Tea-stains and drama queens

Oof, it's been a hectic Friday.

I'm not quite sure why, but we've had a solid streamm of bizarre enquiries coming in to the office - the sort where one puts the 'phone down and says "God, poor woman!", and the sort where one puts the 'phone down and says "Good grief, what a weird question!", in about equal quantities. We're short-staffed, and it has all seemed a bit frantic at times.

To add to this, first thing this morning I had a message from my stepmum saying Baby Bro had been admitted to hospital with something gone wrong following his recent kidney op - it later turned out he was okay, but it gave us all a couple of hours worrying. Not to put too fine a point on it, he was panicking unecessarily after waking up in pain. It's not actually that unnatural a reaction, when you think about it, but apparently this is par for the course; it's going to happen for the next few weeks and he is just going to have to put up with it. Lucky lad; not only in pain but having the casualty doctor imply he's a drama queen as well... I bet he enjoyed that. NOT.

Have made an interesting discovery, after making a cup of tea in a hurry without washing my mug (yes, I know that's disgusting). The previous cup of tea had been ordinary black china tea - I never have milk (why spoil good tea?) - and I shoved a cranberry tea bag in on top and added the boiling water.

By the time I came to drink it, the tannin stains from the China tea, which normally require plenty of soap and scrubbing to shift, had almost completely vanished. One is always reading about the acidic properties of fruit-based herbal teas, and I think I may have just demonstrated it (& then drunk the evidence - ooh, lovely, tasty tannins, delicious...). Another Science Experiment You Can Eat, perhaps?

But at least the sun shone and the crocuses and snowdrops, and the very first daffodils, are looking beautiful... It's possibly my favourite time of year - from Imbolc to Beltane, the Wakening Quarter.

Darkness and light at Imbolc

Today is Imbolc, or Candlemas (or Groundhog Day if you’re in the US). The midway point between the midwinter solstice and the spring equinox; the moment when with the approach of earliest spring, the growing light begins to be visible. True to that expectation, as I look out of the office window I can still see the Green outside in the lowering, dank dusk. It’s literally only in the last few days that there has still been partial daylight at 5pm. Home by daylight; it’s a treat and a comfort, after winter’s cold darkness.

Various traditional sayings tell us that a sunny Candlemas is a sure sign of another blast of winter weather to come. But today has been grey and damp, and that is supposed to mean spring will now find the way clear. Hurrah! Winter seemed to start horribly early last year and I am thoroughly tired of it now, and itching to see my first daffodil.

I know, rationally as spiritually, that darkness is something we cannot do without. Joan Aiken expressed it beautifully in one of her short stories. A foolish king, thinking the dark is worthless, sells all the darkness in his kingdom for some fancy prize or other, but finds that without it life is a living hell; his courageous daughter and her horse have to steal a seedling of night from the edge of the world to save the kingdom.

I know both literal and metaphoric dark are essential, fundamental, necessary parts of life. Just as death is. I look back on dark times in my own life, and know that these were necessary, too. I look at friends’ and strangers’ troubles and know that although I’ll do what I can to ease them, if I can, still they have to go through the dark too, just as we all have done, all have had to do. The dark is essential for growth – some seeds will not germinate unless they have a spell of dark and cold. The dark is as much a symbol of Goddess and God as the light. And I am not afraid of it.

But I still wince and toil through winter with my head bowed, and right from November onwards there’s always a secret wish in my heart for the next couple of months to pass quickly.

And now the dark is passing, and spring is coming again, as the wheel turns. Blessed be!

Or maybe it was yesterday...

At Newgrange they think that Imbolc was yesterday, not the day before yesterday. Confusing. But it rained here yesterday, too, so if it please the gods, it will still be "Winter is gone"...

The Newgrange/Knowth etc website, incidentally, is terrific. Have a look at this. And this.

Blessed be!

Trying to find a more positive note to end the day...

Yesterday was Candlemass, aka Imbolc, and it rained.

"Candlemass Day, if thou be bright
Winter will have another flight.
Candlemass Day, if thou be rain
Winter is gone and will not come again."

Hope so!