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Friday, 12 September 2014

Good morning dear friends and followers. Another week has gone by and here we are Saturday. And Saturday means? Frizzy Lizzy time! Please come  on in and make yourself at home and enjoy the read

Frizzy Lizzy



It's great to see you again! Come on in and pull up a chair. The coffee is fresh. Speaking of fresh, Charley's in the yard. No, he's not all that fresh, but he'll do until something better shows up.

I know when it's autumn because I see the squirrels and chipmunks hiding their nuts. I wish that I could speak their language. I would ask them to get rid of a few of my cousins and their folks. Then again, the way Charley's been lately, it's like he's hidden his nuts, too. But I digress.

There's been a decided nip in the air. I prefer my nips to be good whiskey in a glass, over ice.

It's also the start of hunting season around here. Now I live in the country and everyone has guns and they all hunt. All is well until the city folk come out here to hunt. They spend all kinds of money on guns and ammunition and red vests and licenses to hunt and I tell you, they don't have a shred of sense.

I believe that they are so stupid that if they saw a sign that said, “No Trespassing – Fine for Hunting” they would toss a coin to decide which one applied to them!

Over the years some farmers around here were losing livestock to hunters who shot at everything that moved. It got really bad during deer hunting season.

Last year old Marsteller from down the road here made signs to put on his animals. He took canvas and spray painted the name of the animal on it. For his sheep he made signs that said “sheep.” On his cattle he put signs that said “cow.” And over in his pigsty he put signs on all four sides of the fence that is was a hog wallow with pigs inside.

He was feeling pretty good about all his signs so he made one for his tractor and put the brand name of the tractor on it. That tractor was a “John Deere.” Wouldn't you know it? Some fool took a shot at it!

Charley has a really nice rifle and warm boots and all the stuff he needs to go deer hunting. Every year he goes to hunting camp for the two weeks of buck season but he never comes back with a deer, just a hangover and a lighter wallet from drinking beer and losing at poker.

Oh, before I forget to ask, what do you think I should do with my free time now that I have retired? Go to work driving a school bus, work part-time as a teacher's aide, or go back to school to earn a degree in squirrel counting. I really need to hear from you to help make my decision. Come on, now. Speak up!

Oh, I see him now. He's motioning for me to come outside to help him. I had best be paying him some attention so I'll see you later. Thanks for dropping-in. Have a great weekend. See you later!

I hope you have enjoyed this weeks instalment of Frizzy Lissy. I welcome comments, and questions for they are valuable to me. Thank you

ڰۣ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ڰۣ

Thursday, 11 September 2014

Good morning dear friends and followers. Today we go on into the next episode of how the Iroquois taught their Children. Enjoy the read and have a wonderful Friday

For those of you who live in the area of the Iroquois Confederacy (present-day New York State), this Wonder Story might have some familiar elements. For everyone else it is a true “wonder” story, that is, the kind of story you might tell a child in response to, “I wonder why a certain thing does this or that.” It all sounds quite plausible from the point of view of the Iroquois mythology. Do enjoy it!

WHY LIGHTNING SOMETIMES STRIKES

An old man of the Iroquois nation once wished to make a beautiful Indian maiden his wife. The old man had many rare furs and valued strings of wampum. These he laid at the door of the wigwam where the maiden lived.

The father and the mother were pleased with the old man's gifts. They told him that when the Planting Moon should come, the maiden should go to his wigwam.
Now the maiden did not love the old man. She did not wish him to make her his wife. “I will never sit at his wigwam door,” she said.

It was midwinter, when the old man brought the gifts, the time of the pale, cold moon. From that time, the maiden watched, with a heavy heart, the moons wax and wane.

At last the snows disappeared. No more was the North Wind 

heard shrieking about the lodge. The gentle South Wind had come, bringing with him the singing birds.

The little brooks awoke and sang. They were happy that spring had come, and all the Earth children were glad, – except the maiden. Her heart grew more heavy and sad, as the face of the sun grew brighter.

Then the Planting Moon came. The maiden watched the moon hang her horn in the sky. Then she ran swiftly to the great river that flowed not far from her lodge. Lightly she sprang into her canoe. A few quick strokes, and the canoe was in midstream.

The current ran swift and strong. The little craft was carried swiftly down the river toward the great falls known as Niagara Falls. As the canoe neared the falls, the maiden was seen to rise and stretch out her arms, as though about to leap. A smile was on her face, and a song was on her lips, as the canoe shot into the mist that overhung the water.

Then, from the caverns below a dark blanket floated upward, as though spread to catch the maiden. It was Heno, the Thunder Spirit, who dwelt behind the falls. He had caught her in the folds of his blanket, and had saved her from the great rocks below.

Heno took the maiden to live with him, in his lodge bwehind the falls. There she was very happy, so happy that her smile shone through the mist, and the Indians cried, “See! A rainbow!”



In her new home the maiden learned many wonderful things. She found she possessed many strange powers, not known to her before. She could float on a cloud st will, and she seemed filled with a strange fire.

One day, the young woman was given a son. Heno and she were very happy. Many moons the mother and child played together. When Heno was away on one of his journeys through the sky, they would ride the great bubbles of foam that went dashing through the rocks. Sometimes they would catch sunbeams in a net, as they sat on the edge of a cloud and fished.

One day, Heno asked the young woman if she would like to visit her people.

“If you wish,” he said, “you shall return for a time, taking our son with you. But remember, both of you possess powers unknown to the Earth children. Be careful how you use them. Never let another child strike the boy, for that child would at once wither and die. Never strike the boy yourself, for he would fall stunned to earth.

The woman listened to Heno's words. Soon they were wrapped in his great cloud blanket, and were floating over the river. When they came to the home of her people, Heno left the woman and the boy by the river, and went on further to the east.

The people were glad to see the woman whom they had mourned as dead. She told them of the wonderful things she had learned in her new home. She also told them how Heno was freeing the land of a monster serpent, that trailed underneath the earth, poisoning their springs and causing sickness. Always, she said, Heno carried a basket of great rocks on his back, which he hurled at the monster whenever he saw him. Soon he would kill the serpent and they would be sick no more.

During many days, the mother and the little boy stayed with the Earth people. Sometimes, when the child was playing by the river, he would see a dark cloud approaching. Then he would clap his hands with joy and cry, “There comes my father!”
The black cloud would float earthward, and Heno would stop and have a word with the mother and the boy. As he left them he always said. “Do not let anyone strike the boy.”

But one day the mother did not watch the boy, and he fell to playing with some Earth children. They grew angry as they played and struck the boy. Instantly these Earth children fell dead to the ground. The mother laid hands on the boy, to punish him, and he fell to earth.

At this there came a great rumbling and roaring through the sky, and Heno appeared. He took the lifeless child in his arms, crying, “You have disobeyed. No longer shall you have this great power I gave you. You shall remain on Earth and simply be an Earth woman. I will take the boy to my abode. Henceforth, our lodge shall be in the sky. There he will return to life, and ever after he will go with me on journeys through the sky.”

Then the sky shook and trembled. The door of the sky lodge opened, and Heno and the boy were seen no more.

Now, when a rumbling and rolling through the sky is heard, the Indians say, “'Tis the voice of Heno! He is coming from his lodge in the sky!”

But when a flash of fire is seen, and a loud crash is heard, they say, “That is the boy! He is trying to hit the Earth children with a fire stone. He remembers how they struck him, a long time ago.”




Thank you very much for visiting. I hope that you have enjoyed the Iroquois legend for the day. Comments are much welcomed and appreciated.  Please come back again soon, thank you .

ڰۣ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ڰۣ

HOW OLD MAN WINTER WAS DRIVEN BACK

Good morning dear friends and followers. Today we go on into the next episode of how the Iroquois taught their Children. Enjoy the read and have a wonderful Thursday 

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Everything is so technical these days. There are technical explanations for just about anything you can name. A laundry detergent doesn't just lift stains. It has stain fighting technology. The crème rinse for your hair doesn't just keep it from tangling after you rinse it, it has moisturizing technology. And so it is with natural phenomena. We didn't suffer under a cold wave or two last winter. We were the victims of a polar vortex!
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The Iroquois were well-attuned to their environment and they knew the seasons well. I like their explanation for why the seasons change better than the ones I heard from any science teacher or weather forecaster. I hope that you like it, too.

HOW OLD MAN WINTER WAS DRIVEN BACK

Far away in the North Sky lives Old Man Winter. Every year he leaves his wigwam in the sky and comes to Earth.




At the foot of a mountain he builds a lodge of ice and snow, which no human being, animal, or bird can enter. There he lives for a time.

North Wind is the only friend of Old Man Winter. When he passes near Old Man Winter's lodge, he gives a loud shriek, and with his blustering breath he blows open the door and enters.


Near a fire which glows, but does not warm, North Wind finds a seat. There he and Old Man Winter sit and smoke, and lay their plans for the next snowstorm.
When the council is ended, North Wind departs, to drive up the snow and hail from the corners of the Earth.

Old Man Winter also leaves his lodge. He stalks over the mountains and valleys of the Red Children. The land becomes white with his breath. The rivers are stilled, and all the voices of the wood are hushed as he passes. A deep sleep falls upon every living thing.


No sound is heard in the forest but the rapping on the trees. Old Man Winter carries a great hammer, and he strikes the trees a blow as he passes. The colder it grows, the louder and more frequent he raps. The trees snap, and Indian lodges crack with his blows.

One day, as Old Man Winter was stalking through a forest, he came upon a hunter's lodge. For days the snow had been falling. No track of deer or rabbit was to be seen, and the hunter and his little boy sat within, weak from hunger. They were also very cold, for the fire in the lodge burned low.


Old Man Winter laughed and shook his hammer in glee, as he drew near. Once, twice, three times, he rapped. The little boy within heard him, and rapped three times in reply, – just as Old Man Winter had done.

At this the hunter spoke. He told the boy that he must not mock a nature spirit, lest some harm should come to him. He might be captured and made to serve that spirit.


Now when Old Man Winter heard the mocking raps of the little boy within the lodge, he was very angry. He breathed fiercely upon the little lodge. It shrank and shivered at his touch like a living thing. He struck it several sharp blows with his hammer and passed on.


The fire inside the lodge burned lower and lower. The hunter and his little son watched the last flame flicker and die out.

As they sat by the ashes, numb with cold, all of a sudden a new warmth filled the lodge. The South Wind gently opened the door, and a young chieftain, with a face like the sun, entered. He saw the dying hunter and the boy and he warmed them back to life. When they were stronger, he helped them to rekindle the fire. Then he told them to take a few of the dried blackberries that they had in the lodge, and boil them in water.


He said that they must eat a portion of the blackberries, and throw the rest at Old Man Winter when he returned. This would frighten him away, for he was terribly afraid of blackberries.

Blackberries mean sunshine and summer heat. Old Man Winter cannot stay where they are. He never visits the Earth at blackberry time.

The hunter and the little boy said that they would do as they had been told. Soon the young chieftain left the lodge with the South Wind.


Not many days later, Old Man Winter returned, and again came rapping at their lodge. But this time the hunter and the little boy were ready. They threw the blackberries at him, as they had been told, and he ran in fear to his ice lodge.

The South Wind and the young chieftain with a face like the sun were near. They followed close upon Old Man Winter's track. When he was again inside the ice lodge, the South Wind rapped gently at the door.

“Begone!” said the Old Man. “No one but the North Wind is welcome in my lodge.”

Then the South Wind breathed soft and warm upon the door of the ice lodge, and it melted at their feet. The young chieftain passed in and sat by the strange fire that had no heat. The South Wind stayed without, and sang, soft and low.

The Old Man was very angry. He raged about the lodge and ordered the young chieftain with sunshine in his face and warmth in his breath to depart.

“I am great and powerful,” said the Old Man. “When I touch the sky, the snow falls. When I speak, hunters hide in their lodges; animals crawl into their holes; and birds fly in fear.

“When my hand touches the Earth, it grows cold and hard, and all life dies. Begone! Or I will make an ice man or a snow man of you.”

But the young chieftain moved not. He only sat and smiled at the bluster of the Old Man.


Slowly he filled a pipe, and handed it to the Old Man, saying, “Here, smoke with me. It will give you strength to go to your lodge in the North Sky. It is time for you to depart. You are old, and tired, and worn. You and the North Wind have had your day. The days that are to come belong to South Wind and to me.

“I, too, am powerful, and I am young! I do not fear you. When I touch the Earth, it grows soft and warm. Every living thing stirs in its sleep, – birds and bees, flowers and trees, animals and men. When I speak, the sleeping sun awakes. See! Already he begins to send down his arrows. Hasten! That they may not find you, on the trail to the North Sky.”


The Old Man trembled. His legs and arms grew weak. Icicles fell from his beard. Great tears rolled down his cheeks.


“Who are you?” he whispered as he was melting at the young chieftain's feet.

“I am Go hay – the Spring,” answered the young chieftain. “All the Earth is glad, when I come to drive you back to your lodge in the North Sky, for I bring sunshine, and love, and joy.”

But the Old Man did not hear. He was far on the North Sky trail, and Spring and South Wind were masters of the Earth.


Thank you very much for visiting. I hope that you have enjoyed the Iroquois legend for the day. Comments are much welcomed and appreciated, do share your thoughts and ideas with us. Please come back again soon, thank you .

ڰۣ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ڰۣ


Tuesday, 9 September 2014

Elemental Love

Good morning dear friends and followers. Toady is poem day, and I thought that I might share on the topic of elementals, my version, of course. Enjoy the read and have a wonderful Wednesday  

Elemental Love


The spirit of the great mother
upon the waters of the seas,
and the currents of the air.
nourishes the earth,
with her warm loving breath.
She moves through the forests,
Mountains and valleys;
in the tall grass of the meadows


with a gentle sigh she sings.
The tall grasses sway
like undulating waves at sea.
The sun shines,
warming the great mother
as she nurtures new life.
Within the forest, the air, the land,
and the singing brook hold 
the seed of life;


flying through the air

on clouds and storm,
and in the clear sky,
chasing the stars above.
I awaken in the morning,
and looking out my window.
I see the sun shining in the garden,
hear birds singing their melodies,
whilst butterflies flutter,
from flower to flower they go.
The garden is transformed
into wondrous, multifaceted colors,
just as the rainbow overhead.
Gaea's breath of life,
the plant elementals.
The earth is the birthplace,
of all elementals and life;
Without the precious plants
Mother Gaea would be as barren
as the dusty surface of Mars.


Love and care for Gaea!
She is a gift from up above!

May you be thankful of what you have 
For after all, remember,
we are also part of the elementals
of our great mother Gaea


The Human Elemental
Composed by Cynthia ©


Thank you very much for visiting and hope you have found my poem  Elemental Love to be an interesting to read. 
Your Comments are always welcomed and appreciated here. Please come back again soon.

ڰۣ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ڰۣ

WHY INDIANS NEVER SHOOT PIGEONS


Good morning my dear friends and followers. Today we go on into the next episode how the Iroquois taught their Children

All of us have heard of the expression, “to be forever grateful,” or “to be eternally in someone's debt.” Those are fine sentiments but they usually do not last forever, not even close to it.

Today's Wonder Story is one of undying gratitude that is possibly still practiced by some of the Iroquois.

WHY INDIANS NEVER SHOOT PIGEONS

An Indian hunter went into the forest in search of game.

The forest was so large that it would have taken three days to journey through it. All day he followed the track of the deer, but his arrows brought him no food.

At night , he came to a dark, swift-running stream. He was tired and hungry.

“Here,” said he, “I will lie down and rest until sunrise.”


He began to search for a bed of pine needles, for the Indian loves the pine tree. It is his friend by day and night. By day it is his forest guide. At night it gives him a soft, sweet-smelling bed upon which to sleep, and it shields him from the storm.


The hunter ran along the stream. It was very dark. He felt no pine needles under his moccasined feet, only the knotted roots of trees.

Suddenly the great roots of an oak tree reached out and caught him. He could not free his foot from the oak's grasp.

The sun rose and set. The great tree still held the hunter fast. He was weak from pain and hunger.

It was now two days since he had tasted food. Four notches had been cut into his stick, for the Indian measures time in this way. Each sunrise and sunset, when he is on the trail, is marked by a notch on a small stick which he carries.

Three times did the sun rise and set, yet the tree did not let go its hold. There were now ten notches on the stick, and the hunter was so weak that he could scarcely cut the last one.

As the sun rose on the fifth day, a bird flew into the tree. He saw the hunter lying on the ground, and came close and spoke to him.

The hunter understood, for in those days men and birds could talk together.

The bird asked the man what he could do for him, and the hunter whispered, “You are strong. You can fly a long trail. Go and tell the chief of my people.”



The bird flew swiftly away with the message. He did not wait until the sun was high. He did not stop to eat one berry or one worm. He did not fly high, nor fly low to talk with other birds. He went straight to the people the hunter had told him of.

The West Wind tried to blow him back. A black cloud came up to frighten him, but he went through it. On, and on, and on, he went. Straight to the wigwam of the chief, he carried his message.


The chief had called together the young men who were fleet of foot, and was about to send them forth to find the lost hunter. They were asking the chief which trails they had best take. Before the chief could reply, a beautiful dove-colored bird had flown close to his ear and had spoken to him in soft, low tones.

The chief told the young men what the bird had said, and they set off on the trail the bird had named. Before sunset they found the lost hunter.

Carefully they freed him from the grasp of the great oak and bore him to his people. That night there was a feast and a dance in his honor.

Ever since, the Indians have loved the birds that carry the messages, and they never shoot a pigeon.



Thank you very much for visiting. I hope that you have found the Iroquois legend of the day an interesting to read. You are Comments are much welcomed and appreciated, do share your thoughts and ideas with us.  Please come back again soon, thank you .
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ڰۣ



Sunday, 7 September 2014

GREEDY FAWN AND THE PORRIDGE

Hi dear friends and followers, nice to see you back. Today we continue another selection from The stories the Iroquois told their Children
What follows here is a delightful little tale of getting what one asks for. I need to explain two things before you start to read. First, Iroquois wigwams were semi-permanent residences that were occupied all year long. Second, the story mentions a kettle. 

The first thing that we visualize is an iron kettle. The Iroquois did not have metal pots. They used earthenware vessels or, more often, waterlogged wooden boxes over the fire in which something could boil, but the vessel would never get hot or dry enough to burn! Both are, in my opinion, superb examples of technology developed to blend with environment. Now on with the story.
GREEDY FAWN AND THE PORRIDGE


In the days when there was no one living in this country but the Indians, there were no houses; there were only Indian wigwams. There were no roads and no streets, only Indian trails.

At that time there grew a wonderful chestnut, which the Indians used in their cooking. A very small bit of this chestnut grated into a kettle would make a potful of porridge.

In a certain wigwam lived Deerheart and Sky Elk, and their little son, Greedy Fawn. The mother was called Deerheart because she was so loving, and gentle, and kind. The father was named Sky Elk because he was so strong and fleet of foot. Greedy Fawn, too, came rightly by his name. You will soon know why. One day, Deerheart and Sky Elk went on a long trail. As they left the wigwam, they said to Greedy Fawn, “Do not touch the chestnut, do not build a fire, while we are away.”

Greedy Fawn promised. He watched his father and mother disappear down the western trail. Then he went back to the wigwam.

“Now,” thought he, “I will have all the porridge that I want.”

So he ran and gathered some sticks. He built a fire with the sticks. Then he hung the kettle over the fire and put some water in it. Then he found the chestnut. He grated a little sf the chestnut into the kettle and began to stir. Then he grated some more, and some more.

Faster and faster Greedy Fawn stirred the boiling porridge, for it began to swell and fill the kettle.

Larger and larger, it grew, and it grew, and it grew.

Greedy Fawn was so frightened he did not know what to do.
“Oh, will it never stop swelling?” he thought. Harder and harder he stirred to keep the porridge from boiling over. Beads of perspiration ran down his little bronze face, yet still he stirred. He dare not stop.

Then he remembered that sometimes his mother would rap the kettle with the porridge stick, if it became too full.

Rap, rap, rap, went the porridge stick on the edge of the kettle. Instantly the kettle began to swell. Larger, and larger, and larger it grew. Greedy Fawn was so frightened he did not know what to do.

Now Greedy Fawn could not reach across the kettle , to stir the porridge with the stick, so he ran around it. And around, and around, and around the kettle he ran, stirring, and stirring, and stirring.

At last the kettle was so large that it nearly filled the wigwam. There was just space enough for Greedy Fawn to run around it. And around, and around, and around the kettle he ran, stirring, and stirring, and stirring.

Oh, how his little arms ached! And, oh, how tired his small legs were! But still he ran. He dared not stop.

Here was porridge enough to last a small boy a lifetime, and he could not stop to taste one mouthful!

At last Greedy Fawn could run no longer. He stumbled and fell by the side of the kettle. He was too weak to rise. The stick fell from his hand and the porridge boiled on. Higher and higher it rose, until it ran over the sides of the kettle. Closer and closer the porridge crept to the little Indian boy, and soon Greedy Fawn and his stick were nearly buried in porridge.

For once Greedy Fawn had all the porridge he wanted. And never again would he have wanted anything, had not Deerheart and Sky Elk heard his cries, and come running like deer up the train to save him.


Thank you very much for visit, and I do hope you have found the Iroquois legend of the day an interesting topic to read. You are very welcome to share your thought sand ideas, and hope you will be back again soon.

ڰۣ In Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ


AYÚDEME PROSPERAR, IGUAL QUE TÚ

AYÚDEME PROSPERAR, IGUAL QUE TÚ
HELP ME PROSPER, JUST LIKE YOU