Sole survivor of a timeline rewrite (Why Persian Catmint gets into all my works)
Because I must serve the Spider Queen, thanks to the blundering non-help of a "I can teach myself" magi-theraphist-something-or-other deciding to impose her standards on me, I had to confess to Khari in full who my Mormon Wife is, and what happened.
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| Is Three Sisters Mugwort, thee most harvested herb of mine? |
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| See this clear patch? |
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| This big patch where herbs were supposed to grow? |
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| Right here . . . see that shave off spot. Those poor plants. |
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| I was not a kind barber--more of a butcher. |
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| Because I came prepared this Xth harvest time. |
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| This is the Before photo--can you see the tile? Or the herbs? |
When me and Khari met, she was polyamourous.
I told her that would work only up to the second that someone else set their cap on me. Khari told that I was wrong. Then being I am a damn prophet, it came to pass that a Mormon outcast set her cap on making me, the restaurant someday-to-be owner, her husband and father of her children. Then Khari blew a gasket, resorted to magick . . . and her spell messed up a working that me and my Mormon wife had brewed together.
Result was that the March 2003 blizzard (31.8 inches of snow) seemed to be Ground Zero.
Day Two of dugout, I could get to my business; my Mormon Wife could not . . . and she now with a nice Mormon boy who truly believed that he got her knocked up.
There's absolutely no chance that Blizzard is as Ostara sex magick baby.
"Oh let's cast a small weather magick spell, so we have a slow day at work."
No, I might have slept though American Hogwarts, or not even gotten invited; but here's the part that currently brings me to confession, even though I am a damned witch.
At one point in time, as a powerful witch, Khari used to take credit for that blizzard.
A few days ago when I told her the whole story, she said, "I don't do weather magick."
Oh my goddess, the Spider Queen is editing her memory again, so that she doesn't have to be a member of the Thirteen Step Club. Dear Lord, it's UFO--Missing Time Memory Time.
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| Here are the honest members of the 13th Step Club. |
"The First Step of the Thirteen Step Club is admitting the Black Magick is Real. That we have done it. And that we would do it again for a half pack of cigarettes. Or a good rub-down."
The last part is Edgar's contribution obviously; he has a thing for John Constane. I tell Edgar that the guy is bad luck, or cursed--and owes us all money. And can't punk music.
Still it annoyed me to have to give Khari full marks for judging that I would be better off without Gwen in my life, outside of food service, r other blue collar work, simply she pictured that way . . . maybe she is right, and she did us all a favor; but I have my doubts.
Gwen would laugh at her, if she saw how much Persian Catmint is planted around here.
We first saw it on one of our walks. Gwen saw how pretty it was on this slope of this Catholic church next to the school on York. And I laughed because I had brought one.
When I was at the botanic garden sale, the last one before buying the house with Khari, I had obtained one. It would turn out to be the only to survive the move--because I planted it outside . . . and it's a weed outside. Or rather a plant that outweeds the weeds.
Yeah, I plant it in zones that I am tired of weeding.
It is the Djinn Queen of taking over a vacant lot. Persian Catmint wants to spread. And I have mowed it with a lawn mower--laugh with me---because I am a man. I love the purple flowers that it makes a couple time a year; once in spring, again in fall--rain bearing, of course. I get mildly emotionally altered from working with the plant.
In the back of my head, Persian Catmint reminds me of my missing ladies, so I planted it a lot. Hence I always can have a fresh jar of Persian Catnip to use in my spells and kits.
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| Partly dry--just one small harvest, many to go. |
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| Partway through drying out--looking good. |
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