The Rosemary Tree: dodgy debts

Céad Míle Fáilte ~ A Hundred Thousand Welcomes!

About Me, and About The Herb of Grace

I am a 57-year old wife, mother and grandmother who currently works as a beadworker, web mistress for my husband's jewelry store/art gallery and CASA volunteer. In my life I have been a seminarian, Protestant minister, professional cook, payroll clerk, hospital orderly, columnist, cook/gardener for a commune in San Francisco in the 1970's and 80's, opthalmalogy paraprofesional, financial advisor (now retired. I held Series 6, 63 and 65 securities licenses, and insurance lines of life, annuities and variable contacts)and was a small business owner from 2003 to 2008 (Calm Eagle Family Financials LLC). Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Eastern Rite and Traditional (Latin Rite)Catholicism, ancient Irish, Buddhist and Native American spiritualities all inform my worldview and spirituality. You will find a kindred spirit here if you value the wisdom of the Holy Spirit and of Mother Earth in equal measure, for they are each other's right and left hands.

~~~Namaste, and peace be with you.

Also known as the herb of grace, and rue, rosemary has deep associations with penance, resurrection, nativity and joy. This blog is dedicated to the spirit of peace, joy and life triumphant. Legend has it that during the flight to Egypt, the Virgin Mary draped her blue cloak over a white flowering rosemary bush to dry. The blooms have been blue ever since to represent Mary’s blue cloak.

Rosemary is known as the "herb of remembrance." It is said that rosemary will grow particularly well in gardens tended by strong-willed women.

The Old Knight

His golden locks time to silver turned;
O time too swift,
O swiftness never ceasing;
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing;
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turned to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are age's alms;
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song;
"Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Curst be the souls that think her any wrong."
Goddess, allow this aged man his right,
To be your beadsman now, that was your knight.
~ by George Peele

The Rosemary Tree

Céad Míle Fáilte ~ A Hundred Thousand Welcomes!

Monday, October 27, 2008

George Parr on The Economy

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