Solstice musings.

 Happy winter solstice! Blessed Yule! 

Yurumi | Deposit Photos

Today is the day with the smallest number of minutes of daylight this year. From here on, the days get longer. It'll still be cold, but at least we'll have a fraction of an hour longer each day to experience it.

Tigs and I are having a less-than-chill Yule. This morning, I abandoned him to attend a winter solstice event at the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture here in Santa Fe. The guy who was supposed to give the solstice blessing couldn't make it due to car trouble, but I did see the sun's first rays peek out around the mountains behind the museum. 

Lynne Cantwell | 12/21/25

That's either Sun Mountain or Moon Mountain. Pretty sure it's Moon Mountain. But don't quote me.

Anyway, I had time to see the newest exhibits, buy a 2026 wall calendar (yes, I am so old that I still use a wall calendar, thanks), and see part of a performance by a troupe of dancers from Acoma Pueblo before rushing home to let in a worker to reassemble part of my deck. The guys who built it used finishing nails or staples or something not very sturdy, anyhow, to attach the fascia boards below the banco seat, and they literally fell off this past week.

How it started. Then it fell off entirely.
Lynne Cantwell 2025

Tigs was a little too interested in the gap; it wasn't wide enough for him to get his head in, but it wouldn't stop him from trying -- so it needed to be re-fastened. With screws this time.

It's done now, but it did throw a crimp into my morning.

Anyway, as soon as I write and post this, we'll have the rest of the day and evening. Dinner will be pork tenderloin, mashed cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts with Parmesan (thanks, Trader Joe's!). Might watch a movie tonight; I meant to rewatch The Princess Bride after Rob Reiner's death earlier this month and haven't done it yet, so that's a possibility. We'll see.

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Two things I wanted to comment on, though, before I'm off to pursue frivolity. 

1) Earlier this month, although I just saw it today, the Washington Post ran a story about how religious leaders are seeing a trend among people in their 20s returning to religion -- and not necessarily the religion they were brought up in.  That's a gift link, if you care to read the story. Two things struck me:

• Although the story highlights Catholicism, the writer mentions that "esoteric" religions like Wicca are drawing new members, too. The point -- although it may be largely anecdotal and is never explicitly stated -- is that these young folks are turning away from mainline Protestantism and evangelical Christianity because they're not finding the answers there that they need.
• Then there's the woman who is joining a Catholic church based apparently on some erroneous assumptions. "Because the Catholic Church is the church Jesus Christ started, the teachings stay consistent over thousands of years," she says. Well, um, no. Jesus didn't start the Catholic church; his followers did, or the followers of his followers. St. Paul did as much to push the Gospels as anybody, and he had never even met Jesus (although he said he heard Jesus' voice in a revelation on the road to Damascus, and because we're so close to Christmas, I will refrain from mentioning how such a claim would be met today). Her idea that the "teachings stay consistent" is also wrong, of course; one example is the first Council of Nicaea, which decided which gospels to canonize in the Bible and which to throw out. But okay -- this woman is young. She'll learn.

2)  Sometimes the Mensa newsletter has some interesting links, like this one to a Psychology Today article, "The Existential Crisis of the Gifted". I read this article a few weeks ago, and a lot of it resonated with me -- including this opening paragraph: 

The existential crisis for the gifted often begins as a subtle, recurring awareness, a quiet hum that says, "I am more than this." Or some varying version: "I am in the wrong place," "I do not have any equals here," "I am wasting my potential." From time to time, you feel the deep, cellular knowing that you were meant for something more expansive than your current circumstances allow. These instincts are not groundless. Your unconscious has accumulated information about your giftedness for years, from the moments when you grasped concepts others struggled with, when you saw patterns invisible to those around you, when you understood the unspoken dynamics in a room. And yet, here you are, perhaps in a role where you simultaneously burn out and bore out, burdened with responsibilities but given little authority, your days filled with tasks that require you to dim your brightness to fit in.

"In a role where you simultaneously burn out and bore out" is a fairly accurate description of my job at the big law firm. And thinking back on the jobs and other situations I've become dissatisfied with, I can see now that I was in positions that didn't allow me to fully shine, partly because I'm a woman and partly because I'm intelligent. And my acknowledging that doesn't make me a snob.

One of the most precious things I've gained as I've aged is knowing that I have no further need to hide my light under a bushel basket. I learned to do it as a kid and continued to do it for decades -- but no more. I've had a lot of experiences; I know a lot of stuff; I think faster and make mental connections faster than most people. That's just who I am. 

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Anyway, happy Hanukkah, merry Christmas, and happy whatever-else-you-may-celebrate!

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These moments of bloggy equality (day/night and so on) have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Welcome, Yule!

Solstice sunrise; and Jerry's story concludes (for now).

'Tis the season for gifts, and I have two for you today. 

Gift #1: The final book (for now) in the Atherton Vampire series is out. 

The Atherton Vampire III: Midnight Creeps is just 99 cents until January 6th. And if you've been waiting for the whole trilogy before starting to read, well, all three books are priced at 99 cents apiece. Enjoy!

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Gift #2: The winter solstice ficlet has become a hearth/myth tradition. (A ficlet, if you're just joining us, is a very short story of between 750 and 1,000 words.)

My head's been full of vampires for most of this year, and vampires don't really lend themselves to winter sunrises and hot chocolate. Plus Callie and Jerry's story has just barely gotten to Halloween. It seems a little premature to give them a winter ficlet this year.

So a couple of days ago, I asked folks on Facebook which series I should set this year's ficlet in. There were several votes for the Pipe Woman Chronicles and zero for The Elemental Keys. Surprisingly, the write-in vote for Seasons of the Fool was strong. 

So here's what I'm going to do: This year, y'all will get a twofer -- the Pipe Woman Chronicles (with a couple of special guests) today, and Seasons next Sunday. Happy holidays!

✨

"This was a brilliant idea, little brother," I groused. We stood, in the dark, just inside the entrance to Newgrange, the Neolithic chamber tomb. It was two days before the winter solstice. And I could tell a thick cloud cover would obscure the sunrise.

"C'mon, Sage," said my husband Rafe. Our daughter Kerry slept in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder. "Cut the guy some slack."

I glared at him. "But we came here for nothing," I said. "First Webb drags us all the way to Ireland with this cockamamie story about getting in ahead of the crowds. Then he gets me to talk Cerridwen into arranging the admittance for us – which I did. And it's going to be too cloudy to see!" I glanced at my niece, Sora, staring at me with huge eyes. She held Webb's forefinger with one hand and her mother Hilary's forefinger with the other. Their son George slept in a sling on Hilary's chest. Both kids shared their mother’s Asian features and their father’s dark brown curls.

"Don't be a jerk, Sage," Webb said. "Maybe it'll clear up."

I raised my eyebrows in a passable imitation of Mom's skeptical look.

"Let's just go inside," Hilary said. "The kids are getting cold." So in we tramped, Rafe leading the way down the narrow passage with the flashlight on his phone.

Webb halted for a moment and pointed up. "See there, Sora?" he said. "The sun's gonna come in through that box above the doorway and light up this whole hallway, all the way to the back wall."

"If the clouds miraculously part," I said.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Webb chided. Sometimes I hate that know-it-all confidence of his.

As we approached the back of the tomb, Hilary slowed. "Is someone else here?"

I could hear it, too – voices, whispering in one of the side tombs. "Hello?" I called. 

The voices ceased. Then two heads poked out from the doorway to the side tomb. "Oh," the woman said faintly. She was tiny – short and willowy – and wore her ginger hair in a ponytail. Her face looked familiar somehow.

The man was also short, but stocky, with brown hair and a bushy beard. He stepped into the main chamber, blocking our way. "You’re trespassing," he declared. "By whose authority are you here?"

"Cerridwen's," I said. "The goddess Cerridwen gave us leave to come."

He guffawed. "Cerridwen? She’s not even Irish!" 

"She’s Celtic," I argued. “That's close enough."

"It's not," the man said. "Begone."

Rafe's forehead furrowed. "Who the hell are you to kick us out?"

Webb moved next to my husband and touched his arm. "That's Collum Barth," my brother said in an undertone. "And that's Raney Meadows with him." 

"That's why you looked so familiar!" I said. These two were Elementals. They and two companions had saved the Earth – and turned the world Technicolor in the process. Kerry had been enchanted. "We all loved the movie about your adventures."

"Yes, well, who the hell are you to have gotten Cerridwen's leave to be here?" Collum demanded.

"Webb Curtis," said my brother, reaching out to shake Collum's hand. "My wife Hilary." She nodded and smiled. "My brother-in-law Rafe Orloff. And that's my sister Sage." He gave them a lopsided grin. "I guess we're all kind of in the same business."

Raney's mouth dropped open. She elbowed Collum. "Don't be a jerk. You know who these people are, right?"

"Yeah, but Da said we'd be the only ones here," said Collum. He turned to us. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I said. "It's not like it matters. None of us are going to see anything – it's too cloudy."

My niece sidled up to Raney. "I'm Sora," she said with a bright smile. "I'm four."

Raney grinned down at her. "Hi, Sora. Do you know Barney's theme song?"

"You two can sing anything you want, as long as it's not Baby Shark," I said.

"I can make the sun come out," Sora told Raney. "We just have to have a party!"

Kerry raised her sleepy head from Rafe's shoulder. "That's not how it works," she said.

"Yes, it is!" Sora insisted. She tugged on Kerry’s foot. "Come on!" 

"All right." Kerry squirmed until Rafe put her down. Together the girls raced back to the tomb entrance and began to sing.

Webb turned an inquiring gaze on Hilary. "It's my fault," she admitted. "I told them a legend the other day about Amaterasu, the Shinto sun goddess. The gods tricked Her into leaving Her cave by throwing a party."

I looked at Rafe. "It's roughly analogous," he said. 

"It'll never work," Collum scoffed. "A Shinto goddess in Ireland?"

"We've seen weirder things," I said, and led the way to where the kids were now yelling at the top of their lungs. By the grace of the gods, they were not singing Baby Shark, so I joined in. One by one, the others did the same.

A golden glow descended from the sky and landed before us, resolving into the form of Amaterasu. She wore a flowing white kimono and a radiant smile. "Who calls Me to this rainy land?" She asked.

The little girls clapped. "We want to see the sun inside!" Sora cried. She pointed to the roof box. "You have to shine in there so we can see!"

"Very well," the goddess said. She raised both hands and directed a stream of light through the roof box. The little girls cheered again and pelted inside. "Mommy!" Sora yelled. "Come see! It's beautiful!"

Hilary bowed to the goddess. "Thank You."

"It was the least I could do for the child," She said. "She will be a bright spot when it's needed most."

Webb and Hilary stared at each other. "Here we go again," he said with a laugh. 

The glowing chamber was just as impressive as Webb had said it would be. I hate it when he's right.

Screenshot of 2020 winter solstice sunrise at Newgrange

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Once again this year, Ireland's Office of Public Works will sponsor a live webcast of the winter solstice sunrise at Newgrange. They'll do it for three straight mornings, starting tonight US time (it's at 8:45am Monday the 20th UTC, which is 3:45am Eastern time, 2:45am Central, 1:45am Mountain, and 12:45am Pacific -- so yeah, overnight tonight for those of us in the US). Details at the link. The hour is early for the US and it may be cloudy all three days -- but when it works, it's glorious.

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These moments of bright blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Get vaxxed!

The return of the light.

Tomorrow is Yule -- the winter solstice -- and that means our annus horribilis is almost over. And not a moment too soon, I say.

It has become customary for me to post a holiday ficlet at this time of year, as a gift to all of you. As I thought about what to write, I realized what I wanted to know most was how the folks from Seasons of the Fool have done this year. Here's what I learned.

⛄

Elsie Weber-Dahl reached for the doorknob and paused. “Oh, drat,” she muttered, and reached for the top mask on the stack of brightly-colored fabric masks in the basket by the door. Affixing the elastic straps around her ears, she pulled open the door – just in time to see the delivery boy from Al’s getting into his car. He had left the grocery order on the snowy stoop, though. She waved, and he dimmed his headlights in acknowledgement before pulling away.

She sighed. It had been weeks since she’d been any farther than the end of their driveway. They hadn't even gotten a tree for Yule. She had really hoped to have a chat with another human being, but she hadn’t been fast enough. 

She shut the door partway and called over her shoulder, “Thea, dear, we need to bring the groceries in.”

“Yes, dear,” replied her wife, distracted. Elsie went to the kitchen to find out what the matter was. There was Thea at the kitchen table, her chin in her hands, studying the three-card Tarot spread before her.

Elsie rubbed Thea’s shoulders. “That Tower,” she said bitterly. The Tower was the worst card in the deck. On it, a bolt of lightning shot from the blue, destroying a brick tower and sending those inside it plummeting to the rocks below.

Thea sighed and nodded. “It’s still with us. But at least it’s in the rear-view mirror,” she said, pointing at the offending card on the left side of the spread.

“The present isn’t much better, though,” Elsie said. There in the middle sat the Death card – a skeleton on his horse, with everyone bowing to the ground before him. Elsie knew the card didn’t mean literal death – although with this virus wreaking havoc throughout the world, it certainly could. But what it typically meant was change – the end of things as we have known them – and that certainly fit the events of this horrible year, too.

“I know,” Thea sighed. “We’re still in the thick of it. But look here.” She tapped the card in the future position on the right side of the spread: the Six of Swords. Two figures huddled in a boat, their backs to the viewer, as the boatman punted them toward a distant shore. “Soon we'll be our way out.”

“They look so defeated,” Elsie said softly. Thea looked up at her and put one of her hands on one of Elsie’s, squeezing gently. Then she rose. “Let’s get the food in before everything freezes.”

The two elderly ladies donned their winter gear – coats, hats, and boots – and then took off their hats to get their masks properly affixed. “I’ll be glad when we don’t have to do this anymore,” Thea grumbled as she put her hat back on.

“We could skip them this time,” Elsie said. “It’s not like we’ll see anyone out there.”

“But we can’t be too careful, dear,” said Thea. “Not when the vaccine is so close.”

“I know, dear. I know.” Elsie blew out a breath and opened the front door.

As they brought in the last of the bags, Thea paused, her eyes on the cottage kitty-corner from theirs. A car with Illinois plates sat in the driveway, its sides splashed with road salt, and a light glimmered in the living room window. “Julia’s here,” she told Elsie as she followed her to the kitchen.

“Oh?” Elsie dropped her bags on the counter and hurried back to the living room to peer out the window. “I wonder if she brought the little one.”

“We could go over and see,” Thea said. The two women shared an excited smile. They hadn’t seen their neighbor in months.

“Let me put some cookies on a plate,” said Elsie.

A few minutes later, cookies in hand and masks in place, they walked to Julia’s cottage and knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” a muffled voice came from inside. Then the door opened and there was Julia, her own mask hiding her mouth. But her eyes and voice smiled as she said, “I had a feeling it would be you two.”

“We brought you some cookies,” Elsie said. “Fresh baked this morning.” 

A tiny person wormed past Julia and threw herself on Elsie’s legs, nearly knocking her over. “Ms. Elsie!” she cried. “Ms. Thea!” And Thea got a similar enthusiastic hug.

“Six feet, Raylee,” Julie admonished.

The little girl sprang back reluctantly from the women. “I'm sorry. I forgot.”

“We talked about this,” Julia went on, taking her daughter’s hand. “We need to keep the ladies safe.” Raylee hung her head. 

“It’s all right,” Thea said. “We won’t get sick from you hugging our knees.”

Julie took the plate of cookies. “Thank you for these,” she said. “I’d invite you in, but…”

“Sure,” Elsie said, too quickly. “Can’t be too careful.” She beamed at Raylee. “How have you been?”

The little girl sighed. “Okay.”

“Zoom doesn’t work very well for kindergarteners,” Julia explained. “It’s been a hard year. The school district tried a staggered schedule for in-person learning, but then some kids got sick. So we went back to Zoom.”

“I miss my friends,” Raylee said.

“You’ll see them again,” Elsie reassured her. “The vaccine is coming. Next year will be better.”

“No, it won’t,” Raylee said. “It’s going to be like this forever.” She turned away and flopped down on the couch.

Julia and the older ladies shared a sad smile. “Daddy will be here tonight,” Julia called to her daughter, who didn’t seem to hear.

“Are the older kids coming with Dave?” Elsie asked.

Julia shook her head. “Too much homework. Randi’s in college now, and it’s finals week. And Rich…” She looked away. “Freshman year of high school. He got behind due to all the upheaval. In-person, remote, in-person, remote…” She crossed her arms. “It’s been so hard. I’ve barely gotten any work done this year.”

Elsie’s heart hurt for Julia. She reached out to hug her, but stopped herself just in time.

“Well,” Thea said. “We should be going.”

“Thank you for coming over,” Julia said. “So nice to see you both.” Reluctantly, she closed the door.

As the ladies traipsed back to their house, Elsie said, “We have to do something for that child.”

Thea glanced back at Julia’s cottage. “I have an idea,” she said.

✨

The next morning was still quite dark, and very cold, when the Weber-Dahls approached Julia’s cottage. Thea rapped smartly on the door, and a moment later Dave opened it. His hair was thinner than Elsie remembered, but his eyes above his mask lit up. “Hello there,” he said. “I heard you stopped by. Thanks for the cookies.”

“You’re welcome,” said Thea. “Is Raylee up? We have something to show her.”

Dave laughed. “What, now?”

“Right now,” Elsie said with an insistent nod. “You, too. And Julia.”

Dave side-eyed them. “What are you two up to?” He shook his head. “All right. Give us a few minutes.”

“Dress warmly,” Elsie said as he shut the door. Then they went back to their house to wait.

A few minutes later, the Turners emerged from their front door, swaddled in winter gear. Sharing a grin, the ladies went out to greet them. “Good morning!” Thea called. “Follow me!” She stepped off smartly up the street, the others falling in behind her.

“What’s that?” Raylee asked, sidling up to Elsie – but not too close.

“This?” Elsie said, lifting the thermos she carried in her gloved hands. “You’ll see.”

At the corner, Thea turned left, toward the lake. “I knew it,” Dave said. Julia shushed him.

The wooden stairs down to the beach hadn’t been shoveled, of course, but Thea and Elsie helped each other down without mishap. The Turners followed, staying a safe distance from the elderly ladies. The breeze off the lake was sharp, but they had timed it well. They wouldn’t have long to wait.

“Raylee,” Thea called. “Remember how dark it was when we left the house?”

The little girl nodded solemnly.

Thea pointed toward the east. “What’s that?”

Her eyes widened. She turned to her mother. “The sky is orange, Mommy!”

Julia nodded. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it will stay orange?” Dave asked her. “Let’s see.”

So the five of them stood on the snowy sand, listening to the creak of the icy lake and watching the sunrise.

“This calls for a toast,” Elsie said, unscrewing the thermos lid. Thea produced paper cups from a pocket and held them out for Elsie to fill. 

“Hot chocolate!” the little girl cried as she received her cup.

As Thea finished passing out the cups, Elsie said, “Raylee, do you know what today is? It’s the winter solstice – the shortest day of the year. It’s been getting dark so early – have you noticed?” Raylee nodded. “Well, starting tomorrow, the days will begin getting longer again.” She smiled at Thea. “No matter how dark it seems, the dawn always comes.”

“The light always returns,” Thea said, smiling back. Then she raised her paper cup. “To the light!” They removed their masks and toasted the return of the sun.

As they walked back home, Raylee skipping ahead, Julia told the ladies, “Thank you so much. It’s been such a hard year. I can’t wait to get back to normal.”

“We’ll never see that normal again,” Dave said.

“No, we won’t,” Elsie said. “But who knows? Maybe our new normal will be better.”

Lake Huron sunrise | ehrlif | Deposit Photos

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These moments of hopeful blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Happy holidays! Stay safe!

An Elemental holiday.

The problem with this time of year is that every religion's holiday celebration is on a different day. The Jewish celebration of Hanukkah (which isn't really a major holiday, but has become one as Christmas has become commercialized) is probably the most well-known -- it's determined by the Jewish calendar, which is a lunar calendar. That means Hanukkah can begin any time between the end of November and the end of December. This year, it starts tonight.

Most Pagans celebrate the winter solstice -- the shortest day of the year. That date, too, moves around, although not as dramatically as Hanukkah: the solstice can occur on December 20, 21, 22, or 23. This year, owing to time zones, Yule was yesterday for North Americans, but it's today for those on the European continent (while Down Under, they're celebrating Litha, the summer solstice).

And of course Christmas is always on December 25th, which this year falls on a Wednesday -- a highly inconvenient day for those who like to make three- or four-day weekends out of their holiday celebrations.

So as I write this on Sunday, December 22nd, the Jewish readers of hearth/myth are just getting their festivities underway; the Christians are in their last-minute buying/wrapping/baking/cooking frenzy; and here at La Casa Cantwell, we're in post-holiday relaxation mode, having had our Yule feast and gift exchange yesterday.

As you know, I've been writing a series about Elementals all year, and it's my opinion that Elemental spirits -- to the extent they celebrate holidays at all -- would mark the solstices and equinoxes. So my gift to you this year is a ficlet featuring a winter solstice observance in Raney's world.

***
So I’ve mentioned that we moved around a lot when I was a kid. Like, a lot. Every time I turned around, Mam was packing our bags and hustling me out the door to somewhere new. She had to keep a step ahead of my father and his desire to recapture her – an actual undine – for his collection of unique things. Of course, if he caught her, he’d also have me. And while I’m only half-undine, my other half is his DNA, which made me unique in a whole different way.

Anyway, I was forever the new kid at school, having to deal with a new group of schoolmates. Sometimes the kids would be nice and sometimes they’d be jerks. On a few occasions, we didn’t stay long enough for me to find out which they were.

So by the time I hit high school, I was heartily sick and tired of living on the run. I literally could not wait for the day when I would turn eighteen and blow my mother’s weird, furtive popcorn stand forever. It’s not that I didn’t love her. It’s that I longed for permanence: a place where I could unpack and settle in. A place where I could relax, fear-free. A place nobody could jerk out from under me.

Eventually I got my wish. After I became a TV star, I bought a beach house in Malibu. It has a soaking tub and a pool overlooking the Pacific, and it’s mine, free and clear.

But when I was in high school, my reality was packing and running, packing and running. So when I came home from school for winter break one year to find Mam packing our clothing in a box, I exploded.

“You can’t be serious!” I wailed. I wailed a lot back then. Human hormonal changes wreaked havoc with my ability to keep my emotions in check – which was never very good anyway, thanks to my undine half.

Mam looked at me in surprise. “Dearest,” she said, cooing, “it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“‘It’s not what you’re thinking,’” I said, mocking her. “Every time we move, you say it’s the last time and we’ll never have to move again. And then you pull out the suitcases, and I know you’ve lied to me. Again!” I was fuming and crying at the same time. “We can’t leave now. I can’t let the dive team down! And I’m signed up for tryouts for the school play next month!”

“I know,” she began.

“And you said we could have a tree this year. A real Christmas tree!”

“A solstice tree,” she corrected.

“Whatever! You said we could have one!” I was full-on ugly crying now. “I just want to be normal!”

Mam waited a moment to make sure I was done yelling. Then she said, “We’re not moving. We’re going on vacation.”

My tears dried up immediately. “What?”

“We’re going on vacation,” she repeated. “I’ve packed your winter coat and boots. Where’s your hat?”

“In the drawer with my scarf,” I said automatically.

“Go and get them,” she commanded.

“Are you serious?” I said, in quite a different tone than I’d used when I first got home. “We’ve never been on vacation, Mam.”

“We are now,” she said with a small smile. “We’ve been invited to a celebration. And it’s going to take several days to get there, so hurry up – I need to get this box of clothes to the post office before they close.”

I peered in the box as she spoke. Along with our coats, she’d packed all of our warmest sweaters. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere cold, obviously. Go on!” She flicked a hand toward me, shooing me away.

“Okay, okay,” I said, and ran to find my things.

We left the next day. The house we were renting was on a big lot that bordered a creek. We ran down to the water’s edge, stashed our clothes in the cubby where we always put them when we went in the creek for a soak, and dove in. Immediately, we both dissolved, and as always, I reveled in the caress of the water as it cleansed every fiber of my being. But nothing could take away my excitement. Vacation! What an amazing concept!

When Mam had said our trip would take a long time, she wasn’t kidding. I followed her essence down the creek to the river, from the river to the bay, and from the bay out into the wide Pacific Ocean. I was entranced by everything: the dolphins that raced us, chattering; the schools of fish that tickled as they cut through my watery molecules; the pod of whales that circled us as if serving as our honor guard.

We moved north and farther north, until several merpeople met us and escorted us into a bay where houses fronted a frozen beach. When we emerged from the water, it was dusk, and bitter cold. “Where are we?” I asked, as the merpeople hustled us into a warm cabin next to the water.

“Alaska,” Mam said. “Above the Arctic circle. Dry off and get dressed. We don’t want to miss the party.”

Alaska! It seemed impossible that we’d come so far. “What day is it?”

“Today is the winter solstice. We’ve been traveling for three days,” said Mam. That seemed impossible, too.

When we emerged, it was full dark. But the lights in the little village were blazing, and so too were the lights above the village. We Water Elementals sang and danced and feasted under the dancing Northern lights. I’ve never been to a more magical party.

That vacation kicked off a magical year. We got the solstice tree Mam had promised me. Then I won firsts in all of our dive meets that winter, and I got the part I was hoping for in the school play. That summer, when Mam told me we had to move again, I almost didn’t mind.

Almost.

***
These moments of bloggy reveling have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Happy holidays!

The Wheel keeps turning.

I'm feeling pretty good about our holiday preparations here at La Casa Cantwell. The tree is up and decorated, as I mentioned last week; the shopping is done; and most of the baking is done. I have one more batch of cookies to make tonight, and a gluten-free option or two later this week. And I still have to wrap all the gifts. But I feel confident I'll have everything done by Yule, which this year is Saturday the 21st in North America.

What a contrast to the current drama just up the road in DC. In case you've been living under a rock, the House of Representatives is scheduled to vote on two articles of impeachment against President Trump this coming week. The vote is scheduled for Wednesday, and it's a foregone conclusion that the House will impeach Trump. Then the drama moves to the Senate, which is obliged to hold a trial on the impeachment articles. A couple of the folks in charge -- namely Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell and Senator Lindsey Graham -- have already made it clear they expect to speed through a sort-of trial and vote to exonerate the president.

This is not a political blog, so I won't express my opinion on any of that here. (I already spend more than enough time posting about politics on Facebook.) But I expect you guys have gathered my opinion of President Trump anyway. And like a lot of other liberals and progressives, I find it hard, some days, to be upbeat about it all. Some of my friends are wondering why the House is bothering to impeach Trump when the Senate is going to clear him anyway, thereby giving him carte blanche to keep doing what he's doing. It's easy to fall into a pit of despair, especially since the House vote is coming just after Britain voted to keep their Conservative Party in power, which means Brexit will happen now for sure.

It's easy -- and profoundly depressing -- to agree with Medium blogger Umair Haque, whose post last week was titled, This is How a Society Dies. He compares the death spiral of the Soviet Union to what's happening today in the United States and Britain, and suggests that we may never recover.

When the Soviet Union fell apart, it did seem to happen overnight. One day the USSR was the Red Menace, the Communist global superpower that could take us down as soon as look at us; the next, they were a third-world country with nuclear weapons, and we, the United States, were the lone global superpower left standing.

But in the years since then, income inequality has hollowed out our middle class, and our poor never had a chance. About a year and a half ago, the United Nations Human Rights Council declared the United States has the highest income inequality in the Western world. Forty million Americans live in abject or extreme poverty, according to the UNHRC report, and 40% of us couldn't come up with $400 to cover an unexpected expense.

We're the only developed nation without universal healthcare, and yet any proposal from the left to rectify that insanity is met with criticism from the center and the right about how it's too expensive and anyway it doesn't work as well as those deluded lefties would have you believe. Never mind that it was the health insurance industry that wrote the arguments against universal healthcare.

So is the United States just a third-world nation with nuclear weapons? Some days I wonder. Some days it feels like the smartest thing to do would be to escape -- to emigrate to some other country, maybe somewhere sunny, with a stable government and decent healthcare, and hunker down 'til it's all over.

I brought up Yule for a reason. John Beckett wrote a lovely column this weekend about the solstice being the real reason for the season. People on Earth have been celebrating the turning of the seasons since the Earth itself began turning. In the Northern Hemisphere, the days have been getting shorter since June. In North America, this coming Saturday will be the culmination: the winter solstice. The longest night. In ancient times, people would sing, pray, and light bonfires and candles to beseech the sun to return.

And it always does. The Earth turns, and the days begin getting longer again. The singing and the candles don't have anything to do with it -- time turns, and the Earth turns, and the sun returns.

A lot of Pagans rely on the Wheel of the Year for their spiritual observances, but I think time is really more of a spiral. This coming spring will and won't be like last spring. Summer 2020 will be like all the other summers we've ever had, and yet it will be its own thing.

Maybe Trump will still be president then and maybe he won't. When President Nixon faced impeachment, the smart money was on his removal from office -- until he quit. Maybe Trump's impeachment will be like that: he won't leave office until he does, abruptly. And he'll probably let us all know by tweet.

Bernie Sanders tweeted this last week:

At this moment in our history despair is not an option. I've got four kids and seven grandchildren. I can't give up. You can't give up.

— Bernie Sanders (@BernieSanders) December 9, 2019

It's far from the first time he's said it. But it rings especially true for me, in this season, when the Earth is turning and the sun will soon be returning. We can run, or we can stay and do what we can to make things better. I know which one feels right to me.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have one more batch of cookies to make tonight and they're not going to make themselves.

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These moments of Earth-turning blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

Yule: a festival of Light.

I am almost ready for Yule. The cookies are baked (and mostly out of the house); the tree is up and decorated; the gifts are wrapped. Well, mostly -- I need to go out and pick up a few odds and ends tomorrow.

We wrap ourselves in hubbub at this time of year: concerts and pageants at church and school, cookie exchanges, gift buying and giving, travel plans, cooking and cleaning, lists and more lists. It's easy to forget, surrounded as we are by lights and noise and our self-enforced busyness, why humans first began to mark the winter solstice at all: the dying of the light.

Cultures all over the Northern Hemisphere mark celebrations at this time of year. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa are the best known in the United States, but there are others. Encyclopedia Britannica lists several winter solstice festivals around the world: Dong Zhi in China, a family end-of-harvest celebration; St. Lucia's Day in Scandinavia; Saturnalia, popular in ancient Rome, although not so much anymore; Yalda, the birthday of the sun god Mithras, in ancient Persia; and Soyal, celebrated by the Hopi and Zuni in the southwestern U.S. They left out quite a few, of course -- including the celebration known by various Neopagan groups as Alban Arthan, Yule, or simply the winter solstice.

As diverse as these celebrations are, a singular idea stands behind them all: on the shortest day of the year, things look bleak for humanity. It's going to get cold, and stay cold for some time. It won't be as easy to stay warm and comfortable. Things won't grow as well, if they grow at all.

So they lit their candles and bonfires to call back the light. And today we do the same: we light our candles and our fireplaces, and limn our houses and trees with light.

As modern people, we know, of course, that the sun will return -- that if this Tuesday is indeed the shortest day, then the hours of light can only get longer from here. Much is made of the ancients coming up with these celebrations in fear that the light would never come again, but that seems condescending to me. I think, once ancient humans had lived through a few annual cycles, they would have been smart enough to figure out that the sun's return wasn't a fluke. Still, winter was a dangerous time of year, and it might have made sense back then to throw a party to appease the gods, so They would be encouraged to come back.

Even today, it's not a bad idea. So I suggest that each of us light a candle this holiday season. If nothing else, we'll make the world a brighter place.

And to further encourage you, I offer this song, which I listened to earlier today while wrapping gifts. Happy holidays, everybody.

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These moments of bloggy light have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

We're sorry. Your regularly scheduled apocalypse will not occur at this time.

First things first:  Thanks to everybody who made this last week a success!  Allison Bruning had a health issue, so my post that was supposed to go up on her blog on the 20th didn't happen 'til yesterday.  But everything else went off like clockwork, which is pretty amazing.  I hope you enjoyed all the blog posts, as well as the quotes and the contests here.

Congrats to Viola Pieske, who won the $25 Amazon gift card and the "I Survived the End of the World" key chain!  I'll get that in the mail to you directly.

Thanks again to everybody for playing!

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We're well past the winter solstice now, and it looks like we're still here.  Of course, in Naomi's alternate universe, things are just getting started.  But I digress....

Or maybe not.

The apocalypse watchers appeared to split into two camps.  There were the ones who relied on a little iffy science and a lot of credulous what-ifs, and posited that a galactic superwave or a shift of the Earth's poles -- or something equally dire -- would cause the world to blow up.  Clearly, none of that happened.

But the other folks -- including, interestingly enough, actual Mayans (yes, they still exist -- they live in the mountains of Central America) -- believe that what happened on the 21st was the end of the old era and the start of a new one.  Bolivia's president, Evo Morales, isn't Mayan, but he is a member of an indigenous South American tribe. In September, he made a speech about the solstice to the United Nations about the winter solstice.  Here's what he said:

According to the Mayan calendar the 21 of December is the end of the non-time and the beginning of time. It is the end of the Macha and the beginning of the Pacha, the end of selfishness and the beginning of brotherhood, it is the end of individualism and the beginning of collectivism – 21 of December this year. The scientists know very well that this marks the end of an anthropocentric life and the beginning of a bio-centric life. It is the end of hatred and the beginning of love, the end of lies and beginning of truth. It is the end of sadness and the beginning of happiness, it is the end of division and the beginning of unity, and this is a theme to be developed. That is why we invite all of you, those of you who bet on mankind: we invite those who want to share their experiences for the benefit of mankind.

Whatever you might think about Morales -- including where he found his scientists and what he means by "collectivism" -- I think it's hard to discount the sentiment he expressed.  Wouldn't it be great if we really were heading into an era of "the end of hatred and the beginning of love...the end of sadness and the beginning of happiness"?

On this post-apocalyptic Sunday night, two days before Christmas, I wish you the beginning of happiness and love.  Happy holidays, everyone.

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These moments of post-apocalyptic blissful blogginess are brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

Winter Solstice Advent Countdown, week 3 and final.

"I want you to understand one thing," Drew said. "If you take away nothing else from this trip, you should remember this."

"I'm listening," I said.

"It's true that the white men were gunning for the Indians.  They didn't understand us, they saw us as a threat, and they wanted nothing more than to eradicate us.  And so maybe if it hadn't been Wounded Knee, it would have been something else.  But it was this.  It was  Wounded Knee."  We had reached the edge of the parking lot by then.  He turned to me, his eyes riveted to mine. "And in point of fact, none of it would have happened if we hadn't believed in a prophet who told us Indians that better days were coming."

The comparison couldn't have been clearer if he'd hit me over the head with a tomahawk.

-- From Tapped

Here at La Casa Cantwell, it's starting to look a lot like Yule is actually coming.  I spent all day baking, so the house smells terrific.  (Five kinds of cookies, if you must know, plus peppermint bark and spiced nuts.)  The tree is up and decorated, and there are even a few presents under it with my name on them.

I can't help feeling sad, though, for the families in Connecticut whose kids won't be unwrapping presents this year, or ever again.  My heart goes out to all those who've lost someone in this tragedy.

Anyway, a lot is happening this week, in both Naomi's world and mine.  Please take a gander at the "Tour Dates" tab, which has been updated with my stops this coming week in connection with the Orangeberry Virtual Book Expo.  In addition, I've got three very special stops planned.  On Thursday, Allison Bruning's virtual cruise ship visits Naomi's apartment.  Then on Friday, the Indie Exchange has the Pipe Woman Chronicles as part of our Christmas Advent feature, *and* last but by no means least, the Cabin Goddess is letting me do another Fourth-Wall Friday, which I'm very excited about because it's a great feature and a lot of fun to do.

These last three events are important because you can get more entries in this week's contest if you comment at any one of those places.  The prizes this week are a $25 Amazon gift certificate and a key chain that says, "I survived the end of the world, December 21, 2012."  The picture below is about life-size -- the keychain is two inches in diameter -- but the real thing is a little more colorful.

One more piece of business before I go back to making cookies:  Congrats to Charles Ray, who won last week's contest!  Charles, I've sent you an e-mail; if you don't see it, please check your spam folder.  

Good luck, everybody,  Happy Yule, and see you on the other side of 12/21/12.

The Rules (sorry, gotta have 'em):

1. Friends and family may definitely enter.
2. Winners from my previous contest may win again.  However, winners from previous weeks in *this* contest may not win *this* contest again.
3. If there is no winner one week, the prize(s) will be added to the following week's contest.  I am getting this stuff out of my house, one way or the other.
4. As always, the judge's decisions are arbitrary, capricious, and final.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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 These moments of anticipatory blogginess are brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

The NaNo hangover, or: I had a great title for this post, but I can't remember what it was.

Yes, that's right.  After all my dithering, less than a month ago, over whether to participate in NaNoWriMo this year at all, I have won.  In the wee hours of this morning, I dumped the first draft of Book 4 of the Pipe Woman Chronicles into the Validator at nanowrimo.org, and NaNo stuck a fork in me and called me done.  (You guys remind me of this next October, when I'm dithering over doing NaNo again, okay? Thanks.)

Fun Facts to Know and Tell:  At 52,760 words, the first draft of Gravid is ten words longer than that of Tapped, 630 words longer than Fissured's first draft, and 110 words longer than Seized was at this stage.  In other words, I'm scarily consistent.  (Whoa.  I had no idea.)

I'd also like to point out that I started late this year.  I wrote a little bit of the novel while I was in Toronto, but I didn't really get going on it 'til the 5th.  So really, that's 50,000 words in 20 days.  (I just want to kick myself.  If I'd gotten serious about writing fiction when I was in my twenties, I could have a backlist as long as Joyce Carol Oates's.)

But all the late nights are telling on me.  I'm feeling stupid-sleepy right now, as if I might fall face-first into my keyboard at any moment.  I write a word or two, and then my brain goes walkabout; eventually, my eyes refocus on the monitor and I go, "Oh, yeah, I'm supposed to be doing something.  What is it?  Oh, yeah -- Facebook!"

But I really do want to finish this post, because I have news other than just NaNo.  Yes!  Now that I have cleared the decks, I am about to embark on the final round of edits to Tapped.  Which means uploading will commence this weekend, and the book should be available for purchase shortly thereafter.  (I think I've said this on Facebook already.  But maybe not.  Gods know what I've been saying lately, as short on sleep as...uh...was I doing something?  Wait, I was.  Was it important?  Wait....)

In addition:  As all good Americans know, Thanksgiving means Yule/Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanzaa/Festivus is not far off.  And Yule, as all good Neopagans know, falls on the winter solstice (which, this year, is December 21st).  Now, this particular winter solstice is important for a couple of reasons:  yeah, yeah, that Mayan calendar thing; but more importantly, it's a significant date in the Pipe Woman Chronicles.  Plus, I'll have a new book out. 

So I'm going to start a Winter Solstice Advent Countdown event.  For the next three weeks, there will be a new contest each week with prizes, but I promise not to ask you write anything this time (because that worked so well last time...).

So that's the news.  Tapped will be available sometime next week (don't worry, I'll let you know when); and the Winter Solstice Advent Countdown starts Sunday, Dec. 2nd.

Now I'm going to bed.  Oh, wait -- there was a vote for moar kittehs.  Here you go. 

Please welcome the Lady Morgana to the blog.  But please don't applaud -- the poor thing startles easily.  She has rejoined us at Casa Cantwell for the winter, to help keep Mr. Wommy occupied so that he doesn't drive me crazy.  These two grew up together but have lived apart for several years, so they are currently renegotiating their personal space.  It's going pretty well -- there has only been one night when the hissing/spitting/yowling jolted me out of bed. So far.

(Why is there packing tape on the bar stool, you ask?  Why, that's because Mr. Wommy considers it the ideal scratching post.  The things I do for my grandkittehs....)

Now I'm going to bed.  No, really.

Wait.  Was I doing something...?

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These moments of sleepy bloggitude were brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.