HAPPY WINTER SOLSTICE: 12/22/15

                   
    And Light shall overtake Darkness. 

  The Winter Solstice is the longest night of the year. Yet even as darkness triumphs, it gives way, and changes into light. 

  
                        We turn the Wheel to bring the light.

                     We call the sun from the womb of night.

The winter solstice happens every year when the North Pole is tilted furthest – 23.5 degrees – away from the Sun, delivering the fewest hours of sunlight of the year.

   The shortest day of the year often falls on December 21st, but the modern calendar of 365 days a year - with an extra day every four years - does not correspond exactly to the solar year. The solstice can happen on December 20, 21, 22 or 23, although December 20 or 23 solstices are rare. This year it falls on 12/22/15

    After Solstice night, we watch for the coming of dawn, rejoicing as the days begin to lengthen until the Summer Solstice. 

It is also the rebirth of the Oak King, 

the Green Man, the King of the Woodlands.

The term 'solstice' derives from the Latin word 'solstitium', meaning 'Sun standing still'. On this day the Sun seems to stand still at the Tropic of Capricorn and then reverses its direction as it reaches its southernmost position as seen from the Earth. 

                     Wishing you a Happy Winter Solstice

                        May this Holiday Season bring you 

                                  light and hope and humor.

                           

                                                      picture by Anne Stokes
   

www.ginirifkin.com

Victorian Dream by Gini Rifkin---Ranked 3,686 on Amazon!

                                 Murder, mayhem, 
               and a marriage of convenience 

               
    Free for Kindle Unlimited, or buy for only $3.99 


    Trelayne St.Christopher is a cossetted young English woman longing for adventure, like the daring females in her purloined romance novels. 

    Captain Walker Garrison, a Yankee sea captain, heartbroken after the death of his wife, is in need of comfort, but he seeks solitude. 

    Thrown together by necessary rather then need, their worlds collide, and the fun begins. 
    
Excerpt from Victorian Dream: 
   At the Crystal Palace: London,1851
   To her surprise, Walker tightened his grip on her elbow and urged her off the walkway and into the shadows. She felt light headed, and her cheeks grew warm with the unstoppable heat caused by his intense perusal. 
   “That’s some hat you’re sporting,” he said.
    His unexpected comment took her off guard, leaving her confused. “You don’t like my new hat?”
   “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that it was really something.”
   “That’s a bit vague. Something can mean good or bad.”
   He canted his head and studied her more thoroughly. “It’s unique, I’ll give you that.” He flicked a finger at the bright bow and scarlet ribbons cascading down one side of the creation. “And unexpected.”
  “Do you like surprises?” she ventured.
  “Not generally,” he admitted. “But I do like discovering new things, taking my time, savoring each revelation, wondering what will come next.
    Capturing her left hand, he toyed with the buttons on her glove. Entranced, she waited restlessly, conjuring naughty images of what he might try to discover next. One by one, he slipped the buttons free, splaying open the soft leather. Cool air slipped beneath the material as he rolled down the top, exposing her skin.
   The pulse in her wrist jump beneath the pressure of his fingers. Raising her hand to his mouth, he whispered something, but she couldn’t catch the words, only the feel of his breath on her bare skin. He lowered her hand, and little by little peeled the kid leather away, turning it inside out, sliding the softness over her knuckles, down her fingers, off the tips. She wished he would undress the rest of her just as completely and slowly—oh so slowly, one little piece of clothing following another.
   “Your fingers are cold, Trelayne,” he said, cozying her bare hand between his strong warm ones. “But I’ll wager there’s fire in your heart.”
   Speechless, she strangled the moan threatening to escape her. There was fire in more than just her heart, and it was near to burning out of control. Was it proper for a woman to ravish a man? For that was exactly what she wished to do.
   A hint of smile lingered on his mouth, but his eyes darkened, and there was nothing humorous about the way his gaze made her feel.
   She wished to speak, but words escaped her. Rarely at a loss as to what to do or say, she tried to recall what she’d been taught in deportment about keeping up lively conversation and witty dialogue. Nothing came to mind to cover a situation in which her body ruled her mind. All she could think about was what it would be like to kiss this man, make love to this man, be naked beside this man.
   “Fires can be dangerous,” she finally murmured.
   “Yes,” he agreed. “Especially the ones that burn long and slow and incredibly hot.”
   Illustrations from the books she read in secret seared across her mind—scandalous, wonderful imaginings.
   He leaned in closer. She swore he was about to kiss her, could feel his breath and the tiniest tickle of his mustache as his mouth hovered oh so near her lips. Then he straightened, his expression one of confusion, even consternation. He looked like a man delirious with fever, just come to his senses.
   “We should find the others,” he suggested, releasing her from the spell she was under. 
    It was the last thing she wanted. Couldn’t he tell, didn’t he know? 

   “Out of all the grand wonders here tonight,” he reassured, “spending time with you is what I shall remember most.”

Wassailing the trees

  I love trees, and was truly enamored at the thought of  singing (and drinking) to their health. The word 'Wassail' is derived from the Old Norse 'Ves heill', from whence came the Old English salutation 'Wes Hal', meaning 'Be thou hale'. As it stems from Anglo/Saxon, it is thought to predate the Norman Conquest. 

  Although it is a rather riotous celebration, it's taken quite seriously by those who depend on a good harvest for their livelihood. Especially in the English counties of Devon, Somerset, Dorset Goucestershire, and Herefordshire.

Reciting poems and singing to the trees was meant to promote their health and insure a good harvest for the coming year.





The chanting of incantations, banging on drums and pots and pans and even firing a volley into the branches was meant to drive away evil spirits.

             

 The wassail King and Queen lead the procession from one orchard to the next. Periodically, the wassail Queen will be lifted up into the boughs of the tree where she will place a piece of toast soaked in Wassail from the Clayen Cup (an earthenware vessel filled with cider) as a gift                                                                     to the tree spirits.  

I've always associated Wassailing with caroling during the Christmas season. The wassailing of trees, however, was celebrated on Twelfth Night (January 6, or the evening of January 5) or to be strictly correct on "Old Twelvey Night" (January 17) the true date before the introduction of the Gregorian Calendar in 1752.


 This year, why not extend your holiday festivities, and come January honor the trees that give us shelter and shade, bear fruit to be savored, and clean the air we breathe.

                    HAPPY WASSAILING 
                                
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                                   a $10 Amazon gift card.

                                            Check out
                                   LADY GALLANT 
                            to see how Josie and Garrick       
                 celebrate Christmas in the Crimea in1851        
              Amazon  The Wild Rose Press Barnes and Noble                 

       Disowned by her father and still mourning the death of her fiancé, Josephine Posey joins Florence Nightingale’s brigade of nurses bound for the Black Sea. Thousands of British soldiers desperately await these angels of mercy and a new life awaits Josie. Amidst the chaos of death and despair, she finds a spark of hope, lighting the flame once more inside her soul.

    In search of the truth, Garrick Allen, one of Britain’s first war correspondents also journeys to the Crimean Peninsula. To him the soldiers seem all but abandoned by Queen and country, and as he smokes his cheroots and makes friends with a bottle, he writes his bold but honest dispatches for The Times.  Not wanting anything more than to finish his job and go home, Garrick is blind-sided by a nurse with attitude who offers him a new slant on life and a reason to love.
                  
                               Visit these sites for more 
            Holiday fun, recipes, and prizes.  

Krista Ames
Annette Bower
Denyse Bridger
Linda Carroll-Bradd
Stacy Dawn
Darlene Fredette
Marlow Kelly
Lori Power
Krista Ames

A Turkey Named JACKIE

    For the past 15 years, rather than eating a turkey at Thanksgiving we have sponsored one. This year our special bird is...

                                             Jackie

According to the shelter she is curious and thoughtful and likes cooked squash and cranberries. 

    Jackie was one of 11 baby turkeys left anonymously at the Farm Sanctuary in New York. Her beak tip was seared off, indicating that she probably came from a factory farm. Turkeys like Jackie are debeaked, and sometimes detoed, so that turkeys, overwhelmed by extreme confinement don't peck each other to death, 

      Check out The Farm Sanctuary, they have all kinds of wonderful animals, and rescue stories. 

                         http://www.farmsanctuary.org/


     ANIMAL CRACKERS ALL AROUND

Fun Facts About Wild Turkeys

                         
                          
Wild turkeys, which are native to North America, have been around for almost 10 million years and diverged from pheasants. The usual lifespan of a turkey is 10 years. A mature turkey has about 3,500 feathers. The heaviest male wild turkey recorded weighed 38 lbs.
        
   They were domesticated by the Aztecs long before they were introduced into Europe by the Spaniards. The King of Spain was so impressed by the new bird that he ordered every ship returning from the New World to bring along 10 turkeys in addition to the gold and silver that they looted. The popularity of the turkey soon spread throughout Europe replacing the peacock at banquets.

  Contrary to popular belief turkeys can fly, at least wild turkeys, their domestic counterparts are now not able to do so due to selective breeding. Wild turkeys are capable of flying at speeds of up to 55 miles per hour for short distances and can travel on the ground at speeds of 25 miles per hour.

In the wild, turkeys sleep in trees, furthermore they prefer oak.
Wild Turkeys forage for food such as acorns, seeds, roots, insects and wild berries. Domesticated turkeys weigh twice as much as a wild turkey, this is because they are fattened in factory farms and fed growth hormones and have no room due to close confinement in which to exercise. 

Dispelling the myth: Although there is no documented evidence of this, we've all heard the story of a turkey looking upward in a rainstorm and drowning. The behavior is a genetically-caused nervous disorder called tetanic torticollar spasms, which causes the bird to hold it's head at unusual angles. 

Turkey talk: They don't just gobble. But when they do, they can be heard as far as a mile away. However, turkeys have been known to have over 20 distinct vocalizations including “yelps,” “purrs,” and “kee-kees.” Turkeys can recognize each other by their unique voices.



   Turkeys are highly social, affectionate and love to play. They create long-lasting social bonds with each other and with humans. Turkeys love to be stroked, petted and cuddled. They will remember your face and if they like you, they will come up to you to greet you. Turkeys also love music and will cluck along with the songs.   

         If Turkeys were stupid, they wouldn't be so hard to hunt. 
                                              

Poker Alice: Gambler, Dealer, Wife, and Mother

At my age I suppose I should be knitting. But  I would rather play poker with five or six  'experts' than eat."
-- Alice Ivers Tubbs; aka: Poker Alice


    Born in Devonshire, England in 1851, Alice Ivers and her family came to America and settled in Virginia when she was still a small girl. Her father, a conservative schoolmaster made sure Alice attended an elite boarding school through her teen years. Then the family moved to Leadville, Colorado where she met Frank Duffield a mining engineer whom she married at the age of twenty. 



Gambling, almost unavoidable in the mining camps of the Old West, Frank became a regular player. Alice not wishing to stay home alone, often accompanied him. At first she quietly watched from a far, but having a sharp mind and a competitive spirit, before long she sat at the tables winning her share at poker and Faro.  




A few years into the marriage, Alice's husband was killed in an explosion and she was left with no means of support. There wasn't a school for her to teach in and other female occupations didn't appeal to her. Capitalizing on her gambling skills, she became a Faro dealer. A petite 5'4" beauty with blue eyes and silky brown hair, and dressed in the latest fashions, she was soon in great demand. 

     As she traveled from camp to camp, playing in cities all over Colorado including Alamosa, Central City, Georgetown and Trinidad. As a dealer and a player, she acquired the nickname "Poker Alice", and could often be seen in her frilly dresses while puffing on a large black cigar. She never gambled on Sundays, and carried a .38 revolver which she had no reservations about using. She was welcome everywhere as her presence always drew a crowd and was good for business. 


Expanding her horizons, Alice made her way to Silver City New Mexico. She won $6,000 a the Gold Dust Gambling House which prompted a trip to New York to replenish her fashionable wardrobe. 




Later, in Creede, Colorado, she met and went to work for Bob Ford (the man who killed Jesse James. In 1890 she ended up in Deadwood, South Dakota, and met Warren G. Tubbs, a house painter from Sturgis. 

She saved Tubbs with her .38 when a miner pulled a knife on him. The couple married, moved to Deadwood to homestead on the Moreau river and raised 7 children. But luckier at cards than love, Warren contracted tuberculosis and despite her dedication to making him well, he passed away in 1910

After that, things spiraled downward. Gone were the fancy clothes as she enjoyed a good cigar. She ran a brothel and saloon in South Dakota, shot a man in self-defense, and after repeated convictions was sentenced to prison. However, Alice, 75 years old at the time, was pardoned by the governor.

At the age of 79 she underwent a gall bladder operation in Rapid City, but died of complications on February 27, 1930. 

In her later years, Alice claimed to have won more than $250,000 at the gaming tables and never once cheated. In fact, one of her favorite sayings was: "Praise the Lord and place your bets. I'll take your money with no regrets."

Hauntings in Central City, Colorado

                        
        If you take Eureka Street west out of Central City,
in about a mile, you will come to at least four cemeteries--the Central City Cemetery, the Knights of Pythias, the Masonic, and the Catholic Cemeteries. 
The sun is shining, and the trees are bursting with fall colors, all seems right with the world. Until you get there...














     Clouds roll in. 

                                          The sky grows dim, and the breeze grows cold. 
                                                   
There are hundreds of ornate stone markers and intricate grill work, doting the landscape, with headstones dating back to the 1860s.

                      
         Some  plots still seem well tended, others seem forlorn.  
                                           
                                     

Sadly many are children's graves, and the inscriptions don't always list birth date, but record date of death and the number of years, months and days they lived. 



















Passing through the 
gates of the Knights of Pythias was like walking into a different realm. The terrain is wild and uneven, branches not caring that they block your path. Brambles and vines reaching for your ankles as you make your way along.

A little farther away is the Masonic Cemetery and the grave of John Cameron who died in 1887 at the age of 21. Information on who John was is rather vague. It is known that he was a local miner. 


  As the story goes, twice a year, a lady dressed in black Victorian regalia appears bringing flowers to the grave site. The date of her visits seems to vary, some say it is on April 15 and Halloween, other April 5th and November 1st. November 1st makes sense as this is the day John died. Several sightings have been reported, but when approached, the Lady In Black quickly disappears into the woods. 

 Supposedly, another of these old cemeteries holds the remains of a woman who was determined by her peers to be a witch. If you can find the grave, it is said when you stand a few yards away and watch, a green mist will surround the area. Further witnesses purport that if the lighting is right, hundreds of maggots can be seen covering the ground. 

Several of the played out mines inspire tales of hauntings as well. Although the actual mine was closed over 85 years ago, rumor has it the Pozo shaft still remains home to a few ghostly miners.

Many a night-time skeptic has become a believer when they see faint yellow lights coming from the old mine and hear the sounds of men working deep down in the abandoned shaft. (photo is not the Pozo shaft)

  I didn't see any ghosts, but there was definitely an eerie aura about the area, and that was in the light of day! 

             Wherever you are on October 31st, wishing you a
                   HAPPY HAUNTED HALLOWEEN.  
                            

photo's by Steve Brown and Gini.