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Welcome my dear friends. Enjoy your visit and share your thoughts. Thank you, much love

Saturday, 31 May 2014

Frizzy Lizzy


"Hi!" My name is Frizzy Lizzy

I started a little exercise regime today.  I figure it was time I started to take care of myself.  Whoever was supposed to be in charge of doing it has done a really crappy job of it.  And you can rest assured that it's as little exercise as needed.

It's said that a friend will always tell you exactly what she thinks.  So I guess that makes me friends with everybody.  It's the ones who beat around the bush that bug me.  I hope they run into a bear in those bushes.

I sometimes like to do a little texting, especially when out and about taking a walk.   Well the other day I texted someone to "Kiss my lily white aspirin!"  Do I need to tell you what the end result of that text message was after my message went through the stupid auto correct?   They came to my house looking for an albino donkey!  I snapped a photo of them to submit to the dictionary publishers to use next to the word "stupid."

Last time we talked I mentioned young guys wearing their pants down around their knees and showing their butts and underwear, if they have any.  It seems to me that poor taste has two genders.   How about the women who go around wearing tights with nothing over them and thinking they've finished dressing?   Aren't they something?   Even if you have a good figure, who wants to see that much of it?   I mean, save it for the washroom already!

Speaking of texting, I decided the other day to put some money in online investing.   I soon discovered that the trouble with online investing is after you buy a PC, monitor, modem, a printer, you got about two bucks left to invest.

Well that's the way the wind blows, eh?   There comes a certain age where you can no longer use the term "Good girl, gone bad."  Now it's more like my old ass should have known better." But then no matter what the age the ass is, we all make mistakes, just some are more prone to it.   And on that note I'll take my leave before I get caught by my own bear!

Toodles, all!

"OK," the show is over folks.
You may join The Fairy Lady for tea across the street if you wish.  

Love you all


Friday, 30 May 2014

We knew it would rain.


A poem just for you my dear friends
We knew it would rain.
Beams of silver moonlight descend to the forest floor
seemingly moving like spirits and ghosts
in the ground fog below.
Like a spirit on slender threads of mist,
shimmering like jewels upon the vapory wet stones,
A waterfall roars, it's spray is a rainbow,
shimmering in a subdued glow of the bright moonlight.
Hidden within the veil of rainbow mist can be heard
the sound of the rushing water of the falls
as it cascades into the depths of the abyss below,
settling among the reeds and water lilies, 
of the surrounding marshes and swamps,
frogs sing their melodies,
as fens scoop the dew that lay in the flowers.
Elemental faie are hard at work
dipping the floral jewels in the sea
To sprinkle them over the land in showers.
The rain will be coming soon.
When one lives close to the land and nature
one knows the signs of changing weather.
The poplars turn up the light underside of their leaves.
The wind, like the breath from the mother herself, blows,
and the lightning streaks the sky; 
the tempest will soon be here.
In the darkness of the tumult
columns of clouds light up like daylight
during the flashes of lighting.
The tall grass of the fields moves like waves at sea,
the rain comes hard and beating down the leaves and grass,
until they lay nearly flat.
The Tempest

Small rivers appear where there were none.
Raindrops seemingly explode off all they hit.
In noise of the tumult, break and wave and flow,
and crashing upon one another, the storm clouds mushroom,
reaching up to touch the moon above it would seem.
The tempest blows and threatens,
the lightning flashes and the thunder roars.
The fisherman at sea is uncertain
if body and soul will remain as one on this night.
Can he navigate his small vessel back to shore?
He is at the mercy of the mother!
Holding the wheel he closes his eyes and prays.
Along the country road,
a farmers barn falls with a loud crash. 
Elsewhere a house is struck by lightning.
Then all is silent and calm,
as the fisherman opens his eyes to see,
then smiles, and thanks the great mother.
The silvery moon comes out once again,
glistening and sparkling upon the raindrops like tiny jewels,
on webs and leaves.
All is silence except for the forest's night sounds.



Thank you very much my dear friends for being here

The Rougarou,


The Rougarou,
The Rougarou, is a kind of werewolf in the Cajun folklore of French Louisiana.

Wikipedia

The rougarou is closely associated with native American legends, although these relationships are discussed. So sometimes compared the rougarou the sasquatch and the wendigo Cannibal. According to Barry Jean Ancelet, expert of Cajun folklore and Professor at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, the legends concerning the rougarou are found in any French Louisiana, where the term is sometimes interchangeably swapped with that of werewolf [citation needed]. The legends on this subject come directly from french immigrants who settled there, as well as in the Canada. The pioneers brought with them their own folklore on lycanthropes during the European colonization of the Americas.

The stories of the creature known as a rougarou are as diverse as the spelling of its name, though they are all connected to francophone cultures through a common derived belief in the Loup-garou. Loup is French for wolf, and garou (from Frankish garulf, cognate with English werewolf) is a man who transforms into an animal.

Louisiana folklore

Rougarou represents a variant pronunciation and spelling of the original French loup-garou. According to Barry Jean Ancelet, an academic expert on Cajun folklore and professor at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, the tale of the rougarou is a common legend across French Louisiana. Both words are used interchangeably in southern Louisiana. Some people call the monster rougarou; others refer to it as the loup garou.

The rougarou legend has been spread for many generations, either directly from French settlers to Louisiana (New France) or via the French Canadian immigrants centuries ago.

In the Cajun legends, the creature is said to prowl the swamps around Acadiana and Greater New Orleans, and possibly the fields or forests of the regions. The rougarou most often is described as a creature with a human body and the head of a wolf or dog, similar to the werewolf legend.

Often the story-telling has been used to inspire fear and obedience. One such example is stories that have been told by elders to persuade Cajun children to behave. According to another variation, the wolf-like beast will hunt down and kill Catholics who do not follow the rules of Lent. This coincides with the French Catholic loup-garou stories, according to which the method for turning into a werewolf is to break Lent seven years in a row.

A common blood sucking legend says that the rougarou is under the spell for 101 days. After that time, the curse is transferred from person to person when the rougarou draws another human’s blood. During that day the creature returns to human form. Although acting sickly, the human refrains from telling others of the situation for fear of being killed.

Other stories range from the rougarou as a headless horseman to the rougarou being derived from witchcraft. In the latter claim, only a witch can make a rougarou—either by turning into a wolf herself, or by cursing others with lycanthropy.

This legend dates back to the 16th Century. They considered the Rugaru as more of a genetic defect rather than something you could catch from another person or a spell. Basically, a person with this gene would live a normal life until it becomes active. Then, the creature's bones moves under its skin and it gains an uncontrollable hunger trait, craving raw meat. However, the final transformation wouldn't be attained until the creature takes a bite of human flesh.

Native American folklore

The creature, spelled Rugaru, has been associated with Native American legends, though there is some dispute. Such folklore versions of the rugaru vary from being mild Bigfoot (Sasquatch) creatures to cannibal-like Native American wendigos. Some dispute the connection between Native American folktales and the francophone rugaru.

As is the norm with legends transmitted by oral tradition, stories often contradict one another. The stories of the wendigo vary by tribe and region, but the most common cause of the change is typically related to cannibalism.

A modified example, not in the original wendigo legends, is that if a person sees a rugaru, that person will be transformed into one. Thereafter, the unfortunate victim will be doomed to wander in the form of this monster. That rugaru story bears some resemblance to a Native American version of the wendigo legend related in a short story by Algernon Blackwood. In Backwoods's fictional adaptation of the legend, seeing a wendigo causes one to turn into a wendigo.

It is important to note that rugaru is not a native Ojibwa word, nor is it derived from the languages of neighboring Native American peoples. However, it has a striking similarity to the French word for werewolf, loup garou. It's possible the Turtle Mountain Ojibwa or Chippewa in North Dakota picked up the French name for "hairy human-like being" from the influence of French Canadian trappers and missionaries with whom they had extensive dealings. Somehow that term also had been referenced to their neighbors' stories of Bigfoot.Author Peter Matthiessen argues that the rugaru is a separate legend from that of the cannibal-like giant wendigo. While the wendigo is feared, he notes that the rugaru is seen as sacred and in tune with Mother Earth, somewhat like Bigfoot legends are today.

Though identified with Bigfoot, there is little evidence in the indigenous folklore that it is meant to refer the same or a similar creature.

AbilitiesEdit

Shapeshifting

: When a it takes the first bite of human flesh, they become a Rougarou.

Superhuman Strength

: Rougarous are stronger than the average man, and can easily break bones.

Speed

: Rougarou are essentially like animals. Speed is necessary in order to catch its prey

Flesh Eating: Its prime motivation, and food.

Weakness

Fire - Rougarous can only be killed by fire.

Decapitation - Decapitation is the most commonly used method to kill Rougarous.

Severe Destruction to Body - Destroying head, heart or entire body will kill it.


























Thursday, 29 May 2014

Dark Elves


Dark Elves


If there are light elves it would only seem reasonable that there should be dark elves. Or so it would seem. Well, to the best of my knowledge there are indeed dark elves and this is what I have been able to learn about them.


The dark elf hates the sun and lives in the murky underground. The dark elves can not be exposed to sunlight, if the sun’s rays hit them they will immediately turn into stones. They are hideous in appearance and can be a great nuisance to humans. Some have been described as extremely annoying and nothing but trouble.

Many believe that dark elves are responsible for the nightmares. These dark elves are called mare. A mare will sit on a sleeping person’s chest and whisper bad dreams to haunt the person. A mare can also haunt animals, especially horses.

Their skin color ranges from darker shades of purple to lighter shades of gray, although many groups have skin as black as night. At twilight, dark elves are virtually invisible, almost undetectable unless they desire to be seen. Some have white hair and some black, some glowing red eyes while others have white eyes seemingly without pupils, and yet others have normal appearing eyes. Eerily beautiful, these elves exude a sense of wickedness cloaked in mystery.

Although associated with the dwarfs by some accounts because their lands are adjoining, the dark elves really have very little to do with dwarfs. While dwarfs busy themselves with creating, dark elves tend to be users or destructive.

The literary Dark elf is actually a product of the writings of a famous Icelandic poet and historian Snorri Sturluson, c. 1179-1241. Snorri’s famous book (poem), the Younger Edda, makes a short reference to the dark elves as being the maintainers of the fires burning deep below the world tree, or Yggdrasil:

Then said Ganglere: Great tidings you are able to tell of the heavens. Are there other remarkable places than the one by Urd’s fountain? Answered Har: There are many magnificent dwellings. One is there called Alfheim. There dwell the folk that are called light-elves; but the dark-elves dwell down in the earth, and they are unlike the light-elves in appearance, but much more so in deeds. The light-elves are fairer than the sun to look upon, but the dark-elves are blacker than pitch. 


Another place is called Breidablik, and no place is fairer. There is also a mansion called Glitner, of which the walls and pillars and posts are of red gold, and the roof is of silver. Furthermore, there is a dwelling, by name Himinbjorg, which stands at the end of heaven, where the Bifrost-bridge is united with heaven. And there is a great dwelling called Valaskjalf, which belongs to Odin. The gods made it and thatched it with, sheer silver. In this hall is the high-seat, which is called Hlidskjalf, and when Alfather sits in this seat, he sees over all the world. In the southern end of the world is the palace, which is the fairest of all, and brighter than the sun; its name is Gimle. It shall stand when both heaven and earth shall have passed away. In this hall the good and the righteous shall dwell through all ages (Sturluson, 17).

The dark elves, also known by their ancient Norse name dökkálfar, are a sinister subspecies of elf found in many fantasy settings and having their origins in ancient Norse mythology where they were named svartálfar ("swart elves" or "black elves" in Old Norse) and were depicted as light-hating supernatural beings akin to the unclean spirits and demons of later Christian tales and legends.

Dark elves were seen as greedy and troublesome in regards to humanity but were not strictly malevolent, although they shared some common traits with the trolls - such as turning to stone when exposed to direct sunlight and being humanoid in shape but extremely ugly.

In all fairness, it must be said that the majority of dark elves live by their own code of honor -- much as giants do. If you bargain fairly with them, it is possible to survive an encounter with a dark elf. However, entering Svartalfheim is a risky proposition unless you are quite powerful, and even then you may well find that entering was much easier than leaving.

Female dark elves are universally attractive, beguiling men of other races easily. Their sexual capacity is legendary although their predilections and unwholesome appetites make such trysts difficult to survive. Still, men, dwarfs, and elves are all fascinated with these dusky, erotic creatures.

Many if not most, dark elves practice sorcery, although their magics are bent on thieving, assassination, warfare, and other dark pursuits. Some claim dark elves are necromancers, acquiring magical potency through the deaths of others. However, it is difficult to verify these claims as few survive their encounters with the dark sorcerers.

In public at least, dark elves eat whatever everyone else eats, normal food such as would be fit for humans as well. However, as giants do, it is rumored that dark elves dine on the flesh of the other races. It is even possible they are cannibalistic, although this is never been determined in any verifiable way.


I wouldn't want to meet up with these guys but, again, are these traits the fabrication of a human's perception of another species, or is there a duality in the unseen world?



Wednesday, 28 May 2014



Light Elves


Light elves were beautiful creatures. They were considered the “guardian angels” by the god Freyr, were the ruler of Alfheim. The light elves were minor gods of nature and fertility. They could help or hinder humans with their knowledge of magical powers. They often delivered an inspiration to art or music.

There are many forms an elf can take on. High elves are very tall, often six feet tall, and slender, and are incredibly beautiful, slender, and elegant. They live in beautifully wrought cities and are both cultured and refined. Outsiders consider them cold and arrogant, but that may be due to their almost supernatural calm. These elves are almost entirely magical. They can perform extraordinary feats with their spells, but rarely interact with outsiders and so most of what is known of them is rumor.

Sylvanes, or wood elves, live in the forests. You won’t see one unless the elf wishes to be seen because they have the ability to blend into their surroundings so well that they are virtually invisible. Smaller than their cousins, these elves often dress in garments made from wood bark or leaves, and wear intricate patterns of living flowers. Sylvans can speak directly to animals and understand them, and some are said to be able to communicate with plants as well. Of all the elves, they are the most attuned with nature, and most of their magic is directed to the natural world.

Sprites, pixies, and will-o’-the-wisp’s are all variants of elves. These smaller beings can occasionally be glimpsed, but rarely are they seen up close. Still, their small magics can be quite powerful although they spend much of their time frolicking and playing rather than engaging in the more serious pursuits of the high elves.

Elves are creatures of the light, and as such, ethereal beings that for the most part are good creatures. Being immortal, elves have a completely different worldview from humans. Everything is seen with the long view and they might well put off performing a task for a hundred or even a thousand years if it’s inconvenient at the moment.

Fancifully, elves are said to dine on honey and dew, although realistically they eat the same foods as humans. Many forest elves are vegetarians, as living so harmoniously with wild animals makes them less eager to be predators.

Light elves are, for the most part, good creatures. They live in Asgart, along with the gods, and are immortal. Most elves live in Alheim, which is ruled by the god Frey. The Lady Freya is always welcome in Alfheim, and is a particular favorite amongst the elves. Some elves have chosen to live in the other realms, even Midgard with humans.

In all their forms, elves are beautiful. In fact, many a mortal has fallen in love with an elf, although such unions rarely succeed because of the difference in lifespans. Still, elves are incredibly lovely and desirable.

On certain nights, especially under full moons, elves can be found dancing in the woods. Joining such a “fairy ring” is tempting almost beyond the power of a person to resist, but there are some dangers involved. It is said that dancing in a fairy ring can cause one to go mad, to age prematurely, to be pulled out of time, or to be stolen away by the elves. The music is virtually irresistible, and the beautiful beings are a remarkable lure. The goddess Freya has been known to join in the dance, and the elves particularly celebrate her presence.

Despite, or perhaps because of, their incredibly long lifespans, elves reproduce rarely. Owing to this, elven maidens will occasionally steal away human children to raise as their own. While the children are well treated, many stories are told of mothers risking much to retrieve their infants from the elves.

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Tuesday, 27 May 2014

THE LEGEND OF KNOCKSHEOGOWNA.

Hi dear friends and followers, I believe we perhaps again have another example of shape shifting which appears to be a commonplace phenomena in our myths and legends. Thank you for viewing, and please feel free to share your thoughts 
Your Fairy Lady
THE LEGEND OF KNOCKSHEOGOWNA.

In Tipperary is one of the most singularly-shaped hills in the world. It has a peak at the top like a conical nightcap thrown carelessly over your head as you awake in the morning. On the very point is built a sort of lodge, where in the summer the lady who built it and her friends used to go on parties of pleasure; but that was long after the days of the fairies, and it is, I believe, now deserted.

But before lodge was built, or an acre sown, there was close to the head of this hill a large pasturage, where a herdsman spent his days and nights among the herd. The spot had been an old fairy ground, and the good people were angry that the scene of their light and airy gambols should be trampled by the rude hoofs of bulls and cows. The lowing of the cattle sounded sad in their ears, and the chief of the fairies of the hill determined in person to drive away the newcomers and the way she thought of was this.

When the harvest nights came on, and the moon shone bright and brilliant over the hill, and the cattle were lying down hushed and quiet, and the herdsman, wrapped in his mantle, was musing with his heart gladdened by the glorious company of the stars twinkling above him, she would come and dance before him, -now in one shape - now in another, - but all ugly and frightful to behold.


One time she would be a great horse, with the wings of an eagle, and a tail like a dragon, hissing loud and spitting fire. Then in a moment she would change into a little man lame of a leg, with a bull's head, and a lambent flame playing round it. Then into a great ape, with duck's feet and a turkey-cock's tail. But I should be all day about it were I to tell you all the shapes she took. And then she would roar, or neigh, or hiss, or bellow, or howl, or hoot, as never yet was roaring, neighing, hissing, bellowing, howling, or hooting, heard in this world before or since. The poor herdsman would cover his face, and call on all the saints for help, but it was no use.

With one puff of her breath she would blow away the fold of his greatcoat, let him hold it never so tightly over his eyes, and not a saint in heaven paid him the slightest attention. And to make matters worse, he never could stir; no, nor even shut his eyes, but there he was obliged to stay, held by what power he knew not, gazing at these terrible sights until the hair of his head would lift his hat half a foot over his crown, and his teeth would be ready to fall out from chattering. But the cattle would scamper about mad, as if they were bitten by the fly; and this would last until the sun rose over the hill.

The poor cattle, from want of rest, were pining away, and food did them no good; besides, they met with accidents without end. Never a night passed that some of them did not fall into a pit, and get maimed, or maybe killed. Some would tumble into a river and be drowned. In a word, there seemed never to be an end to the accidents.


But what made the matter worse, there could not be a herdsman got to tend the cattle by night. One visit from the fairy drove the stoutest-hearted almost mad.

The owner of the ground did not know what to do. He offered double, treble, quadruple wages, but not a man could be found for the sake of money to go through the horror of facing the fairy.


She rejoiced at the successful issue of her project, and continued her pranks. The herd gradually thinning, and no man daring to remain on the ground, the fairies came back in numbers, and gamboled as merrily as before, quaffing dew-drops from acorns, and spreading their feast on the heads of capacious mushrooms.

What was to be done?, the puzzled farmer thought in vain. He found that his substance was daily diminishing, his people terrified, and his rent day coming round. It is no wonder that he looked gloomy, and walked mournfully down the road.

Now in that part of the world dwelt a man of the name of Larry Hoolahan, who played on the pipes better than any other player within fifteen parishes. A roving dashing blade was Larry, and feared nothing. Give him plenty of liquor, and he would defy the devil. He would face a mad bull, or fight single-handed against a fairy.


In one of his gloomy walks the farmer met him, and on Larry's asking the cause of his down looks, he told him all his misfortunes. "If that is all ails you," said Larry, "make your mind easy. Were there as many fairies on Knocksheogowna as there are potato blossoms in Eliogurty, I would face them. It would be a queer thing, indeed, if I, who never was afraid of a proper man, should turn my back upon a brat of a fairy not the bigness of one's thumb." "Larry," said the farmer, "do not talk so bold, for you know not who is hearing you; but, if you make your words good, and watch my herds for a week on the top of the mountain, your hand shall be free of my dish till the sun has burnt itself down to the bigness of a farthing rushlight."

The bargain was struck, and Larry went to the hilltop, when the moon began to peep over the brow. He had been regaled at the farmer's house, and was bold with the extract of barley-corn. So he took his seat on a big stone under a hollow of the hill, with his back to the wind, and pulled out his pipes.

He had not played long when the voice of the fairies was heard upon the blast, like a slow stream of music. Presently they burst out into a loud laugh, and Larry could plainly hear one say, "What ! Another man upon the fairies' ring? Go to him, queen, and make him repent his rashness!" And they flew away.


Larry felt them pass by his face as they flew like a swarm of midges; and, looking up hastily, he saw between the moon and him a great black cat, standing on the very tip of its claws, with its back up, and mewing with the voice of a water-mill. Presently it swelled up towards the sky, and, turning round on its left hind leg, whirled till it fell to the ground, from which it started up in the shape of a salmon, with a cravat round its neck, and a pair of new top boots. "Go on, jewel," said Larry. "If you dance, I'll pipe." and he struck up. So she turned into this, and that, and the other, but still Larry played on, as he well knew how.

At last she lost patience, as ladies will do when you do not mind their scolding, and changed herself into a calf, milk-white as the cream of Cork, and with eyes as mild as those of the girl I love. She came up gentle and fawning, in hopes to throw him off his guard by quietness, and then to work him some wrong. But Larry was not so deceived; for when she came up, he, dropping his pipes, leaped upon her back.

Now from the top of Knocksheogowna, as you look westward to the broad Atlantic, you will see the Shannon, queen of rivers, spreading like a sea, and running on in gentle course to mingle with the ocean through the fair city of Limerick. It on this night shone under the moon, and looked beautiful from the distant hill.


Fifty boats were gliding up and down on the sweet current, and the song of the fishermen rose gaily from the shore. Larry, as I said before, leaped upon the back of the fairy, and she, rejoiced at the opportunity, sprung from the hilltop, and bounded clear, at one jump, over the Shannon, flowing as it was just ten miles from the mountain's base.

It was done in a second, and when she alighted on the distant bank, kicking up her heels, she flung Larry on the soft turf. No sooner was he thus planted. than he looked her straight in the face, and scratching his head, cried out, "By my word, well done! That was not a bad leap for a calf!" She looked at him for a moment, and then assumed her own shape.


"Laurence," said she, “you are a bold fellow. Will you come back the way you went?" "And that's what I will." said he, "If you let me."

So changing to a calf again, again Larry got on her back, and at another bound they were again upon the top of Knocksheogowna. The fairy once more resuming her figure, addressed him: "You have shown so much courage, Laurence," said she, "that while you keep herds on this hill you never shall be molested by me or mine. The day dawns; go down to the farmer, and tell him this; and if any thing I can do may be of service to you, ask and you shall have it."


She vanished accordingly and kept her word in never visiting the hill during Larry's life. But he never troubled her with requests. He piped and drank at the farmer's expense, and roosted in his chimney corner, occasionally casting an eye to the flock. He died at last, and is buried in a green valley of pleasant Tipperary, but whether the fairies returned to the hill of Knocksheogowna after his death is more than I can say.



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