Archive: Daily practises and other deep thoughts...

I lurk and occasionally post on a couple of the larger CR mailing lists and I have to say they're becoming less and less relevant to me these days. It's not just the fact that the same arguments tend to go round and round with alarming regularity, it's the infuriating kind of discussions that seem to be cropping up recently, and at the heart of it there's just nothing there to interest me. So mostly I skip and surf until something piques my interest. I suppose I could try and stimulate a bit of discussion that does interest me, instead of bitching quietly to myself, but I can never think of anything that I think would be good for discussion...

...Books. I can do books. But that's a little cliche, perhaps.

There was a thread not so long ago where someone asked something along the lines of "What things do you like to do to make yourself feel Celtic?" And I thought...Odd question, and I really don't know where to start with how wrong that seems to be...Maybe it was just badly phrased, maybe I wanted it to be. But it seemed to imply that the idea was to 'play Celtic' as part of CR's religious practice, and then once it's over we go about our daily business as we were. It seemed a few responses were framed in that manner, anyway. And I admit I'm probably being completely judgemental (in the bad way, because apparently you can only be judgemental if you judge negatively. Otherwise you just have great perception skills...), but it got me thinking...no. There were people who replied with the usual: language, literature, music, traditional activities like weaving tartan. And they're all good answers, to an extent, but they seemed to lack something and I began to chew on what it was that I couldn't put my finger on.

And then I think the list owner pointed out that it's not things that makes you 'Celtic', you either are or you aren't - it's who you are, not what you do. There are things you can do that are all good ways of honouring a particular culture, but that goes beyond 'being Celtic' if you want to end up being CR in a serious way that speaks to the core of your being. It goes beyond slipping these things on as is convenient, and then going back to normal, so to speak. Or even endeavering to learn music, language, arts and so forth on an ongoing, daily basis. Unless you're a part of a culture, indigenous to it, do you fully understand it? Conversely, I'd say, if you're a part of the culture should you be considered to be the fount of all knowledge...Experience says no, in that respect, because obviously personal biases come in to play. And unfortunately those biases are often based on politics and racism, it seems. As far as internet forums go. And inevitably such biases are open to taste and interpretation, too.

But then, I thought, you have to start somewhere. Most CRs don't have the benefit of having being brought up in Ireland, Scotland, Wales and so on...I've always thought that CR has been quite clear that first and foremost, it's a movement that started within the diasporal peoples, or has been hugely influenced by them at the least, and that first and foremost the emphasis should be on striving to understand those cultures as best you can. Some of those from the diaspora - CR or not - seem to be more defensive and conservative of the culture(s) than some of those who are of it/them. But most CRs don't have the benefit of spending any length of time in the particular countries that form such a large part of their cultural focus, and that can be important or not. Sometimes I wonder if, from the outside, the differences between Ireland and Scotland are really appreciated outside of those countries, in a specifically Gaelic context. Then again I think it's something I'm only really beginning to appreciate a lot more as an outsider myself.

So maybe there has to be a start somewhere, a way of incorporating these cultural elements into one's daily life until it becomes an integral part, a solid foundation to build on. Is there a scale? Where would I be on it? Does it matter? The language is something of a final frontier in that respect, for me, since my efforts at learning by myself are somewhat limited (I'm hoping to start lessons in the autumn, but there's no word yet on whether these will go ahead for this year). I can only try, even if I feel doomed to mediocrity in this respect...But I do feel it's important and integral, ultimately, to my practices. It's frustrating, sometimes, knowing how far away I am from it. But if I fail, I'd rather say I tried, and keep on plugging away at the basics.

But thinking about it further, it's interesting that many of the responses in the thread focused on doing things first, and then religious practice second (if it was mentioned at all). Maybe practice is a given. I don't know. But I would've thought that as a reconstructionist, this kind of answer would be first. It got me thinking, along with some discussions I've seen elsewhere recently about daily practises, that these really are the lynchpin of CR in many ways. It's something I've been musing on since all this cropped up in the last month or so, in various places.

These days I seem to have found myself in a good rhythm as far as my daily practises are concerned: I've been making regular offerings and every evening as I prepare for bed and make sure everything's in order I turn it into a meditation as well as an act of prayer. I do the same in the morning, as I take a pause and look out of the window to see what the day might bring, and I lift my cup of coffee to greet the crows, rooks, magpies and jackdaws that invariably hop about the garden looking for tasty treats before Mungo tries to say hello (they're not so keen). My evening walks also tend to end up being meditative, and I'm finding it all very comfortable and it all feels like second nature now. I cook; I pray; I clean; I sing; I do; I am. It's not something I have to get into the right frame of mind for now, because it's become such a part of my routine. It's how I'm living my life.

It's not something that's other anymore, it's integral. And I realise I risk sounding incredibly smug at this point, sorry. Bear with me as I ramble, I might have a point...I'm not sure yet. It's just that maybe - more than anything - I've realised that CR as a spiritual practice is so pervasive, and it should be. I don't have the benefit of those who were brought up with survivals in the diaspora, along with language and a strong and deep-seated love for one's ancestry. I grew up with a few survivals and superstitions, but these were Catholic, not appropriate to my culture and the cultural milieu I was brought up in as an agnostic/atheist and by-default-Protestant.

Like many, my love and passion for exploring my ancestry is seated within a foggy romanticism that's somewhat removed from reality. I can claim a name, or two, a heritage at some remove, but really it means very little in defining me or my beliefs. As I'm raising my kids, idealising their upbringing as much as I can as a parent who wants the best for my children, and who sees that as lying in this country, Scotland, rather than the country I was born and raised in...I'm seeing what it is to be born and raised Scottish in a new light. I know my husband; I know how he was raised. But discussing and coming to understand many of the finer points of his upbringing not so far from here gives a new perspective to how I see myself, too. I learn a lot just as my kids do. For them, it's second nature, but for me it's something to analyse to embrace but see as something incorporated rather than inherent...And yet, not incorporated. It just is. We adapt...

I was brought up as an atheist or agnostic at best, although my mother encouraged religious exploration in the hope that my sister and I might find some answers as she felt (and still feels) that she never could, or can, find. So I can claim some survivals, few and disjointed though they may have been, but they're disjointed at best - mostly through my nan's efforts to save us spiritually and give us an identity culturally.

So I can only throw myself into the idea of reconstruction of traditions, rather than traditionalism. The principles seem simple on paper, but finding a personal understanding, a rhythm, takes a bit longer, I've found. It all seems to have fallen into place when I stopped worrying about doing things properly, as I've focused on so much before, and the realisation has kinda crept up on me since I made my offerings for Midsummer last week. Rather than finding that the routine of doing, praying, being and so on gets stale and old after a while - the same thing, day in, day out - I'm finding that it's helping me to evolve my practises and outlook as a whole. I've been experimenting some more with traditional dishes (Mr Seren was particularly grateful for the gingerbread I tried) and different types of bannocks (though I still can't find any barley meal, I've been looking for ages - the barley bannocks will have to wait), and even cheese-making. In addition to this stuff, I'm finding that developing a devotional sort of ritual that I can use as a formal Good Wishing and Deiseal ritual to start off my formal festivities has been very helpful in keeping me focused and structured, somwhat. Even if Bealltainn wasn't all that focused at the time, I felt...

The blueberries and raspberries growing in the garden have given me a sense of continuity for my practices, and I think for once, when I harvest them for Lùnasdal (assuming all goes well), I'll feel a real sense of connection to the festival that I usually lack. I've finally found a sense of energy again, and my increasing focus on daily practices has given me an anchor for that. It's not something that gives me mindblowing spiritual insights everyday, but it's giving me a balance. And sometimes, maybe, there might be a bit of an aha! moment along the way. But more than anything the rhythm, the reassurrance of continuity, helps ground me.

Since Bealltainn I've been feeling a lot more positive, for some reason. Being interrupted by a dying cat on one of my meditations the other week can't be interpreted as a good sign, I suppose (and thank you for your kind words, those of you who commented or sent a nod my way in some form or another), but I think I got a few more positive ones when I went to pay my dues to Manannán last Wednesday. There were no dying cats, anyway...Although it is dead jellyfish season now, apparently.

I'm still unsure as to how the 'lesser' festivals fit in with what I do in some respects. I don't go all out like I do for the Quarter Days and sometimes I think maybe I should, so for Midsummer I decided I should at least put some thought into it, in a more structured way. It kind of snuck up on me so I didn't have a chance to do much reading up on it, so I just decided on making some offerings and finishing with a feast. Since Manannán is a god I've had a long relationship with, I started off with taking the dogs down to the beach to leave some offerings there. I've been meaning to post some photos of the village, so now seems as good a time as any...

First we head to the woods - the arboretum that was planted as part of the former estate's grounds, which is situated right in the middle of the village. There are lots of trees that have fallen over because of the soft ground, but amazingly a lot of them seem to survive:

Then we come out of the woods and take one of the back lanes through the oldest part of the village where all the ridiculously big houses are. This is a view of the woods as you leave them, looking back:

Followed by one of the grand old houses further down the lane, heading towards the sea:

Then it's down to the pebbly beach and the rock pools with the views of Bute and Argyll:

(Or just Argyll, really, in this case). And then we loop round on our way home so we get to see all the grand houses sitting up high as we walk along the coastal road:

The roof tiles on the turrets look like fish scales, which seems very apt for the locale.

I went to the beach at dusk this time, and the sun was very low and peaking dimly through the clouds. I'd brought some Pittenweem oatcakes and a generous lump of butter with me and gave it to the sea from the rocks, while Mungo went off for a frolic and Eddie went for a swim. I debated about whether or not I should give something more valuable - would it be too much, or just what was required? I didn't want to offend by giving too much or too little.

I was wearing some silver studs in the shape of shells that I bought a while ago with the idea of giving them in mind, and had put them on in case it seemed appropriate to give them after all. Given the recent stresses and worries, I decided it would be appropriate to give them after all, so they went into the sea with some heartfelt words too. There always seems to be a handy gust of wind at moments like this, that seems to acknowledge what's been given.

I stayed for a while, soaking in the seaweedy salty air and the last rays of the sun, and took a little bit of peacefulness from it all - much needed seeing as my mother was due to arrive the next day. As it began to get properly dark I built a small cairn just by the sea line, so the waves would take it as it came in, and as I looked for a white stone (which I generally put on top), one stone in particular caught my eye and I realised it was covered in fossils. It's not a fossily beach so I've no idea where it came from, but I picked it up and took it as a sign that I was being given something back. A sign of a contract, perhaps. A renewal. I've taken a photo or two, to illustrate:

 

 

It's almost heart shaped, and it's literally covered in the little fossily creatures. Of course I could be wrong. It could be dried on bird poo, or something, not fossily at all...But it seems fossily to me. Either way, I shall add it to my collection of interesting things for my water feature that incorporates representation of the three realms, in my garden (which I really need to finish at some point).

I stuck my iPod on shuffle to see what radiomancy might tell me about the future, not having my ogam fews to hand and feeling that the moment was pretty much now, not later when I'd got the dogs home and fed and so on. It started off with Janis Joplin's Half Moon - very full of three realms imagery, it seemed to me, so uncannily apt given my thought processes at the time. Then there was a break beat called Rolling Thunder, so there were no lyrics but it was very funky and I noted the naturey theme - maybe the thunderiness pointing to Lugh and therefore Lùnsadal...Thirdly came Morcheeba's The Sea. Which made me think that the gods were being a little facetious at this point, but maybe it was also meant to tell me to chill out. Relax, stop worrying!

Point taken.

I went home and made some more offerings to the spirits of the house and more immediate land, and some more specific deities like Badb, before making my way to bed, and I slept well and deeply. Mum wasn't as nearly as demanding as I'd built the whole visit up to be, after she arrived the next day (later than expected), and I cooked a roast chicken with garlic roast potatoes and veg for a celebratory feast for her first night and to celebrate the passing of Midsummer, along with some cranachan and gingerbread for afters - minus the whisky, for mum's portion. She really enjoyed it all, which was a surprise, and it was somewhat gratifying too - high praise from a properly trained cook. I put some chicken out as an offering before the dogs raided the kitchen for leftovers, and it was all gone in the morning, which was a reassuring sight to see. Mungo was pissed off, too, he was really looking forward to scarfing it all down.

So this sense of otherliness...I guess I've realised that that's not what my practices are about. I don't classify them as particularly mundane either, but still. The idea of otherworldliness and thisness is never far in Gaelic cosmology of any flavour. They overlap so heavily as to be almost the same, and yet not. So contradictory and so similar. Thinking about Manannán and what he is, where I am, how I am...It all seems to have fallen into place. Stop worrying. Maybe I might just do that. Hopefully it will take me in the right direction.

Archive: Irish Folk Custom and Belief - Séan Ó Súilleabháin

Irish Folk Custom and Belief
Séan Ó Súilleabháin

I've been looking for a good book on Irish folk customs for ages and in some ways this book fits the bill perfectly (it does what it says on the tin), but in others it's slightly lacking from my perspective because I really wanted more detail. I want a book with some depth, but this book is very much not about depth. It's short and sweet, but it does a good job of introducing the key points of the subject it deals with. So yes, it's very short - less than A5 in size and only about 100 pages or so long - but it packs a lot of stuff in.

On the one hand, there were quite a few tidbits that I found very useful - he gives an example of a smooring prayer that Dames also gave, for example, but here it seems more complete and it's obvious where Ó Súilleabháin got it from. On the other, it covered a lot of familiar ground, which at least helped me get a good grounding in where he was coming from and whether he's reliable as a source or not. It seems he is, but like most books of this type, he doesn't give references. But unlike Dames, however, Ó Súilleabháin's background and style of writing inspires a bit more confidence in the content of his work, I think.

Ó Súilleabháin writes in an easy and conversational tone, but puts across his points about what folklore is and how it should be interpreted (from his point of view, at least) well. And to Ó Súilleabháin's credit, he gives the Irish and then his own translation whenever he quotes something that was originally recorded in Gaelige. Seeing as the book's so short it only skims the surface of the subjects it deals with, but given the style of writing as well as its content, Ó Súilleabháin covers his bases and then some (to a point). While he left me wanting more, it was in a good way - or not, seeing as I definitely want to save up for his A Handbook of Irish Folkore now (clocking in at nearly 700 pages and based on his work with the Irish Folklore Commission, and extremely expensive to buy, to boot. And I could get it from the library, but I need books on my shelf, y'see).

He's clear on the points where he doesn't go into too much detail - either because of space constraints, or the fact of repetition because he's gone into the subject in more detail in a separate book - and this is a good thing because at least you know it's not all there is to know...An extensive bibliiography, or references would have been nice, though. As it is, there's a limited bibliography and that's about it. And as well as all this, while I personally appreciate his very logical and analytical interpretation of folk belief at times, I think some may find him overly so in his interpretations. I don't always agree with these interpretations, but he seems to make his bias clear at least. If the book was written today, he wouldn't have used the phrase 'primitve society' so much, anyway...

Ó Súilleabháin covers things like the Otherworld, festivals, charms, healing, and everyday life, which is just the sort of thing I was interested in as a beginner, and while E Estyn Evans' Irish Folkways covers a lot of the same thing - both with illustrations, too - Ó Súilleabháin is much more succinct about everything. Evans gives the detail, but often to the point where you might start crying with boredom if you keep ploughing through...As an introductory sort of book, then, this fits the bill, I'd say - much more so than Evans, although the quality of his work, at least, is impressive.

Although I want more, I also think it's a shame that Scottish practices don't have nearly the same sort of calibre of introductory level work. I would recommend this to someone who's a beginner, who wants a solid grounding in the basics before moving on to the more in depth and daunting tomes. I think it falls short in the details in some places, but ultimately it gives far more than it lacks. And really, I think I might just have to splurge on everything else he's written.

Archive: A post-Bealltainn post

There were some things I didn't have time to get round to doing before the actual day, but I'm hoping to get them finished in the next couple of weeks before the Old Style Bealltainn, at least.

One of them is the garden, but the weather's against me so there's not a lot I can do about that at the moment. I've managed to do some more planting and mowed the lawn, but that's it. We went south into Ayrshire on Sunday on the one day it wasn't raining as much, and took the kids to the beach to fly a kite - Mr Seren's first ever attempt, as well as Tom and Rosie's. The beach at Saltcoats was beautiful - a huge flat expanse of sand - so it was perfect for running around with the kite, but unfortunately I didn't take the camera with me. Saltcoats seemed to be a lovely town, in a ghostly, half-abandoned kind of way. Years ago in its heyday it was one of the places to go on holiday for the workers in Glasgow and the surrounding area. During the Glasgow Fair every July, when the factories would shut down for two weeks, the workers and their families would descend en masse on the Ayrshire coastal towns like Saltcoats, but the cheap flights abroad and Maggie Thatcher killing off most of the industries in the area put paid to all that and these towns began to fade and wither. In spite of the fact that it was a bank holiday weekend there wasn't much open in the town, so we stopped off for lunch at a Garden Centre on the main road on our way back home and had a bite to eat at the cafe and a nose around the shop.

I resisted the tasteful giant gnomes (and was disappointed at the lack of tasteful giant mushrooms), but picked up a raspberry bush to go with the blueberry I've already got, a couple of junipers, a poppy, and some evergreen type bushes to fill in a few gaps, along with some red chipped glass pieces with an idea of doing something with them, but I'm not sure what yet...It was still sunny when we got home, so I set about mowing and did a bit of weeding and got most of the plants in before the rain came. One of the junipers and the poppy went around the puddle pond, and the raspberry went wherever it would fit, and I did some weeding and managed to break up the soil a bit more and dug some organic plant food and compost into it; hopefully that will condition the soil a bit, it really needs it. I still have some planting to do and I need to finish the lawn, and I'm contemplating buying some strawberries to plant as well.

For my celebrations at Là Fhèill Brìghde I made a devotional sort of plaque out of modelling clay, with a snake incised on it, which I then painted and varnished. I was intending to make one for Bealltainn but I've yet to be inspired so I'm still thinking about it for now. Since Christmas I've been making some seasonal murals with the kids - nature-themed, so not overtly religious (in respect for Mr Seren), but containing elements that are significant to me, that I can talk about with the kids. Well, the last two have been, the ones we did in December were paper snowflakes decorated with glitter (which is when I hit idea of doing them for each season as something I could do with the kids). For Là Fhèill Brìghde we did a 'spring flower' theme. Rosie and I did daffodils, and Rosie did dandelions (for Bride), and Tom..."made purple":

(Some of the snowflakes providing a backdrop for my inaugural use of the coffee grinder I got for Christmas. Sad, I know).

I was feeling a little uninspired for a summery theme until we did some painting yesterday and Tom started doing 'butterflies' by painting splodges onto the paper and then folding it in half. So I decided butterflies were very summery and we set to it. I drew the butterfly shapes, covered them in glue and then the kids decorated them with glitter, pom poms and pipe cleaners. Tom tried a feather butterfly, too. And then they covered the background with the flowery paper to tasteful effect...Rosie helped with the Otherworldly grass and fabric flowers that were going spare while Tom mostly ran around in circles being shrill because it was so exciting!!!!

The result is very Tasteful, I think you'll agree:



But it certainly brightens up the place. I've been putting the pictures up in the kitchen, against the wall that can be seen from the front door and hallway, so it gives a cheery view when you walk in. It's a bit of a dead space otherwise, that's home to the fruit bowl and generally any crap that doesn't have a home for the minute, so it's a good excuse to keep things clear.

Continuing the crafty theme, I've also made a hob house as a friend suggested...How better to give good hospitality, than give a proper place, specially for them? I've been looking for a hob house for a while (after seeing Judith's) but it never occurred to me to make one until now, so while the kids were doing play-doh the other day, I decided to join in with the modelling clay; it's handy having kids sometimes, the tree shaped cutter and the butterfly shape that came with the play-doh factory were put to good use:

Painting it gave me something to do while Mr Seren was away dahn sahf, and I have to admit I'm quite pleased (surprised) with how it turned out, although it's a shame the butterfly 'bled' as I varnished. I thought about putting it on the kitchen windowsill but I think it would get damaged there, so now it's dried out it's taken pride of place on my shelf where it won't get poked and prodded at and hopefully, with some regular offerings, it will make a good home for somebody and then maybe the remote control will stop going missing for no apparent reason, and things will stay where I left them...Thinking about it I probably should have moulded some sort of dish into it somewhere, so I could pour some milk into it as an offering, but maybe not; then I'd have to keep disturbing it to keep it clean and my honoured guest probably wouldn't appreciate that. I shall have to find something appropriate to put next to it for that, instead, but I'm not sure what yet. I'll see how it goes.

Archive: Bealltainn 2009 (2)

Thursday dawned dull and grey and didn't get much better once the rain set in, but it didn't dampen my spirits (pardon the appalling pun...).

The day before, however, I took Rosie for a walk to the beach and we made offerings of apples and bread that were much appreciated if the squawks from the sea gulls that seemed to appear from nowhere were anthing to go by. Then later, just before dusk set in, I took the dogs for a walk to the woods behind our house where all the bluebells are. Mr Seren was supposed to be going dahn sahf so I was taking the dogs out because obviously I wouldn't be able to do it in the evening without leaving the kids on their own. It turned out that the meeting was cancelled so Mr Seren wasn't going to go after all, but my late afternoon walk gave me the opportunity to collect the rowan I needed for the following evening, and to take a look and see how the bluebells were coming along in the woods.

I approached the rowan and discovered a plastic stegasaurus surreptitiously keeping guard in amongst the long grass and dandelions, which I thought was charming and made me laugh. It's plastic expression was somehow welcoming as well fearsome and I bid it good afternoon (luckily nobody was around to think me a crazy person); maybe the appeal of the randomness made me think it was a good sign. I approached the tree and found a damaged branch that needed to come off and made offerings and asked permission to take it, and without any ill omens to suggest a negative answer, I broke it off and took the dogs to the woods. There's been a lot of rain since I took pictures of the bluebells last week and they were pretty much hidden by a sea of ferns that had shot up.

The next day, I spent the morning trying out some Brodick bannocks for the first time. These ones are from the Isle of Arran, so they're the most local to my area that I've found so far. They were very sweet, surprisingly light and extremely tasty, and the closest to a scone in texture that I've tried so far. They have a lot of baking powder in them, but even so I was surprised at how much they rose (and didn't shrink once they came out of the oven), and it gave a rather rustic look once they were cooked.

I tried one with a bit of butter and jam, and a bit of butter and cheese. They were too sweet to go with the cheese well, to my tastebuds, but made a very good breakfast with the strawberry jam. Tom and Rosie helped me make them, and I blessed them as we as all pitched in, but while they were eagerly awaited as they were baking in the oven, Tom wasn't all that impressed with them. There was an unforgivable lack of chocolate as far as he was concerned.

Rosie and I spent the afternoon in the neighbouring village of Skelmorlie, which is older than the village we live in and very olde worlde and quaint, with lots of narrow and winding lanes, old sandstone cottages, and equally old and very green woodland. In spite of the rain Rosie was very keen to explore a new place (and new puddles), and we found a park that might need visiting in the summer. We made our way back to the main road and stopped off at the local butchers to have a nose around and I bought some Pittenweem oatcakes, a selection of cheeses (including one called Stinking Bishop, glorious), a bottle of rosé wine selected and sold by the butcher under his own label, along with a pack of meat that's far cheaper and far better in quality than anything you get from the supermarket; from hereon in, I'm a convert.

We got home with time to spare before we had to pick Tom up from nursery, so we tried the oatcakes and cheese. Mr Seren set about the sheep's cheese and oatcake with enthusiasm and, evidently feeling very authentic, proudly declared himself a Pict before going back upstairs to work again. I bought the oatcakes purely to see how they'd compare with my own efforts at making them (because they're handmade and hopefully tastier, rather than bland and mass produced like you get at the supermarket), and I was pleased to find they tasted pretty much the same so at least I know I'm doing it right...

Anyway, the evening of festivities kicked off with roast lamb, garlic roast potatoes, shredded carrot and swede, and peas (at Tom's insistence - not being one to discourage a child's enthusiasm for vegetables, I duly obliged. Well. Legumes, I suppose...). As I cooked and the kids got in my way helped, Mr Seren cranked up the volume to the music he was listening to - his new obsession, an Orkney band called The Chair (which he discovered the name of after hearing them on BBC Alba and then emailed the Beeb to ask for a playlist; they were very helpful and Mr Seren was very happy, and on his trawls on the internet looking for their music, discovered a band called Ceilidh Minogue. Arf). I'm fairly sure he got his bodhran out and started drumming along, too, but when I asked he got sheepish and defensive. He rarely plays, and even more rarely plays for an audience, so the timing was good synchronicity as far as I was concerned.

For once I managed to make enough food to make sure I could leave the best of each out as a goodly offering, before Mr Seren chanked it all as seconds, and after the dinner was all cleaned away I set about making the Yetholm bannocks for pudding. They're a little strong for the kids' tastebuds so I made them some chocolate chip shortbread, which I also blessed. Seeing as the bannocks have caudle applied I didn't make any separately, but once they were all cooked I served them with a bit of custard, and it was all very tasty.

Once the kids were in bed I got everything ready and turned everything off in the house (but not the freezer or Mr Seren's computers, which had to be on; I like not having food poisoning and Mr Seren likes being able to pay the bills, so a compromise had to be made there). I performed a Good Wish and a sunwise turn, made offerings and libations (using the wine I'd bought earlier) as I did so and then after some contemplation I put the offerings outside. Seeing as it had been raining all day it seemed like a happy coincidence that the sun had come out by this point, so I took the opportunity to check on my new pond and see how it was all doing, and I left my offerings on the stones I'd positioned specially for that purpose. I'd been hoping to finish it all off before I celebrated Bealltainn, but the weather hasn't been with me. Everything I've planted so far looked like it's settling in well, and I was at least able to put the rushes and the other pond plant I'd bought into the water, but there are still some gaps to fill aroud it.

I hadn't filled the pond with tap water, deciding it was probably better to let it fill up naturally, so I took some of the water for saining the house, and brought in the spare marigolds for potting. I kept them for decoation in the house and I'll put them out the front at some point, so far they've taken pride of place on the mantlepiece. I sained the house in the morning last year, with the water I collected, but decided it was best to stick with the usual way of doing things this time round, to keep the flow and rhythm that I've found and like with the format I've been using.

Then I used the nine-candle holder as last year to light my 'bonfire', which I then used to rekindle the hearth - the candle on my shelf, seeing as it's the 'centre' of the house. By this time it was dark and the moon was up, so it felt very effective and with the blessings said the atmosphere in the house seemed a little lighter than it has been recently. Even so, by this point I was struggling to stay focused, so I took a break and tried to relax.

Now it was time to make the rowan charms, but I couldn't find the red thread I'd bought specially for them. All I could find was a sad and sorry piece of red thread from the sowing kit, which was only going to be enough for one charm. I peeled the bark of the wood and tied it up but it wasn't exactly sturdy. I was a little concerned at what this might mean (I would've been seriously worried if I couldn't find anything, though), but I managed to hang it with the charm I used with the ones I made last year, and it's still there and in one piece at least. I suspect I may have some amends to make with the wee buggers in the house, because this isn't the first time something I've desperately been searching for something only to come up with nothing, and I'm not the sort of person who loses things. I might make a wee house for them for my shelf, so they have a place too. And get some more houseplants.

By this time I was getting tired and had to admit I was still struggling to keep focused. Maybe it was because I'd been planning for it all day and I'd spent too much energy thinking about it all already, or maybe it was because I seem to be feeling a little tired and blah these days anyway, but I was getting frustrated with myself at times for not being able to keep it together. I kept forgetting things, like how much ground almond I needed to put in for the shortbread, which nearly messed up the whole batch - especially after I realised that Tom or Rosie had bodged the scales and then I wasn't sure how much I'd put in anyway. I managed to rescue them in the end, in spite of using too much vanilla as well...

So being tired I decided to call it a night. After a little break to wind down I finished off with some ogam fews picked out of my bag, and was surprised to find that there seemed to be a very positive feel to them (or so it seems, at first glance). Surprised because all the little irritations were making me doubt myself.

I nearly forgot to use the Brodick bannock as the offering, "Here's to thee!" etc, so I did that with Yoda, the black cat, looking askance at me, and I jumped the bonfire, as it was dying down, for luck. I spent a while outside contemplating, hoping to clear my head and breathing in the clean air that had a slight chill to it and the scent of cut grass. I left the plate from dinner and further libations out, not wanting to leave them inside and in reach of the dogs. Then I went inside and smoored and after a chat with Mr Seren, got into bed to the sound of my friend the owl (the cailleach-oidhche, somehow very apt) hooting outside as she had been for most of the night.

In the morning I collected the first water from the tap, which I will silver and keep for saining and anything else that it might be needed for in the coming year. Hopefully this time Rosie won't get her hands on it so I'll have some left come this time next year.

Deep down there was a sense of rightness to it all, in spite of the fact that things didn't go as smoothly or as focused as I've come to expect of myself, so I think that's what's left me feeling a little conflicted. I suppose it doesn't matter how I want things to go, so much as how I should do things, how I act and how I honour, so long as a connection has been made, and I got there in the end. But still, I'll be leaving a few more offerings to the wee buggers, and breaking out the modelling clay for that house...

Archive: Highland Smugglers, Second Sight and Superstitions - Francis Thompson

Highland Smugglers, Second Sight and Superstitions
Francis Thompson

I saw this listed on one of my late night trawls of the internet and seeing as it was going cheap (and I was bored), I thought what they hey and clicked a few buttons and hey presto. It landed on my doorstep with a delicate thud a few days later.

I have to illustrate this review because the book itself is illustrated - generously throughout and to charming effect. And by 'charming' I don't just mean quaint, I mean to the point where some of them give me the giggles. The example given is one of my favourites, illustrating a story about a priest gifted with the two sights who happens on a bunch of women, somewhat worse for wear in the street after selling their fish at market and investing the proceeds to lubricate their dry throats. Raucous though they are, instead of reproaching them and disapproving of them as the church elders did, the priest brings out his fiddle and plays music for them to dance to. Merriment ensues. When questioned about his conduct, the priest tells the elders why should he not follow suit of the angels who were preparing their harps in heaven for one of the women in the group (and sure enough, she died within a week). Which is a typically cheery tale of seership, it seems.

Another of the pictures worth seeing is one of a witch, topless but cupping her breasts for modesty (and almost succeeding, were it not for her generous proportions) whilst looking decidedly pissed off at the devil-like fairies who'd congregated for the annual review of all the witches, warlocks, fairies and wizards of the area at Bealltainn.

It's more of a booklet than a book - very short at around 50 pages - and with all the illustrations it's hard to tell who the book is aimed for. It's short and sweet and very straightforward, so my guess would be for older teens still in school, or as one of these fairly throw-away books that often get sold in touristy shops. Either/or, really. Its simplicity and conversational tone make it an easy read, but at the same time it's a little too simplistic to be useful in some respects; no references are given at all, except a passing mention of a particular author like Martin Martin, nor are there any page numbers or a bibliography. This is a shame because for the most part it seems to be well researched, and there are even bits that I want to follow up about bannocks being made on Lewis at Bealltainn in the twentieth century.

The book is split into three sections - the first looking at the smugglers, the second looking at the second sight (aptly enough), and the third dealing with the superstitions of the title. In this case the superstitions are concerned with the seasonal festivals, and Thompson takes a brief look St Bride's Day, Shrovetide, Yule/Hogmanay, Samhainn and Bealltainn; the lack of any mention of Lùnasdal/Lammas is odd considering it was published in 1980, though. This section and the section on the second sight are the most relevant, but the first section gives some entertaining tales and a sense of the humour that could be found in hard times. For the most part there's nothing new to see in the third section on superstitions, and it suffers a little in that Thompson seems to go with the idea of everything harking back to the druids like McNeill does in The Silver Bough, but otherwise it goes into all the usual stuff you'd expect.

I found the section on the second sight to be very informative for what it was - I'm up to speed with the Brahan Seer in a vague sort of way but this helped give me something more concrete to go on, and Thompson was keen to stress that the Brahan Seer is not the be all and end all of Scottish prophecy (hence the tale illustrated above).

If you're looking for a straightforward overview then this book fits the bill if you're willing to put up with its faults. Although if you're not that au fait with terms involved in distilling whisky, like barm, then you might want a dictionary or google handy on occasion. The lack of references is frustrating though, because otherwise it would have been a really good book to recommend for beginners, for the introductory material and then the pointers to further sources. As it is, I'd only really recommend it if you stumbled across it cheap and thought it might be good to get an idea of some of the basics of second sight and the festivals in Scotland. Really, The Silver Bough or The Gaelic Otherworld is what you want, but at least this is a lot shorter so it could serve as an experiment to see if you're interest was piqued enough to invest in more expensive books, I suppose.