Archive for July, 2013

Urglaawe: The Pennsylvania Dutch Heathen path

Posted in On the Gods with tags , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2013 by Tyrienne
Photo courtesy of Robert L. Schreiwer.  The distlefink of Gring's Mill state park

Photo courtesy of Robert L. Schreiwer. The distlefink of Gring’s Mill state park

This pdf was created by our friend and Braucher,  Robert Scheiwer to give a basic understanding of the Heathen path of Urglaawe and Brauchei- one of the two traditions native to my family (the other being Lettish Vanic Tradition, aka “The Earth Religion”).

It’s an excellent read, especially for those of you not in the United States to see how our ancestral culture, traditions, and heritage have been preserved by the Pennsylvania Dutch over the course of the centuries spend over here on this continent. Also, I would like to add there is a non-racist national organization on which he serves as a board member called “The Troth”–  They have been doing some amazing work with prison outreach as well as with Heathens against Hate, as well as helping to Sponser Pagan Pride Day in Philadelphia, Pa.  Also, I have been proud to witness a dramatic change in the treatment of Rokkatru and Jotunr in the past year by this organization into the positive.
🙂
(Both Ed and I are members- not the most active, but we pay our dues without grumbling!)
To learn about Urglaawe, Go here:

Hollerbeer Haven

June 6, 2012 to present. For Loki.

Posted in About me, On the Gods with tags , , , , , , , , on July 21, 2013 by Tyrienne

I don’t remember walking in, but I remember being carted out; strapped to the gurney, I cried and the EMT held my hand and promised to undo the straps as soon as no one could see us, only leaving one remaining- the one on my waist- as he told me about his wife, his move from Florida to Pennsylvania- and anything else that would distract me from looking out the back window during the hour drive south.  They let me walk in- I somehow managed to pack my red bag with the right clothes- I don’t remember doing it
I had the same intake doctor as before.  He asked me about my studies of Muhammad Iqbal, and of Rumi once again- and I broke down. I just asked him for one thing:  Give me the same doctor I had before; the head doctor- the only one who would believe me- request granted.  But they would not give me the same nurses as before.
I went directly to my room- my brother had bought me all three books of “The Hunger Games,”  and my roommate was quiet and from Eastern Europe- brought in by her own mother when she would not disclose why she would no longer speak.  To me, she said, she had just ended a secret affair with a woman.  Her husband didn’t know- and since she was not there on her own volition, anything she said could be disclosed to her family.

In the morning, they asked for blood, I sat in the chair- and the rubber around my upper arm caused me to panic-  I felt trapped to the chair again, I closed my eyes, the phlebotomist was incompetent.  I met with Dr. C…. I listed off every single method one can kill themselves in under 15 minutes (the amount of time between being “checked on”)

“Is that really the best use of your intelligence you can think of?”  He sighed.  “You know, I told you if you kept going you would end up back here- but there isn’t much we can do for you except keep you as safe as we can for a little while.  What do you want?”

I wanted to erase the past three years…. I wanted the police borough that held me for 5 hours handcuffed to a chair to burn down,  I wanted the past 2 years erased from my memory.  I wanted to forget how to speak Farsi.  I wanted to be left alone, I wanted to be held, I wanted to die.

Instead, I said- “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

He replied:  “Well, the same offer is on the table as last time…. Look- I can divide C-PTSD and make each symptom a separate diagnosis.  Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Severe Depression, Agoraphobia, Delusional disorder, non specified.”

“I’m not delusional.”

“Flashbacks are delusions.”

I always look people directly in the eyes- the opposite of most of my friends and family.  I don’t think I blinked.

“So, then what happens?”

“You take a break.  You stay in treatment- you stop applying to graduate schools for now and concentrate on getting better… If you don’t, you will keep ending up back here.  You know what’s wrong with you, I know what’s wrong with you- and we can’t do anything for you except give you a safe place to be for a while.”  He repeated.

“What if I never feel safe again?  Am I here forever?”

“Insurance wouldn’t take kindly to that.”

“Oh.”

“When do I get to have a life again?”

“When you stop making decisions based on how you want to die rather than on how you want to live- Graduate school in Tehran was a ridiculous idea and you know it…. when your medical team can come to a consensus that you are healthy enough.”

“They rejected me anyway… after the Canadian embassy was sacked, they said it was unsafe for an American woman to enter any of their programs at this time.”

“So, then- go to group when you can- do what you usually do. At least out of everyone here I know you know how to keep yourself occupied.  Worry about the police thing later- I know it seems impossible- but try not to think on it too much.”

So, I went back to my room- the mattress creaked of plastic- I already knew how to steal extra blankets.  The weather outside was warm enough to spend an hour a day in the sunlight- I read all three books quickly and passed them on to other patients.

I listened to other people’s stories- I played and read cards.  Who was in and out is a blur-  after your third visit, you can’t recall who you met each time.   At night, I would pace the hallways until the sleeping pills worked.  I would wake up with the sun, cover my head with my stolen pillows from the released patients, and wait until 9am.   I sat through tediously boring sessions.  Dr. C would see me once a day and occasionally ask me, out of curiousity, what *I* would diagnose a new comer.   I was getting good at it by now- after 20+ cumulative days of three different visits- you can almost detect the patterns immediately.

The Borderline, The Bipolar, PTSD, Depression, Schizophrenia, OCD, Anorexia Nervousa- and the combinations of conditions.   The Schizophrenics would undergo swan-like transformations from raving lunatics to articulate, intelligent geniuses in a matter of days.   The borderlines would stay exactly the same- the center of attention- telling elaborate stories of their suicide attempts like one would speak about their time elected as prom queen.

This time, I had a Hamaval- I met a Swede who I lent it to, “This is a REAL religion- the Norse Gods are Real?”
I told him, to the best of my knowledge, they were- but hey, I was in here too- how much could you really trust what I believe?

After three days I noticed a pattern… despite auxiliary conditions- everyone in the ward this time was in for the exact same reason.  Each person had JUST suffered abuse at the hands of another, or several other, people.

The group sessions were centered on identifying how not to become re-victimized, the traits of sociopathy/psychopathy and how to identify them and avoid their webs.  One man was told to break up with the woman who held a knife to his throat three days before- he was in his 40’s and sat against the wall with his head in his hands, shivering.  I gave him my sweatshirt and asked him to keep it.  It was June, the air conditioner was malfunctioning and I raided the lost and found for warmer clothing.

A young man with Asperger’s gave me his shirt in exchange; his marriage at 22 was collapsing and he had the blue medical band wrapped around one wrist tightly that proclaimed he had second thoughts halfway up his arm.

A retired chemist with MS and I spent a great deal of time talking about Kevorkian….and the idiocy of how they would show a ward of almost-suicides a video about a man who wanted to row his boat into the middle of the ocean, hang off the side by one hand, and shoot himself.  A perfect, clean kill.

She wrung her hands…. “I just don’t know if my body would let me row far enough out for it to work for me- and my fingers.  And what if the gun got wet if the sea wasn’t calm?”  I suggested a dowel rod threaded into the trigger, a plastic bag to house the gun, and an outboard motor- rowing was unnecessary, and it wasn’t like she would have to worry about returning the boat.  Her laugh sounded like a cough.

My father visited and brought pizza- my best friend and my brother and sister in law took turns visiting.  A local folkbuilder and some friends made a trip out to see me.  On the phone I heard my friend Al’s voice for the first time in the 12 years I had known him from the think tank we had both been in when I was younger.

On the day I was released, my grandfather called me telling me I “had an imaginary condition, I couldn’t have PTSD- I was no soldier, it wasn’t “real” like a heart condition.  I would have done the family a favor by killing myself as opposed to shaming the family with my voluntary commitment.”

When I came home, I was in the process of moving from the woods to the city.  I had a guy I was dating casually (I never see more than one person at a time) who packed most of my things for me (not that I own much) out of machismo and I rented a room to wait out the next few months.   I stayed confined to that room for the most part, leaving only to use the bathroom or to eat when my roommate was not home.  I began to run out of food- because I did not wish to drive despite the grocery store being less than a mile from home.   On occasion, I could be coaxed to reading or to visit my brother or the boyfriend at the time- driving behind elderly drivers, tractor trailers, and older cars than my own.

Another friend became incredibly jealous and psychotic- spreading lies about the two of us- and I cut him out of my life without mercy.   The romantic relationship with my now ex-boyfriend at the time ended congenially by the end of June on account of irreconcilable political differences.  We’re still friends.

In July, there was a beautiful young redhead with bright teal blue eyes in Reading interested in me- but he was a little young, I thought, until he disclosed he was actually 29.

I had put him off for three months at this point and I agreed to meet him at Freyfaxi- July 28th.  I dressed up for the occasion, and oddly enough, as did he- in a kilt.  The relationship started immediately, much to the happiness of some and consternation of others.

Within a week, I had a dream-  I was in philosophy class but the teacher had red hair-  the test was wrong, the questions were on mico-biology and I was woefully unprepared.   I woke up, fell asleep again….the same teacher with the red hair was now gym teacher or some sort of sports coach….he wore a red and white track suit, his bright hair neatly slicked back and his face sported a perfect goatee.  He offered me candy, flavored tootsie rolls to be exact, and he seemed to be nervously happy that I wasn’t afraid of him.

“Most people don’t like me much these days,” he said.

I replied, “I don’t understand why not, you seem nice enough to me- are you nice?”

“I try to be- but it doesn’t always turn out for the best sometimes.” he looked down and smiled sadly.

“That can be said for anyone, don’t be so hard on yourself.  Kant would approve at least…he says that it’s the intention that counts.”

“Yes, but you also think that Kant is an asshole.” he smiled again, and teased at me a little- I can’t remember if he poked me or flipped my hair- something of that sort.

I woke up again, flipped the pillow over to the cool side, and passed out a third time.  My windows were dark with a tapestry- I stayed up late and woke even later most days.

This time, the same man met me in front of the statue of John Comenius in front of my old college.  There were no cars on either side of the road- and this time, he was dressed in a long black coat, dark jeans, boots, and a white shirt.  His hair was the same- tied back into a short ponytail and he asked me to sit next to him.  I had met him 3 years before in a dream- where he taught English and was Heathen- and told me to protect my mentor at the time…. the situation ended catastrophically- with the grand finale the 5 hour long interrogation by local police, handcuffed to a chair, as I was broken.

The red-haired man apologized. “I didn’t expect things to turn out this way-  I can see many things, but I can’t see everything- I can be many places, but I cannot be everywhere.  I honestly thought you would be fine.  Better than fine.  I am so sorry.”

Sometime during this conversation I said “So, you aren’t Bragi, are you?”- and he smirked despite seeming rather defeated looking overall.

“Look, I promise you- I will make this right.  I will protect you, and I will give you Eddie to protect you on Midgard- and this is my promise to you.”

From inside his coat, he pulled out a perfect red rose on fire with bright flames but did not burn.  I touched the petals with my fingers and felt only coolness, as if the flames were made of wind and breezes rather than fire.

He had his arm around me, protectively, like an older brother as I held the rose-  he looked forward into the distance with his green eyes at things I could not see and seemed to be paying close attention to countless things and thoughts I could not perceive.  I kept looking at the rose and I quietly thanked Him for everything.  I knew it wasn’t His fault, and I told him so.

He complimented me for my grace and understanding.

I shrugged.

How could I hold someone accountable for the free will of humans to do wretched things with deliberate purpose?

Not even a God can control a man, much less more than one whose only intentions and motivations were to cause irrevocable harm….

Right now, I am trying to learn how not  to blame myself for being too naive at the time to know otherwise, either.

This was my flashback today-  I rode it out, and it lead me back to Loki.  I feel better for writing this, and between His concern and the guidance of Tyr in particular I am in a much better place than I was a year ago.

Freyfaxi is Sunday- and I will be marrying that beautiful redhead for real- not just the stupid court thing, but the real thing, by Braucher and Universalist Pastor….and Loki’s statue will be on the altar. (among others)

A Month for Loki: second Week

Posted in About me on July 14, 2013 by Tyrienne

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This really resonated with me, so I am reposting it:

via A Month for Loki: second Week.

Loki, The Protector of Children.

Posted in Justice, On the Gods with tags , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2013 by Tyrienne

Loki familyWhen I was growing up, I had several advantages and disadvantages to equal measure; I had supportive grandparents, 2 grandmothers and my grandfather- and my father was and is still a kind, ingenious, and confusing  Lokean sort of man who gave my life some semblance of normalcy during the middle of my elementary school years when he was a stay at home father and my mother went off to work (Thankfully).

The disadvantages:  My mother was PROFOUNDLY abusive- and laws at the time (1980’s) favored the mother in cases of divorce, so my father stayed with the crazy bitch knowing if he left, things could only get worse for me.  I’ll give him credit- he hung in there, developed what I can only describe as Stockholm Syndrome, and despite being an attractive and intelligent man- became emotionally attached to my mother over the years despite her endless array of negative qualities of severe mental illness, uncleanliness, and anger issues. (Not to mention the fact my existence was the direct result of my father being drugged and basically raped)

This, of course, has tinted the lenses with which I see the world profoundly.  I understand that if not for my mother, I would not feel so negatively towards women-  female Goddesses, with a few exceptions, are not usually who I am drawn to since I have no concept of a “loving mother” figure unless I need help understanding or comforting my husband whose patrons are almost entirely female.

However, it has occurred to me throughout of the course of my research on Loki- that he is frequently referenced in Kennings as the “protector children” or more specifically “The protector of lost children”…

A friend of mine has just undergone a divorce and his ex-wife is not fit for parenting.  I was friends with them both as a couple, and knowing they were splitting up- I made certain to spend time with each of them to see how they handled their children.  Being friends with both sides of a divorced couple seldom works well; the best that can occur if you want to “have it all” is being the scratching post between the two parties to vent their grievances about the other.  So, I watched- and discovered, that like my father, the male was the far more competent parent- who put his children first, who provided structure, support, and non-violent discipline when applicable.  The mother was simply overwhelmed with her haunted past and overwhelmed with her present situation- confused, flustered, and at a loss-and when offered suggestions on how to get on the path to correct what plagued her, dismissed all options and resources presented.  Her priority was SHE wanted to be loved- not to be a parent.

Over the years, I have been the advice giver/scratching post to many people- but through the help of both of my patron Gods, I have learned when it’s time to walk away.  Leading a horse to water to drink won’t work unless you are somehow able to push that fucker in- then it would likely drown anyway.

Most people come to me for “spiritual” advice….  to their disappointment, much of the advice I offer to many people involves such things as “Therapy”, “Lawyers”, and even “Medical treatment”.

Bad priestess=no cookie for me.

So, anyway, as most divorces tend to go- this one is getting nasty- and the children are in the middle.   They know who they want to live with, and I have seen it with my own eyes.  The wife is still in love with her ex, and is doing her part to make him jealous with a new beau.  However, I have also learned:  Love is reciprocal, and to love and not have love in return is a black hole, a sign of weakness, as well as a delusion:  If you love someone who does not share those feelings in return, then that person is NOT who your imagination is playing them to be- for no one would truly in their souls wish to be unloved.

I know this because I have thought I loved people who did not love me in return…. only to discover that my idea of them was incorrect.
and I have ALSO loved people who HAVE loved me in return- only to admit it years later….after I have moved on.

The problem here is not love or not love- the problem here is priorities.  It does not matter who does or does not love whom as long as children are in the picture as far as Loki (or I) am concerned.  The problem is this:  Are the children your first priority?

If the answer is “No”- then you are violating one of the most universal sacred laws, and despite Loki being seen as lawbreaker himself- there is a difference between the laws created by men and Gods, verses the laws created by Nature itself/Herself.

Loki may laugh in the face of mortal or immortal law alike- but there are universal constants:  The love for one’s offspring overrules all other priorities.  Hell, even in captivity, some rodents will actually kill their own young to save them from living the same life of captivity as they have- but have no mechanism for suicide themselves.   Killdeer birds will play wounded to lead predators away from the nest.  And one knows never to get between Mamma bear and her Cubs.

Another thing people often forget:  Loki, Himself, is a Mother.   He has carried a child to term, nursed it, raised it, and then gave it the best life he could to have his son serve as a noble companion to Woten Himself.

There are many men who have mothering energy to them, and oftentimes in this society these men are often unsung at best, or victims of a sexist political system at worst.   There are men who make better mothers than most women in this society, who with encouraging words, sternness, and love can raise well adjusted, well behaved children without any female to help them.

I also judge a parent by the behavior of the child-  I know a newborn with two doting parents who I have only seen cry once- and that was in the immediate presence of a woman with energy so toxic even I could sense it.   All children are born synthetes- and when faced with colors/smells/sounds that mesh together into a miasma of unhappiness, even the youngest of children can sense the unwell and potentially dangerous.

…and even the most innocuous person on the outside could be a danger to a child if they lack complete self awareness as well as a lack of the priority we all should possess to put the safety of the young of our species above the welfare of ourselves.

I am not a mother, I never can be- but I can say I have been on the phone with 911 multiple times when I have witnessed abuse.  I have visited police stations with evidence of child neglect, and I know my responsibility as a Lokean and a clergy person is to keep a “pulse” on the children in my direct field of view: lend support and encouragement to the excellent parents I know as friends, warnings to those who are not, and at worst, I am also responsible for reporting abuses as I see them with evidence as needed.

Which is where the Lokean and Tyrian in me overlap.  There are ALSO situations where I know that there are situations I cannot involve myself with- that any intervention on my part would be futile, and in those cases I am given ample warning to disengage with a closing prayer that those with more resources and competence than I possess will protect those I cannot- and that the Gods watch all children regardless.

5 years ago- I would not have had that wisdom-  I am as aggressive and annoying like a wolf with a deer leg regarding the mistreatment of kids- and in the past I have stayed in people’s lives simply for the sake of keeping an eye on their kids rather than for their friendship-but in that process, I have also learned to walk away as soon as I knew the danger has passed- without anyone being the wiser to why I was there in the first place.

In my past, I have “checked in” on the children of childhood friends- stayed around for a few months, and moved on content they were healthy, happy, and being educated… even if the situation was not “nuclear” by any means.

My childhood, overall, was horrific- to the extant of the book “A child called It”.  My mother believed I was a changeling- but then again, she also used to “hide” oreo cookies in the oven and ask serious advice of houseplants.  HOWEVER- I was also given multiple resources with which I could raise myself-  I had role models in other family members, teachers, and neighbors- and I was given the gift of being able to keep my synaestesia into my adulthood which has enriches my perception where my normal senses fail me.  When one can “see” sounds and emotions as repellent or attractive-  my husband is not the best talker sometimes, so sometimes, non-verbal communication works better than any words.

I was never truly, completely without resources…and my dad being Lokean, admitted or not- helped a great deal.  Even when he realized he could no longer protect me when I reached a certain age, he knew I had the resources on my own to survive without his involvement, despite the fact that I resented his further lack of intervention for years.

I can understand a little bit further what my newborn friend saw when she started crying hysterically when the sick woman entered the room….and I also learned, for the first time ever, that I can actually use something like Reiki to communicate with a human so small to show her that I could “see” what she could- and it would be okay because Mommy and Daddy were taking her home where it was safe and those overwhelming “other person feelings” would not be there anymore.

But think of Loki- the only one of the Gods who has been both Father and Mother.  The one who knows what it feels like to be rejected, outcast, and neglected.  Remember sweet Sigyn, and her unconditional love for her children and their father…. who even in the death of both her sons, still kept them close to her. (in a morbid sort of way- but it speaks volumes).

So, when my friend came to me for help- he asked for Tyr, but instead, I directed him to Loki.  Tyr comes into play when the courts are involved- but when the well-being of a child is at stake, the best to call on is Loki himself- He who understands both the needs of the child as well as the parent willing to give up anything and everything for their offspring…  (However, the next time we talk- I will also suggest a good lawyer for good measure!)

…as for the parent who does not heed Nature’s law- Loki will intervene, and it will not be pretty.  However, I also know His intervention is often misconstrued- as the failed parent finds themselves in a descending vortex of failure and misery.  The children often get blamed- but the children ALSO get support, and sometimes, even an “imaginary” fire-haired friend to talk to until the dust settles and things are okay in the end. 🙂

As for Tyr- he was rejected by BOTH of his parents for his continued association with the Aesir rather than the Jotuns- but that is a story for another time….

For Loki- Just a start, perhaps….

Posted in About me, On the Gods with tags , , , , , , , , on July 5, 2013 by Tyrienne

…It has been a busy week, and this is the first opportunity and real time I have had to really compose my thoughts on what I wished to post-  In Darkbookworm13’s newest post, she drew a picture to honor Loki and it made me stop for a moment:

It was a rose on fire that did not burn.

See, when I first began dating my husband, I had a dream about Loki about a week to two in.  I had just come out of a seriously dangerous time in my life full of stress, intrigues, lies, and abuses that had me worn to my last thread at moments- and I made it through at the end.  In this dream, Loki sat down beside me infront of the college from which I had just graduated-  he apologized for not being there, because I was “too far gone” for me to hear Him even if He called me, and now that sanity was being restored we could talk once more.

He explained that the direction he first guided me to did not lead me to where he expected at all, and he apologized saying, “I can see many things, but I cannot see everything.  I can be many places, however, I cannot be everywhere at once.”  He looked truly remorseful and his arm was around me comfortingly.   I wasn’t even remotely upset with Him- it wasn’t His fault that things happened the way they did.  Even the most honorable of people can have their lives derail if they aren’t careful; and the very best of teachers can fall victim to their own egos and lose everything worth learning from them.  But I stuck it out.

Loki was beautiful- he had on a long dark coat, blue jeans, a white shirt, and bright red hair pulled back into a low tail- his face had a well-kept facial hair of a few days growth and a goatee.  From His coat, He pulled out a red rose on fire- but it did not burn, and He gave it to me as a gift and said,

“From now on, I will protect you from all things spiritual that intend to harm you, and because of what you suffered, I am also giving you Eddie to protect you on Midgard to protect you there as well.”

Eddie and I became engaged a few months later, and we are in the month-long process of marriage.  After seeing the picture on Darkbookworms post, I remembered I had a perfect rose on another altar- dried and preserved that was meant to be burnt.  I asked permission from that deity and received ambivalence in response… She had plenty of roses, She could spare one 🙂

So, I lit the rose on fire-  What I did not expect was the flame to turn flamingo-pink and spark like a sparkler that I could have bought today at any roadside stand- other flames to glow blue, framing each petal in a soft glow at other times-  the rose retained it’s shape throughout the burning until I decided to start separating the petals with a knife- as I did so- the flames grew a foot high, sparks continued to fly, and the wax from the old, dead candle under the rose sizzled and turned from red to clear.

I asked Ed to come and watch- and before he could enter the room- the entire thing EXPLODED- the table was unharmed, but he walked in just as I had filled a vase with water to douse our table which was now covered in tiny little flames.   I only used a small amount of Florida water to set the rose burning- but these flames in color and behavior were unique to behold and watch change.  Good thing I only paid a dollar or two for the glass holder- I suppose Loki wanted that as well!

Edward and I hardly ever “fight”- we talk things out like adults when we disagree- and as far as screaming matches go- I think we’ve only had one- on the side of Mount Penn as I fought him over some “guru” who lived in a mansion extorting a class of yoga students to pay for another expansion to his mansion.  (I was right, and the next morning he was too sleepy to attend the damned seminar anyhow!)

Today, we spent the day in the Mutter museum, where he bought me a beautiful cameo necklace of a skeletal lady in purple against black and pewter- the pewter perfectly matching the black rhodium of our wedding bands. Here is a picture of our rings-cell phone cameras are inadaquate to show them properly in their final form- with the black Rhodium coating without excessive glare.  They are two snakes with eyes of genuine untreated ruby wound around one another and set with a black onyx in the center.  The material is silver alloy with a black Rhodium coating- created by William Cougar, a jeweler I know in Jersey.  (he designed them by hand himself based on our description!  They turned out better than I could have imagined!)

Here are the rings prior to the Rhodium coating- I could not get a decent shot without glare with it.  Just imagine them shiny, iridescent, and black. :)

Here are the rings prior to the Rhodium coating- I could not get a decent shot without glare with it. Just imagine them shiny, iridescent, and black. 🙂

Purchased from the Mutter Museum, artist unknown.

Purchased from the Mutter Museum, artist unknown.

I have never been so happy in moments as I have been in the past week:  We predicted that our “legal” judge wedding would be an annoying inconvenience, but instead became an insanely comical event :

First, we are brought to Juvenile Probation court- the room filled with angry parents, bored police officers, and distracted lawyers-  I addressed the room where our family and friends were also present “Well, a full house!  That was unexpected- Thank you all for coming to our wedding today!”

The day before, I had dislocated my finger on the wedding band trying to remove it too forcefully from trying it on (we got it resized correctly and also- Ed corrected the alignment the day before- however my fingers were still swollen pretty badly.  As he was attempting to put the ring on my finger like one would tighten a washer- instead of repeating after the judge, he Scottishly replied “Aye”- rather than the prewritten text we had never seen/heard before.

After the ring was on (It fit! At Last!)  -the judge continued onwards with several phrases about “God”- until he stopped and looked at Ed with an uncomfortable expression and said “Would you mind giving the lady back her bouquet before we continue…?”  Turns out I handed Ed the bouquet as I finished getting the ring on my swollen finger and HE was the one holding it like the bride for a few minutes.  I took the flowers back- the proceedings reached their conclusion, and my friends and Ed’s family went outside of the Juvenile probation center for photographs.

Apparently, the youths within did not like it much when I asked “Is there anyone in this room who is not a criminal who can hold a camera for a second without stealing it?”  We ended up with a guy with a nametag who was passing by and dirty looks from inside the room as we got multiple shots of us posing under the “Juvenile probation” banner….and teasing our friends who brought their 9-week old infant about their parenting skills to have their child visit such a place at so tender an age.  (again- the other people in the room looked less than amused- but we were….)

Overall, it was a pretty Lokean experience- and it really served to make us look forward to the REAL wedding on the 28th where we can actually say the names of the Gods outloud as opposed to picking our “favorites” with each droning mention of “God” in a state building.  (Separation of church and state?  Here?  In my city?  Apparently not)

Furthermore, although the religion we are getting married under is NOT formally recognized by our county, Urglaawe symbolism completely covered our wedding license.

Furthermore, although the religion we are getting married under is NOT formally recognized by our county, Urglaawe symbolism completely covered our wedding license.

So- here is our marriage certificate: note the hex signs, distlefinks, and Germanic typeset….and yet, we STILL had to go to a judge to be considered “legal”.

All in all, I have so much to thank Loki for, the sacrifice of one rose hardly does Him justice for the kindness he has brought to me- and the comfort He has given Eddie through Ed’s work with his Children, Hel, Fenrir, and Jormangandr.

So, hopefully, the fire was a sign Loki accepted my enthusiastic “Thank you!” for all His blessings and help over the past year!  The table is unharmed and the fireworks were beautiful *indoors* this evening.

Hail Loki, fire trickster- and gifter of good husbands!  🙂