What are you doing New Year's Eve?

First of all, I need to share this super retro-cool video from the likes of Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who each have one foot planted in the 1940s and the other ensconced in the twenty-tens.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSq1cez_flQ

And now, I'll ask again, "What are you doing New Year's Eve?"  Getting soused out of your gourd amidst a gaggle of chatty friends?  Or are you going to blend into the anonymity of the teeming throngs of a public gathering, where the big crystal ball slowly descends to announce the arrival of baby new year?  Maybe you and your sweetie will simply stay at home, ringing in 2012 with champagne kisses?  Or perhaps you don't really consider this evening a big deal, and you're perfectly content with going to sleep early after watching "Duck Soup"?

Whatever you plan to do, I hope there's an element of release and a soupcon of hopeful greeting and expectation.  Release those things that may have held you back, or things that clouded and deadened your energy during this past year.  Imagine them on the last page of your 2011 wall calendar and see yourself ripping them off the wall and sending them to the recycling can.

And then, make room for growth and happiness, for creative splurges and thrilling adventures.  Greet new and positive relationships - see them walk right into the room in your mind's eye.  Paint a mental portrait of joyful expectation and promise, a 2012 filled with wonder, play, gratefulness, prosperity and plenty.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-b7qaSxuZUg

May 2012 be filled with love, possibility and peace for all.

Monday is Tarot Day! AND Boxing Day!

The origin of Boxing Day:  traditionally, the day after Christmas was the time when wealthy people and homeowners would give a box containing a gift to their servants and to the poor.  Nowadays, it's quite often  when after-Christmas sales run rampant.  Still, December 26th is the customary day in the U.K. to give a small gift to those who provide services throughout the year (i.e. the mailman, your hairstylist, the dog walker, etc.).  An air of sharing and generosity floats throughout the day.

Again, I turn to the Victoria Regina Tarot, and the perfect display of compassion and giving found in its 6 of Coins card.  A well-dressed woman in a horse-drawn sled hands out clocks (pocket watches were only available and affordable to the wealthy in these times, so a gift of a clock would be quite splendid, indeed) to the poor she encounters during her ride.

The Six of Coins asks us to delve deeply into our psyche and see what side of this equation we're most in alignment with.  Do you feel you've been receiving or giving more?  Might there be an imbalance in your life here?  That's what the Six of Coins asks us to do - look inside and see what you might be able to give (money? time? love?  attention?) and what you wish to receive.  Are you sitting next to the woman in the sled - or running nearby, hoping for a glittering gift?  That balance and exchange of energies permeates Boxing Day.

A Magical Christmas. A "Bewitched" Christmas.

When I look back on my childhood Christmases, my first recollection is the time I heard reindeer hooves on the roof.  I definitely, certainly, without a doubt, encountered a holiday miracle.  My Dad tucked me in on Christmas Eve and told me that the reindeer attempt to stay quiet at night because they don't want to alert children to Santa's arrival, but it's hard to stay completely quiet as there are eight reindeer, albeit tiny ones.  So he simply told me to stay vigilant and listen, listen, listen for the magic.  Because magic is an important part of Christmas, he'd say.  It was for me then -- and it is now.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, I heard them - accompanied by wee bells.  Tiny, tinkling, crystalline bells rang out, hooves clip clopped like miniature wooden shoes.  Overwhelmed by the promise of Santa in close proximity, I stayed in bed and covered my head (just like I was told in the song, "Here Comes Santa Claus") and imagined the miraculous Jolly Elf entering through the window Dad left open a crack (we had no chimney) to keep Santa's job safe and easy.

That morning, Mom woke me up and told me Dad had something important to report.  I remember Dad entering my room, sitting at the foot of the bed, and telling me he found reindeer hoof prints out in the snow.

"They're very small, but I can tell they're not birds, they're not rabbits; they're reindeer!  Come take a look!"

A bundled-up Pam trundled outside, holding my Daddy's hand.  Sure enough: extra small hooves in the snow, made by what must have been a sleigh team of something the size of squirrels (but NOT squirrels).

Back inside, it was apparent that St. Nick made it in through the window unscathed, leaving me a plethora of mid-century toy store goodness (from the Official Southwest Side of Chicago North Pole Annex, Bargain Town, on Cicero Avenue, near 63rd Street, not far from Midway Airport.  That would make sense...) that perplexed and pixiliated tiny Pam.

Yes, I was an only child, so Santa always outdid himself every year.

I don't know about you, but a look at me in my jammies on this mid-60s Christmas morning reminds me of Tabitha from "Bewitched" so much, that it sparked me to find my favorite Christmas episode.  Thus my treat to you: the entire #123, "Humbug Not to be Spoken Here", their take on "A Christmas Carol".  Pay close attention to the second part, wherein you'll take a peek into the North Pole featuring sleek, mid-century reindeer.

Oh, and I love the fact that Samantha and Santa know each other like old friends.  Of COURSE they do!



Part One A: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y99cpVj7BGA

Part One B: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11i2pRSDSQM

Part Two: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqiH8bE2i1k

End Tag: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpfoQW9zjqw&list=PLF7EB3DF89619B590&index=5&feature=plpp_video

 (Here's Elizabeth Montgomery, apparently at an after party for the episode, because this scene is not in the actual episode, but she's wearing the same divine ensemble she has on in the final portion of the show.  It's a completely smashing jumpsuit that I want so badly, I can taste it.)


So tonight, when you're nodding off to slumber, make some room between sugar plums dancing to keep quiet and still and listen.

Just Listen.

Winter Solstice musings...

When I think of Winter Solstice, one thing comes to mind most quickly:  three years ago on this very day I pulled my back out something fierce by sitting on the floor, wrapping gifts, making a quick turn to get something on a neighboring chair and ending up in utmost agony for days.  That's the first thing that comes up for me when I think of December 21st, not the glowing, twilit majesty as pictured above.  No tranquil deer stood in quiet contemplation of the moon on 12/21/08 as far as I was concerned.

But I've become a lot more enlightened since then. Maybe it took that debilitating experience to rattle me out of a kind of pre-Christmas coma of sorts.  You know - the days leading up to the Big Day are often fraught with such busyness that one forgets to think of much else besides wrapping and buying and baking and repeating it all.  I now have learned that the Winter Solstice, besides being the longest, darkest day of the year, is the time of honoring the dark before bringing in the light.  It's the time for letting go of things that don't work for you anymore; often that includes relationships and habits.  Winter Solstice is also a time to let go of regrets from the old year - and to forgive those who've harmed you.  As long as you also ask forgiveness from those you've hurt.

Sit alone in the darkness for a bit tonight.  Feel the old year slipping away and know that, from now until June, days will grow brighter.  Thank what is passing for the wisdom it's bestowed.  Perhaps write down things you wish to let go of and then ceremoniously burn those scribbles, releasing them.  Then reflect on how to bring light into the world.  Light a candle and watch the flame's glimmering dance welcome in the new.

A very blessed Winter Solstice to you and yours.

Monday is Tarot Day!

I'm sticking to my original plan to write about tarot on Mondays, trust me.  But when I got word about this little Christmas miracle, I just had to share.

Look at me, Ma!  I'm now a contributing blogger for the WTTW - Channel 11 Chicago TV show "Check, Please!"  I wrote a review of my favorite mid-century restaurant, Merichka's - and it got published!  So now, how to tie this in with tarot.....

Hmmmm........

Eureka!  The Princess of Wands!  Fresh creative ventures!  Excitement, heads buzzing with new ideas!  I'm particularly picturing the cards from the Victoria Regina Tarot deck by Sarah Ovenall and Georg Patterson, which feature pens instead of wands, due to the fact that steel pens became mass-produced during the 19th century, thus allowing writers to flourish in their craft (rather than braving the arduous task of having to track down a goose for a feather to make a quill.  That could take all day and well into the evening.).

Behold Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll, pictured among a veritable coven of female artists.  Louise was a free-spirit, artist, and pioneer of women's rights, the sort who'd probably love the idea of sending off a review to a TV show blog to see where it landed.  Louise threw her whole self in to her creative endeavors.

The Princess of Wands urges you to create in any way that sparks you.  Pick up the pen, the brush, the laptop and just let things spring forth.  Don't hide your light under a bushel - let it shine.

I'll add a dramatic flourish with a sweep of a keystroke (yeah, not exactly the same as a 19th century ink pen, but it will nicely suffice...)

A Christmas Miracle

A few weeks back, Ben and I sat down to our annual viewing of our favorite holiday TV special, "A Charlie Brown Christmas".  Yes, of course, we can always watch it on DVD, but taking time to make the date when it's actually playing is a holiday event we don't like to miss.

Another thing we don't like to miss is the show in its entirety.  So when we viewed it a few weeks back - and witnessed the vivisection ABC did on the show, omitting the snowball throwing, Sally Brown's "tens and twenties" lines, and the entire Lucy-Schroeder "Jingle Bells" exchange, we thought we had inadvertently come upon ABC as owned by Mr. Potter from "It's a Wonderful Life".  We sat and grimaced through the Pottersville version, complete with scores of commercials - and bad sound-synching, which made me wonder if perhaps this was the Bulgarian version, but without the Bulgarian subtitles.

As Lucy said of the tree, "No, no - it's all wrong."

So enter Christmas miracle: ABC reran the REAL show last night and we just happened to come upon it and record it, complete with all previously-missing scenes.  We even stopped and started it to catch some things we'd never noticed before, like when Snoopy's decorating his dog house: he nails a stick to the front and then the little beagle gloms himself onto the front with a string of lights and wiggles them into place.  Next time you watch the show, slow this part down.  Trust me - one of the best moments ever.



The show itself is a Christmas miracle.  When it first aired back in 1965, it got low ratings. It spoke of the Christian, non-commercial meaning of Christmas unabashedly - no one else had the chutzpah to do that on prime time TV.  Then it slowly and silently built momentum over the years.  Today, you can't listen to holiday radio without hearing "Linus and Lucy" - the song played when the Peanuts dance their frugs, ponies and watusis in the school auditorium.  It's not a Christmas song: wasn't written as one.  But it and the iconic TV special it's from is so firmly ensconced now into our culture as part of Christmas, it might as well have been entitled, "Linus and Lucy's Christmas Shindig." (Side note: Ben and I love this moment so much, we planned to play the song at our wedding as the background for our wedding party to dance to.  When the d.j. attempted to pop the cd out of the jewel case, it broke in half, necessitating me to "think fast" and have him play "Gettin' Jiggy Wid It" instead.  Wasn't quite the same...)



Thanks, Sparky, for the Christmas miracle that will always endure in my heart.

Monday is Tarot Day!

Just like on the "Mickey Mouse Club", I've decided to assign something to the days of the week.  Well, okay, I actually don't want to pen myself in for every day of the week, but Mondays need some help with their image.  Bob Geldoff hated Mondays.  The Mamas and the Papas didn't trust them.  But I like them; they help to put me in motion, like a guiding hand that gently sets down my wind-up week, turns the key, and gives it a push.

From now on, Monday will be Tarot Day on my odd little blog.  So my wondering mind asked, "Which Mouseketeer quickly brings to mind a tarot card first?  No thinking - gut reaction!"  That would be Annette Funicello.

And the card which embodies her perky, optimistic nature would be the Page (or in this case, the Princess) of Cups (or Hearts).  Alright - the Princess of Hearts it is.

Emotional, sensitive and caring, this Princess (and let's face it: Annette was a TRUE Disney princess - no tiara, magical carriages or frogs needing kissing required) took us into a world filled with wonder, surprises and, eventually, romance.  Because as she matured, Annette became a Teen Princess who all the boys swooned over.  Annette was the Miley Cyrus of her day, with many a hit record to her name.  Here's a link to one of her first rockin' tunes, "Tall Paul":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ne2yFQPYYmU&feature=fvst

In film, her star still shined brightly, full of perkiness and dimples while she maintained a coating of child-like innocence in the many beach party movies she starred in (most often opposite Frankie Avalon, who most certainly qualifies as a Prince of Hearts.)

"Goin' steady" with your "dream boat", the twist and frug, warm summer days, clam bakes, and soda pop.  A true Princess of Hearts.

To my nifty-keen mom, on her birthday.

I'm sitting here in front of the computer, sipping my hot, bubbling wellness drink in hopes that the cold that decided to insinuate itself into the deep recesses of my sinuses a few nights ago is alleviated so I can think clearly without all the cotton balls in my head.  My nose itches; Mom would say a crinchy (yes, crinchy) nose meant you were going to receive money soon.  That would be pretty swell, methinks.  I'm open to that flow of energy bubbling right up to me, like the streams that wind through the Colorado mountains, ever frothy and full of motion.

My mom would be 83 years old today; she passed in 2001 and I miss her every day.  I owe a lot to my mom, besides my height and green eyes.  For instance, there's the bevy of vintage clothing, which sparked my interest in the style genre "New Look", a.k.a. clothing from the late 40s to early 60s.  Mom's wardrobe from the 50s and 60s came mostly from a shop called "Tall Gal", a division of Lane Bryant.  Mom was very stylish; just look at the photo above.  Just-so slacks and a natty little sweater.  Oh, and the dog.  That's another thing I inherited from Bea Turlow (nee Novak): a thoroughly rich interest in and appreciation of the canine.  Especially the sweet, small, loving canine that curls up in your lap.  Mom always wanted a lap dog; many of hers apparently were too rambunctious or aloof.  Luckily, her last dog, Penny, a "lemon" beagle (mostly white with a tan "penny" on her head), was a snuggle bug and fit the bill quite nicely.

So today, I wish to acknowledge my Mom (who's reading this up in heaven from the laptop she's checking in on at St. Peter's Starbucks and Angellery, while she's sipping a mocha - another gift of interest she's bestowed upon me) for her gentle humor, her cleverness, the way she peppered her language with a few phrases she learned from her Czech parents (still not sure of the etymology of "crinchy" though), how she was always my biggest fan and support, how she'd make the most superb rum balls every Christmas (I used the same recipe again, Mom - although I added double the rum this time.  I'm not sure how I feel about that), how put-together she'd look with her clip-on rhinestone aurora borealis earrings and Max Factor burgundy lipstick, and how she loved my dad and me more than anything chocolate, coffee or canine.

Mom likes to drop by at times, and often her visits come in threes.  I'm listening today for a trio of her small, quiet winks.

Love you, Mom.  Signed - your best pal.

UPDATE:  As of 4:57 this afternoon, I had a call for a likely job and two calls for possible bookings.  Sounds like a "three" to me.  Thanks, Mom.

UPDATE AGAIN:  I guess angels, since they can't receive bottles of Ralph Lauren perfume in heaven, give gifts on their birthdays.  I'd never heard this song before.  It's by Sean Lennon, about losing his dad.  31 years ago today, my Mom gave me the devastating news that John Lennon was killed.  She half-joked that I'd never be able to think of December 8 the same way again... she was right.  And all I can do right now is thank Mom yet again for having me visit Facebook just this moment to see this posted - and for hearing my words earlier, about her leaving those little "winks".    Because, as Sean sings, "The dead don't speak, they listen."

Happy St. Nicholas Day! Be afraid. Be very afraid...

Take a look at this quintessential mid-century rendering of St. Nick from the awesome vintagecentric site, Fenderskirts.com.  Couldn't you just clap your hands in joyous rapture?  He's festive and cheery, plump and velvety.  Makes you want to shake his jolly old hand, offer him an eggnog latte, and sit and chat for a spell.  And then you can pet the reindeer (must be Cupid, with such a winsome look) and offer it a Kashi bar or something.  Bluebirds, probably from the same forest Snow White traipses through, provide a sweet melody and all is sugary and dappled with nonpareils.

While visiting my dad today, one of the homecare professionals effusively wished me a happy St. Nicholas Day.  I recalled something about Sinterklaas in Holland and kids' shoes being left out in Poland for gifts to be deposited in, but I didn't know much more about the background of St. Nick's feast day than that.

So I did a little scrounging around and came up with some very interesting finds, like this little bit of lightness from Wikipedia:
.
In Czech and Slovakia, Mikuláš, in Poland Mikołaj and in Ukraine Svyatyi Mykolay is often also accompanied by an angel (anděl/anioł/anhel) who acts as a counterweight to the ominous devil or Knecht Ruprecht (čert/czart).

This is obviously no "cork on the fork" Ruprecht if he's considered an "ominous devil" who menaces the affable Mikulas.  I shuddered and hid my beagle in my recording booth, for fear she might be whisked away by this unsavory spectre.

But wait - it's even more unsettling in France:

St. Nicolas comes primarily in Alsace, Lorraine and Nord-Pas-de-Calais (French Flanders). St. Nicolas is patron of Lorraine. A little donkey carries baskets filled with children's gifts, biscuits (U.S. 'cookies') and sweets. The whole family gets ready for the saint's arrival on December 6, with grandparents telling stories of the saint. The most popular one is of three children who wandered away and got lost. Cold and hungry, a wicked butcher lured them into his shop where he attacked and salted them away in a large tub. Through the intervention of St. Nicolas the boys were restored to their families. This story led to Nicolas being recognized as the protector of children. In France statues and paintings often portray this event, showing the saint with children in a barrel. The evil butcher became Père Fouettard, who has followed St Nicolas in shame ever since.  Meanwhile bakeries and home kitchens are a hive of activity as spiced gingerbread biscuits (U.S 'cookies') and mannala (a brioche shaped like the good saint) are baked. At school children learn St. Nicolas songs and poems and draw and paint St. Nicolas pictures and crafts. Saint Nicolas visits nursery schools, giving children chocolates and sometimes even a little present. Though Père Fouettard carries switches to threaten the children, what they really fear is that he may advise Saint Nicolas to pass them by on his gift-giving rounds.

Say what?  Briny children?  Switches?  Kids in a barrel?  Did Sondheim write the lyrics to the musical version?:

"Attend the tale of Pere Fouettard.
He threw the babes in a barrel of lard.
Like cocktail peanuts he salted them;
With switches he threatened - this guy was a gem.
St. Nicholas, please save the kids
From the demon butcher of Alsace!"

Of course, many a tale comes with its pinch of morality story, and the many fables and legends attached to St. Nicholas are no exception.  I like to think of him as a benevolent next-door neighbor who's maybe a little tipsy, but is full of life, ready with a joke, and generous to a fault, who rewards you for giving of yourself.  Which brings to mind when my Uncle Wally, who enjoyed his scotch, dressed up like Santa when I was about four, accompanied by an inflatable toy reindeer with glamor lashes.  I recall him tipping the little animal's' nose into the highball glass.

Perhaps that's a different morality story for another day...

Welcome to the natal day of Mid-Century Mystic! Let the nose-wiggling begin!

Greetings!  I've been anticipating writing such a blog for a while now, but needed an angel wink from the cosmos to make it happen.  And so it happened just about twenty minutes ago.

I was out, walking for fitness and participating in one of my usual walking meditations at the same very time (it's two, two, TWO life-affirming activities in ONE!), working through a particular conundrum I've had for a while:  I've had three separate psychics, completely unrelated to each other by acquaintance or location, look me squarely in the eye and ask, "Who's Samantha?"

I usually explain that I'm the biggest "Bewitched" fan they'll ever meet and pretty much leave it at that, since I truly don't know what the connection is for me.  They then, all three of them, mention that it's my spirit guide.

I've meditated on it, journalled, conducted rituals, thrown tarot spreads for clarity - nothing.  Then today, it came to me, as I entered the house and gazed upon our gorgeous Christmas tree, and my eye was drawn as if by ultra-magnetic powers to the Samantha Stephens ornament my friends Jon and Tom gave me a few years ago.

So, the combo of my Mid-century interests (which go way beyond Sammy) and my abilities in the spiritual realm (tarot, astrology, spiritual co-active coaching, to name a few) are overseen, inspired and coaxed by my spirit guide, whose name happens to be Samantha.  It all became crytal clear!  And I immediately was hit with the words: "mid-century mystic" (I clearly saw it in the"Bewitched" font, in my mind's eye).  I threw it to the wall - and it stuck like a 60s starburst clock.

And so it was, on this day, December 5, 2011, that Mid-Century Mystic was born.  It's my blog, my calling, and what makes me sparkle like stars in the ceiling of the Cosmos Cotillion. 

Curious?  Well then, I urge you, by all heavenly means, to stay tuned and read on...

(And to have a natal day shared with Walt Disney, the ultimate mid-century mystic,  is pretty smackdabby spectacular.)