tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7475536788673450462024-03-14T01:13:31.209-07:00Marcia McCord Tarot ReaderMarcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.comBlogger249125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-81260524375406329682016-11-20T14:09:00.002-08:002016-11-20T14:09:57.051-08:00Fortune Teller No.3 Web Radio November 21, 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Join me tomorrow night on <a href="http://www.liveparanormal.com/">www.LiveParanormal.com</a> at 8 pm Pacific/11 pm Eastern with my guest Joanna Nelson. Joanna is creating a new Tarot, The Monstarot! Want to know more? Click this <a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kickstarter.com%2Fprojects%2F430545534%2Fmonstarot%3Fref%3Dprofile_created&h=YAQFY3Nx6" target="_blank">link</a>!Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-83057682087355774482016-11-16T11:16:00.000-08:002016-11-16T11:16:07.493-08:00Queen of Air and DarknessBreathing is good. The older I get, the more I appreciate breathing. I know it sounds a little stupid. Our bodies are marvelously designed so that we can control our breathing and when we're not paying attention, like when we're sleeping, we keep on breathing.<br />
<br />
Mostly.<br />
<br />
My boss at my Day Job noted more than once that I'm not a Morning Person. Well, no. I'm not. Now, don't get me wrong. I love mornings. Early mornings in California can make you think, at least for a few minutes, that the whole place belongs to you. It's quiet. More and more I like quiet, too.<br />
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I didn't realize I was such a fan of quiet until I went to a conference for work recently. I went to DreamForce along with, oh, 160,000 of my very best friends. We all carried blue backpacks and followed trails like hamsters on a camping trip. Seriously, for an empath, being in a crowd of 160,000 of motivated software seekers is like being screamed at by dolphins, locusts and maybe a few jumbo jets. Somewhere in the middle of my days of enlightenment, which WERE valuable for my work experience, truly, I declared that I was no longer an extrovert.<br />
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I don't know if it's possible to resign from a personality trait but I was willing to try. I no longer was energized by the frisson of others' happiness. I no longer wanted to talk all night, an extrovert's idea of dancing all night for you non-verbals. I no longer thrilled to the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd. I thought being in a real forest with songbirds, the occasional insect and fresh air was maybe the best thing I could think of--or maybe the beach with the sound of waves and seagulls and the smell of salt and seaweed. Those things were all I craved while I was surrounded by my eager companions from all over the world with their identical blue backpacks and program guides of presentations spread over 14 buildings and several days.<br />
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On the other hand, the bicycle rickshaw guys were aces! Better than taxis with the breeze in my face, less sardined than the Muni buses, my dedication to my rickshaw peddlers was something like the euphoria of adopting a kitten at the animal shelter. The separate peace was transcendent, a rolling air-bubble of serenity through the bumper-filled City streets. I could finally absorb some of avalanche of information from the conference with the air blowing in my face. I tipped.<br />
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And then recently I saw a clip about a guy who liked to sing Frank Sinatra style. He'd been blinded in the most extraordinary way. It seems that he had a common problem, sleep apnea. It doesn't seem so remarkable except that he had stopped breathing for a long enough to cut off the blood flow to his optic nerve, resulting in blindness.<br />
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I was thunderstruck. Well, maybe literally. It would be an understatement to say I snore. One of my friends told me that my husband MUST be a saint to put up with that for so many years. It's embarrassing. My goddess girls have learned practical ways of dealing with it, like putting me in separate sleeping quarters. When I go to Tarot conferences, I tend to pick roomies who are somewhat hard of hearing or all-night partiers. I try to spare them the worst of my nighttime serenade.<br />
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After I saw the Sinatra singer's story, I wrote a note to my doctor. Have we ever talked about this? I don't just snore like a freight train. Think 747's or Cape Canaveral rockets. Think super-villains with world-threatening sonic weapons. And I don't just snore. I laugh, talk, whistle, sing, fight demons with mad martial arts skillz, hell, I even talk on the phone--I do just about everything except walk in my sleep. Walking might give whoever is in the room with me a break, you know? Apparently my subconscious draws the line somewhere. I've heard of CPAP machines that might help.<br />
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One night's Sleep Clinic testing showed that on average I naturally stop breathing around 79 times per hour. Stop. Breathing. 79 times per hour. It's like an all-night panic attack. One of the questionnaire items was Do you feel more tired when you get up in the morning than when you go to bed at night? Uh. Yeah.<br />
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Cue Star Trek's Bones (Doc McCoy) shaking his head saying, "She's dead, Jim."<br />
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In Tarot the Queen of Swords is the Queen of Air and Darkness, the recipient of logic, the supporter of knowledge, the disciple of Truth. She is classically the smartest girl in the deck. Often she is unhappy and often she likes to share, not to make people unhappy too, but so they know the truth. She is without romance, but not without feeling. She knows the Truth often isn't pretty. But the Truth is something you can hang onto, even if it's like hanging onto the sharp end of the sword.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-chjXLhITNGc/WCdqZp2A7hI/AAAAAAAABLA/_77bEFZC9oAFZBnJZ55JV4eZKp609lwtgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-chjXLhITNGc/WCdqZp2A7hI/AAAAAAAABLA/_77bEFZC9oAFZBnJZ55JV4eZKp609lwtgCLcB/s320/IMG_0531.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture Postcard Tarot<br />(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord</td></tr>
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It was time for me to call upon my inner Queen of Swords. I needed more air in the darkness before I lost brain cells or an optic nerve or something I valued.<br />
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On the first week with the CPAP machine, I went from stopping breathing an average of 79 times per hour to 7 times per hour. I actually LIKE mornings now. They'd really like it if I got that 7 down to 4 or fewer because, well, stopping breathing is just not good for your heart, your head, your weight, your sanity. It's a long list.<br />
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I'm fortunate that I have access to health care so that I can get the right mix of air all night long. My dreams have changed and have become more fun, although I did dream of Leonard Cohen the night before he died. Leonard had never been a guest in my dreams before, so it was nice to meet him on his way out. He was friendly, neighborly, positive, pleasant.<br />
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They are still experimenting with the right model of machine is perfect to shove a little more oxygen into my bloodstream. And my nosecone does make me look a little like part of the Borg collective, 6 of 4, I've dubbed myself--not that good at math.<br />
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The harsh truth can be like shoving air down your throat. You can fight it with a panic attack or you can treat it like the joy a dog has with his schnozz stuck out the car window. Sniff ALL the sniffs, I say.<br />
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Oh, and I'm told I don't snore anymore. Score.<br />
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Best wishes.<br />
<br />Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-46790708802365599702016-11-12T09:54:00.001-08:002016-11-12T09:54:05.703-08:00Fortune Teller No. 3 Web RadioJoin me first and third Mondays at 11 pm Eastern/8 pm Pacific on <a href="http://www.liveparanormal.com/">www.LiveParanormal.com</a> Radio for my show Fortune Teller No. 3. Free readings, guest speakers and talk about divination. It's free, it's friendly and it's fun!<br />
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<br />Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-39186988587010463282016-02-22T21:29:00.001-08:002016-02-23T00:21:27.515-08:00The Lion in Winter<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<i>“And the lion walks close by his
side, unwilling henceforth to part from him: he will always in future accompany him, eager to serve and protect him. He goes ahead until he scents in the wind upon
his way some wild beasts feeding; then hunger and his nature prompt him to seek
his prey and to secure his sustenance. It is his nature so to do.”</i> </div>
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<b>Yvain,
the Knight of the Lion</b></div>
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Chrétien de Troyes<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Do they still teach these old-fashioned things in school?
That March comes in like a lion? Our El Nino weather pattern is supposed to
still have potential to bring storms to California but February has been
showers with sunshine and warm weather this year. So the lion sleeps tonight as
it has most of the month.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lion imagery is generally something we like in Western
culture. MGM’s lion may have been toothless but gave mighty roars before
thrilling cinema goers were treated to the latest show for years. Lion lovers
created an uproar at the death of one lion by a proud but reviled American
dentist, pleased with his big game kill. Animal lovers mourned the death of the
king of beasts as an individual as much as they mourned the loss of a symbol of
the dwindling wildlife on our planet. While all my classmates seemed to be
dazzled by horses in my primary school years, I was in love with cats of all
sizes including Elsa the lioness. Instead of wanting to ride the wind, I wanted
the ferocious thing to love me instead of eat me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art Postcard Tarot<br />
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord</td></tr>
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Later I went to a live production of the Lion King and
marveled at the set, costuming, dance and song that celebrates life, even the
difficult parts. Rather than portray all lions as good—or even all lions as man-eaters
and bad—the theatre production showed that individuals may be good or bad, make
good or bad choices, but in the larger scheme of things lions are <i>necessary</i> as part of the World.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Strength card in Tarot shows the lion soothed by the
lady, the urge to be a predator tamed by wisdom, patience, understanding and
compassion. If the predator gives in to the lust for the kill, it may eat well
for a day, but the excess will rot and eventually the predator will starve. If
the predator has his teeth and claws removed, it may well starve as well, since
lions are meant to eat meat, not grass and leaves. Strength, then, is more than
the obvious momentary overpowering single effort. Long-term survival means exercising
both immediate action and control at the same time. If you must destroy or
consume, measure carefully. It speaks to our inner voices, the voice that says,
“I want,” and the one that says, “Easy, there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The conservation of nature requires that same balance. As a
dominant species, we must consume something to survive. We must leave a carbon
footprint in order to be in the physical world. We’ve become over-achievers
when it comes to consumption. We don’t always notice this; it feels like
everyday life. We have to get to work and be able to work and be rewarded in
some form of payment in order to afford food, shelter, safety, health and the
care of our children. And we all want a little something extra on top for our
souls: Music, art, cosplay, religion, leisure activities, or improvement of
some kind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And one of the phenomena of modern society—was it ever thus?—is
that we’re having trouble distinguishing need from want. Chicken soup for the
soul, yes, but must we have the cheesy artichoke dip and artisan bread
appetizer with our prime rib for the soul with fries and the lava cake a la
mode for dessert? What is necessity? What is luxury?<o:p></o:p></div>
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If the lion is appetite and urge, the tamer is the triumph
of wisdom over urge, the soft voice of good sense in the ear of the beast that
helps regulate the primitive power within. The lion is not shown as caged,
shackled, defeated, declawed, shot and killed like a trophy as if killing the
powerful thing somehow transfers the power to the killer. The lion is shown
responding to gentleness, calming, beauty, kindness, good intent, understanding,
compassion. These are effective over time, so the strength displayed is one of
endurance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I attended an event recently that focused not on big
predators but on birds, the Flyway Festival. Many groups were represented, coming
together to preserve wildlife and make sure that human appetite is gently
reminded that if we eat the big blue cookie that is our planet, we don’t get
another one. I’m older now. I don’t expect wild animals to be my friends just
because I have friendly intentions. </div>
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Instead I honor their wild nature and try
to help, together with others, support efforts that will help provide places
where wildlife can be wild for generations to come and not consumed by the
out-of-control appetites of supposedly more intelligent beings. I hope that in
the winter wind, the lion can hear the soft voice of wisdom encouraging it to
endure for generations to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Best wishes.<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-4568677091330265162016-02-01T19:28:00.000-08:002016-02-07T11:21:14.862-08:00The Devil You Know<div class="MsoNormal">
I had both kids for the afternoon. Anna is 13 going on 30;
Dylan is 15. I’m their favorite Gramma, at least that’s what they tell me. That’s
good enough for me. I’m hoping they tell their real grandmothers the same thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They are just the age I wanted to teach, when I thought I
was going to teach. My life took a different turn and at the point where I was
on the Devil’s horns of my Career Decision That Would Set The Course For My
Whole Life, I went for the bucks as a legal secretary instead of teaching. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But still. The temptation that I might set fire to young minds,
especially those at the age when the watchwords are, “I’m bored!” Those words
are like a red flag in front of the bull for me. A million thoughts run through my
head when I hear them. Bored??? Think of the Library of Alexandria! Sorry, I
didn’t mean to spit on you. But, there’s got to be something out there my
darlings will find “not boring.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We want to watch horror movies!” was the cry from the
chorus.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Good, I thought. I want to watch horror movies too. I want a
good one, one that’s scary, not gory. Hack ‘em ups are nothing but kids with
ketchup packets poised under their sneakers waiting for their
all-too-suspecting victims, the viewers, for the chance at the Big Splash.
Gore is not horror; it’s revulsion. They’re different, ok?<o:p></o:p></div>
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“OK,” I agreed, “and let’s find a good one. There are so
many stupid ones and ones that are just ooky. I want something that’s scary,
good and scary.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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A friend of mine had recently read an old blog entry and had
said they liked what I said about things that were really scary. It wasn’t the
people dressed up in silly suits. It was…<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hey, you know what’s really scary?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, that’s a question that can start a bunch of freaky
stories. The kids’ eyes got big.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“OK, so you’ve seen <i>Poltergeist</i>, right? There’s a lot of
scary stuff in there, or stuff that’s supposed to be scary. Like the ghosts
from the graveyard or voices from the television. But the scariest scene in
<i>Poltergeist</i> for me was the steak.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Steak? Their eyes were question marks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Well, yeah, the steak. When the steak crawled across the
counter, that moment was the scariest thing for me. What’s scary is when
everything seems perfectly normal. And then something does something it isn’t
supposed to do. Like a steak crawling across a kitchen counter by itself. That’s…that’s
not OK. That’s not right. That’s the world taking a very weird tilt. It makes
you question the entire basis of reality.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anna nodded, thoughtful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“So, Dylan, don’t you have favorite monsters? People LOVE
Dracula, Frankenstein, Godzilla. But, dude. That steak….”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<i>The Shining, The Shining</i>!” Dylan insisted as we scrolled
through Netflix offerings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“OK,” I agreed. “Stephen King knows what’s scary. At some
point, if you want a scary story, I recommend <i>Ghost Story</i>, a great little
revenge story, or <i>Pan’s Labyrinth</i>, a lesson on choosing the devil you know.” I
think of the Devil card in the Tarot, how it shows myriad horrors and in our
modern interpretation so often means addiction and loss of freedom that we
might have avoided. Think cultural context.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I planted a seed. I could tell. So we watched <i>The Shining</i>
and as we did, we talked about the movie just a bit, then after it was over,
quite a bit more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“She’s kinda dumb,” Anna pointed out about Wendy Torrance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“She is, isn’t she? And isn’t that one of the scariest
things you could think of, especially if you were 6 year old Danny Torrance?
That the person who was supposed to be always on your side, a Super Hero who
can fix anything, answer any question, make everything better, your mom is nearly
useless when you really need her?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jack Torrance is typing in the high-ceilinged lobby. All
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. We’ve watched him succumb to darkness
slowly, and we’ve known it was coming. But suddenly, he swears at Wendy who has
meekly interrupted him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“There!” I pounce, startling the kids. “No, seriously, this
is the first use of the F word you’ve heard in the movie, which is at least one
reason it is rated R, right? This isn’t just cussing. This is creative use of
cussing. It’s verbal violence that signals that things are rapidly going to go
bad from here. This is a creative device, not just to imitate what you hear on
the schoolyard from your foul-mouthed schoolmates. The use of this is meant to
shock you, to focus your attention that things are not going to get better
after this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Huh,” they both mutter in unison. Creative cussing was not
something they had thought of. The idea that the writer, the director, all the
people involved in telling the story do all these things purposefully to affect
the audience, them starts to creep into their awareness, a lot like a steak
crawling across the counter. I can tell Anna likes the idea of control of the
audience. She’s more likely to be the creative artist, affecting the crowd to
her making. Dylan would do the special effects engineering.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When it’s over, I say, OK, let’s talk about the movie. Did
you know that the actor Danny Lloyd thought of making his finger move when his “imaginary”
friend Tony talked? That he never saw any of the scary parts during filming so
he wouldn’t be really afraid? Having him have a nearly blank face was important
because he should have looked more scared and didn’t. And that made the movie
even scarier for us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One of things about scary movies is that often we know what
to be afraid of when the characters in the movie don’t. So we’re yelling,
Danny, don’t go in room 237!! If Mr. Hallorann said not to go in there, and he
knows about the Shining, don’t go in there. He does of course and he comes out
scratched and drooling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s look at the things in that movie that are the things
that scare us. Stephen King is really good at honing in on what scares you. He
makes the characters as real as possible to you, so that when the scary thing
happens, it’s happening to you, too. So what’s scary in <i>The Shining</i>? Daddy
turns into the monster, which maybe wasn’t much of a stretch from perhaps
sleazy writer. Mommy is nearly helpless, so you don’t get rescued. You sense
things other people don’t, making you feel even more alone. The Overlook is so
remote and huge and increasingly your connection to the outside world gets
farther and farther away by the snow, the telephone going out, the rooms being
so many and so huge, people being in different rooms, the radio being
disconnected and the snowcat being disabled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Locked doors can’t protect you
from a madman with an axe, the lady in the bathtub is the Thing Under the Bed,
and the little girls, their father and Lloyd the bartender are seductive
drawing you father into the Monster which is The Overlook itself. It’s dark. It’s
cold. You get agoraphobia and claustrophobia in one movie! And the monster can kill strong people with Special Powers, like Mr.
Hallorann who was supposed to rescue you. The window Mommy pushes you out of in
the bathroom is too small for her to come through. You’re on your own against things
that are too big and too awful. Any questions about what’s scary here? The
blood coming out of the elevator ends up being just show, the ‘ick factor’.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m in full Professor mode. At least they are still
listening. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, think of the other kinds of scary movies. All the <i>Alien</i>
and "Big Bug" movies are talking about fear of things that are completely
different from you, xenophobia, “you aren’t from around here” and specifically
things that may consider you food if they consider you at all, a theme so prevalent in H. P. Lovecraft's work. And look how
monsters have changed from the 1950’s when we were all afraid of what a nuclear
attack and radiation could do. From that fear we have <i>Godzilla</i>, supersized
anything, <i>The Fly</i>, even heroes like SpiderMan, all born from the fear that our
advances in science may have impacts we didn’t think about at the time. Drink me, Alice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fear of
ignorance is another common theme, where people in their blind hatred become
the real monsters destroying someone gentle who appears different. Fear of the
dark or limited senses is a big theme. Parental monsters are a common theme, as
in <i>Snow White</i>. How about inanimate objects becoming “alive” and hating you like
<i>Christine</i>, the <i>Terminator</i> series? And there’s a whole religious horror
category, the devil out to get you just because it's his job and he enjoys it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why do we enjoy these things? By watching them, we somehow
hold dominion over them, conquer them and thereby little by little conquer our
fears, shrinking them with the ray gun of our confidence, with the
desensitization of familiarity. We get the thrill of adrenalin too and that
thrill can be fun. Because what’s life without a little adventure?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just don’t send in the clowns or cockroaches for me, OK? And keep an eye on that steak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best wishes.<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-41103102439071753032015-09-09T11:30:00.000-07:002015-09-09T11:30:01.773-07:00Password<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday promised to be a hot day with only a little breeze.
My set up for reading at the Antiques & Art Faire was quick and easy. I had
remembered to bring my new patchwork quilt table cloth made by my friend Rosie,
my box of tissues, even my sunscreen. Instead of dressing in antique costume, I
had chosen one of my favorite tie-dye t-shirt dresses, something simple, cool
and colorful for the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband disappeared in the crowd on a mission of
breakfast mercy and returned with Peets coffee, a donut, a bag of ice, two
bottles of water and some carrots. We agreed on an end time and he left to see
his cousins who live in the same town.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at the roofline of the museum under whose eaves I
had set my table. I judged the unrelenting sun to encroach on my comfort at
about noon. I was scheduled to read until 3 pm. I had a while to adjust for
comfort. I shuffled my cards, Robert Place’s 4<sup>th</sup> edition of The
Alchemical Tarot. They had seemed perfect for an outdoor antiques show when I
had packed my things earlier in the morning. I spread them out into an arc and
pulled a few out to show examples. I dug in my purse to get an old Carreras
Dondorf Lenormand from 1926, part of my collection but also the deck I had
determined to read with if Lenormand felt right. I remembered I still had a
tiny crystal ball in my purse from BATS, one with an inclusion that would flash
an inner rainbow in the right light at the right angle. I set it on its stand
on my orange and purple patchwork. I sipped my coffee. I was ready.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It started slowly. One woman toyed with the idea,
tracing the edge of the table with her eyes, at the edge of decision. She sat
down casually, or tried to. There was nothing casual about it. Her reading was
one of the most poignant of the year. I was riveted, understanding her question, including the unspoken one. On the surface, she asked casually, “What about
work?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was not her question really, but some topics must be
approached carefully. She wanted to give nothing away. So many clients are like
that, smart people who do not want to be fools. I don’t mind. I see them do it.
I understand. I read the cards. We talked about pulling in from giving so much
energy away, the habit of teaching being so automatic, but the need now being
to make the best use of resources. Of time. Time with family. I ached for her
fears. I asked if they had suggested surgery; she would find out soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My table was set near the steps to the restrooms and I was
very good as informal ambassador, pointing the desperate up the stairs, smiling
as they returned relieved, repeating the schedule for the antique appraisal
booth and the museum, taking custody of a purple-cased smartphone left in the
restroom. So soon the wide-eyed owner, breathless, came to find it and was
overjoyed at the reunion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon, several others stopped and business picked up. The sun
rose high in the sky and I hugged the wall for the last bit of shade and read
for several other people. My husband surprised me with a sandwich and I hadn’t
realized he was still around—excellent timing!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just after I downed my lunch, one of the men doing appraisals
came to me with another phone, black rubberized case this time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A man’s,” I thought, then remembered that my own work phone
had some commando-black case on it so perhaps not. I waited for the frantic
owner, the glad reunion. The sun drove me to the edge of the wall. I would have
to move soon or burn. I started to worry about the phone and its owner. I
pressed the button, just to see if it had some way to identify the owner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No password! The phone was completely unprotected. I was
shocked. In this time of identity theft, here was an expensive new phone
exposed to anyone who might pick it up. I looked for the information that might
provide the name of the owner. Jackpot! In the contact list was the owner’s
name. Not only that, but the owner had put his wife’s numbers, other relative’s
numbers and astonishingly his bank account numbers. My jaw dropped. What if someone else had gotten this? I quickly dialed his
wife’s cell number, ringing but no answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I asked the organizers if they knew
someone by that name. Enough time had passed that I was certain he had left the
antique show. Surely he should notice by now. A few minutes later I looked down
and saw his wife’s name light up on his phone. Contact! I was too late but
called her right back and we connected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi, this is a little awkward but your husband left his
phone at the antique show and I have it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She laughed and we had a good chat about lost phones
and sudden realizations. He was on his way back to the fair, having left his
lunch mid-bite at a nearby restaurant. I asked her permission to give him a
good scolding for having his cell phone so completely unprotected and she
eagerly agreed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moments later he arrived, grinning, sheepish, towed by my
friend, the show organizer. It was clear he felt exposed to women in charge of
his well-being and was ready to take his punishment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sit down,” I said, using The Voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh,” he said. “A Tarot reading?” He was clearly confused.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, we are going to sit here and password protect your phone.
And your bank account numbers are in your contact list! You’ve worked hard for
your money. Why would you want to lose it to carelessness at the hands of
someone who isn’t honest like I am?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We looked at his phone features and decided it was better if
his wife set the password.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When we finish lunch,” he said with pleading eyes, “I’ll
have her come to get a reading from you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m much more interested in your promise to secure your
phone. Pinky swear?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We crooked our fingers. He brought his wife back at the end
of the show and I read her cards, the last of the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Sun finally won and I moved to the shade of the tall
sycamore in the parking lot. Some readers think the Sun in Tarot is always a
good card, shining its light in the darkest places. But that shining light can
represent the unvarnished truth that’s hard to face. It can expose secrets that
should be secret and leave you unprotected and burned. The choice is yours.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best wishes.<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-83108403444211840372015-08-26T11:30:00.000-07:002015-08-26T14:03:55.800-07:00Book+KeyI knew Saturday was an unusual day but I couldn't put my finger on it. It's like having an itch you can't quite get to or trying to remember who played the blacksmith in the old <i>Gunsmoke</i> TV series (it was Burt Reynolds--I can't let this become a mindworm for you). For one thing, there have been some unusual noises around the house.<br />
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<br />
My old dresser, a beautiful cherry piece with smooth lines from around 1840, has been making noises. Naturally, I don't notice them until I go to bed because I don't spend that much time in the bedroom (hold your guffaws, please). But on nights when I'm especially agitated, it seems to sound especially loud with creaks and pops as if it too is settling in for a snooze after a long day. I might think it was cooling but it's on the northeast side of the house which tends to be cool anyway and there's seldom a ray of sunshine that hits it.<br />
<br />
Then one evening last week, I was pretty sure I heard a whistle in the hallway. It's a very small hallway, about the size of a disappointing closet and right outside the bedroom door. All noses were accounted for, especially those prone to whistling snores and this seemed to just come out of the air. Well, no worries.<br />
<br />
Friday night--technically Saturday morning, everyone woke up yelling because somehow the television in the bedroom had come on at 1:32 AM and everyone had been nicely asleep, even Louie. Saturday morning at a reasonable hour I found the TV remote on the headboard above my head and was pleased to conclude I had flung my arm up and unconsciously turned everything on. That was something of a relief.<br />
<br />
Creaks, pops and whistles I'm OK with. The occasional phantom cat seen in the living room does not bother me. I'm quite sure that the late Normie, from whose estate we purchased the house, is happy we're here because we were kind to him while he was alive. But the TV thing. That was going to be a little too much like a <i>Ghost Hunters</i> all-nighter. I prefer to find the mundane solution first and I'm confident I did this time.<br />
<br />
Still, it left me with a feeling Saturday of not-quite-unease. It was more like expectation, like waiting for a spoon to be nudged off a counter. Nothing big, just...something.<br />
<br />
I had a reading with a repeat client midday and hoped that what I said was something they could make good use of. I'd purchased a cup of coffee and drank perhaps a third of it, tossing it on the way to the fabric store to look for something. I wasn't sure what, inspiration maybe. I did find a lovely bargain that was just the thing I had been thinking of for a couple of weeks.<br />
<br />
"Do you have your Hancocks card?" the tiny service clerk asked. No, alas, I had lost my keys more than a year ago that had my little shoppers card on it. I gave her my telephone number and returned home with my purchase.<br />
<br />
I hung out online a while and was inspired to write something funny, about what an automated answering system would sound like if you called heaven (local call from Ireland, of course).<br />
<br />
<i>"Hello, you've reached Heaven. Our options have changed recently so please listen carefully and choose one of the following. For St Anthony Miracles or Lost and Found, please dial 1 and have your credit or debit card ready. For Parking or Barbecue with St Laurence, please dial 2. For hopeless cases and/or casino assistance with St Jude, please dial 3. Cats, dogs and other small animal issues with St Francis or St Martin de Porres, please dial 4. Travelers, please be advised that St Christopher is no longer taking referrals. Please dial 5 and a saint will help you. Wait times maybe up to 30 minutes, so reservations and donations are recommended. If you just need someone to talk to, St Joan of Arc and Mother Theresa have limited hours. For more information, please dial 6...just one 6, please. All other questions, please dial 0. Have a wonderful life."</i><br />
<br />
A couple of chats and a quick reading for a friend later, and I was still trying to figure out what the unease was. I made dinner plans for Sunday night, checked messages in email and social media.<br />
<br />
What?? What was it? Had I forgotten something? In Lenormand, the Book represents a secret or mystery if not a literal book. One end is closed and can't be opened. The other end might be opened but in Lenormand is usually closed because it represents information not yet available, something hidden. For me, I couldn't even tell what was hidden, let alone where it was.<br />
<br />
I paused in my marathon of <i>Midsomer Murders</i>, sent a note to Mary K. Greer about an episode with a Tarot reading in it since Mary "collects" representations of Tarot in art, film, etc. At least it was a Swiss 1JJ deck in a Celtic Cross, even if (bring up strains of "Danse Macabre") the final outcome card was Death. I groaned at the cliche. It's a murder mystery, after all. And I decided to change into my "soft clothes" for the evening and went to the bedroom with the sometimes-noisy dresser to root for a t-shirt and sweats.<br />
<br />
Something fell on the floor with a crash. I looked down and saw keys. At first they didn't make sense to me. These weren't my everyday keys I use with a red and blue Snoopy-on-his-doghouse housekey and a couple of dangling plastic seashells, something big and obnoxious enough to find in the deep bucket of my purse. No, these were Other Keys. <i>Those</i> keys. I bent to pick them up, filled with curiosity and the culmination of the strangeness of the day.<br />
<br />
These were my keys from a year and a half ago, finally slipped from the pocket of a blue denim jacket where they had slept all this time. I picked them up as if they were a baby bird. Were they even real? There was the Hancocks tag and a couple others, the leather tab with The Hanged Man tooled into it, the keys, the electronic fobs I was afraid were in someone else's hands or smashed in a landfill.<br />
<br />
"My keys," I said stupidly. What was lost was found. Well, no need to call Heaven after all, I thought.<br />
<br />
Book + Key is the Answered Question, the Solved Mystery, the Secret Revealed.<br />
<br />
Now I have to figure out if they went through the wash and ruined the electronic fobs. I think in Lenormand as well as physics, everything has to be somewhere.<br />
<br />
Best wishes.Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-52005023875232894812015-08-19T13:56:00.000-07:002015-08-19T13:56:19.284-07:00BATS Post BATS 2015Perhaps my favorite <a href="http://dodivination.com/sf_bats_2015" target="_blank">SF BATS</a> yet, this past weekend was a blast of fun, Tarot, Lenormand, scholarship, collecting and meeting new and old friends! SF BATS is the San Francisco Bay Area Tarot Symposium, the annual event organized and executed by one-woman show Thalassa Therese and her scurrying minions of the Daughters of Divination.<br />
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<br />
Some of my dear favorites were not able to attend this year (You Know Who You Are) but those who attended were richly rewarded with serious scholarship in the art of cartomancy and serious fun in the off hours. And I have to say that my loudly-voiced complaint is still my lasting impression: There were just <b>too many good programs to choose from</b>. I was SO annoyed with my inability to be in three places at once to see all of the presenters' classes. If anyone out there has a spell for multiple instances of the same person in three classrooms, I'm looking for it!<br />
<br />
Some (not all, by any means) highlights:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.crossroadstarot.com/" target="_blank">Carole Pierce</a>'s study of Virginia Woolf's surreal story "The Watchtower" and how many of the images feel much like a spread of Tarot cards. I have not studied Woolf closely in the past, so this was just like a welcome home to my original college degree in literature.</li>
<li>Newcomer <a href="http://benebellwen.com/" target="_blank">Benebel Wen</a> broke down just a few of the Asian written words for Fortune Telling and Divination with a look to the origins of those words as clues to their differences in meaning in Eastern culture. How wonderful to have this fresh look from a knowledgeable source! Catch her book on Amazon if you have not already.</li>
<li>The always intriguing <a href="http://carrieparis.com/" target="_blank">Carrie Paris</a> shared her new project which will become the Relative Oracle, sharing old family photos for an audience participation exercise in psychometry. It was a mesmerizing exercise, stimulating for the class participants and validating for Carrie. I couldn't help but catch up with Carrie after class to talk about the photo I had randomly selected from the pile. "Carrie, I had the most interesting experience! My photo was a man standing next to a little girl who was riding a mule. I couldn't get anything at all from the girl, but had all sorts of information about the man, including the message that he wished he hadn't smoked so much." Carrie laughed and told me that she wondered who would get that picture. Our instructions were to get impressions of people from the Other Side. My photo, as it turns out, was of Carrie's own grandfather (now deceased) and of her mother who is still alive. I passed the test! I can't wait for more from the delightful Carrie!</li>
<li><a href="https://marygreer.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Mary K. Greer</a>'s discussion of Jung was great fun with slides from ancient alchemical texts juxtaposed with Tarot cards and Myers-Briggs personality typing tying in. Mary's work is always fascinating to me. When she earlier presented a choice to the SF BATS attendees between the Jung presentation and a dissection of the historical meanings of the Lovers card I was sorely torn! Why not both?? But of course, there was so little time and there are so many interesting topics. I'm holding out for a future class on the Lovers in History.</li>
<li><a href="http://ranageorge.com/Home_Page.html" target="_blank">Rana George</a> had a fun audience-participation Lenormand game to make us stay with that all-important question that is asked when answering using three cards. Her jumbo-size cards are from her new deck coming soon, so stay tuned! Rana threatened to be "mean" to us, but that quickly went by the wayside since "mean" is just not Rana's wheelhouse!</li>
<li>My own class on the Lenormand Grand Tableau was well-attended (so grateful for that!) and was a hands-on exercise with the participants setting out their cards and looking for the major landmarks in their own spread. Naturally the worst part for me was keeping the class to an hour because...well...I talk! Class members were asked to work through their readings with the tools they had (handouts handy) in a safe space. I was at least able to reassure good friends Don and Sue that the kids had not burned the house down while they were away since the clouds and scythe were nowhere near the house.</li>
<li>With all the follow up questions from my own class in the hallway, I barely made it to the very end of <a href="http://www.tarotarttattoo.com/" target="_blank">Kristine Gorman</a>'s class on a new spread Shaking the Tree. I was so disappointed! Lucky for me that we carpooled on the way home and she kept me entertained and awake by going through her class with my very own personalized class in the car. It's an insightful spread, great for a Tarot reader who gets "stuck" when reading for themselves. Happily all my A-HA!! moments were from the spread and Bay Area traffic conditions were ideal.</li>
<li>Vendor Market: I was on a budget this time or I think I would have bought at least one of everything. The vendors were excellent this year: my friend <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/BethSeilonen" target="_blank">Beth Seilonen</a> with her handcrafted decks and boards, plus: vendors of jewelry, tea, spices, crystals, pillowcases, books, decks, tiaras, boxes and the Millard Fillmore Memorial Garage Sale where bargains galore are snatched up by the <b>clever early birds</b> (that's Birds+Sun+Fox for you Lenormand students).</li>
<li>Donations throughout the conference went to worthy causes including the SF BATS traditional donation to<a href="http://www.batcon.org/" target="_blank"> bat conservancy</a> in nature and finding a cure to white nose disease. Bats are key pollinators and bug-eaters around the world and do not get tangled in your hair! But another important cause was also highlighted this year. Tarot's bright light, Rachel Pollack, is now in remission from Hodgkins' lymphoma and while still taking treatments has a <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/tvw4f3u" target="_blank">GoFundMe</a> site to help keep her going through this ordeal. The generosity of the Tarot community was evident in the huge number of delicious drawing prizes. Rachel, get well soon and come back to SF BATS!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</li>
<li>Finally, one of my favorite activities at SF BATS is something not specifically on the program. It's meeting with all of the brilliant attendees and vendors, veterans and newbies, where we can sit down and laugh and talk seriously about readings, decks, spooky experiences, projects, family and plans. I love my SF BATS family! And this year I had the pleasure of meeting Marieke, Benebel, Richard, Nora and Yolanda for a little extra conversation and connection. I was thrilled to see Bonnie Cehovet at SF BATS for the first time, a respected name in the Tarot community and valued reviewer of books and decks. I was gratified at the partnership between SF BATS and <a href="http://nwtarotsymposium.com/" target="_blank">NWTS</a> organizers Jay and Jadzia DeForest of <a href="http://deverapublishing.com/" target="_blank">Devera Publishing</a>. From my "old-Bies" and "newbies", I felt the love and I send it right back atcha with big Aunt Marplot hugs and a reading from an obscure Sacred Text from 1971, Ace of Cups style, spilling all over your good outfit, drowning your snackplate and dripping on your shoes! Let's do it again--soon! Now, where's that cup of tea?</li>
</ul>
<br />
Best wishes!Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-28663324950095572512015-08-12T11:30:00.000-07:002015-08-12T11:30:01.134-07:00Fresh InkI took the plunge Sunday and got a tattoo, fresh ink. I was nervous about it, I'll admit. I couldn't tell The Hubs about it until after I had come home. I don't know why. I didn't want to talk about it before I had it.<br />
<br />
It reminds me of more than 10 years ago when I was a manager of programmers in San Francisco. I had a great team of programmers, most of whom had come to the USA from the former Soviet Union. They had tested me in the first few weeks, passed me then told me that they wanted to find out if their new boss was fair. I was honored to have passed. I wanted to be a fair boss, not one of those dreadful nightmare managers who get some workplace equivalent of a Darwin Award for Boss Awfulness. I've had those bosses and knew I didn't want to be one. I couldn't make up for all those dreadful bosses, but I could try to be a good one.<br />
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<br />
One of my programmers was a tall young man who spoke very little, very precisely and was known to be an excellent technician. There was some speculation that he was arrogant, but I thought he was a combination of self-confident, truly talented and introverted, making him something of a cipher to the chatty managers and administrative staff. I learned quickly that he was reliable and quick, things a manager grows to like in computer programmers. I trusted him and perhaps more importantly I learned to let him be an introvert and not to try to bombard him with my extroverted chit-chat that other extroverts know means, "I LOVE talking to you and being your friend!!" but introverts tolerate, barely, with polite scorn.<br />
<br />
One day The Strong Silent Type came into my office and said he wanted to talk. Very uncharacteristic, I marveled, and cleared my desk and mind to prepare for his message.<br />
<br />
He told me that he was going to need to take a couple of weeks of vacation very soon but he did not know the exact dates. I checked the schedules for the team and while I was checking, he went on to say that he must have this time off.<br />
<br />
I looked at him a moment and said, "Well, yes, of course." And I waited.<br />
<br />
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and made the rare eye contact.<br />
<br />
"My wife," he started and stopped. "My...we are having a baby." He smiled a rare smile.<br />
<br />
"Oh, wow! This is fantastic! This is fabulous!" I bubbled. "It's our first team baby! Can we have a baby shower for you? What do you need? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? Do you have names? This is so exciting."<br />
<br />
He drew back, horrified, blanched and set his jaw.<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"No?" I stopped short and resumed being a "safe" extrovert.<br />
<br />
"No. My wife...," he studied the top of my desk for inspiration in the wood grain. "We do not talk about the baby before it is born."<br />
<br />
"No?" I repeated, sure I was in too deep culturally or something.<br />
<br />
"No," he sighed. "It is...what? Bad luck to talk about baby before it is born."<br />
<br />
"Oh." Well, of course. I mean it was their first baby, my first team baby, a tense situation and all. My Aunt Manager visions of fashionable baby clothes and adorable stuffed toys started to fade in the distance.<br />
<br />
"Well, then," Marcia Manager resumed her dignity, "you'll tell me when you need to go?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. Thank you."<br />
<br />
The baby was born and we had a shower after the happy event when everyone was comfortable talking about the Little Darling, safe arrival assured. I checked with my female team members to find out if this were a common thing, not talking about the baby before it's born.<br />
<br />
"Oh, no!" They laughed out loud, their teammate safely on Daddy leave. "His wife is just nervous."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-96G7WBUyLA8/VcrkaC9TfSI/AAAAAAAABGI/hvflNe8LTjE/s1600/celtic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-96G7WBUyLA8/VcrkaC9TfSI/AAAAAAAABGI/hvflNe8LTjE/s320/celtic.JPG" width="204" /></a>I thought of that time when I was about to get my tattoo and realized I was nervous like my programmer's wife. I didn't want to talk about the tattoo until it was "born." The tattoo represents a lot of things, the way we cling to life and fight with it at the same time, the nature of love-hate relationships with just about anything or anyone, my DNA recently confirmed by a well-known genealogy website, and even the 2 of Wands. The 2 of Wands is the comparison between what we have and what may be. It is the process of learning and the need to embrace new things in addition to what we already have. It's a forward-looking card that expects that the future has possibilities, the past has lessons and the present is a tender moment that may tilt the universe one way or another depending on our choices.<br />
<br />
I want to thank my tattoo artist Shotsie Gorman, who is a famous tattoo artist (and I admit I am ignorant of such things). I want to thank my dear friend Kristine Gorman, his wife and excellent Tarot reader for talking to me while I was mid-tat. Together, they have the <a href="http://www.tarotarttattoo.com/" target="_blank"><b>T.A.T. Gallery in Sonoma, California</b></a>, with beautiful works of art to sell besides Fresh Ink. Check it out, seriously.<br />
<br />
And there are just two--<b>two</b>--places left available for you to make a last-minute decision to attend this year's SF BATS, the <a href="http://dodivination.com/sf_bats_2015" target="_blank"><b>San Francisco Bay Area Tarot Symposium</b></a>, where the 2 of Wands will be very busy. Kristine will be teaching a class on Tarot and I will be teaching a class on Lenormand. Click on the link and expand your world!<br />
<br />
Best wishes!Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-79579588553072852772015-08-05T11:30:00.000-07:002015-08-05T11:30:01.956-07:00The Pen<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve seen talk lately (I interrupt this moment to reflect
that my synesthesia is apparently in play). Starting again, I’ve seen talk
lately that schools are considering bringing back handwriting as a subject for
students. How remarkable, I think, my wonder betraying my age, again. I’m in
favor of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would hate to see such an intimate form of expression become
lost among the ashes of the Library of Alexandria. No matter how much healthy self-esteem
we want to instill in our youngsters, sadly not all of them can or should
become doctors whose handwriting cannot be read.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As wedded to the concept of crayons as I was with their 64
or more colors, writing was always the skill of power when I was a child. Could
you? Your name first, then other words appeared. Did your d’s point the right
way or were they b’s instead? Did you run out of room on the line? And you
learn to judge space rather than have a machine automagically pop the last word
over to the next line. Did you stay within the lines, the two solid lines for
the biggest letters and the dotted line in the middle for the shorter letters?
Did you hold your pencil correctly, the extension of the point of your dominant
hand, meant to be the focus of your conscious self, the mind within?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to Catholic school starting my second grade year. We
used pens and learned cursive writing years before our public school friends.
We had Sheaffer cartridge pens to learn to write correctly. My brother became
fond of Peacock Blue ink and even dyed a strip of my long blonde hair with it
one afternoon while I nattered on unawares, far ahead of fashion. My brother
struggled with left-handedness. I had the scribe’s ink-stained callus on my middle
finger. We followed the guides and practiced curling letters over and over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom offered encouragement, showing us antique pens,
explaining the “Palmer Method” she had learned, an artistry of loops and whorls
that, practiced over and over, became the exquisite “perfect handwriting” I
identify with her generation. Her signature was perfectly readable, stopping
just short of calligraphy with no extra flourishes but possessing an authority,
dignity, femininity, artistic motion and unassailable finality and gravity that
putting one’s signature to a document was supposed to have. I was awestruck by
her handwriting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My father’s showed the vestiges of the Palmer Method, but
with the architect’s angular precision and confident ego, much like an artist’s
signature in red at the bottom of an important painting. His signature betrayed
his personality as much as my mother’s, attention-getting, bravado, bragging, essential,
aggressive, visionary, the signature of the View of the World As It Should Be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I began to realize that signatures and writing were such an
intimate expression of personality as to be like a fingerprint of the soul, the
revelation of the mind of the one who wrote it, as much as we see those
signatures on the Declaration of Independence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What would my signature be? Who was the soul within? These
are weighty topics, especially by the time I reached third grade. That year, I
decided to explore my inner self in my handwriting and especially signature. I
went experimental. This was frowned on by my teacher, young Miss O’Brien, the “lay
teacher” with bouncy black hair and blue eyes who wore sneakers to work in
spite of the strict dress code. I received the only C on my report card ever.
It was clear that artistic experimentation with expressing my identity was
something I needed to do on my own time. I gave up and returned to conformity, so often the result when the values of achievement and responsibility dominate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By junior high school, handwriting was no longer a subject
taught and I began to find my own voice in a signature, readable at least but
neither my mother’s perfection nor my father’s ego. One weekend around the
kitchen table, we were looking at my parents’ high school yearbook. They were
in the same high school class in Kansas, my grandfather was on the School
Board, my father looking like he should wear a beanie and have tea with the
faculty, my mother looking like she would have been Goth if Goth were a thing
in 1929. I marveled at the lovely awkwardness, how they all looked older
somehow than teens in the 70’s and yet more innocent of the world at the same
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw a signature on the margin of the yearbook and showed
it to my mother saying, “I don’t remember seeing this yearbook before, but
look! I’ve written Daddy’s name here in the margin.” It was the most curious
thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She leaned toward me at the large round table and adjusted
the glasses on her nose, then smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You didn’t write that. That’s your grandfather’s signature.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was stunned. I had posited that signatures expressed the
personality of the person. Now I had mistaken the signature of the grandfather I
never knew for my own. A million possibilities flooded my head. This was Hal,
Sr. not my dad. And would that mean that his personality was more like my own?
He had committed suicide just a few years later, a family mystery full of shame
and scandal. Was that…me? My life? My possibility? Did we inherit the signature
patterns of our ancestors the same way a grandchild will have his grandfather’s
walk or laugh or gesture?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Ace of Wands in Tarot is the new project, the
inspiration, the intuition, the fire in the belly, the life force. It is also
commonly interpreted as the pen for writers, for who would pick up a stick and
poke it into a dark and wet substance, then guide that pigment to form the
translation of human thought? Who would contrive such a wonder but humanity?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That signature in the yearbook started many things for me. I
was inspired to know my relatives, including the ones long dead, as people. I
was struck by the connection, beyond the boundaries of physical space and
across time, between people who never knew each other in life. It was not long
after that that I experienced a ghostly visitation from my grandfather with his
love, sadness, and assurance that while we had much in common, I need not
choose the path he took. For all our commonalities, we were individuals, as
unique as life itself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best wishes.<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-66787026844440349882015-07-29T11:30:00.000-07:002015-08-02T19:27:44.031-07:00Consent<br />
I was talking with a friend yesterday who mentioned that she was tempted to go on a media "blackout" just to get a break from the negativity in the world. Even well-meaning friends who are working to make things better by tackling a difficult issue and trying to drum up support can be overwhelming sometimes. Sensitive/empathic/receptive people need a break from so much input.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a1pxsRTuxPE/VbP0nXS3ZVI/AAAAAAAABFE/0NwxHYmInow/s1600/OCL%2BShipWhipMan.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="144" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a1pxsRTuxPE/VbP0nXS3ZVI/AAAAAAAABFE/0NwxHYmInow/s320/OCL%2BShipWhipMan.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Off-Center Lenormand (out of print)<br />
(c) Copyright 2012 Marcia McCord</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When you make that empathic knack one of your means of income, you need to protect yourself from working full time, just like any other occupation. Being "out there" in a community doesn't mean "The Reader Is In" sign is always up.<br />
<br />
Back in April, someone contacted me privately, initiating the conversation for a reading, a free reading as it turns out. We had never spoken privately before.<br />
<br />
The Querent: Hi, do you might just pulling Some cards for me please<br />
<i>Me: Hi actually I read cards as a business. Did you want a reading?</i><br />
The Querent: I just wanted to ask a question (smile emoticon)<smile emoticon=""></smile><br />
<i>Me: That's often what a reading is</i>.<br />
The Querent: Okey im sorry<br />
<i>Me: No problem. You might see if one of the FB groups has someone doing free readings or exchanges.</i><br />
The Querent: Where can i find it<br />
<i>Me: You can search for groups with tarot in the title</i><br />
<br />
I had hoped the person had found good advice and learned more about reading cards.<br />
<br />
Interestingly the topic from the same person cropped up again in a more public way this week.<br />
<br />
The Querant: I don't understand how some people can be full of sh** and fake and bitter and disgusting all the time !! AROUND THE CLOCK go **** yourselves<br />
The Querant: some people here are so disgusting, they realy are.. allways beeing negative, if you ask them something they bite ur nose off !!! no seprect, you ask them if they can pull some cards for you and they say no bcause they are proffesionals, yet they are on learning grouops all the time, i dunno but don't they have clients to keep themselves busy with?? if ur a pro like you claim you are *** off from the groups then we can see who the real students are.. i hate people like that !! so disgusting !!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
<i>Me: A girl walks into a restaurant with kind intentions and asks for a free meal. She is turned away because the restaurant is a business. She is given directions to the free Soup Kitchen where volunteers help people who need a meal get a good one. She sees the owner of the restaurant helping at the Soup Kitchen. She is angry because she does not like having been turned away only to see the owner volunteer. What is the difference?</i><br />
<i> The owner volunteered their time and resources for walk-ins at the Soup Kitchen for a certain amount of time and a certain amount of food. But the owner still runs a business and in the restaurant must charge money to pay expenses, even the "expense" of volunteering at the Soup Kitchen. </i><br />
<i> Is the food better at the restaurant? Maybe or maybe not. But everyone at the Soup Kitchen understands the meal is free there for those in need, just like the people who go to the restaurant expect to pay. </i><br />
<i> Is the owner a mean person?</i><br />
Another FB Member: If a professional reader joins a group of beginner readers, then turns someone down because they're "professional" and don't want to read for free, that's the same as the restaurant owner volunteering at the soup kitchen, and then turning the girl away because he's an owner and too good to serve others. If they don't want to help people then get out. I think that's what she's saying, if I understood her correctly.<br />
<i>Me: The difference is the venue. The client approaches the professional reader in a venue other than the learning group and asks for a free reading. Instead they might have done better to state the question in a posting in that group, pull cards, offer their interpretation, then request that others in the group assist. That's how learning groups work.</i><br />
The Querent: Thats bullshit<br />
The Querent: I asked paris <i>[Australian reader Paris Debono]</i> plenty of times for a Reading and he did it And posted in the groupe without bitchig About it.<br />
<i>Me: Here is your reading. <b>Ship+Whip+Man</b>. It looks like you prefer the readings from the man from far away that you've talked to before. That's the energy you seek. Best wishes</i>.<br />
<br />
I kept looking at the cards I drew for The Querent and more and more I connected to what my experience of this person is and my advice from the cards.<br />
<br />
One of the big topics in the news today has to do with consent. Just because a woman wears a dress or makeup or visits a public place like a bar or a mall or a movie, it doesn't mean she is giving consent to strangers to approach her for her favors. Even if she is single, even if she is looking for a special person or even just a friend, she isn't saying her favors are free to take without her consent.<br />
<br />
Similarly, even professional readers learn from the efforts of beginners, get refreshed by stimulating conversations about reading cards and like to contribute. I'm always so encouraged to see people starting out and growing in their understanding of Tarot and Lenormand. I think of myself as a perennial student. I also read cards professionally by appointment only. And, I even do free readings sometimes when I'm up for that. For instance, normally on Halloween, I set my tent up in my driveway and give free readings to the parents of the children who come by for candy.<br />
<br />
A Tarot or Lenormand learning forum is a place where newbies need to at least make an attempt at reading for themselves (even if they are certain they lack insight in their own readings) and then ask for help. The help may be in a better-formed question or the help may be with insight to the cards themselves or something more mechanical.<br />
<br />
The insight I gained from this exchange was that this person actually just wants free readings and apparently has tapped well-known readers for this service in the past. I don't say that's necessarily a bad thing if the reader consents.<br />
<br />
But if the reader doesn't consent, it's a lot like disappointed unsuccessful sexual assaulters who complain that their unwilling partner is "frigid" or "a bitch" because they won't comply. <b>Ship+Whip+Man</b> can actually be the "sexually predatory foreigner" or the "repeat-offending traveller" or even a simple "Go On With Your Bad Self."<br />
<br />
Readings must be consensual, by both the reader and the person being read. That's why we have ethics like not reading to spy on a third person, not reading for children--who cannot legally give consent--without a parent's permission, and not revealing very personal details outside the boundaries of the reading. The truth, which may shock some, is that readers are not obligated to give a reading if they don't consent. If they are kind, they will show The Querent where they might find such a free service and wish them well.<br />
<br />
Best wishes.Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-32069479841054800322015-07-22T11:30:00.000-07:002015-07-22T11:30:00.048-07:00Hot Night Cool Dinner<div class="MsoNormal">
Some summers here are a steady high of 67 degrees F all
summer. Not this summer though. Right now the remnant of a hurricane is soaking
southern California. Why, even a baseball game was rained out! Unheard of! Here
in northern California, which often seems like a completely different state
from southern California, we’re getting heat and humidity. This is also almost
unheard of.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I even got a case of the heat-related “woozies” today which
have at least worn off now that the heat of the day has passed. It did inspire me
to follow The Hubs’ suggestions for dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our friend had given us her roast chicken after having eaten
a dainty quarter of it and that became the foundation for a cool dinner on a
hot night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My inner Queen of Pentacles has stirred lately and I have
wanted to cook more, get out my Lenormand Grand Tableau embroidery project, pay
attention to girly facial products and—gasp!—even clean a little. This feeling
passes all too soon but with Venus retrograde, I’m feeling the love in the more
traditional domestic arts. Naturally, I’ve got to share, so here are my Hot
Night/Cool Dinner recipes, slight variations on old-fashioned favorites.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Curried Chicken Salad<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of a leftover roasted chicken, cubed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 stalk of celery, chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 green onions, sliced<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
20 seedless green grapes, cut in halves<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
½ C. chopped cashews<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
½ tsp. sweet pickle relish<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 tsp. Jack Daniels No. 7 horseradish stone-ground mustard<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
½ tsp. (or more) curry powder (I used Curry-ency I got from
<a href="http://kitchenwitchgourmet.com/store/#!/Curry~ency-3-oz/p/17794813/category=3600671" target="_blank">The Kitchen Witch</a>)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
½ C. Low-fat Miracle Whip (because that’s what I had)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mix it up. Let it sit in the refrigerator for at least 30
minutes. I didn’t have any fresh parsley but I really recommend it on the side with this. Makes great sandwiches too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Fresh Macaroni Salad<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One small or ½ large bag of elbow macaroni, cooked and
drained<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6 eggs, boiled, cooled, and sliced or chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 red pepper, chopped fine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 stalks of celery, chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3 green onions, chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
½ C. canned sliced black olives<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
¼ C. sweet pickle relish<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
¼ C. Jack Daniels No. 7 horseradish stone-ground mustard<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 C. Regular Miracle Whip<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 T. celery seed<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 T. ground white pepper<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Mix all together and cool in the refrigerator for at least
30 minutes. All amounts approximate!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Serve with ice water, sliced fresh peaches in season, as few clothes as legally possible in
the circumstances and a decent baseball game.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Best wishes!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-43252583860175072372015-07-16T11:05:00.000-07:002015-07-16T11:05:34.093-07:00Courting<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6E6sgnI4qaY/VafxkdLbwwI/AAAAAAAABEM/v9AJzWyfJ1Q/s1600/Image-1%2B%25286%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6E6sgnI4qaY/VafxkdLbwwI/AAAAAAAABEM/v9AJzWyfJ1Q/s320/Image-1%2B%25286%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>The Page of Cups learns of love in all its joys and sorrows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Knight of Cups seeks his love with hope for all
tomorrows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Queen of Cups embraces love, delights and mourns the
most.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The King of Cups shares his love, from infant unto ghost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hkVkaqdPCas/VafxF85sZ2I/AAAAAAAABEE/cAMU-orF-GA/s1600/Image-1%2B%25287%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hkVkaqdPCas/VafxF85sZ2I/AAAAAAAABEE/cAMU-orF-GA/s320/Image-1%2B%25287%2529.jpg" width="297" /></a>The Ace of Cups says, “There is no I, not here nor above”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Ace of Swords says, “That is truth. There is no I in
love.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Best wishes!</div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-12332726951568167752015-07-08T11:30:00.000-07:002015-07-08T21:13:28.529-07:00Hold the PhoneThere was a sudden noise this afternoon. No, actually it was a sudden lack of noise. I was on my work computer fussing over a problem with a document that stubbornly would not display where it was told to display. I had chased the problem down and frustratingly concluded that I had to try again tomorrow. I paused and my computer screen dimmed. That was odd too. I picked up my house phone and realized it wasn't working. In fact the internet was down. I was about to dial my internet provider and realized with a laugh that it was really the power that was off. A quick check on my cell phone confirmed it might be a couple of hours or so. While I still had batteries on my cell phone I sent a note to my boss.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9wVNrBCoXtw/VZyWonW3_jI/AAAAAAAABDk/5uWkyY0qNFA/s1600/PPT%2B8%2Bof%2BWands.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9wVNrBCoXtw/VZyWonW3_jI/AAAAAAAABDk/5uWkyY0qNFA/s320/PPT%2B8%2Bof%2BWands.png" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture Postcard Tarot<br />
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And for a moment I realized I was out of touch with my workaday world. What little battery life I had left was running out. How odd, I thought, after being so very connected with so many little machines, machines I might have barely missed 20 years ago, I am momentarily "out of touch." What a funny, free feeling. But I was delighted that I had cats, dogs, books, cards, needlework and that spider in the bathroom to occupy me. That's hours of entertainment for my over-active Mercury Mind.<br />
<br />
My friend Chea, an astrologer, marveled recently (politely, I might add) at my need for what would likely be entirely too much input for someone else. I agreed with her. Too much was almost enough. I once was faced with an assignment to do just one thing; I couldn't imagine a worse job.<br />
<br />
Tracking several things at once feels right to me. I had been keeping an eye on a couple of Tarot threads in Facebook. One of the discussions touched on whether cards could be predictive.<br />
<br />
This might astound people who aren't part of my regular crowd of Tarot buddies. How could people who read cards professionally question whether cards could actually be used to look into the future? After all, isn't what what card readers do, tell fortunes, foretell the future?<br />
<br />
Seriously, many pro Tarot readers don't believe in predicting the future. What do they read about in the cards? The answer is lots of things. A good interactive session of Tarot can help clarify choices for someone who is struggling with what to do. A deeply spiritual Tarot session can assist a person with dealing with grief or change or just a higher level of consciousness like being present in the moment instead of distracted by past or future anxieties.<br />
<br />
One perspective on the future holds that free will and often blind chance muddy the waters of the future so much that those umpteen zillion alternate universes that split off with every decision we make are just too many to pick a future outcome. I respect the people who hold this view. Some of them are my best Tarot friends and good readers. I also hold the other view and do predictive readings. I even agree with the currently-held physics-based concept of the alternate universes at each juncture. Where I disagree with my non-predictive friends is that the ability to sense an outcome is not always so close to a zero percent chance of picking the probable future. True, sometimes it is complete mud.<br />
<br />
And then there are those other times.<br />
<br />
Another Facebook thread, one from a more famous paranormal investigator/psychic/actor named <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ChrisFlemingFanPage" target="_blank">Chris Fleming</a> asked people if they had ever had a moment of ESP. He went on to specify, Did you ever know something in advance that you had no real way to know?<br />
<br />
I thought, Sure. Lots of times. And I flashed back to the 1970s.<br />
<br />
No, no, not THAT kind of flashback! I never experimented with hallucinogenics even though they seemed fairly readily available. I always figured my best asset was between my ears with my extreme vanity for my feet coming in a distant second. But flash back, I did.<br />
<br />
It was August in the mid-70s when the dream started. It happened over and over. I would pull cards about it, but it was still a mystery to me. The experience in my dream was actually being in the car during the accident. I heard myself scream. Crumbles of glass flew at me as I turned my head over my left shoulder in the direction of impact. The dog jumped in my lap. The car that hit our car was in some way locked in its front end to our driver's side back fender...where the gas cap was. The other car was spinning counter-clockwise in the fog, heavy fog and forcing us off the road, into the ditch. Was it deep? And my ex-husband was fighting to keep the car from rolling, from flipping, from doing anything but stopping just off the road.<br />
<br />
And then, there was the quiet. We looked at the car that hit us. In the fog, I could not tell if it was blue or green; I just knew it was big, bigger than the little yellow sportscar my ex drove. We had come to a stop, not flipped, not rolled, at the margin of a cornfield. And my ex walked to the corner of "Cornfield and Cornfield" to call in the accident from the pay phone there.<br />
<br />
I had this over and over again all winter. It was always the same. I heard myself scream, I watched the glass fly, the fog, the spinning car, the cornfield and the pay phone. I told my ex about it, assuring him that the car was a bit messed up but we were OK and that that was the message. Don't freak out. We're OK.<br />
<br />
He shrugged it off like he did most of my interest in metaphysical studies. He listened, but he shrugged it off.<br />
<br />
Winter was over and it was St. Patrick's Day. We had traveled with our little dog Stoney in my ex's treasured yellow sportscar to his parents' home in Wood River, Illinois, partied with his friends and decided it was better to get up early Monday morning on March 17 and get back to Carbondale in time for the ex to go to work.<br />
<br />
It was foggy, really foggy near the intersection when we turned South on Highway 4.<br />
<br />
"I'm getting that weird feeling again," I said to my ex. "It's like that dream only I'm awake."<br />
<br />
"Shut up," he said. "Just shut up" He chewed his fingers, his easy tell that he was nervous, that he had heard me all along.<br />
<br />
And just south of Lebanon, Illinois, it happened. We slowed in the fog to let someone turn right when the impact came. The nurse driving the car had just gotten off a long shift at the hospital, we found out later. She had looked up, saw us unexpectedly stopped, slammed on the brakes in the fog-wet pavement and started spinning. I heard myself scream. The dog jumped in my lap. The crumbling glass flew in slow motion towards me as my neck wrenched around to see the big car. We landed in the cornfield. I picked up Stoney's leash and stepped out of the car, knowing he would need to piddle after all that. My ex started screaming.<br />
<br />
"My legs are trapped! My legs are trapped!"<br />
<br />
I ducked my head back into the open car and smiled at him.<br />
<br />
"Unbuckle your seat belt."<br />
<br />
As I watched him direct the nurse to move her vehicle out of the road so the accident wouldn't be compounded, then head for the phone booth which was, of course, on the corner behind us, surrounded by cornfields, I thought, We're fine. At least I know how this goes.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, like the 8 of Wands, the message just has to get through because transmission started a while back.<br />
<br />
Best wishes.Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-81517484576797318682015-07-01T11:30:00.000-07:002015-07-01T11:30:01.335-07:00Rainbows<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uXJflnuW_Pw/VZOBDpYv1eI/AAAAAAAABDI/Zp-7us1IWuQ/s1600/cu10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uXJflnuW_Pw/VZOBDpYv1eI/AAAAAAAABDI/Zp-7us1IWuQ/s1600/cu10.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I
would no more tell pessimists that they <i>must </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is much like sexual orientation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Make someone else’s day better as <i>they </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Best wishes.</span></span>Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-39268981135071792015-06-20T20:30:00.000-07:002015-06-20T20:53:23.517-07:00High Summer<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #141823;">High summer holds the earth.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />
Hearts all whole.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />
Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder
wand'ring far<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />
alone<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />
Of shadows on the stars.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"> --James
Agee, <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ka_RcnErx2Y" target="_blank">Sure On This Shining Night</a><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">It was warm today, warm, not
hot. I got up early, not meaning to, but the sunlight would not let me sleep
further. I had some plans for the day, a couple of readings and a rare trip
shopping. Before then, however, I had to verify some software changes really
worked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">I</span><span style="color: #141823;">t was too early for the
software changes. My part of the working weekend was small and I was glad for
that. As soon as they called me, I could make sure they worked, make sure the
data looked good, make sure the changes didn’t break something else.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">I checked up on Alice, a little
close inspection just to be sure she was doing better. She is doing much better
and seems better than she has in a long time. I think now that the antibiotics
she took for her kitty-cat pancreatitis had an overall “sunshine” effect of
clearing up just about anything that was ailing her. Further, I think she may
have had some kind of low-grade infection for a while. I posted something funny
on Facebook because people had been asking how she was doing, imagining that
she, like some famous-for-being-famous-for-five-minutes person in too deep and
too much in the public eye, woke up from anesthesia certain that she was
drugged and given a Brazilian wax. Horrors by light of day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">The Sun in the Tarot is
sometimes thought to be good no matter what. Even reversed, for those who read
with reversals, the Sun’s positive light shines through just about everything.
There’s no dark side of the Sun. Or is there?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">The Sun is not welcomed by
everyone. One of my classmates in high school had a skin condition that gave her an allergic hives-like reaction when exposed to the sun. That was a
tough problem to manage in New Mexico, where sunlight was obscured more often
by dust storms than rain storms. If the Sun came up in a reading for her, would
it be good? Would it mean hide? Cover up? Set her life by the opposite of most
of society and become safely nocturnal?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">The Sun is good news and bad
news for amateur photographers too. When the Sun is high in the sky, the
breath-taking views of the Grand Canyon from the South Rim are washed out
glare, dust and rocks and a reminder to stay at least your own height in
distance from the edge of the cliff. White clouds sail across a light blue sky
with little definition. It is hot in the summer there. There are stories of the
numbers of people who go over the edge. The dry trees, some dead, some alive
gnarl towards the edge of the irregular canyon, and provide one of my favorite
experiences, the smell of pinon pine sap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">As the Sun falls low in the sky
toward the end of the day, no longer glaring down on all it rules, the canyon’s
colors come alive in reds, purples, oranges, blues and yellows with a last
hurrah of the coraling curtains of clouds before it rests, and lets all others
rest, for another cooling evening. Colors and creatures come out then. Do they
flee the Sun, the Sun that brings life and cooks it to dust and ashes?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">That evening at the Grand
Canyon, the angle of light at Monterey Bay, California, the brilliant sunsets
in New Mexico are all made possible by the Sun, the Sun in the right position.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">The Sun can expose the truth,
bring realization. It can also dazzle and blind, create mirages in the desert
or a lonely stretch of blacktop road. It can warm; it can burn. A happy day can
turn into a sleepless night of pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3h-TLiLqxU/VYYvaR5bVVI/AAAAAAAABCk/YeGS2z00oDA/s1600/10%2BSw%2BSun%2B9%2BSw.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3h-TLiLqxU/VYYvaR5bVVI/AAAAAAAABCk/YeGS2z00oDA/s320/10%2BSw%2BSun%2B9%2BSw.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">Is the Sun always good?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">A reading like this, the 10 of Swords,
The Sun, the 9 of Swords seldom makes a “sunny” message. A betrayal has come to
light and is exposed, known, perhaps known to all, and the realization that all
illusions are gone, dreams are over and nothing but the real world faces the
person betrayed. It’s hard to call this a positive reading. The shadows on the
Sun may be the darkest of all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">In a larger sense, though, while
a betrayal never feels good, perhaps it may be best to know, to know for
certain finally and to wake to a new day even in sorrow so that the Soul may
progress on its journey. It may seem like the longest day, but we and the Sun
rest and begin again tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #141823;">Happy Summer Solstice!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-6137003530191700472015-06-10T11:30:00.000-07:002015-06-10T14:25:00.569-07:00Public Offering<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m so glad I’m not a celebrity. I have an inkling every
once in a while of what it’s like to be pursued by the wrong person.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my Tarot life, I originally set up my Facebook account to
the settings that make everything public. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My background in technology has
taught me that no matter how personal a conversation you thinking you’re
having, if it’s electronic, it’s recorded somewhere and accessible by people
other than the one you think you’re talking to. So I originally figured my
Tarot life was open, out loud, ordinary, unremarkable or at least amusing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently, some strange things have been showing up in my
electronic world so I took advantage of the Facebook settings to limit access
somewhat. It’s helped a little but there are still stories to tell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was younger and svelte, I got used to catcalls from
construction workers. I thought they were disgusting and stupid but also
threatening, that implied threat that men stronger and faster than I am could
overpower me if they dared. Oh, I would have put up a fight, no doubt. But the
fear, just the fear, that made what should sound like a compliment turn into something
menacing was bullying on a level that terrified me, revolted me and basically
made all men seem like coarse slime. I hated that feeling. I liked men, still
do, so why would they do something so mean? I realized I was an object, not a
person in that instance. I didn’t want to be an object.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then one day while I was in the public library in my
unremarkable town in southern Illinois, the police swarmed in and surrounded
the young man on the other side of the stacks from me. I had not noticed. The
policeman and librarians told me later. He was stalking me. As I hummed happily
to myself, savoring books on antique glass and china, looking up marks and
dates and manufacturers, researching patterns and processes, then popping over
to Agatha Christie, remembering my mother saying she could write a better
mystery (she never did), I noticed the Army green jacket through the stacks and
thought idly how odd it was that the guy was interested in the books on the
other side of the shelves. When the police came and took him away, I was
stunned, then shaken, then scared, then reassured. I’d dodged some awful
situation and was grateful for others looking out for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cyber-stalking can be much more subtle. Someone can have the
account of someone you know or they can friend a bunch of your friends. Then
they send you a friend request and you check—briefly—and think even if you don’t
recognize the name, the folks in your home town or your Tarot community must be
real friends with this person and you might accept their offer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of the time people are just people, not stalkers or
creeps. They have good days and bad. They have political opinions you agree
with or don’t, take subjects too seriously or not seriously enough, have pet
causes that resonate with yours—or not. Most of the time, people are OK.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there are people who presume to be innocuous
enthusiasts who are actually advanced hackers who are looking for something
valuable to them in your world. I don’t “get” why people would do this, but
then again I’m too nice. I don’t get why people will threaten each other or
feel threatened by someone, why people will hurt animals or feel little regard
for nature or other people, why people will persist in sharing negativity and
spurn any ideas on how to resolve it. I don’t “get” that. That’s me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x-Q8WN1r-UI/VXZsQmUs6FI/AAAAAAAABCM/ijD4WQJ21n0/s1600/RWS-Devil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x-Q8WN1r-UI/VXZsQmUs6FI/AAAAAAAABCM/ijD4WQJ21n0/s320/RWS-Devil.jpg" width="187" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And some people just feed off others’ energy. My friend Fortune says there is a word in Danish, <i>superlomsk</i>. It’s the “creeptastic”
feeling you get when being menaced by a vampire only perhaps moreso. Sometimes
it’s just love. Sometimes, it’s like the Devil.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reading in public venues opens me to a wide variety of
people and their problems. I’m glad to be able to help in some small way and
always emphasize to my clients in public or private readings that they have
free will. They can choose their next actions. But I get surprised sometimes,
of course.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently I had my table up at a public venue. Happily in the
shade on a warm midday, I welcomed the brave souls who had never, ever had a
Tarot reading before. A few of the readings were upbeat. A few were heavy and
deep. As the sun rose high in the weekend sky, I stood to stretch my legs,
knocked my cards off my table, laughed and bent to pick them up. I looked up to
see a middle-aged man in a polo shirt and khakis walking towards the table,
smiling. I quickly scooped up the rest of the fallen cards, then looked up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He stood in front of my table smiling, looking at me with
shark’s eyes, blue irises thin around suddenly wide chasms of pupils. He was an
unremarkable man, clean, clean-shaven, medium everything except his
close-cropped light-brown hair around his balding hairline.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hiiiiiiiii, Marrrrrrrciaaaaaaa.” He looked me up and down
and scanned my table. He paused too long. Something wasn’t right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you want a reading?” I asked, still standing, not
wanting to make myself smaller in front of a predator. I smiled too. It was
self-defense. I faced him square on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I just have one question,” he said, shark eyes never
leaving mine as he spoke. “Is there anyone here as pretty as you are?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A thousand things filled my mind, all the alternate
realities based on my response. I assessed the effectiveness and lung capacity
should I determine screaming bloody murder at a Farmers Market was the right
response. My matching alternate personalities appeared in my mind, only. I
reviewed the possibilities:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
SmartAss: Still live with your mom, huh?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
BabyBoomer: That line didn’t work 30 years ago either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CompletelySarcastic: <stifle a="" yawn=""> Eeek. It’s a man.<o:p></o:p></stifle></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PublicOfficial: Move along, sir. There’s nothing to see
here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a lingering favorite, NinjaPsychic: Back up slowly or I
will kill you with my mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I resisted all those temptations, understanding that any
engagement, positive or negative, was the response he wanted. Whether he was a
socially awkward sincere admirer or serial killer or anything in between, the
answer was still, No. No way. What part of no…? No, thank you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gestured broadly with both arms wide, again increasing
apparent size, some lizard-brain reaction from some non-human ancestor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why, look around you! Everyone is pretty here!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He stepped back, shark-eyes back to blue, hands in pockets
and turned away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I offer my services reading cards for a small fee. I have
boundaries. And I like this work. If you want to meet me, strike up a real conversation with me. Leave the lines and the shark-eyes at home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best wishes.<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-1266938770302376192015-06-03T11:30:00.000-07:002015-06-03T11:30:01.180-07:00A Rat Lay Dead--A Love Story<div class="MsoNormal">
I was all set for a quiet weekend and unaccountably I woke
up earlier than I expected. A member of the British Royal Family said something
about never passing up the opportunity to go to the loo. This applies to young
dogs too, so I got Louie up and we walked outside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t really that early. It was just earlier than I
meant to get up. But the 3-footed squirrel who resides in my yard was making a
real racket. She’s usually pretty quiet and actually rather friendly, considering
somewhere along the way she suffered a terrible accident and lost her right
front paw. In spite of this injury, she gets around well, leaps from the oak
tree to the fence and back, follows the circuit of squirrel path from the oak
tree to the magnolia, to the roof, to the magnolia on the side yard to the
crepe myrtle, to the side fencing, to the Fuji apple, to the plum tree and back
to home base, the oak. The apples, plums and acorns keep her well fed and the
birdfeeders invite the Little Creatures of the Yard also.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pAE4bE3hdsI/VW56FfVqLHI/AAAAAAAABBs/iwasWbsciz4/s1600/CROX%2BNEWS%2BExclusive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pAE4bE3hdsI/VW56FfVqLHI/AAAAAAAABBs/iwasWbsciz4/s320/CROX%2BNEWS%2BExclusive.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that was actually what the racket was about. She pointed
out to me and then also to Louie that there was, alas, an issue that I needed
to deal with. First, was the matter of Alice the cat who apparently had made a
break for it sometime during the nightly trips to the backyard that The Hubs
makes with both dogs. He carries the elder statesman Quincy down the stairs
since he’s not much on stairs nowadays in either direction. Nobody is as sharp
as they might wish at 2:30 or 3:00 am except of course Alice who takes
advantage of the boys on their wobbly pegs and inattention, and she easily
slipped out the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to be utterly horrified when Alice would slip out. I’ve
had cats killed in the streets because my parents would not allow indoor cats.
I’m a staunch indoor cat person. Over time I realize that at least Alice has no
intention of leaving the yard and, much better than either of the dogs, comes
when she is called. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alice sat on the low brick wall, the remains of an old
summerhouse, under the plum tree. She was entirely too close to Mother
Squirrel. And I was instructed to do something about this. Now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Neighborhood
outdoor cats are much more inclined to climb trees than Alice. Alice prefers
her prey to come to her and enjoy taking her heart’s ease in the morning air,
with an occasional glance at the squirrel. But she had no intention of climbing
a tree.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Second, and as it turned out more inspiring, on Mother
Squirrel’s list was, and she did in fact point it out to me, the small dead rat
near the patio of the former summerhouse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh,” sharp as ever in the morning, I mutter, “a rat. Dead,
huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Louie nosed the rat and, since I was interested in it,
picked it up in his mouth and took a few gamboling dance steps sideways,
offering a rousing game of Get the Dead Rat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Louie!” I tried to use my Stern Voice. I’m told I’m
spectacularly unsuccessful at sounding stern. “Drop it right now!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unaccountably, he did. Without a second thought, I stepped over,
picked the unfortunate up by the end of his now cool tail and set him out of
doggy range. This started a chain of
creative events that lasted the weekend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the quiet of the morning, I began the story with the
obituary of one Rat, struck down mysteriously in the prime of rodent life and
shared it on Facebook.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t clear that Alice was the culprit although she was
seen near the deceased when he was found. The Hubs, in defense of Alice, made a
good case that it could not have been her since Rat was found in his entirety
with just a bit of saliva at his neck and shoulders. After all, Louie had moved
the body, and if you’ve ever watched a whodunit you’ll know that will always
get suspicions aimed at That Guy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fictional CROX NEWS, a station known for making a mountain
out of a molehill with the neighborhood fauna, got the exclusive with shots of
the major characters in the dramatic investigation. My Facebook friends joined
in the investigation with many theories of the crime.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who killed Rat? His wife, always treated like a princess, or
so she claims? As it unfolded, PerpPetual Life, the animal life insurance
company wouldn’t confirm that there was a life insurance policy on Rat, but
moved quickly to make an appearance at the scene. Was there a drug connection
with the New York Sewer Rats who were fast to send their “condolences” on the
loss, although Rat himself had made every effort to distinguish himself as a
backyard resident of honest, if modest, means. Were Alice and Louie in on it
together or was Louie an unwitting dupe? And finally, before charges were
filed, Judge Quincy came out of retirement to oversee the moving of the body to
the morgue. And what about Baby, a kitten of uncertain loyalties who spoke up
early as a character reference, but apparently a reference for the highest
bidder?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alice and Louie were held on suspicion of murder and
interrogated relentlessly by cynical local police. A team of special
investigators from PerpLife was called in and by the next day the yard was
crawling with S. Nail and his teammates. Mr. Nail, who declined to give any
particulars about their investigation, gave a brief interview with CROX NEWS
but spoke only about his company’s procedures and the Serious Undertaking and
Crime Control Specialists (SUCCS) team searching for the facts on behalf of
PerpLife. The District Attorney, a shady politician if I ever saw one (thanks
to artist <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/KloppStudio?ref=ss_profile" target="_blank">Debra Klopp Kersey</a>) came out in support of law and order and justice
for Rat and his family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9PKJTqv7LkQ/VW56qMlOzoI/AAAAAAAABB0/La-M_4NzTgs/s1600/sw10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9PKJTqv7LkQ/VW56qMlOzoI/AAAAAAAABB0/La-M_4NzTgs/s1600/sw10.jpg" /></a>There was even a break in the broadcast for an ad from the
local undertaker, Kelly’s Happy Endings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, the Coroner, another seeming member of the Good
Old Cats Club (thanks to ceramics artist <a href="http://www.sharonbloomdesigns.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sharon Boom</a>) pronounced the death a “raticide
by person or persons unknown”. The suspects were released and no charges were
filed because of insufficient evidence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alice was seen reading the tabloids in disgust and is
rumored to be considering a cosmetics modeling offer or two. When asked if she
is opposed to animal testing, she replied she was not if free samples were
available.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Louie was seen with a blunt object that turned out to be a
paper towel roll. While it’s unclear whether this is the actual murder weapon,
one of the many unknowns in the case, Louie looked very worried when his photo
was snapped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the investigation continues. But, I have to say, sad as
it is that somehow in my very own backyard a small furry creature met his 10 of
Swords end, this has to be the most fun I’ve ever had with a dead rat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best wishes!<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-67836410909268938152015-05-27T11:30:00.000-07:002015-06-02T21:08:42.857-07:00Recount<div class="MsoNormal">
So one of the things they say you’ll probably be able to get
away with during a Mercury retrograde is reviewing what you already have rather
than getting more or making concrete plans to change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Now I know. You friends and family are going to ask me, “Seriously,
Marcia. You mean you actually let something like the apparent, not even REAL
backwards motion of an itty bitty little planet too close to the sun to have an
atmosphere determine what you are going to do for something like weeks out of
the year??”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, no, not exactly. See, I have free will. I can start a
trip on an empty tank of gas if I want to. I can hang out under a tall tree in
a thunderstorm. I can wear white before Memorial Day. I can, if I want to. But
for someone like me, someone who probably packs a little too much into the
schedule, having certain times of the year where it’s recommended that you hold
back on new things and perhaps take stock of current stuff, maybe let go of
technology a little, maybe build in some quiet time or maybe, with gasps from
the crowd, throw some things away that no longer serve—great pause for breath—maybe
it’s nice to have a reminder a few times a year to pause and reflect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I have. For instance, one of my tarot buddies Arwen Lynch
Poe said something about finally getting a handle on her collection of decks
using a certain app. I used to have a list of my decks. That was years ago, I
reflected (see? It’s working already). I miss having that list. People ask me,
do you have THIS deck and lately I can’t rightly say. I might. I might have two
or three of them especially if I liked it. I might have wanted to buy it and
didn’t. It’s good to know what you have.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For instance, one of the things staring at me every time I
walked past one of my bookcases was the POMO Tarot Deck by Brian Williams. In
fact, I had accidentally gotten two copies of it. Brian’s work was pretty
special in Tarot and others ought to enjoy it. So I grabbed one of them and put
it on the swap table at Readers Studio in April. Usually you don’t see decks
that have collectible value on those swap tables but I actually found a deck I
was truly interested in to swap for my offering.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started to wonder if I have other candidates. Arwen’s idea
about inventory sounded good to me, especially with this app that reads
barcodes. That should help speed along some of the data entry, at least for the
newer decks. Most of my collection is older, self-published, weird and not
bar-coded, but something that helps speed the process along is an attractive
feature.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I downloaded it, sprung for the no-ads version that wasn’t
free. Sometimes I don’t mind the ads that help pay for free features, but
sometimes getting interrupted by someone else’s really good idea of how I could
spend more money gets irritating.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gjfACjcBE5A/VWU9yU9cecI/AAAAAAAABBI/Lv0Tdkywj3E/s1600/pents04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gjfACjcBE5A/VWU9yU9cecI/AAAAAAAABBI/Lv0Tdkywj3E/s1600/pents04.jpg" /></a>Using an app on an iPhone is probably one of those things
that Mercury Retrograders would say I should avoid. I deal with software in my
Day Job, so naturally the first thing I did was to run into the bugs and “obvious”
enhancements to the app and shot off an email to the people who created it.
They said they’d get back to me within 48 hours. But it’s Mercury Retrograde. I’m
just hoping that they take the suggestions to heart. Heck, I think I’m just
happy they got the email and sent an automated reply.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started slogging through my collection. One thing about
making a list of your favorite things is that you get to play with all your
toys. I know, I know. Nerd alert. But there are some truly fascinating Tarot,
Lenormand, Oracle, antique kids’ games, and other decks out there. I collect
because I like them, not because I’m trying to invest for a profit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last
time a couple of the bookcases were tickled was perhaps four years ago. Just
getting the real dust bunnies out was a good thing. And in the process, I
repacked the bookcases so that there’s a better use of space, a very 4 of
Pentacles concept. In fact, the whole inventory thing is a sort of 4 of
Pentacles thing if you can get past the fairy tale image of King Midas counting
his gold. Sometimes it’s a matter of conserving physical resources rather than
being miserly, a matter of stability in corporeal space.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was sitting on the floor with a hundred decks stacked
around me, shelf after shelf, day after day, I thought at least I’m doing
something I meant to do for a while now that will help me during some
head-spinning shopping spree later. Plus, I’m not spending money while I’m
doing this counting and recounting. This project cost me less than $5.00 and
could save me a lot more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This being Mercury Retrograde, I’m not taking chances on
software though. Two features I like about the app, bugs notwithstanding, are
that it can back your collection up offline and you can send yourself a
spreadsheet. You just never know when something electrical can ruin your
efforts, right? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The current count is 658 but I have more to go. I sure don’t
want to start this project over due to some silly glitch.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Best wishes!<o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-29209650317028342312015-05-20T11:35:00.000-07:002015-05-20T12:23:47.600-07:00Oh, Zolar<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The summer after my 6th grade year, my Nerd Self went into full bloom. While happy children played baseball and bicycled in the outside air, I went to the library. In fact, I went to the library so much that my mother became worried.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to understand the irony of this. She was a bookish person herself, a journalist, a reader, a writer and that year an antique dealer. I had consumed everything in her shop except a book entitled <i>Strange Fruit</i> that she wouldn't let me read, presumably for its hot and steamy content and not for the violence against oppressed people. I had just shrugged and walked the three blocks to the city library, which in my small town in New Mexico took up some of the space in the court house.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq2O-eTd_40/VVotjiH1WQI/AAAAAAAABAc/X5c1zNgtz9k/s1600/Zolar%2BIts%2BAll%2Bin%2Bthe%2BStars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq2O-eTd_40/VVotjiH1WQI/AAAAAAAABAc/X5c1zNgtz9k/s1600/Zolar%2BIts%2BAll%2Bin%2Bthe%2BStars.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That summer I read anything I could get my hands on, often up to four books a day. I read so many back issues of the Reader's Digest that I was on a first name basis with Joe's Liver, could quote Humor in Uniform, had aced all of the word games and read all the condensed books. I joked that I had graduated from the Reader's Digest School of Medicine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I also tore through the metaphysical section and read everything: Palmistry, cartomancy, astrology, hypnotism (which I considered to be misidentified as metaphysical), UFO's, ghost stories, the whole magilla. You name it Woo and I read it. I wanted to know about what had happened to me all my life, astral projections, whistling up the wind, knowing things about people just by touching the things they had owned. Some of the fun things I found were the Zolar books, especially Zolar's <i>It's All in the Stars</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn't get much past sun sign astrology in the meager pickings of a Bible Belt county library, but many years and many books later, I have come to view the Zolar books with affection. So, in honor of those first moments of studying esoteric subjects, and in honor of those who seek help and consolation from unusual sources, I have written a poem called "Oh, Zolar", a reflection worthy of Mercury in Retrograde, I hope.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh Zolar – by Marcia McCord, 2015<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh Zolar, shall I tell you my heart?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Or is it already too plain in my chart?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My path full of fears,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My lovelife in tears,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And Fortune, where is thy part?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, shall I be married?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In libraries too long I have tarried,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Ignoring the looks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In favor of books,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And now I am nigh to be buried!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, does Sun ever-bright<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Sift through the stars of the night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And down past the trees,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Rain clouds and breeze?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, tell me my plight!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, was ever a Moon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In the right spot for more than a noon?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Too hot or too cold,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">To young or too old,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My feelings always slightly off-tune.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, I have Mercury rising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">A chatterbox? I’m just surmising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">It controls all my egress,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Transgress, progress and regress<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In Pisces, a seabreeze surprising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, tell me, between us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Can there be an aspect of Venus<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">To make me a cutie<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">With the slightest of beauty<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Like the glittering jewels a queen has?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tOeMPbDhrUM/VVpBxzVhC0I/AAAAAAAABAs/kurpBM19cpo/s1600/zolar%2BMars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tOeMPbDhrUM/VVpBxzVhC0I/AAAAAAAABAs/kurpBM19cpo/s320/zolar%2BMars.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oh, Zolar, look at my stars<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And find me some strapping young Mars,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">With all of his powers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Not dimmed by the hours<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Nor shrunken with blight or catarrh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">By Jupiter! Shall increase be mine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">With other than rich foods and wine?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The nights all alone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">With but an ice cream cone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Are pushing me over the line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Oh, Zolar, is Saturn gentle, <o:p></o:p></div>
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Its effects on me just elemental?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is my short height dependent<o:p></o:p></div>
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On well-aspected Ascendant,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And my eighth house merely a rental?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, Zolar, can you see Neptune clearly<o:p></o:p></div>
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Opposing my Sun? Can it merely<o:p></o:p></div>
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Be the Avalon mists<o:p></o:p></div>
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That keep hiding my lists,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Synesthesia I cherish so dearly?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, Zolar, to Uranus now turn,<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Tau of a t-square, I learn<o:p></o:p></div>
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Means explosive creativity<o:p></o:p></div>
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And peculiar nativity,<o:p></o:p></div>
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My lightning-struck Tower of churn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And dear Zolar, my karma defend<o:p></o:p></div>
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From a Pluto I hardly call friend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Inconjunct in a Yod<o:p></o:p></div>
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With fogged Neptune is odd.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beg Mercury' s mercy! The end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>Best wishes!</o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-65590117328112439332015-05-13T11:30:00.000-07:002015-05-13T11:30:00.034-07:00The Clown Child<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“Be a
clown! Be a clown! All the world loves a clown.</i><i>”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">************* </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The mother tucked her child more tightly in bed, so tight the
sheets were nearly smooth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wiQVMSbzNRM/VU-7SDHuODI/AAAAAAAABAE/ZPYGjFvfVIA/s1600/sw08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wiQVMSbzNRM/VU-7SDHuODI/AAAAAAAABAE/ZPYGjFvfVIA/s1600/sw08.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“There, there, dear,”
she cooed. “Don't cry. Nobody loves a little girl with a red nose.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her eyes grew dark and sharp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Mommy,” asked the child, her little chin trembling,
her eyes shut tight like stars, like scars, “Are those teeth for me?”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her mother smiled broadly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“No, of course not, darling. Not today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">8 of
Swords. Not all the monsters are under the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Best
wishes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-12844810357197541782015-05-06T11:30:00.000-07:002015-05-06T11:37:40.097-07:00Readers Studio 2015<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">I try to go to Readers
Studio every year. I don’t always make it but I was fortunate to be there this
year. Led by Ruth Ann and Wald Amberstone, this gathering of Tarot readers is
truly a team effort to produce. It is distinguished by its format of three main
presenters, different every year, who challenge the attendees with new ways to
look at tarot readings, new techniques and fresh ways to see old cards. In
addition, for the last few years, an extra day has been added focusing on Tarot
and Psychology to highlight the uses of Tarot in therapy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Readers Studio starts a
little earlier than that for me. For one thing, I sign up early and pay for
tuition on the payment plan. So I’ve already signed up to attend next year as
part of the nearly painless monthly payment plan. I attend several conferences
a year. As much as I seek the funny and sunny side of cartomancy, I’m serious
about Tarot and Lenormand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">No matter what style of
deck suits you, Rider Waite Smith and its many clones and offshoots, Thoth,
Marseilles-style, Minchiate or truly original beauties like the Mary-El Tarot,
78 cards (or so, per the Minchiate) come together in what can become a full
course in Liberal Arts and more. Even the strictly fortune-telling oracle decks
can bring up the waters from deep in the well of human experience. Whether you
feel the “woo” factor in cartomancy or use the card images to start off
important conversations, there is a world of fresh perspective we get
participating in conferences like Readers Studio.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">My first big treat this
year was Robert Place’s talk at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Bob is serious
about his Tarot too. He’s the author of <i>The
Tarot: History, Symbolism, and Divination.</i> I love his laser-beam
concentration, his decks like Tarot of the Sevenfold Mystery, The Alchemical
Tarot and his collaboration with Rachel Pollack, the Burning Serpent Oracle
among others. I also have a few of his wonderful pieces of sterling silver
jewelry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Too excited and too
afraid I would somehow be late for the program, I arrived some three hours
early with the firm intent to study the museum’s examples of Joshua Reynolds’
work, one of my personal questing beasts. I was waylaid immediately as I looked
up from the ticket booth and my eye was snagged by the words Medieval and
Byzantine. My cell phone camera and I wandered into another world. Time and
space fell away. Before I knew it, it was time for Bob’s talk. I groused that
the museum does so little to provide cots and showers to the people like me who
would stay there night and day if it weren’t for a small thing like closing
time, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Bob’s spent enough time
at the museum’s Print Room that he’s the “civilian” who gets special access to
work with their tarot collection, a breath-taking trip through the history of
cards starting with a set of woodcut prints of a deck that dates from
approximately 1475-1500. Still stunned that I shared the same air as this
beauty, I resisted the urge to touch knowing my hands could destroy this marvel
and, reluctantly, followed directions about no photography. Then, deck after
deck, Bob spoke of the techniques, geography, materials, context and after a while just pure lust for this eye-popping collection. At the end of the
presentation, Bob asked me to stay and read cards for the museum employee who
is the only person who can handle the cards. An honor and a treat, we both
later agreed that team-reading was fun. We were shooed out of the museum at
closing and found a diner a block away that served breakfast for dinner, just
the thing to talk over Tarot, self-publishing, travel and future projects. And
this was just the first day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aYIxXlFodhg/VUcOoDoG9RI/AAAAAAAAA_g/PBgUCP_2XoI/s1600/sw03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aYIxXlFodhg/VUcOoDoG9RI/AAAAAAAAA_g/PBgUCP_2XoI/s1600/sw03.jpg" /></a><span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">The next day was the
longest of the week. The Tarot and Psychology day stretched into the evening
and by the end of three meaty and challenging sessions I was pretty sure my jet
lag was in full bloom and I was “Junger” than springtime. I had flashbacks to
management training back in 1990 when I had an exercise in determining my
highest values by bargaining them away in order to escape imaginary drug lords
in South America. I had been traumatized by how easily I had let go of some
truly noble values to save my skin but ultimately could not let go of either of
the last two; my imaginary self is still on the tarmac in a forgotten jungle
trading other people’s values for their tickets to safety. It’s quite a
flashback.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Then, Readers Studio opened
officially. Aside from the top-notch line-up of speakers—and they really were!—I
was so happy to reconnect with my Tarot buddies from all over. For Tarot Psych
Day, Nancy Antenucci and I sat at a table of old friends and new and quietly
cut up by diagnosing the sound problems with the speakers’ microphone by
drawing cards. Naturally, our predictions of the issue, its location, the
personnel involved in the fix and the source of the problem happened to be
right!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Speakers Ellen
Lorenzi-Prince, Theresa Reed and Carrie Paris gave us new and fun things to
think about when we consider reading. Carrie’s challenge in the four elements
forced us to be concise about the cards we selected from each element. My 3 of
Swords final entry was something I liked well enough to remember: <i>Reason and the heart are delicate enemies
and violent friends</i></span><i>.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rXs9qY0ueqY/VUcPvokqUFI/AAAAAAAAA_s/jl5IBxs-byM/s1600/Dame%2BEdna%2Band%2BRana%2BGeorge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rXs9qY0ueqY/VUcPvokqUFI/AAAAAAAAA_s/jl5IBxs-byM/s1600/Dame%2BEdna%2Band%2BRana%2BGeorge.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rana George and Dame Edna</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">And yes, in my
dedication to keeping the Fun in Dysfunctional, I transformed into Dame Edna
Everage in the guise of the Empress, bellowing, “Hellooooooooo, Possums!” to
her adoring, if snickering subjects. My favorite Dame Edna moment was coming up
behind Wald the second time and having him tell me that he had not recognized
me at first. Dame Edna’s Moment of Triumph!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">The dinner show featured
Dan Pelletier, Rhonda Lund and Nancy Antenucci and a knock-down-drag-out
slow-motion fistfight staged between Death and the Tower that had everyone
rolling. Back in civilian clothes, I joined the newest addition to Readers
Studio, The Ravers Studio Nightclub with flashing lights, glo-sticks, some
dedicated dancers and even a few lookie-Lous from a group of guys apparently
selling tools. We all felt the beat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Thanks to everyone who
worked long hours to make this year a success, too many to name all, but all
appreciated. I came home with a treasure trove of new decks, new friends, new
ideas and a shared love of this wonderful Tarot Tribe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Of course I’ll be going next year! Best wishes, Possums!</span>Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-90428521521306904982015-05-02T14:32:00.000-07:002015-05-02T14:32:08.113-07:00Remember<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You think you have a
memory; but it has you!” – John Irving<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My roomie at Readers Studio 2015 in New York is so bright
and gifted. All she asked for was the bed by the window. I was happy to oblige;
nearer the bathroom, nearer the window, both have their advantages. The New
York LaGuardia Marriott has really comfortable rooms with perhaps the exception
of not quite enough electrical outlets next to the beds for modern life’s
plethora of gadgetry. We worked around it and were mindful of not getting in
each other’s way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was especially mindful of being an extrovert in a world
where 50% of the people are introverts. Rattling on, even in a friendly way
meant to bond with your roomie, can be a nightmare to an introvert who just.
Wants. A. Decent. Night’s. Rest. We talked into the night the first night we
arrived about Tarot, astrology, life experiences, travel experiences, recovery
from injuries, youth and age. I liked my friend more the more I got to know
her, to my secret delight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can imagine my reticence to have a roommate for the
first time who is not adequately prepared for my “active” nighttime activities.
Oh, it’s all completely involuntary. I at least warn people about the snoring.
Snoring is such a mild term for it. Rain describes the gentle mists of northern
California and the violent thunderstorms that would walk my toiletries off my
dresser in Illinois. My snoring is so little like the former, so much like the latter, like
the roar of jet engines and not like a glider, like the shriek of a banshee not
the twitter of songbirds. Yeah, I snore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My roomie also was “entertained” by the talking. I’ve talked
in my sleep since I was little. My mother, the extreme introvert certain she
had spawned a monster extrovert, would hear me in the night and my running
monolog, sometimes understandable but always with its own context. She would
come to my “rescue” to pick me up from the terrazzo floor where I had fallen
from bed and ask, “Are you all right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera,” I would proclaim in deep
profundity and very sound sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u6bTEOoe-A4/VUVB3VxCLGI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/Cf0KKQqZMnc/s1600/sw09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u6bTEOoe-A4/VUVB3VxCLGI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/Cf0KKQqZMnc/s1600/sw09.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her theory was that as an extrovert, that alien creature to
her, the changeling the fairies had left when no one was watching, I had just
never gotten everything said during the day and was obligated to finish up all
conversation at night. All night. Every night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But of course there was more. These are not particularly my
memories, but rather those of my—shall we call them victims?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I come by it naturally, I suppose, I explained to my good
and patient roomie. After all, both Mom and Daddy snored to beat the band. Mom
would wake herself up snoring and hit Daddy, certain he was the reason for her
waking. It made perfect sense to me why some married people slept in separate
quarters. I considered it a matter of self-preservation. Mom could pack quite a
wallop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Somewhere along the way, I learned that my uncle was a
sleepwalker and would appear in the kitchen or living room with a midnight
sandwich, eat it—or not—and return to his bed with no memory of his adventures
the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have wondered if the filters that should be on in ordinary
people that are off in me and perhaps members of my family are part of the
thing that helps me read cards. More likely, though, I just snore, thrash, laugh,
whistle, chatter and occasionally cast out demons as just one of the “features”
of my personal software. I don’t remember most of it myself but I still have
stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When my first marriage began to fail, there were occasions
when I either punched him or kneed him in the nose and woke up first
apologizing, then giggling, then apologizing. Perhaps that was thinly-disguised
resentment at being told constantly that I was inadequate. No matter. We
divorced and both relatively unscathed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">About that same time, my father called me at work one bright
day and asked, “Are you…OK?” “Of course, I said,” surprised and confused at his
mid-day call and his note of concern. “Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You sounded funny last night,” he said. I could hear from
his voice that he had set his jaw in his typical offset way that signaled there
was more to the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I didn’t talk to you last night,” I protested, doubt
growing as I spoke every word so much that it might have been a question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Oh,” he started to snicker. “Oh, yes you did!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To this day I don’t know what I said to him but I have the
feeling it wasn’t particularly the sort of conversation a father wants to hear
from his never-in-his-eyes-grown daughter. All I can say is, sorry about that,
Pops!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few months after that, I remember waking up to hanging up
the telephone, once again talking to someone in my sleep. This time I don’t
know who it was but as I was hanging up and laughing uproariously I had the
strange feeling that it was a crank call with sexual overtones. I’m not sure if
I hoped it was one of my friends or a complete but creepy stranger; I don’t
know which is better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m grateful that I don’t walk in my sleep like my uncle.
That can be dangerous. I related all this to my roomie who had, wise woman that
she is, brought hopefully effective earplugs after that first night of my “performance”.
I explained that once, while I was living in southern California in a small
apartment, as a big fan of ghost hunting shows, I determined to record myself
all night to see if I said anything interesting. After 15 minutes of rhythmic
buzzing that actually seemed to be the overhead fan and not my adorable purr, I
turned the recorder off—in my sleep, of course. Oh, well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The 9 of Swords in the Rider Waite Smith tradition shows the
sleeper has awakened, is sitting up in bed and has raised her hands to her
face. Is she relieved it was only a dream? Was her sleeping life the real one
and is this the illusion? Is her waking life the worse nightmare than her
dream? At any rate, the card shows a change in consciousness, an awakening, a
realization, an understanding of the objective truth compared to illusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To the aware mind, every new experience is an awakening and every
new day is a chance to start over. All the past is not just a good or bad
dream, but it is the past, now fixed in our lives like soft clay hardened in
the kiln of experience. Work with the clay of the day, shape it to your will
with the spirit of love and understanding. Remember the past, but do not be
chained to it. And sometimes, bring earplugs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Best wishes!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-11592910145869259732015-03-25T15:09:00.001-07:002015-03-25T15:09:52.946-07:00Hard Shell<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just deleted a couple of comments by a relative from my
Facebook page. I disagreed with what they said. That's all. I didn't feel
personally attacked or threatened. I don't expect to "unfriend" my
relative. There are lots of things about them I like but we disagree almost
entirely on social and political topics. We see the world differently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm sure the opinions I express exasperate my relative.
Usually I note them in threads already agreeable to me or on my own page. I
never post them on someone else's page. I figure it's my page, my rules. I
think it's fine if others feel the same about their own pages. Their rules
there is fair. You get to be the "admin" of your own life, at least
on social media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L0YVGZVllY/VRMx7oam4FI/AAAAAAAAA-0/9DOMnnnoH-A/s1600/pents09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L0YVGZVllY/VRMx7oam4FI/AAAAAAAAA-0/9DOMnnnoH-A/s1600/pents09.jpg" height="320" width="186" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I could argue with my relative and we could throw facts,
factoids, opinions and feelings around. That just seems to bring bad energy
into my space, though, like stepping in something and tracking it through the
house, all the while wondering what the terrible smell is. I don't need that.
Neither does my relative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Likely even the most articulate and thoughtful reasoning for
my opinions would not change my relative's mind either. We are both adults with
our separate lives and separate experiences leading us to view the world at
near opposition. I'm sad that we have these completely opposite views of the
world but it's not my place to change someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This isn't the only relative to have views opposing mine. My
family's penchant for being dead certain they are right is matched by the
requisite hard head. We are a family of opinions. My blood relatives' early
family motto was some Latin phrase translating roughly to "my way or the
highway," a source of amusement to me in its accuracy. In some cases, it
interferes with our relationships, especially when one will say they withdraw
all contact until the other gives in to their point of view. I don't think
anyone has given in yet. That kind of statement tends to make people hold their
own position all the more anyway. People in my family stand on principle a lot,
an isolation self-imposed that may or may not be noble. But it always feels
noble to the one standing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Standing one's ground is fine, can be courageous,
character-defining. But my sense of things is that you can only really stand
your ground on the real estate you own. I have my one vote, my page, my body,
my home and even that I share. But within my very personal real estate, I may
stand. So no need to fight with my relative. That's what the delete key is for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The 9 of Pentacles in Tarot defines your personal physical
manifestation, your personal real estate, personal boundaries, your own
reality. While the Rider Waite Smith Tarot shows a woman in her garden with
garden walls, walls that keep in as well as keep out, a favorite detail in that
card is the snail. We carry our environment with us on our backs. It may
provide respite from the outside world, allowing us to retreat as the Hermit to
review, cherish, or sink into oblivion. It provides the hard shell of structure
in our lives and may endure long past our soft physical presence. It may
protect us too. Nevertheless it is also a burden we choose to carry with us
because letting go of it may leave us too exposed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My shell, my rules, my pace, my consequences--that's what
seems like the world of living in a physical manifestation. And if we are
snails in someone else's garden, we alone know the Infinity of the interior of
that shell, like Dr Who's tardis or Harry Potter's tent, so much bigger on the
inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Best wishes.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Marcia McCord Tarot Readerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01772054014365149283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-747553678867345046.post-65952272816117566542015-01-10T17:58:00.002-08:002015-01-10T18:04:33.401-08:00Postcard Tarot Decks Available NowThe <b>Art Postcard Tarot</b> and the <b>Picture Postcard Tarot</b> are<b><span style="color: red;"> now available</span></b>, $25 US each, plus postage. I accept PayPal and credit cards through the Square. Please email me with your request and wait for my invoice.<br />
<br />
The Square Lenormand will be available very soon, so stay tuned. Best wishes!<br />
<br />
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