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twstbookclub · 9 months ago

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Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 11 months ago

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Pink Panthermobile

Pink Panthermobile Restored to Its Original Condition

Beau Boeckmann of ‘Car Kings’ has long been obsessed with custom cars, including one from the ‘The Pink Panther Show’

#Pink Panthermobile #car #cars #show car #pink panther #cartoon

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meskjold · 3 months ago

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SS24 from enSoie on Vimeo.

Credits:

Creative director: Anna Meier Director: Rafael Palacio Illingworth Talents: Cynthia Matumona, Fatuma Osman, Flaka Jahaj, Jamina Erbudak, Jill Ann Eiholzer, Jill May-Britt, Jon Aich, Julian Zigerli, Latoya Breu, Rafael Gödrös, Sofija Milakara, Sophie Meier, Stephanie Kunz, Vivienne Faeh Director of photography: Rafael Palacio Illingworth Production designer: Michèle Boeckmann Editor: Rafael Palacio Illingworth Concept: Michèle Boeckmann, Rafael Palacio Illingworth Music composer: Alban Schelbert 1st AC / Gaffer: Andreas Lumineau Styling: Michèle Boeckmann Assistants: Sofija Milakara, Jill May-Britt, Constantin Schweiger Title design: Simon Trüb Special thanks: Marina Olsen and Karolina Dankow of Karma International.

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tipsycad147 · 1 year ago

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How Mercury Retrograde Affects Each Zodiac Sign

Mercury retrograde predictions for each astrological sign

Catherine Boeckmann

How does Mercury Retrograde affect your zodiac sign? Here’s a list of all 12 astrological signs from Aquarius to Capricorn, and a brief summary of how the planet of communication and cognitive function will influence you and your life!

During Mercury Retrograde, the planet nearest the Sun appears to be spinning backwards; ancient astrologers believed that the patterns of the cosmos influenced our own lives. Thankfully, Mercury Retrograde only happens a few times a year as part of your annual solar journey! Learn more about Mercury Retrograde and see this year’s Mercury Retrograde dates.

Mercury Retrograde Effects by Zodiac Sign

When Mercury enters retrograde motion within the range of dates for a given astrological sign, be wary of the listed effects.

Note that the planet Mercury rules both Gemini and Virgo, so these two signs are most heavily affected.

IN AQUARIUS (Jan 20–Feb 18): With Mercury retrograde in Aquarius, the sign that governs relationships, friendships are put at risk. Petty squabbles, misunderstandings, and miscommunications abound. Know who your friends are.

IN PISCES (Feb 19–Mar 20): Foggy thinking, daydreams, and escapism are the norm; day-to-day realities confound otherwise clear heads when Mercury, the planet that rules logic, is in Pisces, which governs illusion. Practice creative pursuits—writing, dancing, photography, film, or painting.

IN ARIES (Mar 21–Apr 19): Expect to be frustrated and frazzled. Assertive, impulsive Aries wants to move ahead, and all of the energy is going backward. Watch what you say and how you say it. Pay attention to what people say to you; you might be pleasantly surprised.

IN TAURUS (Apr 20–May 20): Take time to formulate your thoughts. Taurus, an unhurried sign, slows down the mental processes. He also governs banking, so delay money matters. Review financial matters, and position yourself for growth.

IN GEMINI (May 21–Jun 20): Because Gemini rules communications, be prepared for miscommunications when Mercury is in this sign. Expect lots of phone calls or none, and lost or misplaced mail. You may not articulate clearly, and gossip abounds. Old friends may reconnect.

IN CANCER (Jun 21–Jul 22): Expect annoyances at home with baking, gardening, and household duties under domesticated Cancer. Complete repair projects that weren’t finished or done correctly.

IN LEO (Jul 23–Aug 22): Avoid speculative investments. It is not a good time to buy and sell or do any trading. Instead, analyze your investment portfolio. Use your know-how and advisory skills to help friends and associates.

IN VIRGO (Aug 23–Sep 22): Challenging situations arise, especially in the workplace. Expect product delays and equipment breakdowns, as well as crankiness among coworkers under finicky, detail-oriented Virgo. Double-check your work before you call it finished.

IN LIBRA (Sep 23–Oct 22: Accept your physical attributes; do not have a makeover. Indecision reigns, so limit purchases—or risk returning them. Libra, representing beauty, grace, charm, and diplomacy, is out of balance. Refresh, relax, and rejuvenate.

IN SCORPIO (Oct 23–Nov 21): Emotions rule—not common sense—so beware. Avoid affairs of the heart. Passionate Scorpio is also secretive, and your secrets may seep out. Keep them in a diary.

IN SAGITTARIUS (Nov 22–Dec 21): It is not a time to travel, so reschedule or expect delays, lines, and lost directions. Instead, take care of local affairs. Patience and a sense of humor are needed.

IN CAPRICORN (Dec 22–Jan 19): Avoid buying, selling, or renting real estate under Capricorn, the sign that governs property matters. Expect problems with paperwork, packing, and movers. Reunite with family or vacation at home.

There is a time to let things happen and a time to make things happen. –Hugh Prather, American writer (b. 1938)

Planet Mercury and Astrology

In astrology, all of the planet’s attributes are rooted in ancient mythology. (Mercury is the name given by the ancient Romans to the Greek mythological god Hermes.)

In mythology, Mercury was the official messenger of the ancient gods and goddesses and, as such, governed communications. Mercury is depicted as a male figure having winged sandals and a winged hat, indicating the ability to travel quickly. Correspondingly, the planet Mercury has the fastest orbit of all the planets in the solar system, taking 88 days to swiftly orbit the Sun.

Mercury’s name is also translated as the “keeper of boundaries,” as he will travel between the upper and lower worlds and often serve as the guide of souls to the underworld. As well as communication and travel, Mercury represents mental quickness, cognitive function, and reasoning. The flipside of Mercury’s cleverness and wit is cunningness. He is also recognized as a trickster, prone to misbehavior.

In 1782, Mercury became the first symbol of the United States’ fledgling postal service. Today, he is recognized as an icon of an international floral delivery service as well as the official symbol of the postal service of Greece.

In medicine, Mercury is associated with the nervous system, the brain, the respiratory system, the thyroid, and the sense organs. See The Man of Signs—a representation of how each astrological sign affects a different part of the body.

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almackey · 2 years ago

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Fighting on Multiple Fronts

War Cries Instead of Rebel Yells: Soldiers of the 8th Minnesota Mounted Infantry fend off Sioux warriors encircling them during the July 28-29, 1864, Battle of Killdeer Mountain. The fight took place in modern-day North Dakota. ((Carl Ludwig Boeckmann/Minnesota Historical Society, AV1990.32.34)) We have this column Professor Gary Gallagher wrote in January of 2019 in Civil War Times Magazine.…

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andygraff · 2 years ago

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Every #Galpin employee got one of these in their stocking this year. How cool is that? Thank you to the Boeckmann family. #GoGalpin (at Galpin Ford) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmiB2UFJOry/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#galpin #gogalpin

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timelessvehicles · 7 years ago

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Ed "Big Daddy" #Roth car #photobombs a #Bugatti at #AmeliaConcours2018 #RatFink Award at #AmeliaIslandConcoursD'Elegance2018 - Congratulations #GalpinFord #Boeckmann's for bringing this wonderful #hotrodart to the field! #RatFink #EdRoth #BigDaddy #Orbitron #Mysterion #ChristineReed #TimelessVehicles #CarPhotographer #TangibleAsset #restoration #CarDesign #Carsculpture #automotiveart #carart #hotrod #goodguys #cartooncar #cyclopsheadlight #Jaguar #XKE (at The Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance)

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sabrinasgrimoire · 5 years ago

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Yule Logs

The Yule Log is a long-standing Yule tradition. This tradition has evolved over time and has been represented in many ways, including the traditional French and Dutch desert cake (“bûche de Noël” or Kerststronk). In this entry, I will cover different traditions, the history of the Yule Log, and ideas so you can make your own this holiday season!

A. HISTORY

The Yule Log has its roots in the Nordic tradition, where Yule was celebrated as one of the two solstice festivals. It was originally an entire tree! The tree would be carefully chosen for the ceremony and taken into the home. Then, the thickest end of the tree would be placed into the hearth while, quite comically, the rest of the tree stuck out into the living room. The Yule Log would then be lit with the remains of the previous year’s Yule Log, which had been carefully stored in the home during the year. It was strictly stated that the person relighting the fire must have clean hands. The old Yule Log was then slowly fed into the hearth fire over the 12 Days of Christmas (Christmas Day – 5th of January). The Norse believed that the sun was in fact a massive fiery wheel that rolled away from the earth and began its journey back to earth at the winter solstice.

The French Yule Log tradition stipulates that the whole family must help cut the Yule Log. They would burn a little bit of the log each night, and if there was any log left after the 12th night, they would store it in the house because it was said to protect the home from

lightning. The Netherlandish tradition said that the log must instead be stored under the bed to bring protection. Other Eastern European countries waited and cut down a tree on the morning of Christmas Eve. The people of Cornwall, United Kingdom called the Yule Log “The Mock”, and the bark is taken off before it enters the home.

As Christianity became more of a presence, the tradition of the Yule Log melded with the Christmas Eve traditions. The log was sprinkled with libations of mead, oil, and salt by the head of the household. The ashes of the Yule Log would then be tossed into corners of the house to protect it from evil spirits.

As for the kind of wood used for the Yule Log, different countries have different traditions. The English use Oak, the Scottish use Birch, and the French use Cherry. Some traditions say to use Ash twigs instead of a log! This comes from the Christian tale of Christ’s birth, where the shepherds gave Mary and Joseph twigs of Ash to burn so they could keep baby Jesus Warm.

B. BUCHE DE NOEL

This take on the Yule Log tradition is a cake that is made up of sponge cake and chocolate buttercream covered in wonderful little sugar decorations. When I talked to my mom about baking one this year, she told me I was on my own because they are very hard to make! I guess one too many of her Yuletide bakes went terribly wrong...

The Tradition of the Yule Log cake stretches back to the Iron Age. After the Christian religion took over, it was becoming more and more impractical to have large trees in one’s home, especially when the hearths were also getting smaller and smaller. Because of this, it seems, the advent of a cake version of a Yule Log was created. This fit much more nicely into the hearth of Iron Age Europeans, and was also very delicious. Sponge cake, the base of the Yule Log, is one of the oldest forms of cake! The first appearance of sponge cake is in

1615 in a tome called “The English Huswife”. It wasn’t until the 19th century when Parisian bakers popularized the Yule Log, and used it as a vehicle to show off their decorating skills.

I don’t have a reliable Yule Log recipe because this is the first year I will be attempting to make one! There are plenty of recipes online, so make sure to share which ones work for you!

C. WHY A YULE LOG?

Yule or The Winter Solstice is the shortest day of the year, and therefore the darkest day of the year. If we look at other traditions, we see many of them bringing forth light in the darkness. The Jewish tradition lights the Menorah, Kwanza is celebrated with the lighting of candles, and the Christian tradition as well as secular traditions see the lighting of a Christmas Tree. Yule is a celebration of the death and rebirth of the God and the return of his light as the days get longer once more. The Yule Log has become a very easy way to celebrate this return of the light.

D. CELEBRATING WITH YOUR YULE LOG

There are a few different ways of celebrating with a Yule Log, and all of them are entirely up to you! For a Kitchen Witch, you can use your Yule Log as a centerpiece for your Yuletide feast. This can be especially effective when surrounded by candles and in dim lighting.

One Yule Log ritual I came across in my research very meaningfully connects us to our ancestors. Write a few wishes or resolutions for the next year on a piece of paper and attach them to the Yule Log. Place the Log into the fire and meditate on all those who have come before you who followed this tradition. Ask them to aid you in fulfilling your wishes and resolutions during the next year.

E. IDEAS

Wood Correspondences: make your Yule Log from wood that corresponds with your intent! Aspen may be used for spiritual understanding and Oak may be used to symbolize the strength of the God. These are only a few suggestions, and I would recommend taking the Correspondences Series where you will learn more about Tree Magick! We also have a Tree Magick series at the school.

Decorations: this is up to you and your own correspondences! Traditionally, pine cones, mistletoe, holly , pine, and cinnamon are used. It is also traditional to decorate with candles to represent the return of the God. You can easily attach these with a glue gun, or by melting some of the candle wax on the log and sticking the end of the candle to the wax until it hardens. You can also tie a festive colored ribbon on your log to complete the look!

Location: sure, you can burn your Yule Log inside, but it would also be fun to burn outside! If you have a fire pit it might be fun to bundle up, bring a few cups of hot chocolate, and watch your Yule Log burn in the fire pit while surrounded by your friends and family.

Colored Flames: certain chemicals, when sprinkled on wood, will cause the fire to turn different colors! Perhaps you could correspond the flame color with a ritual or spell intention on the night of Yule. Make sure to take proper precautions and be careful!

Barium Nitrate: Apple Green Borax: Vivid Green Copper Sulphate: Blue Potassium Nitrate: Violet Table Salt: Bright Red

Disposal: you can follow any of the traditions stated above or make your own! It is important to also note that ashes from a Yule Log are also wonderful fertilizer for plants, so keep that in mind if you have a garden.

! Be very careful when disposing of the ashes of a Yule Log. It is considered very unlucky to throw the ashes out on Christmas Day, so wait before disposal.

F. WORKS CITED

James Cooper (2000-2019), T he H istory of the Y ule Log, Why Christmas?, https://www.whychristmas.com/customs/yulelog.shtml

Patti Wigington (October 14th 2019), Make a Yule Log, Learn Religions, https://www.learnreligions.com/make-a-yule-log-2563006

Stephanie Butler (August 31st 2018), T he Delicious H istory of the Y ule Log, History Channel,https://www.history.com/news/the-delicious-history-of-the-yule-log

Catherine Boeckmann (December 12th 2018), What is a Yule Log?, The Old Farmer’s Almanac,https://www.almanac.com/content/what-yule-log-christmas-traditions

#yule #witchblr #winter #wintersolstice #correspondences #book of shadows #yule log

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go-redgirl · 4 years ago

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THANKSGIVING DAY 2020

THANKSGIVING DATE, HISTORY, RECIPES, AND MORE!

By Catherine Boeckmann

November 25, 2020

In the United States, Thanksgiving is celebrated on the fourth Thursday in November—this year, on November 26. Why do we celebrate this all-important feast day? Why did the Pilgrims come to America? How did Thanksgiving become a national holiday? Read the brief history and origins of this day—plus, enjoy some fun facts, trivia, and table talk.

Ah! On Thanksgiving Day, when from East and from West, From North and from South, come the pilgrim and guest, What moistens the lip, and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie? –J. G. Whittier

WHEN IS THANKSGIVING DAY?

Thanksgiving is a national holiday in the United States and always celebrated on the fourth Thursday in November. Thanksgiving 2020 occurs on Thursday, November 26.

In Canada, Thanksgiving is celebrated on the second Monday in October. (Read more about Canadian Thanksgiving here!)

THANKSGIVING DATES Year U.S. Thanksgiving Canadian Thanksgiving

2020 Thursday, November 26Monday, October 12

2021Thursday, November 25Monday, October 11

2022 Thursday, November 24Monday, October 10

2023 Thursday, November 23Monday, October 9

Thanksgiving in the United States

Since 1941, Thanksgiving has been held on the fourth Thursday in November, which means that the actual date of the holiday shifts each year. The earliest date that Thanksgiving can occur on is November 22; the latest, November 28.

Interestingly, President Franklin Roosevelt had decided to move Thanksgiving from the fourth Thursday in November to the third Thursday in November back in 1938. However, this was not a very popular move. (Read more about this story below.)

THANKSGIVING AT PLYMOUTH

Prior to the formal establishment of Thanksgiving, harvest festivals had been celebrated for centuries by Native Americans, with colonial services dating back to the late 16th century. The autumnal feasts celebrated the harvest of crops after a season of bountiful growth.

As the story goes, it was in the early 1600s when communities of settlers in both Massachusetts and Virginia came together to give thanks for their survival, for the fertility of their fields, and for their faith. The most widely known early Thanksgiving is that of the Pilgrims in Plimoth, Massachusetts, who shared an autumn harvest feast with the Wampanoag Native Americans in 1621.

This feast, which lasted for three days, is considered the “first” Thanksgiving celebrations in the colonies. However, there were other recorded ceremonies of thanks on these lands. In 1565, Spanish explorers and the local Timucua tribe St. Augustine, Florida celebrated a mass of thanksgiving. In 1619, British settlers proclaimed a day of thanksgiving when they reached a site known as Berkeley Hundred on the banks of Virginia’s James River.

Of course, the idea of “thanksgiving” for the harvest is as old as time, with records from the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans. The Native Americans, too, had a rich tradition of giving thanks at harvesttime feasts long before Europeans appeared on their soil. And well after the Pilgrims, for more than two centuries, days of thanksgiving have been celebrated by individual colonies and states.

The Mayflower arrived at what is now Provincetown, Massachusetts, at the tip of a curved peninsula later named Cape Cod, on November 21 and on that day drew up one of the most significant documents of American history, the Mayflower Compact. The Compact was a constitution formed by the people—the beginning of popular government in the world.

They then explored the lands along the bay formed by the peninsula. On December 22, after holding the first town meeting in America to decide where to build their homes, the Pilgrims went onshore at a site now called Plymouth Rock. There, on the shore above the rock, they settled. After 400 years, their descendants and those of the Puritans are still sailing along.

What Ever Happened to the Pilgrims?

The highlights that follow reveal some of what has transpired for the Pilgrims, their Puritan contemporaries, and/or the descendants of both.

1621: over dinner with some of their Native guests, gave thanks for their welfare

1621: built a meetinghouse

1634: forbade wearing gold and silver lace

1639: started a college (Harvard)

1640: set up a printing press

1647: hanged a “witch”

1704: printed the first newspaper, in Boston

1721: were inoculated for smallpox

1776: again declared themselves to be free and independent

1792: no doubt purchased the 1793 first edition of Robert B. Thomas’s Farmer’s Almanac. Today known as The Old Farmer’s Almanac, this book is now in its 229th edition and stands as North America’s oldest continuously published periodical.

THANKSGIVING BECOMES A NATIONAL HOLIDAY

The first national celebration of Thanksgiving was observed for a slightly different reason than celebration of the harvest—it was in honor of the creation of the new United States Constitution! In 1789, President George Washington issued a proclamation designating November 26 of that year as a “Day of Publick Thanksgivin” to recognize the role of providence in creating the new United States and the new federal Constitution.

Washington was in his first term as president, and a young nation had just emerged successfully from the Revolution. Washington called on the people of the United States to acknowledge God for affording them “an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.” This was the first time Thanksgiving was celebrated under the new Constitution.

Thanksgiving Becomes a Federal Holiday

While Thanksgiving became a yearly tradition in many communities—celebrated on different months and days that suited them—it was not yet a federal government holiday.

Thomas Jefferson and many subsequent presidents felt that a public religious demonstration of piety was not appropriate for a government type of holiday in a country based in part on the separation of church and state. While religious thanksgiving services continued, there were no further presidential proclamations marking Thanksgiving until the Civil War of the 1860s.

It wasn’t until 1863, in the midst of the Civil War, that President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a national Thanksgiving Day to be held each November..

NOTE: Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

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