Sorry to keep you waiting. That is how cliffhangers work, afterall.
On the last episode of “All About my Ancestor Angels,” I spoke about my dad’s side of my family. I didn’t get a chance to know my Grandma Lillian very well, but I wanted her to be included in my blog’s dedication for “inspiring my aesthetic and giving me an appreciation for the finer things in life.”
Then I told some stories about my Grampa, Arthur. I left you there, in the story where, upon spying on him in the bathroom, I saw him suddenly reach into his mouth and take out his teeth!! In two rows! What the heck? My Grampa had fake teeth?!
“Is this magic?!” I blurted out as he put his dentures into a glass of water.
That is when he said the words, the words I will never forget.
“Magic isn’t real, Laura.”
WHAT???! I had already made countless magic potions by this age. And even if no one tried them, I still knew they were magic. And what about the magic of Christmas and Santa Claus? Well, he was Jewish, so he wouldn’t know what he was talking about there.
What of the magic of playing outside? Of nature? Of the universe? Of the beautiful things that show us we are all connected, when we take the time to look for them?
It’s magical having ancestors who pass down their gifts to you. Magic is transcending generational struggles as well. Magic is leaving the world a better place than you found it, for your children and everyone.
Magic is to be born, and to experience your death. Magic is what we all share, and all have in common. Whether we believe it or not.
At the age where my Grampa crushed my magical dreams, I wasn’t yet capable of spewing out the kind of wise gal, sappy stuff I just said. But deep inside I knew he was wrong. I knew he was missing out on magic, and I felt sad for him.
I dedicate this website to my Grampa, for giving me my sense of humor and my stubbornness.
I was shocked when my grandfather said that. But I still believed in magic, because of my Uncle Stephen.
He was my mom’s younger brother (by 10 years). He had died of a traumatic brain injury shortly before I got the shock of my life by seeing my Grampa’s dentures.
My Uncle Stephen was my everything. He still is.
He taught me about what it meant to be an environmentalist before it was cool. To him, every day was Earth Day. I know this because when I found a treasure trove of his belongings in my grandmother’s house (when she died), I found a pin that said this. It came from the late 80s.
Right before he died, he graduated college with a degree in Geography. He was an environmentalist before it was hip. And he was hip!
Stephen loved to be by the ocean as much as I do. Though most kids would be super excited when they got a gift box that is made to look like a treasure chest, I think a lot of those kids would be disappointed when they opened mine up. Inside the box, I found a dead horseshoe crab body, fully intact. A mermaid’s purse (which is actually magickal, I wish I still had it!). And a plethora of sea glass, rocks, and shells. I don’t know how he fit it all in there!
I think the other kids would have dreamed for the box to be filled with fancy precious gemstones and such…but don’t worry, he gave me those too. His selections of rocks showed that he clearly knew I would never outgrow glittery, sparkly, bright colors, so he gave me a piece of Peacock ore, which I still treasure today:
He also gave me many others such as:
Amethyst, which is still to this day my go-to favorite quartz crystal
Pyrite. He knew it would impress me because I was a fool, for gold! 😆
So, here’s the first reason I am dedicating this blog to him: he made me into the fearless, eco-feminist, crystal & sea witch that I am today. But wait, there’s more.
He showed me the magic of turning my fears into superpowers. One night, after an epic yet tiny squirt gun fight we had together, a thunderstorm was a-brewin’. I was shivering in my little little timbers.
“You’re scared of thunderstorms?!” Uncle Stephen exclaimed, in shock, like no one in my family ever had been.
He took me out of the bed my mom had already tucked me into, and sat with me out on the steps of our back porch. He held me close as I jumped at every rumble. Eventually, we were both oohing and awing at the bolts of lightning as if we were watching a Fourth of July fireworks finale.
“See, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “You’re safe.”
It was true, because my great grandmother was struck by lightning twice as a child, and she lived well into her 90s!
Now, every time I am afraid of something, I think of him, and within no more than a few days, a thunderstorm will approach. If he can’t make that happen for whatever reason, then my mom and I will hear this song in the car.
I know his presence is always with me, but sometimes I feel him more than other times. One time I was in the car with my mother, and I said, “I wish I could feel Uncle Stephen all the time. I don’t think he is here with me right now.” I started to cry. I still miss him everyday after 30 years of him being gone. Merely a minute after I doubted his presence, a small rainbow appeared over our destination.
But the time I felt him with me the most was when………………………..
Yup! You guessed it! Another cliffhanger!
Until next time, my pretties!