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In our language, the meaning of 'hag' has been distorted. Among the Kells (my mother was Irish), it is the final stage in the life of a woman. There are three: The Maiden/Virgin, untaken, untamed, wild and free. She's full of fire, dreams, visions and kinetic energy. She is the Waxing Moon. The Matron, in the full maturity of her child-bearing years. She is the great earth mother, the lover, the comforter, the healer. She is the Full Moon. The Hag. Seasoned and wise in the ways of the world, she holds her blood and sometimes her tongue. She enjoys honor and respect among those who hold her favor, and fear/caution among those who have earned her ire. She is the Waning Moon. I take The Hag for Hag Struan, a character in James Clavell's novel Tai-Pan, my favorite of his works. The Hag was born a Brock, which made her marriage into the Struan clan a Hatfield-McCoy heresy. The Brocks and Struans were rival shipping magnates in Scotland during the early days of China trade. The Hag was widowed young and stepped to the helm of Struan shipping, to keep them on top of her birth family. She was a tough, clear-minded, straight from the shoulder kind of lady. I admired her strength, her dignity and her dedication to her family against all odds. I'd have a very long way to go, indeed, before I could be in her league, but the name inspires me and I aim to do her proud. *************** For God sent NOT his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. [JOHN 3:17] Peace to All. The Hag ......................................  .......................................... |
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Prisoner Number 66730
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May 10, 2007 1:36 am
Mood: thankful,
762 Views
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By the standards of the time, she was well into her 'mature years' when Holland fell under occupation in World War II. A life of clean living and hard work had kept her strong and healthy, had prepared her in ways she could not fathom for a horror the world could never previously have imagined. "How often it is a small, almost unconscious event that marks a turning point. As arrests of (refugees) in the street became more frequent, I had begun picking up and delivering work for our (endangered) customers myself, so that they would not have to venture into the center of town."*
..........She and her family, her aged father, older sister, Betsie, her brother, Willem and his family, were among the most prominent and the most active in establishing and maintaining the Underground Railroad. All who worked within that system knew of the death camps. They knew these he!!s existed and knew what would befall them when their work was discovered. They knew the very worse tortures would be reserved for them and yet they continued to love, serve, shelter, protect and sacrifice for those against whom the bow of that terrible, malignant power was bent.
.........."That night, Father, Betsie and I prayed long after the others had gone to bed. We knew that in spite of the daily mounting risks, we had no choice but to move forward. This was Evil's hour. We could not run away from it.*
..........They were betrayed on February 28,1944. During the first interrogation inside the Beje, both Corrie and Betsie were severely beaten. The entire ten Boom family and many of their workers in the underground movement were arrested ~ but the secret room was not discovered. Corrie was 52 the night she was taken prisoner.
..........First, all the ten Booms were separated from each other and from anyone else they had known. "No two from Haarlem in the same cell." From the initial incarceration in Haarlem, the family was sent to various camps behind the enemy lines. Miraculously, Corrie and Betsie found each other on the train to their first camp, Vught, and remained together until Betsie died in Ravensvbruck. Their aged and beloved father survived the rigors of his arrest by only ten days. Willem's son, Kirk, died of the tortures of Bergen-Belsen. Grievous as they were, the suffering and deaths among members of the ten Boom family were lost among those all around them, for every family had its tragedies.
More to Come
[* All quotes taken from The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom]
"I decided to devote my life to telling the story because I felt that having survived I owe something to the dead. and anyone who does not remember betrays them again.
~ Elie Wiesel
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11
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Badd Boyz Ployz
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May 5, 2007 1:29 pm
Mood: giggly,
741 Views
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VOTE FOR TreasureHunter4 FOR BEST OF THE BADD BOYZ IN SFF! CAST YOUR VOTE NOW FOR BIG BADD DAVE!
In eons gone, when faith was strong and justice ruled the day,
There was little need for the mounted steed to hold mendacity at bay,
But times have changed, these days are strange, as good folk cower in fear, until the Knight of Right, armed with courage and light, on his noble charger rides near,
He quells fear and doubt, puts evil to rout as the crowd gives out with a cheer! So glad he's arrived ~ Will he please stay awhile and join us at the pub for a beer?
Quiet and modest, never the braggart to boast. with the faintest blush, he will stay hushed, and consent to letting them toast
Their hero so kind, a pleasant and jovial friend, who fights for the right, knowing wisdom is might with his gentle and courtly style,
He lifts his pint with a twinkling eye, ... and all the Ladies sigh with a smile!
VOTE FOR TREASURE HUNTER FOUR! THE BESTEST OF THE BADDEST BOYZZ IN SFF!
The Hag, who is a great fan of his, you know.
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9
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Join In My Crusade?
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May 3, 2007 4:53 am
Mood: angry,
761 Views
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There's a commercial running on television just now that burns me to the core every time I've seen it. Yes, far worse than all of the others combined.
A little girl approaches her grandfather, who's sitting in his rocking chair, working the cross-word puzzle. Tearfully she shows him her math paper with the grade of 'F' prominently circled at the top. He asks her what's wrong and she answers:
"Mama said I had to get an 'A' before we could go to ****** for a (candy bar) shake!"
Whereupon this gentleman, supposedly a mentor and guide to this child, takes his pen and turns the 'F' into an 'A'.
I am sending letters of protest and complaint to this company via email and snail mail and may write the National PTA and NEA, as well, because of the terrible wrong this represents. Do we not have enough trouble with our students cheating in school without sending the message that this is the thing to do with parental approval, no less?
I know that, as 'wrongs' go, this is a very minor one. However, when you consider that this is a worldwide chain and that THIS is a major marketing strategy, I think my fury is amply justified.
Hagitha hath spoken!
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One Well-Known to Me
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May 1, 2007 8:39 pm
Mood: contemplative,
690 Views
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..........She spent five years in the ninth grade, not for lack of ability but because there was no high school that she could get to that accepted African-American students. She could not so much as set foot on the steps of the public library in her little southern town. In an agony of frustration, she wept to her father, begging, "Daddy, please! Please!!! Don't make me go back another year! PLEASE! It's so boring! I hate it!" Her father, a wise and courageous man, held her close, wiping the tears with a snow-white handkerchief, "Yes, Baby," he crooned softly, "I want you to go back. You must stay there until I can get you into high school. You're a strong, smart girl. If you'll try for me, I know you can learn something new this year." Out of love and respect for her father, back she'd go in the fall.
When she entered high school, she was 19 years old. The majority of students near her age had dropped out and moved on with their lives years before. Her family finally had found transportation to the Black high school 20 miles away, with one of the ladies who attended their church. They left home at five in the morning, since her 'ride' had to be at work by six. From there, Captolia walked the remaining two miles to the school.
Nearly 21 at her high school graduation, parents beaming with joy and pride, she'd received her letter of acceptance to college and was planning to move there and work until classes began in September.
Details of the intervening years when she earned her first degrees, met and married the love of her life and reared their wonderful family are a blur to me, and I've forgotten much in the decades since her death. Yet I cling to her example and her strength.
Dr. Captolia Newbern was in her early 80's the day she introduced herself to our history class at Lincoln Memorial University. She had great verve, charisma and a presence that established instant rapport with her students. Her credentials included five earned degrees, a greater number of 'honorary doctorates' and a gold-on-parchment Declaration from the Smithsonian, proclaiming her "an invaluable and irreplaceable human resource of the United States of America."
To my amazement and unending joy, she became my dear friend. Wanting to 'be close to everything', she had chosen an apartment in married student housing. She was teaching classes in three departments (history, philosophy and music) and her time was precious. Also a regularly published writer, who was actively involved in many church ministries, groups and committees, she was still a civil rights activist with a strong, clear voice.
Most of all, she was fun! Our own historical legend who had lived through much of the he!! and the horror of The Great American Suppression, her well of hope and inspiration was wide open and free-flowing. Whenever I had an evening at home, my husband and I would leave word with her that we'd either have her to dinner at our place, or bring the food to hers, when that was her preference. During those priceless semesters, we felt like adopted children, who never tired of listening to the panoply of adventurous experiences recounted over the meal.
This shadowy rambling falls far short of explaining the wisdom she poured into our lives, or the emotional shelter she gave me when that marriage fell apart. Whenever I read Maya Angelou's work, see her or hear her speak, I think immediately of the bright twinkle in Dr. Newbern's eyes as she'd tell us: "I know how old I am in man's time, but I have no idea how young I may be in God's time."
Again, I am encouraged.
Inspiration
To Dr. Captolia Newbern
I have a picture of you and me, ...
Sitting atop my desk, where I can see...
Your smiling face, 'ere my day begins...
And smiling still as each day ends...
And all my labor's braver, bolder...
Just knowing your hand rests on my shoulder!
The Hag (c) 1975
"Yet you must go on steadily in all those things that you have learned and which you know are true. Remember from what sort of people your knowledge has come;" ~ II Timothy 3:14/Phillips Translation
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I'm glad you stopped by, my friends, I hope to see you on your blog very soon.
Hagitha
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10
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Sometimes
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Apr 25, 2007 6:51 am
Mood: peaceful,
610 Views
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...the sweetest moments are so stealthy, slipping up on little cat feet, jumping onto your chair with the softest whisper of a purr, then curling down to sleep in a warm, round ball of contentment.
We were sitting like that last night, Lola and I, when Anna came through to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. Passing the chair, she picked mine up as well (never a need to ask whether I 'want a warmup' ), and when she returned with it, sat down in the other chair. We chatted about the events of the day, the way our work had gone, how good the roast was at dinner - Paul really liked the cinnamon apples, and a dozen or so 'what ifs' for each scenario that beckons us as an option, for the next stage of our lives. Possibilities to consider and to exclude suggested themselves and, in talking about Tennessee, many thoughts of her childhood resurfaced. As happens a dozen times a day, I watch the animated happiness light the eyes of this accomplished, professional young woman and marvel at her strength, compassion and wisdom. Gifts of which she's blissfully under-aware. Talent is like that. Such a beautiful, quiet thing.
You know what option I like best? The one that would get her back into paint-smeared 'sweats', standing in front of the easel.
Ahhhhh, yes.
Wishing you a lovely, joyful, creative day, my friends!
Hagitha
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Anguished Hearts
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Apr 23, 2007 6:19 pm
Mood: drained,
672 Views
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.......... When next we met, C.S. was fifteen. My father, the surviving parent, had died the year before and my husband and I relocated to the midwest, to be near his mother.
Already 'into' alcohol and marijuana, C.S was so enmeshed in the Juvenile Court system that every cop in town knew him by name on sight. I was devastated when I realized that this was great fun to him, 'lock-up' was a joke. It wasn't severe enough? Would to G*d I could convey the terrible reality that they could have killed him, and he'd have died laughing between the screams, through the blood and the pain. Ever see the old Steve McQueen movie Papillion? To this day, C.S. has great charm, great heart and an indomitable spirit. He simply could not be steered in any positive direction.
His case worker/counselor was a fine young man, for whom I had deep respect and admiration. We were so glad that C.S. had someone like this in his life. It gave us hope. His selfless, determined dedication had us spending hours sitting at the kitchen table, consuming gallons of coffee, trying to analyze C.S.' needs and come up with some plan, some combination of 'perks' that would inspire C.S. to want a clean, productive and rewarding life, enough to begin to work toward that goal. None of our strategies worked. He persisted in cutting school (was even hand-cuffed to his desk for a time, until it was ruled 'cruel and unusual punishment' ) , hanging out with his miscreant 'homies', bouncing in and out of juvie on the same smattering of repeated 'minor' offenses ~ some stays longer than others.
C.S.' younger brother took Michael J. Fox as his role model and never missed Family Ties. That kid was asleep every night at 9:30, with his chores and homework done, clothes laid out and ready for the next morning. Scott attended an exclusive, private high school on a full academic scholarship (which is also how he navigated his college years). He, Anna and the two baby girls saved my sanity and gave me hope, but nothing has assuaged my grief for C.S.
Now 38, a crack addict who's in and out of jail, never able to hold a job (never having finished any educational program), with an innumerable cadre of 'girlfriends' strewn through his past, all victims of his 'domestic abuse' and several with his children, C.S. has achieved his only goal: His father was 'proud' of him. They were extremely close and C.S. has visited Ed daily for years. That's why it was so terribly hard for him to deal with his father's final illness. Ed recreated himself in C.S. They drank and got high together, with Ed laughing at and praising all of C.S.' self-destructive, antisocial behavior. I wonder whether it wouldn't have been far better had C.S. not known his father. Moot point.
C.S. phones Anna two or three times per month. He talks to her about me, but he can never talk to me. Many times I've assured him, via word from his sister and emails, that I bear him no ill will, would never judge him, still love him dearly and want only the best for him ~ but he can't handle having me on the other end of the phone. In the name of all sanity, what must it be like to carry that burden, that cross , of knowing that no matter how much you may want to ~ and believe me, from long nights spent talking with, crying with, praying with, begging and pleading with this child, he wanted to ~ you will never 'measure up', will never meet your own best expectations for yourself? Where is the pardon? Where is the key to unlock that prison? How do you free a person from the he!! of their own mind?
When C.S. was very small, my husband had an onyx signet ring that he loved. Richard would hold C.S. on his lap and let him play with the ring, putting it on his tiny thumb, looking through the band like a telescope ~ baby games. On C.S. 18th birthday, Richard gave him the ring. The last message C.S. leaves with Anna each time he calls is: Tell Aunt Elsie I love her, and I still have the ring.
*************************
.........."One night a moth flew into the candle, was caught, burnt dry and held. ... A golden female moth, a biggish one with a two-inch wingspan, flapped into the fire, dropped her abdomen into the wet wax, stuck, flamed, frazzled and fried in a second...
..........And then this moth-essence, this spectacular skeleton, began to act as a wick. She kept burning. The wax rose in the moth's body from her soaking abdomen to her thorax to the jagged hole where her head should be, and widened into flame. ...
..........She burned for two hours without changing, without bending or leaning - only glowing within, like a building fire glimpsed through silhouetted walls, like a hollow saint, like a flame-faced vir*gin gone to G*d. ~ Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm
The Hag
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8
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Broken Souls
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Apr 22, 2007 12:20 pm
675 Views
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MOOD: Troubled
.....When there is no explanation, I look inside myself and ask, wanting to know: where have I failed? How often have I dismissed the pain, suffering and need of those around me, especially the children? How many times have I glossed over a misery simply because I could not understand its origin?
Unable to stop thinking of those who were lost, not only the 32 heroes of Virginia Tech, but all our innocents who've died before and even for those who must follow, I also see the gunmen.. Newton's third law of motion tells us that "every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Most of us accept that there's a cause for every effect and an effect for every cause. They are inseparable. So, when we look at this tragedy, and so many that preceded it, are we not compelled to accept that there is a reason or combination of reasons? Contributing factors mounting to these awful culminations must exist, I think. So, I pour another cup of strong, black coffee and see the face of C.S., my Goddaughter's older brother. Except for the glasses (which he may now wear also), there's a general resemblance between this lost child of mine and Seung-Hui Cho. Both are of EurAsian descent.
C.S. was three years old when he came into my life and the damage was already done. He had suffered through violent domestic quarrels and abuse since his conception. The worse pre-birth incident occurred when his father broke his mother's arm, in a fight during her second trimester. Circumstances worsened between that time and our first meeting. The personality differences between C.S. and Seung-Hui are extreme, however, and perhaps that's a good thing.
C.S. never stopped talking, asking questions and he was never still. He was incredibly bright and I welcomed those questions, feeding the fire of intellect at every opportunity. We went to the story tellers' sessions at the children's library; the zoo, museums and art galleries. I kept a full supply of art materials, Lego's and even found some Lincoln Logs and Tinker-Toys, though they were becoming scarce by then. I had books on dinosaurs, airplanes and 'monster trucks' - took him to a couple of Monster Truck Rallies, too. But this child could not be socialized.
No matter how many hours we spent watching Sesame Stteet , practicing our 'inside' vs. 'outside' voice; playing the 'magic words' ritual of 'please and thank you' ; no matter how many times I sat rocking him and explaining why we can't break other children's toys, color on or tear up library books, pour food on our brother and sisters, and just generally act out 26 hours a day, nothing worked. 'Punishments' were meaningless. He'd come off of time out, or get back a toy that had been 'taken away' for two weeks, laugh like it was the biggest joke in the universe and, with me looking straight at him, repeat the deed that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. The frustrating thing was that, inasmuch as a child is able, he knew what he was doing and he enjoyed it.
Yes, I believe in appropriate corporal punishment, but this child had already been through considerable physical abuse from his father, paternal grandmother, uncles and anybody else in that house who wanted to cuff him around. He was immune. I begged their mother (now separated from this fiend, thankfully) to get herself and the children into family counseling, at my expense, but she categorically refused.
Then we parted ways for a time, when I relocated to be nearer my aging parents. C.S. was eight years old.
[more to come]
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12
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Fruit Basket Turn Over
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Apr 20, 2007 4:33 pm
Mood: depressed,
523 Views
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..........Remember playing that game as a child? That's what it feels like around here this weekend, as Greg moves into his new digs across town; I move into the room Greg is vacating and Marvin moves into 'my' room.
We get a short breather and then, mid week, we begin working on the yards and the storage shed. I'm glad for the distraction of the extra people who will be in and out, as well as the physical exertion required. It also means crash times with beer, pizza, laughter and old movies. I've been eyeing several of the classic comedies in our collection: Tootsie, A Fish Called Wanda and Uncle Buck will get my vote.
This is not definite but I may be able to extend my stay in Oregon under the present arrangement through the summer, thereby putting off making any final decision until late summer/early fall. It seems this might be beneficial to all parties, so a third option is on the table. I'll keep you posted.
I want to write more res the Virginia Tech tragedy, but will wait for awhile before tackling that. Even though we're all just working around home today, everyone is in maroon and orange in support and remembrance. The day has been beautiful here. A good day to start anew.
"Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all." ~ Dale Carnegie
God bless, strengthen and encourage ALL those connected with Virginia Tech!
The Hag
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4
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Tragedy Beyond Belief
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Apr 18, 2007 5:11 am
722 Views
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MOOD: Grieving
In Memoriam: The loved ones lost in the Virginia Tech Massacre
(this is a quote)
God Can Afford to Wait
"God can afford to wait. God can afford to wait. Whether to convert the unbelieving, to reward the just, or to punish the wicked ~ God can afford to wait. With Him, everything comes home in the end. Our work is not only to believe that, but to show that we believe it by everything that we say and do. God can afford to wait. .... In the sight of God there is only one time and only one story, of which all days on earth and all human events are parts. But that can only be discovered ~ it cannot be taught. .... the task of the disgraced and guilty is not to struggle to redeem themselves but simply to wait, never to cease to wait, in the hope and expectation of redemption. Many err in setting that aside, in losing belief that they are still sons and daughters.
............................Richard Adams in Shardik
Words fail but my tears, my heart and my prayers are with you.
Hagitha
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9
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Quiet Time
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Apr 17, 2007 2:51 am
Mood: peaceful,
629 Views
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i am being lazy today for tomorrow I work.
Did what Mama called 'top cleaning' - just picking up and dusting; we still had enough black bean soup for another good supper. I made some herbed rice and steamed a cabbage to round it out with heated pita bread. Then we watched the movie RAY on DVD.
Thanks to each of you for your wonderful comments and letting me have some space to vent. You are appreciated!
Hugs and more soon, though there'll have to be a 'return to normal' now, since I've been using my 'at work' time to play on SFF while I was off.
More soon! Have a great day, ALL!
The Hag
"The most wasted day of all is that during which we have not laughed. — Sebastian R. N. Chamfort
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To link to this blog (TheHag) use [blog TheHag] in your messages.
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