Ivy Moon Celestial Magic...

Within hours of scheduling the Hazel Moon final cover shot, and minor manuscript revision decisions all but completed, the Hazel Moon gods seemed to smile their celestial approval that the book was almost ready to be released to the world as a rare Supermoon Total Lunar Eclipse took place last night!

According to Celtic Lore, last night was an Ivy Moon, but the rare occurrence of a super full moon followed by a total lunar eclipse last happened...and yes, more Hazel Moon Gods' Magic...in the early 1980s...and the early 1980s was the setting for Hazel Moon!

I was stunned by the size of the supermoon when I saw it last night, but I must have been one of the few people in America who didn't have a clue that an eclipse was about to take place. My J-Dog, my man Jeff, the science guy, hinted that I should keep a keen eye on the sky as I drove home from my mall maven gig hawking fragrances with my sis, Lori yesterday, but I was clueless until it began happening!!

After Lori and I drove to Detroit to take in the Echo and the Bunnymen concert, my phone died and I took my time replacing it. I liked having that digital umbilical cord cut. It was more like living in the '70s or '80s...times when people actually talked to each other and life was slower-paced. I'd just replaced my phone before the eclipse, but I'd still been avoiding digital media, and didn't set back up emails on my phone, so that probably explains why the eclipse was such a surprise...and being surprised can be a good thing!!

Loving Lardo Book-Signing Magic...

Another night of storytelling magic unfolded today, this time during a book signing hosted by author Wendy Olsen (left in above pic), who was completing a 20-stop book tour that took her to several countries and a number of cities. An intimate group of fans and friends turned out at the historic Astor Hotel as Wendy shared readings from her book, stories of her extraordinary life, but especially her 20 years living in Italy.

One of the most impressive Magical Moments occurred when Wendy shared that the hospital ward where she gave birth to her son, was the same ward where Ernest Hemingway was treated as a wounded soldier. Not such a big deal, you might be thinking, until you learned that Wendy was inspired to layer quote after notable Hemingway quote in her book, almost as if the long-dead author took the opportunity to expand his audience of readers beyond those who'd read his books!

I was actually there to, yes, support Wendy, she's a friend of Lori's, but also to see what the whole book-signing gig thing was like. About two weeks ago a contact of Lori's offered her the chance to have a book signing at the Astor as well, so I wanted to see the venue we'd be in, too. When I arrived, Wendy had just begun her book-signing opening monologue, passionately sharing stories of her life in Italy. At first I found myself wondering if I had anywhere near that same level of passion to share with others, then it happened...the band began playing.

After a sharing an Italian buffet meal, we were all sitting around a large table, talking, when Wendy noticed my fascination with the musicians. She went over and invited them to join us! When the discussion shifted to music, musicians, and concerts, I came alive and found my Passion! It's not easy for me to let go and share, but I'm slowly coming out of my shell and learning to accept myself and recognize some of my eccentricities as gifts! When the band began playing again, we all moved to be near them and the next thing you knew, many of us were dancing!

Before ending this post, I have to say something about the band. These were two journeyman musicians, full-time professionals whose gifts were evident. The singer has a beautiful, versatile voice and also played the guitar well. The violin player had excellent technique and mixed in classical sounds with covers of a wide range of other artist's music. What I found remarkable was how the nature of the craft of their art had continued to evolve over the years into these new, rich expressions of innovative sounds. They weren't splattering paint on canvas, but they were true artists nevertheless! And, the whole artist thing is seldom about money. When they began playing, the room they were in was practically empty, but play they did, performing to high standards, an effort only a true calling could bring forth.

My spirit was free, I'd found my speaker's voice, I was dancing, the glass of Chianti went down slow & easy, and all was Right and Magical with my World!  





  

Hazel Moon Magic at Peabody's...

This evening the company I work for, Peabody Interiors, hosted an LGBT fundraiser. After working the day shift, our Peabody's team stayed for the shindig. We were supposed to show people around and put in plugs for Peabody's, in general grease the socializing wheels, but enthusiasm and interaction spontaneously exploded as soon as a good number of LGBT benefactors showed up! (Karen Valentine above & below with Lisa)

Among those attending were members of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, an organization of gay men who dress in nun drag and provide meaningful service to the LGBT communities where they have chapters. As the spokesperson, Karen Gotzler, for the Milwaukee LGBT chapter informed the group, the need is great as LGBT members of the community still suffer discrimination and hardship at unacceptable rates.

 

On display were the paintings of Ramon Pablo Vidali and among his collection were a group of now iconic canvases depicting artistic renderings of members of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.

The first item of Hazel Moon Magic involved the fact that the head of Peabody's found out about our book and offered to host a book signing soiree on the same lush level as the LGBT affair! While walking around, one of the first people I met just happened to be a twin and an interior designer--JUST LIKE ME! We shared stories about the magic of having a twin...how close we were to our twin sisters, and yet how different we can be. Then, I ran into several former colleagues who, upon hearing about our book, volunteered their considerable gifts to the cause of finding a wide audience for Hazel Moon! 

Then, for those of you who've read the book or read this blog and our publisher's blog, remember how November had an apartment above a funeral parlor...well, I met one of the attendees and learned he had an apartment over a funeral parlor and he invited me to come there to take a look!

Another attendee was wearing some sparkly jewelry and while we talked I learned she collects rainbow jewelry and her favorite color pattern is the sequence of colors in a rainbow! In Hazel Moon rainbows are a recurring element that comes up again and again!

I met the drummer of the two-piece band that entertained during the evening, Mrs. Fun. She was delighted to see me, said how Lori and I had been fans of hers for so long, and hearing of our book, was so enthusiastic about supporting us at our upcoming book launch party!!



All in all, it was another magical night of many memorable Hazel Moon Connections!!

Crying Happy Tears...

After a few hours rest in a motel, Lori and I hit the Interstate for the road trip home. Lori was driving, her spirit lit up with the joy we'd experienced during the concert. I kept bursting out in tears, but Happy Tears as I was also overwhelmed with feelings that like our book, Hazel Moon, transcended the moment to bring all our past and the present live concert experiences together in an overwhelming flood of emotion.

The Hazel Moon gods played another trick on me, as a way to take me back to the '80s, the setting for the story--my phone died, not just the battery, but for some reason it just wouldn't work anymore. I was back in a time when I was no longer instantly connected to the rest of the world through a smart cell phone. I tried to use a pay phone, but it didn't work. Many times I've taken pictures and others have tried to take pics of me, they often turn out fuzzy, as if to say, You Can't Preserve the Present Moment...

In between the "happy tears" I'd been reading Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, and as I read the last few pages, I began feeling like Siddhartha. He lost his connection to the world when he walked away from his position of wealth and privilege as a successful businessman...I was experiencing that same feeling of isolation without my phone. Without a phone, I was forced to Live in the Moment, and to be Present in that moment. 

I have all of Hermann Hesse's books and like the lyrics in my story, Hazel Moon, they provide a lifelong lifeline to so much wisdom and truth. My sister and I didn't set out to tell a similar story as Siddhartha but I'm sure the themes and principles in Siddhartha have influenced my writing. For example, in the Chapter Govinda:


"When someone is seeking, said Siddhartha, "it happens quite easily that they only see the thing that they are seeking; that they are unable to find anything else, unable to absorb anything else, because they are only thinking of the thing they are seeking."

He goes on to describe the "better way" to be open to Finding instead of Seeking.

When reading this I realized how natural it is for me to try and live in the present moment and not color any experience with any particular expectation. I had the same reaction to the Bunnymen concert. Though we were all set up to meet the band members, after waiting nearly an hour, it just didn't happen. Our story character, November, isn't there yet, she still gets terribly disappointed when her expectations aren't met, but she's growing in that direction!!

In the Om Chapter...

"Yes, I am going into the woods: I am going into the unity of all things," said Vasudeva, radiant."

When Lori and I sent our character, Lyudmila, "into the woods" in Hazel Moon, it was the only place where she felt free, felt one with the natural world...and in Hawthorn Moon, the sequel, we have November hugging a tree!! Our Lady Luna character is well established as preferring old things and wanting to sleep outdoors. (See excerpt below)

A page earlier in Siddhartha...the story speaks metaphorically of the many voices of the river...

"And all of them taken together become the music of life. When Siddhartha listened to all the voices he did not listen only to the sorrow." Hmmm...the Music of Life...
 

And so, Hermann Hesse used The River as a metaphor for life...and now I can see that we used The Concert in the same way...a source of inspiration and enlightenment as we experience life's trials, triumphs, and tribulations...

Regardless of how a story is told...the Truth is the Truth and the Universe has a way of inspiring writers to package important principles inside different kinds of tales!

From Chapter 11 in Hazel Moon

STILL WARM, YET WITH a hint of an autumn chill, Lyudmila sprinted as her heart raced—was she there yet?

More fairy than flesh and blood, the world she preferred was the land of the hedgerow, the toadstool, the tall oak, the squirrel and acorn—not that of cold brick and mortar.

Her whole body tingling, she'd reached the edge of the woodlands and was welcomed with an embrace by a ten-foot sunflower. Her true friends lived there...the robin, the rabbit, the gopher and toad. The hazy night had a dreamlike quality, the kind that only came in summer.

"Hello there, old warty tree," Lyudmila said, greeting her favorite bur oak, boasting an almost animated trunk girthed like a hoop skirt.

"And...how do you do, my little pass-arounds," she greeted, as they replied by sending back twinkles and sparkles of reflected moonlight.

Lyudmila was admiring all the shoots and suckers, the flitting and flirting, all the procreating going on everywhere. At night it was a dark world except for the fireflies and moonbeams revealing the woodland's magical primary color—sepia, the deep reds and browns mixing with pungent earthy smells, ripe and gamey.

In the woods, all of God's creatures lived in harmony as the all-knowing moon watched and waited. Turning her head, Lyudmila saw an arrogant owl wink at her as a nearby handsome hare chewed down stalks of tall grass one after the other. Suddenly the hare leapt away and the owl flew off as their sacred space was being invaded by a trio of marauders.

Galloping through the brambles, the dogs, Great Danes, the favorites of Sister Archibald who'd trained them. They'd howl or grovel at her whim, and loyally fall asleep at her feet each evening. But at midnight the tricksters would use their teeth to open a series of doors until they, too, escaped the stifling confines of the dreary orphanage.

They were all from the same litter, but chose their own magic colors to show off to the world—one the shade of rich, organic mud, the next the hue of a thick cup of Turkish coffee, and the striking third was a black-and-white mix.

Lyudmila was delighted to see them.

"Finally...my entourage has arrived...my Moon Dogs, welcome henchmen...to another night of freedom!"

In celebration, while once again Lyudmila's hair morphed into tight curls, together they let loose an awe-inspiring extended howl, entertaining the other forest creatures with harmonies worthy of a canine barbershop quartet.

The yowls of delight instead of pain, over for the moment, it was time to play.

As they frolicked, jumped, and scampered, the quartet fell into an unruly row of hazel trees with low-hanging branches and began feasting on the nuts and chewing the canary-green leaves as if they were succulent watercress. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Lyudmila became sullen.

"Oh...my Moon Dogs...though you will always be my first loves, sometimes I long for a boy like me, but someone like you stout, handsome, trustworthy fellows...oh...will such a rhapsody of romance ever find me?"

Despondent, Lyudmila tore herself away from the Great Danes and began running full force through the acres of hazel hedges. She made sure to push her face into the rough branches, to feel how real they were, to connect to Mother Earth, wanting the very spirit of the planet to invade her lonely soul.

Now down on the ground, Lyudmila was slithering like a snake in the grass, her eyes alert and bright with starlight, yet cloaked in the darkness of disappointment and regret. Darting upright, she snapped off two identical hazel twigs.

Grasping the twigs with her right hand, she searched her night frock for the treasure she'd stolen, lifted in stealth like a Covent Garden pickpocket from Sister Cox's green gingham hatbox.

LYUDMILA HELD A SILK taffeta ribbon which glistened in the moonlight—a robust hue of Pompeii Red. The magical color seemed to echo with sympathy for an unusual and painful infection near the base of her little finger.

The girls were worked hard at the orphanage, Lyudmila toiling in the laundry, her hands rough and sore from the hot iron. A scab had formed over the wound as round as a cherry. She took the twigs, crossing them dead center, then, looped the ribbon around creating a cross.

Holding the talisman up to absorb the energy of the Hazel Moon, she began to repeat a chant softly in her mind.

The night raven blue black

The night the Rhineland

The wind beckons

The world is there for the taking

Is all possible no more?

"Oh Hazel Moon...my wise friend, did you forget about me...help me...please."

WAITING PATIENTLY FOR an answer to her request, Lyudmila soon began seeing visions of a chamber door and grimaced at the painful pitch of the creaky riser, then, she began hearing words of warning coming from the grotesque doorknocker...Only trust the outdoors, not brick and mortar.

Springing up like an alley cat about to pounce on a mouse, she fell backwards, holding firmly to the talisman. Raising it up once again, "Oh, Hazel Yellow Moon, please, I beg you, do not let me down this time!"

As a sign that her petition was received, her wound had completely healed. 

Hazel Moon Fillmore Magic...

Well, I just got back from our road trip to the Fillmore in Detroit, Michigan, to see the band featured in our book, Hazel Moon. It was a perfect, summery fall day when our road trip began at noon, Central Standard Time, but when we arrived in Detroit it was apparent that they were in the Eastern time zone. The show started at 7 PM, but the Hazel Moon Magic began well before the Bunnymen took the iconic Fillmore stage, which had previously been known as the State Theater, and before that The Palms, which I only mention because The Palms was also the name of a concert venue Lori and I frequented back in the '80s in the Milwaukee area.

Other than knowing who the band members were, before showing up we hadn't spoken with anyone about our book and our wish that the band consider supporting the marketing of our book, but almost immediately doors opened, those necessary Connections began flickering like Christmas tree lights, like Hazel Moon fairies dancing all around us. Outside the venue, right after getting our tickets, we ran into the band's tour manager and after sharing our hopes for the evening, we were put on a very limited meet-and-greet list for after the show.

That important step accomplished, we were able to go into the Fillmore, find our seats, be amazed at the historic grandeur of the venue's lush, ornate interior, and revel in every minute of the Bunnymen's concert. In another delightful connection to the book, the Bunnymen lyric quotes from Hazel Moon by the end of the concert had all been sung by the band! 

I have to admit, being on the road trip with my sister, Lori, being at the Bunnymen's concert, made us feel like we were 20 years old again!

After the show, which included two encores (see below for a book excerpt) we couldn't help but be stunned with the connection to our story, a key scene about the Bunnymen concert involved an encore, something they rarely, if ever do. When calm and quiet finally settled back into the Fillmore auditorium, we were led to the meet-and-greet area where Lori, in full bloom in her actress roll playing Lady Luna, eloquently explained what our book was about when asked by the tour manager.

We signed two copies of our book for the two original members of the band from those early days in the '80s, the setting for Hazel Moon, and the years during which my sister, Lori, and myself were being creatively inspired by taking in so many fabulous bands, including, Echo and the Bunnymen.

Time will tell, but the band has copies of our book and if they like it, and agree to support it, that would be fantastic, however, The River is Everywhere...the Moment was Memorable, the road trip full of exciting memories that we'll never forget...no matter what happens with our book!

Pic below, me at the Fillmore done as an artistic rendering.

Excerpt from Hazel Moon about the Echo and the Bunnymen encore from Chapter
12 Encore.

SUDDENLY A TREMENDOUS ROAR snapped Luna out of her Lyudmila spell. When Echo and the Bunnymen played the last song of their last set and vacated the stage, few, if anyone left. Instead, the audience began applauding, yelling, and chanting, hoping the band would come back for an encore.

Not about to give up, after a few minutes the audience rose to their feet and intensified their raucous outcries; adding taunts, whistles, screams, and banging together anything they could get their hands on to make enough noise to get the band's attention.

Whipped into a collective frenzy anyway during this Eve of the Hazel Moon, the rowdy crowd was not about to leave without seeing the Bunnymen back on stage one last time. The band, on the other hand, was making them sweat.

The decision whether or not to play an encore was usually made by Ian and although they typically avoided them, on certain special nights they played their fans' obsession with the band for all it was worth.

Twas a tricky maneuver, though—wait too long and the crowd will begin to disperse—don't wait long enough and they won't appreciate the encore. Wait just the right amount of time and the encore will take them to a place they've never been during a live performance—one they'll remember for the rest of their lives.

Ian had a sixth sense about just when to send the band back out there, and after fifteen long, drawn-out minutes, that's exactly what he did.

The exuberant explosion of sound brought Luna back to 1984 while also putting a look of hope back on November's despondent face, believing that the Eve of the Hazel Moon had come and gone without presenting her with any magical gifts—without keeping any important life-changing promises. But all that changed with the encore.

"AHHAH...they're back...the band's back!"

Anyone watching November would have thought her in the midst of the ultimate G-Spot orgasm! She was gasping for breath, her arms were wrapped around herself tightly, and she screamed while digging her long, sharp fingernails into her shoulder blades.

Thinking to herself, oh...the moon gods are good to me...the concert magic is not over!

The crowd was absolutely going wild. Looking left she saw a casserole of geeks and freaks, posers and desperadoes; all with their hands waving frantically in the air, many holding lit cigarette lighters in a ceremonial tribute to their adoration for the band and their acknowledgement that this Eve of the 

Hazel Moon was indeed a remarkable night for the ages.

November was afraid to exhale, worried what she was seeing would break up like a smoke ring if she didn't hold on tightly to the memorable moment. She'd followed the band enough to know that an encore was a privilege. The crowd also sensed the aroma of being honored.

Angela had the same untamed reaction, screaming with glee as November wrapped around her from behind, and like a powerful python slowly squeezed the very air out of her lungs.

"They are so back...ROCK ON!" Angela squealed, giving November the kind of naughty I'm-yours look you'd only find on a turn-of-the-century French pinup poster.

Dickey bolted between the two, first crouching, then rough-housing his arms around their waists before bellowing out a loud, "Yeah!"

Hazel Moon Bunnymen Magic...

My sister Lori and I were at a wedding yesterday, the day before we took off on a book promotion road trip to Detroit to see Echo and the Bunnymen in concert, hopefully meet the band, and interest them in backing our book! 

 

I couldn't help but feel like the Hazel Moon Magic stars were aligned for something unusual to happen to point to our trip tomorrow. Sure enough, IT DID!!

A good time was being had by all during the wedding reception as soon after the meal was served, a DJ began spinning songs to get the dancing started. Of course, Lori and I joined right in. Toward the end of the evening's festivities, though, I couldn't believe what I was hearing when the DJ began spinning an Echo and the Bunnymen song!!

Yes, the Bunnymen were a happening band back in the '80s, the time setting for our novel, Hazel Moon, but there was no way a DJ in 2015 was going to put one of their songs out there for a modern crowd at a wedding reception...there was No Way and yet, Way...IT HAPPENED!!!

But that wasn't the only Magical Connection...the sequel to Hazel Moon, Hawthorn Moon, opens at an Armenian festival where November has taken her boyfriend, Marcus, to experience some of her ethnic culture. Marcus is a DJ!!!!

 


 

Hazel Moon Money Magic...

Last night I stopped to see my editor to put the finishing touches on the manuscript for Hazel Moon! We decided to write the first chapter in the sequel, Hawthorn Moon, and add it to the end of Hazel Moon as a Sneak Peek! (See Below)

I also picked up four proof copies of the book to take on a promo trip to Detroit to see Echo and the Bunnymen  in concert, to meet the band, give them signed copies of the book, and hopefully get them interested in promoting Hazel Moon which features the band throughout the story.

Remember the book-signing dresses we got for $10 each marked down from $400 at Nordstrom's, considering what we wanted/needed them for, and our limited budgets, that $10 price seemed like a magical gift from the Hazel Moon gods. While working with my editor, one of his other authors came in and told us a story.

She was looking for a working laptop for her brother. Again, on a limited budget, she found one at a rummage sale and was able to talk the seller down to $10 for an older, but good laptop that gets online reliably and which was worth much much more. It just seemed like much more than a mere coincidence that two authors, sitting there talking to each other, both had important needs met for the exact same $10 price tag!!!

It would appear that Magic comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors, so keep a keen eye out for those Magical Connections that are happening in your life!

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/37042129-hazel-moon

Hawthorn Moon

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Seattle, May, 1991

I've never been in love,

Don't know what it is,

I only know when someone wants me...

Jane's Addiction

"SONNY LIKES THE SARMA," said a surprised Marcus as the midday spring sun haloed around his natural Afro in a crazy supernova sort of way.

The cap he normally wore was in his pocket...an afternoon thing when he liked his hair to have some freedom.

"Well, of course he does," I replied, "...we're pals, but it's more than that. We're close, like twins. Sonny ate the sarma cuz he knows that if he offered me some of his kibble, I'd try it...get what I mean?"

My words flowed out midst the wafting Mediterranean aromas of spicy boreg, a layered pastry often filled with cheese; eech, an Armenian bulgur salad; and lahmajoun, a kind of pizza and a popular street food made with ground lamb, parsley, and tomatoes.

"I haven't been to an authentic Armenian festival in way too long so this is a big deal for me, I buy some sarma and you won't even try them...they're just grape leaves stuffed with rice. Come on, I know you've got the chutzpah to choke at least one down."

"No...nope...I don't think so, November...I don't know what it is...I'm not feeling it and one thing I'm not is an ass-kissing hypocrite, but the rest of the fest really kicks! Look, girl, there must be a reason there aren't any Armenian restaurants...think about it, so it's not happening, just saying."

With his last argument, worthy of a Supreme Court chief justice delivering the final word on a controversial case, Marcus put on his charcoal newsboy cap, the style that had skulls with lemon moon eyes looking back at you, and smiled as he fed Sonny, sitting there drooling with anticipation, another one of his meat-filled sarma. After woofing down the last one, Sonny proceeded to lick clean Marcus' hands and his long, beautiful deejay digits.

LEERING AT HIM TOOK ME back to his loft, the one above St. Andrew's Grocery Store. Through my mind's memory eye I could clearly see the old, peeling dusty rose velvet wallpaper and the heavy rustic driftwood beams crisscrossing a ceiling with patches of plaster ready to fall to the floor.

It was the perfect pad to sit for hours and read Rilke poetry, such as the line, Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave, or listen to a vinyl recording of the great Jimi Hendrix belting out "Hey Joe," and all while drinking Merlot and chamomile tea at the same time.

His sparse makeshift kitchen contained not much more than a plug-in hot plate and microwave, but my head was swimming with images of boxes upon boxes of cheap macaroni and cheese. While remembering them I lost my taste for the Armenian delicacies I'd purchased.

WE WERE PRIVILEGED to be at the revival of the only Armenian picnic in the Seattle area. The last one took place over a decade ago.

Smiling at us were the ethnically charming Armenian ladies, many stout with dark hair and dark complected, who'd lovingly prepared the food, using recipes handed down from generation to generation, going back to their homeland in the Middle East.

As a result of the Armenian Holocaust in the early 1900s the Diaspora spread all over the world, with a group from a certain region in Armenia settling in Seattle.

One of the servers noticed that Marcus was turning up his nose at whatever sample she offered him, but she wouldn't give up. Her aged face had the same black-and-white photograph features I remembered from a picture that strangely disappeared when I was a girl.

With her classic Armenian gold hoop earrings dangling, it was a face that carried the struggle, pain, and pride of generations—influences that threatened to but didn't accomplish warping the shape of her heart which was constantly battling with itself. Despite the past I could tell her soul lived in the present joy of a garden of golden pas-tries, flaky, buttery, rich, and savory.

"You...you try this shakalama...you will like, believe me," she said, offering a piece out to Marcus with the reverence of a priest holding the Holy Eucharist. "It is the sweet taste of Armenia!"

Putting his open hand up as a barrier Marcus replied, "I know...Armenians can be sweet," as he paused to look affectionately in my direction, "thank you, but no, darling, not today."

After that happened I knew it was going to be a lost cause with Marcus and let him feed his food to Sonny, but somehow I sensed that the day was destined to unfold in some significant, life-changing way that I could have never imagined...something...something was going to happen that would shake our world.

UNABLE TO SHARE SOME OF my cherished ethnic culinary heritage with Marcus was taking me down, but before bottoming out some unusual, imported, and so-damned-honest sounds caught my attention. The festival parking lot came alive with ethnic music and this aspect of Armenian culture my Black boyfriend was interested in tasting.

"Hey...dear Novi...you've been holding out on me, these guys are really kickin' it. Don't just stand there!"

"But we don't go to this church?"

That didn't matter to Marcus who grabbed my hand, waved Sonny on to come along, and we joined the line of folk dancers holding hands and all performing in unison a series of repeating moves with their feet while slowly snaking around the dance area.

The repeating pulsing music became hypnotic, the crescendos exhilarating, the distinctive sound of the kanun gloriously evident, its strings rising above the other instruments, as Marcus and I broke into the human chain joining hands with members of the Kaprelian and the Andykian families, kicking when it was time to kick, swirling and laughing as we were caught up in the collective joy of the experience.

Sonny found a spot right by the band and seemed to be dancing in his own way, panting to the beat. The music was mesmerizing, the extended manic sounds, the fairytale dance steps, and there I was with Marcus, right in the heat of the meandering moment, part of an ancient celebration, a ritual featuring thumping hearts the joyous pomp and circumstance of unbridled, free-flowing movement.

Part of that joy was feeling accepted. I wasn't from their church, Marcus was Black, yet despite our differences we had all become one collective soul joined in harmony by the music and dancing. I could see Marcus dripping sweat on the unusually warm and humid spring day, but you don't notice minor discomforts like that when you've slipped into the Twilight Zone of an Armenian folk dance.

Just then a cooling breeze waved over us making us feel like the sky was dropping cool petals of lily white flowers on us...hmmm...heavenly.

Just then, while we were standing on the sidelines catching a rest, Marcus spoke up to break the spell I was under.

"You handle yourself well out there, but I thought Angela was the one who loved to dance, why isn't she here with us?"

"Believe me, she wanted to but duty called. She's working a promo.

AT THE LOCAL MALL Angela was with her mother selling fragrances.

"This place is awesome, the folks a little different than the LA crowd, but do you think teal nail polish will work here in Seattle to match the Eternity bottle?"

Angela Gonzales-Gondola was sporting a new sassy shag-do tinted in a pretty Mediterranean off-center red, projecting her most seductive fall-in-love-with-me smile as she captivated a passing couple wearing matching brown hoodies.

"Yep, my baby poopsy, that should work. See, I've got on my icy-green fishnets to match the bottle...ooh, I like this song...hippity hoppity, right?" Rosa asked as she began to bust out in some not-bad street moves, show-girling it in front of their New Frontier fragrance kiosk.

"Mom...the song is, "Rapper's Delight," by the Sugarhill Gang, and lyrics go, I said a hip hop, hippie to the hippie... There's more, Ma, but will you please at least get the first part right, and the name of the rapper from the band is Master Gee," Angela clarified.

Glaring at Rosa were several pairs of eyes from their competitors trying their best to push their lines of perfumes, but Angela and Rosa seemed to attract all the fragrance-buying customers that day, and most days, frustrating the other sellers to no end.

"That's right, the name of the fragrance is Master D," Angela replied, answering the final question before closing the deal for the couple who'd been presented with a series of small samples sprayed on business cards, sniffing a jar of strong coffee beans to clear the nose of the previous scent before trying the next.

"Yeah, that's the one. I like the subtle but strong earth tones...yep, wrap it up and you've been a big help describing all the differences between the samples," the guy from the couple said.

Yes, Angela was good at what she did, she knew her fragrances, but the real dance taking place between her and her customers was about raw, sexual chemistry and Angela had it going on in that department. She made the sale to a couple, but it was the guy who first made the move in Angela's direction, to the consternation of his date as the sales soiree unfolded.

"Game on, Mom...score two more for me...ooooh, Angela is good, now isn't she!"

They got paid just for being there at the mall and talking up their Calvin Klein line of fragrances. They earned the posh gig of being paid to go on the road merely promoting the company's fragrances because they were the most successful sales team by far in their district. Beyond that, they had fun competing to see who would end up closing the most customers when the mesmerized person, male or female didn't seem to make a difference, opened their wallet to buy something they were pitching.

Angela's bold boast triggered Rosa's competitive instincts and she didn't have to take a backseat to anyone. Rosa had been a dancer all her life, her prime cut shapely legs and rounded calves constantly turning heads. Her dancer's feet were always wrapped in sexy open strap sandals, shoes, and boots, not so much for the open-toe look but because they sweat so much. Adding to her visual impact is a three-inch stunning skunk streak down the center of her long luxurious hair.

"Watch this, half-pint," challenged Rosa, eyeing up a fifty-something handsome UPS guy in his brown uniform.

Her pitch usually got the job done. It always began with a huge, broad, welcoming smile boasting lots of teeth to go along with pumping up her shoulders a couple of times like she would do serving a pan of homemade lasagna. But that was just the opening seductive salvo. The UPS driver was about to slip into her web.

"Tell me something about your honey. Do you think she'd like a sensual scent or something fun and spirited on you?"

Before he had a chance to answer, Rosa would press the assault after noticing he had a wedding ring on.

"I see you're married. What is your wife's name?"

"Kelly," UPS Guy answered while raising his ring finger to show Rosa.

"Try this, new from Calvin Klein, Eternity for men, but really this fragrance was made for women, for wives, like your Kelly, because it symbolizes how you felt when you fell in love with her...and your eternal love for each other," Rosa tactfully insisted after setting the romantic stage as she proceeded to spray a sample on him.

This was the risky reverse seduction phase of the sell. When the right fragrance mixed the man's natural scent and the potent pheromones released could be intoxicating, sending Rosa and Angela into a swirl of erotic intensity. The girls would often have to wait a minute for the butterflies to settle before they could continue the pitch.

That's what happened with the UPS driver as he noticed Rosa swoon after inhaling his enhanced manly scent. The poor guy was outgunned, though, and smiled a look of surrender as Rosa proceeded to close him, all while Angela, who knew exactly what was happening, smirked wistfully in Rosa's direction before engaging in her new habit, swirling her wedding ring round and round when she was in the midst of any intense emotion.

Although Angela and Rosa spiced up their promo days with a little good-natured competition, it was obvious to anyone who knew them or saw them together that they loved each other. Score: Angela 2, Rosa 1, but the ladies called it a draw.

"Alright girl...who's rockin' Seattle now?

After a high five they began busting out Salt-N-Pepa moves right in the middle of the mall while singing the lyrics to, "Ooh Baby Baby," both of them positioning their hands up to their mouths as if they were holding microphones.

BACK AT THE ARMENIAN Festival, there was a lull in the action as the band was on a break, so Marcus pulled out his harmonica and was serenading November with the song, "Dixie," his style soft and slow...right from the heart.

I grabbed his cap while he was playing and put it on laughing, "This is mine for the rest of the day since I've got to go to some poser lame photo shoot you got me into...rockin' out with Marcus Duprees!"

I pulled it over my way wavy long hair that on this day was coppery brown shaped with three thin braids...this day that would unfold to be a one to remember.

"Hey, that's exactly why they wanted you—November Rainer Savitchian can ROCK OUT. These guys trust me to steer just the right talent to them. The gig is at the Den Zen End bowling alley and the guy's name is Guter...he's way cool. I mean, him and I go way back, he digs your incense, and he wants someone real, earthy, and different for the video...and...he's paying you some good cash. Gutter Man is a character. He drinks like a fish and owns the Singing Telegram Modeling Agency...some guy...know what I mean."

"Are you kidding me...what is all that supposed to mean? I just know I'm not going to like some guy who sings and drinks. I do like his name, though...different, for sure, and I'm wondering what his last name could possibly be. You're right about the incense though, he is a loyal Tomorrow's Rainbow customer. I mail him a lot of it every month. But, how come you don't know the name of the band the video is for? Angela, my very best gal pal, is in town. She's staying at the OK Motel where we're going to party to-night if you want to join us."

With that I jumped on the back of Marcus' shiny blue Buell roadster, Sonny leaped into the Robin side-car, and I instinctively began stroking both his and Sonny's hair...just something I like to do...just saying. Then, Marcus shot an arrow right through my wounded heart with words that slapped my misty Seattle love world silly.

"I'm dropping you off at the Weeping Wounded Heart gas station...you know the one...with that huge weeping willow out front. Gutter will pick you up there. There's a nice concrete bench outside. Why don't I pick up your Italian friends at the mall, it's been awhile since I've been there, I'll pick up some pizza, and after you're done shooting the video we'll get the party started at their motel! So tell me more about this Angela. Does she really have five kids with three different guys?"

"No...that's four, all boys, Gunner, Garlito, and the twins, Giovanni and Giancarlo," I answered, while petting Sonny in the sidecar, trying not to think, to stay in the moment, that place where I was always safe, wondering what I'd said to Marcus...oh how damning and ordinary conversation can be.

I WAS ESCORTED OFF his bike onto a corner that faced the Fresh Fish Market. After inhaling the pungent smell of rotting salmon and cod coming from their dumpster, more than ever I felt like the last thing I could possibly want was to be in another typical music video exploiting women as sex objects and be handled by some drunk guy named Gutter.

Peering down at my favorite blue calico cotton summer dress, wearing my black combat boots, with my dad's brown cardigan on, I just couldn't imagine why anyone would want to photograph me. I pulled skull cap down and watched as my Marcus rode off with Sonny to do what I did want to do—party with my friends.

The crunchy white gas station gravel was stained with the remains of various petroleum products as I literally ran to the only thing that seemed to make any sense—the large weeping willow, covered with fresh Popsicle-green new growth leaves and gleaming with endless possibilities.

I paused, then turned to hug the trunk, my mind racing back to that fateful Eve of the Hazel Moon so many years ago, tears flowing knowing how much that night changed me. Looking down I could see pairs of nightcrawlers lined up next to each other carrying out their mating ritual. Looking up to the chirps of song sparrows, I saw a male and female prancing as a prelude to procreating, and following the sound of scampering to the right I noticed a female red squirrel being pursued by two chunky suitors hot on her trail.

Standing next to the great willow I felt myself at the epicenter of a natural world teeming with the hanky-panky life force of renewal and where was I—November Rainer Savitchian, abandoned at the Willow Wounded Heart Gas Station. Then, I began tingling all over.

An early May breezed picked up. It carried an intoxicating familiar fragrance—lily of the valley, spiced with the warmer notes of Patchouli. Looking up I saw a swirl of white hawthorn flowers. Slowly emerging from the cloud of petals, breathtakingly beautiful, singing with a songbird's voice, yet always projecting her sassy devil-may-care personality, there she was.

"Luna!"

Hazel Moon "Basket" Magic

My sister, Lori, and I were at the Kenosha harbor last night to have a brief meeting with our editor. Walking up to the coffee shop where he was waiting for us we saw a bike with a wicker basket. A rare sight on any day, but on a day when both the authors of Hazel Moon were meeting to finalize preparations to launch our book, I sensed Magic!

In our story, a young November rides her bike over to Dickey's house to help him heal from some awful facial skin burns. She brings the medicine and other things for a healing ritual in a wicker basket on her bicycle! (See excerpt below) But the Hazel Moon Magic wasn't over!

Our story covers a 24-hour period during which November and Angela attend a music concert featuring Echo and the Bunnymen. We didn't know this was happening when we went to see our editor, but on the other side of the harbor a music festival was going on! So, of course, being the ultimate concert bunnies Lori and I went to check it out and did some dancing to a band covering '80s rock tunes!!

It will be a sad day if and when the Hazel Moon Magic ever does stop...

BOOK EXCERPT

from Chapter 9

TANNING WAS IN, spurred on by the ever popular sun-drenched Baywatch bodies, and Dickey had fallen asleep under a sunlamp.  His parents were gone on a business trip, leaving him to deal with the red, oozy goo that used to be his face. Caked with a white medicinal paste, the pain excruciating, unable to go out for days he lay in bed, on his back, staring at the orange-and-red pop art poppies on the ceiling wallpaper.

During the day he'd look through his leaded-glass window, encircled by leafy vines, and out into a world that was passing him by. November would often walk by his house on the way to and from school and knew where Dickey lived. From hallway gossip she also knew what had happened to him.

One day Dickey saw her pedaling a purple Huffy two-wheeler sporting a straw basket dotted with salmon-colored plastic flowers. The basket had to be filled with something heavy because it kept bouncing on the front tire, forcing November to stop, get off, and straighten the mess out before proceeding.

Always fashion-forward, rebelliously on display was her own one-of-a-kind variation of the Ramones' punk rock bowl-cut coiffeur. Hair was covering the right side of her head, to down over her ear, while the left was shaved, including the eyebrow on that side.

She could have been delivering supplies to a Native American medicine man as the basket was jammed with tinctures, and tonics of motherwort, gorse, and Chinese wolfberry. Nestled on the bottom was a red-and-white first aid kit. Drawn on it freehand with a black Sharpie, a skull and crossbones.

Dickey remembered watching November, a Florence-Nightingale halo seemingly glowing over her head, untie the basket and carry it up the flagstone steps to his front door. They were close, so Dickey let her in and they went up to a guest quarters in the attic where they'd have some privacy.

Yes, Dickey was sick and in need of medicine, but true health was never only about the body.

She brought sidewalk chalk and drew a perfect six-foot circle with a pentagram inside before placing unlit candles in tinted glass containers on each of the five points. To begin the healing spell, November disrobed right down to her birthday suit and sat down in the Lotus position in the center of the circle.

She couldn't have been less concerned about being naked. In the Garden of Eden, Eve had no sense that she was supposed to be wearing clothes. The Spirits guiding November came into being long before the Garden of Eden. She was simply honoring them by honoring their traditions.

Like a young swan nestling in her breast feathers, November's head lay down over her chest, muffling tears but not hiding them. Suddenly she was ready, her expression changed, she got up and darted back to the basket. With the misdirection skill of a David Copperfield performing table magic, she seemed to materialize a black-handled double-edged dagger from thin air.

"What the hell...what is all this about anyway...it's not Halloween, November," a spooked Dickey hissed.

Uncomfortable with the Not Normal aspect of the white-witch scene unfolding, he attempted to change the mood, casually picked out a Nina Simone record from a stack near the record player, and dropped the needle on "Little Girl Blue."

November could appreciate that Dickey was a world-of-wizardry novice and took a moment to educate him.

"Dickey...this dagger... it's a ceremonial Athame. Just trust me and I can help you."

She took her left finger and began softly stroking the blade, then while grasping it she joined Dickey at the record player and forced his hand around hers, before pressing him slowly to the ground.

Dickey began to resist, but November persisted and when she had him down and back in the center of the pentagram, she forced his hand around hers and the dagger.

"Create the Magic Circle with me...please, Dickey...will you?"

They were buds from way back, but where Dickey's family was well off, November lived most of her disadvantaged life in the town's trailer park. But they did have a long history together and he could tell how serious she was.

Seeing what was engraved on her face, now etched with the weight of the world, flushed with the Grim Reaper's color, sunset blood red, Dickey's resistance vanished.

"...I'm in...you know that...let's roll."

Now holding November's hand tight, the one grasping the ceremonial weapon, he jacketed her from behind, both sitting on the floor, and he helped her gauge through the chalk, and through the layers of expensive inlaid floor; Madagascar, ebony, and yew, to carve out an engraved circle and pentagram. The carving completed, she replaced the ritual beeswax candles on the pentagram points.

November began lighting each, then, returned to the center.

"Dickey...come inside the circle with me."

The room began swirling with a tapestry of shifting colors, the kind of enhanced sensory distortion you might expect on an acid trip, but November had conjured up a different kind of psychedelic experience.

Caught up in the surreal ceremonial moment, he joined her in reverent silence, as if they were in church and about to receive the sacrament of Holy Communion.

"Dickey, close your eyes."

Again, he complied.

"Ancient Ones, keepers of the old wisdom, thank you for joining us. We ask you to bestow your healing arts on behalf of this most worthy soul here with me. Bless him with your power as we honor you."

With the words of the spell spoken, November took Dickey's hands and pulled him toward her. She then began kissing his scabbed and infected cheeks.

Wherever her lips touched his skin, it was instantly returned to baby-bottom perfection. With each kiss the lights in the house surged on and off, lightning cracked, thunder bellowed, and the windows and walls rattled as the wind roared like a freight train as if a tornado were passing by.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Dickey's intense childhood memory abruptly ended when Angela, behaving like a frisky Playboy Bunny, high on the Rhine wine, warm beer, and live music, turned and planted a passionate kiss right on his lips!