Ellie@Home by Nicole Kapise-Perkins

5 Ways to Celebrate Beltane in 5 Minutes or Less deviantart/ArjenHenry As you may know, Friday is Beltane, or May Day: the day opposite Samhain/Halloween on the Wheel of the Year, when the veil between the worlds is lifted and the portal between the realm of humans and the realm of the faeries is open wide. It's a time associated with abundance, fertility, sensuality, romance, celebration, and purification. And while Beltane festivals abound and you can certainly build a bonfire and drum or dance the night away if you so desire, even a brief ritual of magic or devotion can have a powerful resonance, and can transport your consciousness into the realm of the sacred. With that in mind, here are five ways to celebrate Beltane in 5 minutes or less. 1. Make a candle bonfire. Beltane bonfires are traditional ways to purify by burning away the last remnants of winter and turning stuck energy into vibrant power and life. To perform the same energetic action in mini

     'Tis Beltane eve, my friends, and we in the Perkins household are a-glitter with excitement. We love this sabbat: happiness, joy, laughter, what's not to love about Beltane? And my non-Pagan readers can relate after a fashion, because May Day is just as light- and laughter-filled. And so, for my final post for National Poetry Month (goodbye poetry until next year....riiight; like I'm not going to pepper you with poetry through the rest of the year) I give you as many faerie-ish poems I can find. Blessed be!! (Remember to leave strawberries and cream out for the faeries tonite!!) Faery Songs by John Keats I. Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! oh, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core. Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies,-- Shed no tear. Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red-- Look up, look up! I flutter now On this f

April - by John Greenleaf Whittier               'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth; For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, Raw and

but today is National Pretzel Day! I didn't actually believe I'd find any poems on pretzels, but Poem Hunter proved me wrong. So, get the mustard and a plate, pile it with pretzel-y goodness, and enjoy Jim Yerman's poem: Pretzel Day  by Jim Yerman Today is National Pretzel Day, so my hat I’ll give a tip To the long suffering cousin of the more popular potato chip. I’m not sure how it happened, the who, what, where or when But in a list of the most popular snacks...pretzels aren’t in the top 10? I mean pretzels lose out to Cheetos...sure they may be a little bit duller But come on, Cheetos leave your fingers orange...and is that even a real color? And if you think that doesn’t bother the pretzel...think another thought I imagine that’s the real reason they’re all tied up knots. Today I glorify the pretzel and spread good pretzel thoughts across the land Did you know they were shaped originally to resemble praying hands? Here’s an interesting little fact, an often forgo

Today is my little guy's first-ever baseball game! ...and I have to work :( However, his daddy is going to be there with camera in hand. I can't wait to see the photos and hear my boy tell me all about it. So, in honor of America's (and my son's) favorite pastime: 365 by Jack Buck © Published: On Air Poem (Date Unknown) When someone asks you your favorite sport And you answer Baseball in a blink There are certain qualities you must possess And you're more attached than you think. In the frozen grip of winter I'm sure you'll agree with me Not a day goes by without someone Talking baseball to some degree. The calendar flips on New Year's Day The Super Bowl comes and it goes Get the other sports out of the way The green grass and the fever grows. It's time to pack a bag and take a trip To Arizona or the Sunshine State Perhaps you can't go, but there's the radio So you listen-you root-you wait. They start the campaign, pom

I found this on a daily digest from one of my Yahoo groups. A beautiful meditation for presence (and peace of mind) by John O' Donohue:  For Presence Awaken to the mystery of being here and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence. Have joy and peace in the temple of your senses. Receive encouragement when new frontiers beckon. Respond to the call of your gift and the courage to follow its path. Let the flame of anger free you of all falsity. May warmth of heart keep your presence aflame. May anxiety never linger about you. May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of soul. Take time to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek no attention. Be consoled in the secret symmetry of your soul. May you experience each day as a sacred gift woven around the heart of wonder. ~ John O'Donohue ~

     I have to 'fess up here people. My house is a DUMP. I'm not exaggerating for dramatic effect, either. Dishes are piled up all over my kitchen (clean ones, but still); days worth of laundry needs to be put away...I don't know how my boys are getting into their room, never mind sleeping in it, and baby plants in flats are everywhere. Add to this a pile of half-written newsletter articles, just-begun stories, blog post starts (and stops), and various activity plans for work, and I'm beyond overwhelmed.      Do you know how you decide you're going to get in there and clean up that mess, get yourself all psyched up, then you walk in and don't know where to begin?? Thank you. (Even as I type this my laptop is perched on top of a pile of library books that I think were due back a few days ago. WTF?)      As this is my day off, I will put some serious effort into hacking my way through this disaster I call home, inspired in part by an email received from Dr. Chri

I'm not planning to plant potatoes this spring (then again I wasn't planning to plant asparagus, and guess what I bought the other day?) but all my plantlings are growing fabulously, even the indigo rose tomatoes that my evil kitten Momo the Destroyer kicked off the windowsill the other day. Two kinds of winter squash, pumpkins, zucchini, five types of tomato, bell peppers, hot peppers, garlic, onions, two types of carrots, yellow beets, three types of beans, eggplant, watermelon, cucumbers, and some flowers my little guy and I couldn't resist: Chinese Lanterns, Bells of Ireland, coleus, and the red tulips he planted last year, not to mention the asparagus crowns I picked up the other day. I suppose I could fit potatoes in there somehow..... Digging Potatoes, Sebago, Maine by Amy E. King   Summer squash and snap-beans gushed all August, tomatoes in a steady splutter through September. But by October’s last straggling days, almost everyt

Thursday, April 23, 2015 Homemade ceremonies In Braiding Sweetgrass , Native American author and biologist Robin Wall Kimmerer (of the Potowatomi people) explains how her family was severed from their traditional culture when her grandfather, like so many children of his generation, was taken from home by the U.S. government and sent to the Carlisle Indian School to be "civilized" (a truly shameful chapter of my country's history). It was not until many years later that his descendants reclaimed their language and heritage. Against this painful background, Kimmerer writes movingly of her father's morning ritual when the family camped on the slopes of Tahawus each summer (the Algonquin name for Mount Marcy in the Adirondaks): "When he lifts the coffee pot from the stove the morning bustle stops; we know without being told that it's time to pay attention. He stands at the edge of camp with the coffeepot in his hands, holding the place in top with a