Fluorite, Friends And Family.

Another crystal worth a return visit, and although it’s always been one of Alex’s favourites, I’m still getting to know it… we are in the early stages of our friendship.

All types of Fluorite are protective and cleansing, they will shield you from negative outside influences and psychic manipulation – that friend who always has your back – and it helps to draw away anything stressful and restore order and discipline – think spiritual spa day with your best friend.

Green… good for stomach disorders and absorbing negative environmental energies

Fluorite helps to sharpen intuition, giving you the confidence to trust your own judgement. It helps you to recognise and remove the old and stagnant patterns in your present life with kindness and empathy.

This crystal is useful for working with groups as it brings unity and purpose, while being stabilising and clarifying. Clear Fluorite is good for dentists’ visits (you can hit them with it – no, not really, it just helps to reduce pain, yours, not theirs…moving on…) and it also helps you to learn new information and process it.

This piece of Clear is fascinating – the manifestation within changes constantly… sometimes it just has rainbows… 

Rainbow Fluorite brings its own special energy to the party, encouraging independent thought, mental agility and emotional well-being. Plus I like rainbows.

A mixed bag of crystals then with a variety of beneficial qualities – rather like your average family.

However, sometimes family doesn’t mean someone you are linked to by blood. Sometimes, a blood relationship counts for nothing and it can be as spiritually toxic as a septic flesh wound. Sadly then, we must admit defeat for our own sakes, and although we may always love that person and forgive what they did, or what they put you through, we can never actually forget and those memories continue to colour our responses towards them.

Sometimes, though, within your own family, you also find a friend, that person who just “gets” you. Friends and family both are my girly cats, they provide love and comfort (when they feel like it) and I provide cat food and unquestioning adoration, even as I pick up the scraps of shredded wallpaper…

Guess the paw’s owner… 

They make me laugh, and they graciously put up with the things I sometimes ask them to do…

The tiara may be plastic but the princess attitude is real!

And then there are human friends – they step in to fill the gaps that family can leave. That’s the wonderful thing about WordPress too – I’ve had some difficult times, but the support, love and friendship from people here has been equal to and above that of family.

For which I am humbled and grateful. Sincerely – thank you. And, of course, Love. Always.

Clear and Rainbow, best of both with the symbol of eternal Love

Ghostly Guinea Fowl…

Spot the birdie… 

I’m being haunted. And I don’t really know why – my conscience is relatively clear… although I was thinking about writing about my terrapins that my sister accidentally murdered when we were kids.

It began a couple of years ago, when I was walking back from the chemist at the top of the road, rather than my usual one. I crossed the road – safely – and went towards the cut through where I saw something totally different. And extraordinary.

It stepped out of a hole in the hedge in the manner of a gracious lady descending from her carriage and stopped to look at me. It was one of the weirdest looking things I’ve ever seen… scaly pink legs ending in powerful feet equipped with long, strong claws, and a plump, pear shaped body smartly clad in black and white checked feathers… a spindly neck, leading to a little head, turned to one side so a beady eye could examine me imperiously in return, with an air of faint disgust.

It looked as if it had had a fight in a clown’s make-up bag… powdery white teardrops and cracked red lipstick… a strange bony up-do and a blue wattle like an old lady with blood pressure problems. Bizarre. It decided I was no longer worthy of scrutiny and turned away – but I wanted to take its picture! Whilst fumbling for my phone, I slid cautiously towards it, too close for comfort, the creature decided and popped back through the hedge.

I rushed back round the other side, it looked sneeringly at me:

“Damned paparazzi!”

And fled through the other side again.

Not before I managed to grab a somewhat blurry photo on my phone, which quite frankly, could have been anything. I was forced to abandon my quest for the impossible bird as two mothers and their children were approaching – then it came to me:

“Guinea fowl!”

The passers-by looked alarmed at my avian exclamation and hurried away, as did I, in the opposite direction, turning back hopefully just in case the guinea fowl had re-emerged, but of course it hadn’t. A minute later, there was a rushing sound and a creaky wheezing, like an asthmatic old door right over my head and I saw the impossible bird fly away… I’m sure it was laughing at me.

Since our initial meeting, that cold winter’s morning, I’ve seen the guinea fowl quite a few times. Sitting in the middle of the roundabout. Laughing derisively at me from a roof top. Most recently, I was bending down to check on the alliums’ progress, when peering back at me through the fence was the spectacularly ugly face of the foul fowl. It “churred” mockingly at me…

“YOU…You…!!!”

I don’t know if it’s real… or a figment of my imagination… but every time I’ve seen it I’ve been alone. And I don’t think people quite believe me…

“Ooh…’er at the end there… bin in t’ catnip again she ‘as!”

Surprise Sparrows And Mystery Mice

Duck… duck…

I suppose it’s an occupational hazard really when you live with four cats you can expect the occasional uninvited and totally unwanted house guest.

This first incident happened when we were at the hospital last week, while my mother was having her moment too. Honestly… nothing for ages then three stories all in one day… but anyway… Usually my partner and I try to ensure one of us is at home for part of the day, so the girls aren’t left too long by themselves. They do of course have access to outside via the catflap, beds, plenty of food and water, emergency litter trays, credit cards… well, maybe not the last, but we don’t like to leave them too long by themselves.

With justification as it so happens. We returned home that afternoon to find Tooty looking suspicious in the kitchen, Charlie and Ting were bot in the front room, managing to look accusing, reproachful, pleased to see us and annoyed. Lily – was nowhere to be seen.

“We’re home girlies, whatever’s the matter?”

Rushing past them upstairs to go to the toilet (peanut bladder) I noticed a huge smear of blood on the landing window, on the inside, horror movie style..

“Oh..o.k..”

Then I stopped. Went back and looked. Properly. Huddled on a corner of the window ledge was a distressed sparrow. I yelled for assistance and we were able to catch the poor little thing, ascertain the blood was from a scratch on its leg, and let it go outside where it flew off quite rapidly.

Goose!

We had to take the blinds down and wash them, likewise the window, since the sparrow had managed to splash quite a bit of blood about. Charlie was like:

“Look, I’ve told you before, I really can’t be responsible for the other three if you two go out together and leave us for AGES… “

Sparrow Number Two surprised my partner… Ting and Tooty were behaving suspiciously in the garden hedge – typical teenage behaviour – so he went to investigate and found them prodding a half-fledged sparrow. It had obviously tried its luck from the tree in the neighbour’s garden only to land in the hedge and be found by the two younger girls.

He scooped the poor little bird up in a container, being careful not to touch it, intending to put it high up in our apple tree. He left it on the window sill while he went to fetch the ladders, and as he returned round the corner he was horrified to see a blur of black and white feathers flash past him, knock the container off the ledge, seize the poor little fledgling and make off with it. He was horrified and actually quite upset to think of the magpie, eating another bird, compounded by the fact that two adult sparrows were chirping and flying around looking for their missing baby. Such is Nature though – sometimes it’s cruel.

The sparrow did not wish to be photographed… 

It’s a mystery where the cats keep getting the mice from and a mystery where they sometimes end up. When we first moved into this house, we had Walter, who although not a keen hunter, liked to keep his paw in. We used to have a large wardrobe with a spare fish tank jammed beside it, one of those things my partner said he’d sort out and never quite got round to it.

One day, Walter had obviously happened across a mouse and thought he would bring it into the house and let it go in the bedroom, where it promptly took refuge behind the wardrobe and died. Unbeknownst to us… Weeks progressed as did the smell. I, (understandably) thought it was my partner. He (unforgivably) thought it must be me. Being polite, neither of us said anything to the other and I just bought more air freshener.

One day, my partner finally decided to move the fish tank and it was then that he found it… a dry… dessicated mouse, pressed flat as a pancake between the wall and the fish tank. One little paw outstretched, pleadingly, towards light and freedom… The mystery of the rotting rodent was solved.

Then the other day, I was vacuuming the stairs quite vigorously, trying to avoid the threads in the dark brown carpet where the cats have pulled it. (I’ll never buy that sort of carpet again – I wince every time they run upstairs and I hear their claws catch in it.) I reached the hallway at the bottom of the stairs and thought:

“Hm. Whatever’s that? Looks like a leaf…”

I bent down short-sightedly and peered at it.

“What an extraordinary looking leaf…it looks like a dead – oh my God it is a dead mouse!”

My partner was summoned for its disposal as I would not have been pleased to have mangled mouse clogging up the vacuum filter. The mystery of that mouse was that no-one ever owned up to it…

It’s an ornament. Really.

Kiwi And Kindness

Some crystals I return to and write about more than once, particularly the ones that have had a lasting effect on me and have become personally special. One of these that has become a habitual pocket rock is Lotus Jasper, also known as Kiwi Jasper. The white version of this stone is known as Sesame Jasper – but for writing and alliteration purposes I will refer to it as Kiwi Jasper…

My partner bought me my first piece of Kiwi Jasper in a mixed parcel of points – a wonderful crystal stew of Mookaite, Dalmationite, Opalite…but the delicate green of this point caught my eye. Since I’ve had it, I’ve never taken it off, and it’s one of those crystals that have become essential and part of me – like brushing my hair.

Then, one day, Liz just happened to have just the one palmstone of this wonderful jasper. There are lots of varieties of jasper which can be used for different purposes but generally it is known as the supreme nurturer.

Kiwi Jasper has a comfort to it, a gentleness and love that I was drawn to and it’s a very popular stone for use in healing or spirit work. It enhances the connection to Mother Earth and the universal grid of Love, a nurturing and sustaining stone that brings peace and tranquillity.

Kiwi Jasper will cleanse and align the chakras, absorbing negative energies, whilst uniting and balancing all aspects of your life and bringing calmness and resolve to help you deal with any situation.

This is the green of true Love to soothe anger, calm tension and dissolve grief. It balances the heart and sacral chakras and I love it… I asked Liz whether she could perhaps get some more and I was delighted to see a nest of my special favourite at the next Well Being event. I quite firmly believe that favourite crystals are just like cats and chocolates… you can never have just one. I told everyone about this lovely stone, the key words being Love, harmony, balance.

I met a wonderful gentleman at the shop, shortly after purchasing my palmstone, tested it with his dowsing rods. I didn’t know you could do this but apparently it works like a barometer of the crystal’s pure intent. Something like that. My palmstone was quite high and the man then showed me how to re-progamme it… then I was talking about it to a lady at the event and I mentioned what a kind vibe it has and how it never seems to need cleansing.

She put her hand over mine as I held it and said:

“It’s because it works in harmony with you – the Yang to your Yin… “

Kiwi Jasper brings emotional strength and awareness; with the awareness of Love comes the awareness of balance. We must give and receive in equal measures to achieve a happy state of wholeness.

I have found with age, I’ve learned a little about kindness, one of those indefinable qualities that can be hard to pin down. I don’t mean everyday kindnesses like washing up without being asked… more the sort of kindness that is linked with understanding.

For example: my mother is an almost-obsessive tidy upper and cleaner of her house – it’s a matter of pride, or so I always thought, especially since she has two large dogs. However, the other evening when it was just us, we talked…as grown up women, and the subject of cleaning arose. She told me that she cleans the way she does so I know she’s still capable and I won’t make her give up her house and put her in a home.

I was a little taken aback. I’ve never doubted her sensibilities or her physical capability and I was almost hurt by her even thinking I would do such a thing. Instead of taking offence, though, I tried to understand and reassure her that would never happen…(who would bake me bread then?)

So in conclusion then I suppose what I am saying is that although Love can be limitless and infinite, to be truly kind, you need to have the understanding too. Balance.

Mother’s Mayhem… or… The Dog And Door

I may not have mentioned this, but my mother is quite… um… short. About 5’4” to be exact. My sons are both over 6 foot and I am a respectable 5’7”… (and ¾ but what’s in a quarter of an inch..hehehe… )

I sometimes tease her bout her lack of stature, although she can be quite fierce. Possibly a Lily, if she was a cat, deceptively small but also quite murderous. Today’s story took place while we were at the hospital, otherwise I would have been straight round to help, laugh a bit and probably even take some photos.

Mother’s day began well enough, and she thought she would do a little gardening, in the front garden. The dogs accompanied her – they do most places, the kitchen… the toilet… the bathroom… sometimes even in the bath to her annoyance. Erin sat like a lady, watching Mum as she weeded. Rocky watched for a little while, then decided that the life of Monty Don was not for him and legged it. He cleared the three foot high hedge like a steeplechaser and galloped off down the street.

What did my mother do? Well, what would any self-respecting 70 something lady do… she hurdled the hedge like a professional and galloped off down the road after Rocky, screaming:

“Come back you little $%&*@!!”

Knee problems forgotten – indeed, fallen by the wayside – my mother retrieved the runaway Rocky and marched back up the road. All this time, Erin had been waiting patiently in the garden – “Have a good run did you, Mum? Perhaps we could go in now, I’d quite like a drink of water and a biscuit…”

However, because the back door was open, the connecting door between the hallway and the front room had slammed irrevocably shut. No amount of kicking, swearing, jumping up and down and gibbering in rage (my mother) or furious barking and scratching (the dogs) could open the door.

Mum decided that the best course of action would be to shut the dogs in her bedroom so they couldn’t run off, and go down the alleyway around the side of the next door house to gain access to her kitchen via the back door. My mother bravely battled six foot tall brambles, creeping underneath them where necessary – whilst only wearing a thin t-shirt and trousers – and finally made it to the kitchen.

She tried the connecting door from that side. She couldn’t shift it, but worked out that the force of the door slamming had snapped the barrel of the inside mechanism cleanly in two and jamming the door firmly shut. Having access to tools from the kitchen she thought she might have better luck back on the other side, so, quite quickly, as she could hear the dogs thundering about upstairs and didn’t know what they were doing, she seized a hammer and a screwdriver and ran back outside to fight her way back through the thicket of thorns like some feminist Princess Charming bent on rescuing her incarcerated canines.

My mother burst out of the alleyway, leaves in her hair, scratches all up and down her arms, a wild look in her eyes brandishing the large hammer and screwdriver –

“All right love?” said her neighbour from over the road, eyeing her somewhat dubiously.

“No I’m $%^&* not!!”

Her neighbour is a lovely young man of about twenty five or so with a wife and two kids, but he at once summoned the help of his friend, a strapping bloke, and his well-equipped tool box. It took them over an hour to get it open. The dogs were delighted to be reunited with the rest of the house…

When I came round later that day after I’d been to the hospital, the dogs were sleeping peacefully in their beds and Mum was sitting innocently on the sofa. I noticed at once she had a bruise on her face from where her hands had slipped and smacked herself on the nose while trying to wrestle open the door.

The whole sorry tale came out – and her concluding words were:

“But look! I made bread!”

Really. She never ceases to amaze me, one way or another. I did tell her to make sure she carries her phone at all times though… just in case she gets trapped in a teacup. Or something. No telling what next…

Butter wouldn’t melt… 

Bread And Blood Tests

Bloodstone… please go and visit Marje at mjmallon.com to read more about it in “The Curse Of Time Book One – Bloodstone”

Regular readers might remember I have had a couple of awful go-arounds with upset stomachs, nausea, headaches and so on. Tired of feeling vaguely unwell most of the time, I saw my doctor, who pointed out I might actually have some form of gluten intolerance, coeliac disease or IBS, something like that.

I was upset. I have acknowledged the existence of certain “trigger” foods, like mayonnaise, cheese and chocolate (and potatoes although I think I may have made that one up because I don’t really like potatoes and I’m too afraid to tell my mother after the Brussels Sprouts Incident) but I do eat a fair amount of bread and biscuity stuff.

Passing me the tissues, my doctor, a lovely man, reminiscent of Omar Sharif playing Dr.Zhivago, told me I really would be better off knowing rather than carrying on feeling pukey all the time… Clutching my blood test sheet and a prescription for tablets to make things stay where they should, I trotted off, thinking I could coincide my blood test with a mission to chase up my partner’s latest hospital appointment.

We decided to go the next day and set off… “I don’t really want a blood test…perhaps we should leave it… it’s quite late… I feel sick…” I offered my usual round of excuses. My partner replied quite firmly:

“No, this was your idea, you need to go and get it over and done with.”

I subsided, muttering.

At the hospital, I was appalled to find there was practically an hour and a half wait. We took a ticket and thought we would use the time to pop to the ENT department for my partner’s appointment. That took about twenty minutes and when we returned I was horrified to find out only three more numbers had been called, still leaving about thirty people in front of me.

I hate waiting for things like this and my dentist knows that if she doesn’t see me within ten minutes of my appointment time I will chicken out and lose my nerve and I will run out of the surgery… I whined a little more, to no effect, so I went to the toilet. In the Ladies, of course, not just where I was standing…

When I returned to my partner, I found an older lady had very kindly given him an earlier ticket, since someone had given her theirs. I thanked her, really appreciating the gesture as it shaved another eight people off my waiting time. However, for the moment, I had to wait, sitting on the seat, swinging my legs, much to the annoyance of the lady sitting next to me who sighed and shifted impatiently in her seat… making me take some perverse pleasure in her obvious irritation and swinging my legs faster in the manner of a petulant child…

As you may have gathered, I don’t like blood tests… Eventually my number was up – I mean called, and I entered the room. It was… surreal.

The room was obviously very clean, with blue padded couches stationed around it, with strategic armrests and it was entirely staffed by small blonde women wearing glasses and red tunics. They were conversing in hushed tones about who was finishing at what time and gestured me towards a couch.

I was the only patient in there. Even though four people had gone in before me. Without coming out. Distantly I wondered why red tunics? and then it came to me. In case someone had a …spillage. Eugh.

I meekly gave my details, proffered my forearm, closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and gripped the other armrest. Then my phlebotomist touched me on the shoulder and whispered confidingly I could go and remember to ring my doctor in three days’ time for the results.

I looked down at my arm where a little cloud of cotton wool had been delicately taped to my arm with a strip of tape… then I leaped off the couch and shot out the door – the same one I came in – shouting “Thankyouverymuch!” over my shoulder as I left.

Surreal. As I said.

Later that afternoon, I went to see my mother, who had very proudly baked me a loaf of bread… and very good it was too!

Strawberry Quartz and Sparkling Cats

A bit of a re-blog from this time last year…

CrystalCats

When I was a little girl I went through a phase when I would only eat strawberry jam sandwiches -white bread, crusts cut off – and fishfingers. Not together, obviously…

I don’t like fishfingers now, but I am still quite fond of jam, so I was delighted when my son’s lovely crystal lady Lizian identified this piece of quartz as Strawberry Quartz. It reminds me of a spoonful of good quality jam and brings with it the same sense of simple happiness I get when spreading jam on hot buttered toast…

Metaphysically, then, I was pleased to learn that Strawberry Quartz does bring joy and awareness to life. It’s a happy, uncomplicated stone that shows you the humour in life and how to live every aspect of it with this sense of light and love.

It works with the heart chakra to gift your life with love and positivity, so…

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