who would like a keepsake of her can take something home. Anyone who knew my mom knows she loved to show off her sparkly and colorful things. She also was generous to the bone and loved to share. So I think all of this will please her.

Young MJ wrote for the town paper and aspired to break into other types of publishing.

So, back to Lincolnville. My mom was raised by her mother, Hester Calderwood Hammill, largely as a single mother and with a great deal of struggle. My grandma worked hard scrabble in whatever way she could, often cleaning summer estates and other upper-class homes around the Camden area. They lived a very stoic and simple life but largely my mom had blissfully happy memories of her childhood. For a large period of time the two of them lived in a little cabin built from a modified hotdog stand someone gave them. It was situated on a steep part of the base of Mount Megunticook, only steps from Megunticook Lake. The remnants of that little cabin remain to day and my mom periodically wanted to take a drive to Camden just to drive by it, point it out, and reminisce. Though they moved into Camden Village while mom was still in school, she always thought of that cabin as her childhood home.

Her childhood memories were of simple food and fare. They ate a lot of stewed beans and bread and potato stews. She had tea parties with her cats and toys behind the cabin. She had fond memories of pounding up and down the hillsides on her bike or running up the mountains, which she could apparently do in her youth with great ease. She would fill her tennis shoes with any good berries she found on her adventures and my grandmother would turn them into pies or jams. Though my grandmother was slightly socially outcast as a non-church attending (spiritualist) single mother, my mom sought out faith. She would attend church on her own from a fairly early age, walking to services on her own. Mostly Baptist, but she attended more than one congregation in her quest to find meaning. I should note that mom’s grandmother, mom and aunties were all avid spiritualists. They would often take my young mother with them on drives to Temple Heights spiritualist camp to attend meetings (and have some girl-time, pie, and coffee on the way). My mom’s youthful exposure to a mix of religious and spiritual ideas definitely stayed with her for her lifetime. She was very spiritually open and curious, and a person of great, unshakable faith.

Despite all this youthful fun, life could also be hard and scary. Finding a future for herself was tricky. She studied hard to distinguish herself and was valedictorian of her high school graduation class. The big excitement during high school was that the Oscar nominated film Peyton Place filmed on location in Camden during those years. Mom was already an avid celebrity watcher and had cultivated pen-pal relationships with several celebrities. I brought her scrap book today that includes lots of cast photos and news clips about the film.

In the second row MJ poses with other townie extras for the movie scene about a local parade.

The story of Peyton Place revolved around a girl about mom’s age at the time, feeling constrained by small town life and aching to break free into the bright lights and excitement of New York. Mom definitely resonated with that. Like that lead character in the movie, my mom was already writing for the local newspaper and trying hard to find her voice. She was active in debate and theater and other types of extra-curricular groups. She attended at least two Christian writer’s’ conferences during high school and I have letters from her correspondence to my grandma during those. They were her big chance to travel outside Maine and meet academics or professionals who might mentor her. She was successful in that and followed one such mentor to Philadelphia for a while after high school in order to work as a secretary and pursue her writing. She married her first husband during that time, which was not a happy match. Soon she was back in Maine, looking to recover. She always came back home to my grandma during those times in life. The two were as close and she and I have been.

Mary Jane involved herself in school theater, debate, future homemakers, and religious groups during high school.

Mary Jane worked for a while after her first marriage at the fish canning factory in Rockland, and when she could afford to she went off to college (Blackburn College) in Illinois. As an older student, already having been married and worked some jobs, she became a bit of a pack leader for her friends. To be more specific, she taught them how to do automatic writing and howl at the moon. She had a lot of fun in college and still managed to achieve well academically.

After another stint at home in Camden, the next foray into the world was to New York City, where she had long wanted to go (probably inspired by the story line of the similar leading lady in Peyton Place). While in New York, living in Brooklyn, she met and married my dad, Lyle Linder. They were both working at McGraw Hill in a department that edited and distributed college textbooks. Before and during my infancy they both worked in the city and traveled around upstate as well as Pennsylvania, distributing textbooks to colleges. While they occasionally rented a place, they spent a lot of time hauling a little camper around behind a battle-scarred Land Rover. My mom went into labor with my during one of those trips. Apparently I wanted to be born in Rochester (like Susan B Anthony), but they had a hospital birth in mind. Mom grit her teeth and sat on the spare tire, so I was forced to disembark the womb in Albany. I’ve harbored the resentment ever since, lol.

Unfortunately their marriage didn’t last, and my mom ended up returning to her home, and her mom, with me. In Rockport she took a job for her attorney’s office working off some of her legal fees from the divorce and ended up staying. A long time. Her career as a legal secretary later became one as a freelance paralegal specializing in real estate title searches. She worked independently for many attorneys and firms over about forty-five years. I’m sure some of you know her best from her professional life. She was meticulous about details in research and had a magical knack for understanding deeds and maps. She was always highly regarded for her skills in title abstracting and worked across Hancock, Washington, Waldo and Penobscot counties at various times.

Mommy and me. I think I was about four.

Those who knew her from work know she was competent, deadline driven, and dedicated. She spent hours in the registries of deeds and sometimes probate, pouring over the books before they turned into computer scans. Sometimes her assistants, which would include and occasional husband and at one time myself, would join her. At the courthouse she was always cheerful and friendly, doing the lunch or coffee runs and encouraging freelancers to eat together on their breaks. She was proud of her loud and eclectic style of dressing, which often included plaids and prints and casually half-matching socks in any given ensemble, and rhinestones added on whenever possible. She always dressed up for Halloween, which everyone came to expect, and, for an extended period in the winter of 2017 proudly marched into work wearing her pink pussy hat.

At home she was an avid gardener (though sometimes the garden planning worked better than the garden itself). She was a kind heart for animals and many strays were brought to her over the years from all corners. She always remained very open and enthusiastic about eclectic spiritual and religious ideas. Despite being open to so much, she always retained a rock-solid faith in God that seemed to remain the mix of Christian Baptist and Spiritualist that she gained as a youth. Despite several hard marriages and many years of economic hardship (often when she was the breadwinner and carrying many people through hard times), she dealt with anxiety and depression, but she was always a rock. She was always ultimately positive and optimistic. She always believed emphatically in good outcomes. In the years after health complications forced her into retirement, she stayed busy at home. She kept planning great gardens that I was largely inept at executing and she helped me to write as well as edit two books. She always had more plans for the future, right up to the end. She was always optimistic and energetic in mind if not in body.

College years

Since she passed, I’ve tried to rely on her advice from the past. My grandmother helped to raise me until she passed away in 1982. A few times in recent years, my mom told me a bit of what it was like to lose her own mother. She told me that despite the other people she had in her life at the time, it was devastating. She felt like she’d lost not only her best friend, but the only person in the world who really loved her for exactly who she really was. And it took a long time for this to fade. When she first started to feel a bit better, it was because she heard a minister read the bit of Psalm 30 that says, weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Somehow when she heard it that day, she finally had the feeling that she was going to be okay. I can’t say that I’ve had that moment yet, although I’m trying because I know she wouldn’t want me to be sad. I know she wouldn’t want any of us to be sad.

Mom and one of innumerable rescues…Inka

I could talk about her forever, and I will, but for now I’m not sure what else to say, besides to reflect on her legacy. I think she is (can’t say was) the most loving, positive, sweet, generous person that ever lived. I still want her here. I think we need her. But maybe we just all need to be her. I think she’d like that. First, wear plaid with stripes and always mismatched socks. Rock rhinestones on everything. Be the person stray animals get brought to. Make the office lunch run even when you’re busy. Enjoy every holiday, every not-holiday, all the simple things, and basically every moment. Have big ideas. Believe in the basic goodness of life and of others even when bad things happen. Never give up. Never get bitter when it’s hard. Never, never, NEVER lose faith (whatever that means to you). Then…repeat. I love you, mommy.

On my dad’s birthday

Petting zoo I think. Omaha?

Today is my dad’s birthday. Still. I will always remember him on this day. The first year after his death I wandered into a United Methodist Church I’d never been in before to attend Sunday service while being given the side-eye by the regular parishioners and hearing a loud ringing in my ears. It’s gotten easier with the still-small number of years as they’ve passed, but I will always remember him on this day. Happy birthday, Daddy!

What follows is the eulogy that I wrote for his memorial service. I was in a total fog when I wrote it and likely incomprehensible when I attempted to read it. It’s probable that people who heard me deliver it that day didn’t actually receive the information that follows. Therefore, I decided it is about time to publish it in this form. To those who remember him, I hope you enjoy. To those who don’t, I hope you at least see the shadow here of someone you have loved.

Not sure where but exhibiting his rather characteristic recklessness

August 13, 2017

Lyle Dean Linder – June 9, 1940-August 3, 2017

My dad was a great minister. I think this became his calling because he wanted to keep learning all his life, and he wanted to learn what life is all about. For a boy growing up in the farm country of Nebraska in the 1950s, reading books and collecting knowledge was a highly suspect ambition. Unless you were going to become a minister. Such a noble calling was unassailable. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Dad and at least two of his close cousins became clergy. But, though he got to it in mid-life and may have picked it for convenience, as is so often the way, he still managed to find a true calling. One of the big truths that my dad seemed to discover was that a life of service to others also makes your own life much happier. He engaged in this service tirelessly. Only days before his death he was talking about volunteering at the nursing home, or in chaplaincy. So, he was a great pastor. But, he was also much more.

On the farm

My Aunt Nancy (Linder Boucher) remembers him as her big brother. He always protected his little sister and looked out for her best interests. As a boy, Lyle was insightful and intellectually curious. The extent of his curiosity and his impatience to get into the world was rather torturous for him at times. It made him restless—impatient with others, but mostly impatient with himself. One example of this might be a few entries in a diary called a “scribble-in book,” which he used at age fourteen, in 1955. I think he must have given me this journal when I was younger, perhaps in high school. In it, he offers a dire assessment of his own school work by saying: “My essay and my criticism upon my essay on Voltaire. The hideous part of it was, that this essay wasn’t hopeless—just undeveloped, raw like uncarded wool. Childish and puerile.”

Geesh, Dad. Daughterly eye roll. Actually adore it, though.

I found the scribble book on a shelf last year and I gave it back to him for his 76th birthday. He and Mary Ann and I had all met for a week in Cape Cod right in between his birthday (June 9) and Father’s Day. I gave the book back to him with the suggestion that he fill in the many blank pages. He never got around to it. Dad was interested in taking up writing—maybe a memoir or blogging, but he just didn’t get any traction on it in that final year. Perhaps, as he noted in the scribble book as a teen, he just didn’t feel like he’d landed on the proper subject matter. As he noted in ’55, “This journal is dull and lifeless, I wish I could somehow add some life to it.” Really, he wanted to add some more colorful and fulfilling experiences to his own life.

In his entire life he remained ravenous for experience. He took many certificates and degrees in graduate school and on his various sabbatical leaves. He enjoyed unusual vacations, cultural exchanges by hosting exchange students (especially from Japan), and pulpit exchanges to places like England and Northern Ireland. He toured his ancestor’s’ native land of Sweden late in life and met some of our distant relatives. Remaining somewhat fluent in Swedish from his childhood as a first-generation American, he loved for his whole life to attend Swedish heritage picnics and get fawned over by the little old ladies who loved to hear anyone speak their native tongue. This was the oldest trick in his book since he bragged to me that he’d learned young he’d always get top rung treatment if he asked the ladies for a cookie in Swedish rather than English back in his hometown region of Uehling (pronounced like eee-you-ling) and Oakland Nebraska.

Actually, this teen journal of his is pretty funny. Fourteen-year-old Lyle is preparing for a school field trip to Omaha and Fremont. The itinerary includes a viewing of a live television recording, a tour of a coffee factory, and trips to a Natural History Museum and a zoo. Lyle prepares for the trip as follows:

NECESSITES FOR THE TRIP SHALL BE:

A. Scribble-in book to record events of the trip.

B. 1 well-filled ball point pen.

C. 1 “brownie holiday” camera, loaded with the new kodak panchromatic film.

D. 1 billfold containing roughly one dollar (and I mean roughly).

E. 1 lunch box chock-full of delectable goodies (peanut butter sandwiches, Ugh).

F. My wristwatch (the better to make correctly timed entries in the scribble book).

In this journal, he does clearly walk around the museum, the coffee factory, the television studio, and the zoo (maybe the same zoo that deer pic was taken at when I was a kid…though in Lyle’s day he recorded the place as “a total flop”), his whole day he was clearly absorbed with taking meticulous real-time notes.

The trip was an important foray into the world, and young Lyle wanted to remember every moment. To me, the journal and it’s literally minute-by minute entries offers an exquisitely painful look at his intellectual impatience. He was in such a hurry to live and to learn. The entry concluding his field trip record reads, “Due to the soothing effects of a warm bath, I must succumb to a necessary evil which takes up too much of our short lives—sleep.” This zest for life was with him the whole time, as those who have known him can attest.

as a teen/young man

My dad loved to collect mementos of his daily experiences. Some he shared as gifts and many (many, many) he kept. He curated books, antiques, hats, cowboy boots, belt buckles, and bobbles of all kinds. He loved the little sayings that come on plaques for your desk or your wall. Two of the favorites that remained prominently displayed over the years were these:

YOU CAN ALWAYS TELL A SWEDE, BUT YOU CAN’T TELL HIM MUCH

BE PATIENT, GOD ISN’T FINISHED WITH ME YET.

I suppose these were insightful selections.

Lyle’s independence, intelligence, and love of life were always on display. They were traits he remained true to for his entire life. My cousins, Nancy’s daughters, offered some examples. Janet writes that she always knew him for his joyful nature, passion for knowledge and love for people. Joy remembered the time when we all went to visit their ranch in Idaho. Janet, Joy and I were just little girls. She recalls how, when they showed my dad the cabin where we’d be staying, he ran and leapt onto the bed like a kid. A grown man behaving like we would was pretty impressive to my cousins. I was used to it, and totally took it for granted.

Bladen Nebraska…July 4 and town Bicentennial or something I think. Dad loved parades and if he could borrow a parishioner’s horse, so much the better! I was riding one back there behind him somewhere. This was his prime time of rural ministry and Bladen was one of the three churches on his circuit back then.

I’ve said as an adult that my dad encouraged me to become a critical thinker and a creative communicator. He always made a point as a parent of speaking to me in vocabulary that he would use with adults. No baby talk or simplifications. Of course, that didn’t stop him from reading and re-reading my favorite picture books, like “Tubby and the Pooh-bah” and “How many kittens?” until I’m sure the mere sight of those books made him want to vomit. He’d try skipping dialogue sometimes but he was proud that I’d catch him.

Our free time together was always populated by fantasies. Especially time spent in the car. Our little orange car, which was called a Vega, became the “vamp vega” as my dad helped Daniel and I weave wild scenarios of a vampire family tooling around Atlanta, Georgia. “Vegetable soup” was a game in which the car was a pot for making soup, and huge pieces of sliced vegetables of all kinds were periodically tumbling down from the sky, threatening to crush us if we didn’t duck. We’d all take turns. “Oh, no! Here comes a carrot! A potato! Onion, my eyes!!!”

Atlanta. I hated my haircut lol hid behind the couch after it was first done.

There were running games involving space aliens, trying to figure out these bizarre humans they had come upon. And there was something about a swarm of bees. I think we were bees in our car, traveling in a swarm. All these games were extended improv sessions. Endless, really. We would drop them when we needed to and then pick them up again.

I’m not going to wrap this remembrance up in some neat and tidy way. Life doesn’t get wrapped up that way. So, like one of our improv sessions, I guess we’re done playing for now. At least, we’re done playing in the way we once knew. But, I know we’ll pick it up again.

Heaven.

Of fledgling books and hatching fancies

Hello intrepid readers! That is, if you had anything to read. Goddess, it’s been so long since I blogged. I apologize. I’ve been learning a lot about publishing here behind the scenes. It’s very interesting to watch my Spinstress book hatch from the eerie and oddly populated attic of my imagination into a real creature which has had the hands of many talented people upon it.

Now that my book is in the hands of the publishers, my job is more about introducing myself to the readers in the broader Llewellyn community. There’s a thing with writers where we can spend months or years working on a beloved project, polishing every word like a gem. Then, you ask us what the project is about and we shrug and say, “Oh, you know. Things.” So, yay! I’m going to practice on you! Thanks in advance.

Really, it’s not bad. I’ve been working on some blogs, podcast interview questions, short articles for in-house journals, and similar. It’s an exciting and interesting process, as is the process of fitting it into my busy days! But I love writing and so far I love publishing, too. Seeing the galleys and what the book will actually look like has been great. If you love work, I guess it isn’t work anymore. Mostly. But it still requires the budgeting of time.

The chapter headings are so cute! I didn’t help think that up at all but I’ve always been a sucker for a pointy hat.

In addition to book publicity I can announce that SageWoman Magazine is planning to switch my long-standing column on women and animals/nature (Child of Artemis) into a regular column more in keeping with the Spinstress book. Anne Niven, editor of SageWoman and Witches & Pagans, has provided a nice review (“blurb”) of my book for the cover and for the amazon page.

I don’t know what my new column will be titled but I have been working on ideas to give it that Spinstress vibe. It’ll be fun. I’m thinking self-esteem, glamour magick, sexual empowerment, feminism, history and general eccentric weirdness. The usual. But first, I feel like delving a bit more into said vibe for my regular supporters so you can know, at least as much as I do, what on earth I was thinking when I wrote a book on this theme.

Of course, the title “Spinstress” is detailed in the book. I sort of found it unintentionally. Mostly because the old concept of a “spinster” pissed me off sufficiently to make me want to put a ruby-slippered foot well up the ass of that particular stereotype. I think this whole wacky thing started because someone donated an “old maid” card deck to the domestic violence program where I work and I found it in the break room of my office one day. That particular set of cards had…a little accident…shortly thereafter, finding it’s way directly into the trash. Maybe.

Note that she is also on a “wheel,” “bone-shaker,” AKA bicycle. These conveyances came to be strongly associated with female independence in olden days, as a means of transportation that helped ladies get up to all sorts of things. See my previous blog for more info.

Anyhow, the “vintage” images being reprinted and called “whimsical” really boiled my tea. Of all places to leave a game that pokes fun at women who, for whatever reason, are currently or never identifiably attached to a male partner. I’m sure whoever donated it just didn’t even stop to think what the game was about.

But, this very thing is what drew my attention first to the deeply ingrained ideas about women that a game like this reflects. It denigrates women who earn their own money and otherwise assert enough autonomy to be single for some or all of their lives. Even if violence is one of the circumstances they are trying to leave behind, the cultural baggage is insidiously covert and also unrelenting. Commercials, cosmetics, churches, friends, coworkers, relatives…all too often casually reflect the idea that women who are single, at least for “too long,” have something to be ashamed about. I can say from loads of personal and professional experience that it leaves some women more willing to be with an abusive partner rather than face the terrifying specter of living for any length of time with none at all. This fear also sometimes makes women I work with more vulnerable to new predators if they recently did become single. My personal and professional opinion on all this shit is….

Hell, no.

That doesn’t work. Oh, while we’re on the topic of women, I chose to write this book using the spelling “womxyn.” I did so in order to open a door for anyone choosing to identify as such. It is still a book about womxyn and girls but I hoped to bend the binary a little more than is usually done in Neo-pagan/witchcraft books. That’s really all there is to the alternative spelling.

Yes, this set is vintage but they still make duplicate reprints. For “fun.”

The idea of reclaiming a culturally negative term is not new to witches or pagans since both of those terms have been reclaimed from the stereotypes of immorality, human and animal sacrifice, and various other forms of social or moral criminality.

Those of us who practice some magickal tradition, maybe under the umbrella of contemporary Neo-paganism, are very used to reclaiming terms that were once used to denigrate us. “Witch” is a perfect example. That moniker would have gotten you killed through most of western history and will still do so in vast regions of the globe. Yet, it came to be a term representing religious freedom and a return to nature-based religions in around the 1960s. That seems to have been thanks to the popular writing that emerged from England after their anti-witchcraft laws were repealed in the forties.

I actually think this is a beautiful image but…you get it. Margaret Hamilton.

As modern women began looking for religious traditions and beliefs that reflected both female equality and female power, feminism found witchcraft and the goddess during this same era. Witchy foremothers like Shekhinah Mountainwater, Starhawk, and Zsusanna (Z) Budapest built traditions of queer witchcraft, feminist witchcraft, and overtly political witchcraft that reclaimed both girl power and some of the best aspects of that old-time religion.

Many other words have been reclaimed by certain marginalized groups. “Bitch” is another one that I do use (both to celebrate and critique it) periodically in my book. Obviously not all members of any social cohort are all going to feel the same way about anything, including these words. In other words, some Neo-pagans or practitioners of feminist magical traditions dislike the term “witch” just as some modern womxyn find “bitch” disrespectful or offensive. Yet, pushing change onto these types of words does indeed seem to push change on the culture that uses them (often with lots of drama and blow-back along the way). Other words that have been reclaimed in this way by some members of oppressed groups (and definitely not by all) include “queer” (LGBTQ) or the infamous N-word used against African Americans, that still holds such a negative charge that I won’t even put it in print.

This take-back of words that were once tools of oppressors has multiple functions. It helps to remove that verbal weapon from the arsenal of haters. It can often help with the healing of the marginalized folk in question, and it stirs up heat on social discourse around changing old cultural tropes.

Okay, are we there yet? Yes. Here is the word I am reclaiming (or at least re-vamping…oooh, I like that. I’m definitely re-vamping.) in my magickal book. Spinster. I originally got the idea from Mary Daly in “Beyond God the Father.” She mentioned in that book and a couple of her others that “spinster” was actually a term connoting great arcane religious power. The goddesses found in several cultures who would “weave” the world we live in and our own lives were, you guessed it, literal spinsters. Daly alleged that the mythological and magickal power of the spinster archetype for women was another reason that this useful human profession became so culturally reviled. The goddess fates wove the destiny of humankind and the fabric of earth herself. Even amongst we mortals, the spinster was a self-sufficient, skilled, necessary individual with the power to turn raw materials into something we badly need…yeah. That had to go.

So, we’ve covered the bad old images but there are cool ones as well. In this project I take the approach that most of us are single for parts of our lives, if not all of them. This is great as long as we are in our authentic and powerful sense of self. Due to cultural and personal pressures not to be identified as single, we may actually find that we are afraid to relax and enjoy those portions of our lives. Even worse, we may return to a bad relationship or choose another not-great one in order to avoid that distinction. This is a shame because the very thing that can make us better and more successful in our relationships is the self-concept we build at all times, including when we are single.

Swedish screen siren Greta Garbo who never married, playing the infamous WW1 spy Mata Hari

I point this out in the book by showcasing the wonderful things womxyn in history accomplished while they were single. Some for a brief period and some for a lifetime. I discuss the brilliant theology, healing arts and music of Hildegard of Bingen. The humanitarianism and global politics of Mother Theresa. The massive star power of Greta Garbo. The brassy “on my own terms” sexual chemistry of Mae West (who actually hid her marriage for years because she thought being single worked better for her stage persona). The personal and social bravery of transgender artist Einar Wegener/Lili Elbe.

Marlena Dietrich rocking her gender-bending fashion in the 1930s.

This long-winded intro to the contrary, the book itself isn’t a his-story lesson. The chapters include topics that I hope will help womxyn (or the womxyn and girls in the readers lives) to enhance their empowerment along with their power. The book works a craft (spinstress craft) that includes self-esteem, glamor magick (glamoury), sex magick, making up, breaking up, metaphysical self-defense, financial independence, child-rearing, activism, creativity, professional ambition, ancestor magick, divination, and general witchcraft badassery.

Yes, as you can see from topics like sex magick and child rearing, there are men and boys in this book. The object of the material isn’t to “hate men,” as is so often associated with spinsters in the first place. The idea of the materials is to assert personal autonomy both in and out of other types of relationships. And the sex magick chapter is, frankly, hot.

I know I’ve already used this image but Marilyn always deserves a double take.

I’ve got a catalog of toys and tricks, including and expose of similar items going back through human history. I’ve got magick spells and meditations to be done solo or partnered. I’ve got book and website recommendations to find way, way more. Believe me, if you partner with a female-identified type person, you want her to have this book. I assert the following and you can do the research yourself…better relationships and better sex are found with independent and empowered womxyn.

Speaking of the sex magick found in this book, it can be done partnered or solo. Yeah, I said it. Self-partnering. You don’t need a partner for sex. The sooner all sexually active humans realize this, the better our world will be. Even within relationships, I feel people own a certain obligation to see to their own sexual needs (and this can be done without seeking partners outside the relationship if that’s the agreement everyone has). I have certainly seen every flavor of interpersonal carnage when this personal, sexual accountability is not the standard. Yet partly because we’re all frankly prudes when it comes to healthy sexuality, we never ever talk about this. Handing out condoms at social service agencies is great but at least a bunch of us should probably also be handing out stuff like latex lube (since oil ones destroy condoms) and vibrators. Just sayin.

Again referencing my day-job, I am sick to death of womxyn being treated as if our sexuality is some sort of devastating weapon that we as individuals are not competent to wield without oversight. I mean, it’s kind of the oldest story in the book. Who is keeping track of us so we don’t destroy civilization or allow humankind to go extinct?! Are we married soon enough? Long enough? Faithfully enough? Too many kids? Not enough? Do we partner with the right people? Are we “choosing” bad partners over our other female obligations or relationships? Are we destroying the social fabric, god’s laws or sundry other essentials by being either too sexual or not sexual enough? Inquiring minds want to know. Constantly.

Back to sex magick, spinstress style. This book will give you tons of resources to claim the sex life you want while being independent and true to yourself. Whether it’s about birth-control, toys, orientation and lifestyle, kinks and/or commitment can we please own our bodies and really decide how to live in them for effing Aphrodite’s sake?!

In the chapters detailing beauty and glamor (glamour magick), we play with all sorts of rituals and techniques to build our self-esteem. This is not fluff. Claiming your self-esteem is the same as claiming your self. Your power. Without a positive self-concept, you’re liable to have unreliable or unsatisfying magickal results (as well as life events).

The magick in the glam section isn’t all about being femme either. As Dietrich proved, it’s about being proud of yourself and allowing your own personal style glow. A lot of self-concept work, bound up with glamour magick, is to me about defeating personal fears.

Why live (or do magick) like an appliance running on corroded, sketchy batteries when you could plug yourself directly into the source? Positive self-concept is the source. It leads out into everything. It is not extra-credit. It matters.

For Hedy’s amazing story check out the documentary Bombshell: the Hedy Lamarr Story, by PBS.

In the glam chapters of the book I profile several wonderful divas from history including Hedy Lamarr, a classical Hollywood starlet (used as the original model for animated tropes like Snow White and Cat Woman). Far from a spinster (married six times), Hedy provides a great example of a woman who was single when it suited her, and always lived by her own rules.

As her side-hustle Hedy, just messing around, also invented the technology behind wireless, GPS, and blue tooth tech. Calling it radio “frequency hopping” she knew it could be used to interrupt or intercept enemy transmissions. I’m not even kidding a little.

To say she was a genius is an understatement. To say she was gorgeous would be an understatement too. Talk about beauty and brains. She invented many things as a “hobby,” and she donated the plans explaining this idea to the U.S. in order to help us win World War II. As the extra kicker she was an immigrant (Austrian, due to fleeing domestic violence) and yet lost her patent to the technology because of this act of patriotism.

Okay, she wasn’t actually single but, hey, she turned it into such a bankable concept that she pretended to be unmarried for years longer than she was.

I should note that the sections of the book typically reserved for the “mother phase” of the goddess do definitely go into parenting (for Q+ families as well), but hold space for womxyn not raising children due to circumstances including but not limited to personal choice. Alternative aspects to mothering like artistic creativity and social activism are discussed as aspects of the “mothering energy” as well.

The portions of the book dedicated to crone/elder energies deal with ancestor magick, grave-tending, collecting and working with consecrated (graveyard) earth, and many of the more typically witchy endeavors we associate with a book of this type. Also included here, however, are rituals and suggestions for owning our power and expertise in matters of career as well as family and magick.

No idea, honestly.

Okay! So, thanks for warming me up for all this publicity I’m supposed to be working on! I’m always looking to hatch some new ideas.

The actual book drops in July! In the meantime do something magickal. Befriend a wild creature, invent a new technology or work on your burlesque struts. I’ll try to write more soon!

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