House of Baba Yaga

Exit. Pt 5

2005-11-15T16:49:00.000-08:00

Well the outcome in the end was simple. There was much baking and shopping and consulting with Baba Yaga. Invitations were issued. Offers of dishes were made, and accepted. Even more than a few of the boys, who had initially feigned disinterest, decided to join in, chiefly tempted by discussions of all the various dishes.

The day of the party arrived...fortuitously exams were over, and with holidays looming yet again! everyone would be in a relaxed mood.Steph and Damien and Chrissie looked with a sense of achievment and also pride, at the laden table. Herring Salad from Ellie in Sweden,Marinated Artichokes from Sandro, or perhaps Sandro's Nona. Grecian Baklava and Chian had brought Pork Dumplings. Shamilla had provided a generous platter of samosas. Alex had laboured long over over a bowl of Goulash. And of course, legs of Chicken Kiev from Olga. Pride of place in the centre was none other than the fabulous charlotte malakov. What anguish that had taken on everyone's part to produce exactly as the photo had depicted and Stephanie remembered. It had all been assembled under Baba Yaga's directions, and now she was standing in a corner listening to the chattering of many adolescent voices and many accents.

When Hilary and James touched down the next morning from their trip they were suprised noone was at the airport to greet them. To be honest, a trifle put out after all that shopping and a long tedious flight home. Hilary delved into her brain, trying to remember, unsuccessfully, if it was a cricket morning as they hailed a taxi.
All seemed quiet at home and the car was in the driveway as usual. Full of clothes and shoes which of course was usual when Hilary wasn't around to keep some semblance of order. At least, she mused, she could rely on Chrissie not to smoke or have any wild parties!
They opened the door on a room full of sleeping, straggling adolescents. Her eyes skimmed across sleeping bags and tousled heads and sagging balloons and a table which still had the remnants on some unfamiliar plates with a wafting of cinnamon and cardamon and other exotic flavours. In the corner, in a rocking chair with a balalaika on her lap, was an old old woman. Sleeping too.

Balalaika. Pt 4

2005-11-15T00:56:00.000-08:00

Chrissie would have been whistling as she crossed the Harbour Bridge but a red light camera had flashed as she sped down the Highway. Fancy Damien asking to be dropped at the Library!
She was anticipating an hour or two to herself on Bondi Beach after dropping Steph at the Babalaika lesson. Balalaika! Now there was a new an unexpected twist. Although Hilary had asked Chrissie to try and get Steph to stop wearing her sox at half mast while she was away. Chrissie sighed and lit another cigarette.

She dropped Damien at the library, rewarding him with a Chuppa Chup for his diligence. Maybe he would stop spending so much time up that tree. Another of the formidable Hilary's admonitions as she left. The poor dog was looking a bit harassed too of late. And wet! A frown momentarily crossed her brow.It had taken a bit of diligence on her own part to find a balalaika teacher. They were thin on the ground and non existent in Avalon. Hilary had even wondered as to whether the Sydney Symphony had any need of babalaika players. Steph was struggling not to feel ill as she tried to read the road map and the car leaned into the corners.

Free at last of her charges, Chrissie dug her toes into the sand and stretched, relishing the sun on herback. It was only then that she pulled out the book Steph had thrust into her hands as she got out of the car. She was not sure whether to laugh or cry or just groan in anticipation of the title " Russian Cooking". This was going too far! Not the Russian. The "cooking"!> On the cover was pictured an old russian babushka gazing fondly at a frothy concoction that revealed itself to be a charlotte malakoff. Stephanie hadn't stopped talking about the wonderful and exotic meals she had had at Olga's place, and now she wanted a party! Wil ALL her classmates. Half of whom didn't even speak English. Just how much was a nanny expected to do!

Well, the parents were overseas. Again. Chrissie stared at the cake and flicked over to the recipe. Party balloons started to dance over her head.

Damien. Pt 3

2005-11-15T00:11:00.000-08:00

Damien, Stephanie's older brother, was out watering the garden.Reluctantly.Defiantly and occasionally squirting the old lab who was trying to catch a small lizard scuttling across the path. Like Stephanie,Damien was in his mother's bad books. Not quite as bad-his only misdemenour had been to flick breadcrumbs across the table. Aimed at Stephanie, they had unfortunately landed in his grandfather's martini.

Pulling the hose after him, Damien scrambled up the tree, his favourite thinking spot for many years. He was feeling a bit lonely since Steph had become immersed in all that Russian stuff.Forever rattling on about some Baba Yaga. And that girl with the frizzy hair, Olga. He aimed the hose at the scampering dog again for good measure, flattening a few daisies in the process, gave up and went off to catch up on some overdue homework. He mused over some possible and some impossible excuses and as quickly dismissed them.

Back in his room, he emptied his pockets onto the desk. Not a lot. He wasn't the sort of boy with bits of string and bus tickets. Just a couple of phone numbers of girls he didn't fancy calling anyhow. What he did have was an old coin he had picked up in the sand while visiting the submarines at Neutral Bay. Many years ago. His father was in the Navy and occasionally Damien was able to go to the mess with him. The coin had always been his good luck charm and he always patted it before he went out to bat. It certainly worked because Damien was the star batter in his year.

He gazed at it again and gave it a rub. At the same time several years of High school History came to fruition. The thought occurred that probably this was a very old coin. His curiosity was awakened.

The following Monday was mid term break. His parents, Hilary and James, had left for overseas, leaving them in the care of Chrissie, who had lit up a Marlboro as soon as the Mercedes had left the driveway. Stephanie had taken it into her head to take lessons on the balalaika, necessitating a trip to the Eastern Suburbs so it was easy to convince Chrissie to drop him off at the State Library on the way. Hilary would be proud when she heard of this new initiative he thought.

The librarian was neither helpful nor very interested, and it seemed to Damien that she was taking the easy way out when she sent him next door to the Mitchell Library. Here he was taken seriously! Out came a pile of reference books, and the librarian, who looked as if he spent his entire life in the dark, tackled them with enthusiasm and persistence and endless chatter.

Damien was starting to wish he had stayed at home either tucked up under the doona or with the X Box or even ringing those girls! Suddenly the librarian pushed back his glasses."Look" he said, " Just look!" There was a picture of Damien's coin. "Russian. Circa 1800" continued the librarian. The old archivist explained how the Russians had reached Australia on 16/6/1807
and had come ashore in the vicinity of NEUTRAL BAY! where all the foreign ships docked. The captain, who spoke 6 languages, had been perspicacious enough to foretell Australia's strategic location to China and the posssibility of trade in the future.Maybe he had emptied his pockets on the beach, into the sand.

Damien pocketed his treasure and sauntered down Martin Place to catch a train home.Because he was the strong silent type, he was smiling to himself. His heart was full with his discovery and the pleasure and the achievement. The only question was...should he share this? or keep it to himself to relish. To pat each time he went into bat. To share might be to lose its power. Or perhaps it would give him an entree to Stephanie's new friends and interests? It was a decision he would have to make back up the gum tree.

Impress the Baba Yaga?

2005-11-09T22:13:00.000-08:00

Surely one can't impress The Big B., but amuse...? Perhaps. Oh, but I am in full costume, Baba, just look at my face...there's a smile on it. I smile a wide, wilfull smile that makes invisible the ice pick in my right eye that plunges downward into a cheek thick and numb. I smile and my slintered neck appears whole. I'll try and muster a laugh sometime later to transform the look of my deflated, misshapen heart.

No, no...look again, Baba; I am in full costume. I come bearing smiles and gifts, true, but the gifts are offered by a youthfully smoothe hand dark gray and too stiff for the scarcity of the years of its owner.

Oh, yes...do be careful of the laundering details of your gift. The pink fluffy bits around the vagina are delicate, not recommended for the dryer.

Yes, Baba, still I think, but let me remove this crown of golden hair, the beautiful lid on the coffin of this living dead girl, and show you how the mind that still thinks has parts missing, others misshapen, others twisted, all of it black and always strangling itself.

Yes, Baba, still I eat these sweets you offer, but my teeth are as stupid as my desires and like rapacious creditors. So mad are they to devour everything they try ceaselessly to bite themselves, allowing nothing to be savoured and never nourishing the soulkeeper. You and I, Baba, understand the wrenching futility of stupid teeth.

Yes, Baba, still I can stand, but let me turn coyly away for a moment and let this rough covering slip to my waste and show you what little is left my spine, cracked and warped in places from too heavy a burden in youth, elsewhere rotted or gone from lack of use in recent years.

Yes, Baba, still I walk, but let me pull aside this burlap skirt, this winding sheet, let me show you the knees of gray, shredded flesh and shattered bone, yellowed in age, where again and again too often I have fallen.

My eyes? Yes...aren't they lovely? They're the perfect touch that pulls the whole costume together. Look again to my spine to know my eyes' unwillingness, and to my knees to know their ineffectiveness.

Yes, Baba, still I speak, soft words of love and harmony, but inside I'm a whore making scary sounds. There is no corner of this icy carapace I can lift and let fall aside to reveal that last truth. How ironic, don't you think, that my words are what I use most effectively to fool my audience, though they are not part of my costume, and yet they are the only things I can change?

Steph

At Baba Yaga's House. Pt 2

2005-11-09T18:57:00.000-08:00

Monday came, along with Stephanie's eager anticipation at seeing Olga again. However Olga was absent from roll call for several days. Unrelenting Maths and a few late assignments were lightened only by a free Library period on Wednesday afternoon. This was turning into a punishing week in more ways than one.

Stephanie headed to the somewhat limited selection on Russia, choosing " Myths and Legends of Old Mother Russia" over "Post Kruschev Economic Reform". Settling into a corner away from snickering classmates, she became engrossed in an illustrated chronology of fairy tales, epic poems and songs, many originating in Kiev where Olga had come from. Especially intriguing was the ubiquitous presence of a Baba Yaga in many guises, presented in mediaeval sources as a nasty witch riding around in a mortar and pestle gradually becoming shown as protective woman even a Babushka Baba Yaga, a grandmotherly figure. The class bell rudely interrupted her. She glanced at the class teacher who was fortuitously involved with Maryanne Mayberry. Maryanne had the unfortunate habit of either asking too many questions or tying up the computer for undue lengths of time. Sometimes both at once which seemed to be happening now.

Quickly Stephanie stuffed the book up her jumper, trusting that the alarm system had been switched off by the exiting librarian and ran to catch up with her classmates. All except of course Maryanne Mayberry.

That night, having finally finished the chores her mother had decided were justified by her skipping lunch at the weekend, she was able to delve back into the book. Her only previous encounter with myths had finished with CS Lewis so this whole new world which was opening up to her beckoned irresistibly. There were similarities in these tales with the Baba Yaga she had met....a tribal elder looking after "her children" especially in their exile from their homeland. As here in a strange southern land of cloudless hot skies where tea from the samovar was replaced by a quick cappucino, although there were certain similatities between a charlotte malakoff and the pavlovas Steph loved. Not to mention all those mortar and pestles in Baba's kitchen she had used when helping to prepare lunch under Baba's direction!

Thursday saw Olga reappear at chool. She could not be drawn as to why she had missed school, shuffling her feet and looking somewhat confused. Her sox had slid even further, a bit of a better look, Steph thought. And excused herself to go to a music lesson.

After school , Steph found herself again heading off with Olga, in spite of the disaproving looks from her chattering friends. She was able to start quizzing Olga about Baba who apparently was expecting them for afternoon tea.

" Baba looks after us all" said Olga, in answer to Stephanie's bubbling questions. " In the old days Baba was wicked as the old legends say. And terrified everyone, everywhere, whizzing around in that mortar and pestle. Now she is kind and wise and a mother to us all. She appears where there is need and misunderstanding. There is always a Baba Yaga in our lives" she added mysteriously.

This time they entered from the back door, a mirror image of the front with two wild and profusely flowering roses framing the door. This time Baba did not acknowledge the girls' arrival. She was sitting in her favourite chair. Again the fire was alight. She was gently plucking the strings of a weathered balalaika with a far away look in her eyes. Occasionally she crooned what Steph surmised was a lullaby. After a while she stopped and noticed the girls hovering in the doorway.

The samovar was steaming in the corner and soon all three were sitting down to a bounteous afternoon tea of cold cuts and cheeses and cakes. No vodka this time. Stephanie rather wished that her mother, whose offerings rarely extended to home cooking, was present.

Stephanie told Baba what she had read of her namesake in the book. Of skeletons, houses that spun and their terrifying occupant. Baba was deep in thought.

" Back in the mists of time" she said " There was such a person. Everyone was in awe of her dark powers. Especially children who caused their parents concern." she said looking knowingly at Stephanie, who blushed.
" She lived for a very long time before passing to the underworld.When she reappeared she had changed." A far away look crossed Baba's face. " She realised her powers could be used in other ways. To be a Babushka, a caring grandmother. Using her experiences to give wise advice, tempered with love and promoting the understanding of those whom we do not understand. Their lives and customs and their beliefs. Because,"and here she gazed intently at Stephanie, "there will only be peace in this world when the differences are embraced with a willing love. We are really all the same you know."

Later that night Stephanie thought for a long time about the past week and the new experiences which had drawn her from her comfort zone. She knew the time had come to convince her circle of friends that some of these new kids with their strange accents and mismatched clothes came from lands of rich colour and traditions and wondrous stories. That it was possible , and desirable, to all be friends together.

Enter Unafraid

2005-11-08T04:56:00.000-08:00

This withered crone is shaped by wisdom,
I am sure -- and the girls have nothing to fear.

It is a trade -- we can see the world a little differently
through the eyes of your girls --
and they can grow through the eyes of this 'wierd one'.

reposted from another Soul blog --

KNOWING

I hear a chime,
A distant, earthen chime.
It sings to me of
Loving hands,
In angel voice,
And peaceful days.

I hear a chime,
A whisper, stirring chime.
Of fire and stone and
Gleeful shapes,
In quiet breeze
It laughing plays.

I hear a chime,
A lonely, yearning chime.
In dark of night and
Thunderous storms,
Of fearful doubt
It endless prays.

…………………………………………

I sense a song,
A heart-bound, ancient song,
It calls to me in
Words of crone,
Wizard touch,
And simple ways.

I sense a song,
A shouting, trumpet song,
Of seed and blood and
Honored quest,
In vigil born
It girds my loins.

I sense a song,
A plaintive, wistful song,
In brightest day and
Chuckling clouds,
With loving mirth
It endless prays.

………………………………………………………………………

I know a dream,
A resounding, echoed dream.
It calls to me from
Tears of stars,
And soul's joy
That are the same.

I know a dream,
A living, blessed dream,
From now and when as
Innocence
In covenant
And simple gifts.

I am a dream,
A choice and loving trust;
A rebirth mem'ry of --
Of creation fire
And open hand
And trembling heart.

faucon

Slow Arrival

2005-11-07T07:18:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if the girls will be coming to the Baba Yaga house.
They aren't afraid and really like some of the drawings,
but as Jade said,

"Every day I meet people who aren't what they say."

and 'quoise,

"I think lots of people seem nice but are like
Baba Yaga inside."

They have never cared much for Grimm Fairy Tales either.

For now I am showing them the drawings without the words,
and letting them tell me stories.

Nessie.

Masque Ball in the Boudoir

2005-11-06T22:34:00.000-08:00

Baba has been thinking and when Baba thinks anything is likely to happen. She has been wary of all these artistic types who have descended upon her and has decided to test them a little. She is planning to have a Masque Ball in her Boudoir. Everyone is expected to come in full costume, make a grand entrance and amuse Baba with a short act. Is that a distant cackle I hear or that old rooster crowing joyfully?

the taste of living

2005-11-06T22:05:00.000-08:00

Enough. Enough of this day. Her work was done enough, the cat was fed enough, the night was late enough and so it was time to close the door. Shutting her bedroom door with a soft click behind her, she stepped out of her shoes, let her feet sink into the soft carpet and, standing still, she savoured the nearness of the end. The painful pleasure of knowing it was over. There would soon be no turning back. Not once she made the decision to let it go.

Sloping across the room on her way to the en suite she glanced briefly out the window, casually flicked back the heavily brocaded pink silk curtains, touched her nose to the icy glass for half a breath, then closed her eyes as she turned away from the world. The wind howled against the glass, ever the determined and graceless bully. Enough. She had closed the door on the world and soon wouldn't be able to open it again regardless how long and hard it howled for her to care or to carry it.

She nudged the bowl of orange spice potpourri out of the way, leaned tiredly on her forearms, and gazed into the bathroom mirror. Touching her hair first, feeling the smoothe healthy hair and the rough wiry white ones, she drew one hand across her newly wrinkled forehead and delicately fingered the soft, sagging skin around her eyes. When? Gently, she pushed up and back the useless flesh slowly amassing under her chin, sighed, and let the hand drop back down on the faux marble counter. There was nothing more to explore or crave or reject or reach out to. Enough now.

She looked down at her well-used hands for a moment before she pulled herself up straight and lifted them to her mouth. It took her a couple of breaths before she could start, willingly but joylessly, to begin to taste them. The finger she had pointed at the child was bitter and still stank of accusation. The finger she flung up at the bus driver who turned the corner too sharply for her liking smelled of excrement and was both acidic and salty. The thumb she banged against the doorframe in the ladies room at Zeller's still felt hot against her tongue and tasted of metal. The side of the palm she scraped against the cheese grater when making dinner was salty with a hint of the lemon zest from dessert. Both palms were full of him: musky, maddeningly sweet, tasting deliciously of the thighs, the groin, the belly she caressed on her lunch hour. All the other lines and folds and fingers were the same: a common blend of disappointment, incompetence, and regret. Enough of that.

She reached under the counter and pulled up two thick, fluffy bath towels to catch any of the mess that didn't wash down the drain and prepared to let go entirely. Nudging open the levered hot water tap, she breathed, "Good enough," put her well-used hands under the scalding water, and forced herself to hold them still. As they began to melt, the layers separating and falling away, she watched the colours of the day reveal themselves...the purity, the passion, the resignation swirling white, red, black... Through the haze of steam she witnessed time present fall out of her grasp and drain down into the past. Seeing the mistakes and blunders and "I wish I dids" and "I wish I didn'ts" and "I didn't get enoughs" flow deep and fast into forever-ago, she cried, heartbroken. Then she gave thanks, relieved.

Finally, nudging the hot water tap closed with her wrist, she used the towels to gather whatever parts of the day and her part in it that weren't so easily washed away and tossed the whole mess in the trash with yesterday's leftover mess. Smiling, she shook her head to muss up her hair and laughed at the useless brush on the counter as she passed it on her way back to the window. Nose against the icy glass once more, she smiled at the stupid bully, luxuriating in the freedom from the folly of trying to hold back the forces of nature. Turning her back to the wind, she shuffled contentedly toward her warm and inviting bed. As always, she sighed a great heaving sigh of gratitude as she dropped blissfully down for a wholly unburdened rest. She looked to the left as the cat meowed at the door. "Too bad, Jack. I can't give any more and I can't take any more."

Rolling her head to the right, she looked wonderingly at the hands she had laid out for her tomorrow. She wondered what kind of life she would make with them. She wondered how they would feel. Were they hard? Cold? Kind? Strong? Capable? Clumbsy? How much could they hold? How mightily would those hands resist letting go when the time came? Every day her hands were so very different there was simply no knowing their unusual ways and unique worth until she put them to some use.

Stephanie K. Hansen

Life Drawings - Baba Yaga

2005-11-06T19:22:00.000-08:00

A lovely way to spend a Sunday. In partial sun life drawing one of the more interesting subjects I have had of late. She stood with gentle timeless curves deep in thought. Perhaps it was those thoughts that transformed her in my eyes from one drawing to the next. The image was not of one woman but all the women she had been during various parts of her life. Not just the more elderly woman who stands before me here.

I saw in her also the young woman full of promise, not yet worn out by life's obstacles. She was soft and gentle and danced in moonbeams and in front of delighted audiences, the young gypsy dancer. In her own right she was a draw at any box office in the Northern towns where she toured. Not perhaps the first string of dancers, but assuredly the second. She worked hard and was given respect and an income. Who could want more.

She had kept on dancing no doubt, past where she was really up to years of one night stands, at times mounting a production all by herself, making her opportunities where they did not just simply present themselves to Baba Yaga. To get a few extra gigs here and there she danced under various names and each of her performing persona took on solo performances. It is a wonder she could even keep her bookings straight. Then I could see slowly life wearing her down. It was no longer about dancing but in surviving what very often were some very unpleasant realities. Still she could muster a straight, strong back to face the next day, and the next.

At other times of desperation made her so tired she could not even stand up. Life is hard for someone living by heir wits. Talent does not always happily meet up with opportunities to put them to use. That is the very sad thing that by now those days are gone, and the great talent has been betrayed by a body that just simply can no longer keep up with the demands of just talent. Never having reached the stature of "star" performer no allowances would be made to help her earn a living through dance anymore. so she was back, just a gypsy doing gypsy trades, as her mother and grandmother had also done before her.

Life is etched on our faces by the time we are fifty, our bodies are no different. Aside from the lines of time and trouble many women, and Baba among them, have a poetic elegance that though changed by time still is a thing of beauty. I could not help adding this portrait as she sat deep in thought. Not just the sum of her years, but the sum of every emotion, experience and inherited trait. Each of us are precisely so unique not just because of out DNA but the life we live.

2005-11-06T13:47:00.000-08:00

This is a simple child like representation of the witch and the black cat. I was amused by it and wanted to add another version of our Baba Yaga

2005-11-06T07:52:00.000-08:00

I remembered this picture that Valerie took in the Mid-East and this broom seems appropriate here as Baba Yaga's broom. Now it is put aside for the moment while she attends to other duties.

More Life Drawings

2005-11-06T03:37:00.000-08:00

It was a busy day at Baba's life drawing class. Le Enchanteur couldn't resist taking her clothes off and who is this woman with her? Heather really should keep her clothes on.

To Baba Yaga's House. Pt1.

2005-11-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

Stephanie, born lucky with long blonde hair, now unfortunately unlucky with braces on her teeth,was sitting at the end of the kerbside table, idly doodling on the paper table napkin. Her no-nonsense mother was at the other end deep in a political debate with her sister- in-law. Not that they really disagreed with each other. Just enjoyed the debate.Occasionally she paused to direct the little Japanese waitress who was flitting around vainly trying to take orders and please the restless and hungry family. Stephanie was about to have the biggest suprise of her life.

Apart from the appearance of a can of coke, nothing seemed to be happening. Steph glanced down the street to see her new classmate Olga wandering along the footpath. Now Olga, to Stephanie's eyes, was not lucky. By contrast her hair was unruly, thick and frizzy. Unmanageable.Annoyed her teachers. Her sox were at half mast...why she wore them at all was a mystery. Her clothes were mismatched giving the appearance of hand-me-downs or from St V de P. Stephanie shuddered.

As Olga drew near, Steph glanced at her mother, still deep in idealogical dispute which now included all the adults in the party. Her aunt nearby was catastrophising as usual, and the rest of her fidgety cousins were all ignoring her. Even her brother was more interested in flicking breadcrumbs at her unsuspecting grandfather. She looked back to Olga and the next thing had slipped away from the table and headed off with Olga, jingling some small change in her pocket.
Japanese was not her favourite food anyhow. Tofu.Yuk!

As Olga and Stephanie sat on a low wall, in sight of the restaurant, Steph learnt that Olga had come to Australia from Kiev, under Russian control. She had been in holding camps for refugees in Vienna and then Greece until the opportunity presented itself to come to Australia. Her mother was a doctor and studying to pass Australian exams while her father, a physicist, was working as a car park attendant to support them.

Stephanie was transfixed by the story of Olga's life, full of intrigue, danger and to her eyes, adventure. Her own existence seemed dull in comparison. She forgot about her family squirming with impatience waiting for lunch to appear from an over-worked chef. Olga's invitation to have lunch with her own family was irresistible, noone would miss her.

A few blocks up the street they turned into a lane and at the end was an old cottage Stephanie hadn't noticed before. Masses of unpruned cottage roses covered the verandah, branches springing at random to trap the unwary. Tarnished brass announced that it was the "House of Baba Yaga".

"We live here with Baba" , Olga explained. " Until we can afford a place of our own. Baba came from Russia too."

They entered into a large room at the back and Stephanie gazed at the rich miscellaney of scattered chairs piled with books, rugs on the floor and some wooden stringed instruments hanging on the wall.Something brewing in a brass urn in the corner. So different from her own minimalist existence. Such a profusion of dark, rich colours. A fire was crackling in the corner, a suprise as it was not an unduly cold day, and rising from it to greet them was a sprightly old lady with kindly features. She greeted Olga effusively with warm hugs and kisses. Stephanie's only other language being a smattering of schoolgirl French she could not understand their exchange. Nevertheless, she too was greeted with warmth and kissed on both cheeks, a new experience.

Without any warning both girls found themselves in the kitchen where, under Baba's direction, they chopped and fetched and boiled and strained, all the time Stephanie glancing at the growing pile of washing up nervously. Piles of dried and marinated fish, caviar,beetroot soup, pickles, meats. There seemed no end. And to top it off a towering concoction Olga announced as a charlotte malakoff!! The thought of desert made the thought of cold! marinated fish tolerable. Everything was piled on a huge table on the back deck with strategically placed ice containers with many bottles of vodka.

Soon the guests, and there were many, all as it seemed from Russia or nearby countries such as Estonia and Lithuania, started arriving. Olga's mother, with iron grey hair and a hook nose similar to Olga, her father still in his parking uniform. An old priest in black robes, his little grandaughter clinging to his hands. Several old ladies dressed in black.A few black-haired toddlers with theirparents. Unexpectedly another of her classmates who turned out to have come from Poland, Alex. And so on.

Soon they were all seated, the priest intoned a far too lengthy prayer and everyone tucked in with gusto and good appetites and increasing laughter fuelled by much climking of refilled vodka glasses. Suprisingly, Stepf found herself enjoying the beetroot soup although she did pass on the marinated fish. And the cake? Heavenly reward. The few furtive sips of Vodka left her glowing.

All the while, Baba had been orchestrating the proceedings. From the cooking to the seating arrangements. Mingling with the noisy and celebrating guests. Patting Steph on the head each time she passed and removing the vodka bottle from within the reach of the priest, who before long was starting to slur his words. Steph watched her closely wondering at her bounteous and effusive hospitality, the kindly way she stooped in close conversation occasionally. Wondering at her story which she guessed from Baba's demeanour and the lines on her face was one to match Olga's. Indeed they all had a story. Perhaps Baba was not as old as first appearances suggested. She wondered why the house was called so fittingly, The House of Baba Yaga. She grinned to herself, knowing that on Monday at school there would be plenty to chat about and questions to ask. Right now her only concern was to minimise the inevitable blow-up for leaving her mother's watchful eye without explanation.

No Mind

2005-11-05T14:12:00.000-08:00

WHY A POET

I don't really mind …
that I was assigned to bake a layer cake
with a recipe long proved incomplete,
and tasteless for all of that.

I no longer care …
that others only see the swirled frosting
and ordered placement of dainty rosebuds,
made of plastic and poison dye.

I am no longer bothered …
with instruction to look in a candy store
for rusting nuts and bolts and baling wire,
to hold my brief life together.

But I do mind a bit …
when I am so quickly judged perverse
for ordering key lime pie or ice cream
not found on the offered menu.

And do frown a might …
when told my only choices (lucky at that)
are 'tween dancing with sheep 'round a cesspool
or trudging with cockhold lemmings.

But I can still laugh …
for being a poet grants immunity
from excessive ridicule and punishment,
since you know that I am crazy.

The Adventures of Marie Guzman

2005-11-05T10:26:00.000-08:00

Follow One Of Baba's Yaga's Guests...if you dare! In
The Hunt for the Main de Glorie

Baba Yaga's House is at the end of a road that isn't really there.

Baba's House finds you, when it wants you and if you're very lucky (as I have not been in my life) it won't want you for long.

I went to Baba's House because she stole my heart, she stole my dreams and she locked them inside of a crude little doll with a small strand of my graying hair sewn into it's chest.

We've been friends ever since.

Me and Baba...not the doll. I hate the doll, sometimes for no reason at all it starts to laugh and laugh and then it sings and that can go on for days. I use to hide it in drawers and in my attic and once I even climbed my cherry tree and tied it to one of the top branches.

It didn't work.

So I just leave it above my fireplace and when I'm not accidentally knocking it near the open flames or letting my cat play with it I'm able to ignore it when it starts to go insane.

Back to Baba, we have an understanding now and sometimes I go down that weird little road that appears out of nowhere...I can be on my way to the store, walking down the hall in m house to my bathroom and there it is...

The road to Baba Yaga's House

I don't talk much to Baba's guests, they're under some sort of weird enchantment and they drink tea from broken cups and eat food that if you ask me deserves a chance to run and be free like the rest of us.

I think Baba enjoys watching her guests devour food that's either too dead or not dead enough.

Well, Baba's sense of humor and her agenda are her own.

I have my own.

Right now, I want to know who stole my Main de Glorie.

I want it back because it’s mine.

You’d never believe what I went through to get it…to earn it.

She was waiting for me on the top of the steps in her basement which is as far as I will go into Baba's House...no sense in tempting the old witch, I escaped her once. I won't be as foolish as to think I could pull a stunt like that on any sort of regular basis.

" You're wasting your time here Marie " she told me from the top of the stairs " but you know that. You know who stole your Main de Glorie. After all, how many of his Couriers heads did you take and stake on the road to his Crypts? Seven...Eight? "

" It was 10 ...Count them Baba Yaga it was 10. And you couldn't stop even one of them from finding this road whenever they felt like it...I nailed 10. "

" And I'm grateful..."

I snorted and went ahead and laughed out loud.

" I need to find the road they took...and I need your help and don't double deal me Baba you owe me for each of those heads. This is for the first. Show me the road. "

" And if I don't? "

" All I need is the hand from a hanged man and all things being equal nowadays it can be a hanged woman and all they have to be besides strung up is guilty of murder. Tell me Baba how many bodies have you created in your long, long life? "

I heard her shuffle her feet and try to make her way down the steps to the basement and my neck then I heard her stop...where do you think some of those bodies she created are my Dear Readers? I was down in Baba's Private Cemetery and don't think the Hand I could take down here wouldn't be powerful...very powerful.

She'd never dare to come down here and stand next to me and don't think I haven't lost sleep trying to figure out how to get her to do just that.

" While you're down there de Guzman look to the Corner, the east Corner of the basement. The shovel is hanging on the wall. You're looking for a man with his eyes and mouth sewn shut. Take his heart you're going to need it. "

Baba buried the Silent Man deep.

I guess it was her conscious, black as it must be, at work because he wasn't six feet under he was almost 12 feet under and he was covered with rocks.

Talk about overkill.

I found him and cracked his chest open with one of Baba's many gardening tools she keeps for such purposes and carefully wrapped his heart in a white linen cloth.

Then I walked out of the Basement and into the back room of my Sister's funeral home in Leaning Birches and when I passed her in the halls she saw what I was carrying and she rolled her eyes up and walked the other way.

And then I got to work.

Stay tuned for the further Adventures of Marie Guzman!

Baba's Biographer

2005-11-05T03:06:00.000-08:00

Baba's Biographer is at the market providing some insight into this fascinating woman. She writes that "The story of Baba Yaga is prime among many images of the Black Goddess. The Black Goddess is at the heart of all creative processes and cannot be so easily viewed. Men and women rarely approach her, except in fear. Women are learning of her through the strength and boldness of elder women who are not afraid to unveil her many faces. Sofia as wisdom lies waiting to be discovered within the Black Goddess who is her mirror image. Knowing that, until we make that important recognition, we are going to have to face the hidden and rejected images of ourselves again and again.

Read about Baba Yaga and let her be your guide during the coming weeks.

Baba's Life Drawing Class

2005-11-04T03:01:00.000-08:00

Baba is modelling for life drawing classes. Consider:
"All that is left of her natural beauty.
Her skin is intact,
Her bones are as they are
No need of paint and powder
She is as she is no more, or less.
How marvellous."
Ikkyu (fifteenth century)

Green Leaves - Soul Hands

2005-11-03T23:23:00.000-08:00

Thinking about soul hands --

-- the best choice for me

was right in front of me,

though I couldn't see for looking.

Going outside, inspired by a storm

and fallen Plane Tree twigs with leaves still green,

simple leaves?

They looked like reaching hands.

Silly?

Waited, not sure, but then

all came clear...what else, I thought?

I went out to choose the leaves,

cast from the trees that line the street,

in proliferation.

I bent to choose, them and carried them

off with pride, and a

passing wise man smiled.

Skies Near Baba's Crowded

2005-11-03T04:12:00.000-08:00

The skies above Baba's are full of traffic as travellers make their way to her house to work on the annual Advent Calendar. Going to the House of Baba Yaga will be like attending an artist's convention and Baba is, frankly, excited. She has her Soul Hands working their fingers to the bone to have the place ready for such distinguished visitors.

Amazon Queen Arrives at Baba Yaga's

2005-11-02T04:46:00.000-08:00

The Amazon Queen has heard that Baba is organising the Advent Calendar this year and has 'all hands on deck'. So she has made haste to be at Baba's and help with the preperations. The Golden Spinning Wheel will be heard whirling late into the night.

The journey to my heart

2005-10-24T23:34:00.000-07:00

My journey began long before I knew I was looking for something. One night I received an email asking me if I was ready to embark on a journey. I had no idea where it would go. It started with a list. Tired of carrying the weight of my life, I packed lightly with only what would fit in my little backpack. At daybreak, I met many travelers who were ready for such a journey as this.

I found a hidden door in a tree and was whisked away by a night ride in moonlight. Mysterious gypsies drew me with a silent call in the night. Some kind of enchantment made my dreams deep and meaningful. Before long, I woke each day excited to know what would happen next. The journey to an island brought memories I didn’t know I possessed. Ancient knowledge was revealed to me. How can my life ever be the same now?

I learned to proclaim who I am. I am no longer the invisible child! See me! Hear me! Understand my words! Slowly I have come to realize my own truth. That truth is to be free. Unburdened by my own past and my parents past. Just let it go and find what’s around that next corner.

I have met celestial beings. I have met wee fairies. I have met warriors of great strength and feminine mystic. I have met talking donkeys and talking dolls. I have met known hell raisers. I have been reintroduced to friends of old who knew me long ago.

And now I have learned to be open in a completely new way. My heart feels lighter than I ever remember it being. I have let go of old cryptic ideas. I have found a new road. The Silk Road. It winds through space and time; thoughts and dreams; mystery and magic.

Somewhere along the way I met myself. The child, the girl, and the woman I want to be. I was stunned to discover that I needed to make some changes. To hold my own hand and say, “Yes! We can do this.” Brick by brick I had to tear down my own walls and find an inner world rich with ideas waiting to be discovered.

At last, I am in an distant land with no water and no road. I have finally come to the last door. The one that was hidden away for safekeeping, so no one would find that brilliant light. The key is the secret that I hid in my own heart. It was a prisoner there that I bound tight. And through my journey the ties loosened. And fell away, until I could feel an ache of joy and freedom coming close. The key that spilled from my lips opened the door and released my spirit. Away I flew with magic wings. I saw a wild fire burning. The fire of my anger, my regret, my invisibility burning, burning, gone!

Warning

2005-10-18T04:27:00.000-07:00

'quoise wants to bring some Shake'n Bake for those chicken legs

Nessie

Baba Yaga Awaits the Arrival of Travellers

2005-10-17T23:06:00.000-07:00

Having heard from le Enchanteur and the Amazon Queen that there are many travellers in the realm, Baba Yaga stand, at her boudoir door, waiting expectantly.

Baba - Goddess of the Month

2005-10-09T14:08:00.000-07:00

This morning, before rejoining the journey after an absence of too many days, I turned my Sage Woman: A Year on the Goddess Path calendar to October and wonders of wonders, the featured Goddess of the Month turned out to be Baba Yaga. I couldn't believe it … here I was getting ready to make my way into Her realm and here She is showing up in my real life hide-away in Apache Junction, Arizona. Is this a message? I like to believe that it is, though what it is I don't know.

The message of the month begins with a prayer to Baba Yaga:
Blessed Baba Yaga
Help me grow old
With wisdom,
Power, and veneration.

The rest of the message of the month reads as follows:

The Russian Crone Goddess, Baba Yaga, is the archetype of a witch flying through the air in her magical mortar and pestle. She is the one who stirs things up, keeps the adventure moving forward, and presents challenges along the spiritual path. Remember the tales of the witch deep in the forest, whose cottage should be approached with great caution? Baba Yaga dwells there and she wants to teach you about setting boundaries, about listening to your intuition about what is and what is not safe, and about respect for elder wisdom. As the wild autumn moon rides high in the tempestuous skies, watch for Baba Yaga and feel your own wild magic answer her call.

Courtesy: 2004 Amber Lotus Publishing
2004 Sage Woman

Quite a coincidence, don't you think, my returning from a trip to Minnesota to find Baba Yaga waiting for me to turn the page of my calendar?

Vi

House of Baba Yaga

2005-10-04T03:39:00.000-07:00

Everyone gathers, expectant inside the Cave of the Enchantress.

The Enchantress comes and announces that we have to go to the House of Baba Yaga and help prepare for Halloween and All Saint's Day. She says that to reach the House of Baba Yaga we will have to pass through the Mountains of Myrrh, which the writer of the Song of Solomon (1V6) said he wanted to retreat to.

The Enchantress provides each person with a small bag. Each bag contains spectacles, a candlestick, a tiny anchor, a medallion with the imprint of the Unicorn and a set of wings. However, the bag also contains something that has been chosen specifically for the recipient. It also contains a map showing where the Gypsies are currently campe.

This bag is very important. Should you become separated from the group these things will become essential. You may choose to wear the spectacles for they are purported to have fairy like qualities which reveal wonders to those who wear them.

The Enchantress also gives you a doll. (Find a doll or make one) Her final words are to use the things we have in our bags and that if we should lose our way, or be in need of help, all we have to do is ask the doll what to do. She says that the doll will assist, that we must keep her with us at all times, that we must not tell anyone we meet about her and that we must feed her when she is hungry and give her drinks if she is thirsty. She tells us that we must travel by donkey and that it will take many days before we reach the house of Baba Yaga

You greet your doll and introduce yourself and when you look up again everyone has gone.

What is it with everyone rushing off like this? The doll says that you have to go through the woods. She assures you that she will know how to get there. Having read all your fairy stories you realise that going to Baba Yaga's could prove interesting.

Baba Yaga is the fearsome creature, the crooked woman whose nose is hooked like a bird of prey. Her name means 'to know, to see, to forsee' and she is the seer associated with the moon crescent. The Baba Yaga has the power to transform herself into a myriad of shapes, often a toad, sometimes a hedgehog, frequently a bird. The Baba Yaga is often depicted as an evil old hag who eats humans, especially children, but she is known by many to be a wise, prophetic old woman. In appearance she is tall, bony legged, pointy headed and has dishevelled hair.

Worse the doll informs you that the hut she lives in has a fence around it made of human bones and topped with human skulls and eyes intact. The gate is fastened with human legs and arms instead of bolts and a mouth with sharp teeth serves as the lock.

According to the doll, who seems to be a font of information, one person who lived to tell the story said that "she commands the sun and it obeys her, she changes the stars in their course, she causes clouds to form in the air and makes it possible to walk on them and travel the country. She can turn herself into a young woman and then, in a twinkling of an eye turn herself back into an old woman. She has to the power to turn a man into an animal and she likes to move freely along roads and valleys and over mountains. Her business is to cast spells, gather herbs and stones, make pacts and agreements."

Bravely you head out from the Cave on the back of a donkey that insisted you ride upon her. (Make sure to check with Donkey's Incorporated to see that the donkey is registered).

The donkey tells you her name and talks to you about the coming journey. Within moments you find yourself within a heavily wooded forest. Gnarled branches spread their long arms across the path, whispering as you pass.

The words of the Enchantress ring in your ears and you touch your bag to make sure it is still with you. Everyone is quiet and contemplative and the hooves of the donkey seem to be beating a tune as you travel on the well worn path.

Suddenly the quiet is shattered. A group of hooded riders surround you. Chaos breaks out. Before you know it you are being whisked away by hooded riders who do not reveal their identity.

All you know is that there is purported to be a Gypsy Camp in the vicinity and you hope you will find it. Maybe your doll can help you. One thing is certain! There will be hell to play if you don't arrive at Baba's house in time to make yourself useful as she prepares for the festival.

The Amazon Queen has arrived at Baba's to plan for All Soul's Night on November 2nd. It may be a month away but all hands will need to be on deck to make sure it is a success. Baba's Soul Hands, upon hearing this, appear to listen to what the Queen and Baba are planning.

Maybe if you can reach the Gypsy Camp you will be able to encourage the Gypsies to take you to the House of Baba Yaga.

Find a way to the Gypsy Camp and sit by the camp fire and tell the Gypsy Chief about your journey. It would be a good idea to prepare so that you can provide a song or dance or tarot reading for the Gypsies who are gathered there. If you need some costumes remember to check out Pandora's Wardrobe for useful items.

"Good Mornink!"

2005-09-14T23:25:00.000-07:00

"Good mornink!"

It's an odd experience to have a doll who's been sitting on your hutch for years suddenly speak to you. "That," I said, "is a matter of opinion."

"You are not happy?" Matushka exclaimed, the circles on her cheeks turning pinker at this shocking revelation.

"Sorry. It's not you, I'm just having a bad day."

"Hmm--we are--how you say--havink confidential!" she said, clearly believing she'd recalled an appropriate phrase. The little Russian nesting doll in her peasant dress and babushka was definitely enjoying herself.

"When I get up at dawn, I want to experience a beautiful sunrise, not hike into a creepy forest where I'll meet someone who gave me nightmares as a child.."

"Is adventure and learnink experience!" she said with great enthusiam. Matushka had been riding in my tummy pack facing forward, but now she swivelled around to look me in the face.

"Going to meet Baba Yaga is--disconcerting," I said, not adding that it had creeped me out when in the blink of an eye our entire tour group had disappeared leaving us alone.

"You are afraid of her?" the bow lips pursed, as she tried to suppress an amused smile, and her eyes twinkled.

"She scared the chicken soup out of me when I was a kid--pinching Hansel's finger to see if he was plump enough to eat, poisoning Snow White with that apple!"

"You are grown woman, surely you know the difference beteen real fear and fairy tales," she chided.

"Her fence is made of bones."

"A reminder of death, that is all."

"Her hut sits on chicken legs!"

"Is funny, no?" she chortled.

"She zooms around in a morter pounding on anything that gets in her way with a pestle."

The doll shivered. "Be careful!"

"Another thing. Don't you think it's a bit much for the Enchantress to make us walk all the way? It's fine for the young ones, but some of us are getting too old for this kind of thing. We deserve some respect, a little kindness and understanding."

"Good point!" she exclaimed. "Remember it. Now, we are gettink close, is time for me to hide." She wiggled and squirmed until she was lying down inside my pouch and then whispered, "Zip quickly."

Matushka was right, we'd walked and talked the morning away and Crypt Lake was clearly visible through each gap in the trees. "I wish they'd named it something else," I muttered, but all I heard in return was a muffled,"Shhh!"

Despite Matushka's former assurances, I found myself walking more and more slowly as a feeling of dread began to build. Earlier the birds had been singing and a cool morning breeze had ruffled through the leaves, but now the heat was oppresive and as it approached noon, the only sounds I heard were my labored breathing and my lagging footsteps crunching the twig-littered dirt path.

SQUEEK!

I nearly stumbled over something snagged in a circlet of plastic from a soda six-pack. It went mute and froze in terror as I bent down to have a closer look. Puffed up like a blow fish, its spines extended, a tiny hedgehog lay on his back with his little legs poking straight out. I took a pair of manicure scissors from my pack and held my breath as I snipped, praying I wouldn't cut anything vital. After I put it right side up, it hesitated a moment as though I'd frightened it to death, then scurried off into the underbrush.

For some reason the opportunity of doing a small kindness cheered me but my courage nearly failed again, when a few minutes later I came upon a small clearing in the woods and saw Baba Yaga's hut with its bone fence surrounding it.

"Thinks are not always what the seem," I heard Matushka whisper.

"Riiight. . . . . ."

Nauscka

2005-09-14T21:10:00.000-07:00

The Enchantress gives me a doll.
A doll…
After all these years.

The day I put my dolls away
High in my closet
I cried.
My step-daddy insisted
I didn’t have to put them away.
But I knew it was time
To put them
Away
For good…

I examine this doll.
She is completely handmade,
Not plastic.
Even her eyes
Are made of something real
Like ebony.

She says her name is Nauscka.
She wears sweet little clothes
Like a child.
Blue sweater, skirt, socks,
Little Mary Jane shoes
With a button to hold them on.

I hold back,
Not wanting to believe.

I suddenly realize
All the travelers are gone.
Nauscka tells me to follow
The crow.

I am silent
And so is she.

My skirt has large pockets
And she fits inside
Where she hides.

She begins to bounce
Up and down.
I look around
Someone is coming.
I hide.
Dreadful hooded bandits
Pass on the dusty road.

How did she know?
She says nothing.

She only tells me where to turn
Soon we are at a dreadful house
Near a lake.

The gate of bones moan
When we approach.

I look down at Nauscka,
She nods

I timidly knock.
The door is flung open
Looking into the eyes of death himself.
But the ragged thing standing
Is somewhat womanly.
She spits her words at me,
“What do YOU want?”

“I need directions to the
Camp of the Amazons.”
My eyes wide with fear.
She sees my fear,
And smirks with satisfaction.
“Please come in, dear
And we will see what we can do.”

Inside is so dark,
I bump into stacks of things.
She sits down
lights her pipe,
And blows smoke in my face.
“I will tell you the way,
but you must do something for me
in return.”

I knew this was coming.

“Like, what?” I ask.
“Don’t be so smug,” she puffs.
“Me?” Oh, yeah, yes me…

I feel Nauscka press me
In warning.
I change my tone.
Careful.
“What would you like me to do?”

She rolls her eyes around
And squints.
“I’ll think of it tomorrow,
Tonight you can stay out back.”

We stay in a tiny shed
And sleep on straw.
In the night
Nauscka bumps me
To notice things
In the dark.
I see Baba’s silhouette.
She blows at the clouds
They move quickly away.
Leaving the night clear
And full of stars.

Suddenly
The house rumbles to life.
Huge chicken legs appear
To lift the house
And walk away.
All I can do is gasp
Surprised!

Just before dawn
A burst of red light
Runs across the field.
The chicken house runs after it
And catches it.
A cackle echoes.

Nauscka whispers to me
“Pretend you are asleep”
And I do.

I can feel Baba peering at me.
She shakes me roughly.
“Girl, time for work.”
The sky is still dark.
I blink slowly and yawn.

She puts me in her kitchen
The house is a mess.
Piles of stuff in disarray.
And then I remember the chase,
Well, of course
everything inside fell over too.

But I don’t ask or comment.
And Nauscka gently pats me.

Baba leaves me to work
Nauscka amazingly
Does most of the work
She cleans, organizes, polishes.
Somehow in a very short time,
The task is done.

Baba Yaga comes in
Squints at me.
Looks around
Shakes her head.

“Huh,” she says
with her hands on her hips.
She gives me directions to the camp.

I am almost out the door.
Baba clears her throat.
I stop.
“Is there anything you would like
to ask me?”
I hesitate…
“What was the red light this morning?
“Ahh,” she says,
“it was dawn coming too early.
So I had to hold it back.”
She smiles her toothless smile
and nods.

“And you, girl, how did you
clean my house so quickly?”

Pressure from my pocket.

I smile,
“With kindness
And sweetness.”

“Bah,” She waves me away,
“Get out of here,
Be on your way!”

I start to run
Out the door.
As far away as I can.
When I am truly far away.
I take Nauscka out of my pocket.
I hug her and rock her.
And she hugs me back
With her little hands.

So long ago,
Putting my dolls away
broke my heart.
And now Nauscka
Looks up at me
As if she knows.

One Day...

2005-09-10T09:30:00.000-07:00

Entrance To Marie's Shop in New Orleans

One of Baba's House Elves

2005-09-04T17:10:00.000-07:00

One of Baba's Many Faces

2005-09-04T17:05:00.000-07:00

Sugar Skulls How To!

2005-09-02T14:05:00.000-07:00

A Día de los Muertos altar without sugar skulls is like ....a mega let down! It's a must-have. Sure, you can be lazy and go buy pre-decorated skulls, but if really want to show your love go the extra step and make your skulls. It's the sweetest thing you can do for the one you love.

And for those of you who are hard pressed to find the supplies in your local markets, I'd try to Google them...the Molds anyway.

Anita Marie

Supplies:

1 set of plastic skull molds
Mixing bowl and spoon
2 cups of granulated sugar
2 teaspoons of meringue powder
2 teaspoons of water
1 piece of cardboard, approximately 5" x 5"
Mix the dry ingredients together in the bowl. Sprinkle the water in and continue to mix until the sugar is completely moistened and becomes the consistency of moist sand. Scoop some of the mixture into the mold and pack it evenly and firmly. Place the piece of cardboard on top of the mold and quickly flip it over so the sugar skull pops out. Very carefully slide it onto a flat surface.
Continue making the rest of the skulls. Let them dry for 24 hours in a dry place.

Icing:
2/3 cup of water
1/2 cup meringue powder
2 pounds of powdered sugar
Electric mixer
Concentrated food coloring (the kind professional cake bakers use)
1 pastry or Ziploc bag
Plastic cups
Spoon
Blend the ingredients with an electric mixer until the peaks form in the icing. If using assorted colors, scoop the white icing into separate bowls and add a dab of different colored food coloring in each one. Mix again. Scoop the icing into the pastry or Ziploc bag (snip the corner for the latter). Continue until you have several bags of different colors. Keep sealed and refrigerated until use.

Baba's Boudoir

2005-09-02T05:01:00.000-07:00

You can use all of these keys but you should be very cautious about using the one in the bottom right hand corner which opens the door to Baba Yaga's Boudoir. Your tongue and eyeballs could be taken by 'the hands' who work for Baba and end up in her locksmith's workshop, ready to be crafted into a new key.

Sugar Skulls For Gail

2005-09-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

Here you go Gail, its on me...choose yourself a sweet one...
Anita Marie

Dia de Muertos

2005-08-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

I wondered as I left the House of Baba Yaga if the strange creatures who live here know of Dia de Muertos, The Day of the Dead.

It seems like something she would celebrate....

From mid-October through the first week of November, markets and shops all over Mexico are replete with the special accouterments for the Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead). These include all manner of skeletons and other macabre toys; intricate tissue paper cut-outs called papel picado; elaborate wreaths and crosses decorated with paper or silk flowers; candles and votive lights; and fresh seasonal flowers, particularly cempazuchiles (marigolds) and barro de obispo (cockscomb). Among the edible goodies offered are skulls, coffins and the like made from sugar, chocolate or amaranth seeds and special baked goods, notably sugary sweet rolls called pan de muerto that come in various sizes invariably topped with bits of dough shaped like bones and, in some regions, unadorned dark breads molded into humanoid figures called animas (souls). All of these goods are destined for the buyer's ofrenda de muertos (offering to the dead).

In most localities November 1 is set aside for remembrance of deceased infants and children, often referred to as angelitos (little angels). Those who have died as adults are honored November 2.

Anita Marie

Entering Baba's Realm

2005-08-31T04:00:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga Dreams

2005-08-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

She bothers me, this woman who comes to me in my dreams wrapped in Snakes.

She tries to tell me her name but I won't listen. She holds the Serpents out but I won't touch them. She offers to tell me her secrets but I've been warned nothing on this journey is free.

It all costs.

Like the Main de Glorie I used to steal my lock of hair back from the Baba Yaga in the House of Bones.

I took the Main de Glorie in and lit it's waxed covered fingers and when the flames jumped up everything in the House of Bones fell asleep.

I was able to move from room to room and saw people on hooks and racks and hearts in wicker baskets and I saw Baba Yaga herself sitting in a rocking chair with a little doll dressed in red with strands of my hair pinned to it's head on the table next to her.

Its eyes were taped shut and before I peeled the tape away I knew why I wasn't able to sleep or waken. Why I'd been walking in twilight for almost a month.

I left the tape on. I didn't want to wake up in this place. I didn't want to know where I really was.

I placed the little doll in my pocket and leaned close to Baba Yaga and asked her sleeping form, " Why, why me? "

And from the place Baba Yaga goes when she dreams I heard her whisper, " I'm not really asleep you know. "

I expected her eyes to snap open, for her claw like hand to grab me by my throat and squeeze until my face turned black. But she slept and dreamed and I guessed things like the Baba Yaga that live in Nightmare Worlds never sleep.

They're always there waiting for you to shut your eyes.

" I spent the night in a house built by a Devil because of you. I won't forget that...ever. It's all about you and me and revenge Baba Yaga. The things I see now...the things I hear, all of that because of you. It costs Baba Yaga. It's going to cost you. "

I went out of the House of Bones and walked down that dark road filled with bones and whispers and I took the doll from my pocket and pulled the tape away from the dolls eyes.

The light from the Main de Glorie's fingers flared blue and orange and died out.

I was plunged into darkness...and it didn't matter. I could see just fine. I could move sure footed through the Deadwood Forest.

I belonged in this place now.

That was the price you see that I paid for using the Main de Glorie.

It all costs.

And I’ve paid in full.

© anita marie moscoso 2005-text

Camp Lucky?

2005-08-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

I've seen what's behind the Big House at " Camp Lucky "...I do believe I'll be keeping myself busy ...
Anita Marie

More Useful

2005-08-29T15:46:00.000-07:00

The one on the right, in le Enchanteur's photo, having such a nice time in the sun, is far more use now. A charming vase don't you think? With poppies of remembrance to remind everyone else that this is not Camp Lucky Dog. Well! The dogs that cleaned the bones were lucky I guess!

What do they think this is? Camp Lucky?

2005-08-29T05:38:00.000-07:00

No wonder Ferdinand was caught red handed in the barn. Look at the lazy lot, lolling about in the sun having a good time. When Baba hears about this there is going to be feathers flying around the chook house and it won't be the rooster's feathers. I think I might make myself a bit scarce.

Caught Red Handed in the Barn

2005-08-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

Ex ovo omnia - Everything comes from an egg. Wily Ferdinand isn't in to Latin and he has just been caught red handed near the freshly laid eggs in Baba's barn. If I were him I would make myself really scarce. Between Baba and the house rooster he could be in for a drubbing. Were you supposed to be looking after the chooks and collecting the eggs Lois?

Spinning Stories

2005-08-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

I have just returned after a few lessons in Spindling ...I was fine in the Weaving and an expert in the Spinning ,but needed to learn the art of Spindling....It was fascinating ... I found this tiny little hobbit like woman living on a small farm not far from the Hermitage.. The stable hands told me of her, so off I went in search of a good teacher, one who has lots of patience as I am a learner by the ROTE method as Madame will tell you.

I tapped on the door of the old farmhouse and noticed the handle was very low down on the front entrance and when it opened, I knew why.... She was about 2ft tall and as I am only 4'11" myself ,it was the only time I felt I was able to seem normal..........

Her voice did not match her height, she bellowed "Don't stand there girly come in" she said....When one is short a louder than usual voice is a must I find....."I'm Lois I said (The Muse of the Sea) " Oh you come with a title do you" I felt foolish , why did she need to know what I called myself I thought.

"They call me Henny the Hobbit" she said... .I knew why as I was often called Short and a friend calls me Low Low... .nice friend.

We exchanged pleasantries and as her time was precious (She had other appointments that day with, Leonie, Gail, Anita, Karen etc etc) we got down to the lesson at hand... Spindling....

Very different to weaving and spinning ,much more difficult..."Its all in the rhythm" said Henny....."Here sit by the fire ,and lets get at it"

Well after an hour and a half I was still not in the rhythm and Henny was getting a little on edge"Yep you are a slow learner all right" she said.

I assured that once I got a grasp of something I usually did it well, and I am a stayer .I don't think she believed me one bit....

I was given a spindle and some gold and silver thread and was sent on my way, back to the Hermitage and practice for at least 2 hours morning and night she said. Henny and I said our farewells.......... I may have been her one and only failure I thought as I walked with low shoulders and bowed head on the path home.

BUT... practice I did all that morning , quick break for lunch then back to the spindle for another few hours before afternoon tea ... As I practiced I thought of those wonderful tapestries depicting history in lands I had not visited and how they were woven by women of the village or others who had been spirited away from their homelands ,never to return....... I had a thought ..

Why don't I try and weave a tapestry on a loom telling the story of these wonderful village women whose talents are still seen today in museums and famous galleries all around the world .... I perhaps could record some of their life with the hope of leaving a tale depicting their wonderful craft... Not of war and deeds by men in battle... but of women who were not only weavers and spinners but Mothers, Wives, Daughters, Carers, Friends .. They worked in industries to record history as well as the role they played in looking after their families.

They were the heroines of these times, going unrecognised, as only the men in battle held that claim in history....I would make a small attempt to right this wrong ....I will weave THEIR STORY......

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 23.8.05

In Baba's Garden

2005-08-23T05:22:00.000-07:00

When I left the small cottage of Baba Yaga and travelled back home to the Hermitage I thought this was the end of it...A good sleep in, and a pleasant day sitting out in the sun reading and writing up my journal.

I returned to my bedroom after breakfast with the girls, to gather up my bits and pieces and there sitting on the windowsill was a raven ..black as black ,they are beautiful creatures I thought....." I havn't any bread for you my pet" I said.The raven was perfectly still ,it was then I noticed that he had a piece of cloth tied with a band to his leg...I approached quietly thinking he may fly away,but he perched perfectly still and let me undo the fine leather band ,then in a whosh he was off (I think it was a he) ....

I undid the cloth and and written on it was a message from the Baba Yaga which said...." Heard you were into gardening in a big way Lois ,and you are pretty damm good,my vegie and herb patch need a makeover...get here today before lunch and I will tell you what I want done".
Who did she remind me of....I won't name a few of my bossy women friends but the message was familiar...

I thought that a secret between friends was just that but this Crone Baba Yaga was a hear all ,see all ,sort of woman.....But you know I liked her when we first met,she was my kind of girl.... so I didn''t mind doing a bit of gardening for her .....

Realising from the first visit that it was a fair walk,I went down to the Hermitage stables and borrowed a tame horse to travel to the forest cottage.
I arrived there in less than 1/2 an hour ,nice ride in that beautiful part of the mountains.Baba Yaga was already out in the garden ..with an array of shovels,forks,rakes and hessian bags."Already for you my Dear Lois" she said smiling ...Still wearing that long blue skirt and the red pullover I noticed....no fashion plate is Baba Yaga.

I tied up Rainbow my horse, gave him some hay to eat and there was a tin tub of water I lugged over for him as well. I had done a days work already I thought.

Instructions given by BabaYaga would fill a book,so I got going hoping I could finish it all in one day.....(Funny girl Lois) Two hours had gone and it didn't look as if I had done much ...."Lunch time" Baba Yaga called.

So down tools and in for a bowl of home made soup and bread...very welcome ....

"How much longer will it take Lois" she said......" Well if I work till say ,4 o'clock I will have done about half of it" "How long since its had a good going over" I said........"It's ages since I had a go at it" she said "Do you know Lois I'v'e had a stream of travellers , all women except 2 blokes, and they've been calling in , one after another I think I need a revolving front door".

"Questions needing answers,problems needing sorting,fortunes told,and if I hear another story about embarassing bath house experiences I'll scream,"she said.I could not but smile.

I finished the clearing out of the vegie and herb patch at about 4pm ,but there was a lot more to do..like staking up the tomatoes and the beans ,thining out the carrots and parsnips and on and on it went....So I knew I would have to come back tomorrow for the whole day to get it all in order.

Baba Yaga was dozing by the wood fire when I let myself in to tell her I had finished for the day and would be back tomorrow....."Good Girl" she said "See you later. love"..(She reminded me of my Mum )

I climbed up on Rainbow ,and was glad he knew the way back to the Hermitage as I think I dozed on the return journey...

As I arrived at the stables ,others had already returned their steeds after a day out to the lake for a picnic...I had been conned by the Baba Yaga ,why did this raven select me for the gardening makeover...Someone had been dropping hints at my expertise in the vegie patch....but who.......?
I would find out and keep them in mind...if not .I thought,this old Crone had the power to see into the other world,so perhaps it was why she had chosen me for my skills.......I was tired ,a quick lie down before tea after a hot wash sounded good to me...........

No sooner my head touched the pillow and I was asleep...

I was on my bed of feathers ,the small bedroom window blowing a nice evening breeze across my face ,my knitted rug warm against my tired but healthy body,
what else could a woman want.????????????????????

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 21/8/05.

Word from The Road

2005-08-22T19:12:00.000-07:00

To All My Friends Back Home,

I'm on my way to the House of Baba Yaga...or the House of Bones as I've been calling it. This is my first stop, it's a house in the middle of the Desert outside of town called Cavern. Isn't that a weird name?

The locals tell me it was built by a Devil. Not THE devil...but "a Devil". They seem to take some weird sort of comfort in that.

I'll be in touch soon,
Anita Marie

At Baba Yaga's

2005-08-22T01:03:00.000-07:00

Blogger and Image Shack Instructions

2005-08-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

To become really familiar with Blogger you need to open it and have a good look around. There are a number of tricks that can make life so much simpler for you.

This screen shows all the posts. If you have administration powers this is what your screen will look like. See the edit boxes. If you click this box the original post will come up in a Create box. Administrators can scroll over this and copy - html code and all - and then copy into the blog you are responsible for. I always sign in twice, have two sets of screens showing and use the minimize button to move between screens.

So long as you do not hit Publish nothing will change during this edit process. I always just go back out once I have copied and paste into the other blog and only publish there.

This screen will pop up if you click Settings. There are a series of options - most of which you never need to worry about. The members one at the end of the right hand side is the one where you can invite members to join the team. Otherwise I wouldn't worry about settings.

Template requires knowledge of html so it is best to leave that alone.

Image Shack

Image Shack is a very user friendly program for uploading images that can be inserted into blogger.
Save an image on your computer but make sure it is only small. I use photoshop to change size but there are other programs

Go to http://imageshack.de

This screen will appear

Click browse and select your image.

Click host it

This screen will now appear

Highlight the link I have highlighted in this image - the web link and copy and paste it straight into the blogger compose box.

Publish and your image will be there.

Good luck
Sibyl Enchanteur

Baba Yaga

2005-08-21T14:53:00.000-07:00

soul hand

2005-08-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

Main de Glorie

2005-08-19T16:55:00.000-07:00

We were standing in front of the House of Bones last night and Marie turned to me and asked, " still dreaming about this place?"

I nodded because in my dreams I can't read and in some of my dreams I can't speak. Tonight I found myself mute.

I'm sure Marie could see the panic in my eyes, on my face. I had been dreaming about this House of Bones every single night, everytime I closed my eyes and then opened them I could still see it.

" It's alright Anita, here... come here and look here " Marie pointed to the spot between her eyes " look here Anita, this is where the Soul lives. Look here. "

And I did.

I reached out and knocked on the door of Baba Yaga and the door swung open and I could smell cinnamon. " Whose house is this? " I called in

I saw the shadows gather and pull itself apart at the threshold several times before they took shape.

" This is my home, "

" Who are you? " I asked

" Baba Yaga, come in ... come in "

Her face was old but not offensive, certainly not demonic but there are ways to hide your face. It's a parlor trick in the world of magic.

Faces are only masks after all.

There was no hiding her expression though; she didn't like standing here and she didn't like showing herself.

" I received your Invitation Baba Yaga, it came to me in a dream and in omens. I don't like that sort of thing. " I said.

" Ah, a non-believer. " she said smugly.

" Oh Baba Yaga, call me anything but don't call me a non-believer. No, I believe in the direct approach. Besides, " I said lighting a candle that sat on the kitchen table " I don't like it when people take what's mine. "

Baba Yaga grabbed at my hand and threw it back then she took the candle from the table and thrust it very, very close to my face...to my eyes.

" Laveau " she spat, " Marie Laveau, you and your tricks. "

" In my world Baba Yaga this is no trick. Possession is no parlor game to us. "

" What do you want?"

" I'm this woman's...spiritual advisor, I want to know why you are in her dreams. "

" I have something of hers and she knows it. She just doesn't know WHAT it is and you know Laveau, I don't have to tell her and I don't have to tell you either. "

I reached back and pushed Anita's hair over her shoulders and smiled her crooked smile and shrugged. " Oh, we both can appreciate the challenge Baba Yaga, but you can't take what isn't hers. Don't even try. This won't be the last time we cross paths Baba Yaga, but I'm warning you. Don't make it necessary for me to come at you from those paths with vengeance in my heart. Don't make me come to you from the shadows. Are we agreed? "

Baba Yaga held her hands up and nodded. " Agreed. "

But neither of us trusted her.

Marie was waiting for me the Next Night and this time I could speak.

" What does she mean, she has something of mine? " I asked Marie.

" Could be anything, strand of your hair, a book, a dress...anything. But unless you find out the dreams will get worse. "

The Sun was just coming up in my dream, but I was sleeping at home in my bed and I'll bet it wasn't even Midnight yet. The Sun was coming up in my dreams because Marie was going to show me something.

" Luis is taking you to a place called Yakima this weekend. You're going to stop in a town called Ryderwood to buy gas. Look, behind the station is this tree. It was a hanging tree back in the late 1800's. The last man to be hung there was buried under it. You won't have to dig far to find him. It's all sand out there in Ryderwood. It's in the middle of the desert and he’s been mummified by the elements. He's buried face down and his hands are tied behind his back. Take his left hand. "

" It's not like the legend, he doesn't have to be hanging to make this work..."

" Why do I need it? " I asked.

" Main de Glorie, Anita. Hand of Glory, you'll need it where you'll be going."

I found the hand where Marie said I would and Luis waited in the car while I completed my task. I came to the car with the hand wrapped in a clean white sheet and I put it in the trunk.

" Are you done? " he asked me.

I shook my head, " I've only just started. "

© anita marie moscoso 2005-text

Crypt lake and Baba Yaga

2005-08-19T08:09:00.000-07:00

After a mere cat’s lick of a wash and a mug of tea, hastily swallowed down, I went to join the others in the courtyard as instructed. I just had time to say farewell to Hiss who gave me a beautiful little carved wooden snake which, he told me, might come in useful one day, if only to remind me of the few days we had spent together.

The Enchantress came to greet us and told us that our guides would be the dolls she was currently handing out to everyone. Her parting words were that we should use the things she gave us when we first set out on this trip and, if we need any help, we should ask the doll. She proceeded to give us further instructions about the doll and informed us that it would be quite a few days before we reached the Camp of the Amazon Queen.

What the **** I thought we were supposed to be returning to the House of Serpents, not gadding off to God knows where, when we’ve only just got here. She’s a hard task mistress is our Enchantress.

My hand wrapped itself comfortably around my bad angel. She fits neatly into the palm of my hand. She’s been carved from some honey-coloured stone. I have no idea how old she is. She is also accompanied by a doll. Perhaps it’s meant to be a symbol of myself holding my doll?

I told her who I am. She smiled and told me that “Traveller” was a good name for me. She introduced herself as Melita and the doll as Comino. I was tempted to ask her about her doll but decided that it might not do to ask possibly indiscreet questions at this stage. I was so engrossed with our conversation that when I next glanced up, there was no one else in sight. I was completely alone. Now where had they all gone? Gail and I had only just started reminiscing about childhood books and obviously had lots more to chat about and now everyone seemed to have gone off and left me.

Melita touched my arm and reminded me that she was still there. She told me that we would have to go through the woods and ask the old lady who lives by the lake (did she say it was called “Crypt Lake”?) the way to the Camp of Amazons. As an afterthought she told me the name of this old lady – Baba Yaga. I nearly fainted. Without taking any notice of my malaise she continued to regale me about Baba Yaga. I knew a fair amount already but what she added did nothing to reassure me. Baba Yaga’s house – a hut on chicken’s legs – sounded as if it had been put together by a pantomime stage set designer high on magic mushrooms. He wasn’t the only one I thought grimly as snatches of Mussorsgky’s music entitled “the hut on legs” from the Pictures at an Exhibition suite floated through my mind. Very disturbing pictures they were too, if I remembered right. I was not at all reassured.

I assumed that, yet again, we had little choice in the matter and the Enchantress obviously knew what she was doing (?). I checked the contents of my bag again and found a visiting card with an internet address on it for Baba Yaga. I would have a look at that website next time I came across a computer to see if it would provide any clues as to what I was letting myself in for.

I headed down the mountain, past Heather’s bridge and the old mill, with its wheel turning with a splash of water. Out past the gypsy camp, so full of life the previous night but now silent. A dog barked in the distance.

The first part of the route was easy going over level pastureland dotted with summer flowers reminiscent of the high Swiss Alpine pastures and I walked knee deep in perfumed waves. Bees buzzed in the sunshine. As we walked Melita filled me in on some of the more unpleasant facts she knew about Baba Yaga. It soon became apparent that they knew each other quite well although Melita refrained from telling me how they had first become acquainted.

From time to time we stopped to refresh ourselves at streams as we came across them and nibbled some of the fresh rolls cook had put in a red spotted handkerchief for me to bring on the journey. I would miss her tasty offerings.

I hadn’t taken much notice of our surroundings until I realised that we had been slowly climbing and were now approaching the edge of the plateau. I looked down and saw below me a bright green lake with steam rising from the surface. It looked an idyllic spot but Melita turned me away saying, “that is not the lake of our destination, that is the lake of lies. Its beauty hides poison in its depths. Anyone who seeks to quench their thirst in it will perish”.

She led me down a side track, through a wooded copse and we came out on to a valley floor covered with stones and sparse bushes. The mountains in the distance had snow on them.

“This is Crypt Lake” said Melita and indeed I had never seen such a beautiful but desolate place and a cold wind nipped suddenly at my ears. As we walked along the valley floor we came across a noticeboard stuck in the stones with

TRESPASSERS WILL

written on it. Trespassers will what, I wondered, looking more closely to see if I had missed something. And I had. Down in the bottom right hand corner were three letters PTO. “Please turn over”. I walked round to the other side of the notice and the message now made much more sense

BE:
1) GRILLED
2) PICKLED
3) ROASTED

Tick where applicable.

I took out my pen with the everlasting ink and marked a large cross next to the first option. It was just possible that someone was playing mind games and "grilled" didn’t necessarily have any culinary connotations.

“Well done” said Melita, nodding approvingly. “We’ve no time to waste now, we must get to Baba Yaga’s cottage before nightfall or else it will be the wolves making a meal of us”. She started to walk so fast that I had difficulty keeping up with her. As we rounded the bend in front of us, the sight before our eyes was so incongruous that I came to an abrupt standstill. There on a patch of beautiful greensward – totally at odds with its surroundings – was a fence made of bones with skulls perched atop. But it was the cottage that really took my breath away. No ordinary cottage this for it seemed to have legs. As we approached, the legs stood up and the cottage waved somewhat shakily in the air as it leaned towards us, as if it was trying to get a better look at us. “It knows we’re here” said Melita, rather stating the obvious. “Now just remember what I told you about the food”.

We went through the little gate and I tried to make myself as thin as possible to keep out of range of the sharp teeth that formed the gate posts. I didn’t fancy being someone else’s meal. A rope ladder was let down from the front door of the cottage, now high above my head. “It’s alright, up you go” said my companion, “but just to make sure, I’ll go up first and give you the all clear”. So saying, she climbed the ladder with, what I thought, remarkable agility for a stone carving. Inside the cottage, the floor sloped dangerously and someone was desperately trying to prevent the crockery from cascading off the table. “Down” said a stern voice, and immediately the cottage began to descend slowly and somewhat unevenly as the legs folded themselves up again, hitting the ground with a slight bump.

“Greetings Melita, I see you have a traveller with you” said the owner of the stern voice. She was old, "as old as the hills" one might be tempted to say, for the wrinkles of her face had formed a most dramatic landscape in which her eyes were the merest twinkles of light in the shadows on a river at the bottom of a valley. Her nose was a jagged escarpment and her mouth a cavernous crater. Her hair resembled a hedge with an assortment of wild plants twining through it. Old man’s beard held sway amongst the hop vines and berries of red bryony adorned her ears. Her clothes were made of leaves bound together with grasses and on her feet she wore the husks from a horse chestnut tree, once summer green but now autumn hardened. “The spikes help keep me feet dry” she explained as if I had asked the question.

“But I haven’t introduced myself yet,” she said. “I am Baba Yaga and you are ?” “My name is Traveller and and thus I do” I replied. “Well, “ she said, “you must be a little hungry by now. What was on the menu tonight? Let me see, grilled, pickled or roasted. Which is to be?” “Grilled” I replied hurriedly, hoping I had guessed right. ”Oh, so you want to be grilled do you, my fine friend. In that case, who are you really and who sent you here?” she shot her questions out like machine gunfire. ”I really am a traveller” I started, beginning to think a bit more about who and what I was. “When I first joined the Lemurian Abbey I was travelling in search of something although I wasn’t quite sure what it was I was looking for and since I was doing a lot of travelling at the time, the name stuck in preference to my other world name. I’m still travelling but of late, it has been more in my imagination. I started out with a group of people, most of whom I have still to meet as we keep getting separated, but that’s another story. We are on our way to the camp of the Amazon Queen and I’m told that you can perhaps point me in the right direction”.

A long silence ensued while she digested my reply. "If I tell you how to get to the camp of the Amazon Queen, in return, will you do something for me?" she asked. "Somebody has mixed earth into my poppy seeds and I haven´t the time to sort them out for myself. Perhaps you could do that for me?" Before I had a chance to reply, she continued "just go back down the ladder and you'll find them in a basket at the bottom of the steps. You can throw the earth away of course, but please put the seeds into this handkerchief".

I climbed down the steps and Melita came with me. "How on earth am I supposed to do this?" I asked. "Oh, that´s easy," she replied. "The ants will do that for you. All you have to do is ask them to help you." We set off to explore the garden to see if we could find any ants and finally found some busying themselves in a clump of poppies in the corner of the garden. "Go on, don't be afraid" encouraged Melita.

"Ahem" I started. "My name is Traveller and Baba Yaga has told me that I must separate the earth from her poppy seeds before she will tell me the way to the Camp of the Amazon Queen and I was wondering if you could help". Big intake of breath as I had uttered this request without taking one. Ant Number Two (ANT) looked up at me. "What will you give us in return?" Oh help, I thought, now I'm really stuck. But again Melita gave me the answer. Tell them you will give them the rest of the rolls Cook gave you. That should be sufficient. Ant Number Two decided that this was acceptable. "Bring the handkerchief and the basket over here, tip the contents of the basket on to the handkerchief and we will do the rest for you". I did as instructed and watched in amazement as hundreds of ants swarmed out from under the poppy plants and began to carry away the earth leaving just the tiny black seeds on the handkerchief. In no time at all there was not a speck of dirt remaining. I broke the rolls into tiny pieces and laid them on the ground for the ants to carry away to their lair and triumphantly carried the handkerchief of seeds back up the ladder where I restored them to their owner.

"Thank you, Traveller, that was well done", said Baba Yaga warmly. "Now I can get on with preparing for the next planting". "It has to be done when the moon is right, you see, and that is tomorrow. I'm so glad you came along".

My Soul Hand

2005-08-19T00:44:00.000-07:00

Whenever I take time out to go inside, I have open hands. For me they are a symbol of being open to the universe, being open to the power within myself and being open to life.

Milagro means Miracle

2005-08-18T18:27:00.000-07:00

Milagros are prayers of a sort, created in Mexico, and, I assume, other Latin American countries that are Catholic. They are often in the shape of the thing prayed for...eyes for good vision, hearts for safe journey through open heart surgery or love, etc...I loved this idea, and this hand is one of my visions of the milagro. Hands can plant all sorts of seeds, some of which I have listed around the border. May our hands be miracles of the everyday.

Fearsome Help from Baba

2005-08-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

Reading Heather's latest post and Lois' comments reminded me of something I had forgotten, I've been so busy, and got the urge to post it here. It made me think of a black doll of mine, tiny and made of rubber, with a dress and shoes and socks on. She is small enough to hold, unseen, in the palm of my hand, and hides permanently in the pocket of my raincoat. I also had another black doll my father brought home from a business trip to New Guinea, and I happened to call her "Mary" when I was about nine, I think. She had full tribal dress on and was adorned with beads and shells. In "The Maiden King" Marion Woodman writes with Robert Bly copiously on the Baba. She's the one who gives that piece of uncompromising advice you wish someone would say, but no-one has the endless bottomed well of wisdom that she has. What looks tame and wonderful to the outside world is distasteful to her. What looks tame and wonderful often to society is the death for soul. She is protective, but fierce, and her laws must be obeyed. Hers is an uncommon wisdom, not reachable by children - it's too complex. Her eye sees deeper fathoms in the darkness than any other. I have no idea why my father chose that gift for me, but I am glad he did. I had other teddies and dolls, conventional toys. Must have been the reason for my little black doll I keep in adulthood. These things had been forgotten by me, in the hustle and bustle of daily life in the modern world, but the hem of the ancient is never far away, it seems. Thanks for letting me remember the connection with these dolls and their importance in the craziness of the modern world.

Delphie Joins Me

2005-08-18T05:10:00.000-07:00

An exquisite fairy doll, named Delphie, made by Winnie Rose Reyes, has arrived safely after being lost between the Phillipines and Australia. She was exhausted after her two month journey but is happy to guide me during my stay with Baba Yaga. Baba Yaga has much to teach me and I plan to stay in her house for awhile.

To Baba Yaga's

2005-08-17T19:12:00.000-07:00

Some have travelled by night,some by horse,some by magic others like me prefer the old fashioned way... I decided that night as I slept on a feather mattress I would in the morning set off to meet the Baba Yaga.... She was the arch crone of whom I knew little except the rumours of her reputation as the Goddess of Wisdom Death of Ego and also of Our Rebirth, Bone Mother was one I needed more information on.

I had spent the last few days catching up with women friends and travellers... It was good to chat to Anita.... who constantly is looking left then right then upwards then downwards no wonder she has one eye in the past and one in the future... she does have an aura of magic and mystery around her, her flowing green frock and gold sandles long black tresses add to the mystery.... Catching up with Gail and Karen with reams of paper in hand was no surprise,,,as I had heard of their writing skills.( I had a quick word with Karen about our love of Walt Whitman's Writing) .... The last time I had seen Leonie she was dripping wet and was rushing up on stage for a performance as The Lady Lotus just emerged from the muddy waters of the lake ..now dry I hardly recognsed her out of her long flowing silky blue green cloak...many others come to mind but time is wasting and I must be off.

I had decided to walk through the forest as the day was warm and as I picked up my purple draw-string bag containing all I neededand a bread roll and a container of water from the kitchen I was on my way.

Canopies of high trees and beautiful fern glades made the journey a joy and I did not notice that I had been walking for several hours until I sat down to drink and have a bite to eat... This done I set off once again to find the Cottage of the Crone as described to me. The path meandered upwards and I thought that the mountain was becoming bathed in sunshine as the tree canopy became lighter..... A cleared space appeared and nestled in within its fence boundary was a small 2 room thatched cottage... smoke coming out of the tiny chimney...

The gate was made of old skeletons, but in its centre was a timber sign saying "All Welcome" nothing sinister in this I thought.

Knocking on the red painted door of the small cottage (No bell or knocker) just a heavy iron handle...I knocked again no footsteps to be heard or heavy breathing so I thought hat no one was home...I turned to go and it was then the door creaked and opened about half way, to reveal a small older woman her long grey hair tied back with a piece of vine...Her long dark blue skirt was complimented by a red wool pullover..no fashion worries in this cottage ..my sort of place I thought.....". Come in,the kettles on, I knew you were on your way" said she.

"I am Lois " I said..." I am Margaret, Maggie for short" she said.

Once introduced she directed me to sit on a chair beside the wood fire stove ,two old rocking chairs covered in hand spun wool rugs looked comfortable..... Maggie poured me out a cup of rose hip tea after asking me if I liked herbal tea .. "Yes" I said, anything that's hot will do me", Maggie opened a tin and offered me a piece of cake, home made of course.

We chatted about my travels, I was excited to be able to share with her my wonderous journey from Australia starting in the Umbrian Mountains, she told me she had travelled widely in her youth ,much more than I, but we could share the same exciting experiences of having visited Greece and wallowed in the history of the Muses.... I told her of my wish to be known as the Muse of the Sea... "Great title" she said....... We did not mention her role as one of any less importance than mine except to say she had lived more than a lifetime so as she was able to bestow wisdom on those seeking it.....I said I had matters that had worried me over the last 10 years and was seeking an answer to them, if not an answer perhaps a re-affirmation of what I had decided was the right way of handling these concerns...

Maggie listened intently ,nodding now and again as I related my story.

Another cup of fresh rose-hip tea was poured ,another slice of cake eaten.

I kicked off my walking boots to warm my slightly damp socks. "Sorry Maggie I hope they don't smell" I said" There is no smell on earth I can't cope with" she said.laughing loudly as she looked down at my bright red socks, her colour I thought, what a coincidence..

Maggie had not answered my concerns ,instead she she offered to show me her room of herbs, spices,potions etc ... We crossed the kitchen come lounge room, come bedroom, comeeverything... altogether in one space which in a forest was the most sensible way to keep warm.... A small room was the only other part of the cottage ..not a large space but compact with shelves on three walls ... there must be hundreds if not thousands of pottery containers with labels in blue, red, orange, yellow, green, purple,black,white etc etc...... Each container she explained was filled with potions of various kinds,some for stomach pain,,some for nervous complaints,some for fertility,some for happiness,some to help you sleep,some to kick on your appetite (For what I did not dare ask)............ everything one could want seemed to be catered for..... She took down a jar with a white label, beckoning me to return to the warmth of the wood fire stove.

"Now Lois" she said....."This jar is for you" I will tell you what it contains and how often you need to take out the leaves and make a brew of tea with them,and also there is a little bottle of oil inside as well" Maggie went on to relate that the leaves of the Eucalyptus Tree had many uses but in the world of plants & trees it had a special meaning.. it is this she said " The leaf and the Flower are for you and they say to you when in doubt say about yourself "I Change but in death only" you are not in need of drastic changes in you ways of living and need not re-visit the past- the past is now part of your good memories and life now is for learning,loving and living.

The Eucalyptus will invigorate & clarify your mind & help with any joint pain, it will clarify much in your life...... Sip it in tea in the evenings and also put some of the oil on a handkerchief or on your pillow for a resful nights sleep.

Maggie's words rang true , perhaps a medical person might have a much more long winded explanation for my troubled mind at times...

Two hours had slipped by as Maggie and I talked,it was time for her afternoon nap and on looking at her old timber bed with its brightly coloured patchwork eiderdown , I looked foward to an afternoon nap in my feather bed on returning to the Hermitage............... We said our goodbyes,I held my hand out to thank her ,she squeezed it tightly ,and said "You are not unlike your Grandmother Charlotte ,in looks and nature or should it be nurture "she added.,with a laugh...

This had been a day I would hold in my heart I hoped, forever.

I never did ask Maggie what was a "Bone Mother"

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 18/8/05

Meeting the young Baba Yaga

2005-08-17T17:07:00.000-07:00

I rode my horse through the wood. With me was the magical bag that the Enchantress had given me, all its articles intact, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking of the doll I had found lying next to the bag. She had no face, no features, was merely a blob of felt and a bit of yarn. Very primitive. I’d stuffed her in the sack along with the other items. Frankly, my energy was low, and I’d begun to tire of the entire journey, life, all of it. These phases hit me once in a while, and unlike my cheerful little Katy who runs beside me and wags her tail, I have another travel companion. This black dog walks silently, menacingly, and lies close to me, almost too close, when I sleep. I feel suffocated by its attentions. Katy had long returned to my home in Kansas, missing her bed and her biscuits, so I travel on with this other dog, also familiar, but not welcome.

As I enter a clearing, I see a woman standing under a tree. She is young, slightly dirty, and has wild hair. She gestures to me, and I slow.

“A ride to the village, Mistress?”

I can smell her unwashed body and I'm sure I look uncertain.

“If you take me, Mistress, I’ll tell you something you want to know. I’ve the gift, y’know.”

Sighing inwardly at what is likely a lie, I nonetheless allow her to climb aboard behind me, noting with distaste the dirt and sores on her hands as she clasps them around my waist. We ride on. I do not speak. My companion tries to draw me out, but my answers—short, terse, unfriendly—silence her. Still we ride, and I glance down to see the large black dog running at my side. I wish for a moment that I could ride off a cliff, fall into nothingness, part ways with the black dog once and for all. I feel an emptiness; a void, deep within my chest. Suddenly, I feel cold steel at my throat.

“I can accommodate you, Mistress,” the girl says, “if that is truly what you wish.”

My astonishment at both turns—her perception of my thoughts and her immediate threat to my life—is great. I feel the blood running through my veins, my pulse throbbing at the base of my neck, just near the edge of the keen blade, which nicks me as my horse jumps over a log. I feel the hot breath of the girl, and expect her hand to reach for my bag, to snatch away all the magical gifts I had been given. I look to the dog. Its teeth are bared, breath ragged. I think of…nothing. I surrender to my fate, leaning back into the girl, allowing my hands to fall free of the reins. Tears course down my cheeks, and I sob, openly.

“It is as I thought, my dear,” the girl said, only now her voice was cracked and rusty, that of a crone. I twisted in my saddle, feeling the blade yet again. “Ye don’t even know who ye’re fighting, do you?” She reaches for the reins, urges my horse to a halt, and slides off. I see that she has changed. Before me stands a crone, all angles and wrinkles, almost toothless. I lie across the horse’s neck, limply watching her for signs of her next move.

“Life is tricksy, my dear. So are ye, and I, and all of Her creation. I thought to bring ye back to the fight, make ye see what ye hold dear, close to the heart. But instead, ye surrendered yourself—an unusual choice, but an honorable one. There is much to learn in surrender, mistress. I shall not take ye this day, it is not your time to go downriver. Instead, I shall leave you with this blade, and this wisdom: It is important to know just who it is you’re fighting. Is it outside ye, or are ye fighting that one that looks out the mirror at ye?” She handed me the blade, turned, and walked into the forest.

I hardly knew what to do. I placed the blade inside my belt, mounted my horse, and rode on. In the distance, I saw the dog, running parallel, but so far from me he was a mere shadow.

Reflection

2005-08-17T17:05:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga has led me on a very interesting journey over the last day or so. In reading her story and struggling to write about my visit to see her, I decided to make my special doll. What a surprise this turned out to be!

To understand my surprise, one would have to know that I love colour and things more on the 'pretty' side. My doll has a very earthy feel, is rather shapeless and has a lovely big double chin. So I dialogued with her, telling her that I was surprised at the way she looked and wondered how she could help me. She replied that she would know what I had to do, so that all I had to do was to ask her in trust.
I was then led in a very mysterious way to read some words of wisdom in my book, 'Women Who Run With The Wolves'. These are the words that struck a chord with me:
"......A wise woman keeps her psyche environ uncluttered. She accomplishes such by keeping a clear head, keeping a clear space for her work, working at completing her ideas and projects.......because it is Baba Yaga's hut that Vasalisa sweeps, because it Baba Yaga's yard, we are also speaking of keeping unusual ideas clear and ordered. These ideas include those which are uncommon, soulful and uncanny.
......to cook for the Yaga one lays a fire - a woman must be willing to burn hot, burn with passion, burn with words, with ideas, with desire for whatever it really is that she loves. It is actually this passion which causes the cooking, and a woman's ideas of substance are what is cooked. To cook for the Yaga, one will arrange that one's creative life has a consistent fire under it. Most of us would do better if we became more adept at watching the fire under our work.........the fire bears watching, for it is easy to let it go out. The Yaga must be fed. There's hell to pay if she goes hungry. So it is the cooking up of new things, of new directions, of commitments to one's art and work that continuously nourishes the wild soul.
.....Women's cycles according to Vasalisa's tasks are these: To cleanse one's thinking, renewing one's values, on a regular basis. To clear one's psyche of trivia, sweep one's self, clean up one's thinking and feeling states on a regular basis and especially to cook up a lot, to feed the relationship between oneself and the wildish nature."
My doll is now called Clarissa and she has pride of place on my table where I do my work.

My Soul Hand

2005-08-17T05:09:00.000-07:00

My Soul Hand

2005-08-17T02:36:00.000-07:00

My hand came complete with homework notes to keep me on track

The quotes are by:
Words are a lens to focus one’s mind. - Ayn Rand
Beauty is in the heart of the beholder. - Al Bernstein
Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. - Pablo Picasso

Soul Hand

2005-08-16T23:47:00.000-07:00

The Soul Hand that assists me on my journey.
This hand has all the features of of the senses: touch, sight, smell, hearing and taste.

Working For Baba Yaga

2005-08-16T22:40:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga is a real slave driver. While you are at this stage she intends to get you all up to speed with blogging. Forget the laundry and the cooking. You have to come out of the house able to

1. upload an image - cut and paste code from imageshack or picasso and insert an image into a post with accompanying
2. run a blogger and invite people to join the blog you are in charge of - to do this go to Settings in the blog you are in charge of. Then select members and invite more to join the team. I will invite any new members who wander into my web.
3. copy and paste older posts from le Enchanteur into the blog you are in charge of. For example Barbara is in charge of House of the Serpents so she needs to put all the Gorgon songs in there.
4. Send out reminder emails to people to make sure that their work is shown. Encourage them to post.
5. Take prime responsibility for commenting on posts on the blogger you are in charge of.

Night of Dreams

2005-08-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

Marie and I were standing in front of the House of Bones last night.

She looked over at me and shook her head, " this is no good for you Anita " she warned me " there's much danger here for you. "

I nodded and reached out for the door handle and she snatched at my wrist " Ask who's house this is before you go in, bring her a gift and don't eat anything she offers you. "

" I'll remember. " I said.

" Anita, don't fall asleep in this place either. Go in awake or go in asleep. But don't do both. Otherwise you'll get lost. "

I woke up and found that it was just after three in the morning I spent some time wondering about Marie's warnings. Funny, she should be warning me about a writing project...a blogg.

Funny.

Almost as funny as the little doll I found on the pillow next to me when the sun came up. Even funnier was the message carved into the wall above my bed.

Beware the House of Baba Yaga...
Marie L.
© anita marie moscoso 2005-text

My Meditation on staying with Baba Yaga

2005-08-16T16:49:00.000-07:00

``We have to go through the woods, to the house of an old lady who lives by the lake,” Mei Ling said, as I stowed her carefully in the bag so she wouldn’t fall out. ``we have to ask her the way to the camp of the Amazons.”
An old lady who lived in the woods? ``Will we be leaving a breadcrumb trail,” I said, only half joking.
``There will be no need – I know all the ways through the woods,” Mei Ling said.
So we set off on foot. It was a sunny day, but not too warm for my jacket. I felt quite festive and all I heard as we set off was the lonely barking of a dog from the gypsy camp.
On the way over the bridge I called into the mill for some bread for the journey and the baker wished me luck. He was a bonny young man, with a nut brown face and curly hair. I saw two pretty children playing outside as I left.
On the way, Mei Ling told me some hair raising things about Baba Yaga, the old woman who lived in the forest. I found her description of the fence around the cottage quite unnerving – apparently it was made of human bones.
She sounded like an evil old witch, but it was clear that Mei Ling had a lot of respect for her, and she seemed unafraid. But then, she was a china doll. I got less optimistic when we reached the forest. As we walked along a narrow, twisting path overgrown with tree roots and hedged in by thick shrubs, it seemed to me we were going into an area where light could not penetrate.
When I judged the time to be about mid morning, we stopped and ate some of the bread. Mei Ling ate daintily, refusing the crusts. I had some water with me and we sipped from the bottle, but I realised I should have brought more food with me – I had thought there would be berries and other wild food, but the forest was too dense and dark to offer much in the way of berries. There were mushrooms – or some sort of fungi – but I thought it wise not to experiment.
In spite of Mei Ling’s assurance that she knew where we were going, I felt completely lost, as if we were going round in circlers. I was certain we were passing the same glowering oak tree several times.
But it seemed she did know, because all of a sudden the path forked. One fork led off into some unprepossessing undergrowth – the other had a rickety sign that said No Junk Male, although I couldn’t see a mail box anywhere. This was the path Mei Ling told me to choose.
Ahead of me was the fence Mei Ling had spoken of – the palings were jagged splinters of bone topped with grinning skulls. The gate hung lopsided on its hinges, swinging back and forth with a mournful squeaking noise.
Over the top of the gate I could see a house leaning at an odd angle and – moving.
``The house is falling over,” I said in alarm.
``No, it’s probably just having a scratch.”
I saw what she meant as I inched through the gate. The house was scratching – it stood on two scrawny chicken legs and it was scratching the earth like a chicken – two steps forward, scratch, scratch, then one step back to see what it had exposed. There were two windows either side of a porched door, and these looked for all the world like eyes and a beak. Even the walls and the roof were covered with russet red feathers.
Seeing me, the house stopped scratching and folded its chicken legs neatly. Now it looked like a proper little house, foursquare on the ground.
``Knock on the door,” Mei Ling urged.
There was a knocker hanging there – a human skeleton hand curled into a fist. As I reached gingerly out to take hold of it, the skeletal fingers suddenly straightened out and shook my hand cordially. Then the door swung open and I found myself looking at the ugliest old woman I had ever seen.
She had warts on her face with hairs growing out of them. Her legs were the same as the house, scrawny and chickenlike, and she was dressed in an eclectic collection of skirts, aprons and a peasant blouse and vest that had certainly seen better days.
The first thing she said to me was, ``Do you come here of your own free will, or because someone sent you?”
I was about to protest my free will, and then I hesitated. Suddenly I wasn’t sure.
``Well – I said - ``actually, on the one hand I was told to come here – but on the other hand, I did choose to go – so I’m not really sure.”
She smiled at that, baring a formidable set of teeth that looked like iron.
``Good answer,” she said. ``Well, it looks as if I don’t get to eat you today. Pity,” she added, eyeing my ample hips. She stood aside and I went into her extraordinary home.
I found it strangely comforting. It looked like my Grandmother Bridget’s caravan, with bundles of herbs and onions hanging from the roof, and handcrafted items everywhere. There was a good smell coming from the pot on the stove, that made me twitch with hunger. Baba Yaga cleared a small rickety table – by tossing everything onto a spare chair – and indicated I should sit down. Soon I was tucking into a thick stew fragrant with herbs. To my relief, there was no meat in it, just turnips and barley and thick wedges of potato.
Mei Ling had a small amount as well, and a sip of water. She and Baba Yaga seemed to know each other well, and chatted happily through the meal. It was growing dark outside, and the warmth of the cottage, and the heavy meal, was making me feel sleepy.
``Our guest is tired,” Baba Yaga cackled. ``Well, you should sleep now, because we rise with the dawn here and I have some work for you to do.”
She gave me a rough cot by the fire, and I lay thankfully down, my bag on the floor beside me, and Mei Ling resting on the pillow. In no time at all, I was asleep.

The sound of a horse’s hooves woke me, galloping up to the cottage. I jumped out of bed, pausing only to pick up Mei Ling, as Baba Yaga opened the front door and light flooded in. But what a changed Baba Yaga! Now she was a graceful young woman – only the flash of her iron teeth as she smiled at her visitor gave her away.
I peeked over her shoulder. I saw a knight on a white horse, his armor so bright that it cast rays of light.
``Good morning, my bright dawn,” Baba Yaga said playfully. ``What does the morning bring?”
``Fresh mushrooms, sorrel and wild thyme for your breakfast eggs,” the knight said, bowing low and offering her a basket filled with these goodies. ``And a daisy from the dew sprinkled fields.”
Baba Yaga took the daisy, and gave her white knight a flirtatious smile.
``Nothing else to report, my lady,” he said, ``the morning dawns fair and clear on your forest.” And with that he turned the horse and galloped away.
``Mushrooms for breakfast,” Baba Yaga cackled. She was a crone again, and she stood the basket on the table. ``That’s your first task,” she said to me. ``Collect the eggs.”
I followed her out of the cottage. She spoke some strange incantation at it, and at once it rose, with a great cackling and ruffling of feathers. Lying underneath it, between the chicken legs, were six freshly laid brown eggs.
``These eggs are not free,” Baba Yaga said. ``If you want them you must pay for them – the cottage, not me. Leave something of value, or the cottage will sit on you and squash you before you can escape.”
What would a cottage that looked like a chicken (or a chicken that looked like a cottage) consider to be just exchange for its eggs? I looked helplessly at Mei Ling.
``You must give up one of your songs,” she whispered. ``A favourite, one you value – sing to it when you take the eggs.”
So I started singing as I walked between the legs of the chicken house. I was singing as I bent to pick up the eggs one by one, and singing as I turned to walk back to Baba Yaga. The legs remained upright, so I continued to sing as I walked safely out from under the house.
And do you know, I cannot for the life of me remember what song it was I sang to the chicken house. It has gone forever, and all I know is that it was precious to me.
Another incantation from Baba Yaga, and the house once again sat down. She cooked a fine breakfast of scrambled eggs with sorrel and wild thyme, and mushrooms on the side.
After breakfast, Baba Yaga wanted to go herb gathering in the woods, so Mei Ling and I followed her through the twisting paths. She stopped frequently to pick some plant or another and told me what each one was for – I realised I was in the presence of great natural wisdom and tried to make notes so I wouldn’t forget. I made little sketches of some of the herbs as well.
On the way back to the cottage we met another knight, this time in red armour and riding a chestnut horse. I looked back at Baba Yaga and was not surprised to see she had changed again. Now she was a mature woman in the full bloom of her beauty, but with lines of experience and wisdom just beginning to be etched around her eyes and mouth.
``Hail, my Red Sun,” she said. ``What does the day bring?”
``Tomatoes ripe from the vine,” the knight said, bowing low to both of us. ``And full blown roses to reflect your beauty.”
``Salad for lunch,” Baba Yaga said happily as the knight rode away. Her gnarled fingers touched the bloom of the roses gently.
After a very good lunch of salad greens and tomatoes tossed with herbs, she handed me a scroll of parchment.
``Your second task is written here,” she said. But when I unfurled it, the parchment was blank.
My face must have looked much the same, because Mei Ling rolled her expressive eyes and sighed gently. Obviously, the answer was very simple and I should know it already.
``My glasses!” I said, and I grabbed the purple specs from my bag. With these on, I could clearly see Baba Yaga’s spidery writing.
``Name that,” it said, ``which you fear most, so much that it blinds you to what you already have. Cast this parchment into the fire and be rid of it forever.”
I thought for a while, and wondered what I would be like without that fear – would I really be myself any more? But then I took up the quill, and I wrote – but I can’t remember what I wrote, because as soon as the parchment burned up in the flames, I was free of it, and I saw that there was so much else in my life that was more important and I knew I could pursue my creative dreams unhindered by it.
So in one morning I had given up something very precious to me for a few eggs, and something I no longer needed. Mei Ling and Baba Yaga were nodding at each other in a conspiratorial manner and I wonder what else they had in store for me.
As the afternoon wore on, I helped Baba Yaga prepare some of her potions and wrote the recipes down for future reference. She used the petals of the rose to make an exquisite lotion which she gave to me in a small bottle.
We settled by the fire and I wondered what my third task would be. I had a feeling it would be the last, and that I would be leaving Baba Yaga very soon. I was sad about that – I found her company delightful, and I had lost my fear of the old fairy tales. Baba Yaga had so far proved to be a vegetarian, anyway.
Suddenly we heard the thunder of hooves approaching the cottage. Baba Yaga opened the door, but this time she did not change. Looking over her shoulder, I saw a black knight on a black horse, studded with stars. There was a silver crescent moon on his helmet, which he raised. I saw the kindly and wise face of an old man.
``Good Eve, my Dark Midnight,” Baba Yaga said. ``What does the night bring?”
``News of travellers heading to the Camp of the Amazon Queen, and your guest must join them,” he said. ``And a star from the sky for my dear love.” He handed her a diamond so bright it flashed with a million rainbow sparkles.
After the black horse and rider vanished into the darkness, Baba Yaga turned to me.
``One more task,” she said, ``then you must be on your way.” She looked at me with her wise old eyes. ``I am the guardian of the waters of life and death,” she said. ``I can command the Sun, the Moon and the Stars in their courses. I can change time.” She delved into her capacious pocket and drew out three objects hanging from leather thongs, which she laid on the table. One was a small daisy with a heart of gold, and next to it was a finely wrought rose in full bloom. Lastly there was a lump of coal, twisted in a loop of silver wire.
``Choose carefully,” she said.
I understood, as I looked at the pendants, what each one represented. The daisy was the morning of my life – the young woman, setting out with freshness and hope. The rose was the afternoon of my life – the mother caring for her children and nurturing their dreams. But the lump of coal – surely that could not represent the years ahead?
My hand reached out for the rose, because the happiest years I had known were those when my children were young. But they were grown now, and I had grandchildren. If I changed my time, I would be changing theirs as well.
I reached out for the daisy, and again I hesitated. It would be wonderful to be young again, but why would I go that far back when I had finally learned not to long for the past, or fear the future?
So my hand closed around the lump of coal – and as I lifted it up to hang around my neck, it changed into a diamond.

Soul Friend To Do Your Bidding

2005-08-16T05:05:00.000-07:00

In Russian folklore there are many stories of Baba Yaga, the fearsome witch with iron teeth.

She is also known as Baba Yaga Boney Legs, because, in spite of a ferocious appetite, she is as thin as a skeleton. In Russian that's: 'Baba Yaga Kostianaya Noga'

In some stories she has two older sisters, who are also called Baba Yaga, just to confuse you!

Her nose is so long that it rattles against the ceiling of her hut when she snores, stretched out in all directions upon her ancient brick oven.

Not being a boringly-conventional witch, she does not wear a hat, and has never been seen on a broomstick. She travels perched in a large mortar with her knees almost touching her chin, and pushes herself across the forest floor with a pestle.

Whenever she appears on the scene, a wild wind begins to blow, the trees around creak and groan and leaves whirl through the air. Shrieking and wailing, a host of spirits often accompany her on her way.

Being a somewhat secretive lady, (in spite of all the din she makes,) she sweeps away all traces of herself with a broom made of silver birch (what are brooms for anyway?).

She can also fly through the air in the same manner.

Baba Yaga lives in a hut deep in the forest. Her hut seems to have a personality of its own and can move about on its extra-large chicken legs. Usually the hut is either spinning around as it moves through the forest or stands at rest with its back to the visitor. The windows of the hut seem to serve as eyes.

All the while it is spinning round, it emits blood-curdling screeches and will only come to a halt, amid much creaking and groaning, when a secret incantation is said. When it stops, it turns to face the visitor and lowers itself down on its chicken legs, throwing open the door with a loud crash.

The hut is sometimes surrounded by a fence made of bones, which helps to keep out intruders! The fence is topped with skulls whose blazing eye sockets illuminate the darkness.

When a visitor enters her hut, (not too often) Baba Yaga asks them whether they came of their own free will, or whether they were sent. (One answer is the right one!)

Thankfully, she appears to have no power over the pure of heart, such as Vasilisa and those of us who are 'blessed' (protected by the power of love, virtue, or a mother's blessing.)

Baba Yaga rules over the elements. Her faithful servants are the White Horseman, the Red Horseman and the Black Horseman.

When Vasilissa asks her who these mysterious horsemen are, she replies: 'My Bright Dawn, my Red Sun and my Dark Midnight.'

Amongst her other servants, are three bodiless and somewhat menacing pairs of hands, which appear out of thin air to do her bidding. She calls them "my soul friends" or "friends of my bosom" and she is more than a little reticent about discussing them with Vasilisa.

Another strange character who served as a herdsman for Baba Yaga is the sorcerer Koshchey the Deathless.

And here's a mystery for you: While she is giving instructions to Vasilisa, Baba Yaga mentions that 'someone spiteful' had mixed earth in with her poppy-seeds.

What could she have meant? Could Baba Yaga possibly have an enemy? Would anyone dare to risk incurring her wrath?

Although she is mostly portrayed as a terrifying old crone, Baba Yaga can also play the role of a helper and wise woman. The Earth Mother, like all forces of nature, though often wild and untamed, can also be kind.

In her guise as wise hag, she sometimes gives advice and magical gifts to heroes and the pure of heart. The hero or heroine of the story often enters the crone's domain searching for wisdom, knowledge and truth. She is all-knowing, all seeing and all-revealing to those who would dare to ask.

She is said to be a guardian spirit of the fountain of the Waters of Life and of Death.

Baba Yaga is the Arch-Crone, the Goddess of Wisdom and Death, the Bone Mother. Wild and untamable, she is a nature spirit bringing wisdom and death of ego, and through death, rebirth.

Trace your hand and create a soul friend who will do your bidding

Source: Old Russia Net

Hand Puppet Doll

2005-08-16T04:18:00.000-07:00

My doll is in the form of a hand puppet, a soul friend who will guide me and advise me while I am with the Baba Yaga.

Ancestral Protection Doll

2005-08-15T20:14:00.000-07:00

This is my doll; it's an ancestral protection voodoo doll and I would never ever embark on any journey without asking for guidance and protection from my Ancestors.

As I ride out to visit the Gypsies, the House of Baba Yaga, my beloved Duwamish or even the Chamber of Horrors I always ask for help from my Ancestors. In turn I offer them my thanks and prayers and respect.

When I come to the dark places in this world too I ask for their guidance and protection and when I visit the light places I thank them for their help and protection in getting there.

This is my Doll, and I am Anita Marie.

Baba Yaga

2005-08-15T07:50:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga
waiting in her
chicken leg house
with bones as
pickets with skulls atop
deep in the forest
awaiting her next
victim

Baba Yaga
traveling in
her mortar chariot
guided by the
pestle oar
clearing the path
with a broom
of human hair

Baba Yaga
controls the
night and day
the rising sun
and the stars
in the sky

Baba Yaga
set me my task
cleaning the house
laundering clothes
sorting the seeds
from the dirt

Baba Yaga
wicked witch
or wise old
crone
ancient goddess
of birth
and death

© Megan Warren 15/8/2004

On the Way to Baba's...

2005-08-15T05:05:00.000-07:00

My doll

2005-08-15T03:55:00.000-07:00

I checked the contents of my bag. Mysteriously, all the stuff I had given away had returned. There was the unicorn medallion – I hoped it would mean I would meet the White Lady again. My wings, so tiny, yet so magically able to hold me up – and the anchor, minus its chain. I wondered if the tiny fishermen had found their own anchor and was grateful they had been thoughtful enough to return mine. There was also a special gift for me – a beautiful embroidered green jacket to wear on my journey. The label said `Enchantress’ and I smiled.
My guide this time was a doll. She introduced herself as Mei Ling and apologized for her head being loose.
``In my time,” she said sweetly, ``I have been with many children.”
So off to Baba Yaga's house we go...

My Doll

2005-08-14T07:17:00.000-07:00

The Doll that the Enchantress gave me to guide me to Baba Yaga's House. the photo unfortunately does not do her justice. She is a deep purple colour with metallic thread bound about her middle.

The House of Baba Yaga

2005-08-13T16:41:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga is the fearsome creature, the crooked woman whose nose is hooked like a bird of prey. Her name means 'to know, to see, to forsee' and she is the seer associated with the moon crescent. The Baba Yaga has the power to transform herself into a myriad of shapes, often a toad, sometimes a hedgehog, frequently a bird. The Baba Yaga is often depicted as an evil old hag who eats humans, especially children, but she is known by many to be a wise, prophetic old woman. In appearance she is tall, bony legged, pointy headed and has dishevelled hair.

Worse the doll informs you that the hut she lives in has a fence around it made of human bones and topped with human skulls and eyes intact. The gate is fastened with human legs and arms instead of bolts and a mouth with sharp teeth serves as the lock.

According to the doll, who seems to be a font of information, one person who lived to tell the story said that "she commands the sun and it obeys her, she changes the stars in their course, she causes clouds to form in the air and makes it possible to walk on them and travel the country. She can turn herself into a young woman and then, in a twinkling of an eye turn herself back into an old woman. She has to the power to turn a man into an animal and she likes to move freely along roads and valleys and over mountains. Her business is to cast spells, gather herbs and stones, make pacts and agreements."

Baba Yaga

2005-08-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga by Ivan Bilibin.

There are many stories of Baba Yaga in Russian folklore. A fearsome witch, she is hideous to look upon (apart from her iron teeth, which can be quite attractive from some angles).

In this picture, she is seen driving over the forest floor in her mortar, urging it along with her pestle. With her left hand she is wiping away her traces with a broomstick (made of silver birch).

To Baba Yaga's

2005-08-12T22:35:00.000-07:00

In the courtyard at dawn.

Everyone gathers, expectant, surprised that we have to go back to the House of the Serpents by foot. The Enchantress comes and tells us all that our guide is the doll she is giving each of us. (Find a doll or make one) Her final words are to use the things we had in our bag, the one she gave each of us at Duwamish and that if we should lose our way, or be in need of help, all we have to do is ask the doll what to do. She says that the doll will assist, that we must keep her with us at all times, that we must not tell anyone we meet about her and that we must feed her when she is hungry and give her drinks if she is thirsty. She tells us that it will be quite a few days before we reach the Camp of the Amazon Queen.

Amazon Queen? But what about the House of Sssserp....?

You greet your doll and introduce yourself and when you look up again everyone has gone. What is it with everyone rushing off like this? The dolls says that you have to go through the woods and ask the old lady who lives by the lake the way to the Camp of the Amazons. She assures you that she will know how to get there. Having read all your fairy stories you realise that going to ask the Baba Yaga anything could prove interesting.

Baba Yaga is the fearsome creature, the crooked woman whose nose is hooked like a bird of prey. Her name means 'to know, to see, to forsee' and she is the seer associated with the moon crescent. The Baba Yaga has the power to transform herself into a myriad of shapes, often a toad, sometimes a hedgehog, frequently a bird. The Baba Yaga is often depicted as an evil old hag who eats humans, especially children, but she is known by many to be a wise, prophetic old woman. In appearance she is tall, bony legged, pointy headed and has dishevelled hair.

Worse the doll informs you that the hut she lives in has a fence around it made of human bones and topped with human skulls and eyes intact. The gate is fastened with human legs and arms instead of bolts and a mouth with sharp teeth serves as the lock.

According to the doll, who seems to be a font of information, one person who lived to tell the story said that "she commands the sun and it obeys her, she changes the stars in their course, she causes clouds to form in the air and makes it possible to walk on them and travel the country. She can turn herself into a young woman and then, in a twinkling of an eye turn herself back into an old woman. She has to the power to turn a man into an animal and she likes to move freely along roads and valleys and over mountains. Her business is to cast spells, gather herbs and stones, make pacts and agreements."

Right! you think. If this is the only way to get to the Amazon Queens camp....

You check your bag for the journal, sketch book, spectacles with fairy qualities of sight, anchor, unicorn talisman etc and find someone has added a card with the address http://babayaga.blogspot.com

You head down the mountain, over the bridge that Heather sketched, past the mill and the Gypsy Camp which is silent now, bar for a barking dog.

Document your time with the Baba Yaga who, of course, sets you tasks before helping you to reach the Camp of the Amazons where the Queen will greet you warmly and be anxious to hear about your journey. Do remember to send any art work by courier raven to the Hermitage Art Room for Leonie to display - when she is there and not at Baba Yaga's place.

Your tasks will appear on the Baba Yaga site or by mail.