That One Ugly Present

Every year for me, Christmas is an exercise in being grateful for what I have. That also includes gratitude for being who I am and, lately, where I am: namely, that I'm of sound health and either with family or in a nice home for the holidays, and not on the street. After last autumn's house-sale eviction, I might've been with Daddy, but instead spent this season of "nesting" with my dear friend Kathleen and her children. It's been fun getting to know them better. So-called couch surfing allows limited room for my stuff, but I can work on projects just fine, money is building up thanks to my Widmer day job and lack of need to pay rent, and a cosy futon in a friend's home is a thousand times better than a damp cardboard Frigidaire box. Grateful? Most certainly I am.

This was one of my merriest Christmases in years, despite my odd little residency with a family not my own (in fact more so, since I have few family members close at hand anyway and blood family isn't always close in spirit!). We got a vast fir tree from Fred Meyer, which I helped load in the van, and it's the most perfect-looking tree ever.

And don't mention the cookies! Their collective creations were charming, from a yellow snowman(!) to several pentacles and trees with custom-blended "realistic green" icing.

Some of my favourite are the ones where I'm not quite sure what they are. I missed the decorating action, but if Christmas has only just begun its twelve days, there's plenty of time for more baking, yes?

By the night before Christmas, there was barely a spare inch of room left under that tree. For a lower-income family, we felt very rich indeed. Grinning, I snuck my presents under when no one was looking, or were out of the house.

Many of the ornaments on the tree are also handmade, mementos of years of a family growing together.

A secret side-benefit to staying with my friend in her witchy pagan household is feeling yet more layers of shame, needless burdens left over from my youth, falling away. For once, to feel like it is completely acceptable to be myself, in my body, in all my creative oddness. Her household encourages a certain amount of playful, outlandish creativity, often in theme with the witchy, mystical or sacred. It's like a bit of fresh air!

Not to say I don't hold high standards for myself still. So when I forgot my lines for a custom Yule carol at our annual Circle of Lights ritual, I was quite put out! The ritual served its purpose, however: Bringing the Yule spirit further into my own soul and mind. Plus the altars turned out sweet.

Solstice itself was the following weekend, and occurred in conjunction with a glorious Full Moon --- supposedly the only such timing for the rest of my lifetime. It was truly beautiful. Kat and I went to friend Aurora's house, feasted and did divination readings until the wee hours, keeping Solstice vigil. So pretty was the moon, in fact, that I was loth to go to bed, even by 3 a.m.; so, I donned cloak and boots again and braved the park. Lents Park, on 92nd! With who-knows-who crossing the far sides and police lights zipping down this less-than-genteelest of Portland streets. Warlocks do what they can, where they are, with what they've got, until they can magick up something better. I put out a piece of fur with some sacred items on it, and invited the possibility of working with Silver Fox medicine, among other things.

Christmas Eve came after a lovely sunset, and I went to town; foregoing late masses, I went instead to a splendid live theatre rendition of Dickens's "A Christmas Carol". There was no better event for me than this on Christmas Eve. The costumes and actors were fantastic, especially the old fellow who played Scrooge, as first as cold and cruel and then as mischievously thrilled to be reborn in his jollity of spirit as any Scrooge could home to be. There were great Victorian props, candlesticks and brocade chairs, and the humble table of Bob Cratchit's house set with poor thin wooden bowls and polished tin cups; the cast was multi-racial (and multi-abled, in the case of the precious mentally disabled Tiny Tim), and the lights and special effects were excellent for such a small venue, enriched by much singing of carols.

I reflected on the way Snape has quite a bit in common with Scrooge. Both are miserly, with their affections and resources alike, and more than a bit disagreeable, having lost hope in the human race . . . and, worryingly, sometimes I can't blame them. I've had my share of Bah!Humbug! moments. Yet the eternal appeal of both characters is how they, each in his own fashion, achieves that most exquisite and sacred of states irresistable to the human psyche: the one called Redemption. Few tonics are more potent.

Despite a lingering hangover headache from the previous night, I felt buoyant with the Christmas spirit. After lingering awake as long as felt reasonable, unwinding a spindle and working on Grandma's painted present, I finally went to bed on Christmas morn. . . .

As I predicted, the huge potential energy of the Christmas tree's stash exploded into a tornado of unleashed kinetic energy with the opening of the presents. Within minutes it looked like a rhino had rampaged through! The kids went nuts. We'd had great fun tagging who the presents were from: Santa, Odin, Thor, Oshun, Koko the Gorilla. . . Severus? Kat had tried to pass off a present nicely wrapped in blue snowflake paper as being from Snape, and I laughed. Really? He wouldn't wrap a gift so nicely. Plus: Art papers inside!
But I like to play gags on people, too.

Amid all the shiny presents in their festive wrapping was a very drab present, just tied into super-stiff brown paper with a rustic jute string. It was all scratched up, with holes poked in, as though something had clawed at it, and what looked like a sloppy, dirty great bird dropping on it; never mind the address, which had been written all weird, and there was no stamp. . . .
"Somebody sure spared every expense, didn't they?" I said. "Who even writes an address like this?"

All this led up to the suspense, and the conclusion that the gift must have arrived by owl. Inside was a letter, sealed by wax, appropriately short and not at all sweet, demanding attendance at my upcoming advanced Potions internship. . . .
Now this, without a doubt, was from Severus Snape!

Inside I found my new brass scales! I promptly set them up so the kids could see how they worked. . . .

A snarky Christmas letter . . . note the dates

. . . .and weighed the nearest "ingredients" at hand, which were all very sugary. I could hear Snape growling clear across the Atlantic. He wanted me to practice by making a potion, not dicking about with this useless froofy crap!

A mutant jelly bean that weighs about 3.85 grams. All three of us were lined up at the kitchen table, playing with our new toys.

An explosion of holiday spirit! The least I could do in gratitude for my friend's hospitality was clean up all that crap.

This Christmas I did indeed find a measure of comfort, joy and happiness . . . in this case, twenty-three grams, to be precise; but in fact, a great deal more than that.

This photo has been making the rounds the last few days. Of course, I love it:

In years past, only the simulacrum vial of holy blood was on my altar; I finally just put Snape himself up there. Let him guide me along the course of my released ambitions while overcoming my own darknesses. He glares a lot, Severus does. He glares at me to keep my lazy butt moving, and get personal work done. He glares at me to command me not to give up. He glares as a warning not to try lying to him . . . or more importantly, to myself. And he glares to insist that I take him to bed --- like, now. This time, he glared that I offer him some Christmas wine.

Oh, Severus!

Family is precious, but fans of Snape are never alone at Christmas.

Part of the perennial power of Christmas and its associated spirits is its ability to inspire kids (adults, too) to believe in magic again. A similar gift was borne by the Harry Potter series, imparting an exquisite childlike wonder and sense of possibility to millions of people. I will always love the main series for this, even as I've fallen away from the subsequent franchise: To me it feels as though it has lost this sense of wonder, has grown dark and stale and rancid, heavy with violence and its own pretense; at worst, it's now just one more corporation franchise insisting I should worship and spend money to feed it. To which I say, just try me.

How ironic, then, that it is one of the darkest, most disagreeable, and certainly the most divisive, of characters in the original HP series that keeps me returning to it and ignites that spark of creative wonder within me again and again . . . the kind of magic that inspires a kid to make-believe about a special gift that arrives by owl. Bird-dropping on the wrapper and all. "Snaters" to the left, thank you, because that kind of power is irrefutable.

And the same to you, sir!

The Potion Merchants

It's that time of year again, when merchants all but beg for our bucks for the holidays. I missed Little Boxes, the local small-business Black Friday weekend sale, but around our city are many other holiday-related sales and markets featuring multiple vendors.

Last year I had a good time at the vast Crafty Wonderland holiday weekend market at Portland Convention Center, so I decided to return. More than that, I knew in advance I wanted to support local vendors who are into what I am: herbs, blends, and potions of all sorts. It felt like a sort of "pay it forward" maneuver, since I've decided I want to try vending again after many years, at Pagan Faire come springtime. Here was a chance to spread love, and see how various vendors went about the business of crafting a "look" and displaying their products.

I first dropped some dough at B. Fuller's, from Seattle. These decidedly Steampunk folks, rocking an old-style Colonial shipping trade company summa-cum vintage apothecary vibe, specialize in blended teas. I purchased two test tubes full of flavored tea. I love their lab tea-testing setup!

The test tubes were displayed a la antique wooden rack. This and other props lend a very distinct and solid theme.

Old crates and a gauge used to display teas, and possibly other concoctions.

There were so many vendors selling enticing things in little bottles, and I had limited money, that I didn't patron them all; but I collected a few cards and pics for future consideration --- and inspiration! From formulas to style, it was a valuable trip in many ways.

Unusual for me, I purchased several scents. I rarely wear scents, since(!) I, like Snape I suppose, have a sensitive nose. Humans stink enough as it is, making the city almost unbearable at times, and more artificial and heavy smells are not welcome. But a light touch I can see adding on a special whim. More importantly: I want to learn to blend scents. One learns by studying masters who are already proficient at their craft. I especially liked the style, and some of the scents, of this little one-woman company. She had tiny vials for five dollars:

I had fun, but departed for my next obligation before too long . . . and a good thing too, for I'd spent as much as I'd wished!

Now, to begin developing my own style and products!

A Measure of Satisfaction

Searching for an item on eBay is always an adventure. For me, it's a lot more exciting than Amazon or an online retailer, because you never know what odd thing a person is trying to barter that day. I end up wanting half the stuff I see, though not needing it, but simply looking is fun. There's a good chance I'll get a large cauldron from eBay someday; thankfully, from both an earlier cauldron-buying experience and my own father's knowledge, I learned one of the most important criteria: always buy from a seller rated 100%! Anything less, even 97% or 98%, is hanging your arse over a hot cauldron.

This time, I was sniffing for an item I've wanted for years: a scale! Specifically, an old-fashioned portable scale to use with my craft. It didn't have to be fancy, or a genuine antique (I'd age it up soon enough). But it did have to work.

I admit it, though: As with a number of old things, I totally geek out over antique scales.

Type "brass" or "antique" scale into eBay and the results quickly come back, myriad and fantastic, devices designed for measuring everything from eggs to melons, postal letters to candy. Here is a sampling of some of my favourites, including this vintage marble Italian balance-scale.

Exquisite details. . . .

Balance scales are common, but certain types of them are not. Here's a cast-iron balance scale with curious cauldron-like bucket pans:

I hope to get a balance scale of a very portable type, for addition to a kit. Here's an example of a vintage one, with a box and weights.

Another boxed Jeweler's balance, and look at the tiny compartment for the weights! These weights can be as small and light as one milligram, and very easily lost, if not stored properly.

Rather woebegone old balance, but perhaps reparable with a few parts:

Some balance scales are free-standing, from an erect pole or wire, and some must be held in the hand or hung somehow. Vintage Lampert hand-held balance scale, from Germany:

Finally, a delicate antique German balance of the hanging type with carved horn pans:

Truly elegant and precise.

In my exploration of scales, I found others, of the "Midnight in the Garden" pan variety, used for small produce, postal fees, or other small to medium-size items. This person's photo display is nice:

An unearthly glow, as if for weighing souls, and a nearly full set of weights included for sale:

One-siders. Turning one pan into a large bowl and making the other flat allows for quick weighing of produce and other bulky items; some of the bowls even come off, so their contents can be dumped into a bin or box easily after measuring. I like some of these scales, for they almost resemble odd creatures:

Some scales replace the weight pan with a beam and hook, on which the weights are stacked. This otherwise drab, utilitarian scale with a large capacity is given lots more character thanks to its clover-shaped stability foot and set of matching trefoil weights:

Rather than a clover foot, a crow foot!

This one is missing its bowl, but has a charming pear-shaped calibration weight:

An interesting example, this scale is of the bowl and sliding weight variety, but it also calculates prices for several types of mailing formats --- quite clever! Pelouze brand cast-iron and brass balance Postal scale, circa 1900:

I love the calibration of weights to prices on this one, and especially its cute little feet; note how they flare out sideways, for stability. Alas, the shipping on this one cost twenty-nine dollars, the same price as the item itself(!); no doubt it's pretty heavy.

If I had more funds, space, and a use for it, I'd buy it in a moment!

Some of these antique scales, retail store pan-variety or otherwise, are beautifully painted. Vintage cast-iron colorful candy scale:

Off-Center again! Two examples of steelyard-style, asymmetrical weighted beam scales. The detail on the lower one is truly lovely:

Some scales have a mechanism inside, where you don't need to fuss with weights. Whether thanks to a spring, internal counterweight or some other method, you need only plop the item on the receiving side and the scale displays a number on a measured rule. Nice and quick for use in a retail or grocery. Again, these can be gorgeous, or at least kind of charming. Toledo brand "honest weight" springless wedges and other merchant scales:

I'll take an honest measure of fudge, thanks, yes:

Lit from inside, this one has a round readout instead of a wedge-shaped one:

Basic kitchen scales. These simple dial-readout scales can be quite elegant of form or embellished with beauty and whimsy. I like the photo arrangement here:

Look at the beauty of this painted specimen! I think it's Dutch but am not positive:

Columbia Family Scale by Landers, Geary and Clark. The mushrooms are too cute, and speak of that whimsy I mentioned:

An old farm, wholesale or retail scale needn't necessarily be put to active use to have an appeal. Antique hanging farm scale, repurposed as decor:

Cheerful yellow: a farm scale by American Family Company.

Lovely ornate details on this German-made kitchen scale:

I like the pleasing shape of the readout on this one, and its retro style. Lindell kitchen scale manufactured in Sweden:

Then there are the odd, the miscellaneous, the tailor-made for one use, because such is the human ability to specialize tools. Here, a simple little scale perfectly made for a single purpose. Antique egg-weighing scale:

A beautiful brass scale that fits in its own (unfortunately rather well-used) wooden box:

One of my favorite odd scales so far is this vintage buffalo-hide scale, in the pleasing shapes of its structure and measuring rule. It works by a simple but clever stress-pull mechanism. At the top of the rule is a brand stamp, featuring an arrow and snake:

A random small scale with an elegant mechanism:

For free-weight scales, another interesting feature is the weights themselves. From tiny to massive, some with unique shapes, there's a measure for the job:

Scales come in all sizes and types, but if you're going to design them, why not call your brand "Accurate"? People are bound to trust you then, are they not?

And here's the scale I hope to get! Portable, practical, cute but not too pretentious, I plan to make active use of it . . . for potion ingredients, what else.