Horton Deakins's Blog, page 10
October 31, 2012
An observation regarding mocking
“When you are mocking somebody, you are just trying to get rid of something embarrassing within you that makes you doing so.”
— Toba Beta, Master of Stupidity
October 30, 2012
Something that counts
— John Wooden
October 29, 2012
Our blood is your blood — Mae ein gwaed yn eich gwaed
My ears hurt as if being tugged upon by pliers—yet I welcome the pain, as it heralds the completion of my journey to reunite with my Welsh ancestors. I hear them clearly now:
We be Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk. We be your kinsfolk. Mae ein gwaed yn eich gwaed. Our blood is your blood. We be the Dea-kinsmen. Magick is our way.
Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!
I hope you’ve enjoyed my little journey through a fantastical, magical world born of a mix of Welsh legends and Deakins family history. I’ve had more than a little fun trying to spin this fantasy yarn to life.
A special thanks to my cousins, Richard and Karen, for their help in adding family history that blended well with the fantasy to give it a touch of realism. At times, as I saw all the facts churning together with the fiction, I began to wonder if I was really making all this up! A frightening thought, eh? *wink*
Also thanks to author Judith Leger, whose fantasy novel Enchanted provided me with additional inpiration for this fable.
Just to be completely clear, all this was just for fun, and these stories in no way represent either reality or my personal beliefs. Nothing was real… except for the parts that were…
Tylwyth Teg performing magick
Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!
October 28, 2012
My review of Just Add Salt
Just Add Salt by Jinx Schwartz
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
And we have another winner!
With Just Add Salt, Jinx Schwartz has slipped her cable and hit another home run. Yes, I know I’m mixing nautical and baseball metaphors, but the author does that too, and… well, it’s catchin’.
This book has as many chuckles as Just Add Water, but there is a bit more tension—which, literarily speaking, is a good thing. In this volume, Hetta is in a lot more hot water—or salt—and you just never know how she’s possibly going to come out on top… or with whom. I think it’s quite clear from the text, though, that, in her youth, the author had a crush on Ricky Ricardo. Just sayin’.
Just Add Salt will have you alternately chuckling and biting your nails, and you will discover many new things, such as what a panga is. Now I know what it was we were riding in that caused a woman from our cruise ship to get a broken arm.
Just Add Salt will make you want to listen to your old LP of Dark Side of the Moon. No, I’m not going to tell you what I mean by that. You’ll just have to read the book.
My review of Enchanted
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Who among us has not, at some point in our lives, whether as a youth or an adult, held a crush on some special person and secretly hoped that person would enchant us and fulfill our dreams? With Enchanted, you can accomplish that dream through its characters.
This book had a special draw for me, because it involves both magic and the country of Wales, which is the setting for most of the story, and because my paternal ancestor, William, immigrated to the American Colonies from Wales about 250 years ago. There are still many there today with my surname. Additionally, in my teens I was quite fond of the art of legerdemain, that is, the performing of illusions—magic, if you will. The leading male character, Shay Evers, is portrayed as a master illusionist, and women everywhere are enchanted by him.
Enchanted is rich with magic and romance. I have not been a reader of romance, so I had some concerns that this book might turn me fifty shades of red; however, my fears were unfounded. Oh, perhaps just a little red–but not too much. Enchanted allows you to escape to a storybook world of love, peril, self-discovery, and most of all, fantasy. I enjoyed it very much, and I’m sure you will, too.
My review of Down Aisle Ten
Down Aisle Ten by Daniel Friedland
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I think the author, Mr. Friedland, had me and others with the same dry sense of humor in mind when he wrote this book. Or perhaps it was aimed at snarky people, as someone (name withheld) once suggested I may fall into that category. To give you an idea of the type of humor you will find in this book, try to imagine Bob Newhart on steroids and methamphetamines writing scripts for the “Friends” TV series. I know that’s difficult, and it does put one at risk for “going down aisle ten” to contort the brain into such oxymoronic thought patterns, but it does speak to the great accomplishment by the author in this writing. I give one warning to the reader: Do not drink milk through a straw while reading this book if you do not wish the white liquid to foam from your nose.
October 27, 2012
The ovens–now it is clear to me.
The ovens that have filled me with trepidation until now I assumed to be of the type used for cooking. I was mistaken. They are far worse—they are coke ovens. South Wales is full of them, and they have also been in existence in the Sequatchie Valley of Tennessee, where my more recent ancestors lived. That is the connection.
Here is information on the coke ovens in the Sequatchie Valley.
Now that I know what they are, I have been able to summon the courage to search for information on them. Coke ovens are far, far hotter than cooking ovens. Their temperatures range from 1000 to 2000 degrees Celsius, meaning they can exceed 3600 degrees Fahrenheit. Indeed, they are objects to fear.
Here’s a link for more info, including a photo of coke ovens in South Wales.
October 26, 2012
I levitated. I am certain of it.
Moments ago, I felt compelled to try a magician’s levitation trick that relies on the audience being at a specific viewing angle. In this illusion, only one foot actually leaves the ground.
To my amazement, as I attempted to perform this stunt, both my feet lifted from the floor. I found the sensation rather enjoyable, and I repeated it several times to make certain I was not imagining it. In fact, I was able not merely to rise a few inches but at least two feet from the floor, and I continued to suspend there for ten seconds or more before lightly returning to the floor.
I am beginning to understand—“returning to Wales” does not necessarily mean I have to travel there in the body. I can unite with my kin and never leave home.
Gwaed yn dychwelyd i waed. Blood returns to the blood.
Aduno, rydym yn dawnsio a siglo
Rydym yn dathlu mewn ffyrdd Celtaidd
Chi eu colli i ni am byth a diwrnod
Rydych yn berthynas agosaf, a byddwch yn parhau felly
Reunited, we dance and sway
We celebrate in our Celtic way
Lost to us forever and a day
Kin you be and kin you will stay
October 25, 2012
The voice is with me constantly now
The voice is no longer confined to my dreams. I and my unseen blood kin are in constant communion. For the most part, I feel safe and powerful, but I have one angst, one thing that puts a cold chill down my spine, one thing that instills fear in me: every time I pass near to, or even regard an oven, I shudder and my knees turn to jelly.
I think back to one of the earliest messages I received, “Hot ovens are being prepared. Come. Help us.” There must be a connection. But what? I am at a loss to understand it.
As I walk through places of business, and along the streets, I feel my power growing. I hold my head up and smile and look people in the eye as they pass, and they sense my magick and lower their gaze. They know, but they do not comprehend. They do not see what I see all around me; they do not hear what I hear.
October 24, 2012
Am I hearing the voice again? Perhaps.
The voice has relented its agitation and now comes softly, soothingly. I have grown to welcome it. I could even go so far as to say I anticipate it and enjoy it, as one enjoys receiving a letter from a long-lost friend.
Now the voice seems to be all in English, or perhaps I no longer need differentiate the English and the Welsh. Interestingly, I cannot discern whether it is a voice at all, or perhaps a mere feeling. Even as I write this I sense it saying, “Only a little while, our brother, and we come together again.”
Once more I retrieved my box of illusions and I have been able to perform flawlessly each and every one of them without the least bit of practicing. I have even caused the apparatuses do things far beyond their original designs. After exhausting the possibilities—or impossibilities— of the old tricks, I have progressed to picking up common items around the house and creating some illusion around them. For example, a newspaper and scissors lend themselves to a cut-and-restored-paper trick, and a simple pencil and white paper can be made to produce automatic writing. Any items that strike my fancy become my new set of magician’s paraphernalia.
My original box of tricks, however, means little to me now, as I no longer require such artificial contrivances—I see magick everywhere, and I avail myself of it as I please. My metamorphosis, my awakening seems to have had its roots in a certain book I read last summer, but I dare not tell thee its title lest thou also fall under its magick. If thou hast an account with goodreads, ye may temp fate and risk unraveling the mystery thyself. Whereas I have endeavoured in vain to remove said tome from my book list, in that sense I shall not be party to thy demise, and I implore thee not to seek out these writings—resist while ye are able. I’ve said too much and too little.
