Rainbows

Just a brief mention of the Supreme Court ruling that supports marriage for both gay and straight people. It may seem like this represents the end of a long journey and for the decision’s supporters, a happy ending like the 10 of Cups.

In fact, while a tremendous milestone, like all social change, there is still much to do. I realize I may have friends and family who may “unfriend” me because of my belief that joy and love are gifts that are not limited to just a few defined by religions.

Many of those same people want government to stay out of the other rooms of their houses, like the room they keep guns in, the room they keep money in, and the room they express their faith in. They do not want intrusion by strangers into their private lives, yet are keen to intrude on the private lives, the bedrooms of others.

Today I celebrate that I have the freedom to marry the person I love even though some churches or other places of worship may disagree, the freedom to choose my religion even if it is not exactly what someone else would choose for me, the freedom to pursue quiet enjoyment of my life as long as it does no harm to others.

I am an optimist. I recognize that approximately half the population of the world are pessimists. I find pessimism a self-fulfilling prophecy for me. When I expect the worst, the outcome is seldom good. 

But I would no more tell pessimists that they must be optimists because it works for me. It presumes I am 100% right not only for myself but for everyone else. That’s ridiculous. There is evidence that traits like optimism and pessimism are ones people are born with and unless there is significant personality or brain function disruption, people can’t and don’t change. In fact, this polarity of optimism and pessimism isn’t an either-or choice. You might land somewhere in a continuum in the middle.

This is much like sexual orientation.

If a group of people told you that you could not exist the way you are, as a pessimist or a realist or an optimist, you would think they were out of their minds for suggesting you can’t be yourself, even if they cited a religious reason for it that they firmly believed with all sincerity. After all, there are boundaries.

But first people need to recognize the humanity and divinity in each other and the equality that free will gives each person dominion over themselves and no one else. The first boundary to respect is the end of your own scope of control.

Make someone else’s day better as they define it, not as you define it. And if you can’t do that, just quietly leave them alone and feel the kindness in your heart that respecting your fellow human being brings to you, even if you don’t agree. Rainbows really don't come in black and white.

Best wishes.

The Crack in the Sun or Pixie’s Children

There I was, completely enthralled by artist and author Robert M. Place discussing the life and influences of Pamela Colman Smith a/k/a Pixie, the artist who drew and painted the images for the deck most people think of when they think of Tarot. I am sometimes a co-host with Donnaleigh de LaRose on her inspiring, meaty, funny and informative tarot show on Blog Talk Radio called Beyond Worlds.

Just my own little plug for Donnaleigh and her efforts: Beyond Worlds is one of the best sources of free information on tarot there is. So, if you have internet access but you are on a terrible budget, don’t have money to travel for conferences or in-person classes, Beyond Worlds is the perfect place to learn more about tarot from the most respected people I know. Where else can you get a free education from authorities on the topic? Did I mention free?

Back to this broadcast, I was so happy Donnaleigh had tagged me to be a guest host for this particular show. Bob’s book The Tarot, History, Symbolism, and Divination is one of my favorites. And he creates beautiful images in his own tarot decks that have at once a simplicity of line and a complexity of imagery. At one Reader’s Studio, Bob taught a segment on his own tarot spread reading the Chakras that was more diagnostic than a CT-Scan. Plus, at the last Reader’s Studio I snagged a couple of his sterling silver pins. Bob’s kind of an encyclopedia in himself too so just listening to him takes you places you never expected to go.

So the cool thing about this episode, and all the other episodes of Beyond Worlds, is that Donnaleigh posts the recorded session to make it available for people who were unable to attend the show live. You can listen to Bob’s description of Pixie’s early influences, including placing her not only in the right timeline but also among the people she knew.

We started laughing about Pixie being like Forrest Gump, showing up with so many famous names. Ellen Terry, the most famous actress of her time, was like a mother to her after her own mother died. William Butler Yeats introduced Pixie to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in London, a group “dedicated to the goal of uniting with the divine, achieving henosis, and perfecting oneself” according to the Wikipedia listing. She was close to Bram “Uncle Brammie” Stoker in her theatre experience and illustrated his 1911 book The Lair of the White Worm.

Pixie was an artist whose family was rich and as it turns out not painfully dull. Her mother was an actress. Pixie lived in New York, England and Jamaica in her early years due to her father’s business enterprise. Her mom died when Pixie was young, but not too young to remember. Her father apparently was “in her court” and assisted her with her career.

I decided to look for little Pixie in the Tarot, her Tarot, her children, herself as child. I was surprised, since she had been a kindergarten teacher and had illustrated at least one children’s book, that so few of her cards show children. I looked specifically for children, not teenagers or young adults and found Death, The Sun, Judgement, the 6 of Cups, the 10 of Cups, the 6 of Swords and the 10 of Pentacles.

My sense was that she would say the Tarot is an adult thing. The search for mystical knowledge in the world of symbols for her seems less like Arthur Edward Waite’s prescriptive knowledge of their use and meaning and much more like the discovery of the eternal while listening to Debussy. Our Pixie approached the Tarot from a “right-brained” point of view and I expect she felt the images came to her, in their detail, rather than being drafted, directed and choreographed. And in that adult thing that was Tarot, the child could only be a child with a child’s vision, faith, point of view.

In Death, the dark-haired innocent is wreathed with flowers and is on her knees, staring Death full on as he rides through the landscape on his pale horse with his back armor. The little one reaches back for her mother’s hand, but her mother is unable to look or respond. The child views Death as a small person, someone who could not stop the horse or its rider. The events of change are so much bigger than a child.

In The Sun, the child rides the white horse, both bare-backed, without armor, without protection or distance from each other. I thought of Pixie’s childhood in Jamaica, in the warmth of the overgrown garden, free, yet protected by walls built by someone else, triumphant, delighted in the day. For what else do we have but today?

The children in Judgement look up at the trumpeting angel. Where their parents strike a pose to be uplifted by inner enlightenment or reach out to feel the music, the children raise their arms as much to greet the angel as to embrace it and even to conduct the music. Is it easier to arise from the past with less baggage? It is so much easier to fly when you still believe you can.

Still safe within the walls of home, the children in the 6 of Cups appear to be the scene of the older child giving a cup of a flower to the younger. Is the gift incomplete? The older child seems to offer the cup bare-handed, knees bent to the younger one. Or is the older child, unable to understand the significance yet, accepting a gift, bending to smell the fragrant flower, from the younger child whose hand is gloved, never quite touching. Will the child understand, only in retrospect, the significance of the gift? Memory is like this, a picture without touching.

The children in the 10 of Cups dance together, child-happy in a landscape where the parents appear to understand and appreciate the gift of the bliss they have been given. For children, these days last forever. For an adult, they are gone too soon. Like a rainbow, were they ever there at all?

I understood too well the child in the boat in the 6 of Swords, sitting with an adult—mother?—cloaked as if in mourning or bundled against the cold. The thoughts are heavy in the boat and threaten to sink it as they make their way from rough water to a far-away land. Someone else, someone strong steers the boat. Someone else is in charge. My family left our home for a place we had only heard of. It was an adventure. It was a mourning. It was refuge.

Finally, the 10 of Pentacles’ child peeks out from around her happy and confident mother’s skirt to touch the dog. The dog seeks the touch, however, of the patchworked old man outside the gates of security and the known universe. Is he a beggar? A wizard cloaked in magical symbols? The parents focus on the now, but the child looks outside the gates to know what may be, drawn by the comforting touch of the warm and loving dogs who seem to know the old man. Is this the real thing? Or is it just fantasy? One thing is for certain, for good or ill, all this will, must change.

I think Pixie shows us that childhood is to be held precious and dear, protected and encouraged and yet is so often misunderstood. Near the XIX in many printings of the RWS deck on The Sun, there is an extra jagged line, thought by some to be a crack in the printing plate. The “flaw” is the way of things. All things must change and become themselves again.

Best wishes.

Happy Families

Cousin RoseRed says she’s a bit phobic about the 10 of Cups. This astonishes most of her acquaintances since most people think of the 10 of Cups as that Happily Ever After card. The RWS (Rider-Waite-Smith) shows hale and healthy Mom and Dad arm-in-arm under a rainbow set in a clear sky with ten cups perched on the rainbow. Their two children laugh and play nearby, paying no attention to their parents’ happiness, no news being good news and apparently good news being no news either.

But that’s a little strange, isn’t it? Rainbows are created from rain in the sky with the sun shining on it. The drops act as a prism, like the suncatchers in windows, and split pure light into its separate colors. And yet our 10 of Cups shows a clear day. From this we could not only get the “happily ever after” interpretation but an indication, no matter how subtle or beautiful, that the rain still exists. Is the rain the range of emotions that turn our lives from black and white to techni-color? Is the rain the vehicle for the delivery of nourishment that would be forever stuck in the earth otherwise? But in this picture, the rain is actually stuck in the sky. We are shown the rain, the happy side of the rain, the colors, the hope, the promise. It’s like what I used to call the “OK music” that monster movies play after all the scary stuff is over and vanquished and the movie ends.

Our lives aren’t movies, though. Happily ever after, if you really mean ever after, doesn’t really exist. It’s great for stories and it’s better to tell the kids about a happy ending to a story so they have hope that at least sometimes things turn out all right. But our lives go on after the end of the “movie” or “story” we’re telling. Other things happen, some good, some bad. Ultimately, for all of us, our story is over.

I admit I take some vicarious pleasure at Cousin RoseRed’s horror of the 10 of Cups. I’m sure experiencing the full measure of it is not so much fun, so my immediate apologies, cuz. But it’s the same vicarious pleasure we take in watching scary movies or listening to scary stories. They are titillating and they are, importantly, happening to someone else. Maybe we tell these stories to ourselves to build a sense of emotional distance so that when it counts we can laugh or better yet stand up to what scares us. This is counter to what most of us think we and the rest of the world need. Why should we teach ourselves purposeful insensitivity especially at a time when being kinder all around is the clear need in our world? For survival, for one thing.

After all, who can’t appreciate the irony of having survived a plane crash only to die of a snakebite? Just because one hazard has been overcome, one sorrow has been survived, one evil has been eradicated, nothing says more trouble won’t come later. So that feeling of everything’s just perfect is unsettling to my 10-of-Cups-phobes who are pretty sure there’s another velociraptor waiting around the next kitchen counter. Anticipation isn’t always a pretty sight. But the 10 of Cups tells us that we need to enjoy those moments when everyone in our little community is happy, really feel them, even if the rain never hits the ground to be truly nourishing. That rainbow is still a wonderful thing, if fleeting.

Often the 10 of Cups means that the whole family is happy. I’m not sure I remember specifically a time in my childhood when that occurred but like the two kids playing at their parents’ feet, the absence of a remarkable and memorable bad time resulted in a vague and seemingly endless good time. Its memory is more of a feeling than the stop-action horror film that bad times could be.

I still have to remind myself and others that what makes one community or family happy does not always please everyone else. One could point to US politics for that. In our political scene here, what appears as the 10 of Cups Happy Family to one group of people can be a killing blow, say, a 10 of Swords moment to another and perhaps just an undue burden like the 10 of Wands to another. It feels cheeky to say that Happy Families are relative, but there you have it.

Without drawing on recent events that could bring out the swords or wands or cups or even pentacles as a reaction, I can point to one Happy Family whose rainbow was not everyone’s 10 of Cups.

John and I traveled to southwest Scotland years ago. “Roots tour?” our occasionally helpful good Samaritans eye-rolled to us. We nodded sheepishly. As far as I can tell, Cousin RoseRed and my common family lived in this part of Scotland along the Galloway coast. It looks a lot like the coast of northern California, trees, cows, green, fog, sea. California has this interesting thing called sunshine which happens sometimes along its north coast and a somewhat more interesting thing called earthquakes which, thank goodness, happen even more rarely than sunshine. Galloway has a pre-historic ring of standing stones called the Tor House Ring, a stone circle that would be a terrific calendar if the sky were clear enough to figure out where the sun, moon, planets and stars were. I’m pretty sure they could tell sometimes. Galloway also has, or rather had, Sawney Bean.

In short, Sawney, his wife, and maybe 50 children and grandchildren lived in a cave or caves (you’ll see why the reports aren’t particularly clear) along coastal Galloway and were known terrors of the travelers.

Before I go into more detail, you should know that the word “scot” means “bandit” and getting away “scot free” is something more like that 7 of Swords thing, meaning the bandit mugged you, took all your stuff including your clothes and left you for dead, which you likely were if you lay there overnight because it gets cold in Scotland.

Sawney and family took this concept a step further. In short, they ate people. Invoking Sawney’s name was basically to call upon the boogieman of southwest Scotland and scare children into being careful if not good. But think of things from Sawney’s point of view. A fat traveler in finery traveling alone or perhaps in a small group is overcome by a family of incestuous cannibals. I’m sure Sawney and family were delighted. Roast tonight! Their 10 of Cups was very much the travelers’ 10 of Swords.

Now there are sources that say Sawney was a real person with a real family who lived in real caves, born in the late 1300’s and preying upon travelers in the 1400’s, coincidentally about the time that the Tarot was starting to become popular with the common folk. There are others who maintain that Sawney was a scary story invented in the 1700’s to strike fear in the hearts of outsiders traveling through this often difficult and disputed territory. Most agree, though, that things were desperate enough in Scotland from time to time that cannibalism did occur.

Sawney’s story, in fact, inspired such schlock-horror as the movie “The Hills Have Eyes,” which countless teenagers have screamed and laughed at. Sawney’s story proves at the very least that family happiness is relative. You do need to know whether you’re having dinner or being dinner at least.

Within our lives, families can be horror stories or a place of loving refuge. They can be familiar evils or remote fairy tales. The 10 of Cups can be the ultimate of an emotional cycle, a happy ending, the realization of hopes and dreams for more than just yourself. It can also be the last time we were ever together and happy. Every family has its rain suspended in the sky. It is up to us as family members to concentrate either on the positive or negative face of the family with the understanding that we cannot have rainbows without a little rain.

Best wishes.

***

My heartfelt sorrow and sympathy to the friends and family of slain Vallejo police officer Jim Capoot.  He dedicated his life to making ours better.  May he rest in peace and may his family take some tiny comfort in knowing that he was loved and will be remembered by the community he served so fully, so selflessly, so freely, so kindly, so well.

This Film Is Not Yet Rated

I’m glad I lived, although it’s possible that some things will never be the same. We had a family reunion, you see. It’s my husband’s family. Their roots are in West Cork, County Cork in Ireland, specifically the magical and wondrous Beara Peninsula and a lot of them have either lived in or are related to people who lived in Butte, Montana. If you know Butte, you’ll know it’s less magical and perhaps more alchemical than Allihies or Castletownbere.

Picture Postcard Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord


It all started…well, no, that’s not exactly right. But Cousin Margaret (“Mike” to some but she let us know that she’d rather be Margaret since it was, after all, the name given to her at birth) had pointed out to us that she was now the head of the family and that we needed to host a family reunion. This is what happens when you stop in on your relatives during an otherwise innocent vacation to Florida.

You go out on a seashell hunting trip and come back with an assignment to bring people together from all over the world. I was starting to think that creating a scallop shell with a calico pattern out of spit and sand might be easier than organizing the rels. This isn’t to say they aren’t the nicest people in the world. God love them, they are. And through my sister-in-law’s diligent attack on dusty documents and available ancestry sites, there are even more of them than I ever knew. But just getting a large number of people to converge near a single spot for a single weekend has logistics, I mean logistics, people! There’s a lot of stuff to do.

I’m a novice at this. I’ve never hosted a family reunion. Well, not entirely. One time I got most but not all of my brothers and sisters to meet me at my father’s place in Missouri. I made everyone t-shirts, we had dinner, then entertained the residents of the retirement home with our musical renditions of just about anything we could think of. People threw dollar bills from the balconies. My siblings’ children or their children did not attend. It wasn’t that organized. I just thought Daddy would be jazzed about seeing almost everyone. That’s actually the only time my father, those siblings and I had ever been together under one roof, I think, unless everyone was there for my grandmother’s funeral. That’s Grandmother McCord. We aren’t much of a get-together family.

My husband’s family, however, actually like each other most of the time or at least they think they do which is better than most people manage. This is not to say that there wasn’t the danger of police helicopters, rescue transports or a S.W.A.T. Team involved or even just a trip to Urgent Care for stitches. Happily, none of that happened.

I had been to just one of my husband’s family reunions before and it was with the other side of his family. We had planned to go to the reunion in Butte anyway and ended up making it also our honeymoon. To my mind, this shows the pluck of the bride. I love adventure. It was over the 4th of July and we saw the parade, stayed two nights in the Copper King Mansion, a truly cool B&B, and a few nights in the high-rise section of the Finlen Hotel which I adore in a way that’s hard to explain. It was sort of like The Shining without Jack, atmospheric without being oppressive. We also spent a night in a “motor-hotel” cabin in Choteau which was actually much scarier than the Finlen since the owner said we could stay in the cabin, but “don’t open that door.” I didn’t. I regret that, not opening the door, I mean. And it snowed on July 1. See, I thought, silly me, I thought it was summer so I didn’t bring a winter coat. But it was still a wonderful time, the reunion, the Butte history, the horrifying Berkeley Pit and its toxic water and some good antiquing. But I didn’t have anything to do with the organization of the reunion. It was my only template for what people might expect.

John, his sister Tessie and I did try to get an early start. We interviewed the local hotel and found out that the rooms and catering were something like a king’s ransom and decided we could do better with something more affordable for everyone because getting here was going to be hard enough. So we put it together in pieces. We picked a weekend, mostly because it was Tessie's birthday and in the summer when people with children were more likely to travel. We decided that we would have a picnic on the rugby pitch since there’s grass, trees, water, electricity and, well, since we already lease the field, it’s all ours. We sent announcements. I started collecting old pictures of Butte and West Cork. Tessie continued her deep and productive dive into family history, coming up with long lost and delightful Margaret O, a different Margaret from our Florida muse. Margaret O’s wealth of family information, pictures and enthusiasm manifested itself at the reunion with a truly stunning slide presentation about the history and connections and even the story of poor Ann who was lost in a blizzard after work and found a couple days later up on Big Butte, bless her heart. Time passed.

I was kind of hoping that I wasn’t in charge, you see. I know I have this project management background and all but the last thing I wanted was to Be In Charge of other people’s family events, denying them the right to enjoy that privilege. It seemed presumptuous and piggy. So I held back. But I created an event logo and with my husband’s rugby connection, got t-shirts made, green of course because of the Irish thing. Time was drawing near and all of us on the committee, including Cousin David, his lovely and talented wife Wendy and their gorgeous and kind daughter Leah, were getting a little nervous. A lot of focus went into photographs. This is a photo-focused family so photos, especially the old ones that belonged to those now passed and perhaps fallen into obscurity, were a huge topic of interest.

Knowing this photo-fanaticism, I hired my friend Erica Shaw as our official photographer and videographer. You can check out the trailer of her DVD that’s in progress on my Facebook page. But we had logistical things still outstanding, like securing the hall for the non-picnic times, and settling on exactly how we were going to feed people.

It all fell into place, in spite of the nerves, freak-outs, panic attacks, and people who I’m sure will resume talking to each other really soon. The Raymond Victor Band showed up and played music at the picnic. My friend Andrew entertained the kiddies. We flew kites, ate hotdogs, beat a clown piñata into submission (yeah, I hate clowns), had birthday cake, some pizza, a pasta dinner and even cleaned the church hall up before 4 pm the last day. We lived! Ta-DA! Little Marina was crushed that her mighty blows on the piñata were not the winning ones. I’m hoping that’s the extent of the permanent scarring from the event. That, and I don’t think my knees or ankles will ever recover. I think I need more rest.

Truly, though, it could not have been a better 10 of Cups Happy Family Reunion in my opinion. We came, we saw, we talked, we hugged, we laughed, we cried. But most of all, we are NOT doing it again. I mean, I love you people, but it is so someone else’s turn!

Best wishes!

** ** **

And seriously, if you want a fabulous event memory, contact Erica Shaw: http://www.photographyandmediabyerica.com/information/Welcome_Page.html

In 10’s

I don’t pretend to be able to write in “text message” speak but from what I can gather it’s a lot like an entire book condensed to the size of a license plate. My best guess is that the severe abbreviations were born out of necessity as text messages have a maximum length much shorter than a graphic novel and suit the nano-minded young ‘un’s level of patience and concentration. Most texters seem to be those whom we slower, older folk diagnose, rightly or wrongly, as the ADHD crowd. We oldsters, so many of us having fallen prey to the idealist Liberal Arts educational opportunities of our time, may also take a moment to despair of the deterioration of the English language in general and spelling in the specific. The root of the difference is at least accurate: the whippersnappers go faster than we ageless beauties and revived virtuosos do.



Art Postcard Tarot
(c) copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



My last couple of weeks, especially the weekends, have been really action packed and intense. In text lingo I think that would translate to “in 10’s” and perhaps stereotypically and a bit behind the times would be expressed as “in 10’s, dude.” This time, though, there is recognizable connection between my intense last few days and the 10’s in the tarot. My tens in tarot are the Wheel of Fortune and the Tens of Cups, Wands, Pentacles and Swords.

The Wheel of Fortune makes me aware of the passage of time and its effects, for good or ill. Some days you’re the windshield; some days you’re the bug. The passage of time can be all too fast. I was just getting used to thinking of my friend Sandy as a mother of three and just this week her third grandchild was born. It’s a girl! (Toss the flower petals now.) Some things just seem to sneak up on you. When the wheel spins, you can land up or down and it’s so lovely to have some happy news to celebrate. Welcome, little Sophia!

That wheel can spin a little too slowly, too, as in: When am I ever going to get rid of this cold? I mean I’m grateful -- grateful, truly-- that my symptoms are nothing like last month’s torture on the rack with the flu. This cold, though, is like static cling, the cat urine of viruses that will not wash out no matter what remedy is applied. It’s evil, I tell you. Just when I think I’m feeling better, a whole new wave of congestion and explosive expletive/cough/sneeze/choke combinations come at the most inopportune time.



Art Postcard Tarot
(c) copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



“How are you feeling?” asks my Nordic goddess chiropractor. “Oh, fine,” I lie and barely spit out the words before I’m red-faced and purple eyed with a new seizure of viral noises that would scare dragons away from their caves. “Fine,” I gasp, finally able to get my breath again. Really? Really?

I may have spent the afternoon at work with relative ease of airways but the moment I step into a social situation where I least want to share my most intimate Velcro of a virus, there I go, sneep, snort, hork, choke, gargle, honk and finally, with a swipe of the ever-present tissue, sniff. Yep, I’m ready to put the ol’ 10 of Swords in this baby, cut this microbe off at the knees. OK, cut it off at the molecule. Whatever. I’m done. Quick, Henry, the Flu Flit or whatever viral insecticide will pounce on this thing like the Glee Lady’s limo cat’s story about the cat crushing the mouse. I want to sleep through the night, breathe through my nose and have an adult conversation about any topic other than over-the-counter cures.



Art Postcard Tarot
(c) copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



So in spite of this liar, this cheat of a germ, which fools me into thinking I’m “better today” and thus leads me to make commitments for evenings and weekends only to break them or (is it worse yet?) to keep them, I drag my aching ribs and flame-red nose to share.

The unreliability of my breathing and sudden onset of symptoms with little or no warning, however, has made me appreciate at least one thing so much more. My husband’s sister loves to watch American Idol, so when she visits we revel in the contestants, an affliction my husband does not share. One of this year’s stand-outs is a young man from nearby Santa Cruz, James Durbin, who has Tourette’s Syndrome. I am encouraged that if he is able to sing so well when his body may have other ideas, surely I should be able to overcome a cold. Right? He made it to the Top 10, surely a 10 of Cups dream for him and his happy family and friends. Now if only I can start breathing without my nose running.



Art Postcard Tarot
(c) copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



Tens are about endings and beginnings, so I’ve got the 10 of Pentacles going too. We’re putting the finishing touches on some financial items especially the annoying paperwork all too common in tax season. We’re working on planning my husband’s family reunion this summer and I feel the details of the preparation for that starting to sneak up on me like hungry ghosts. I wonder if my friend Erica could do crowd shots during the event and, hey, maybe set up a little booth and make a little extra. Add to that the screech of a few unfinished projects lying around that I really do want to complete, plus a quick deep (we’re talking ‘way deep here) dive into numerology using The Connolly Book of Numbers, volumes I and II. These are likely beyond my tolerance for the esoteric (can I be a tarot reader and say that??) but I identified the insufficiency in my own understanding to the point where I could not ignore it. So in I dove. I have a lot of 3’s (off topic, I know) and I like that. 3’s are creative and friendly. And apparently easily distracted. Hmm, maybe I used to be one of those nano-children. Or that’s contagious, too. Back to that pile of unfinished projects.

To top it all off, I’ve been busy at both the Day Job and tarot reading. With the Day Job, if it’s not one thing, it’s about 10. That fits, right? Where are all these people and their projects coming from? My status report is starting to look like the 10 of Wands, not that I want to complain that I’m overloaded. Nope, I’m bearing up bravely. Watch me grit my teeth. Oh, right, the dentist says I’m not supposed to grit my teeth any more. Sure, I’ll take care of that just as soon as I’m done with my cold!

Art Postcard Tarot
(c) copyright 2010 Marcia McCord

And happily, along with the bundle of too much going on, is a sudden uptick in my tarot reading, both at the shops I haunt and elsewhere. I’m teaching classes, I volunteered for the 3rd Annual Witches Ball in Benicia dressed in fun costume no less and I’m making after hours appointments all over. I’m also looking forward to my big spring treat, going to the Readers’ Studio 2011 in New York next month. I made my reservations, got my flight figured out, remembered that the Cobb Salad was the best thing on the menu for the Aeclectic Tarot dinner that’s being organized and have a couple of fun new t-shirts to wear at the conference. I have to figure out how to pack my costume for the dress-up dinner without crushing the, well, it’s a surprise so I’m not telling. And just to make things even more fun, I’ve booked the Himalayan Festival in Berkeley and another peaceful walk among the songbirds with my bird-buddy Ronda in a class put on by the Pt. Reyes National Seashore Association.

OK, seriously, I am so done with this cold. Di, ynke grm!!!

Best wishes.

Thanksgiving Cups

Today gratitude fills our cup and turkey or other delights fill our tummies and football reaches one if its “max out” moments for me. I don’t mind so much though because it is a time of relaxation after overindulgence, a little break from the breakneck pace of work, a time of snoozing through the best memories of our family lives and a time of reflection. For instance, since I snore like a freight train myself, I never complain about my husband’s snoring. It’s the white noise I hear that lets me know that everything is OK.


So, since my cup runneth over, or tippeth over with help of furry friends or sudden gestures, I reflect on the tarot cups and being thankful. Oh, and we don’t have to go around the table and say what we’re thankful for. I watched Dexter on Showtime recently and I want to make sure that there’s no need to evaluate gratitude for its quality and completeness.

• I’m thankful for the love in my life and for having never given up on finding it. (Ace of Cups)

• I’m thankful that I looked for love for myself personally, sometimes in the wrong places and sometimes in the right ones. I took chances. I took breaks. I tried and failed, more than once. It took a while, but I finally found my true love. Surprisingly enough he isn’t feline or made of chocolate, but is a real human being! (Two of Cups)

• I’m thankful for my friends, some of whom have slipped away without me, some of whom have stayed for appetizers, drinks, entrée and dessert with a fantastic decaf mocha with extra whipped cream. You know who you are. (Three of Cups)

• I’m thankful that I didn’t get caught up in the trap of being bored that seems so fashionable. How can I be bored with all this going on? And I’m thankful that I can pause from time to time and revel just enough in what I have without needing more more more. (Four of Cups)

• I’m thankful that I’ve been able to pull out of the depths of remorse for things that didn’t work, that might have been. We all have sorrows and we all have joys. It is up to us to face them both and decide which to make closest to our hearts. So, even if it irritates half of humanity, I’m thankful that I’m an optimist. My cup isn’t half full; it’s filling up all the time. (Five of Cups)

• I’m thankful for the memories. Memories are such wonderful things. They can be polished and refinished so they shine with the best parts. They can be hosed off, dusted, blow dried, and put in favorable lighting to show off their good sides. They are a gift you give yourself. I’m thankful that my memories are still in easy access and pray for those whose memories are fugitives in the storm of illness. I’m thankful for my Inner Child and her heroes like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mighty Mouse and Fiona from both Shrek and Burn Notice. (Six of Cups)

• I’m thankful for the many choices I’ve had and made, some good, some not so. I’m thankful for some of those unanswered prayers too. They have made me what I am today. And I still have more choices! (Seven of Cups)

• I’m thankful that my life has led me through many side roads and thankful for those things and people that I loved and left because it was my path to move on. I miss my mom, my step-mom and my dad, those wonderful, talented, spirited, imperfect people who tried their best. May those who think of me when I am gone forgive my imperfections too. They are many. I always wondered why I had to leave my grade-school paradise in Florida. Well, of course! It was for this great adventure. (Eight of Cups)

• I’m thankful for the things that give me joy: My husband, my pets, my house, my tarot cards, my needlework, my books, my friends, my work. My joy surrounds me like my bed full of stuffed toys and teddy bears. I’m personally thankful for the invention of pumpkin pie. Okra, Dr Pepper, root beer, watermelon not so much, but pumpkin pie is a big thumbs up. (Nine of Cups)

• I’m thankful for my family, here and beyond, by blood, by marriage, by choice. Basically, I’m happy to be here with them. It is not a famous life. It is not a wealthy life. Those things don’t matter to me. I am happiest to see my family happy, to bring a little joy or laughter or new thought or solace into their lives. It is a life of thanksgiving. (Ten of Cups)

Best wishes.