HI, It's Frizzy Lizzy time

Hi dear friends and followers, "Oh my!" Another week has gone by, yes it's that time again, "Frizzy Lizzy time." "I'm on my way there now, would you care to join me there for tea?" Thank you, and please don't be shy, express your thoughts 

Most of my stress is usually brought about by four things; money, family, family with no money or family you don't hear from except on the holidays. Thanksgiving Day brings an abundance of turkeys and I usually get more than I bargained for at my house with my cousin, Bruce.

I've often wondered if it's true cockroaches and would be the only survivors of a nuclear war. I tend to think that house guests would, too, if put to the test. To me, the only difference between house guests and cockroaches is that the cockroaches don't hang around to watch TV after dinner while you wash the dishes. They leave after the food is gone.

But first things first, Coffee! I don't know what I'd do without coffee... probably end up doing life in the state pen or the bug house, Guess it would all depend which one caught me first, the ones with the handcuffs or the ones with the strait jacket.

Oh well that's one I am not planning on testing out. Got a fifty pound bag of coffee in one closet and a case of cigarettes in the other.

"I guess I ain't gonna be doing much today," Frizzy says as she sits at the kitchen table with her steaming fresh cup of coffee. She pauses and looks around then says to herself, "'except the sweeping and dusting, It's going to have to wait 'til a little later so I can copy all my notes I have written in the dust on the coffee table."

"But I do find it helps to organize chores into categories, like things I won't do now, things I won't do later, and things I'll never get around to doing, so today after I take my notes from the coffee table I may decide to do the things I'll never get around to doing."

"At least age has its advantages. Too bad I don't remember what they are, but never underestimate me. I might forget where my glasses or car keys are but I can still remember what color underwear you wore last year. You probably still have them on! Don't worry, I won't tell."

Well, I have to go. See you later!.

Thank you very much for visiting my dear friends and followers visiting Frizzy Lizzy. Hope you have enjoyed. 

❤✿ღےWith love form your Fairy Lady ڰۣღ✿❤

How Morning Star Lost Her Fish

Hi dear friends and followers, today's instalment I share with you an Iroquois fairy tale, How Morning Star Lost Her Fish. Have a great read, thank you for coming

Iroquois fairy tales are like the tales that we are used to hearing in that they involve an interaction between supernatural beings (Little People) and humans. Both types of tales frame their narratives using simple terms that we can understand and both types generally impart a lesson of some type, be it a virtue or some sort of morality. Today's offering has all of these characteristics, including a living happily ever after.

How Morning Star Lost Her Fish

Once the Little People, the Indian fairies, ran with the Red Children through the woods, and played with them beside the streams. Now they are not seen so often for the white man drove them out of the woods with the Indians, and away from the waters with his big steam noises.

But before steamboats and great mills were on the streams, the Little People were there. They were often seen paddling their tiny canoes, or sliding down the great rocks on the banks. They loved to slide down a bank where one rock jutted out, for then they had a big bounce. They also liked to sport and jump with the fish.

There was a young Indian girl whose name was Morning Star. She was called Morning Star because her face was so bright, and she was always up so early in the morning.Morning Star lived with her father in a comfortable wigwam by a river. Every day she would get up with the sun, and run down to the river where the great rocks were, to catch fish for breakfast.

Morning Star caught her fish in a basket. At night she would go and fasten her basket between the rocks, in a narrow place in the stream. Then, when the fish swam through in the night, they would get caught in it, and Morning Star would find plenty of fish waiting for her. In the morning she would take the basket of fish back to the wigwam and soon the smell of fish frying on the hot coals would come from the lodge.

Never since Morning Star began to fish with her basket, had Chief Little Wolf, her father, had to wait for his fish breakfast before starting on the hunt. But one morning, neither Chief Little Wolf nor Morning Star breakfasted on fish. This is how it happened.

On this morning the Indian girl was up as usual with the sun. She ran down to

the river just as the Great Spirit lifted the sun's smiling face. Morning Star had such a light heart that she was glad just to be alive, and she sang a song of praise as she ran. All true Indians at sunrise lift their arms and faces to the sun, and thank the Great Spirit that he has smiled upon them again. 

Happily and as fleet as a deer, Morning Star ran until she came to the great rocks. There she saw a whole tribe of tiny folk gathered about her basket. Some of them were perched on the sides of the basket, laughing and singing. Others were lifting the fish from it and throwing them into the stream. Still others were opening and closing the splints of the basket for the fish to slip through.

Morning Star knew that these tiny folk were the Jo gah oh. She knew also that these Little People were friends of the fish. They know every twist of a fish net and every turn of a hook. Often they have been known to set fish free, and to guide them into deep, quiet places, far away from the men who fish.

Morning Star called to the Little People and begged them not to let all of the fish go. Then she began to climb down the rocks, as fast as she could. The little Chief called up to her, “Fish, like Indian girls, like to be alive.”

Then he told the Little People to keep on setting the fish free.

When Morning Star reached her basket, a few fish were still in it. She put out her hand to take them from the Little People, - and not a fish, nor a Jo gah oh was to be seen. The Little People had darted into the rocks, for they go through anything, and the fish had slipped through the tiny spaces between the splints of the basket.

Morning Star heard the laughter of the Little People echo deep within the rocks, for they like to play pranks on the earth children. And far down the stream, she saw the fish leap with joy at being still alive. She took up her empty basket and went back to the wigwam.

That morning for breakfast, Morning Star baked corn cakes on the hot coals. As she ate the hot cakes she thought they tasted almost as good as fish.

Ever after, when Morning Star saw a fish leap from the stream, she remembered what the Jo gah oh had said: “Fish, like Indian girls, like to be alive.”

Thank you very much my dear friends and followers for your interest on this topic. It would please me much to start a discussion on this topic with you, express what you think and feel on this topic and I will do my best to guide you through it. Thank you

❤✿ღڪےWith love form your Fairy Ladyڪےღ✿❤

A Firemaker and a Peacemaker

Hi dear friends and followers, in today's instalment we take a look at the Iroquois Firemaker and a Peacemaker, a journey back in the time to the legends and traditions as related by Iroquois traditional story tellers. Have a great read, thank you for comming

What was important to the Indians? How did they figure out where to settle? How did they choose their leaders? How did their society get along and have no poor, no homeless, no crime, and no jails? Perhaps the following selection from Stories the Iroquois Tell Their Children will provide some answers.

A Firemaker and a Peacemaker

In olden times the Indians did not always live in one place as they do now. They sometimes wandered from one valley or woodland to another. When they cam,e to a sheltered place, where there was pure running water, and where plenty of game and wood were to be found, they would build their lodges and light their council fires. They might camp there for one moon or for many moons. As long as their arrows brought game on the hunting trails near, they would not break camp. But if game grew scarce, or if for any reason they did not like the campground, they would move on.

Sometimes they would journey for several days until they found a place that they liked.

The first thing that they would do in making a camp was to secure fire and light the council fire. The council fire was always kept burning. It never went out while they stayed in that place.

The Indians loved the fire. It was the gift of the Great Spirit to the Red Children. It kept them warm and cooked their food by day, and protected them by night.
A line of fires was kept burning around the camp. 

This protected the Red Children from the wild animals, for all animals fear fire, and are charmed by it. They might prowl and howl all night long outside of the fire ring, but never would they attempt to come within the fire ring. There the Indians could sleep in peace, guarded by the spirits of the fire.

The Indian who could make fire first became a chief and leader. When it was decided to camp at a certain place, a signal was given. At this the young braves would leap into the woods, to see which one first could bring back fire. Each had his own secret way of making it. Usually a bowstring was twisted about a fire stick, and the stick was turned rapidly in a groove. In a few seconds, smoke would rise from the sawdust that formed. After a little fanning a flame would leap forth.

The Indian whose brain and hand worked swiftest and surest was the smartest and best man. He became a Firemaker, and was made a chief of the tribe. He could do something that the rest could not,- at least he had proved himself to be more skillful. Such a man, it was thought, had a better understanding of all things, and therefore could tell the rest of the tribe what ought to be done.

He no longer was just a man who ate and slept, walked and ran. He was a man with a mind. He could think and do things. So he became a Firemaker chief, and he helped the tribe think and do.

The Iroquois Red Children believe that there are three kinds of men: those that use the body only; those that use the body and the mind; and those that use body, mind, and spirit.

Now it happened that sometimes an Indian grew to be so kind and so great, that he could not only strike the fire we see, but the fire we do not see, the fire of love that burns in the hearts of people.

When an Indian could strike this kind of fire, and warm the hearts not only of his own tribe but of all tribes, so that they came to love one another, he was a great chief, a Peacemaker chief. Such a man would go from tribe to tribe, teaching the people how they should do, so that all might live in peace and plenty, like brothers.

To be a Peacemaker was the highest seat an Indian could take. Few Indians became Peacemaker chiefs, and they were the great men of their tribe.
Indian women might also become Peacemakers. At one time the Iroquois had a Peace Wigwam, where all disputes and quarrels were settled.

The most beautiful, just, and fair-minded woman of all the tribes was chosen to sit in this wigwam. It was her duty to tend to the Peace Fire, and to see that it never went out. She also kept a pot of hominy always steaming over the fire.

If two Indians had a dispute, it was the custom for them to run to the Peacemaker's wigwam. They entered from opposite sides. Inside the wigwam, a deerskin curtain separated them from each other.

The Peacemaker would listen to the grievance of one and then to that of the other. Then she would draw aside the curtain, get the enemies together, and settle the dispute with justice.

The two would then eat of the hominy and depart in peace, - no longer enemies, but friends.

No nation could fight another nation without the consent of the Peacemaker. Because the peace women were wise, and just, and taught men to love, not fight each other, the Iroquois were for many years at peace.

But one day, it is said, a Peace woman proved untrue to her trust. She thought more of her own happiness than that of the nation.
This woman was very beautiful, and the people loved her. For some time she sat in the Peace Wigwam and tended faithfully to the Peace Fire.

One day an Oneida and a Cayuga chief fell to quarreling. They sought the Peace Wigwam. As they entered they saw the young Peacewoman tending the fire. Each thought that he had never seen so beautiful a woman.

Into the heart of each there leaped the desire that she might tend his wigwam fire.
The Peacemaker listened to the quarrel of the young chiefs and settled it justly. Then each tried to persuade her to leave the Peace fire and return with him to his lodge. But the Peacemaker said, “No, I must tend to the fire, it must be kept burning.” The chiefs departed with heavy hearts.

But the Oneida chief could not forget this beautiful woman. When a moon had passed, he returned to the Peace Wigwam. This time he persuaded the Peacemaker to leave her fire and return with him to sit at his wigwam door.

The Peace fire flickered and went out. The Iroquois went on the warpath, and for many, many moons, they fought and suffered and died.

Thank you very much my dear friends and followers for your interest on this topic. I would be pleased to have a discussion on this topic with you, express what you think and feel about this topic and I will do my best to guide you through it. Thank you

With love form your Fairy Lady ❤✿ღڪےღڰۣ✿❤

The Mentor's Peak”

Hi, dear friends and followers.  Today I wish to entertain you with a poem, one of my own compositions.  It's about a place even more ancient than mankind itself, The Mentor's Peak.

Have a great read and comments are most welcome. Thank you and enjoy!

The Mentor's Peak”

I hear the beat of their powerful wings

long before my eyes can see!

Before their regal shapes take form to me

I know that there are dragons flying in the sky!

They make a sound that feels like thunder,

loud thumping, vibrating the loose soil under foot!

They come over the mountain tops in single file,

then in twos and threes as they fill the sky.

They fly not noticing me hugging the ground

to keep from being blown away from my perch

on the edge of the mountain that they make their home.

One alights next to me, great wings outstretched.

It speaks, with human voice, “Better come with me, lass.

It's a long way to to the Mentor's Peak”

So up on its back, then away, off the ground,

then swooping down and soaring high!

Mighty wings! So ponderous these beasts!

Yet as agile in the air as the insects.

Always moving, never tiring we fly,

over hill and dale, cliff and crag, lake and stream.

Never tiring, we keep moving forward to where?

I do not know, I just feel I have to go.

It is late afternoon when I see land again,

as I see the others before me, outlined against an orange sun.

Giant shadows, for the moment , having their innocent fun.

Rising, diving, looping, repeating

In a game of dragons.

In their meeting, we have arrived,

my mighty mount said in a human voice.

Bodies sparkled magically in the darkness of night,

their wingspans glowing like gold, powerful tails in joy entwining;

Playing, while the moon is shining over the water.

Oh, how wondrous is this sight

When great dragons show delight!

We can see our Mentors coming - 

Wisest dragons of the land are here tonight.

We bow our heads to show respect

And keep our wings folded, but not until

the dragon who chose me,

presses my head down lightly with his mighty wing.

“Humans, too,” he whispers in my ear.

We listen to the Mentors, teaching, telling tales of long ago,

sharing an ancient wisdom, from a time before man.

We share the knowledge of our Mentors.

It is an honor to be here.

I listen carefully as they tell the story of before humans,

and through history up to the day of the humans.

“Pay attention, for now this is your story,”

the dragon whispers in my ear once again.

“Wisdom is passed on for you now.

Listen well and respect the wisdom of the Mentors.

We hope to be like them one day,

Continuing in our ancient traditions.”

Knowledge is never lost, but for one to receive it,

listen well to the calling in your heart,

and follow that calling without fear and without doubt.

For that voice within is your beacon.

I fly with my friends on great leathery wings.

I am free and my heart soars,

soaring as high as my many wings will take me.

My dragon mentor in human form.

 

Thank you very much my dear friends and followers for coming to my blog to read this special little poem I have written just for you

I would be pleased to have a dialog on this topic, express what you think and feel. Thank you

❀ڪےWith love from your Fairy Ladyڪے❀

Written by me Cynthia

Native legends of Little people and mythological creatures Part 3

Native legends of Little people and mythological creatures 

Part 3 

Hi dear friends and followers, in today's instalment we take a look at the Iroquois Cosmogony, a journey back in the time as told by  to the legends and traditions as related by Iroquois traditional story tellers. Have a great read and comments are most welcome. Thank you
cos·mog·o·ny
noun \käz-ˈmä-gə-nē\

plural cos·mog·o·nies

Definition of COSMOGONY

1 : a theory of the origin of the universe

2 : the creation or origin of the world or universe

***************************************

Every society has at least one of these, a way to explain how everything came to be. The Iroquois have theirs.

They also prayed for good crops and celebrated the seasons based on the time and phase of the moon as well as natural occurrences here on Earth. As you read you might see similarities between the Iroquois beliefs and traditions and those of where you live.

How the Iroquois Give Thanks

The Iroquois Red Children are a grateful people. The true Iroquois never rises after eating without saying, “Niaweh,” which means, “I am thankful.” The others reply, “Niuh,” - “It is well.”

The Red Children never pick a flower without thinking how kind the Great Spirit has been, to cause the flowers to grow. They like flowers, and no matter how poor the Indian's cabin, flowers are always to be found nearby.

When the Iroquois pick fruit they give thanks to the Great Spirit. And always do they leave some, for the “little brothers of the wood.”
They do not try to pick every cherry, or berry, or nut or apple for themselves. Fruits grow for the birds and animals as well as for men, and the little brothers of the wood must not be forgotten. Some of everything that grows is left for them.

During the spring and summer, the Iroquois give several thanksgiving feasts. The first is in the early spring, at maple sugar time. As soon as the sap begins to flow, the Maple Feast is called.

The Indians gather about a large maple tree. A fire is lighted nearby, upon which one of their number sprinkles tobacco. As the smoke rises, a prayer of thanksgiving is made to the Great Spirit, for causing the sweet waters of the maple to flow. Then the maple trees are thanked for their service to men, and protection is asked for the trees during the coming year.

When “the leaf of the dogwood is the size of a squirrel's ear,” it is planting time. Then an Indian maid goes into the fields and scatters a few grains of corn, asking the aid of the Great Spirit for the harvest. The Indian always plants his seeds with the growing moon, that it may grow with the moon.

The next feast is the Strawberry Feast and Dance.

The strawberry is one of the best gifts of the Great Spirit to his children. So greatly is it prized that it is thought to grow on the Sky Road that leads to the Happy Hunting Ground. An Indian who has been very ill, near death, will say, “I almost ate strawberries.”

When the strawberry ripens, the Red Children are happy. They sing their praises to the Great Spirit and dance with joy. They remember the Little People who have helped to make the berries beautiful, and they have a song of praise and a dance of thanks for them as well. Without the help of the Little People, the strawberries would not be so sweet and ripe.

At the time of the Harvest Moon comes the last feast of the summer. This thanksgiving lasts for sour days. The Indians not only give thanks for the ripening of the corn, but for every growing thing. Therefore, this feast is longer than the others, since it takes some time to name all of the good gifts of the Great Spirit to the Red Children, and to give thanks for them all.
The following is borrowed from another book, Myths and Legends of the Iroquois, by Harriet Maxwell Converse:

The spirit of the corn is a maiden, and not a handsome young chief, as one of the stories claims. The Corn Maiden was one of three sisters, and was called Ona tah.

The three sister vegetables – the corn, the bean, and the squash – were called the Di o he ko, which means “those we live on,” since they are the life-giving vegetables.
These sisters lived together on a hill and were quite happy there. But one day Ona tah wandered away in search of dews for her kernels.

The Evil Spirit was watching. He seized Ona tah, the Spirit of the Corn, and sent one of his monsters to blight her fields. The killing winds swept over the hill, and the spirits of the squash and the bean fled before them.

Ona tah was held for some time a prisoner in the darkness under the earth, by the Evil Spirit.
At last a sun ray found her and guided her back to her lost hilltop. There she found her sisters had fled. She was alone.

Then Ona tah made a vow that she would never again leave her fields. But she sighs for her lost sisters, and mourns the blight that came upon her beautiful fields. For since the time when Ona tah wandered away from her fields, the corn has not grown so tall or so beautiful as it once did.

Thank you very much my dear friends and followers for your visiting my blog. I would be pleased to have a dialog on this topic, express what you think and feel. Thank you

With love form your Fairy Lady

Native legends of Little people and mythological creatures .

Native legends of Little people and mythological creatures .

Part 2

Hi dear friends and followers, today we resume our journey back in the time to the legends told by the Iroquois story tellers.

Today's installment of Stories the Iroquois Tell Their Children is a piece of wisdom and a warning. It seems to be as appropriate today (to a certain degree) as it was many moons ago.

Story Telling Time

The old time Native folks say that a long, long time ago the Little People made a law that stories must not be told in the summer.

Summer is a time for work. Bees must store their honey. Squirrels must gather nuts. Men must grow their corn, and trees and plants must grow leaves, flowers, and bear their fruits.

If stories were told, plants, birds, animals, and men would stop their work to listen. This would mean poor crops and hungry people. Animal;s would forget to grow their winter coats and lay by their winter stores. Birds would fail to start to head south in time.

The old Indians say that the storyteller who disobeys this law of the Jo gah oh will suffer some misfortune. Winter is the time to tell stories, for then the work of animals, plants, and men is done – and the Little People are fast asleep.

No, it is not safe to tell stories in the summer. No one knows when a bird, bee, or butterfly might be listening and tell the chief of the Little People. Should the chief of the Little People take offense, he might cause something dreadful to happen to the storyteller.

Last summer the writer of these stories (Mabel Powers) came very near to being changed into an animal – or something worse – just for telling stories. So an old Indian said. She does not know how she (Mabel Powers) escaped. She thinks it must have been because she was a White Indian, one accepted by the Indians as a storyteller. This is how it happened.

It was at the time of the Harvest Moon. Yeh sen no wehs spoke for one of the tribes at their council house, and she told some of these wonder stories.

All went well until the middle of the night. Then a very old Indian came to warn her of her danger. It seems that he had been at the council that evening and he had heard the stories told, many of which he knew.

He told Ye sen no wehs he had expected her to change into something else right then and there. He said that he would not dare to tell a story. “no, no, me 'fraid, evil come!” he said.

Then he wanted to know if Ye sen no wehs was a real Indian. He had been told that she was a White Indian but when he heard her tell the stories, he said, he thought she was a real Indian.

When Ye sen no wehs told him that she had not a drop of Indian blood running in her veins, he looked very solemn. At last he spoke. He told the interpreter to tell her, - for he spoke but a few words of English,- that the Great Spirit made a snake a snake; a fox, a fox; a muskrat, a muskrat; a coon, a coon; a bear, a bear; an Indian, an Indian; a White Indian, a White Indian, as long as he lived. Each must be himself.

Then the old man asked what disease Yeh sen no wehs had, that made her go around with a feather in her hair, acting like a real Indian if she were a White Indian.

Ye sen no wehs made no answer. And she does not know to this day (this conversation took place sometime before 1917), what saved her from being changed into a rabbit, a katydid, or something worse, by the chief of the Little People. She knows, however, that she is very glad that she is telling the stories to you in the winter time!

Thank you very much my dear friends and followers for reading this introduction on the Native American storytellers . I would be pleased to have a dialog on this topic, express what you think and feel. Thank you

With love form your Fairy Lady