peregrineneel

Happy Birthday peleflower!

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 19:12:51 GMT

Subject line sort of says it all...hope you have a great day.

What Chess Piece...

Fri, 25 Jul 2008 00:50:25 GMT

The King's Bishop

To others, the King’s Bishop projects confidence. This can be mistaken for arrogance; but its source is easy to find. From an early age most of the King’s Bishops are specialized in their knowledge. When it comes to an area of expertise the King’s Bishop has several. They can know immediately if they can help you and how. They know what they know, but more importantly they know their limits.

This Bishop is a perfectionist. They will always attempt to improve upon anything of interest. They have an unusual independence of mind which frees them from authority, convention or sentiment. Anyone who is slacking will lose respect – and be made aware of this. The King’s Bishop can be secretive when making critical decisions. However they are even-handed and will recognize contributions others give.
This Bishop is highly ideal with their goals. They attempt to pursue high degree of quality in solutions and can be critical of ideas that compromise this quality. Because of their unwillingness to accept ‘good enough’ they can be unrealistic. They are at their best when they have time to think through a problem, at which point they may have a plan to solve the dilemma. The King's Bishop is an individual with a very analytical attitude. They are like the Queen's Rook, in that they prefer the ascetic quality of solitude. They are not as sociable as others, but are quite prepared to lead if they deem the current leadership as weak. They are thankfully pragmatic and logical individuals. They have very low tolerance for emotional rampaging or the spinning of 'truths'.

Playing with fire

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 21:25:39 GMT

It is Christmas time...again. I know that I should be more like the character from Its A Wonderful Life this time of year, but I just can't pull it off. I have started to carry my iPod everywhere with me so I can switch to Bruce Springstein or Celtic music or anything to lose the Christmas carols.

I have also been rereading Tolkien's Middle Earth trilogy and I am struck with the metaphor of transformation when Gandalf falls into the Crack of Doom and disappears for much of the second book. Yet when the battle between good and evil was at its height, he reemerges as Gandalf the White, a personage who has been burned back to bone, whose power and wisdom has been honed by the fires of earth itself. I know that despair is a chance to wrestle with fire and come through, yet I still fear it. I wonder if Gandalf felt that way or if Tam Lin felt that fear when he was pulled from the horse and had to morph into horrible scary things before he was free.

Perhaps the reason I am feeling this way is because I spent yesterday at a writing conference in Holyoke. I use to be considered a good writer. I wrote poetry mostly and I have awards collecting dust in a box somewhere. I use to write almost every day, then a few years ago the person I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with stood in front of me and shreaded a poem I had created for her. It was the best thing I had ever written. I had gone to that place where poets dream of. That place where every word and phrase is a near perfect jewel in and of itself. We parted two days before Christmas. I haven't written anything since. I guess I am trying to decide if playing with matches and being burned to the bone is worth another go.

My Samhain Wish for Us All...

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 00:41:31 GMT

May the best of our pasts be the worst of our futures.

Happy Samhain Ya'll

Peregrine

Stranger in a Strange Land

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 03:02:50 GMT

My ancestors have come to visit but they are not very comfortable here in Central Massachusetts. They haven't been so direct as to point out that I am now living on the wrong side of the line (i.e. north of the Mason-Dixon) but they sit very straight with their tea cups balanced on their knees waiting for Sherman to break down the front door.

Quite a few of my ancestors participated in the "War of Northern Aggression" in one way or the other. One of my fine Southern belle ancestors, when faced with blue coated soldiers tromping across her flower beds,graciously invited them in for drinks before they torched the ancestral home. By the time the party was over the soldiers woke up to find themselves in the embarrassing position of being bound hand and foot and captives of a lady in a hoop skirt.

I can't really blame my ancestors for being confused. If you exclude my sister and myself from the count, no member of my family has left the South in 5 or more generations; and I mean the real South, not those questionable border states. Come to think about it, they weren't quite sure what to make of it when I lived in San Francisco, but it sort of reminded them of New Orleans, so that was alright I guess.

As always I will make them the foods that they know best during this season of non-caporal company. There will be homemade biscuits from my great aunt's recipe with fig preserves from one of my cousins farms. Fried chicken, black eyed peas and corn bread like my grandmothers use to make. And a sterling silver glass of Mint Julep will sit in a place of honor on my altar.