PALM READING

mmpalmsAfter a self imposed hiatus from reading palms, I am so happy to announce that I am once more checking out your lines, helping you understand your destiny, and just having fun with people I enjoy.  Although I am not as glamorous as Ms.Monroe in the picture,  I promise you an interesting time!

Currently you can see my schedule at Mind Body Spirit in St Cloud, and schedule a reading there for your convenience.  I will post continuing updates with new venues, and offers.

Otherwise, I am available for private parties, (I love Bachorlette Parties) and private readings.

Your destiny, your life is in the palm of your hands.

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Saturday Shop

midsummer-nightA place to visit in Jordan, MN.  A wonderful shop, owned and managed by a wonderful woman, my friend Mara!  225 Water Street

The Shop is Open! The Shop is Open!

Source: Saturday Shop

A slight romantic tale of fiction

youngHer  name was Tirion. A Kale from Wales. Often she was confused with the Gypsy. But was not such. Tirion‘s  kind has always traveled in Britain, from before even the Celts traveled to Ireland to conquer and control. They are not Gypsy, They are, and will always be, Travelers.

Even so, they share much in common with the Gypsies, journeying from place to place, and share much with our United States country’s own native tribes. They were persecuted for their beliefs, and often found themselves hiding  survive. Survive they did. Making their way, moving from village to city to ocean to mountain to plain, working hard; using the strength of their minds and their bodies.

Her own Gran, my Gran many times past, had a sight, theoldwoman ability to see past the veils of this world into others, and could reach into the soul of another to understand and hear their hidden secrets. From her Tirion was passed these gifts, and with them, she made her own small living.cards

From her words to my Gran’s Mother to my Gran and to me, I heard this tale…

“We look to the other world for our spiritual delight. Mab, Queen of all the Fairies we call our own, and the Fairies we are cousin to. My ancestors danced with the Fairies on many a midsummer eve, and many a hallowed eve, ensuring our prosperity and comfort. Together we drew down the moon, and made the small magic’s that kept our world turning.

I can tell you many a tale of my five decades here on this earthly plane, tales of visits with my cousins, tales of time spent with this United States own native peoples, and tales of my travels, sorrows, and joy. But I will begin, with just the small beginning. To say how I came to this vast and wonderful land of ours, this Western glory.

My Ma; as a Lass, came across the great ocean on a merchant ship bound from the port of Liverpool, in the year of 1825, headed to a port of New York City. Her passage was paid by a grand and fine Lady, and for this Lady my Ma fetched and carried, helping to achieve all of the fuss and froofa that great Ladies must have.

Her private time was little, but one fine morning she happened above decks, to stand with the salty breeze blowing through her hair, and the feel of the sun on her face. A swell rocked the deck, and she tumbled, crying out in alarm.

sailor in mastNow above her was the man who would be my Da, a Traveler as well, who had hired on the ship to earn his own safe passage to the Americas. He worked the sails, climbing up and down the masts, doing all those things that sailors do. Hearing her cry, he looked down, and saw her coppery curls glinting in the light, and her slight form tumbled about the deck. And she, lying on that deck looked up into the sky and saw himself, sun-browned and lean, hanging above her.

Quickly he clambered down the mast, and rushing to her, helped her back on to her feet. Looking into one anothers faces they knew, with their souls that they  to be together.

Later that evening, my Ma once more crept above deck, to find Da, waiting, where her heart knew he would be. And thus I was created, and still to this day, I hold in my mind a connected memory of the sound and smell of salty waves rocking against the wooden sides of a ship, and the sight of stars shining down into the water.”

I blushed as my gran told me this story, and was thrilled to know of the love running in my veins.

gypsy wagon

Time for a Wagon

Time for a Gypsy Wagon

Please take some time to check out my new endeavor!tyger voyage

Am I wrong

bohimean

 

A comment to John the other day.  “My favorite people are really weird!”    It is true.  With other souls who have a skewered outlook on living I am the most comfortable, the most at home.

October 11, 1924

momasbabyOur Mother, Dorothy,  was born this day.

Happy Birthday Mom.  So many miss and love you.

fam

Mom’s 80th, still young.

I know our niece Shelly thinks of you every day, I believe she misses  you the most. 4 generations Cheri starts grieving about this time of year. but I know you are with her holding her hand.  Sandi Kaye has a broken heart. Sandy B I think has trouble believing you are gone, Dee is lonely for you, Richard just plain misses you and Steve grieves in his quiet fashion. I think our Linda is overjoyed that you are in Heaven with her, causing mayhem and hilarity.  Me, I am still befuddled, finally getting to know you now that you are gone.mom.cheriYthe kidsour daughters and sons, your grandchildren, your greats and your great greats, all miss you.

lovelymomIf you had been allowed, you might have been a hell raiser, in a good way.  You always had a hidden talent for mischief, and a glint in your eye.  I’m amazed the glint didn’t vanish after the life you lead as a youth, farmed out to an older husband at 16, lonely and isolated in the middle of nowhere Iowa, no amenities, just hard work and babies.  Your resilience was something else again, candling eggs, working in a nursing home, a bar, learning to make money and support your children when Dad passed.  I remember your learning to drive a car,  you were determined as you  headed into the ditch, but stopped in time.  Your red-headed Irish temper flared just a bit right then.

momsexymomTo this day I feel a surge of delight when I see make up samples, your days as an Avon rep have stayed with me always, with your blue case of wonders.mom

bernie momYou sure knew how to love your man, and you deserved more love than you might have received.   But you had moments of glory and happiness.

lindaI imagine you, with Linda, our sister, your daughter. You have both reconciled, you are fantastic evolved beings. I imagine you in a rocker, with a fluffy white kitten on your lap, or laying in the sun, turning a lovely copper.

I love and live for the sunshine. You taught your children that. Some cold days I turn my face to the sun and feel your warmth in my soul.  I imagine you are always in the warmth of glory these days.  You deserve to be, you deserve to rest.

beautifulmom

 

 

 

 

Freedom

children

children of the poor

Yesterday I watched a news story.  Women and children are coming to our boarders, believing that they will find freedom.  Believing in  the American Dream;  met at the border by rich US citizens, turned away, screamed at, disregarded as people.  We furiously protect what we have, forgetting where we got it!

Trail of Tears

We forget that our ancestors came from other countries; pushing out the native people who lived here.  In many cases with genocide.

We forget that our ancestors came, and lived in hovels, worked, scraped, struggled.  So that they could have the American Dream. We forget that they were scorned and terrorized, yet kept coming.  thp-ny-tenementWe forget where we came from.

This is not a treatise on immigration policy, I am not smart enough for that.  This is a call for understanding and love, for a return to our basic values of liberty and justice for all.  What are the words?

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

This is how most of us arrived here.  My great grandparents from Prussia and England with little, working their way here to the Midwest, coming to dream.

Today, everyday, remember and honor.liberty

 

 

 

 

 

 

Previous Older Entries

Tilly Evan Jones

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing as though I had wings.” ~Mary Oliver

gathered and glued

tilegypsy.com

Lost Creek

Old West Lore, Old West Leather, Chuckwagons, and More