Monthly Archives: November 2012

Demon Magick

I wonder how to do it.  I wonder how to banish the demons lurking in my soul.  They reside in my mind, silently awaiting a moment’s inattention, lying quietly, camouflaged as memories or benign associations until I begin to roam too near where they dwell.  They attack swiftly, with no hesitation.  They kidnap my thoughts, commandeer my consciousness, drag my mind as it helplessly kicks and screams for release through the bloody battlefield of my past, through the muddy gore of the half buried graveyard of broken promises and abject lies.  I valiantly attempt to fight against them, ill prepared for another battle with such an overwhelming foe.  I fight tooth and nail against their claws and fangs and fall helplessly short without the necessary arsenal it would take to defeat them, nay to even hold them at bay for but a moment or two of sweet surcease.  I cannot begin an offensive, their fortress impenetrable against my laughably puny resources.

I endure.  I silently rail against my demons, begrudging them each inch of victory, vowing to obtain the magick that will banish them from my mind, from my soul.  I wonder what lack have I that I cannot vanquish these monsters as others appear to have done.  My eyes see you all, sitting in the quiet comfort of yourselves, content and secure, unbothered by inner turmoil, blissfully and radiantly untroubled.  I believe, intellectually, that you have each been torn asunder by your own mental anguish and your own personal demons.  It appears that you have emerged victorious, untroubled now as a newborn babe safe and secure in loving arms.

What magicks have you found?  What parlour tricks or incantations have you employed to relieve yourselves of the misery in your minds and allow the radiant light of goodness to conquer all?

I would pay dearly, my darlings, to become one of the fortunate insiders to share in this glorious secret.  I would hand over my soul to the devil Himself for all eternity just to end the distress of my mind.  I would sacrifice my ofttimes questionable mental faculties to banish these demons, to not only persevere in my quest for an end to their torments but to arise triumphant from the ashes of their abuse, resplendent and luminous with my own inner light.

Share with me, friends.  Give to me your secrets of victory.  Do not make me beg.  Do not turn your backs on me and leave me floundering in the dark abyss.  I wish not to sacrifice hearth and home, kith and kin.  Shine your lights on me.  Rescue me from my kidnappers, save me from myself.

Help me.

Heal me.

Love me.







**Author’s Note
I am insanely interested to see what you all might have to say about this post, what answers you may give.  Please.  Please respond as if you are not currently reading what I am about to type.  

Have you ever had an idea for an article, or a blog, or some sort of writing piece and as you sat down to write, it runs away from you?  Did it develope a life of its own and run away like an errant child trying to avoid the dreaded bath and subsequent bedtime?

This piece went beyond that child and developed a personality that refused to be silent.  It insisted on being heard and having the story told in its own wild way.  It wanted to bring to mind a Renaissance era, a time of demons and magick and potions and wards.  It wanted to bring the idea of warring factions to mind … in mind.  It insisted on kidnapping my wholesome ending, my idea to turn the demons away  and emerge as a hero.  

Who am I but the author, the arm with the pen, the fingers on the keyboard?  I am but the medium for the words that wanted to flow and I give you this … this monstrosity, this tunnel of darkness, this world in which evil wins.

Dare you ask if this is the truth?  Stick around for awhile on this blog and visit my page and see for yourself.  Only you should be the judge of what is truth.



“May your eyes open to see the infinite beauty of the heavens surrounding the mundane and may your ears open so you learn to hear the angels weeping.  May your lips and tongue learn to taste the nectar of the gods in the unending banquet set before you and may your fingers learn to appreciate the gossamer touch of your lover’s breath.  May your life be a treasure trove of minutes upon minutes instead of a frenzy of rushing to get to the next event.  Each minute, each breath, each gaze of your eye and touch of your finger is a singular joy to revel in and honor, to believe in and experience.”

~Tuesday DangerGirl
penned especially for Marco DangerBoy
with original text written in FangSong 13ptloml

Kindling Love

I was a child beneath her touch, – a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,
A spirit when her spirit looked through me, 
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love’s emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity
~The Kiss, DG Rossetti

Love is not a solid thing, a thing you find or receive and can tuck away until you wish to play with it.  It is not a teddy bear that sits on your bed, patiently awaiting your arms and your cuddles.  It is not a diamond ring sitting on your finger in flashy splendor, there but forgotten until someone wants to admire it.

Love is a small child, full of life but needing care, feeding, cuddling, guidance.  It wants to roam hither and yon, exploring, touching, feeling, living, all without regard to boundaries or necessities.  Like the child, love must be guided – steered away from those things that will hurt, pointed towards all that is good and sweet and wonderful.  It must be taught that patience is a virtue, that sometimes work, or chores, or life, need come first.  It must be reassured that things will not replace it, that there is no replacement available.   It will meander around, testing boundaries, learning rules.  It will encounter bumps and bruises, pain and heartache.  It should be taught that lessons like these should be heeded.  A child would be scolded for not learning the lesson of the hot stove, should love be less mature?

There is a learning curve in love.  It is silly to believe that love can survive without nourishment and care.  You must take action to keep love alive, keep love in the forefront of your mind and your life and your soul.  Would you let your child roam near the road, or eat berries, or go for a swim without supervision?  Would you think ‘I have nurtured this child for a week, for a month, for a year … she should be able to care for herself now’ and turn back to your chores, your games, yourself?  Do you stop gazing fondly down at your child, peaceful and angelic in slumber – or does your heart stop at the beauty of that face, that peace, that life that you have created?

You cannot shelve love.  It does not exist on its own.  Love will starve without care, without support, without feeding.  Love must be created and recreated to be sustained and to grow.  You can be the leader, nudging it to where you want it to go, guiding it in the direction you wish, but you must have a hand in the being.  It does not exist without you and your efforts.

Love is a fire.  A flashburn of light, a grand beginning of flame.  The flash ignites the kindling but slowly … So slowly and carefully you must begin.  You add a small amount of fuel, tiny sticks from this pile or from that, a melding of air and fuel and fire.  You must carefully set your kindling, feeding the flames of light and desire and love and strength and create an indomitable love, a fire of forever.  You must tend and care and change and create until the fire itself is burning brightly, a testament of your patience and belief and guidance.  You cannot stop even now though, you must continue to fuel the flames, tend the fire, exalt in the beauty of that which you have created.

You must continue to make an effort; you must continue to provide sustenance to your child, your fire, your creation.

You must continue to love.

You must believe.

Giving Thanks


I’m not one to do holidays well.  Something always seems to go spectacularly wrong for me during celebratory occasions.  For me, it’s like Tuesday on steroids.  I’ve learned to grin and bear it and cringe quietly through whatever day and celebration it happens to be.  It is just one of those things.

Last year I thought my luck had changed.  I was promised a stress free, family oriented, fun, carefree holiday season.  I argued that it just wasn’t possible, that my very nature seems to repel any such animal, that the universe might explode.  Discussions ensued and the end result was that I launched myself into the wholehearted belief that for once, I would not only enjoy a holiday but *gasp* be relaxed and have fun.

I doubt it will come as any surprise that this didn’t happen.  The universe did attempt to implode, headaches ensued and it was a rollercoastery season of extreme ups and mondo extreme downs.  My belief that a normal, fun holiday was possible was crushed, trampled, stampeded and all around mangled.  It was a time of trials and heartaches and learning.  It was awful and terrible and something akin to the most explosive trainwreck you could ever imagine.  And in between those horrible times, it was a time of fun and dreaming and learning and loving.   It was a time that defies explanation.

Fast forward to this year.

This year I’m going into the season with the attitude of IYCFIFI.  A dear friend of mine tried to drill this into my head about a million years ago.  IYCFIFI means “if you can’t fix it, forget it”.  Ok, technically the second ‘f’ stands for something else, but I think maybe you get the idea.  This year, from all preliminary reports and attitudes, was shaping up to be the year of the miracle.  Perhaps even – the year of the HOLIDAY.  Yes … holiday in capital letters  *BigSmile*.   Eh.  It truly doesn’t seem to be working out that way, but I will withhold judgment, try to relax, try to make it the best season ever.  What else can I do?  I don’t wish to be a defeatist or go into the season with a rotten attitude.  Believe it or not, I actually enjoy all the little problems and finding solutions and making the bad into good.  Last year was a trial because the solutions weren’t mine to find and there were underlying factors and parties involved that dictated things against my choosing.  Que sera, sera.

What is the point to all this?


Thanksgiving is a day and time of reflection.  A time to count blessings, a time to acknowledge and enjoy the little things as well as the big things.  Thanksgiving is a time of wonderment – for all that IS … and all that CAN BE.

I am thankful beyond words for so many things.  I could create lists of things for which I am thankful that would go on for pages and pages and pages.   I could enumerate every thing I see and every blessing I have and every need which is met and every emotion I experience.  I could.

It would be in a way, fun beyond words to try to list all the things I am thankful for in my life.  It would be odd for some of you to read that I am thankful as well for the problems and heartaches and trials.  The oddity of it doesn’t make it any less true.

I am thankful for it all – the ups, the downs, the problems, the fun, the yeses and the nos, the things I have and the things I want.  I wish to embrace it all and be thankful for each thing in its own way.

I hope you too, can find the thankfulness in Thanksgiving.  I hope you can embrace the joys and the heartaches, the loves and the hates, the things that go right and the things that go wrong.  For every thing there is a season, for every thing there is a reason.

And now I have to wonder if the song is cycling through your head, as it is mine.  It was unintentional but I hope you like the song – you know the one I mean – and I hope you can find in the words something to be thankful for.




There, I said it.  Spatchcock, spatchcock, spatchcock.

No, I refuse to go to my room for a time out and I won’t apologize for using that word.  It sounds obscene and it looks obscene but this is something you will definitely want to do.  You will want to do it over and over again.  Not only will you want to spatchcock by yourself, you will want to get all your friends involved, too.  Trust me.  You’ll end up thanking me for teaching you to spatchcock.

So now that I have your undivided attention, you probably want me to tell you what ‘spatchcocking’ is … don’t you?

Spatchcocking an ingenious way to prepare your turkey.  It lessens the roasting time of the turkey, cooks the entire bird more evenly and helps prevent the bottom from getting soggy from sitting in the drippings.  It also takes up less room in the oven so you can bake that huge pan of stuffing at the same time.  Your turkey skin will be crispy, the meat will be tender, juicy and flavorful and you will be the hero of the day.  What’s not to like?

The basic idea behind spatchcocking is to lay the bird out flat so nothing is tucked underneath, nothing is sticking up higher near the heating elements, and it all gets done at the same time.  Not only will the legs and breast be done at the same time, it will be done in a considerably shorter amount of time.  Think of all the possibilities!

Forgot to get the turkey in on time?  Spatchcock it.  Want to spend more time visiting and less time roasting?  Spactcock it.  Want to save energy but don’t have a solar roaster?  Spatchcock it.  Want juicy, perfectly prepared meat with a crispy skin?  Spatchcock it.  Want your bird to come to the table as a large, rounded, roast bird?  Spatchc …. uhhhhh … no.

The biggest and perhaps only downside to this cooking method is that the bird is splayed out in the pan like some fowl strumpet looking for some scratch.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that you cut the bird up prior to dinner service and arrange it nicely on a serving platter.  Trust me that your guests probably won’t mind having the bird precut.  This will alleviate the fight over the wishbone; Great Aunt Edna isn’t going to get splattered by wayward bits during the carving o’the turkey, and the whole thing isn’t going to slide off the platter and land with an obnoxious ‘plop’ on the floor next to your ridiculously crowded table.

I’ll take those hits, thank you very much.  And on a more personal note, you aren’t going to be leaving the giblets in the bird by mistake, year after year after year.  Nope.  Ain’t a gonna happen.

This is what a spatchcocked bird looks like.

Lovely, isn’t it?

This is where you can find a video on how to do this to your very own bird.

Just ignore the references to M Stewart.  It is one of the better videos I came across (even with the M Stewart references) and I just think these guys are amusing.  I’d like to see them do it with a turkey.  (I’m sure you took that the way I meant it and not the way it sounded)

This is my facebook page which you should like because I give you these awesome tips.

Check back soon (or better yet, sign up for updates) because I’m about to break out my Sangria cranberry relish recipe.  If you have never made homemade cranberry sauce/relish, you will be amazed at the ease and wonderfulness of it all.

Stay tuned, more deliciousness is on its way.

And for those who are waiting with bated breath for more ‘life lessons’ or ‘miscellaneous ramblings’ – don’t worry, I’ve another post due to hit the screen in a nonce.

Be thankful, be wonderful, be yourself.  Now go spatchcock something.  You know you want to.


Weebles Wobble

Weebles wobble was not actually any of the titles I had considered for this post until just now.  It just suddenly seemed like a good idea and given the fact that I haven’t posted in days, I gave up trying to find the perfect title and decided to just write.

Originally, I was thinking about Bugs Bunny and the episode where they say “which way did he go, boss, which way did he go?” and Bugs points right with his left and left with his right and its just a comedic cluster-f*ck, if you will.  I wondered if entitling this one ‘non-sequitur’ might work and I desperately tried to find a short phrase which means ‘running around in 27 different directions like a chicken with its head cut off’.  And yes, chickens sometimes still run around after they get decapitated.

After this, I began to think about all the things going on in my life and I realize the last couple of things are challenges.  Technically, they are all challenges but I tend to find the writing ones fun and so I categorize them as something more playful.  The challenges that suck, though … kinda truly suck.  But I’m a big, tough, competent girl and I can handle it.  In fact … I’m like Wonderwoman (or Superwoman) – made out of steel.  Tough.  Unbreakable.

I’m a Weeble.

And for all of you who may be too young, too old, too sheltered, or too oblivious … “Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down”

So, I’m cutting this post short and basically saying nothing except this.

Throw it at me, I will persevere.

Ok?  Ok.

Next time if you’re lucky (or feeling unlucky, as the case may be) I will delve into the depths of all my running around.  And perhaps break down and ask someone how to do the thing on this  blog site that I just can’t manage to figure out how to do.  Spoiler – it involves building a link base/page.

Just.  Can’t.  Figure.  It.  Out.

Chin up, gang.  The only constant is change.


Change is good!

So, you cooked a chicken, or made boneless chicken breasts on the grill and you now find yourself the proud owner of more leftovers than you can imagine.  Or maybe you only have a small amount of leftover chicken and want to make it into something different.

Here’s my suggestion.  Look around.  Open the pantry or the cupboard doors and see what you have on hand.  Take a peak in the fridge and see what other leftovers you might have that need to be used.

I had leftover chicken and an extra pie crust that originally I was saving to experiment with a fruit pie/cheesecake type thing but really, I was more in the mood to make something with the chicken at this point.  I had some frozen corn, mushrooms that needed to be used and some roasted vegetables which included sweet potato and carrot.  I had baby carrots, onion, celery, and garlic.  Any idea what I decided to make?  Chicken pot pie.  Okay, so I didn’t have peas and I added in some things that you might not normally find in a run of the mill chicken pot pie.  Guess what?  I’m not a run of the mill type of cook.  Maybe that is why I get such happy, contented reviews.

Turn the ho-hum into oh-yum!

All I needed to do was take small saucepan and add a small pat of butter.  Cook the onion and celery to your desired doneness.  Don’t let anyone tell you to cook it for 4 minutes or 6 minutes or whatnot.  Baloney.  Stir it here and there and keep an eye on it while you are cutting up other things.  When it looks done to you, somewhere between translucent and brown, then add in some garlic if you wish.  Let is cook for a minute or two and then add in a cup or two (depends on how “gravy” you want your pie gravy to be, less liquid, thicker gravy) of chicken stock, or water, or water with chicken bullion and toss in the diced carrots.  Let the carrots soften and take the pot off the burner.  On another burner simply take about 2 Tablespoons of butter, melt it and add in about 2 Tablespoons of flour.  Mix it together thoroughly and temporarily remove from the heat.  Add in some of the stock, mix well, add in more liquid, mix, until all the liquid is mixed in.  If you don’t want it to be lumpy, make sure you mix well as you slowly add the liquid.

This is where I took my pie crust and added all the chicken and vegetables.  I mixed them in a bowl prior to putting them in the pie shell.  I ended up with chicken, boiled diced baby carrot/celery/onion/garlic mix, mushrooms, frozen corn, roasted carrots and roasted sweet potatoes.  I put it all in the pie shell and poured the gravy over top.  I had enough leftover pie shell to roll out a thin top crust, topped it and popped it in the oven for 40 minutes at 375.  The time is approximate as I checked it every 4 or 5 minutes after 30.  I might’ve left it in the oven for 42 minutes.  So shoot me.  Here is when your brain comes in handy.  If it looks lightly browned and smells done, it’s probably done.  The chicken is leftover and already cooked so it’s basically a matter of cooking the shell and warming the insides and having them set.  Use your eyes and your nose to determine if it is done or needs more time.  I once followed a recipe for something that said it should be done in 30 minutes.  I don’t know who was wrong, me or the other cook but that item took twice as long as it was supposed to.  Did I panic?  No.  Did I curse the recipe?  Oh, yeah.  But I learned a good lesson – to follow my senses as opposed to senselessly following a recipe.

But back to my pot pie.  After I took it out of the oven, I let it sit for 10 minutes before serving.  I would suggest a nice green salad as an accompaniment but I’ll let you decide if you wish to add anything.   A sprig of something green on the side of the plate for presentation would be lovely.

This is what I served for dinner one leftover night.  I apologized that the gravy wasn’t thicker in the pie and said I would do better next time.  He said that was fantastic!  Fantastic?  “Well, yeah,” says he.  “if this is something for which you feel the need to apologize, I can’t wait to see your next attempt.”

No finer compliment was ever uttered.  My leftover leftovers went to work for lunch the next day.  Go me.

Did I mention I’ve never made chicken pot pie before?

Cook well and Peace