Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
A Cowan Walks Into a Witch Store
“If you build the candy cottage, the kiddies will come.”
—FCM
What do you do when standard-issue libation-bowls just aren't big enough?
We'll be pouring three different libations for the Many-Named and Many-Colored Lady of Spring on Opening Night at this year's Paganicon, so—a hotel ballroom being our temporary temple—we'll need a pretty capacious receptacle to catch them all.
(After the ritual, of course, we'll pour out the mingled offerings on the Earth, giver of all good gifts.)
So a friend of mine offered to bring her largest cauldron.
“Just how big is this cauldron?” I email, ever the conscientious organizer.
(You don't have to be anal-obsessive to make a good ritualist, but it sure helps.)
From several hundred miles away, I can far-See the glint in her eye as she fires off the response.
“Big enough to boil three babies,” she writes.
Ah, my people. Some size cauldrons by quarts and gallons.
A cowan walks into a witch store.
“I'm looking for a cauldron,” he says.
“Would that be a one-, two-, or three-baby cauldron?” asks the clerk.
For KH
Everyone knows that witches don't have leaders.
Granny Weatherwax was the leader that the witches didn't have.
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