So, the Yule Irish whiskey and fruit pouches went awry. I do believe the Calleiach was determined that I knew she was around. It took three days for the fruit to soak in the whiskey. So last night we decided the fruit had taken on the essence of Irish whiskey and began the process of making the pouches. It took perseverance to overcome the time and patience it took to make these little pouches. Joe (my husband) and I worked as a team as I buttered each sheet of phyllo dough in four layers for each pouch, held the corners and sides together, and waited while Joe tied each pouch carefully in order to prevent from tearing the fragile dough. I was aiming for us to have 12 pouches, but we ended up with eleven. Numbers are very magical, and I remembered that eleven was the lessons on the Hermetic Tree of Life plus one to begin a new level. How appropriate the number eleven was to us since we were starting a new year with a new understanding of our son, had found a new Grove to practice with, and I was continuing my studies in a new doctoral program. This is the happy mindset we had as we placed these little pouches in the oven.
Before eating dinner I went up to change my shirt and noticed that the pastries were causing the whole house to smell. I went down to the kitchen to check on them and noticed they were all leaking into our oven. I started to call Joe in to help me clean the mess when I noticed they started a fire in our oven. He rushed in when I yelled we had a fire and helped me take them out and blew the fire out. We stood there and looked at them with a heavy sigh. All the effort and perseverance to create these little pouches for the bear goddess who called to me saddened my heart. Yet, Joe decided they were fine, made the whip cream for them, plopped it into a bowl and partook of the little pastry. A little later I did the same.
In the act of making pastries for the Calleiach, I believe her true goal was to have us work together and become a functional team again. The end product was not the perseverance she desired for us, but the journey of needing each other to make these fragile little pastries for her. She knew we needed to persevere through the task of working together. So now, we need to burn a little pouch of whiskey imbued heaven for our grandmother bear.