Book Release Day: Conversations with the Tarot

It’s book release day! I couldn’t be more excited to see this project birthed into the world. What started as a creative exploration of the tarot and a way to learn more about the deck in a low-pressure way has developed into a deep love and appreciation for the art of conversing with the tarot.

Come join the conversation!

Bewitching tarot meditations by bruja and award-winning writer Maria DeBlassie.

One part prose poetry, one part witchy insights, and one part study in learning the tarot, this book explores this mundane divination form for beginners and experts alike.

This cartomancy book was birthed from DeBlassie’s creative tarot studies in which she wrote 78-word prose poems for each of the 78 cards in the deck, using synchronicity, everyday magic, and her budding understanding of tarot symbolism and meanings to craft her tales.

It’s not your basic how-to-read tarot book, but more a how-to begin a conversation with this divination tool. As any tarot reader can tell you, dealing the deck is more than interpreting cards. It’s about building a relationship with this mystic tool and learning how you and the tarot can work together to discover numinous revelations.

This book is a series of proverbial spells. A series of stories. A series of synchronous messages and mystic musings. A journey into learning the tarot. Are you ready to start your adventure?

See what reviewers have to say…

“Whether you’ve had a long relationship with Tarot or you’ve just met, Conversations with the Tarot is a must-read. Equal parts mystical and practical, this book offers a unique perspective on the cards and how to achieve an intimate relationship with your deck. It is elegant and unexpected—a new classic for any Tarot devotee.”  ~ Deanna Raybourn, NYT bestselling author of the Veronica Speedwell series and tarot enthusiast

“Those of us who read Tarot often talk about ‘hearing what the cards have to say.’ Listening to the cards is the most vital part of our relationship with them. And Maria DeBlassie listens deeply. In Conversations with the Tarot, she shares her experiences in lyrical, poetic language that encourages further exploration and deepens the reader’s understanding of the Tarot, both as individual cards with messages to share and as a complex tapestry woven with the threads of the human experience. This book is moving and inspiring, well worth your time whether you’re an old hand or new to Tarot.” ~ Laura Perry, creator of The Minoan Tarot and author of The Cryptic Guide to the Hopeless, Maine Tarot

"Maria DeBlassie’s Conversations with the Tarot is a beautifully written, inspiring, and insightful book. You could use it as a divination tool, as inspiration for your own journey, or to deepen your own tarot practice. There is a wealth of gentle wisdom here and compassionate insight, and I heartily recommend reading it." ~ Nimue Brown, author of Pagan Dreaming and Beyond Sustainability

Get your copy here.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

The Terrible Delights of Spooky Stories

I love scary stories.

I’m also a total chicken. I grew up telling stories on the playground, huddled around trees, or crawling into quiet places with friends to listen to urban legends and frightening tales, from La Llorona to Bloody Mary, to strange tales of a woman with the ribbon around her throat that literally held her head on her body, to creepy dolls come to life the moment you closed your eyes to sleep at night. I knew I’d never be able to sleep at night, but I couldn’t help myself.

I devoured them!

In class, we learned more about La Llorona (a figure that inspired my novella, Weep, Woman, Weep), Baba Yaga, and all sorts of spooky stories that gave me a good chill but were rather less terrifying than what I heard on the playground.

Of course, there was no better time to tell and listen to these stories than fall. As the season slowly ripened into Halloween, the days got shorter, and the cool evenings and turning leaves were the perfect backdrop for stories that reminded us that there is more to this world than meets the eye.

I would come home from school filled up on those terrible tales and, after playing in piles of leaves in my backyard, would feel a growing sense of unease as the sun began to set and darkness took over. I was certainly grateful for the comforting presence of my dogs when night stole across the sky. The feelings were pushed away with dinner, in the cozy brightness of the kitchen and the warmth of family, but readily came back when I was tucked in bed later that night.

Every creek, howl of wind, or cricket chirp sounded like a ghostly footstep, the weeping woman, or all manner of supernatural threats. Mirrors were not to be looked in when the sun went down. Windows must be closed at night, lest La Llorona find a way in. Blankets were to be tucked around you up to your chin to protect you from whatever might be lurking under the bed.

I felt would never fall asleep!

But, of course, I did. And with the coming sun came the confidence of youth that there was nothing truly scary in this world and I went right back to the playground ready to consume more lurid and horrible tales. 

They were terrifying. They were also thrilling.  I couldn’t help myself—even when they gave me nightmares and my mom tried to get me to stop listening to these stories—they had this allure to me, pulling me into a world of the strange and the gothic.

The feeling didn’t go away as I got older. Take, for example, the time I went trick o’ treating with a friend in middle school, one of the last times I would venture out on that childhood ritual. I was no stranger to haunted houses—there were plenty in my neighborhood. I lived next door to one and there was another a few blocks away that looked like something out of a gothic novel: big, dark, looming, and a story about a murder so strange and unexpected it devolved into its own neighborhood legend with everyone having a slightly different explanation for why the house just felt…off.

My friend and I were alone on the street and were doing our best to casually walk past the house, feeling very brave and very adult in our fairy costumes, proud of the fact that we could trick-or-treat unchaperoned. But once we neared that house, suddenly home felt so very far away, other groups of Halloween revelers so very far away.  There was only the darkness surrounding us and the specter of that gina those before us. 

Then we heard something—a yip, a yell, from someone in the distance—and we screamed, running for the safety of my home. Gone were the bold, brave adults, and in their place were two frightened children who wanted nothing more than the warm lights and safety of home. As it turns out, the noise we heard was from a bunch of wild partiers, but it became so much more frightening when it was disembodied, and the shadows fed our imaginations, as did all the terrible tales I’d been consuming that season.

As scary as that was, and as silly as my friend and I felt in retrospect, there was no denying the fun we had, nor the deep sense of comfort we felt in returning to my house. That’s what scary stories do for us. They bring us home. We find catharsis in facing the darkness and making it out the other side. We appreciate the light where and when we can find it.  

Here I am now—still loving scary stories. Still a total chicken. Still ready for a good tale of terror…in the daylight. Still not looking in mirrors and closing all my windows at night. And I speed up whenever I have to walk by that haunted house, indeed any haunted house, less the specters inside think to invite me in.

That’s the beauty of these early childhood frights. They gave me a solid appreciation of the thrills of a good scary story and a healthy respect for the unseen worlds or even vibes I get that tell me a person or situation is more than meets the eye. 

This is why I tell spooky stories today. They reveal so much more about ourselves and the world around us than many an ordinary tale. From writing horror comedy about the terrors of dating in Hungry Business to the haunting wails of La Llorona in Weep, Woman, Weep, all my tales are inspired by the ordinary gothic all around us, pairing catharsis as we face the dark and find the light. 

What do you love about scary stories?

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

I am a love story...

I would make a love spell, if I could, made of the torn pages of a romance novel, rose petals plucked under the darkness of night, and the bloody suture that stitched the pieces of my heart back together after I was so careless with it.

I would take these things and mash them together between the teeth of my mortar and pestle, along with dandelion seeds and olive oil and dirty thoughts and ground cinnamon and the sweetness of a spring morning.  I’d bind it with my spit and tears and hope.

I would even drink this potion if I could. Swallow it all down with a spoonful of honey to soften the intensity of this longing and think of nothing but seeds and fruition as it slid down my throat.  

If a love spell would bring me what I want, I would dance naked under the moon and use strands of my hair to weave together an impossible unbreakable love story. I would work long hours just to be able to afford that small crystal bottle full of hazy pink liquid tucked safely behind the glass counter in that one occult shop everyone knows but says they’ve never been to.

But it’s no use. 

No use trying to conjure warms hands and a beating heart from chicken bones and ribbon.  Or the soft sincerity of an appreciative gaze from glitter and sanding sugar, let alone the gooey warm feeling of being safe in another’s arms—you could try melted chocolate on the tongue or cocoa butter rubbed into your skin.  But it won’t work.

These sorts of love spells never do.  

I’ll tell you what does—though you won’t believe me.  Amateurs never do.

It starts inside, a slow steady drumbeat in your body. Follow that song—out into the meadows and let the birds join in the symphony.  Don’t try to pin down the feeling or stuff it in a jar.  Just let this lightness wrap around you and tease your skin like a lover’s fingers.  

Don’t look too hard, either, for the thing you think you want. Just fill yourself up with the luscious energy that makes you feel whole without arms to hold you—those will come in time.

Now here comes the hard part: Shake off the desperation.  Shut out the voices that say too old too hard too picky too aloof too needy too demanding too sexy too strange too wild too much. All they’re really saying is that they wish they were brave enough to dance with the meadow bees in broad daylight. Unafraid and safe in the knowledge that the Universe is wiser than you and easily bypasses your childish attempts to control your future.  What you want right here and now—the thing you try to capture with your butterfly net—it’s inside you, not in paperback pulp and shredded roses.

So stop waiting for it to happen to you. This love story. 

You are a love story.  Know it. Feel it.  Let it saturate every part of your being.  Say it and embody it:

I am a love story. 

I am a love story. 

I am a love story. 

Hold that phrase up like an offering to your soul.

Aren’t you eager to see how it unfolds now that you are no longer swallowing the torn pages of someone else’s story?

Too much work!  I know that’s what you’ll say. 

This, from the person willing to swallow their own nasty spit and stitches and dance naked in the moonlight—or work overtime to pay for pink-stained water pretending to be an aphrodisiac.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Magical Living Book Release!

Three years ago, I published my first book, Everyday Enchantments, a collection of musings on ordinary magic and daily conjurings. It has been a whirlwind of delightful literary magic ever since. That was the book that helped me rediscover my inner bruja and so will always have a place in my heart. But I’m also excited to look back and see how I’ve grown, developed, and continued to hone my craft as a writer, magical practitioner, and human being. That’s what everyday magic is all about: showing up every day to conjure a better way of being.

After years of blogging and that first book, it became clear that that there were other people out there, like me, looking for simple, practical ways to make their lives more magical. Thus, Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Magical Living was born.

This is an alternative and practical guide to magical living, which means it’s a no-fuss approach to finding the mystic in the mundane. Here, there are no difficult spells with obscure ingredients, complicated rituals, or expensive tools. Instead, you’ll find that our routines are the rituals, the meals we cook are the edible spells, as are the thoughts and intentions we cast out into the world. As for crystals, athames, and velvet cloaks…those are cool, sure, but you don’t need them to conjure. All you need, in fact, is an open mind and a desire to find enchantment wherever you go.

Get your copy here.

Advanced Praise

“I'm new to practicing, so this was incredibly helpful. I loved reading ways to expand my practice and the best part is how easy everything is. It's perfect for a beginner.” ~ Kali T. Netgalley Reviewer

“What a beautiful book! I loved reading about enriching my witchcraft practices with solid acts of self-care.” ~ Sonja K. Netgalley Reviewer

“I love the way that this book weaves magic and wonder into the everyday, making paganism feel accessible to everyone. I'm going to try to reframe household chores as a form of magic!” ~ Melanie K. Netgalley Reviewer

“This book was everything I could have hoped for. DeBlassie approaches magic in a way that is less intimidating and much more natural, at least to me. The focus on intention as magic and having less focus put on complex spells and rituals makes this book both beginner-friendly and something that can re-ignite the passion for longtime practitioners.” ~ Colleen V. Netgalley Reviewer

"Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Everyday Magic is an accessible guidebook into the subject of personal development and subtle magic, providing the reader with tips to live their best, most blessed life."
Jennifer Teixeira - Author of "Temple of the Bones; Rituals to the Goddess Hekate"

"Everyday magic is not just about developing connections and relationships with our spiritual and magical selves. How many of us have looked within at our own habits and behaviors to acknowledge the chaos and stress within our own lives and how we can change our thinking and break out of these toxic behaviors that hinder us on many levels. Maria from her own personal experience shares how she turned her life around earning a happier, healthier life, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. This naturally brought back that spiritual energy and personal power that was buried beneath the drudgery of the modern lifestyle. This is everyday magic and can improve the lives of EVERYONE." ~ Martha Gray, author

"Maria's Practically Pagan: An Alternative Guide to Magical Living is a book that I wish my younger self could have read. Instead of wandering around, thinking magic needed to be elaborate and, therefore, inaccessible, I could have seen the magic in the everyday. (And to be fair, I need the reminder now too.) In addition, the fact that Maria touches on toxic patriarchy, performative extroversion, and mindless busy-ness as things to unlearn is vital. Necessary. Crucial. Timely. I can hear the passion behind the words of this book, and it feels like a spell woven between the words and the reader."

~ Irisanya Moon, author of Pagan Portals: Reclaiming Magick, Pagan Portals: Aphrodite: Goddess of Love & Beauty & Initiation; Practically Pagan: An Alternative Guide to Health & Well-being, and Pagan Portals: Iris - Goddess of the Rainbow & Messenger of the Godds.

From the Back Cover

Practical tips for the modern mystic by bruja and award-winning writer and educator, Maria DeBlassie.

This guide is full of proverbial spells, daily conjurings, and mystical insights designed to help those in search of a little more magic in their day-to-day life, no complicated spells, expensive accessories, or experience required.

That's the thing about everyday magic: it's always within reach, within the self, and in the world. Only not in the way readers might normally think. It's a less mumbling 'double double toil and trouble' over a cauldron and more cooking a delicious soup in a beloved cast iron pot. It's simple. It's mundane. It's magic!

This book offers grounded mystical practices, including how to turn routines into healing rituals, to teach readers how to connect to themselves, the Universe, and the magic of everyday life. Journey into the realm of pleasure magic, radical self-care, synchronicity, and the profound joy of living a life beyond the expected with this alternative guide to daily mystic practices.

After all, true magic is in the everyday.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Weep, Woman, Weep eBook Release!

I am beyond excited to share my latest ebook release! Weep, Woman, Weep, available for only $2.99, is the first of many stories set in the mythical town of Sueño, New Mexico, where magic is real and the desert holds more secrets and enchantments than anyone can imagine.

This gothic fairytale, based on the Legend of La Llorona, has a special place in my heart because it not only represents my full transition into writing fiction but also because it deals with the Weeping Woman, a figure who installs fear in the hearts of most Hispanic and Latinx children. (Don’t worry, I haven’t left non-fiction behind—I’m just now more established in fiction as well!) I grew up hearing frightening tales of the woman who drowned her children in a fit of rage and then threw herself into the Rio Grande after them once she realized what a terrible crime she committed. It is said that she now roams the riverbanks weeping and looking for her lost children. Of course, the danger is when she mistakes you for one of her children and takes you down to the bottom of the river with her. Needless to say, she inspired many a sleepless night when I was younger—okay, and sometimes now!

There are so many different versions of the Weeping Woman legend, some dating back to the Aztecs and early colonization of Mexico, which you can read more about here. These are stories about the trauma of colonization, toxic patriarchy, and toxic matriarchy. Some are even about reclaiming our pre-colonized identities by framing La Llorona as a victim trying to make things right in her own way.

As you’ll see in Weep, Woman, Weep, I’ve offered my own spin on the classic urban legend. In my story, La Llorona isn’t quite so sympathetic, even if we can understand the terrible circumstances that lead her to her doom. As Mercy, the heroine of the story says, you can’t always help what happens to you, but you can choose not to pass it on. It’s the passing on of trauma that makes La Llorona a dark archetype. In my experience, there’s a twisted part of this spirit that doesn’t want anyone moving on from the violence of our collective past. She has suffered terribly, so we must suffer, too.

All I’m saying is that the night before I made this book available for preorder, I had a terrible nightmare about La Llorona. She came out of a dark swamp in the middle of a haunted forest and tried to rip me to pieces. It was clear she didn’t want me telling this story and exposing her for the bitter spirit that she is. She clawed and raged and did everything she could to rid this manuscript from my hands. In all honesty, I’m used to dreams like this—she’s been haunting me for some time. And she gets particularly angry whenever I’m doing something that brings me joy and helps me heal my own complicated relationship with my mixed-cultural heritage.

I woke up in a cold sweat but felt strangely good. La Llorona didn’t like that I dragged this dark ancestral secret into the light, so…I must be on the right track. But that’s bruja life for you—so much happing in the dream world, so much of it affecting our day-in, day-out. Just another day of breaking the chains of ancestral trauma.

Weep, Woman, Weep is particularly unique because it centers on the New Mexican mestiza experience of ancestral hauntings and the working through of toxic cultural histories. In my experience, if we don’t directly confront the traumas of our ancestral past, then we end up perpetuating those same traumas on ourselves and our communities, sometimes in ways so subtle that we are barely even aware that we are doing it. But, since this is a gothic tale, these horrors aren't so subtle.

If you are interested in learning more about ancestral hauntings and breaking the chains of generational trauma, check out my conversation with That Witch Life. And if you’re wanting to know more about my other fiction, as well as my creative process when it comes to writing stories about the ordinary gothic, check out my interview with C.M. Rosens on the Eldritch Girl podcast earlier in the year.

In the meantime, pour yourself a cup of tea, snuggle under your favorite knit blanket, and get ready to enter a world of everyday magic and the ordinary gothic. Just make sure to keep the lights on.

Advance Praise

"This is a beautifully written, affirming and emotionally rich sort of story...There’s a lot of emotional truth here, and I think anyone who has ever struggled to find their place in the world will find it a resonant read."

~ Nimue Brown (read the full review here)

“If like me you’re a fan of the unusual or gothic and haunting reads this is one to try. With a strong voice, atmospheric creepiness and powerful storytelling, it’s one to enjoy as the nights draw in and we head towards my one of my favourite times of year, Halloween.”

~ Kate Kenzie Writes (read the full review here)

Read more reviews on Goodreads and Amazon!

From the Back Cover

A compelling gothic fairytale by bruja and award-winning writer Maria DeBlassie.

The women of Sueño, New Mexico don’t know how to live a life without sorrows. That’s La Llorona’s doing. She roams the waterways looking for the next generation of girls to baptize, filling them with more tears than any woman should have to hold. And there’s not much they can do about the Weeping Woman except to avoid walking along the riverbank at night and to try to keep their sadness in check. That’s what attracts her to them: the pain and heartache that gets passed down from one generation of women to the next.

Mercy knows this, probably better than anyone. She lost her best friend to La Llorona and almost found a watery grave herself. But she survived. Only she didn’t come back quite right and she knows La Llorona won’t be satisfied until she drags the one soul that got away back to the bottom of the river.

In a battle for her life, Mercy fights to break the chains of generational trauma and reclaim her soul free from ancestral hauntings by turning to the only things that she knows can save her: plant medicine, pulp books, and the promise of a love so strong not even La Llorona can stop it from happening. What unfolds is a stunning tale of one woman’s journey into magic, healing, and rebirth.

CW: assault, domestic violence, racism, colorism

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

A Special Halloween Story Release: Hungry Business

Happy Halloween, Samhain, and Dia de Los Muertos, readers! Every year around this time, I do a special Everyday Gothic blog where I was poetic about the darker aspects of the magical world. This year, I decided we needed a special treat.

I am so happy to announce the publication of my first short story, “Hungry Business,” from my very own Kitchen Witch Press. This is a creepy little tale about how causal dating is the zombie apocalypse of the soul. But where there’s heart, there’s hope. Reviewers have called this story creepy and comforting, gothic and cozy all at once. It’s a horror romance, with plenty of chills and thrills with the safety of a guaranteed HEA (Happily Ever After).

Find it here for only $0.99, unless you’re interested in waiting for my…

Halloween Giveaway!

As an extra special spooky bonus, I’ll be giving away for free “Hungry Business”on Friday October 30th and Saturday October 31st as part of Bewitching Book Tour’s Trick or Treat Halloween Book Event. Simply download your sale copy here on Friday or Saturday and get ready to enjoy this cozy gothic tale.

In the meantime, you can read more about “Hungry Business,” including advance praise and the synopsis, below.

Advance Praise

“The best zombie story I've read in a very long time and possibly because the story is so clever and the metaphor of zombification is so well done that it was like nothing I've ever read. The author has a great grasp of subtext and the story used it very cleverly. This author is now at the top of my to-watch list.” ~ Craig Hallum

“Hungry Business is a short story by Maria DeBlassie that manages to be a surprisingly large number of things very effectively all at the same time. It’s a creepy zombie story – with a neat premise about how being a zombie works and what you have to do to avoid it. At the same time, it’s a clever piece of social commentary where the being-a-zombie works as a metaphor for certain kinds of modern experiences. It is somehow both a sinister horror story and very funny, often both at the same time. It’s also a romance and a story about the nature of romance and the importance of romance stories.  

Author Maria DeBlassie has all of these things going on, but none of them get in the way of it being a charming and entertaining read. Impressive! Do check it out.” ~ Nimue Brown

Read more reviews on Goodreads and Amazon.

From the Back Cover

From the multi-award-winning author of Everyday Enchantments: Musings on Ordinary Magic & Daily Conjurings comes a cozy Gothic short story about searching for connection in a world that's forgotten the power of everyday magic.

Looking for love can be deadly... 

You know how it goes.  You go out, hoping to meet someone.  You wade through your fair share of brainless automatons, lifeless bodies, and ravenous undead good at passing as human.   

The more you go out, the less hope you feel and the colder your body gets.  But you keep at it.  All you need is one beating heart to match your own before yours stops pumping altogether.  How hard can it be to find one living, breathing human in a city full of bodies?  

Dating.  

It's hungry business.  

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Reading Holiday Ghost Stories...with a Christmas Spirit Chaser

Okay, okay, so November is usually the month I celebrate the sacred simple pleasure of reading and all-around cozy living with food and drink pairings to accompany of few hours spent with books….but then the month got away from me, so this year’s musings are a teensy bit later than usual. But that’s what happens when you’re enjoying life and readings so many wonderful books!

I might be a month late on this post, but the contents are in perfect accord with the spirit of the season! This year, I’m writing about ghost stories and scary tales that help us face our fears and confront the dark side of humanity. Why? We can’t have light without facing the darkness. That’s the price of magic.

The Tradition of Reading Ghost Stories at Christmas

Last year, I read about the old tradition of tellings ghost stories on Christmas Eve and, in fact, all Christmas season. I love the idea, especially since my heart always longs for the chills and thrills that only seem acceptable to celebrate during Halloween season, which, in all honesty, I try to stretch out as long as possible. You’ve heard of Christmas in July? Well, for me, Gothic season is September through November. Now, thanks to learning about this old storytelling tradition, I can celebrate all things spooky through December too.

To me, the nights of Autumn Equinox that then ripen into the Winter Solstice are prime times to sink into the magic and catharsis of the darker side of life. Seriously, is there anything cozier than immersing yourself in a spooky story on a cold, dark night with only the firelight to keep you warm and hold the darkness at bay? Be still my pagan heart! And yeah, full disclosure, I also spend a good part of spring and summer reading spooky stories because that’s just who I am. Give me a good summer monsoon with thunder and lightning to read Gothic romances by and I am a happy woman. All the same, there’s still something deliciously cozy about reading supernatural tales in the heart of winter.

Ghost Stories to Read by Firelight—& Twinkle Lights

When the semester is done and my home is bursting with twinkle lights and a festive tree that can only be described as “Christmas explosion,” I enjoy taking an afternoon to read by twinkle lights or firelight—or both! I put on a pot of tea, snuggle under one of my knit blankets on the couch, and sink into the healing power of stories.

Prior to learning about the Christmas tradition of reading ghost stories, I’d come to save my subscription of Occult Detective Quarterly for a quiet winter’s day when I could enjoy the variety of chills and thrills it always offers. There’s nothing like a good ghost story—unless you throw in a good paranormal investigator to guide you through the realm of the unknown. In the same vein, I cannot wait to dive into Ghostly Clients and Demonic Culprits: The Roots of Occult Detective Fiction.

If you’re wanting a more traditional read such as Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, try The Valancourt Book of Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories or, if you aren’t particular about Christmas- supernatural tales, Ghostly Tales: Spine-Chilling Stories of the Victorian Age. They are both fantastic collections of some of the most iconic ghost stories and Gothic writers. There are too many ghost story anthologies that I love to name them all, so check out my teaser photo below of the Christmas Spirit for a few more book recommendations.

As much as I love reading, sometimes, after a long term of grading papers, my eyes hurt and I literally can’t take in the written word. That’s why I am so completely grateful for audiobooks and podcasts. My current spooky favorite is On a Dark, Cold Night, a podcast that features the original work, both in writing and music, of Kristen Zaza. It’s eerily beautiful! Want something a little over-the-top? Try Relic Radio’s The Horror, a podcast dedicated to old-time radio performances of classic scary stories. Both are perfect for a quiet night at home or a laid back holiday crafting day.

The Christmas Spirit…Cocktail

So you’ve got your stash of scary stories. You’ve got your twinkle lights and a crackling fire. You have a knit blanket and a cozy spot to tuck into. You might even have the perfect pair of pajamas to dawn and a black cat familiar to snuggle close for when your story gets a little too scary…okay, maybe that last part is about me. I do love a good ghost story, but I am also easily scared. What can I say? I’m a conundrum. A conundrum with a black cat to hold my hand through the darker parts of a story, luckily. In fact, the only thing that would make this scene anymore perfect would be a holiday drink to console, comfort, and fortify as you turn the next page. So what’s a bruja to do?

Last year, I wrote about one of my absolute favorite genres, all things Occult Detective, and whipped up a cocktail for it. Let’s face it, monster hunters are less tea and sympathy and cakes and more fire and brimstone with a whiskey back. This season of ghosts stories seems equally in need of a fortifying drink. I knew it needed to be something that conjured the warmth of the fireside with the enjoyable chills and thrills of a well-told Gothic tale. The plan was to call it The Ghost Story, but it didn’t quite evoke the comfort and warmth of telling supernatural stories during the holidays, something altogether more comforting and soothing, I’m finding, than the reading them during Halloween season. No, what we needed was a little festive flare.

Enter The Christmas Spirit. Yeah, I went there! And let me tell you, this drink tops anything Hallmark can do. It’s all the pagan festivity without the saccharine overdose of CHRISTmas. It’s warming, spicy, with a little kick at the end that makes us appreciate the twists and turns of a well-told tale. I used an orange liquor (see below) that was orange-peel forward, so as to get the pop of bright holiday flavor, minus overly-sweet taste of more traditional orange flavoring. I added some cherry bitters to round out the sense of a cozy winter’s evening at home, and conjure the pleasure of rich Christmas ‘s fruity flavors. Then the dash of smoked chili bitters to evoke the sharp catharsis of a dark story’s end. Add ice and you’ve got the makings of a perfect ghost-story chaser. All you need is bourbon to round things out. It’s enough to warm your heart, comfort your soul, and brace you for the inevitable spine-tingling goodness that is a good ghost story.

If a glass of courage isn’t your cup of tea, then consider trying…well…a cup of tea. Try the smokey lapsang souchong (my perennial favorite) for an afternoon of reading or a cup of mint chocolate rooibos for a mellow evening’s storytelling—both of which can be found at NM Tea Co. And if you need a little something more to get you through that next page, read on for how to make The Christmas Spirit.

Ingredients:

2 oz. bourbon

.75 oz orange liquor, preferably one with an orange peel-forward flavor

5 drops cherry bitters

1-2 drops smoked chili bitters

ice

maraschino cherry and orange peel for garnish (optional)

Directions:

Combine all liquid ingredients in a tumbler glass and stir. Add ice and stir again. Garish with cherry and orange peel. Makes one, so whip up a few more: one for someone to cuddle with as you read your stories and another for any friendly spectral visitors who happen by (the unfriendly ones can just move along). Enjoy!

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Protection Spell

Tools:

Rusty nails for every wisp of old ghosts you have

1 hammer blessed by your sweat and elbow grease

1 beeswax candle

1 box of matches

1 brush strong enough to sink its teeth into your hair and come out with a mouthful

Ingredients:

Wisps from old ghosts knocking on your door, as many as you have

3 sprigs of rosemary gathered under a full moon, for She protects all worthy things

3 sprigs of rue gathered in full sun—the better to chase away the darkness

Whiskey, amount varies, depending on how much courage you need

Stitches holding your heart together

Basement shadows, as many as you have the courage to face

1 mouthful of hair, collected from your brush

1 handful of grit (please tell me you have some, otherwise this will never work)

1 bottle of sunshine

Directions:

Step One: Tie wisps from old ghosts to rusty nails then plant them in the earth around your home. Be sure to make the knots strong, as ghosts are slippery, always looking for a way back in. Use your blessed hammer to make sure those specters are firmly rooted in the earth. Again, they’re wiggly little things, sly things, so don’t take any chances.  Hammer the shit out of them. If anyone asks, say you’re mending a fence. Who cares if they can’t see the magic foundation you build upon?

Step Two: Use your teeth to mash up rosemary and rue until they form a thick paste.  Alternately spit paste and handful of grit along the perimeter of your rusty-nail fence until your hands hurt from the emptiness, and your mouth is dry and full of the tastes of green things.

Step Three: Drink some whiskey. Repeat as necessary until the taste of mashed up herbs has left your mouth, and you are no longer afraid to go into your basement. 

Note the First: This could be a literal basement or a metaphorical one where you lock away all the secrets and dark crawly things you can’t deal with day-in, day-out. In either case, the liquid courage at the bottom of your glass and the shadows you find down there are real. Best to know that going in. 

Step Four: Before you go into the basement, you will need something to tether the shadows you find there. Something sweet enough to trap them and strong enough to bind them—the stitches from your mending heart. After washing your hands, carefully reach inside your ribcage and worry the fat, ugly scar tissue around the suture that kept you from bleeding out once upon a time until the thread breaks free. Keep pulling until you have enough bloody string to tie to as many shadows as you can gather across the energetic fence around your home. 

Note the Second:  This part is going to hurt—another reason the whiskey will come in handy. 

Note the Third:  This might take a while. If you pass out from the pain, simply resume your scar picking when you come to.

Note the Fourth:  It is likely that you will begin bleeding again. Don’t worry. It’s a sign you are still alive. If you do start bleeding, light one of the matches and press it to your heart to cauterize the reopened wound. Repeat as necessary. And don’t even think about not surviving. Your passionate heart can stand the heat. Your scars are proof enough of that.

Step Five: When you’ve gathered all the blood-soaked sutures you need, and the pain is no longer debilitating, light your beeswax candle with one of the matches from your matchbox. 

Step Six: Go into the basement.  Bring the handful of grit with you. You’ll need it. Whiskey can only take a woman so far.

Step Seven: Let the shadows come to you. The string soaked in your heartbreak knows what to do. Just be brave enough to keep the candlelight burning. 

Step Eight: When you’ve gathered all the shadows you need, take them to your new fence. Weave your shade-laced string in and around your rusty nails until you have no more string left, and your heart stops throbbing at the memory of having the stitches pulled from it. 

Step Nine: Run a brush through your hair 101 times or however long it takes to get rid of all the tangles. Take those tangles—they should be stuck in the mouth of your brush—and weave them in and around your suture-bound shadows.  

Step Ten: Remember the beeswax candle?  It should still be burning. Take the pool of melting wax and use it to seal your protective ward. Alternately pour drops from your bottle of sunlight and hot wax on top of each nailhead until you hear the little ghosts wince at the pain. Dribble it across the hair and threaded tapestry made of your past— that’s where all basement shadows come from, isn’t it? 

Final Note:  Don’t feel bad about making your ghosts hurt. Their pain is a good thing. They’ve given you enough of it, after all, so turn about is fair play. 

Step Eleven: Take the remaining matches from your matchbox and plant them, red heads up, into the cooling wax until the permitter is covered, and you have no more matches—save one, to light the whole thing on fire. 

Final (Optional) Step: But who are you kidding? You’ll need this one too. Take one last drink of whiskey so you feel fire within as you watch it blaze without. Let it burn.  

Let the remaining circle of ash around your home be a warning to ghosts and future shadow makers—

You’ll just tie them up and set them on fire too.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Cleansing Spell

Ingredients:

Burdens of others—as many as you have

3 quarts unspeakable heartache 

1 heaping tablespoon of ugly thoughts such as

   doubts, fears, and regrets 

101 compost worms

Purified tears, enough to fill a small vial

Renewed hope—all that you can muster

2 ounces lemon oil 

1 bundle of sage 

Skin scraped from an old scar until it bleeds

Tools:

1 laundry basket you don’t mind losing

3 matches 

1 gallon mason jar

1 durable vacuum ready for the afterlife

1 spray bottle

Directions:

Step One: Neatly fold burdens from others and place in a laundry basket you don’t mind losing. Light the first match. Set burdens on fire.  

Step Two: As the laundry basket burns, combine three quarts unspeakable heartache and one tablespoon of ugly thoughts into a one gallon mason jar. Let it stew until bitterness wafts from the container, approximately a lifetime.  No wait—that’s too long. Give it a minute or two.

Step Three: Pour the 101 worms into jar and let them feast until jar is full of compost. 

Step Four: At this point, your laundry basket full of burdens should be ash. Vacuum up the remains of the things you wish people hadn’t asked you to carry. Let vacuum sit.

Note the First: In some cases, those burdens try to reform themselves and reattach to you. If that is the case, you need to release the guilt you feel when you give yourself permission to prioritize your wellness. There’s plenty of room in the vacuum for guilt too.  

Note the Second: If you don’t feel guilt then good for you. You probably weren’t raised Catholic.

Step Five: Cry. A lot. Shed enough tears to fill a small vial and then put a stopper on it. You don’t want to go overboard. Get it out of your system and move on. When you’re done and have slept it off, combine the tears purified under the unconditional love of a full moon with lemon oil and the renewed hope you gained while dreaming. Pour elixir into a spray bottle. Shake well. And shake again.

 Note the Third: You might use regular hope but renewed hope is stronger, more potent. It has survived brutal heartache and terrible blows to the soul. If you want the spell to work, use the thing that won’t die. 

Step Six: Spray that shit everywhere until all you can smell is lemons and unblemished possibility.

Step Seven: Remember the vacuum bag of burned burdens and burgeoning guilt? Throw them in the gallon jar of what is now compost and worms.  

Step Eight: Take the second match and use it to light the vacuum on fire. It has held too much for too long and is ready for the afterlife.

Step Nine: Once everything has burned to a crisp and your mason jar is full of nothing but worms and reincarnated regrets (they are better for being dirt), take the remains—to be clear: worms, dirt, ashes—out to your garden. Fold them into the heap that is your compost. Turn widdershins twenty-one times or in whatever direction you want however many times you want.

Step Ten: Watch as the worms find their home in the earth and the dust settles.

Step Eleven: Take the last match and the bundle of sage. Light that bitch on fire. Lick the flame. Absolve yourself. You are only responsible for you. Taste the flame again to remember how good it feels to let things go.  Swallow the match and commit the sage to the compost. 

Step Twelve: Walk into your home. Smell lemon oil and the small green shoots of new life. 

Step Thirteen: Close the door to any unwanted burdens that come knocking. 

Step Fourteen: Scrape the skin of old scars across the threshold to remind yourself why you did the cleansing spell in the first place. 

Step Fifteen: Repeat as necessary.

Final Note: If you have to repeat this spell more often than you brush your teeth, ask yourself why you need to suffer. Then stop. Do you really want to spend your life crying into vials to make more purification spray? I mean, do what you have to do, but you’ve done this enough times that you know how things inevitably turn out. Better not to take on the burdens in the first place. You’ll keep more laundry baskets that way. Vacuums, too. 

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

They Say Write What You Know...

They say write what you know. But it’s a hard thing to do. First, we rarely know what we know. Or rather, there’s so much we think we know but don’t. And second…how do you explain the flutter in your ribcage when you start a new story? How do you describe the taste of a memory so old you don’t remember when you first acquired it?

Sometimes you do write what you know, though no one believes you’ve fought dragons. You have. Several of them. Seems there’s one knocking on your door every few years or you stumble across them as you canvas uncharted territories. You made friends with a few of them, too. No one trusts that you hear the whispered stories of trees. It must only be the breeze you’re talking about. Never mind that trees have the best stories—the oldest stories—and dearly love to gossip. Fewer still understand that when you write of mixing hot water with rosemary slivers and chamomile heads, you aren’t just brewing a cup of tea, but concocting a healing spell to mend bruised hearts and tired bodies. 

Once in a while, someone hears your truth, like a distant moonlit howl. So that when you say a pair of cowboy boots—over 15 years old and thrice mended—are the living history of a woman learning to stand on her own, they see pieces of your soul woven into the leather soles. Others will bend and distort this and see only that you have a pair of shoes or that perhaps you like to two-step. In the end, it hardly matters. You can’t anticipate what others might see when you tear off a piece of yourself as if from a loaf of bread, and invite them to taste it.

Sunday, I read a book (which means: Sunday, I read a book).

When I talk about the stories locked in my veins—some passed on to me, some all my own—it will show up as a smattering of words on a page. They may not know the press of these stories, like so many microscopic seeds, against my arteries. And when I say I’ve taken a long walk through my neighborhood, I’ve really just returned from a long journey in which I fought my way through an ancient labyrinth in a faraway land so as to find answers to secret questions only the spirit in the middle of the maze can answer.

Yesterday I bargained for some extra luck from a wood sprite who was in dire need of a handful of acorns. (Loosely translated: I was the one in a pinch and borrowed some magic from someone who owed me a favor...and wasn't opposed to my sweetening the deal with some hard-to-find nuts. Real magic, conjured magic—your own magic—takes time to build and I was at a deficit from one too many blows to the spirit.) 

So this is my truth. More or less. I once had high tea with a giant. We dined across a large slab of granite in a wide open field, as was the custom in his land. Although when I write this, many will only see a young student clutching a cardboard coffee cup, sitting next to a future mentor on a cold bench near a duck pond between classes.

Tonight, I'll dream. Or live. Depending on how you want to read it. Who's to say we can tell the difference between one or the other? Half the time people think I'm dancing through life, when really my footsteps are meticulous, carefully kissing the earth in slow, dramatic presses of heel to toes, heel to toes. That's the only way to walk. The only way to taste things growing just under the surface.

This I write. This I know. Mostly. Kind of.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Bury the Dead in Marigolds

I am tired of wrapping my lips around the past. It is a dead thing kept alive only by my attention and my tongue.  I cannot tell why I keep worrying it, like the frayed edges of a beloved scarf or a fuzzy memory.  Habit, maybe.  I don't even like the taste of it anymore.  All charcoal and regrets and bitter seeds that make my mouth feel chalky--nothing like the fat marigold head I hold in my hand.

This orange-feathered sun tickles my lifeline and the small little rivers and deviations carved into my palm. The bud smells of clean earth and the naked joy of growing things.  This, I want.  The smell, the taste, the everything covering my body as if it were my second skin.  I want to make my home in this honeyed sweetness when once I never dared to think it possible to hold a living flower without crushing it. 

I know what must be done: I dig a six-foot deep hole in my backyard and go about the business of burying the dead.  Mason jars will make the perfect coffins.  There are too many of them anyway as if I must preserve and hold onto everything I taste in this world. They belong in the earth now, as does the past.

I unscrew each lid of every jar I own until there is a mass of open mouths waiting to be fed.  So I set about stuffing those holes.  I spit the gritty black sludge that has formed between my lips into one jar and the bitter seeds into another.  It feels like the purge will never end, but I keep at it until my mouth is dry but clean and I can taste sunshine in the back of my throat.  

And while I am at it, I comb dead leaves and ugly thoughts from my hair and stuff it into another hungry jar. The dead skin I slough off finds its resting place in yet another jar, though I was afraid not all of it would fit. Nail clippings and self-doubts go next, along with the brittle bones of my ancestors (may they never rise) and the fragments of ghosts they wish I would inherit.  The last three jars are filled with the worn husks of dreams that have outlived their usefulness. 

No more jars, but still so much left to bury.

Prayers for saints—those poems I could never speak for those things I could never be—are cast into the grave along with a bag of sugar and the moth larvae that made their home in the saccharine crystals.  I do not have an altar on which to place sweet skulls and lighted candles—just the earth.  Ofrendas—I don’t have any of those either.  Just things that need to go.  I have no wish to give offerings to spirits that would make me one of them—sad things, unfulfilled things, things that were dead while living.  And here I am breathing.  Here I am changing the story.  I doubt they would ever wish me well, so don’t ask me to beg for their attention.  Don’t ask me to bow down and hold them close—or worse, build an altar in their names.

I’ve never been much for anything that asks me to get down on my knees.

I only trust the marigolds, and so I collect each and every head from my garden and the stash of dried petals from my pantry.  Here is the sunshine that will cleanse my soul.  Here is the heartbeat that will banish the flatline.  But first—I dig.  And dig.  And dig so many other little holes surrounding the grave.  So many other tiny graves for my Mason jars that would not fit in the six-foot-deep abyss where I planted all the things that need forgetting.  My backyard is a cemetery.  It’s full to bursting by the time I’m done with it.  Who knew Mason jars could take up so much space?  Who knew I held on to too much for too long?

Part of me is afraid to fully commit these things to the ground.  I don’t know what I am without my dead skins or my tangled hair or fragments of stories written on scraps of paper which now line the bottom of my dirty tombs. 

Then the marigolds whisper: perhaps you should find out.  Perhaps you should fill your graves with dirt and life and let those dead things feed the earth.  Give them to the worms who will be better nourished by the decaying and the dying.  In turn, they will gift you with fertile ground for better things.

The flowers are right, of course.  These things are of no use to me above ground—

—so down they go, into the underworld.

The shovel is my only companion.  Not even a lantern or candle graces my presence.  Some things are best done in the dark.  I make quick work of it, tossing dirt and more regrets on top of the scars I cut into my yard until I can no longer see Mason jar caps or heaps of sugar.  Until there is nothing left but freshly covered graves.

Here I stand with no last rites or final words.  Just a handful of dirt and another of marigolds.  I scattered the dry petals first so that they make a thin veil between the living and the dead.  Then I heap fresh buds upon fresh buds, open flowers upon open flowers, until the disturbed earth is no longer a series of scars but open seams that let the light through.  

I let the golden petals coat my backyard until my hands ache with the letting go and the holding on.  There is only one small flower left (the one I started with), barely emerging from the bud, sitting in the dry-bed of my palm.  The lifelines seem deeper now, but perhaps that is just dark soil bringing them to life.  In any case, I lean against the shovel and admire my work.  

Already, new shoots are emerging from the worm-rot.  Healthy green tendrils spread across the raw landscape like one long hearty Goodbye:

Goodbye to ghosts.  Goodbye to the past.  Goodbye to dead and gone things.  The golden flower is a sweet Hello in my hand, sweeping away any lingering regrets in my final Goodbyes.  My mouth is clean.  My scarred earth is healing.  I have no more energy for bitter seeds or sugared skulls.  Only the feathery seeds of a marigold’s heart. 

Much better to savor the fat orange fruit on the inside of a calendula bud.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

A Summer of New Literacies

The glories of summer are fading into the delicious settledness of fall.  School is starting.  The harvest season is upon us.  A regular routine is taking the place of those seemingly long unstructured hours of summer (though granted, my summer hours were still fairly structured since I happily taught for most of it).  Yet I still feel pretty adventurous and ready to ease into a full course load while continuing to carve out time for fun, play, and the little things that make life, well, lively!

Why?  I'll let you in on a little secret: this summer was my summer of new literacies.  Spring was the season of epiphanies, as it so often is.  An extra-full workload made me realize that there is such a thing as loving your routine too much.  I know!  This coming from the woman who champions her routines as rituals, but hear me out.  

I had a short break from springs semester before diving into summer and in that space, I realized something: all the adventures I wanted to have and all the things I wanted to try ended up getting shoved aside in an attempt to get stuff done.  And when I did have down time, I devoted it to the introverted hobbies that nourished me--not a bad thing in and of itself, mind you, it's just that my comfort zone became...too, well, comfortable to the point of feeling suffocating.  I needed to dust off the stagnant energy and remember what it was like to play.

And so I played.  I was inspired by Shonda Rhimes's Year of Yes which tracks the year she said yes to everything that scared her.  I, too, took the summer to say yes to things outside my comfort zone, with one caveat: they had to bring me joy, pleasure, excitement--all the things we think of when we think of summer.  Now that didn't mean I wasn't afraid or nervous when I tried new things; it just meant that my interest in them outweighed my skittishness.  I also allowed myself to say no to things that did not inspire me.  I'm a woman who loves the power of her no as much as her yes.  Saying no to one thing allows you the space to say yes to another, often something you are far more excited about.  And if something didn't end up being as fun as I'd hoped, that was okay too.  What was important was that I tried something new and allowed myself to experience life outside of my work.

I'd come to think of this experiment as developing new literacies.  I was fluent in books and stories, family life and introvert life.  But what other languages might I learn?  What other ways to communicate?  It was hard at first. So. So. Hard.  Like trying to rebuild shoulder strength after an injury when you can barely remember you have shoulder muscles (this was part of my summer plan too: heal thy shoulder, heal thyself). Or like when I studied French and could never quite wrap my mouth around nasaly consonants and reedy vowels, let alone remember how to spell the words that didn't always pronounce certain letters.  But even in the midst of the struggle, I also found myself looking forward to saying yes and yes and yes to more and more things. 

The results: I found myself dreaming more and acting on those dreams.  I took different dance classes and tried new workouts, I went on weekly adventures and challenged myself to shake up my routine.  I took better care of myself and found that in making time for fun things, I felt happier, healthier, and surprisingly more productive when I wasn't just teaching and writing all the time.  An important revelation during my year of radical self-care.

I also had to become more aware of how I think of myself.  Let's face it: words are my safe space. I'm a writer and a teacher and an introvert, confident in those identities.  But who was I beyond that?  A dancer, as it turns out.  And a lover of cucumber beer after yoga with friends and a farmers' market lush who has to have her shot of freshly pressed wheatgrass before she can even think about filling her bag with produce.  I'd found I was someone who liked TRX (although, let's be real, is still very much learning how to do it!).  And I was someone who looked forward to dancing to the gods and goddesses in her Afro-Cuban Folkloric class and spending Sunday night at a baseball game.  

I even dusted off my bike--in storage for over ten years--and started riding it again.  It was like remembering an old part of myself, reviving that dormant piece, fearless in her joy, with a little bit of light and air and relaxation--and a super sore body after that first trip out!  I painted and drank wine.  I took mini road trips so that I could remember what it was like to cruise across open land. I allowed myself to take in theater performances and nourish the relationships that make my life richer.  I let myself relearn the pleasure of not being an expert, not know what I'm doing, letting go of the need to always be productive.

I even found grace and enjoyment from the uncertainty and inevitable social anxiety that comes from exposing yourself to new things.  It meant I was outside my comfort zone and that was a very, very good thing.  Most of all, I found how important it is for me to cultivate the daily adventures that shake up my routine and relish the company of other wild and wonderful dreamers, livers, and adventurers.  Now that the summer is almost over, I find I have developed a new literacy: bravery.  I am no longer afraid to taste new things, to learn new languages, to experience the world one yes at a time.  And the cucumber beer? Trust me.  It's a thing.  And it's delicious. 

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Mini-Holidays & Trips to Santa Fe

I love a good mini-holiday.  Especially when said holiday is in the middle of the week.  You throw caution to the wind, pack a bag, and hit the road in pursuit of a carefree adventure.  In fact, nothing says sweet sweet summertime like taking an impromptu trip with no real agenda, set plans, or heaven forbid, those atrocious specimens schedules.  

All by way of saying, I felt the road calling my name when I wrapped up spring semester.  I wanted an adventure.  I wanted to lose track of time.  I wanted to goof around and dress up and eat good food and enjoy art.  I wanted to cruise down my New Mexico highways blasting Spanish pop and later get dolled up for a night at the theater.  Which is how I found myself in Santa Fe last week for no other reason than to see a fabulous play and enjoy the luxury of sleeping in a hotel for the night.  

Let me be clear before I continue: the places I went and the things I did in no way represent all the things you must see if you visit Santa Fe.  In fact, you'll find this is a hodge-podge assortment of places and things to enjoy born out of off-the-cuff recommendations from friends, aimless walks down side streets, and a shameless Google search to find the best chocolate makers in the city (hey, wine only takes a woman so far).  

Having grown up in New Mexico and visiting Santa Fe more times than I can count, I skipped a lot of the museums and historical sites the town is famous for because I've seen them a hundred times--and would happily see them again, but that wasn't in the cards for this trip!  I love being a tourist in my own backyard.  Go see them.  Enjoy them...then maybe try a few of the places I discovered on my recent trip.  

I stayed at the Lodge (pictured above) because I found a killer deal online (hello off-season).  It sat on top of a hill, making it feel removed from the city and yet, in reality, it was only a two-minute drive to the plaza area.  Personally, I like to go to Santa Fe during the off-season to avoid the crowds.  If I were staying longer than a night, I would have taken advantage of the hotel's beautiful outdoor area to sunbathe and write.  As it was, I enjoyed the view from my window while sipping a morning cup of coffee and getting in a little writing before heading to Clafoutis for breakfast after a lovely night at the theater.  

Two words: French Bakery.  Here's another word: Delicious.  A friend of mine recommended it for breakfast and, boy, was I glad she did!  I indulged in coffee and chocolate croissant for breakfast (alas, my beloved almond croissants were sold out by the time I got there).  I also took a souvenir home in the form of an apricot clafoutis or custard pastry for which the bakery is named (pictured here with my breakfast croissant).  

But I'm getting ahead of myself: I originally went to Santa Fe to see one of my friend's plays, In the Other Room (Or the Vibrator Play) at the Santa Fe Playhouse, which, according to its website, is the "oldest continuing running theater west of the Mississippi."  It's a quaint theater with a rich history and the play was a saucy and surprisingly poignant story about Victorian-Era gender and sexual norms...that has surprising relevance today. 

Pre-theater, I dined with an old friend at 315, a delightful wine bar and restaurant. We sat on the patio and drank rose while soaking in the intoxicating spring mountain air.  We split the fava bean and artichoke falafel, truffle fries, and the asparagus and mushroom strudel (all pictured below). Each dish was as tasty as it was visually stunning!  This place is built for leisurely dinners where conversation, wine, and food are savored with equal fervor.  After the play, several of us (including the director), went for drinks at Del Charro, voted one of the best bars in Santa Fe.  My chile-mango margarita and I agree!

Funny how most of my travel blogs revolve around good food...which brings me to my farewell lunch at Jambo Cafe before I cruised back to Burque.   This award winning African-Carribean restaurant is a favorite of the locals and I can see why.  I ordered the Jamaican hibiscus tea and a tofu jerk sandwich with cumin fries.  You can tell a lot about a place by what they can do with tofu; it's either bland as all get out or melt-in-your-mouth delicious.  Jambo Cafe knows how to make tofu tasty and the portions were so big I easily got two meals out of it.  Yum!

Since I had no set agenda for this trip, I also took some time to window shop and peruse some of my favorite stores.  I can never go to Santa Fe without peeking into Act 2, a woman's consignment boutique with unique affordable clothes.  Having recently gone to the mall on an errand, I remembered two things: 1. I hate malls and 2. I love small shops like Act 2 where I can find funky clothes.  Bonus: it's more eco-friendly to shop consignment.  That's what I call win-win. Last but not least (and here I am circling back to food again), I went to Chocolate Smith where I got some delectable lavender-lemon white chocolate, cherries dipped in dark chocolate, and caramels, for which they are famous for, with flavors like peanut butter and jelly, thyme-lemon, cardamom-orange, and pomegranate-fig (pictured below).  It's like a mini-holiday in my mouth whenever I indulge in these little treats.

Wherever the road takes you--to Santa Fe or another destination--allow yourself to lose track of time, discover new places--or redsicover old ones--and enjoy the simple pleasures the unfolding day brings.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

April in Paris

Somehow the arrival of April always ushers in the delicious promise of new adventures along with the gentle kiss of spring rain and the season's first batch of lettuce.   What can I say?  There's something about the heady perfume of lilac blossoms and longer days that lure me from my home in search of...whatever delights life wants to send my way.  I can never fully explain this feeling, except to say that it is like a cross between spring fever and the giddy carefree youthfulness that makes you rise before the sun, ready to taste the day.  

It also has me dreaming of travel and faraway places, mostly because this is also the time of (the school) year that I am most in need of rest and play time.  This fall I wrote about how every November I feel like becoming more introverted in Comfort Me with Books...and Other Simple Pleasures; I find I still turn to books and other simple pleasure in the spring to revive my soul and get myself adventure-ready.  The only difference?  Fall is for introversion and spring is for...mischief!

Growing up, I always thought of Paris as the place to travel to, mostly because I was reading Henry Miller and Anais Nin, those literary Parisian icons--that is, when I wasn't watching every Audrey Hepburn movie I could get my hands on (many of which happened to take place in or are inspired by this city of lights).  My imagination was further inflamed by reading about French culinary delights in the pages of Gourmet magazine.  Naturally, I developed quite the fantasy world to escape into when I got tired of homework and the little things that begin to wear on a young woman when spring hits and all she wants to do is kick off her shoes and walk barefoot in the grass.  

And when I finally went to Paris two years ago, well, it was lovely.  From kir royales and escargot before dinner, to long strolls along the Seine and full days viewing art, there was much to enjoy in this city.  But (and I almost hesitate to confess this, because Paris is Paris) part of me knew that what made my visit so absolutely beautiful was the years I'd spent daydreaming about this place and imbuing it with my own rose-colored vision.  

...all this by way of saying that spring always makes me feel like that kid again, dreaming of travel and Paris, wanting to be of the world and in the world, as Hepburn's Sabrina would say. So if you, too, are looking to dust off your soul and emerge from hibernation, here's my list of books, movies, and treats to help you feel expansive, delighted, and ready for a trip to Paris--even if it's just from the comfort of your favorite reading nook.

While I haven't read it yet, I can't wait to dive into Laura Florand's Amour et Chocolat Series, starting with The Chocolate Thief.  There's chocolate.  There's Paris.  There's romance...need I say more?  I'm totally loving her La Vie en Roses series, starting with Once Upon a Rose, about perfumers in the Provence.  So while it's not quite Paris, the fields of roses and heady descriptions of the lush French countryside (not to mention rich internal lives of the main characters) make you want to linger within this book.  And wear perfume.  And...visit the French countryside (wink wink).  

If you're looking for something about the history and daily life of Parisians, not to mention a touch of mystery and a dash of romance, look no further than the Paris Key by Juliet Blackwell. She is one of my all-time favorite auto-buy authors and this is the first of many Paris-themed reads from her.  Be warned: you will be prone to sipping wine and taking long walks through your own city while under the influence of this book.

And if words on a page are too much for you at the end of the week (I'm talking to you, essay graders!), then consider watching some of the Audrey Hepburn classics like Funny Face (1957) & Sabrina (1954), both of which are about finding yourself in Paris and bringing that magic home with you.  If you want to go farther afield, Alfred Hitchcock depicts the French Riveria in all its glamor in his thriller To Catch a Thief (1955), starring Cary Grant and Grace Kelly in one of the best cat and mouse games you'll ever see.  Feeling a little extra saucy?  Try Henry & June (1990), a film about Anais Nin and Henry Miller in 1930s Paris...need I say more?  For a more contemporary look at Paris, you might want to try another of my favorite odes to this magical city and the Jazz Age, Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris (2011).  It's about romanticizing history...and learning to find romance in your daily life.  

Whatever you decide to dive into--a movie or a book--feast on this literary journey.  Make yourself a kir royal, put on that Django Reinhardt record, and spend the day cooking beef bourguignon or coq au vin.  Can't quite focus for that long in the kitchen?  Forget the more complicated recipes and whip up a simple aioli to dip garden-fresh crudites or let yourself get swept up in M. F. K. Fisher's culinary recollections of her time in France and make whatever inspires you.

However you choose to spend your proverbial April in Paris, enjoy the ability to travel from the comfort of your own home.   

Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face, walking along the Seine.  

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Brooklyn

Too often considered the refuge for Manhattanites in search of lower rent, Brooklyn is actually a wonderful community all its own.  Devoted Brooklynites will tell you that, given all the money in the world, they would still rather live in this borough than the city proper.  And I can see why.  It's got a lot to recommend it, like many of the best restaurants and neighborhood hot-spots I got to enjoy on my recent visit, along with some of the friendliest people in New York.  

Brooklyn Bridge

Coffee & lox bagel from Baked in Brooklyn...the perfect way to start my vacation!

I confess that one of the primary reasons I went to New York--other than to indulge in museum hopping, martini drinking, & book feasting in Manhattan--was to learn more about Brooklyn, especially since my brother and his wife call it home.  I have heard so many stories about it but have never had the chance to truly immerse myself in this neighborhood on previous trips.  It was a total treat to see this borough as a local would. Without any particular order or hierarchy, I present to you the best way (in my humble opinion) to get the best outta Brooklyn.  

The imposing Gothic entrance to Green-Wood Cemetery.  

If you are taking a red-eye flight like I did, and getting into the city in the wee hours of the morning, then the only thing for you to do is to make your first stop Baked in Brooklyn, where you can fortify yourself with an excellent cup of coffee and delicious morning grub like luscious lox bagels and sinful cinnamon rolls.  There was nothing like walking into this mainstay in the Sunset Park, in desperate need of a cup of coffee after a sleepless flight, to the smell of freshly baked bread and the sound of bachata on the radio! I felt right at home hearing the music I'd just left on the dance floor in Albuquerque and enjoying my restorative bagel while people watching--both the living and the spectral, as the bakery is across from Green-Wood Cemetery, the surprisingly lovely national historic landmark that brings softness to a neighborhood built on grit and concrete.

Rose and strawberries 'n cream donuts from Donut Plant.

If the idea of strolling through a cemetery isn't your idea of a good time, try roaming Prospect Park, where it seems like everyone in Brooklyn goes on a sunny Sunday afternoon to escape the hustle and bustle of the workweek.  Pick up some sustenance at Donut Plant on the way over. Trust me, your rose and strawberries 'n cream donuts will taste divine washed down with a glass of iced tea on the sprawling park lawn.

Bailey Fountain at the entrance to Prospect Park.

A lazy Sunday in Prospect Park.

Emily Dickinson's place setting at the Dinner Party.

I decided to extend my Manhattan museum hopping to the Brooklyn Museum, home of the iconic Dinner Party by Judy Chicago. Artists get into some pretty heady debate about her authenticity since she designed the elaborate sculpture featuring a triangle dinner table where famous women all have their own setting but did not actually make any of it; she commissioned other artists and designers.  Whatever your stance is, it's worth taking the time to view this canonical work--and enjoy the lively conversation it ignites! Although I appreciated seeing figures at the table like Mary Wollstonecraft (considered the mother of feminism and an 18th-century philosopher and writer I spent many years studying), Georgia O-Keefe (the east-coast artist who put Abuqui, New Mexico on the art-world map), my personal favorite was the frilly place setting for Emily Dickinson which was inspired by one her poems.  

Gimlets and Oysters at Mayfield.

There were many other wonderful shows and collections to view at the museum, including Arts of the Americas featuring many wonderful native New Mexican artists.  But perhaps the most interesting show (if it could be called that) was the open storage where items collected but not currently on display were placed in glass and steel for museum-goers to peruse informally.  It was like peeking inside someone's closet! 

The fried chicken at Sidecar...a thing of beauty.

Museum viewing is thirsty work so you should probably head to Mayfield restaurant for cocktails, oysters, and, for the culinary adventures, steak tartar, like we did once you've had your fill of art. Or you could swing by Sidecar for a drink of the same name and a plate of their (in)famous fried chicken. I'll be honest: fried chicken never really appealed to me all that much, but they've made me a convert.  My brother and sister were at Sidecar the very first day they opened and became regulars.  My sister would wax poetic about their kale sautéed with bacon, so much so that I tried to replicate it at home.  I did okay, but the chicken, kale, and smashed root veggies of my dish were the perfect balance of comfort food and gourmet delight.

Dim sum magic in Brooklyn's Chinatown.

At the risk of turning this into a mostly-culinary tour of Brooklyn--aww, who am I kidding?  Eating good food is one of the highlights of traveling!  With that in mind, you should work in some time to visit Brooklyn's Chinatown, which, according to many, is WAY better than Manhattan's.  While you're there go ahead and try some dim sum and what I only assume was the Chinese equivalent of a soap opera playing on strategically placed TVs at East Village Harbor Seafood Restaurant. Take a nice long stroll through the Brooklyn Bridge Park (gorgeous waterfront stroll through Brooklyn with an absolutely gorgeous view of Manhattan and the statue of liberty, not to mention the bridge this park was named after) when you're ready to walk off all that food and work up a healthy thirst to be quenched at one of the many micro-breweries like Threes. 

View from the Brooklyn Bridge Park.

Enjoying a delicious cinnamon roll from Baked in Brooklyn on the stoop.

The last place you should try to visit for an authentic Brooklyn experience might sound a little surprising--and could be elusive if you don't have friends in the neighborhood--but it is an essential part of this community: the stoop.  You absolutely have to do some stoop sitting if you get the chance.  What is that, you might ask?  Simple: you kick back on the steps outside your (brother's) apartment and just be.  I found it's their equivalent of sitting on my porch with a morning cup of coffee or an evening glass of wine, pausing to take in the world around me.  So find a stoop.  People watch.  Nod to neighbors doing the same thing.  Engage in some small talk.  But most of all, enjoy the stoop.  That is the heart of Brooklyn.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Reclaiming My Writer's Roar: Visiting the Argosy, the Morgan, & the New York Public Library

One of the New York Library Lions, though I don't know if it is Patience or Fortitude...

My first visit to New York was at a pivotal time in my life.  I was all of fifteen years old, and like most teens, desperate to be a cultured adult.  I had just decided I wanted to be a writer and had committed to a serious daily writing practice.  Heavy stuff for someone still in braces.  I got drunk on words and the worlds they allowed me to build, worlds that took me far, far away from the study in human misery that was high school.  So when the opportunity arose to visit my brother in New York--and miss school to do it--I was bursting with excitement to taste what to me was the artistic and literary life of The Adult Writer. I will always love the city for what it was and what it continues to be for me: a distilled memory of a young woman first finding her words, her stories, and her roar.

One of the most influential stops that trip was to the New York Public Libary, which in the mind of a budding writer, was like a bibliophile's haven in the midst of a world full of chaos and uncertainty (hey, I was a teen and so allowed to be a touch melodramatic).  I fell in love with the various reading rooms and the romance of so many shelves dedicated to so many books.  A small figurine of a Literary Lion, like the ones flanking either side of the library's main entrance, accompanied me home and became a fixture on my writing desk, a symbol of the literary life I would devote myself to...

...and then came graduate school.  It felt like no small cosmic coincidence that I lost my lion figurine within the first quarter of my advanced studies.  I've since learned that those library lions are named Patience and Fortitude, which somehow seems the perfect metaphor for the unfolding nightmare that was grad school.  Don't get me wrong: I'm glad I have my doctorate degree, yet I also found that I wasn't the traditional academic scholar I had once dreamed of being (it was, in retrospect, a mere detour in my development as a creative writer).  Never had I felt so silenced. Never had I struggled so hard to keep my natural exuberance alive.  Never had I struggled more to keep my free spirit independent from the hive mind.

By the time I finished my dissertation, that enthusiasm for the written word had dwindled to a small half-dead spark.  Then came those purgatory-like years in which I identified as a Recovering Academic, thirsting for a time when I unabashedly loved big books and knew who I was as a writer.  It took some time--years--to painstakingly relearn the joys of storytelling and even longer to find my Writer's Roar again.  This blog, in fact, started out as a daily exercise in reclaiming that wild woman writer with a lust for life buried under bureaucratic dust.  Patience and Fortitude, indeed. 

All by way of saying, I found myself taking a similar sojourn to this city fifteen years after my first life-changing experience there to celebrate the return of My Writer's Roar.  The dwindling spark I nourished for so long had suddenly burst into an unquenchable internal fire.  I had done it.  The realization hit me at my writing desk one morning after tending my blog. I was literally living The Writer's Life teen-me dreamt of for so long.  I was a teacher, a writer, a healthy yogini with a home (okay apartment) of her own.  And I was one with my stories again.

It seemed only fitting to return to this literary mecca after recently finding that I had, in fact, found my words again.  I must pay homage to the city that fueled me as a young writer. And so began my pilgrimage to the place that marked the beginning of my writing life. 

Argosy storefront.

One of the beauties of traveling is being open to the synchronous moments where you stumble upon the exact thing you didn't know you needed.  Like those magical instants in our daily lives that push us in the right direction, an impulsive decision to get off the New York subway blocks earlier than you intend can lead you to marvelous places.  Such was how I found the Argosy Bookstore, New York's oldest indie bookstore and my first (unexpected) stop on my day-long feast of books.  

Interior shot of the Argosy Bookstore's first floor. 

Here I was wandering the streets of Manhattan in search of a good cup of coffee on my way to the Morgan Library when all at once I was in front of this magical store.  It was like walking into the inside of a story or some literary alchemist's den where only the most potent tales were spun. Old and rare books lined the shelves, stacks of antique prints teased the eye, and, my personal favorite, rare books and first editions on the occult promised otherworldly insights on the turn-of-the-century "new sciences" like astrology and clairvoyance.  I drooled over rare prints and first editions of fairy tales, novels I'd grown up reading, and older than sin Shakespeare folios.  What more could a woman ask for?

My splurges: first edition occult texts circa 1920s from the Argosy.

The books were alive here.  Breathing living things made up of leather stretched across book board and handstitched pages smattered with inky words.  Needless to say, I could have spent a whole day there.  There was splurging.  There was a rekindled love of old books and the rich vanilla-like smell of stories that have had time to marinate on their shelves.   And there was also that fantastic cup of coffee I was looking for from a food cart on the corner of Park and 59th, thanks to the recommendation of the bookstore's employees.  The day was off to a good start.

The Morgan Library...I could live here!

My next stop was the Morgan Library, a must for any bibliophile.  Once the home of famous financier and avid collector Pierpont Morgan, this museum, according to the website, houses "illuminated, literary, and historical manuscripts, early printed books, and old master drawings and prints."  What does this mean in layman's terms?  Only the first edition of Jane Austen's Emma, in the original three separate volumes; or the remains of the earliest known tarot card set, circa 1450; or a 15-year old Mozart's attempts at a symphony; not to mention preserved hand-written letters of Samuel Johnson to his publisher and Victorian-era musings on magical flying machines (hello airplanes!) and early discussions of what we now know to be computer coding. But perhaps the most breathtaking piece on display was a first edition of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, which he wrote, designed, published, and marketed himself.  Now there was a free-spirited writer if there ever was one.  

First edition of Jane Austen's Emma (1816).

Four Italian tarot cards from before the deck became associated with occult practices (1450).

First edition of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass (1855).

Hemingway's three martini lunch.

This is to say nothing of Morgan's fabulous library where you feel you could while away an afternoon reading selections from this marvelous collection or spend an evening in thoughtful conversation with the man who so passionately hoarded these treasures.  And even if all those manuscripts aren't enough to stir up writing inspiration, then there's always a Hemingway three-martini lunch (featuring three 2 oz martinis) to top off your visit.  Writer's fuel never tasted so good. 

Morgan's desk.

Reading nook in the Morgan Library.

The secret vault where Morgan kept the most prized pieces of his collection.

My final stop that day (but by no means my last literary adventure in the city) was the New York Public Library, naturally, and just a few short block away from the Morgan.  I wanted to see how good 'ol Patience and Fortitude were doing.  It had been a long time, but they were just as majestic as I remembered them.  I spent some time wandering the library, through the various reading rooms and up and down the wide, imposing staircases, remember how big it all seemed to me at fifteen.  Okay, how big it still seems to me.  

Like your favorite novel, you never get over your first time reading it.  Each successive rereading is enriched and informed by that initial experience.  This is the only way I can seem to describe what it was like to revisit this literary landmark.  Walking through those halls I was fifteen again, awed by my first exposure to the bigger world--bigger possibilities--outside my own small teen life, and I was also thirty-one, seeing the library through the eyes of a woman with a little more seasoning under her belt.  I'd done things.  Gone through stuff.  Made mistakes and made things right.  Had adventures and even written some of them down.  Experienced the plot twists that make life--and stories--and people--interesting.  

Best of all, walking these halls, sitting in these reading rooms, and reclaiming those literary lions (I just had to get a magnet of them for my fridge!), I realized I always had it: that spark. The internal joy of living and reading and writing deeply had never left me.  Not really.  All I had to do was reclaim my Roar.  Own it.  Because there is no room in this world for anyone who thinks they can silence you. There is no room in your stories to submit to being silenced.  I owe this lesson to Patience and Fortitude.  As with many of my travels, I went a long way away to find that I what I needed was right in the palm of my hands.

Patience and Fortitude manning their posts in front of the New York Public Library.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Honoring the White Rose: A Tribute to the 9/11 Memorial

Those of you following me on social media will have noticed that I did not post any photos of the 9/11 Memorial during my recent trip to New York.  It was, in fact, one of my first visits to the city and never have I been so moved or awed by melancholy as I was watching dark rivers of water cascade into and even darker, endless abyss that made up the tribute to those who lost their lives in the 9/11 attacks.

And yet the saddest thing to me was not the memorial itself, but the number of people taking selfies--complete with big smiles and thumbs up--using this place of tragedy as their backdrop. Don't get me wrong, I love a good selfie as much as the next person, along with the joys of documenting travels and adventures.  But all I could think when I saw throngs of people mindlessly snapping photos was that they have already forgotten the terror of that day.  They must have, or why would they so carelessly pollute this landmark with elbow-shoving and photo-snapping?  

This is a place where countless people lost their lives, a place where the American psyche has been irrevocably scarred.  There is no room for selfies here, only solemnity and gravitas for the fallen, as touchingly expressed by the single white rose left in one name inscribed into the dark marble of the memorial--one of many victims.  I later learned that survivors place these roses in victims' names on the day of what would have been their birthday. 

So I could not take a picture here (the one you see in this blog has been lifted from the 9/11 memorial website).  I could not devalue that pain and suffering this day caused, and continues to cause, for so many people.  To this day, the 9/11 Memorial will remain one of the most profound studies in grief for me and, likewise, one of the most touching memorials for this overwhelming loss--for those who took the time to truly engage with it.

I have clear memories of visiting the Twin Towers during my first visit to New York over fifteen years ago.  I was a teenager, happily playing hooky from school with my dad to visit my brother in this grand city.  We spent the evening walking through the financial district after dinner, seeing the famous bull of Wall Street, among other sights.  I recall clearly how my imprudent strappy high heels clacked on uneven streets; I was still under the illusion that women could somehow walk miles in strappy heels without pain or blisters.  We had gotten it into our heads to go for a nightcap at a restaurant located at the top of one of the towers.  It was when we entered the ground floor of one of the towers that I gave up on my dreams of effortless glamour and took off my high heels.  

I walked, at fifteen, still in braces and wearing a too-tight dress (I had yet to outgrow that conception of glamour), walked barefoot through the twin towers, my utterly gorgeous but impractical heels swinging from my crooked fingers.  We never got to the rooftop restaurant that night for one reason or another.  Next time, we said.

A year later, my brother called from a rooftop in Manhattan, saying planes were crashing into the towers.  My sisters and I were on our way to school.  We turned on the news.  We watched as the second one fell.  The rest of the year was spent in a stupor, worried for my brother's safety, crushed by the immensity of what had happened.  The was numbness.  There was crying.  There was scarring.  Terrible, terrible scarring.  And we were the least affected by this horrific tragedy. 

So no, I did not take a photo of this memorial.  I wouldn't smile for a selfie behind the white rose, a token that somebody with a still-beating heart mourns for another burried beneath this city.  I will honor the white rose and the souls, like each drop of water in the memorial, that forever fall into the abyss.  

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Hot Air Balloons

The sun has barely peeked over the purple mountains as if spraying its golden tendrils across the rocky shoulders of its lover.  The air is redolent with the scent of burning cedar from nearby fireplaces, mulched leaves, and the promise of frost--in a word, the morning smells like autumn.

There in the distant horizon, on the other side of town where the sky meets the volcanic earth, you see it: a hot air balloon, the first of many releasing themselves into the sky, happy to be rid of the weighty ropes that tethered them to the earth.

This one is full and fat with yellow and red stripes like those of a circus tent.  It looks so small from your vantage point near the mountains as if it were an ornament or earring dangling on a hook from a stray cloud.  Yet you know they can be bumbling monsters up close as they coast too near your car on your commute to work or fall apart in your backyard, all heaps of unruly silk and coils of rope.  But that is only because their home is in the sky, and like any winged creature, they do not know quite what to do with themselves when they touch the ground. 

Still, you admire these tributes to whimsy, kept afloat by nothing more than invention and imagination.  You have often wondered what it would be like floating across the earth in a four by four wicker basket (or so you always presume the dimensions to be), guided by the changing winds and a desire to see the world from a new perspective--not much different from your life on land then.   

Even so, it would be something to sail from horizon to horizon--or, as you often dream, to another world (one of wonder and imagination, you hope) waiting just beyond the seam where the sky and earth meet in the distance.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

5 Tips for a Magical Staycation

This year I decided to forgo distant travels and enjoy my hometown for vacation.  There is something sort of romantic about seeing your city through the rose colored glasses of a visitor--no day-to-day worries, just pure unadulterated fun!  I'll admit that one of the draws of a staycation is the idea of sleeping in my own bed and never having to worry about whether or not I packed the right wardrobe (picture me freezing in my summer dress in still wintery Rome!).  You have all the fun of traveling with none of the hassle. 

A staycation is a great way to indulge in the simple pleasures you can't always enjoy when you travel--like sleeping in or spending an afternoon dallying on the porch.  When you travel, you want to maximize your time enjoying the magic of the destination you find yourself in--getting the most out of museums, restaurants, nature walks...and so forth.  Of course, the excitement of being in a new place and saturating your senses with new experiences is awesome, but sometimes what you really need out of a vacation is a little R&R.  A staycation allows you to truly rest and enjoy the comfort of your own home. 

I also love that it encourages you to see your city in a new light--and hopefully take some of that carefree magic into your everyday life.  After my staycation, I felt more motivated to enjoy the events and places of my town on a weekly basis.  So if you want to try a staycation this year--or just add a little more fun to your summer, check out my tips for a magical staycation below.

1.  No schedules! While it's true you'll want to make sure you catch that museum show or work in that trip to the mountains, you want to avoid penciling in all your free time.  In fact, you should start each day with no real plans, only a handful of suggestions of what you might do.  I learned this from one of my favorite Audrey Hepburn movies, Roman Holiday, in which the heroine insists on no schedules while she takes a day out of her princess-ing duties to simply enjoy herself--just one of the few travel tips I've learned from Miss Hepburn. 

2.  Sleep in.  Have a lazy breakfast.  Linger over your cup of coffee.  This will help you avoid the temptation to over-schedule yourself.  It's also pretty delicious to sleep in on a weekday when you know the rest of the world is at work. 

3.  Indulge.  You know if you were on vacation, you'd be having that glass of wine with lunch or that afternoon gelato...so why not do it while you're staycationing?  Have your ice cream cone.  Savor that decadent lunch.  Splurge on that dress.  Go out to your favorite restaurant dressed to the nines.  Take a long nap under a shady tree.   

4.  Make time for the things you love--but don't always have the energy for.  I personally love looking at art, going to festivals, and yes, dancing (as you well know).  That said, I don't always feel like doing any of these things after a busy work week (the allure of wearing pajamas all day is just too much to resist).  During my staycation, I went to a local wine festival, several dance events, and even a film screening (after a martini at my favorite bar). 

5.  Be a tourist in your own city--minus the fanny pack and frumpy tennis shoes.  I know this might sound super obvious, but it's important to point out that a staycation is a time to see the important stuff in your city that you wouldn't otherwise check out, like that historical monument or gorgeous nature reserve--or the host of seasonal activities and events that you say you will go to each year but never do. 

What do you enjoy most about staycationing?

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Bravery

Bravery. 

The act of planting a small seed in soil you aren't sure is fertile enough--but hope, desperately hope--that it is. And the seed, a small husk holding only a new possibility, that fragile little flicker of promise--of what, you might not even know.  Yet you still dare to image another way of being.

Bravery, vulnerability's bold lover.  Not in donning armor but consciously, when the moment is right, casting off that thick chainmail and exposing the tender skin underneath to wonder, to the simple chance that there is life beyond the mundane.  It is in that tentative first step into a new way of living.  Pushing past the fear, the little whispers that try to keep you tethered to the safety of the un-evolving. 

It's in taking the risk to believe that you are on your path even as you wonder if it is a path at all (you only see a faint ribbon of dirt half-buried in bramble).  No matter.  You will make it one.  You have made it one.  Your feet moving forward--first one, then the other--do so in response to the prompting of the loose earth beneath your feet--it calls to your soles--soul--as your soul calls to it.  And that is enough.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!