I'll just come right out of the closet with this one, and let the puns fall where they may. I believe in fairies. There's reasons for that, among them being that I'm 1st generation Irish American, and I spent whole summers in the country with my Dublin-native grandparents, and also that a few used to live with us. As Catholic as Gramma was and is, she couldn't help herself with the stories and myths of the Fay. The Sidhe. The sprites and pookas and leprechauns. She also "can't help herself" when it comes to the other kind of fairy, to use the vernacular, but that's a source of considerable less glee on my part.
Doesn't everyone have at least one chore, that despite all best intentions, continously and ruinously kicks their butt? In our house, it's the Laundry Demon. The Laundry Demon has been slain, oh, mayhap 3 times in the span of the last 5 years, and rises again, hydra-like, worse than ever every time.
It doesn't make sense. Taun-taun throws loads in several times a week. I fold and put them away. We work on it constantly. We're only two people, but somehow the laundry multiplies as though we were two parents and 8 kids.
This is, seriously, not exactly a problem. Definitely not a problem that you pray/cast circle/summon gods' assistance upon. (Bridgid would laugh at me, and she would be right to.) I don't like calling for anything other than worship or sheer desperation, when you get right down to it. Feels wrong.
And it was these thoughts that made me suddenly remember - I can't remember the last time I sent out a more mundane plea, to fairies or otherwise. High school, I did it all the time. Energy constructs, fairies, small spirits and karmic waftings, whatever. It was a gleeful time, of trying whatever came into my damnfool head, with deeply mixed results. Along the way, as belief grew into devotion, the need for smaller spells sort of dissipated, and the memory of doing them also evaporated. Couplets and cantrips and sprigs of herbs tucked in odd places - you know, the fun stuff! The fluffy stuff.
Anyway, once upon a time, I didn't have this laundry problem. I was actually worse at doing laundry than I am now, but somehow, it wasn't an issue. And reflecting upon that, I remembered the brownie! More of a shy and grumpy gnome, actually. He lived in our basement for years, even followed us from house to house for a little while. In the apartment complex, he lived in the boiler room. Squirt and I had a rule, to always whistle while we were in the basement. That way he'd know when we left and wouldn't have to be scared.
I left for college, and he stayed. I'm sure he's long gone by now, given that neither of my parents are much for leaving out bits of candy and small bowls of Coca-cola when they leave for vacation (I was twelve, you work with what you have. Spilled cola, Dad will forgive or not notice. Spilled milk? Different story.)
How does one go about attracting a brownie? I've quite forgotten, but we'd offer him a lovely home, with an excellent basement and regular 'forgotten' bits of candy or bread. And we would never, ever thank him. Promise!
Blessed Be,
Pennanti
