Saturday, September 28, 2013

My old mail is working again.

You don't have to use the wardancingpixie mail to find me. I'm going to try working tonight. Who knows how that will go. My boss said Knobby Knees and children can use the pool. So, they'll hang around, swim, consume desserts and such.

I still feel as if I'm moving through a giant's bowl of mush, and I'm still using the cane because I'm unsteady on my feet. And I still tire quickly. Our night chef sent an email. I expect Family and I will be royally spoiled tonight. That's okay. I think it's my turn for a good pampering.

I"m feelin' some better ...

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Our Mom

Mom asked me to tell you that she's unable to attend to her email or this blog for now. She has new medications and they make her sleep through most of the day. She askes that you be patient and continue to visit her blog. Mom thinks she's improving, and she was able to cook dinner last night.

Mom asks that you take this as an answer to your emails and thanks everyone for their concern.


Monday, September 16, 2013

String of Pearls

yahoo is broken

Yahoo broke my email. If you email me at my old address I won't see it. They say it can't be fixed until sometime after tomorrow (I add: If ever). I've made a new email address. It's attached to this blog.

Update: My old mail is working intermittently. Use the new one until I say differently.

I managed to write two or three sentences into an already “complete” chapter. Given how I feel, that’s a true accomplishment. I found a claim in a Methodist history made about a Mr.Storrs and his neighbor, a Congregationalist clergyman. It’s probably true, but there is no way to prove it. So I report it, but warn that it’s one hundred year old tradition and maybe wrong. The authors introduce it with the phrase “it is said.” They repeat this phrase frequently, even when the material is derived from a valid source. But they never cite their sources. I’d have had more fun with this if they had left us with a verifiable source.

I’ve left the comment in the shadow of doubt. But in my heart of hearts I think it fits Mr. Storrs’ personality. I’d like to know the truth of the matter. If it was obscure, century-old tradition in 1928, it’s lost in the mists of time now.
I haven’t moved much today, except to fire up my computer and go to the potty. I’m going back to bed soon. When volume one is finished, I’ll leave this project. It’s become a real burden. I continue to admire my writing partner. That’s not an issue. But I don’t admire some who’ve attached themselves to the project. I need to distance myself from them at least for a while. Don’t go emailing me asking, “Is it me??” If you have to ask, it’s not you.

My own projects have languished. Some months ago I started writing something about one of the descendant religions focusing on the period between 1942 and 1977. Fans of the current project won’t like that one. I may not return to it. The research is infinitely more difficult and the material is often unreliable. I have two unfinished Pixie stories.

When things seem dark, I am always tempted to shut down this blog. I don’t know what my readers get from it. (There aren’t that many. About 60 visits a day.) Probably it’s not what I intend. Some of my readers fill in story here with their own imagination. That’s interesting to watch. I don’t know why it happens.

Someone passed on a letter from the ecclesiastical authorities to congregation clergy. It’s an interesting letter. One thing I note is the expectation that clergy would regulate the lives of their adult children living away from home. This is wrong. But it’s typical of that church which is noted for its controlling, Pharisaical practice. My dad does not belong to that religion. He would never try to regulate my adult life. But I can imagine what I’d say to him if he tried.

There’s a huge amount of interesting material on ebay this week. I can’t afford any of it. Maybe one book. We’ll see. I’m watching it. Actually I’m watching three books, but I’m certain that all but one will go for more than I want to pay.

Don't look at this picture

My artist, illustrator friend found this online. I'm not sure what the original artist meant to depict. To me it looks like a rescue. A fly away rescue. Ignore that. I think this is a good depiction of a pixie. I especially like the wing decorations on her head covering and arm and leg coverings.

The pixie would be mated. She has shoes. Unmarried pixies don't wear shoes. And yes, I know Anthony doesn't like red blotches, but this is a PG to R- blog.

Saturday, September 14, 2013


There are three of me, or four. While one lives the others haunt the shadows, watching, standing guard, or enjoying a secret joke.

There is the Me who listens, assesses, and thinks. She studies the pages before her, or she observes others, pondering their behaviors and weighing their words. She is the child of Dickens, of Montaigne, of Voltaire … and of Christ. Odd genetics, certainly. A child of doubt, of wonder and credulity, and of faith. She is a skeptical believer.

There is the daughter of eve, grasping a pillow and pleasuring and being pleasured by her husband. She is mother to feral children who have within them the seeds of civilization, though not of the one you know. She is protector, diplomat, finder of mislaid coats and lost shoes.

I am spear thrower, naked, ready to wield spear and sword. I am Fairy Killer. An angel of judgment, though whose judgment I express is a mystery. This me flairs hot anger at wickedness. And this me is tempted by dark words and deeds. Wickedness resisted is never evil conquered. Wickedness licks its wounds and returns. This me is an irrational creation, often lost in the mist.
There is the little child me. She died unhappily, poisoned by a cruel hand. But she’s returned. She follows me everywhere. She snuggles me when I’m sad. She creats silliness and laughs. I see her looking out of my daughters’ eyes. I see her hiding behind my own eyes. She sits with my students, causing ripples of mirth and puzzlement.

These are all me – a complex, startling fusion. Sometimes I like Me. Sometimes I am a stranger. And sometimes there is fear.

Sunday, September 08, 2013


Click to Mix and Solve

Well ... it's not wicked fairies but it's a start ....

by Occasional Reader 

Now this is a post designed to make you concentrate. 

Or to skip it. 

It is all about “magic.” 

I recently picked up a book by Theo Annemann. He was my mentor as a teenager – when I was into all things magic. My very first paying job (part-time) including demonstrating conjuring tricks to shoppers in a London department store in the weeks leading up to Christmas. There was a British TV magician named David Nixon, who was bald and unflappable and did amazing things for the era, and the store was marketing his box of tricks. They were all designed to work themselves – no actual conjuring skills required, which fitted my lack of talent perfectly. We sold a lot of them. However, in reality, I was more into what was then called “mind magic” and that is where Annemann was King.  I obtained nearly all his magazine The Jinx, from a specialist shop near the British Museum, and in later life, sold them for an amazing sum when needs must. Annemann perfected the “catching a bullet in the teeth” routine, but within the profession was best known for his “mentalist” skills. He committed suicide at the age of 34 in 1942. I don’t know why. As a teenager his magazine always seemed very cheerful to me. 

Anyhow - the standard trick was to get an audience to choose all sorts of things, a color, a card, a word, a number – perhaps a whole collection of things – and then to produce from a sealed envelope (from a suitably guarded location) the results ALREADY WRITTEN DOWN. The sealed envelope was usually stored in a bank vault guarded by the UK equivalent of the National Guard, or was suspended in full view throughout the trick. The message was that the performer had no way of getting at the contents. So the performer had either known what you would choose, “READING YOUR MIND” (shock, gasp, horror) or had somehow made the magic words appear on the piece of paper in the sealed envelope. 

It was all the rage in the 1930s. And NO – don’t be rude - I don’t actually go back to the 1930s. Not quite... 

There were two basic ways you could perform the stunt. 

One was to get the result into the envelope AFTER the event – devices like thumb tips enabled messages to penetrate envelopes while the performer held them up, waffling on about how impenetrable the contents were, while a female assistant cavorted about in a skimpy bathing suit, for the express purpose of taking the audience’s eye off the ball. 

But the other way – MY WAY – was to FORCE the choice you already had written down. I went for this choice because it required less skill. In many cases, it required no skill at all. That suited my level of ineptitude...  I also had difficulty finding any willing female assistant at that stage of my life to dress up (or dress down) for the purpose of misdirecting the audience. 

So – concentrate now – I am going to force on you a word. And it starts with forcing a book on you.

One of the simplest ‘forces’ involves three books – let’s call them Blue, Yellow, and Green. (Only they must not be as obvious as that for the actual trick.) 

I want to “force” you to choose the Green. 

So I say to you, spreading the books out very casually (and that’s the key, to be very “casual”) “take away two...” 

You take away the Blue and the Yellow, and I proceed as if nothing has happened by holding up the remaining one (the Green) – and getting on with the act. 

Ah, but what if you take away the Yellow and Green or the Blue and the Green? I say you – equally nonchalantly – “and give me one...” 

If you give me the Green, I proceed as if nothing has happened by holding it up and getting on with the act... 

If you give me the Yellow or the Blue, I take it away, and leave you with the Green – so this is what you have “chosen”. 

As long as you are sufficiently nonchalant, you will get away with it every time. People’s minds won’t query, here – why didn’t this idiot just ask me to choose a book like any normal person? They will honestly accept what you have done. But of course you can only ever do it once! 

So we have “forced” the Green. 

Now to “force” a word in the book. 

If you had a large audience, you could get different people to do part of the calculation to “prove” there was no collusion – as one person could be a plant. 

Get an audience member to write down a three figure number. ANY three figure number (although you could suggest they choose their age or house number plus something else if you wanted to make it seem even more “amazing”). 

Get them to reverse the number and take the smaller number away from the larger.  

Now with the total, reverse it and add the total and the reversed number together. 

This is just window dressing... 

However you work out this sum the answer will always be 1089.        

There are numerous mathematical variations on that theme. Although today of course, since we all now use calculators and are numerically illiterate, it would fail completely because no-one would do the math correctly. 

With your number 1089, break it up so that you go to page 10, line 8, word 9 on the line and so – big flourish - YOU HAVE CHOSEN THE WORD (insert as appropriate).

So here in this sealed envelope – in a sealed box – guarded by whatever was the maximum window dressing you could afford to give the trick – is the number I have written down earlier – KNOWING THROUGH MY SUPERIOR POWERS WHAT YOU WOULD CHOOSE. 

And of course – big finish and the equivalent of a drum roll - you get it right. Every time. Amazing! Well, for a modern audience, obviously not. But in those unsophisticated times... 

Modern “magic” has evolved far greater ways of performing basically the same act – but the principles are just the same. 

So there you have it.

The trouble was – mind-reading and “magic” were not the most approved of hobbies in my circle and background. Then gradually as I grew older other pursuits took over. You know, girls, young ladies, that sort of thing...

And “pick a card” turned out to be one of the worst chat-up lines you could ever find!