In the Day of Trouble

I had a curious dream the other day, which I was moved to jot down. It seemed more amusing than anything else, but it left me feeling oddly cheerful and optimistic. At first I couldn't see a relationship between the events of the dream and waking life, but as often happens, connections appeared after I started thinking about details, such as the bottle of Frangelico that popped up in the middle of the dream, seemingly out of nowhere. Yeah, really--Frangelico!

In the dream, I was stranded in an affluent suburb outside Omaha. I know: why Omaha? I've no idea, except that to me, the city seemed to be somewhat farther south and to the east of Omaha, more in the vicinity of, say, Saint Louis. Nevertheless--Omaha. It was an attractive retail area and actually had more of an urban feeling than the word "suburb" indicates, but I really wanted to get back downtown, where I was staying. I seemed to be there for a conference at a university and had somehow gotten stuck in the outskirts, where I was repeatedly frustrated in efforts to catch a bus.

I had several bus tickets with alternate numbers written on them, along with a bottle of water and some other items. I kept seeing buses go by, but never the one I needed. There was a chic little restaurant just off the street, and I passed a little time inside at a table. (For a moment, I seemed to be in my own neighborhood at home, but that feeling passed.) When I got up to leave, I had the bottle of Frangelico in my hand, and my bottle of water was nowhere to be seen.

As far as I know, I've only had Frangelico once, in a delicious chocolatey sort of drink. It was very good, and I'd certainly have it again, but in the dream I was incensed that my bottle of water had disappeared. I complained to the cashier, who, while polite, seemed mildly obstructionistic as I tried to exchange the Frangelico for my bottle of water. It didn't look like a real Frangelico bottle but was instead fairly small and flat, like a flask. The liqueur was golden brown and had small brown seeds at the bottom similar to cloves.

I'm not actually sure whether I ever got my water back, but I was outside and sort of flying around chasing a bus when Harrison Ford showed up. Then we were both chasing the bus, and I had the feeling that I'd known Mr. Ford before and that we were actually old friends. It finally started feeling like things were going my way, and although we still seemed to be pursuing a bus, it was now a fun sort of pursuit and no longer worrying. Then I woke up.

I may have known that Frangelico is made from hazelnuts, but if I did, I'd forgotten, until I looked it up. I then had to look up hazelnuts, remembering vaguely some associations they have with Celtic mythology. In fact, I had just been reading about hazelnuts in the last book of "The Dark Is Rising" series (which I wrote about last week). In the book, two heroes on their way to retrieve a crystal sword stop to eat some hazelnuts and apples given to them by a character who may or may not be Taliesin, the mythical bard and sometime god.

You may be wondering what that has to do with waiting for a bus in Omaha. Me, too. I note that I was not particularly happy to have a bottle of hazelnut liqueur instead of the water I started out with. Frangelico didn't seem like a practical beverage for a long bus journey, but more than that, I seemed to be saying "no" in some way to an idea of someone else's. In some of the old Celtic stories, hazelnuts are a source of wisdom (obtained in one instance by eating a salmon that had previously eaten hazelnuts). You'd think a mythologist would be the first one to say "yes!" to hazelnuts, but apparently it's different when you have a bus to catch. Maybe a jar of Nutella instead?

The beauty of the old tales about Taliesin, Fionn, and the Salmon of Knowledge, slippery and shape-shifting, has long appealed to me, and I had a good time today re-reading just about everything I've ever read about them. One nugget I came across was the idea that Elphin, the hapless youth who fished Taliesin out of a weir and was rewarded a thousandfold for his act, did this on April 29th. This is so close to the cross-quarter day of May 1 that I assumed a connection, and, yes, there are stories linking Taliesin and the salmon to May Day. Wisdom (and possibly fertility) is a special gift of Taliesin, who told Elphin, "In the day of trouble, I will be of more service to you than three hundred salmon." And he proceeded to make good on his word.

I actually had my dream not on May 1 but on August 1, which happens to be the cross-quarter day of Lughnasadh, an early harvest festival and celebration of the Celtic god Lugh. Lugh, by the way, had an emblem, a spear that never missed its mark. I may have had Lugh in the back of my mind, since I've written about the cross-quarter days before, and his spear certainly has a connection to a magic sword, the sword of Nuada; together, they are two of the mythical Four Treasures of Ireland. Apparently, reading about a magic sword and hazelnuts shortly before having this dream triggered an association.

But a spear is not a sword, and it wasn't Lugh, Nuada, or Taliesin that I encountered while chasing a bus, but a calm and collected Harrison Ford. While not a Celtic god (or is he?) he is certainly known for playing larger-than-life characters. So the moral of this story is . . . better one good hero of proven vintage or a bottle of spirits of dubious provenance? Well, which would you rather have in a tight spot?

What the Groundhog Saw

It's surprising how many different names Groundhog Day has. I wrote about the cross-quarter days--of which February 2 is one--last November, and I knew Groundhog Day was called Imbolc (in the Celtic tradition) and Candlemas in England, and that it has associations with Saint Brigid and with lambs. I'd forgotten that in the Catholic liturgical year it's known as Presentation Day or Purification Day, which has to do with the presentation of Jesus in the temple and rites of purification for his mother according to ancient law. I'm trying to remember if this is also when we used to have the Blessing of the Throats, when the priest went around and blessed everyone with two crossed candles to ward off colds. I'm not sure if this is still done, though it was kind of a charming idea.

There's a lot of old European lore associated with February 2, some of which has made it to America. We think of it as the midpoint of winter, when thoughts turn toward spring, but apparently in some places of old it was considered the start of spring. That's hard to imagine here, since January and February are deep-dyed winter months, with typically nothing springlike going on. I recall a year when a mild spell at February's end lasted long enough that it seemed spring had come early, which was cause for much remark. That I remember it so well shows how unusual it was. Let's hope it remains unusual (despite its loveliness), because however much one dislikes winter, February is supposed to be cold, at least around here.

My birthday and the Super Bowl both fall close to Groundhog Day, though I had never really given it much thought before. I don't know if there is any significance to being born on or near a cross-quarter day, but having learned that in some blessed places February 2 signaled the start of spring, I now have a new way of thinking about my birthday. Just the bare hint of an association with spring so close to my date of birth is radical enough that I'm going to adopt it regardless of what the weather is actually doing. If I'd known this a long time ago, it would have helped me through many freezing, sleeting, blizzarding birthday celebrations, but that's no matter--I know now.

Regarding the Super Bowl, I'm not sure whether it's a coincidence or not that it falls near the February cross-quarter. Football seems to have no connection with candles, ewes, lambs, Saint Brigid, groundhogs, motherhood or any other cross-quarter traditions you could name, but you never know, there might be a hidden link, just as there's a connection between the November cross-quarter, harvest, and Election Day. Candlemas in the late Middle Ages was apparently heavy on candlelit processions and the intoning of chant, all very pious and reverent; football (and the spectator sport of consuming heavy food and drink) seems rather more Roman in style (though February in ancient Rome actually marked a time of purification). However that may be, it does seem somehow American to mark the deepest part of winter with a head-bashing contest.

As for me, I happened to be looking through some old calendars on the evening of February 1 (Groundhog Eve, if you will) when I came across the special edition newspaper I had totally forgotten I'd saved from President Obama's first inauguration. While I don't know if the January date of our presidential inaugurations (since FDR) signifies anything other than a date conveniently close (but not too close) to New Year's, it does fall fairly near the February cross-quarter. (Let me remark parenthetically that I looked at that newspaper in some consternation--speaking of head-bashing and headaches--before throwing it away with some old calendars I found in the same cubby.) 

The next day, as it happens, I found an article in which someone was discussing possible ways to celebrate Candlemas/Groundhog Day/Imbolc in modern times, and cleaning house was one suggested activity. Glad to know I was on to something, I took down my little Christmas tree (which I'd been saving for Candlemas), dusted, mopped, shook out the rugs, and took out the trash containing all the old calendars and newspaper. I often play music while cleaning, but this Groundhog Day I actually found myself singing along. Well, spring fever will do that to you.

Reason for the Season

The weather's been veering, as it does in October. You get the feeling, with the way the wind changes, that Mary Poppins could drop in any minute. Yesterday, snow was in the forecast for the evening. I didn't see any, but apparently a little fell overnight, though not enough to show for much. I was trying to imagine what an autumn day would look like with flaming orange, red, and yellow leaves glowering under a layer of snow, but we didn't get to find out.

This conjured up an incongruous but picturesque image, like the time I was in Berkeley in the fall and walked down a neighborhood street where deciduous trees shedding leaves alternated with ever-blooming varieties and bright fruits and flowers that seemed to belong to spring and summer. The effect reminded me a little bit of a painting I've seen in which a motley group of buildings, including an Egyptian pyramid, a Greek temple, and a Gothic cathedral, are all lumped together in a fantasy spot by the sea: it's more or less impossible, unless you're in Disneyland, but it's fun to look at. (The painting is Thomas Cole's The Architect's Dream.) That street, where three seasons seemed to coexist at once, was a little like that. All that was missing was a snowdrift.

But I'm digressing. I was really thinking about an article I once read in The Old Farmer's Almanac about something called cross-quarter days, of which yesterday, October 31, is one. The others occur on February 2, May 1, and August 1. These originated in British and Celtic customs, and the article explained how other traditions, enduring even in America, are attached to these dates, which divide the intervals between the quarter days (the two solstices and equinoxes) in half.

October 31 is All Hallow's Eve (Celtic Samhain), February 2 is Candlemas (Celtic Imbolc), May 1 is May Day (Celtic Beltane), and August 1 is Lammas (Celtic Lughnasadh). Most people are aware of the connection between Halloween and the Celtic traditions relating to the dead; American customs like pumpkin-carving and trick-or-treating have their counterparts in Samhain. What I didn't know was that other customs, like Election Day--which seems totally unrelated to Halloween--are actually a part of this post-harvest celebration. What better time to hold elections than when all the work in the fields is over?

Our version of Candlemas is Groundhog Day, when we're looking forward to the spring equinox still some six weeks away (and trying to hurry it along). Less well-known (at least to me) was the Celtic Imbolc, which refers to sheep and lambs, whose season is the latter part of winter. Even I, a town girl, was able to make a connection to this ancient tradition when I remembered a college roommate, an agriculture major, who was always getting up in the middle of those frozen February nights to check on ewes about to give birth. It sure didn't sound like something I wanted to do in the wee hours of a cold, dark month, but I suspect your perspective is different if you're a farmer.

Beltane, of course, is May Day, a spring and fertility celebration. We don't do much with May Poles and mummers, but in Kentucky, we hold the Derby on the first Saturday in May, a bourbon- and equine-infused version of a spring fling, complete with elaborate hats. Lammas or Lughnasadh, probably not that well known in America, signals the start of the harvest and early crops. The thing to do on that day might be to bake a loaf of bread or a fruit pie. Lughnasadh commemorates the Celtic god Lugh, whose emblem was a spear that supposedly always hit its mark. (I've forgotten why he's celebrated in August, but I do remember once knocking on my ceiling with a broom handle to alert a noisy neighbor and later laughing when I realized it was August 1, the day of Lugh. A broom handle isn't much like a spear unless you're annoyed, I guess.)

This cross-quarter weekend, we're celebrating Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls Days, changing from Daylight Time to Standard Time, and getting ready for Election Day on Tuesday. In calendrical terms there's quite a bit going on, which might explain the restless energy in the air (it could also be the zing of unseen money changing hands as candidates continue to vy for votes).

If it's any consolation, the next time you're annoyed by a robocall or political advertisement, or if you forget to change your clock and end up at work an hour early on Monday, or if you get indigestion from too much Halloween candy, just think about being part of a tradition that stretches back to ancient times and started on the other side of the sea. Young or old, tricker or treater, candidate or voter, we each have our part to play. Exciting, isn't it?