The Star XVII

Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
- Charles Dickens

Home for Christmas

Alone.  That's how I'm spending my first Christmas in my new home.  It's not deliberate, it just worked out that way.  I don't know anyone in my new town yet, and the few relatives I have are doing their own thing so far away I can't get there from here.  So in lieu of family and friends, I have only myself as company.  It seems strange, and perhaps a bit lonely.  But I'm okay with that.
I've made a huge change at a late stage in my life.  For many years now I've been longing for a home where I can live independently and by myself, with as little compromise as possible.  And I've found it.  Or perhaps it's more accurate to say it found me.  (see previous post)

When I tell people I meet that I'm brand new in town, they're all so warm and welcoming it reaffirms my belief that I have indeed come home.  But it's not to "retire."  Folks keep asking me if that's why I moved out of a big city to a small town.  The answer is a big, fat no.  Retire from what?  My long non-career as an actor?  That's not retirement.  Or do I plan to stop writing?  Hardly.  Sure, I quit working at the bookstore where I was employed for many years.  But it wasn't my calling or chosen profession.  It was never more than a job between gigs so that I could pay the rent.  And every once in while I did get a gig.
I'd like to think I'm blooming.  I've planted many seeds over the years, and now that I'm living in fertile, new circumstances, I have the freedom to grow into the fullest version of myself.  If I've already bloomed, I don't know when it was.  But I know what I'm doing now.  The present is my time.  And my new home is the place. 
In my book The World of Fairies, I was the model for the Latvian spirit of the hearth called Ugunsmate.  (pronounced ugoons mawt)  While I was writing the book I knew I wanted to pose as one of the fairies, and for a long while I couldn't find one that was suitable.  At the time I was firmly established in middle age, which meant the fairy I modelled for had to be a mature, maternal figure, and not a youthful nymph.  My searching eventually led me to my own Latvian heritage.  It turns out most Latvian female spirits tend to be mature women rather than adolescent girls.  That was a happy bit of synchronicity and another it's a sign moment.
As spirit of the hearth, Ugunsmate symbolises Home.  The hearth was traditionally the centre of family life in rural homes, providing light, heat and a place to cook food.  At the end of a day it was a place for the family to gather and tell stories.  Little wonder the hearth became the focal point of the home.  (N.B. focus is the Latin word for "hearth.")
Home has long been one of the most important themes in my life.  I've written about it a number of times on this little web of mine.  It's been two decades since I first learned about Ugunsmate and the attributes of comfort and security that are found in her company - the things I seek in a home. 
Christmas is a time to be with family and friends.  It's also a time to enjoy the comforts of home.  And though I'm not spending Christmas with my family, I am spending it at home.  I'm safe and sound in my own, true home at last.  It's the best Christmas present I've ever received.
Ugunsmate is certainly one of my most significant tutelary spirits, especially because she represents my Pagan heritage.  The Latvian word for Christmas is Ziemassvētkus, which literally translates as Winter Holidays, revealing the pre-Christian roots of the solstice festivities.  I guess Latvians never bothered to change the greeting after Christianity pre-empted their pagan revelries.  And I love it.  It's the kind of greeting I can share with anyone, no matter what their religious background, because winter happens to everyone.  It's inclusive and non-denominational.
So my dear readers, allow me to wish you a happy* winterfest in the language of my forebears - Priecīgus* Ziemassvētkus. 
Welcome the return of the light.  May it warm your heart and your home.
- g.p.

The Sun XIX

A miracle is not defined by an event.

A miracle is defined by gratitude.
- Kate Baestrup

The following missive may seem to be one of those letters that gets written but is never sent.  However, I'm posting it on my little web, so it's obviously being "sent" somewhere.  It's just that the recipient, my mother, died long ago.  But I wanted to tell this story, and writing it as a thank you  letter is my way to formally express my gratitude.

Dear Ma,

I write this to thank you for the miracle.  I’ve been waiting for it ever since you died twenty years ago on a blue moon – a moon that portends miracles for those of us who believe in such things.  In all those years I never forgot the promise that the magical timing of your death foretold.  And I never told a soul that I’ve clung to the hope that one day it would happen. 

A few years later, when I could see how my life was unfolding, I felt as if only a miracle could save me from ending my days as a homeless bag lady.  I longed for a place where I could afford to live alone and in peace; a place I could call home. 

That’s when Elizabeth, my Polish colleague and a gifted psychic at the bookstore where I worked, pulled me aside to speak to me.

“I heard a voice last night when I was in bed.  It was a woman’s voice.  She spoke English.  I dream in Polish, so I knew it wasn’t a dream.  The voice said The miracle will happen.  That’s all she said.  The miracle will happen.  I know the message isn’t meant for me.  I think it’s meant for you, Silvia.  And I have the feeling it will be a while before it comes to pass.” 

Hearing Elizabeth relay your words reaffirmed my belief in magic and miracles.  Since then I’ve never paid attention to magically challenged people who dismiss me as a flake and a magical thinker.

Elizabeth was right about having to wait a while, though.  I confess that while waiting for the miracle my faith and patience were sorely tested.  Sometimes I thought I’d be struggling forever, and never have the means to live in peace and solitude.  But every once in a while you’d send me a sign to keep my hopes aloft.

The first time was a couple of years after Elizabeth spoke to me.  It was Mother’s Day, and a full moon, so you were on my mind more than usual.  I felt certain you would speak to me that day.  I was working at the bookstore and found a tiny piece of paper lying on the floor.  It came out of a Chinese fortune cookie and bore the message “You will live a comfortable old age.” 

That timely message became a mantra of mine, especially when I was low on funds and hope.  Despite all my efforts to stay afloat materially and spiritually, I wasn’t able to find peace and stability where I lived.  Conflict and confusion were a daily occurrence, and I just couldn’t afford to move out on my own.  I felt trapped.

Finally, almost four months ago, and fifteen years after I found the Chinese fortune, I found another one on the sidewalk, mere steps from where I lived.  It said “You are going to have a very comfortable retirement.” 

My intuition told me that after so many years and so many unmistakable signs from you, the miracle was finally about to happen.  And I was right.  Two weeks later I was offered a charming, affordable studio unit in a lovely, lively town I could only dream about before.  Skeptics would say I was lucky to have jumped to the front of a long waiting list.  It wasn’t luck, of course - it was a miracle.  And I have proof of that in black and white.  The date the housing application was originally drawn up was the same date as your death.

So thanks, Ma.  Thanks for giving me the gift of magic, and finding me a home.  I look forward to living in it peacefully, and comfortably, for the rest of my life.

Love, your daughter