Double Bubble Toil and Trouble

IMAG2226

O well done! I commend your pains; and every one shall share i’ your gains; And now about the cauldron sing. Live elves and fairies in a ring; Enchanting all that you put in. – the Bard

Last night there was a dark moon, and I usually stay indoors because I am not a witch, and I am especially not a black magick witch. But a couple of cauldron owners I know who were unfamiliar with such things noticed that they’d need eye of newt for their love potion, and I am a Newton with several eyes to spare. Their potion included CBD water, and we were ultimately confused about how to transport the bubble riders under the circumstances. The bubbles produced by their secret recipe were far less effervescent than Potion 17, so we spent the day trying to find a method that could lift the bubble riders higher and faster than this potion seemed to allow.

We started at a shooting range for women. We tried handguns, revolvers and a fancy bow and arrow. No luck.

We tried rusty train tracks and leaky kayaks. No luck.

We tried non-GMO corn cob sabers. No luck.

We tried beer. No luck.

We tried nuclear power. No luck.

We tried sunflower stalks. No luck.

In the end, we came upon an unusual method that worked. We “Cruze”d to a street-side basketball hoop and made a couple of three-pointers. We got caught playing in the road by Beloved himself, the RoyL Viking, but we were in disguise and prefer to think that we got away safely.

A Moon by Any Other Name

There are at least a half dozen names for the August full moon. August is my favorite full moon and I missed it last year because my mother had died and I was mourning the loss of her vibrance. Sturgeon is what it was called last year, and I had to look up on Google what it was. It would look like any other fish in the sea if not for its Frito Bandito facial hair. But I wanted a name for this moon goddess that represented confident beauty…

Enter Queen Aleena, from Sonic the Hedgehog and the trusted Urban Dictionary. There is only one person under the moon who might object to this name, for reasons only the fairies know. The only Aleena I know is a dog. A beautiful confident dog, to be sure, and if she howls at the moon tonight I might answer.

11:11

The new moon is on schedule to coincide with the time when old lovers who have crossed over reach out to us.

Mother nature, however, is due to send an electrical storm at the same time.  Most communications with these old lovers is accomplished through electricity, so it will be difficult to know for sure what is being said.

That’s OK.  As with most mothers, Mother Nature knows what love is.  She has no interest in eavesdropping or redirecting messages.  Sometimes I hear from a spirit who left his wife behind, and that’s fine with me.  He can see her at the next 11:11.

Home

The Fairy Godmother was able to squeeze all her charms and talents into 240 square feet, with plenty of room for her tiny charges to come and go as desired. There was a fire extinguisher and candles and cauldrons with athames both large and small, which is relative in a tiny house with fairy visitors.

The house sat on the edge of reality near figment, where the veil was thinnest under all phases of the moon. At full capacity, it still weighed 17,040 pounds, because the fairies visited only at night, and were therefore naked. When these visitors left, they would take all evidence that they had ever been there. There were clues, but a sharp eye was needed because they were bubble rider sprites; the smallest of the fae, yet the most powerful.

It is important to note that The Fairy Godmother is not of the fae, nor is she a witch. Most days she is an ordinary human who reheats her coffee in the microwave and forgets where she left it. She wears neither wings nor pointy hat. She wears costumes and uniforms above red shoes. In public she wears sneakers with t-shirts from Walmart.

The Fairy Godmother never cackles or talks like a baby. She is just as likely to be talking to a human as a fairy. This is the reason she is sometimes considered to have gone mad.

But she is wise. Wherever her life has shrunk in reality, it has expanded across the veil. She sees the fairies and caresses the stars.

Awbin Aire

She looked exactly like a tiny Pippi Longstocking, complete with striped tights, haphazard braids, and red shoes with buckles and room in the toes to carry her treasures.

Nobody knew why she ended up along the Mohawk trail or how long she had lived there, but they assumed she had interacted with adult humans at some point in her life, because she used a lot of English words – not always in the usual fashion. She communicated in one way or another with stars and bees and raccoons and fairies.

If she had a name, it was apparently Awbin Aire and so we will call her Binny, as her friends do. She has always been eight years old.

The grown-ups think Binny is an imaginary friend or local legend, and although the children speak matter-of-factly about her, no adult has actually laid eyes on her. They speculate that she has wandered west from Salem, through Ayer and Auburn, and that she was probably baptized Mary Elizabeth, but doesn’t know it. They are all aware that most of the stories about her occur around May Day and Halloween.

Binny naps at noontime and travels at night. Every so often when the day first opens its eyes, Binny steps into a creek and washes her Auburn Hair.