Gypsy Cobs

Isn't he a lovely fellow? His name is Chief and he's a Gypsy cob. I've found some fascinating websites about these horses, which the Gypsies bred for their compact strenght, gentle nature and endurance. The hair around the fetlocks is called `feathers' and a wild mane and tail and full lush feathers are three of the marks of a Gypsy cob, as well as the piebald/skewbald colours.
I have fallen in love with the Gypsy Wizard at http://www.thegypsywizard.com/index2.htm
Take a look at this bloke, he's magnificent, a horse to carry you in your dreams.
Another fine Gypsy Cob stud is at http://www.heartsbloodwyld.com/ Don't forget to check out `the boys".
Gypsy cobs bring out the romantic in everyone.

Birthday flowers for Vi

Birthday flowers for Vi
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

May your years be happy always, thank you for the many times we've shared together, Fran

Gypsy Camp - The Romanyi

Hopw you have a terrific day!
Sylvia

a virtual bouquet for Vi

with love and best wishes for many more happy returns

A meditation for Vi's birthday

Vi, for some reason it won't let me post a photo. Sorry, love.

Your post was so wise. You ARE the Crone.

Much love coming your way....


For Vi, who has Crone Wisdom

Breathe in.
In your long walk

upon the earth
you see the truth
that is before us.
Each day’s lesson
is lodged deep

within your bones.
Compassion pours from
your fingertips
You teach us.
Breathe out.

Loving Birthday Wishes

HAPPY BIRTHDY VI

Here is a rose for you from my garden. I have only been with this group over the last few months, so it was lovely to read your post. You are an inspiration to us all. Your thirst for life touches me as well as your courage and wisdom.
Here's to many more years ahead.

My Birthday

My goodness, who would have thought that I'd live to be this old … seventy-eight years today? I hope I've learned something in my journey of years. I hope I've acquired the wisdom of a crone and the understanding of a seasoned traveler.

I'm glad that I grew up when I did and where I did because when I look around I fear for the future. As I look around at a deteriorating world, I have to place my trust in the babies and the very young. I hope that they can change the destructive direction that we, the human race, is bent on taking. I hope that they, the very young, will learn to respect the planet and do what they can to reverse the insane destruction of our home in the universe and the waste of our natural resources. Somehow, I think the young ones will grow into enlightened beings that will make the planet a better place for all its peoples.

I have lived through wars, enough to know that they do not solve problems, that they only create more and destroy forever the heart of nations. Not only do wars kill and maim, they destroy cultures that are unique to any given people. The loss of a national or tribal identity is a crime that often leads to the inner cities and the problems created there. If the energy that is wasted in waging war was recycled into solving the problems of disease, hunger, and unemployment this planet would be far better for it.

These are just a few of the things that my seventy-eight years have taught me. I've learned, too, that art is the life blood of the human experience. After I retired, I found more time to express myself with the written word and with my photography. This has expanded my outlook more than I can describe. With one book published and another coming out early next year I feel that nothing is impossible, and that the future, even at my age, is full of possibilities.

I was lucky to have been presented with good genes and until last year, when I was blindsided by cancer, I was in good health except for some occasional low back attacks; the result of carrying too many heavy backpacks on wilderness treks when I was younger. Although the cancer diagnosis hit me like a ton of bricks, I had no doubt I would beat it. I'm sure we have all at times wondered how we would take such devastating news and I surprised myself by taking it quite calmly. I saw a young surgeon who was new to the area and although I knew little about him, I immediately felt a kinship with him and his plan of attack. After having looked at all the test results, he said, "I'm going to cure you." Somehow I knew he would. He went on to explain that the surgery would be extensive … one of the more difficult operations one could undergo, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would cure me and because of his certainty, there was no doubt in mine either. The surgery was long and complicated, eight hours on the table. The recuperation was long and difficult, but I made it with only a few days of self doubt. When I saw my surgeon for my last follow-up visit and when he told me that I would not need Chemo or radiation, I knew I was, as in his words, cured. I knew this particular surgeon had only recently joined the surgical group I was referred to, and I have heard recently that he has moved on. With all that evidence I'm convinced that he was an angel sent by the Goddess to be there when I needed him. No one will convince me differently. He was my angel.

I am honored to have my seventy-eighth birthday celebrated by this amazing group of fellow travelers. Many of you were there to help me with your prayers and thoughts through the difficult days both pre and post surgery and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. To have my birthday celebrated across the globe is special and I'm very proud of the fact that I have arrived here at this time in my life. This is literally for me, the first day of the rest of my life.

Last, but certainly not least, I pray for Darryl and for his stanch companion and wife, Heather, in their time of need. I pray, too, for all the others who are hurting or grieving at this time. I know from experience how much that means and I honor all of you as you have honored me.

Love, Vi

Return Excuse

The girls are looking forward to a return
to the gypsy camp where they had
such fun. As they choose not to go to
Baba's we all have been working on
Christmas craft gift things. One is large star
made of colored plastic drinking straws and
will be about three feet across.
Everyone takes a turn working on it.
Jade's fingers aren't nimble enough,
so she holds Coral up on a stool.

Happy birthday Vi
(the girls holding up "V" signs with their fingers)

Nessie

Birthday Wishes for Vi

Dear Vi - talking about hugging trees at the Hermitage,

I had to laugh when I took this shot. This Mexican

Weeping Pine has arms to hug with! It's an amazing

tree with a peaceful feel - enjoy the hug

and have a wonderful year, love Imogen.

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Happy Birthday, Vi...

Greetingsfor Vi from the Silky Oak Spirit

Knowing your love of trees I have bought the Silky Oak Spirit to come and join us at the Gyspy Camp to celebrate your birthday Vi. Happy Birthday darling!

Bridget Kavanagh's Christmas Cake

Guinness Christmas Cake and Pudding

Ingredients

2 lbs mixed dried fruit; 2 7 oz bottles Guinness; 12 oz butter; 12 oz brown sugar; 6 large eggs; 2 cups self raising flour; 2 teaspoons each cinnamon, mixed spice; one teaspoon nutmeg; grated rind and zest one lemon and one orange.

Empty the fruit into a large mixing bowl and pour the contents of the Guinness bottles over the fruit. Let it soak overnight in the fridge.

The next day, Warm the butter and sugar until both melt (but do not allow to overheat or you will have toffee!) Beat the six eggs while the sugar and butter mxcture cools. Stir eggs, and butter and sugar into fruit mixture. Sift flour and stir in spices. Stir flour into fruit mixture, add zest and rind of lemon and orange. ASt this point you can also stir in coins or charms.

Put half of mixture into lined and greased cake tin, and the other half into a boiling cloth or greased pudding bowl. Bake the cake at 180 degrees for 1 1/2-2 hours. It is done when a skewer inserted in the cake comes out clean. Boil the pudding for 1 1/2-2 hours, making sure you replenish the water. Let the cake and pudding mature for at least four weeks before eating.

Christmas celebrations have started at www.valeofavondale.com - all welcome!

Invitation to Vi's Birthday Celebration on November 22

Lavengro is inviting one and all to attend the Gypsy Camp on Tuesday, November 22 for the culminating Festival of Lights event, Goddess Vi's birthday. Bring your offering of a poem, a picture or well wishes to the camp and join in the fun. There will be music and dancing and lights strung from tree to tree, from caravan to caravan. Let there be light!

November Afternoon

The city is looking much colder, stern and unforgiving. gone the careful more cheering days of summer. I can scarcely wait for spring. Please no-one tell me about the number of shopping days until Christmas. I'd sooner keep track of the number of days until spring.

My Costume for the masked ball...

My costume for the masked ball is Mad Eye Moody from the new Harry Potter Film. I've always wanted to be an auror, even if only for a night!

Candlelight Fairies

On the bus on the way to my doctors I found myself sketching out these two fairies one floating on a lily pad with a small lantern on her hand. Decided to have a bit of fun and animate in the colour. I think I'm happy with it, certainly I passed the time well on the bus.

Traveller's Heaven

TRAVELLER'S HEAVEN
We do not dream
Like the Settled People.
We dream of rolling hills
The perfect tober
Where fish fill the rivers
The grass is always soft underfoot
And the weather is always mild.
There is no end to the storytelling
The company is good
Around the campfire.
Travellers dream
Of shelter and comfort
Not the heavenly mansions
Of the Settled People.

Image: Lacken Millhouse & Gardens, County Cavan

The Candles Glow

The candles glow.

They light my way
around the camp.

I walk from one to another
to another to another
and think and say a little prayer
for all who hurt this night.

The candles glow
and like a map
they show me where to go
to find my rest this night.

The candles glow.

They light my way
around the camp.

The candles glow.
I thank the Goddess for Her healing.
Now it's my turn to pray
for all those who hurt this night.

The candles glow.

Vi
©November 11, 2005

Visit to the well of the Magna Mater

I have come to the Well of the Magna Mater to burn a special candle for those who are struggling with fear and depression. May the light bring hope and trust to all.

Candles for those we love

Candles for H
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

Candles lighted
for you
with love, from all of us this season, Fran

Candles of hope...

Nine days into Vi’s Festival of Lights, and every night the camp glowss with strings of lanterns hung from wagon to wagon.

Not far from the camp there is an ancient well dedicated to the Magna Mater, the Great Mother. On a low stone wall overlooking the grotto, many candles have been lit. Pilgrims come every day to light candles for peace, for hope, for light in the world.

During this most special month, many of the candles have been dedicated to our Silk Road travellers, and candles have been lit for:

Vi, a sweet rose candle of thankfulness for her continued good health
For Heather and Darryl, a prayer candle lit constantly with love and hope
For AshleyShea and her brother Stan, a candle that lights the way for all who are in darkness
For Megan and her mother, a candle of healing memories
For Nessie and the girls, heart shaped candles from Lavengro, nestling in a bed of rosebuds

There are also candles for those who have been called away from the Silk Road by the pressures of the real world, a rainbow of candles for the artists…and so many more…everyone is welcome to light a candle here and place a dedication with it.

Life Drawing - Baba Yaga

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.

The Strange Tale of The Malloy Sisters

Here's a Little Camp Fire Tale for you! Step right up and Meet Three of Duwamish Bays More Colorful Residents in
The Strange Tale of The Malloy Sisters



There once were three Sisters that lived on Lake Undercroft and if the stories are true, and please believe they are, they were three of the most vicious prolific serial killers the entire State has ever seen.

They were also Witches.

The Malloy’s weren't the “ lets get naked and celebrate womanhood witches”...no, they were more like the “let me cut your head off and eat your brains and lets celebrate the Dark Lord” type witches.

The Malloy Sisters have always been busy but most recently they were responsible for these dead bodies that littered Fire Road Highway (38 eight and everytime it rains they seem to find more) and a local guy who worked in a bank and liked to upload nasty pictures on the company computer was accused, tried and executed for the crimes.

Of course he didn't do it, and of course the Malloy Sisters did and of course they got away with it, after all they were Witches.

What about the Mountlake Nine?

Have you heard of them?

There were nine little kids that disappeared from this Elementary School in the town of Resolution...and by that I mean they disappeared as they walked into the school, from the schools library, from the lunchroom, gym and the playground.

No one ever figured out what happened to them until a nature photographer found their little skulls hanging from a tree near Undercroft Lake.

The skulls were attached to the tree branches by a chain and they clonked and bonked against each other every time the wind blew.

The skulls still had their eyes and I think that was the last thing the Nature Photographer ever saw with his mind still intact.

After he found the Mountlake Nine he became what you'd call a burden to society and drank himself to death.

Human remains littered the trees and grounds around their boathouse and the bodies paved the highway that led to their front door and no one could or would touch those three women.

The Malloy Sisters did everything short of showing up at the County Court House with a written confession in one hand, the murders recorded on videotape in the other hand and the victims crying out from the Great Beyond, " The Malloy Sisters Did It! "

So why didn't the people in Resolution do something you ask?

They eventually did, they sent the Witches down the River to straight to the Heart of Duwamish.



The Sheriff in Duwamish Bay is a very capable woman named Sarah Blitzer.

Sarah's Mother owns a Curiosity Shop on the Marina (complete with an Egyptian Mummy in a glass case) and Sarah's best friends are Conjoined Twins that work a perm ant Sideshow down on the Lost Road.

In the big large grand scheme of things Sarah is a practical creature who inhabits a very impractical town.

Mr. Cavanaugh that lives behind the Sheriffs Office? He never comes out at daylight. The Sideshows star performer? A former Resident of the Carpathian Mountains and the edge of Duwamish Bay…the place the locals call “ Ghost Town.”

It really is a ghost town.

The night the Malloy Sisters arrived in Duwamish Bay Sarah was waiting for them at the end of the Pier with a smile, full can of gasoline, three nooses and a very angry group of people from the Merchants Society and between the twelve of them they welcomed the Sisters to their new home.

It was the Merchants who strung the Sisters up and it was Sarah who kicked the chairs from under their feet and it was Sarah, still acting as the Law that hit the match and tossed it into the kindling at the Witches feet.

Sheriff Blitzer sat on one of those green and yellow stripped lawn chairs all night and watched the Witches burn and then she watched the sun come up.

The next morning Sarah was still on her lawn chair and the Malloy Sisters were still hanging from the tree.

Their hair had been burned away and their clothes hung in tatters and one of the Sisters no longer had flesh on one side of her face so she seemed to be grinning down at Sarah as she said, “ was there a point to this Sheriff…exactly how many times do you plan on going through with this little charade of yours?”

And Sarah replied as she stretched her long legs and yawned, “We have all eternity to understand each other Ladies and Welcome to Duwamish Bay.”

Barrel top exhibition at Cork City Museum

As part of the Cork 2005 cultural event, traveller men and women built a barrel top wagon in the traditional style. It is now on display at Cork Museum.
http://www.cork2005.ie/programme/default.asp?id=337&p=55

Signs of Peace and Love

Signs & Symptoms of Peace & Love

1. Tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than from fear based on past experiences.
2. An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment
3. Loss of interest in judging other people.4. Loss of interest in judging self.
5. Loss of interest in interpreting the action of others
6. Loss of interest in conflict.
7. Loss of ability to worry (a very serious symptoms)
8. Contented feeling with others & nature.
9. Frequent attacks of smiling through the eyes from the heart
10. Increasing tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen.
11. Increased susceptibility to love extended by others, as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it.
Please be advised that if you suffer from all or even one of the above symptoms,
your condition may be too far advanced to turn back.

By Daisy Smith

A handful of light

A handful of light
Guides me through the darkness
To radiant dawn

A message for Vi from Lavengro

``The festival was, they had told me, to last until my birthday on the twenty-second day of November. How did I come to be the one so honored? I was being treated as royalty despite being birthed a peasant."

Dear Goddess Vi,

Among our people there are no peasants, no royalty - we admire the beautiful soul and the fighting spirit. And we believe that when something is taken from you in this world, it is replaced with a gift. Sorrow and struggle is balanced by an equal amount of happiness and joy.

Your health was taken from you and you met the ordeal with courage and resilience - the true fighting spirit, the mark of a beautiful soul. It has fallen to us to redress the balance and we do so with great pleasure.
This is your gift.

Yours respectfully,

Lavengro

Gypsy Chief

The sun gives a glow to the yellow trees in the woods and just a hint of red for contrast.

The golden weeds are blowing and the sun gives them a silver glow too. The world has turned to gold and silver. We must just embrace and realize the beauty is fleeting.

I went out for my yearly fall picture taking drive. It is lovely today, tho' windy. Here is a barn I'd admired for some time. Finally stopped to photograph it.

Dream of Lights

I awoke this morning, unsure if last evenings festivities were just a dream or if in some magic realm, they were reality. The music still resonated in my head and the swirling mass of colorful dancers passed before my eyes again and again, a twirling potpourri of light and shape. But there, neatly folded on the chair, was the silk shirt and pants that I had worn ... so it was true. I recalled dancing with the handsome Lavengro and my feet twitched in anticipation of more dancing. I stretched out on the bed, knowing it was time for me to get up but not ready yet to disrupt the memory.

A knock on the caravan door brought me into the moment. It was Jolina bringing me my breakfast. The tray was elegantly laid out with a colorful placemat and matching serviette. A beautifully brown egg sat in a china eggcup decorated with bunches of bluebells. Butter melted into the dark brown toast and a container of orange marmalade waited to release its rich flavor and set my taste buds to dancing. The aroma wafting from the silver coffee pot was enough to awaken even the sleepiest of revelers. If this is what they mean by the morning after, I thought. I could get used to it in a minute.

Jolina stacked the riotously colored pillows behind me so I could sit comfortably propped to enjoy my morning repast.

The festival was, they had told me, to last until my birthday on the twenty-second day of November. How did I come to be the one so honored? I was being treated as royalty despite being birthed a peasant.

After enjoying my breakfast I put the tray aside and got up and went to the door of the caravan. Holding my bluebell adorned coffee cup in both hands, I surveyed the central clearing. It was quiet now. The flames had been extinguished in the beautifully carved pumpkins … no jack-o- lanterns here … these were works of art exquisitely carved. They told stories of the universe and of fairy tales, princes and princesses, and magic creatures such as unicorns.

The main fire, I noticed, smoldered … its coals still alive, ready to be fanned into flame later. Although the camp had been crowded with revelers last night, there were few around this morning. Most, I assumed, were resting after such a night of frivolity.

I retreated into the interior of the caravan to dress and get ready to take my morning walk. This was just the beginning of a celebration, my celebration, and I was so honored.

Vi

Lights for Vi

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Festival of lights for Vi

A hunter’s moon had risen earlier in the evening. Initially a deep orange as it appeared over the horizon, it was now the colour of clotted cream with indistinct patterns on it that could have been celestial landmasses. Moonlight flooded the woods and the autumn trees stood in silhouette, their leafless branches making a lacy tracery against the moon.

Lights of all descriptions had been hung in the trees round the glade. Huge pumpkins that had been hollowed out were placed in a large circle. These ones didn’t have the garish Halloween faces carved in them but lots of round holes in symmetric patterns, which allowed the light to spill out. Gourds, which had been hollowed out too and had patterns pierced in them, hung from branches.

A large trestle table had been set up in the centre. Covered in a white cloth, it was already groaning under the weight of the food that had been piled on it. All the gypsies in the camp had been busy cooking for days in preparation and a sharp spicy smell hung in the air.

In the camp the fires burned brightly casting shadows over the coloured wagons. At Lavengro’s suggestion, one of the gypsy women had gone with Vi to Pandora’s Wardrobe to help her choose something to wear for the evening. It had been a difficult choice and she was just putting the final touches to her costume. She now appeared at the top of the steps of the wagon. She was wearing long heavy silk pants, a long sleeved silk shirt, a jewelled waistcoat and jewelled slippers. A kerchief covered her hair edged with little golden coins and she also wore a large cape, which billowed as she moved.

She came carefully down the steps and immediately four children seemed to appear from nowhere. Each of them carried a lantern. A woman behind them carried a glass pitcher of water, which would be sprinkled in libation before the meal began. Other figures now drifted into the firelight and sounds of laughter filled the air together with a multitude of different accents. The firelight lit their faces and their gaily-coloured costumes for everyone had rummaged to the bottom of their clothes chests to get out their finery for this festival. The air was still and the fires burned with steady flames.

When everyone had assembled Lavengro called for silence and as the last chatter died down his strong voice resounded round the camp “welcome travellers one and all to this festival of lights for Vi”. Loud applause greeted this announcement. “We will proceed to the glade of enlightenment where we will make the blessing and give thanks. The meal will be followed by music and dancing. Michael will now play the proceeding song” and a man standing on his left shouldered his violin and bowed out the first notes. As the last notes faded away the crowd processed towards the glade and in the silence that followed only the night birds could be heard.

There was a gasp of awe from the children as they entered the glade and saw all the lights. They fanned out in a large circle around the table. The woman carrying the glass pitcher walked into the centre of the circle. She poured water first on the ground and then on her hands and threw the water up into the air, droplets spinning out in all directions. “For and with this water we give thanks for our food and for our lives”. Lavengro, taking Vi’s hands in his own and holding them up in the air, added “and for Vi." He clapped his hands and said, “let the feasting begin”.

There were purple figs, with their masses of red seeds gaping through slits in the skins, golden persimmons glowing in the light and fat dark dates. Stews flavoured with wild mushrooms, wild duck eggs, and a hot dry goat stew flavoured with red chillies vied with each other in the aromas they gave off. The Indian gypsies had provided mounds of sweetmeats, wrapped in the fine edible silver foil. There were baked apples with walnuts and cinnamon, desserts of wild damsons and jugs of ruby wine. The crowd fell to with a will and for a while, only the sound of people eating broke the silence that had descended over the glade.

At length, when all the food had been cleared away the crowd moved back to the camp for the music and dancing. As the feast was in Vi’s honour, Lavengro led her in the first dance – a slow, graceful dance involving lots of swirls, which showed off Vi’s costume. After that the dancing and music began to speed up and would get wilder later on. Carpets had been dragged out of the wagons and colourful cushions were piled up so that the non-dancers could sit and watch the fun.

The Enchantress was one of the first to get up and dance and looked stunning in her blue dress from Pandora’s wardrobe. Anita Marie had decided to wear her skin-tight black leather “Avengers” cat suit with black high-heeled boots, which unfortunately hindered her dancing as they stuck in the earth. Gail was wearing a flowing multi-tiered red skirt, a black top, gold hoop earrings and soft black shoes that seemed to be moulded to her feet. Karen was dressed in wood green and had garlands of wild flowers twisted in her hair. Monika, the hermitess, wore a pumpkin coloured gown with necklaces of seeds and Traveller wore a dress of green and purple, echoing the fluorite necklace she wore.

The musicians played their assortment of pipes, drums and stringed instruments until people could dance no more and their voices had grown hoarse from singing. Many hours later when the fires had burned down to embers the last musician wiped his violin and, wrapping it up in a soft cloth, walked slowly back to his wagon. A dog barked once and it, too, lay down to sleep.

A Dance for Le Enchanteur

Come dance with me

Come dance with me

To celebrate

To celebrate

Festivity

Companionship

Frivolity

Good fortune

The might of pen

And pencil

Here's cheers

To our dear

Le Enchanteur