Orange juice, Hot buttered toast and apple jacks in milk. Part of this balanced supper! I could’ve gone for some soy-sage with it though, or peanut butter on the toast. Darn good, regardless.
Little brother’s out of commission for today… poor guy is still sore form his tumble over the police car. He’s having a good soak in his tub, and will be resting tonight, too. [update 8:20pm – he called and said he got a ride, but I told him not to come.. his back’s bothering him, and I don’t want him working here if he’s all horked up. I’m really sort of surprised… not sure why he did that.]
Something very soothing about cold cereal and hot, crispy toast at midday-evening. Comforted, I think I’ll kick back and read. Peace, all.
Gebo means gift, and like many gifts, the rune may be understood on many levels. Gifts are generally positive things, for both the giver and the recipient. In many cultures however, gifts and favors carry with them an obligation to respond in kind. It is for this reason that gifts, and hence the rune Gebo, are frequently symbolic of friendships, marriages, alliances, mergers, and other bonds between people or organizations.
Gebo is a strong rune and the unions represented are strong as well. Moreover, Gebo is not reversible, as true friendships are not easily undone.
The Empress — This card can represent the essence of creativity and productivity. Also initiative and practical actions that promote success, comfort and luxury. Indicates good luck, prosperity and happiness.
mothering, welcoming abundance, experiencing the senses, responding to Nature
and via Stichomancy, a random passage from Dawn O’Hara, The Girl Who Laughed by Edna Ferber…
No one knew of the existence of the book except Norah, Von Gerhard, Blackie and me. Blackie had a way of inquiring after its progress in hushed tones of mock awe. Also he delighted in getting down on hands and knees and guiding a yard-stick carefully about my desk with a view to having a fence built around it, bearing an inscription which would inform admiring tourists that here was the desk at which the brilliant author had been wont to sit when grinding out heart-throb stories for the humble Post. He took an impish delight in my struggles with my hero and heroine, and his inquiries after the health of both were of such a nature as to make any earnest writer person rise in wrath and slay him. I had seen little of Blackie of late. My spare hours had been devoted to the work in hand. On the day after the book was sent away I was conscious of a little shock as I strolled into Blackie’s sanctum and took my accustomed seat beside his big desk. There was an oddly pinched look about Blackie’s nostrils and lips, I thought. And the deep-set black eyes appeared deeper and blacker than ever in his thin little face.
What does it all mean? looks to me like the stuff I’m working on will come to bear fruit, with less of what might get in my way as usual. Just my interpretation, though.