Jeudi: Great Spirits

In his epic the Aeneid, Roman poet Virgil tells us that the Queen of Carthage, Dido, committed suicide when her lover/husband Aeneas the Trojan adventurer, sails off to Italy and rejects their wedding vows. She is a victim of love and the gods and, despite her great authority and power as the queen of the largest nation in North Africa, she succumbs to both.

The story is a classic Greco-Roman reimagining of how women - and particularly women in power - needed to behave. The distaff side should not be ruling anything aside from their homes; Dido, Queen of Carthage, got what she deserved and at her own hand.

But what is the true origin of the story of Dido? Is she only a figment of Virgil's imagination or is there more to her than that? As Patricia Monaghan points out in Goddesses & Heroines, there must certainly be more to this Queen of Carthage than Virgil's epic. If not, Dido managed not only to live for hundreds of years but to commit suicide not once, but twice.

The Carthaginian legend of Queen Dido is very different - and quite a bit more heroic - than Virgil's version. It also points to a possible answer to the long life and miraculous self-imposed deaths of the queen. Dido it seems, like Candace and Helen, was originally a title and not a name.

According to Monaghan the word dido may come from the root dida meaning to wander. The original Dido Elissa or - even more ancient - Alitta which means "the goddess," seems to have come from the Phoenician settlement of Tyre. Bringing a band of colonists with her, Dido Alitta established a settlement that would eventually grow into the powerful empire known as Carthage. The story holds that the journey was spurred by the murder of Alitta's husband by her brother and that she brought only women with her to seek out a new home. Since the latter seems highly suspect, both "facts" can probably be left as legend.

Alitta, who was clearly a savvy business woman along with a proud leader, purchased a "hide's worth" of land on the shore of the Mediterranean from a local tribe. She then proceeded to cut the hide into thin strips and lay these out end to end around a vast holding that swept over much of a peninsula that now resides in the country of Tunis. Her first order of business thereafter was to begin building a great temple to her goddess Tanit (sometimes written as Tanith) the mother of the sky from which the people of Carthage believed they came. When the Romans invaded Carthage and beheld the beautiful statue of Tanit bedazzled with stars and holding the moon and the sun, they called her Dea Caelestis: "heavenly goddess."

The city flourished and was named after its first Dido: Cartha-Alitta or "city of the goddess." Of course envy from local rulers was inevitable and one particularly nasty cheiftain threatened war against Carthage if Alitta would not satisfy his lust. Alitta's response was swift and pragmatic; she killed herself and had her lecherous neighbor invited to the funeral.

In honor of their first Dido's brilliance and courage, the Carthaginians built a sacred grove in the middle of their city. This grove of Elissa would stand, and refresh the people of Dido's city-state, until the Romans destroyed Carthage during the Third Punic War in 146 BCE.

Header: Morte di Didone by Guercino c 1635 via Wikipedia

Mercredi: The Art of Beauty

Really, as much style as beauty here. These were the days, kids. If only Oscar attendees had this kind of panache once again! Frank Sinatra, Ava Gardner, Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh photographed by Bret Hardy circa 1952. Thanks to the wonderful We Had Faces Then blog for originally posting this. Stunning.

Mardi: Herbal-Wise

Ah, gossip. That malicious form of harassment that is rarely considered bullying but actually can be. Particularly among the young, gossip can ruin a life. Teenagers have committed suicide over it and in our hyper-cyber world, it can spread five thousand times faster than it could just a short twenty years ago. Progress? Hmm.

Among the curendaros and curendaras of the U.S. and Mexico boarder, there is a simple and fortunately not fatal solution for the problem. A simple working involving a candle, oil and the seed of the chia plant will work even in our social media environment. You can find chia seeds in many Latino markets, particularly in the greater Los Angeles area. Check online as well if you're not in Mexico or the southwestern U.S. Do this working with intention and even the most persistent gossip will shut up.

Using a pin or small knife, carve the gossip's name seven times on each knob of a white, seven-knob candle. If you cannot get a seven-knob candle, which are sold at most magickal supply stores as well as online, use a white taper and section it, using your pin, into seven fairly equal parts, then follow the above process. The six equidistant lines you carve into the candle will help you know when to put the candle out each day.

Anoint your candle with olive oil or, if you can obtain it, Protection Oil, and then, while the oil is still wet. roll the candle in a tray or bowl of chia seeds. Stand the candle in the tray (using a safe candle holder) so that it is surrounded by the remaining seeds.

Burn one knob, or section, each day beginning on a Saturday and preferably in the hour of Saturn (see this chart of planetary hours by day) to aid in banishing the problem. Burn the candle until it extinguishes itself on the seventh day and put any remaining wax in the back of your freezer to seal the working.

The nasty bully should cease and desist by then end of the week and, particularly if that candle wax stays frozen, never trouble you again. Bonne chance ~

Header: Interior d'un Cafe by Juan Luna c 1892 via Old Paint

Lundi: Recipes

My daughter's middle school library recently held a Scholastic book fair and, being a family of four bibliophiles, we could not miss it. Among other things, we stumbled upon the title America's Most Wanted Recipes: Just Desserts by Ron Douglas. Mr. Douglas, who has written more than one of these books, is a genius at deciphering the ingredients in famous restaurant recipes and offering them to the home cook.

Just Desserts includes recipes from such diverse restaurants as Chart House, Zuni Cafe, Dunkin' Donuts and, for you fans and friends of NOLA, Brennan's. There's even a few from Starbucks, like today's offering that combines two things I love: Chocolate-Espresso Pudding. It's so easy (thanks to Mr. Douglas) that even I can do it:

2 cups nonfat soy milk
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 tablespoon instant espresso powder
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 cup chopped bittersweet chocolat
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine the soy milk and the brown sugar in a medium saucepan over medium heat; stir until sugar dissolves. Whisk in cocoa powder, cornstarch, espresso powder and salt. Bring to a boil, and then reduce heat to low. Simmer for about a minute, until the mixture becomes thick.

Remove from the heat and stir in chopped chocolate and vanilla extract. Pour equal amounts of the pudding into four dessert bowls. Put a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the pudding to keep it from forming a "skin."

Refrigerate for at least four hours. Remove plastic wrap and serve.

Mr. Douglas notes that you needn't be slavish to the espresso; any instant coffee you have on hand will work. If you'd like to browse through more of Mr. Douglas' recipes, find his work as ebooks here. Bon appetite ~

Header: La Chocolatiere by Jean Etienne Liotard c 1744 via Old Paint

Dimanche: Swimming

Beach at Etaples by Phillip W. Steer via Old Paint

Vendredi: Chthonian Histories

The realms of the underworld and sexuality intertwine and weave a tangled web that continues to burrow into our psyche like the persistent and arrogant roots of the weeping willow will do into the foundation of a home. It's a slow process that moves in mere fractions of an inch but, if left unchecked, it just may drive one mad.

And speaking of madness, let us take the next few weeks to discuss some strange, and very chthonian, bedfellows of old: the incubus, the succubus, and their cousin and today's topic, the dream lover.

One of the best illustrations of the dream lover - who is by no means a dream and is often a shape shifter or revenant in the literature - comes from that old '80s favorite, the movie Excalibur. Early on Queen Igraine, that Dark Ages sex kitten who flairs the passions of Uther Pendragon, believes she has been visited by her husband one night while he is supposed to be away fighting Uther's hordes. To Igraine's horror, she discovers that her husband was in fact killed in battle the very night he crawled into their bed. Who then made love to her? As we all know, Uther wearing a magickal skin placed over him by the wizard Merlin.

Such protestations of women - that their far away husband appeared to them in the flesh and impregnated them - pepper the history of the witch craze. Most of these unfortunates were accused of adultery or, worse still, welcoming a demon into their beds. But once in a while the tribunals were kind and the dream lover was awarded his do: the paternity of the woman's child.

This latter is the case in a curious story written in 1698 by Professor Johann Klein of the University of Rostock. The story centers around a gentlewoman named Lucile or Lucienne de Montleon. Madame de Montleon lived in the French speaking province of Switzerland and her husband, Seigneur Jerome Auguste de Montleon had been away at war for some four years when Madame suddenly turned up pregnant.

As Madame fretted over this situation, word came to her chateau that her husband was dead. Fainting away, Lucile spent the rest of her confinement in bed. She did manage to bring forth a strapping son within the year and, pulling herself up by her corsets straps, presented him to the city council as her husband's son and heir. Her claim as far as the unusual timing of the birth was simple: her husband had made her pregnant in a dream. When she received push-back on her claim - there were doubtless others who would have liked nothing better than to take over the Seigneur's land and income - Madame asked that the matter be heard in court.

The initial findings of the local judges did not go as Madame had hoped. Most called her an adulteress and two labeled her mad. Apparently unshakeable in her resolve, Madame de Montleon appealed her case to the Parlement of Grenoble. There not only two midwives but a doctor from the local University testified in Lucile's favor. They unanimously told the court that impregnations via dream were as common as flowers in spring among the peasant classes. Just because they were rarely heard of among the gentry, didn't mean that they weren't possible among the gentry.

The Parlement, taking all testimony into consideration, found in favor of Lucile de Montleon. Her son, whose name the good doctor does not share with us, was named so heir to the Seigneur.

What Johann Klein does share is a rather blue denouement to this already colorful story. According to Klein the case became something of an international sensation, to the point that the faculty of law at the Sorbonne in Paris looked over all the evidence and testimony reviewed by their colleagues in Grenoble. They concluded, as men often will, that the Parlement was simply helping a lady out of a difficult situation. After all, what educated man, or right thinking woman, could every believe in a dream lover...

Header: The Lunatic of Etretat by Hugues Merle c 1874 via Old Paint

Jeudi: Weather Wise

The Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, is a well known phenomena hear at the top of the world. The beautiful streaks of blue, green and purple that dance across the cold night sky are accompanied by an eerie pop and crackle which is similar to the sound of a wood fire. While gorgeous, explaining the lights and sounds prior to the dawn of the scientific age was a difficult endeavor. Our various ancestors spoke of various possible explanations, many of which are remarkably similar.

In North America, and in what is now Canada, Alaska and the northern U.S. in particular, the lights were often linked to the spirits of the dead, be they human or animal. In what is now the province of Labrador, Canada, the native people believed that the crackling sounds made by the lights were the voices of those who had died a violent or sudden death. People were told to reply only in a whisper, for fear of disturbing these ancestors who were finally at peace.

The Tlingit of southeastern Alaska saw the lights as the spirits of the dead, while in the Yukon, native people said the lights were spirits, but those of salmon, seals and deer. Sometimes the spirits were said to be dancing. In other stories, they were playing ball, often with the skull of an animal. If it was the spirits of animals playing, however, they were said to use a human skull.

The Mandan said the lights were fires built by shaman and warriors who had passed into death. They were lit to boil the bodies of dead enemies in giant pots. It was only in the Point Barrow region of modern Alaska that the lights were thought to bode ill. Seeing them could bring on bad luck, but carrying a knife, particularly one made of metal, would repel the evil energy.

Meanwhile, in northern Europe, people tended to agree with the Point Barrow natives. While the Vikings imagined the lights as nothing more than the gods at play, most of the Celtic nations in Great Britain believed the Aurora ushered in a time of great turmoil, aggression, illness and want.

These beliefs trickled down into the 17th, 18th and 19th century. In Arctic Zoology written in 1784, the author tells us that, at the sight of the lights, "the rustic sages become prophetic, and terrify the gazing spectators with the dread of war, pestilence and famine." Though Pennant calls these beliefs superstitions, it is clear that they are held by many people. In Scotland, the lights were seen as a portend of the death of the famous. Aytoun writes in 1849 of "Fearful lights, that never beckon Save when kings or heroes die." As late as the 1870s, writers mentioned that the lights portended disaster, especially toward their own nation.

Despite all this, and perhaps because we now know their origin, the lights continue to fascinate. Even for the most cynical among us, a little chill must run up the spine at the sight of those dancing ribbons and the sound of spirit fires.

Header: Aurora Borealis over Anchorage, Alaska via Wikipedia