Backlog: Vintage Brew

Pop quiz: An easy one this time. What contains as much Vitamin C as an orange?
Unless you're a dunderhead, you know it's three rosehips.
Rosehips are what we herb and potion nuts call a nutritive, for obvious reasons: Besides Vitamin C, they have a healthy handful of other vitamins and nutrients --- a sort of food-in-a-fruit.

Not this winter but last, I gathered a stock of plump dogrose hips --- at Solstice, to be precise. The best time to gather rosehips is after the first frost --- this is when the nutrient content is highest. It happened to be frosty that night, as well, and like a moron I forgot to eat enough raw garlic and got a cold. (Winter Solstice rites in my home district are a rather brutal all-nighter if you get poor weather.)
The hips then went into maceration (steeping) for a wildly long time, even for my tinctures: Six months. I wanted to extract as much as possible, and see what the result would be like --- and, knowing nothing would explode, thought: Why not?

The product --- shown above in a test-tube --- was very dark and concentrated, wonderfully rich and tangy and piquant with citrusy bite.

Next came settling and decanting.
Rosehips are most nutrient-rich in their outer rinds --- most fruits are. Their insides are full of seeds and a prickly fuzz. These need to be removed unless you want a cloudy potion, and the best method I've found is to simply let them settle, then decant or pour off the clear upper layer. For the last dregs (to minimize waste of a valuable potion!), test-tubes were used to allow as much settling depth as possible (above, with sediments). The final result --- clear ruby drops of pure health. Won't Pomfrey be pleased.
This winter, I may or may not make more of this tangy tonic, seeing as I have a couple of bottles of it already and it lasts awhile.

The idea of "aging" a brew, creating richer flavor and furthering extraction, is appealing. But I am not the first to think of it: The Chinese have been known to macerate herbal mixtures for as long a time. Technically, such a length of time is not required, at least not anymore --- for example, if percolation is used, a decent extraction can be obtained in a couple of days. I have yet to set up for this method, however --- it requires certain tools.
Until then, I use a method that produces a genuine vintage brew!

Jan 9: The Day Of Black

What were you doing on Snape's birthday?
It's midwinter here, and thus is either clear and tit-puckering cold, or rainy and gray. (This year, the 9th fell on weather of the former type, which is great for cloaks and frocks.) Not having internal heat, except for a heater that runs my juice bill up and an apartment that gets cold again in thirty minutes due to poor insulation, I have learned to be tough, whether or not I always enjoy it. Sort of like Severus. Though there is a certain coziness to staying in one's damp, chilly lair doing things one enjoys.
I passed the evening doing such things --- namely writing and drawing and brewing.

The brew above is pretty straightforward. It turns just about anything you place into it a nice black. (It's actually a clothing dye-bath: The spoon at the surface reveals the density of blackness) Lovely. Happy birthday, Sev!

Its equivalent for edible potions would be the classic iron cauldron: Decoct an herbal tea for at least 20 minutes, it's going to taste distinctly of metal and appear blackish. And be great for us, ah, women whose iron drops at certain times of the year and leaves us distinctly peakish --- surely that is the reason for my periodic, rabid longing for fresh blood and rare steaks... !

Where you been, Sev...?!?!

Lost in my own world, all right?

%$#%@%#$#^%#$**  FUNKY SEV!!!!!!!!  **&$&^#^%^$&^$%

It's been a long time since postings appeared on the Snapeshifter blog, namely because:

a) The Snapeshifter has been uber-busy doing other things --- namely, in tracking down certain persons who received pieces of Severus's soul upon his death, and writing about them! One can only spend so much time in someone else's world, before it becomes necessary to create worlds of one's own, and channel them.... needless to say, this world --- and these people --- are extremely demanding. Trust me. I am, after all, the Conduit.

b) I hate I hate I HATE Muggle equipment. They don't find a good thing for two seconds before they insist on making it obsolete WHY can they not stick with one WORKABLE system ?!?!?!?  snark
In the main, this is reason Number One. Snape dislikes computers, and has had issues with making them work --- namely, in that one must find alternate ways to load photos onto this site when one system goes obsolete, and half the fun is the photos! Fortunately, we have just found such an alternate route.
Not that anyone actually reads this blog, or cares.
Only the authrix, the Channeler herself, cares... after all, one must keep records as reliably as possible in the potion business...

Since last post, the Snapeshifter has begun frequenting Gothic dance nights to stay in touch with the Inner Snark and work out all those pent-up Emo-kinks. Seriously funky. (This is also a great place to meet fellow Snape-soul channelers.)
So where do the kinks come from?
For three years, the Snapeshifter was almost as unlucky as Severus: She didn't have a job she hated, but rather, had no job. Period. This gets difficult, since one has bills, if one hopes to maintain a nice bed and potions lab in a space better insulated than a cardboard box. Luckily, The Woman Who Was Snape found a job and has held it for the past year-and-a-half....

LET ME DROP EVERYTHING AND WORK ON YOUR PROBLEM.

....she's an operator (smooth or not, you be the judge)!

Don't let the face fool you. I'm very glad to have this job, even when I have to drop everything and help someone. I have my paycheck, I have my desk I can always return to...
And best of all, let's be real here. How long does the average operator's phone call take? Less than a minute. The rest of the time, I am allowed to write, draw, use the computer, and in short, do all those things that make a life richer for us creative people. Ex-xcellent.

Finally, the job lets me pursue a childhood interest that got put on the laboratory's furthest-back burner...

 
 ...gymnastics!
 Practice occurs between one and three times per week. Four is possible, if I'm feeling very masochistic. We're not training for the Olympics here, after all --- just State Champion 26-35 year-old-division will do, which I indeed won last year. You never know, I may need to knock off an enemy counterspy in a magically-unfriendly situation.

Brewing has continued sporadically since the Snapeshifter last went public. Not on a serious basis, mind, what with that busy-ness we mentioned; but as needed, most certainly. The latest news on brews, however, is a topic for another day...

Midsummer's Harvest

Full moon on a Midsummer Day. Perfect for gathering St. John's Wort, that now wretchedly-overused poster girl of Herbology for relieving depression. No herb, however, can cure what permanently ails me, and a foray into the use and efficacy of St. John's Wort left me with some sort of odd allergic reaction; to be analyzed further. I always did reject attitude adjustments.

Almost a year since my last post. Why, for Merlin's sake? Because I love putting pictures on here, and no longer can — not until I update this creaky old Internet browser! Those Muggle contrivances again!
 Yesterday, my hair (or rather part of it) became something other than black, or dark brown that is nearly black, for the first time in over three years: I took the 40-volume bleach to it, for my upcoming State Gymnastics meet (James Potter let's see YOU do a handspring!), but even more, I did it for my Grandmother. She misses my "honey-blonde" hair, 40-volume child that is was, and old folks can get set in their ways of how they think of and favor you (hmm, sound familiar?). So, not wanting to suffer full 40-volume torture, as my black hair is now almost to my waist and I like it that way, I did the best I could — I met her halfway. Now I've got these trippy golden racing stripes. (What do you get when you cross a skunk with Nastia Liukin . . .? Bodily 'scents'/sense?)

Today I did indeed collect St. John's Wort buds. The finest oil for sore muscles (that darned gymnastics body—!) is made only from unopened buds and is deep red in color. Simply no other variations or recipes compare! Last year as I gathered buds, I saw a bee fall from the flower as I touched it. Behind, a yellow spider, the same yellow as the blooms. Amid a sunny day in full flower, the cycle of life; the presence of camouflage, stealth, and death. I think Snape would be at least somewhat impressed by, or at least in line with, my observations. I cannot, however, assert the same about my new hair!

Saint Severus

Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas
Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem
Quae nocent saepe docent
Sic inquam Severus:
Exaudi sapientia mea

-Litany of St. Severus


A number of minds have already connected the martyred character of Snape with the existence of real saints sharing his name. We can only hope they were not members of Death Eater-like clubs, but the idea of redemption through love is a romantic and persistent one. . .

Poetry Party: word and drama

July 16th was my friend Hide's birthday, and a wonderfully lavish party was held, complete with delicious treats, a variety of drinks, and – a romantic poetry read! Not everyone stepped up to the mark, nor came in dress; there was much recital from bodice-rippers. I, however, wrote a poem for the occasion, inspired by who else but Snape.


Elegance and strawberry shortcake. Yum!

SARCASTIC

The day we met
you were wearing your favorite outfit in the color of my life
I had dropped through a gap in time
into this Otherplace of pain and grief
A stranger in this territory you called Home
whose native language you spoke with terrifying grace
The flavor of your voice as complex, as bittersweet,
as dark as blackstrap molasses and your frock coat even darker
I hated you for your words
loved you for your words
wielded with a swordmaster's sublime skill
the cruel edge of your tongue dripping
in the rich red crimson of its conquest
cutting to the core of our contempt
consonants exquisite
Yet when we the world dissovered that the fire
tempering your edge was born of love's crucible,
we grieved and gave our hearts to you
Now you've up and moved,
to a region where I cannot follow
You always did love your solitude.
But where the spark of a soul resides hidden
and protected, one cannot die –
and the fire in the core of your cold steel
ignited one in mine
Welcome home, dearest Animus!
You and I have lost our taste for happiness and smiles
but if contentment and snarks suit your palette
as they do mine, you are invited to dine at my table
Then let us stroll at night through silent shadow
and silver shrouds of mist,
where secrets yet to be spoken await
in shades of grey satin and black velvet –
whispered silken subtle sarcasms slipping
across my skin like a sabre's caress
Kiss me now, deeply, with lips cool and sweet,
a balm to my soul's agonies
your tongue tasting of my own essence
carven from the depth of my desires
delicious
I will surf the keen edge of your words
until the fathomless folds of your voice envelop me
Drowning in a dark abyss of bliss
Out of my mind
and not minding it
not minding it
ONE
LITTLE
BIT.


George recites his poem, ending with a seductive "Meow!"


An adventure upon a pirate ship by Colleen


Contented (and perhaps slightly drunk) listeners. Birthday gal Hide in the middle with fan. (Topic of recitals did absolutely nothing to alleviate the heat in the room.)

Midnight Premier: say goodbye & go out laughing

I've been to many an event alone. I've spent most of my life alone. When you think about it, there's only one person you can count on with whom to spend time – so if you're not comfortable being alone, you're F*&%#ed. Having said that, this was one event I was happy to spend in the company of friends.

July 14, 2011, 11:59pm.

A thousand people stand in four lines, choking the penthouse-floor lobby of Regal Cinemas. The floor is covered with people sitting, people standing, people doing who-knows-what dressed as You Know Who. . . Some have nothing, others merely a lightning bolt drawn on the forehead; still others are fully decked out. There are Potters, Death Eaters, a Luna with a puffy blond wig, even a pair of identical twin girls with F & G shirts next to me in line. . . I have to literally shout over the din. Next to me, Kat and two other friends swill espresso, getting wilder and wilder, laughing louder and louder. And to be sure, this particular Snape is anything but dour and silent. As usual, my bag is stuffed with goodies – potions, Bertie Bott's beans – and I am way too hot in my Snape attire for comfort but totally don't care.

And I think, when next will I ever see anything quite like this?

How amusing it has been, how curiously enriching, to have gone from immature teen to mature adult during the years spanning the Age of Potter.

The line starts moving, and the butterflies in our stomachs grow. I, who so often shun popular fads, big events, or "the bandwagon", allow myself to be swept into the excitement, feeding on the adrenaline and emotions like a human version of a Dementor, relinguishing judgment. . . knowing if any modern trend has been worthy of appreciation, it is this one, which has opened the imaginations of so many – kid and adult alike.


Drinking in the scenes while sporting homage to The Bravest. Long live the grease! I was so relieved at the way they portrayed Snape's memories and remained fairly true to things, at least there. God, but they can botch things! This was beautiful and deeply moving.



Snapey hugs and kisses amid cinema chaos with Kat. In a situation like this, it's hard to pin "most annoying theatre viewer" labels on anyone, but we came damn close – squealing, shouting, giggling, technology usage, and bellowed mock-orders of "SILENCE!!!" being the order of the night. Soon as the curtain opened, we busted out the potions and snacks and partied like the pair of Slytherins we are!


An evil grimace from a Snape holding nothing back! The "sugar daddy" shirt (didn't have a Hawaiian print one) suggests the angel/devil complex and being free of those restrictive roles, plus, nothing – nothing is sexier than Redemption. (Sorry, James.) If not laughing all the way to sainthood, Severus can at least sigh in relief. At any rate, the angel wings were too much in the way in the cinema, had to leave those off.


Kat plays with a little Muggle magic. "Put your laptop away before we get thrown out," her friend ordered – turned out he didn't actually have a ticket, and was worried. Pth.


Snapes were few and far between, but this specimen was sighted in our cinema. For those not naturally blessed with abundantly greasy black hair, there's always the stringy black mop wig.




We were the last out of the cinema, and howled at the poor projector man when he tried to short the credits early. The credits promptly came back on. After much howling, laughing and gabbing, we tottered out of there about 3:00 am.

And so the odyssey ends. . . but the brewing doesn't. Harry Potter didn't invent potions, cloaks, or anything else in traditional witchdom – it just made it okay for us to come out of the broom closet . . . and keep on coming out. Anyone who has ever played dress-up, who has ever dreamed, who has ever brewed potions in a sink, or who is a true Witch or magic enthusiast. . . we've benefited in so many sundry little ways, even if we're still not taken seriously. That, sadly, will take a lot more time. Stereotypes, and religion, cast a long shadow. And that is why we must dream on, dance on, write on. . . brew on.