Eve Littlepage's Blog, page 2

American Witch

Eve Littlepage, an American Witch

“Do you really want to include this in the beginning of your book?” asked Linda.

“Why do you ask?” I replied.

“I just thought you might want to consider whether it might affect your sales. I mean, some people who read that right off the bat may be offended by it. Of course, it’s up to you.”

Linda felt that she should focus keenly on grammar, spelling, and clarity, but dance lightly when it came to questioning my ideas and language. As a memoirist, she thought I should tell my story in my words, not hers, nor any other editor’s. When she did question something, I took notice!

I re-read the excerpt from “Author Notes,” which prefaced my memoir: “I have opted to capitalize the words Witchcraft and Pagan as I feel they have been in lower case for far too long.”*

Eve’s First Halloween Birthday

I thought about my reluctance to publicly declare myself a ‘Witch,’ in spite of being called one since my first Halloween birthday, when my parents thought it was cute to put a black and orange cone-shaped hat on my head. Strapped into a high chair, and bribed with an all-you-can-eat buffet of cake and ice cream, I allowed them their joke. By the time I was in my teens, I even thought being called a Witch was kinda cool, and wondered if it had anything to do with my obsessions with Rod Serling, Barnabas Collins, and trying to control candle flames with my mind.

Flash forward to my thirtieth year, and I did indeed find myself immersed in a world of mysticism, magic, and meaningful spiritual connection. I went to Pagan events, explored a Wiccan path by joining a coven, and set up an altar in my home. Yet, when asked if I was a ‘Witch,’ which was often, my pat answer was to reply with the challenge, “Define Witch.”

“I..er..uh..duh..umm..I dunno. Do you know what it means?” has been the most common reaction. I wish I could show you the widened eyes, dropped jaws, and backward steps people took as they stumbled into their own boobytrap.

That’s where I’d jump in with, “Well, I have an idea of what I think a Witch is. But first, I’d like to address the irony of you asking me to say whether I am, or am not, something that you don’t even know what it means to be!” Usually this would be met with a downward-cast face, slight sidewards grin, and a shuffling of the feet: common body language for, ‘You got me!’

In spite of the myriad of pentagrams adorning my house, I have preferred to call myself ‘a spiritual seeker.’ I was selective about where and when I wore a pentacle around my neck, lest someone have a noose left over from The Inquisition. There was a strange combination of fear (of offending someone, or of meeting their fear head-on) and a reluctance to paint myself into a spiritual corner, to be defined as part of one group to the exclusion of others. On the top of my list of pet peeves is all the blood spilled in the name of religion, and I didn’t want to add to the polarity. I have long been interested in finding the thread that connects all religions, rather than arguing about whose god or goddess is top dog, or if deity exists at all.

Among many of the things that drew me to a Pagan path, is its lack of dogma and restriction. The atmosphere of this path has been one that encourages expansion and study in any area that you are drawn to. I see this happening today not only in the Wiccan/Pagan community, but as reflected by recent polls that show many people defining themselves as ‘spiritual, but not religious.’

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‘Witchy Eve’ page from
“The Sizzle Family Album.”

Despite my obvious Pagan leanings, I tucked my pentacle into my shirt and kept a low profile about my spiritual preferences. Then, a couple of years ago, while discussing a web-weaving ritual with a New Age ‘Minister,’ I got a jolt. He was nodding with great interest, until I told him I had learned about it at a Witch gathering. He cast his eyes around the room, lowered his voice, and said, “It sounds like a lovely idea, but we don’t mention the “W” word around here.”

REALLY? My mind screamed inside but I was too shocked to make a sound. Here, in the midst of a room full of crystals, incense, Tarot cards, books on Ascension; Here, among Reiki healers, intuitive readers, herbalists, and people burning pieces of paper to send their intentions of love and light into the Cosmos; HERE, in the middle of this regurgitated mishmash of ancient mystical magical new age mumbo-jumbo, you are telling me that “Witch” is not a word we say OUT LOUD? Really?”

I guess that, and centuries of people accused of practicing Witchcraft being systematically tortured and murdered, finally did it. It wasn’t an isolated incident. I had noticed a tendency to marginalize Wiccans and Pagans within the New Age and alternative spirituality communities before. I even recall a man I dated briefly explaining why Wicca was an inferior path to Buddhism. (Damn, I didn’t think Buddhists were spiritual snobs! I still don’t think they are, if they’re doing it right.) When I asked him why, if he felt that way, he was at a Pagan gathering instead of a Buddhist retreat, he told me it was easier to pick up women at Pagan gatherings. (Need I explain why we only dated briefly?)

Ultimately, what I’ve come to believe is that this energy which is the source of all creation is so beyond our comprehension that we need to distill it to a simpler form to begin to wrap our minds around it. And this omnipotent, infinite, unimaginable force is experiencing itself in every way that its unbounded imagination can fathom. In this view, I begin to comprehend what is meant by “We are all One.” I can look at a fellow human, like my friend Rebecca McCarthy** and think, You are God, experiencing yourself as an Author, a Teacher, and a Roller Derby jammer. I can look at the guy who just cut me off on Route 41 and think, You are The Great Spirit, experiencing yourself as an idiot.” And I can look in the mirror and say to myself, You are Divinity, experiencing yourself, among other things, as a Modern Witch/Pagan/Spiritual Seeker.

Eve on her 60th Birthday

This is America, in the year of our Lord and Lady 2013. If there has ever been a time or a place when I SHOULD feel safe to stand up and state my spiritual beliefs, without fear of being tarred and feathered, it’s here, and it’s now. In the land of the free, and home of the brave, knowing that in a time past I may have been slain at birth for coming into the world on All Hallows Eve, I rejoice in being alive, and in being able to say, “I am a Witch. Yes, I am an American Witch.” It’s a very American thing to be able to stand up and say that.

Happy Independence Day, Namaste, and Blessed Be to my fellow Americans!

With Love from Eve,

an American Witch

 

*”Author’s Notes” excerpt from CELESTIAL BODIES IN ORBIT: Memoirs of The Unknown Stripper by Eve Littlepage

**Rebecca Lea McCarthy is the author of Writing the Diaphragm Blues and Other Sexual Cacophonies

First Kiss

Early Beatles

I was caught up as much as any 12-year-old female in the Beatlemania craze. Every girl I knew had to declare who her favorite Beatle was. John appealed to those drawn to bad boys. Paul, on the other hand, was irresistibly cute and seemed safer to take home to meet your parents. Ringo was the choice of those big-hearted types who melted over sad-puppy eyes. Girls like me, who were drawn to the quiet brooding type with soulful eyes, went bonkers for George.

Yes, George Harrison was the Beatle for me, until I met my first real boyfriend, Mike M. He looked just like Paul McCartney. Everybody said so. Except for his coloring, sandy-blond hair and blue eyes, he could have been his twin.

I’d been practicing getting the flutters over adorable teen idols, but this was the first time my heart raced over a real guy. He was older, 15 to my 12 years. I was flattered and thrilled to find he had a crush on me too.

It felt disloyal to favor George when my ‘true love’ looked like Paul, so I switched my allegiance. Having a real-life beau was much more fun than fantasizing about a distant superstar. It was Mike, after all, who wrote pages and pages of “I Love You Eve,” not John, Paul, George, or Ringo. God knows how Mike ever got through school. He spent class after class scribbling love notes to me. He was no Shakespeare either. He’d write the same corny line over and over, filling pages of lined notebook paper. His lack of imagination didn’t bother me. I was enchanted by his adolescent attentions.

After weeks of courting me with his romantic but repetitious prose, he asked me to go steady. I said, “Yes” and he took off his silver ID bracelet. Fumbling awkwardly, he fastened it around my wrist. It was official. I was his girl! He asked if he could kiss me.

Rhett and Scarlett Kiss

We were in my backyard. There wasn’t another soul in sight. My heart was racing as visions of great kisses streamed through my mind: Rhett and Scarlet; Captain Von Trapp and Maria; John Wayne and anyone.

I nodded to Mike that it was okay. I closed my eyes, stood on tiptoes, puckered my lips, and waited without breathing to be swept up in a torrent of passion. There was a long pause. Then, I felt a fleeting flicker touch my lips; the type of sweet peck-on-the-cheek-kiss Aunt Bea might give Opie as she sent him off to school.

Still perched on my toes, lips puckered, I opened my eyes to see Mike running across the lawn, half-way to the street. Before I could shout, “Hey, was that it?” he was out of sight. I stood there, dumbfounded. Oh, how I wanted my first kiss to be memorable. It was, but not in the grand great-kisses-of-all-time way that I had imagined.

Mike and I finally did graduate to some longer, mushier smooching. I remember those make-out sessions, dreamlike and vague, set against an endless stream of Beatle tunes. When I hear tunes from that early Meet the Beatles album, like “This Boy” and “Hold Me Tight,” they take me back to those bubbly feelings of puppy love, and to that comical moment in my backyard where I stood, still puckered, waiting for the rest of my first kiss.

- Eve Littlepage

 

SeeSaws

The Ronettes

We were allegedly in school to learn, but the thing my fellow sixth-graders and I wanted more than smarts was to be cool. It was 1964. Music was the magic link that would connect us to the ‘in crowd.’ You had to stay up-to-date with the most popular tunes if you didn’t want to be labeled ‘a square.’

Teachers played tug-of-war with our attention as we fidgeted and watched the clock, counting the minutes ’til recess. At the sound of the bell we raced out to the far end of the asphalt playground and jockeyed to get a ringside spot at the seesaws. That’s where we’d gather every day at two o’clock, hovering around Bobby C’s portable radio. It was tuned to WABC radio, New York’s premier rock ‘n roll station. Every day at 2:00 they would play the current #1 song. If you didn’t know what WABC’s #1 song was, you’d be on the fast track to social oblivion. All the cool kids knew, and liked, the #1 song. 

One week it was Be My Baby by The Ronettes. Motown ruled. Kids were either Greasers or Preppies. It wasn’t unlike “Happy Days.” Whatever clique we might be part of, the music permeated our soft young psyches flavoring the atmosphere with songs of teenage romance.

No matter if you wore leather or madras the paradigm was the same: eventually we would pair off, marry, and raise families. There weren’t many other options apparent to us. The world felt well-defined and fairly safe, except for the ‘duck and cover’ thing.

So we listened to Be My Baby and felt secure in our coolness as we sang along around the seesaws. Then, as sudden as a flash flood it all changed. The very next week a new band, with a new sound, was making waves that would ripple out through decades. The sound washed over us creating a buzz and excitement we’d never felt before. The song was simple, but it had a driving, pulsing energy that did something to us. We jumped, shouted, and screamed along. We just couldn’t help it. We knew deep down it was a turning point and there would be no going back. 

The new #1 song on WABC was by an unknown band that had shown up overnight and left a lasting imprint on our music and culture. This was a group that would help steer the revolution into alternative thinking. They started with a song that echoed the predominant theme of teenage love. Once we were all seduced and under their spell, their themes expanded to include cosmic and brotherly love.

We were about to embark on a culture shift from bobby socks to go-go boots; from button-down collars to Nehru shirts; from conforming to re-forming.

Our guts told us we were on the brink of something, but none of us around the seesaws had a clue what we were about to be swept up in. The new #1 song on WABC was I Want To Hold Your Hand. Beatlemania had arrived. “Happy Days” would soon be traded for “Hippy Days.”

How fitting that my memory of such a pivotal point in time is connected to those seesaws.

- Eve

First 45’s

In 1964 I was twelve, my cousin Kate was eleven. There was no special rite of passage for us as we stood on the brink of puberty, so we created our own. We headed downtown to Woolworth’s, running, skipping, and giggling along the way. We each had a dollar and we were on a mission.

That day we would purchase our very first phonograph records. We could afford one ’45’ each and still have enough to treat ourselves to an ice cream soda.

Kate ordered strawberry and I got a black and white: chocolate soda with vanilla ice cream. We sucked those sodas down so fast we were frozen for the rest of that hot summer day, but we were bursting to get back to her house and play our new records.

Elvis Presley

Kate and I both knew what we wanted before we got to the five and dime. She bought “Return to Sender“ by Elvis (need I mention his last name?) and I got “Forget Him“ by Bobby Rydell.

Back at Kate’s we locked ourselves in her room for the rest of the afternoon and played those songs over and over and over. We would sing along until we had every word memorized or lost our voices, whichever came first.

That was over forty years ago, yet whenever I hear either one of those tunes I am transported in a flash to Kate’s bedroom, hovering with her over that pink and white portable record player. How grown up we felt, crooning along, daydreaming of puppy love. We were on the threshold of a new phase of life. Jumprope and Barbie dolls would soon be cast aside for our new obsessions: teenage infatuations and music, music, music.

Welcome to womanhood in the Atomic Age.

First 45′s

In 1964 I was twelve, my cousin Kate was eleven. There was no special rite of passage for us as we stood on the brink of puberty, so we created our own. We headed downtown to Woolworth’s, running, skipping, and giggling along the way. We each had a dollar and we were on a mission.

That day we would purchase our very first phonograph records. We could afford one ’45′ each and still have enough to treat ourselves to an ice cream soda.

Kate ordered strawberry and I got a black and white: chocolate soda with vanilla ice cream. We sucked those sodas down so fast we were frozen for the rest of that hot summer day, but we were bursting to get back to her house and play our new records.

Elvis Presley

Kate and I both knew what we wanted before we got to the five and dime. She bought “Return to Sender“ by Elvis (need I mention his last name?) and I got “Forget Him“ by Bobby Rydell.

Back at Kate’s we locked ourselves in her room for the rest of the afternoon and played those songs over and over and over. We would sing along until we had every word memorized or lost our voices, whichever came first.

That was over forty years ago, yet whenever I hear either one of those tunes I am transported in a flash to Kate’s bedroom, hovering with her over that pink and white portable record player. How grown up we felt, crooning along, daydreaming of puppy love. We were on the threshold of a new phase of life. Jumprope and Barbie dolls would soon be cast aside for our new obsessions: teenage infatuations and music, music, music.

Welcome to womanhood in the Atomic Age.

SPRING FORWARD!

Click to View Video

A Special Thanks to all who participated in my “Writes of Spring” Fling! Hundreds of people downloaded the Kindle e-book, and thirteen winners of my Goodreads Giveaway are starting to receive their paperback copies of CELESTIAL BODIES IN ORBIT: Memoirs of The Unknown Stripper. It’s fun to see where my book will travel to as it journeys to these winners: 9 in the US: VA, KS, MI, LA, MO, CA, MA, TX, OR; 2 in India, 1 in Australia, and 1 in Great Britain!

For an Indie author with nothing more than Monopoly money to run an ad campaign, these promos are a lifesaver to get the word out, and to build those essential reviews. I am more grateful than words can say for all of the positive feedback so far! I just received another 5-Star review from a woman I ‘met’ on Goodreads! (You can see it on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads, and Library Thing.)

I had great fun sharing some old photos from ‘back in the day’ on my Facebook Fan Page. If you missed it, you can view them here: https://www.facebook.com/EveLittlepage – however, I must issue a “Spoiler Alert!” There are some excerpts from the book posted with the pics, so I just want to warn those who haven’t read it yet!

So, the only thing left to do is Spring Forward, and see where this path takes me next! I am looking forward to writing more of my music memories, and will be posting more of them in the near future. In the meantime, check out the video of the “Marilyn and The Marilyns” show I did in 2004. And if you find it amusing, please share the laughs!

Happy Spring to All! – xx – Eve

 

CELESTIAL BODIES “WRITES OF SPRING” FLING!

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Eve & Company in
“Marilyn and The Marilyns”

To help shake off the end-of-Winter Blues, and roll out the pink carpet for Spring, I am hosting a Double-Giveaway of CELESTIAL BODIES IN ORBIT: Memoirs of The Unknown Stripper!

Starting today through Friday 3/22 the KINDLE e-book is FREE on Amazon!

Adding to the fun, I am doing a GOODREADS GIVEAWAY of 13 Paperback copies!  Enter through Friday the 22nd!

To further add to the festivities, throughout the week I will be dusting off my old photo album and sharing some cute, campy, and colorful photos from the good ole days when I danced under the stage name of “Lisa Doolittle.”

Also, watch for my video of “MARILYN and THE MARILYNS.” It’s a 3-minute clip of the show (pictured here), which I did about ten years ago, and mentioned briefly in my memoir!

PLEASE HELP SPREAD THE WORD … INVITE YOUR FRIENDS … THE MORE THE MERRIER!!

I HOPE THIS SPRING BRINGS YOU EVERYTHING YOUR HEART DESIRES!

xx – Eve

CYBERSPACE IS THE PLACE!  – Giveaway “Writes of Spring Fling” is happening here on my blog, and on Facebook through Friday 3//22/13!

Travelin’ Girl

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DJ “Cousin Brucie”

“AM Radio and rock ‘n roll … it was like a thread that ran through my life.”        – Mare Winningham to Paul Simon in One Trick Pony

When I heard this line it jumped out of the movie screen and etched a permanent groove in my mind as I realized how true this was for me too. Music, and especially song lyrics, were much more than a thread, however. Music shaped my thoughts and attitudes at least as much as school, parental influence, and peer pressure as I was growing up. My connection to music, and being deeply moved by it, must have started in infancy, though my recollections don’t go back quite that far.

I wasn’t quite ten years old when I became obsessed with Ricky Nelson. How I longed to be the girl he wrote “Hello Mary Lou, goodbye heart“ for. I was a few years away from female hormones turning me into a boy-crazy teeny-bopper. Ricky was awfully damn cute, but without the guitar and the silky-smooth voice, I think at nine I might not have noticed. He crooned love songs with such ease they had a hypnotic effect on me. I was falling in love with love long before I had a clue about ‘the birds and the bees.’

Ricky Nelson wasn’t the first to introduce me to the romance of romance. I had earlier influences, especially from films like “The Sound of Music” and “My Fair Lady.” But the heroines and their leading men in those films belonged to another time and place. Ricky was now (back in the ’50s). He was a romantic hero for a modern maiden.

Is it possible that the fight between my desire for adventure versus the urge to find my one true love was triggered by the conflicting themes of two of Ricky’s most famous hits?

Of course I know they were merely songs, for the purpose of entertaining. Yet at nine years old my young brain absorbed the opposing themes of the lyrics: In “Hello Mary Lou” Nelson’s heart can belong to only one; then he sings in “Travelin’ Man” of having a different honey in every corner of the globe. (BTW, how can the globe have corners when it’s round?)

I was well-conditioned, perhaps hard-wired, to be monogamous. Yet, Ricky made ‘sleeping around’ a new kind of romantic fantasy, and the budding sexual revolution of the times opened up the playing field for women too.

When Ricky sang to Mary Lou, there was no one else I wanted to be. But what was I thinking when I heard Travelin’ Man? Did I dream of being one of his special-for-the-moment global squeezes? Or did I start to fantasize about being the one in the power position, the bee that flew happily from flower to flower?

I’m not sure what my tender mind was thinking, but I do remember a nagging frustration that my brother,  just one year older than me, always seemed to have more privileges. And I began to question, ‘Why can’t a girl do anything a boy can?’

Why couldn’t I be a “Travelin’ Girl” someday and have a different boy in every curve of the globe? – Eve

Pick Myself Up, Dust Myself Off

It’s been nearly a month since I posted my last blog. Many of my friends know why I’ve been a bit ‘invisible’ lately. For those of you who are not on my Facebook or email lists, I will bring you up to date:

Arturo, my husband of nearly twenty years, has also been my partner in creating CELESTIAL BODIES IN ORBIT: Memoirs of The Unknown Stripper. From hearing me read drafts for the past six years (that alone should earn him sainthood!), to helping with all of my computer tech, website and blog set-up, Kickstarter video and photos, formatting the books to get them on Kindle and in paperback, I can’t even count the ways. I only know that I couldn’t have done it without him.

I was in the thick of getting books and ‘Rewards’ out to my Kickstarter Backers, when Arturo and I hit one of those little bumps in the road of life. The good news is it was a bump, and not the fall-off-the-cliff it could have been! On Tuesday night January 15th I called 911, as my dear Arturo was having some extreme symptoms. It turns out they were caused by a large kidney stone. Nasty, and uncomfortable, but not life-threatening. However, they discovered he had an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. It could have burst anytime, and if it had, it would have ended his life in minutes. Fortunately, it was discovered and he had surgery on the 18th to repair it. He is healing very well, and we are both coming around after being quite ragged-out by the whole shock of the experience. The worst of it is behind us. We are looking toward the future with optimism, and with renewed appreciation for the beauty and fragility of life.

Now I find myself sitting here, scratching my head a bit, thinking, Where was I? What should I be doing next? I know I need to get back to promoting this book, which we have both worked so hard to publish. But I’ll admit I’m struggling a bit. It feels like I’ve been tossed off the Merry-Go-Round and into some kind of time warp. Life is still spinning around, too fast for me to comprehend, but I’ve got to pick up some speed and try to hop back on. That is what life demands of us–get back on the Merry-Go-Round. But don’t forget to inhale deeply and breathe in the sweetness of each precious day.

So, as I prepare to finish sending out Kickstarter Rewards, and plan book promos, I keep hearing that wonderful song “Pick Yourself Up,” written in 1936 by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, and performed exquisitely by Diana Krall. ”I’ll pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again.”  xx – Eve

Kickstarter Rewards On The Way!

Thanks to my Kickstarter Backers
for starting off my 2013 with a bang!

I am thrilled to say that I have received almost everything I need to fulfill my promises to my Kickstarter Backers!

T-Shirts won’t be here until next week, but I am starting to mail CBO books, fridge magnets, postcards, and mugs to the kind and generous friends who supported my efforts to publish! Thank you All!

So, between signing books, packing Kickstarter Rewards, and watching the NFL playoffs this weekend, it may be a bit before I actually start writing again. I am looking forward to getting back to blogging about more music memories soon!

Until then – Go Pats!!!  xx – Eve