Tagged: Humor

Snot Fairy, Thou Shalt Be Vanquished!

Oh, Hai, Snot Fairy! Who invited YOU to the party?

In case you missed my last post, the germ factories that are my children’s classmates bestowed upon me the special gift of a head cold.

In the usual fashion of the tragi-comedy that I like to call “mi vida loca”, it became a sinus/double ear infection. Otherwise known as a gift from The Snot Fairy.

So my plan for this post was to write about a Hindu goddess I came across in my research a few months ago. But because The Snot Fairy has replaced my brain with a quivering mass of goo, I now cannot remember her name.

The main point though, was that this particular Goddess, possibly something like (but not exactly like) Maya or Mari, was very very strong. She was so strong, in fact, that one of her jobs was to help keep the world clean. One of the ways that she was worshipped was by placing things that were “unclean” – sewage, dead animals, cremains, the really Nasty (with a capital N) stuff – in the isolated, magical places that she liked to visit. She would then eat the Nasty off this stuff. Because she was so strong, she could ingest all this without becoming unclean herself, while rendering the Nasty stuff harmless and/or making it go away altogether. Now, isn’t that thoughtful?

Speaking of Goddesses brings me to the Celtic goddess Brigid, in her Healer aspect. Her appearance in Ireland is a bit of a strange story, even for a Goddess. The sources I consulted say that she appeared with the Tuatha de Danaan. The Tuatha were the fifth foreigners to invade Ireland. They – get this – arrived in Ireland by riding in on dark clouds, through the skies, landing on top of Conmaicne Rein mountain and casting a magical dark shadow over the sun for 3 days. Brigid was the daughter of Dagda, their leader and when she was born, a magical fire shot out of her forehead all the way up to the heavens. Now ~that~ is a grand entrance.

Anyway, Brigid was associated with poetry and writing, healing, and metalsmithing. Quite an unusual assortment, but whatevs. She has been worshipped continuously in Ireland since Druidic times, even surviving Christianity, so I guess she can be in charge of what she wants. One of the ways she has been worshipped is by keeping her sacred flame lit, which has also actually been accomplished continuously since Druidic times. You go, Girl!

Flames and healing, Goddesses who make unclean things go away… All this brings me to my plan.

Tomorrow, I am going to go out into the unclean area of the backyard (you know… where the dogs go). I’m going to take all my tissue paper wrapped gifts from The Snot Fairy, and I’m going to set them on fire for a ritual sacrifice combo to the Hindu Goddess whose name I can’t remember and Brigid the Healer.

And maybe, just maybe they will combine forces with the modern God, Azithromycin and kick The Snot Fairy’s germ-ridden, goo-covered ass into submission. And I will whoop with joy, then probably cough a little because the germs will have moved into my chest by then.

(Sources: I can’t remember where I heard about the Hindu Goddess, otherwise I would have her name. Info on Brigid: http://www.orderwhitemoon.org/goddess/Brighid.html and http://www.angelfire.com/journal/ofapoet/brigid.html )

* If you happen to be Hindu or Druid and find this post offensive, I blame the Acti-fed, 101 degree fever, and the sleeping propped up like Joseph Merrick for 3 days so I don’t drown in my own effluvia. If you worship The Snot Fairy, I respectfully request that you go to hell.

Gourmet Squirrels

A few years ago, before I “put in” my garden beds, I decided to grow a small herb container garden.  I bought a large plastic pot (I even sprang for the matching saucer!) and filled it with dirt and plants.  I planted lemon thyme, cheddar pinks, and a sad looking little basil plant I bought in the produce section of my grocery store.

As the plants grew, I introduced my young daughters to the joys of plucking a fresh herb leaf, crushing it between fingers, and taking a big whiff.  They loved it!  I like to imagine that helped them learn to enjoy their senses and live in the moment.

When the basil was getting nice and lush and tall, I went out one day to find one of the tops of the stalks snapped off.  I looked around for the top, assuming that one of the girls had pulled it off to sniff and just tossed it to the ground after, as we usually did.  But it was nowhere to be found.  Oh well, no biggie.  They must have carried it arouBedford a bit before dropping it.

The next day, more leaves are stripped off.  A couple of naked twigs struck up from the mass of leaves.  I gave the girls a gentle lecture about only taking a leaf or two to sniff.  They nodded and agreed, looking a little confused.

A few days later, I walked out to see the plants stripped absolutely bare.  Not a single leaf was left, just several pathetic twigs sticking up from the dirt.  For some reason, I didn’t say anything to the kids, but mentioned it to Hubs that evening.

“Squirrels” was his reply.  He told me that he had seen a squirrel messing around in the pit several days previous, eating some leaves. But he had assumed that the squirrel would lose interest after a mouthful of the spicy, pungent plants.  Well, apparently not.  I assume the stuffed their greedy cheeks full of my prized basil, scampered back to their little squirrel nests and made walnut pesto from the black walnuts the gathered in our yard.  Seriously?  Gourmet squirrels.