Winter Walk, Sublime State of Mind

Winter Project: Century Tomes

It seems in any story involving witches, magical formulae, ancient legend, mystical spells or all the above, there's alllways a special book. In real life, sadly, these don't often turn up. Which is why I make mine!

Since before moving in September, I've been working on completing a couple of new leatherbound books for recipes and log entries on Potistry, herbs, medicine and magic. I wanted these designed to withstand decades if not centuries of use, which means solid construction, not merely the fanciful trinkets of so many neo-Wiccans, dabblers or teen fans! While still nifty-looking, these books are built like bricks and mean business. Both their high page count and intended longevity (barring mildew or some fanatic who burns books) have led me to call them "Century Tomes".

Right now I'm just making two more, almost finished with what will be Potus II, or my logbook's 2nd volume, and a handwrit version of the Compendium of Traditional Potions (seriously. Because what happens if the Internet goes down?! I mean). Potus II will be the one with the brown cover, the Compendium bound in black. I was aiming for Christmas as a by-date, but am still pleased with progress.

Potus II, freshly tie-bound but still naked! I used my quirky thick-signature method of drilling, gluing and binding the pages. Spine glue is archival PVA, the twine is kite string where I can't find linen; the one pink cover link is because I ran out of the other color cord! I can't emboss, but I can create a raised design using wood, hide glue and filler compound.

Close-up, Potus II's tie-offs

Fixing the cover "strut" cords in place with modern hide glue

Trying cloth strips this time for extra strength. The flowers just happened to be what I had, but I'll take the cheerful colors (a shame, they'll be hidden!). Cloth wraps around under the covers and grips the end pages

Close-up of happy flower strips; the loose tie-off ends are tucked in as much as possible

Time for the leather! Binding this one took a lot of teeth-gritting and tugging and swearing, but I eventually got the multiple bits of binding string tight enough. First, though, I pushed leather into the recesses of the front cover design. The gluing and binding happen in stages.

Close-up of leather-binding stage. Anyone who thinks crafts are for sissies ought to try binding a book of this size. This also was not the thinnest leather for the job, and thus not the easiest to work with.

Spine of Potus II in binding, waiting a couple days to make sure glue is fully dried

Bondage straps off! What a nice looking book!

A bit hard to get leather to stick in those cracks.

Out of folds of leather and chaos, a book materializes.

I painted a green wash in the cover recesses for extra finesse, and the covers have been finished, the panels and ends of the spine wrapped and glued. Second unfinished tome at lower right

Potus II's inflaps and cover pages are made of pretty plant-fiber papers and an Italian wildflower poster.

The Compendium and its Gothic recessed cover after tie-off, but before leather is added

Leather-binding time for the Compenium's spine! As before, I pressed leather into its front cover design first, and separately. This book-gluing business is tedious, done in multiple stages.

Gluing leather across the spine, waiting until it dries

Compendium, back cover. Using several directions of tied string, I made sure the leather was neatly pressed around all sides of the strut-cords' anchor points where they pass through the cover boards, for both a neat appearance and solid construction.

Strings come off! Seriously tight.

A successful binding job, I'd say. The texture of this black leather, slightly thinner than the brown, is marvelously soft.

Tiny and Precious

"It is Veritaserum, a truth potion so powerful that three drops will have you spilling your innermost secrets. . . ."

I have a serious weakness for tiny bottles, as anyone who knows me knows well. So when I found a beat-up plastic roundbox of six antique perfume bottles --- three of a delicate vintage glass style, possibly handblown, of which I would have no idea of where to obtain more --- on Jan. 19th, for a mere buck fifty(!), I pounced.

Do I have any idea what to do with them? Whether they will go on a necklace, in a kit, or elsewhere, or what they will contain? No idea. Do I care? No. I have never seen such exquisite little vials of this older form, and have no idea what era they're from! Perhaps one day I'll discover their real worth.

Perfumes, too, can be quite rare when found lurking in old bottles. Do I know which ones these contained? Not a clue. But when I see a score like this at a scrap shop, I do not hesitate.

Severus owns a piece of my soul by this point, and there are certain simple ways to make either of us at least somewhat excited.

Birthday Altar for Severus

Candles glowing late in the night under clouded skies, releasing the scents of vetiver, cedarwood and camphor in small cosy curls of warm air like breath, paired with the rich bite of bitter chocolate and red wine . . .

This post comes late, on the heels of my usual blend of business and laziness, just as January's hybrid of hibernation and work chases the chaos of the holidays. Twelfth Night, also called Epiphany or 3 Kings Day, officially ends the holiday season on January 6th; but for me, Severus Snape's birthday on Jan. 9th is the extra holiday that officially abuts the weeks of jollity and makes the transition to the deep winter magic of Capricorn season.

Alas, that same Capricorn work focus coupled with other projects and distractions is one reason I celebrated Severus's day late and over a span of many days!

In a way it's better. Jan. 9th is merely the kick-off day; just as every Saturday is a "Severan" and Saturn-related day, as Chapter 8 and the entire Book 6 can be seen as his, so can the whole Capricorn month or January itself be Snape's.

It helps to have a special space set up for it, which may sound extreme; but this is the archetype-set that revived me again after losing a parent, influenced over a third of my life and, no doubt, changed it irreversibly for the better. Fictional or not, Snape has touched millions of lives, even those who didn't swallow the Potter pill in its entirety, or moved on.

One reason for the lateness was that I wanted to pour a special candle for the occasion. It takes a block of time, and I get home from work at 11 p.m. But I finally managed one using older scrap candles, of a nice rich green color, complete with a scent blend of essential oils mixed in that I felt would suit Severus:

A Scent for Severus



I've wanted to make a Snape-related scent for awhile now: something dank and earthy, of herbs and dungeons and smoke, tinged with the acid tang of chemicals, of camphor and thujone; this will probably be the first of many scent experiments.

I ended up with three candles, actually: the specially-poured candle, a black one, and tea light in the diamond-pane candleholder that has for many years now been the "St. Severus" altar holder but which also has ties to my mother's spirit, since I inherited it from her.

Officially celebrating included putting away the Yule altar (see first pic) beforehand: As much as I like Yule, there comes a point at which I just feel ...done. One night shortly before this, I even had a dream about being done with the Yuletide bit! The way was then clear for full-on Winter and introspective Severus energy.

I had a special "feast" of 100% cacao (the bitterest it gets!) pure chocolate, but with a bit of rainbow chip birthday icing (because it's a birthday, and just to hear his sneering disapproval of the frivolous sugar in my mind), along with a cup of red wine. There are also cookies to be made --- I never seem to find enough time to bake all the holiday cookies I want.

Blessed birthday, my animus Severus. May you continue to inspire me to greater lengths and heights --- in discipline, if nothing else, since thanks to you I have trouble getting out of bed in the morning.

Troubleshooting.

The special candle burns with a tiny flame, due to the wax pool drowning the wick; I believe it's a case both of overly dense, dye-rich wax and a wick size that's too small, suited to a narrow taper rather than a wide votive. But the little flame is cute; it's pretty much the smallest measure of fire that can exist and still be open flame!