Another Chat with ChatGPT

 What a Brave New World we live in, my friends! Today, in preparation for my sermon here at "The Gods Are Bored," I had another lively chat with ChatGPT. Here are the results.

This is my second post about ChatGPT. It's an AI text-generating software that is available for free to any high school kid who needs to write an essay about that novel they didn't read. You can even put it on a 9th grade setting, to get text that has mistakes in it!

Today the English department at my school had a meeting with our district's Assistant Senior Superintendent. The ASS came to our meeting specifically to inform us that our district will not be blocking the ChatGPT app or any other text-generating AI app. The ASS sniffed, "Go back to using paper and pencil. Do you have enough paper? I can order paper."

Friends, I can't make this shit up.

Even I, Anne Johnson, who have only been teaching 13 years can recall a time when essays were written by hand, and only the final draft was typed out on a clunky desktop computer. My students were never willing to re-write, revise, expand, or edit their work. And who could blame them? A revision involved putting a red carat at the end of a sentence and slapping a series of sticky notes on the draft. I hadn't done that myself since 1975! Now, with Google Docs, I can say to a student, "Why don't you look at that second paragraph and offer another example and some more insight?" And I get it.

I guess you can't blame me for taking my umbrage to the source of the problem: ChatGPT. I opened a new account and asked it, "Should a 9th grade student use ChatGPT to write an essay?" And of course it expounded brilliantly on how it is not in any way a substitute for true critical thinking and creativity. Well! Humility! One loves seeing that in artificial intelligence, since it is so often missing in the human race.

No surprises there. So next I asked it some specifics about how shoes are used as symbols in the novel The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros. The House on Mango Street often appears on lists of Best Books of the 20th Century, and deservedly so. It's positively brilliant.

Not only could ChatGPT not identify how shoes are used as symbols in the book, it gave inaccurate quotes and glaringly wrong information about the text. This lil bot is surfing the web and latching onto inaccuracies that it then spouts as truths.

Emboldened, I asked ChatGPT about another novel I teach, Forged by Fire, by Sharon Draper. The bot did even worse with this lesser-known book. The stepfather became an older brother (?) for one thing.

What I loved was that, when I pointed out to ChatGPT that it was wrong, it apologized and promised to do better. Maybe that's why my district's ASS likes it so much -- it's a suck-up.

Then I got another idea. Remember how I asked it if the Gods were bored, and it said "blah blah blah" instead of a simple YES? Today I specifically asked it about my blog.

Anne's Question: What is the blog "The Gods Are Bored" about?

ChatGPT's Answer: I am unable to determine the specific blog you are referring to as my training data only goes up until 2021 and "The Gods Are Bored" could refer to a number of different blogs or websites. However, a blog with a similar title could be about religion, spirituality, mythology, or other related topics. The blogger might explore different beliefs and practices from around the world and offer their own perspective and insights on these subjects. The "bored" aspect of the title could suggest that the blogger is looking at these topics with a critical eye and perhaps finds certain aspects of religious beliefs and practices to be tedious or lacking in engagement. Without more specific information or access to the actual blog, it is difficult to say what the exact focus or tone of "The Gods Are Bored" might be.

Dang! The Smithsonian didn't want me, and neither does ChatGPT! And then it has the cheek to imagine what the blog *might* be about! HA HA! BAMMMP!!!  WRONG, YOU STUPID BOT! This peerless blog is a channel to bored deities from multiple pantheons over millennia of recorded history!

Sorry this sermon is so long. But here are my encouraging takeaways:

1. ChatGPT doesn't read books. It couldn't tell me what color Esperanza's shoes were, even though she describes the same shoes three times in a 100-page book.

2. Chat GPT doesn't have access to my blog. I remain inscrutable to it.

3. Finally, after all these years of begging y'all to send me loose leaf paper, my ASS is going to order reams and reams of it. Oh, the irony.

I have one last message for both my ASS and ChatGPT, and I'll give it as only a Super Bowl-Bound Eagles fan can do it:

HEY, YOUS!

Bonding with the Philly Tarot Deck

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We're from Philly, fuckin' Philly. No one likes us, we don't care. Go Birds! Wanna cheesesteak?

If anyone had told my little self in 1969 that I would live my life out 6 miles from Philadelphia (thereby investing all my heart and soul in that hapless hamlet), I would have either cried or jumped off a cliff, depending if there was a cliff available at the moment. I didn't have any interest in Philly, any connections to Philly, or even a smidgen of desire to set foot in it.

Hold that thought in your mind through the back story.

Like almost every modern Pagan, I have dabbled in the Tarot deck from time to time. But never with any enthusiasm. As with religion in general, Tarot is so doggone earnest. All drama, no humor. I could never wrap my mind around the standard deck. Then I got a Knights Templar deck, and that one was worse. But I do believe there's some wisdom to be had from Tarot readings, so I never discounted them completely. Just wasn't my cup of tea.

Until now.

For Xmas, my daughter The Fair asked for two prints from a "Philly Tarot" deck. I had never heard of it. I followed the link she sent me, and the two she particularly asked for were Xed out. I don't know if that was because they were sold out or not. I couldn't see them.

But a quick perusal of the Philly Tarot deck made me think, "Gee, Fair must want the whole deck, really, she's more besotted with Philly than I am!" So I ordered it.

She didn't want the deck. Only the prints.

I didn't cancel my order for the deck. Hey, I live in fuckin' Philly, I should promote the local businesses, right?

Then my daughter The Heir and I went to Phoenixville, PA for the annual Firebird Festival. This shindig is always a highlight of the year. I like to get to Phoenixville early, in order to find a parking spot and do some shopping. Phoenixville never disappoints when it comes to Xmas shopping.

Nor did it disappoint this year. The local book store had the Philly Tarot prints, signed by the artist. And Oh. My. Gods.

EXHIBIT A: THE DEVIL

This was the print Fair wanted.

But as I leafed through the other prints I found this one:

EXHIBIT B:  THE KING OF SWORDS

I think that's when I started to cry. Because I had ordered the deck without knowing that this was in there.

In due time the Philly Tarot deck arrived in the mail, right in the swirl of the holiday, so I put it aside to examine later. And it only got better, if that could be possible.

EXHIBIT C: THE STAR

In addition to being beautifully created, these cards are a real love song to Philadelphia. Ben Franklin is the Emperor. Betsy Ross is the Empress. The Liberty Bell is the Hanged Man. And that ominous Tower, so foreboding that we have a whole era called Tower Time, is the detested Comcast Tower that everyone in the city hates with a passion.

I could go on and on.

You know how Tarot decks are. You have a major arcana and then the four suits, which are pretty much playing cards. Well, when I finally got to leafing through the suit cards, the Cups were on the bottom. In the Philly Tarot, Cups are cheesesteaks. And the figures on the Cups cards are Mummers.

I just want to throw these on the floor and roll around in them, I love them so much.

I don't think I will use the Philly Tarot strictly as card readers do. But I have my ways of using Tarot cards for myself and anyone who wants some advice. The important aspect of this deck, for me, is that this Tarot deck is chock-a-block with humor. Crikey! David Lynch, holding the iconic Clothespin statue, is the King of Wands! Throw that one in a reading and keep a straight face. I dare ya!

Long sermon short, I have fallen in love with my new Tarot deck, which combines all the standards of a regular deck with an abundant and loving tribute to the city I'm stranded in, probably until I croak.

If you want to see the whole thing, click here. I hope this artist is able to pay his rent on time just from sales of this card deck. That would make me happy.

2023 Mummers Parade with the Two Street Stompers

 Happy New Year, fans! Those of you just joining "The Gods Are Bored" might not be aware that I am a badge-wearing Philadelphia Mummer. The Mummers Parade is the oldest folk parade in America, happening in Philly every year on January 1.

If I can sum up the Mummers Parade, it's this: Lots and lots and lots of people, like in the 10,000s, dressed in satin and sequins and feathers, dancing and clowning at various skill levels in clubs, bands, and brigades. I am a member of the Two Street Stompers, which is a Comic brigade. We marched 240 people this year.

Our theme was "I Want My M(ummers) TV." This theme was chosen because the local station that aired the parade dropped its patronage at the 11th hour. Fortunately, a cable station called MeTV2 picked up the entire 8 hours of Wenches, Comics, and String bands. I'm sitting here now watching the recording, and the cable network is doing WAY better than the local station did.

Anyway, back to our theme. We had a giant t.v. and our captain dressed in that astronaut uniform and planted the MTV flag in a miniature moon. Then the ladies danced as Cyndi Lauper, and the guys danced as Twisted Sister, and the kids and their parents did Devo. It. Was. Amazing.

Every year someone watching at home records the performance from the t.v., so here it is.

And here are the Exhibits:

EXHIBIT A: GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

That's me in the back with the multi-colored hair and rhinestone sunglasses. I couldn't resist accessorizing this theme!

Does it look like we're having fun? I love this parade.

EXHIBIT B: GROUP PHOTO

Somehow, nine years out of ten we get these jaw-dropping sunny days. It wasn't even cold!

The parade consists of two components. The first one is the performance at City Hall and the strut down Broad Street (pictured in Exhibit B). Then we board buses and go down to South Philly, where the whole tradition originated, and we strut down 2 Street. The whole parade is quite a hike, especially 2 Street.

Our club marched at City Hall later than usual and didn't get to 2 Street until about 4:30. That's way later than we usually arrive there, and it meant that I got to experience being on 2 Street at night. It's a wild celebration. South Philly is a neighborhood, and the entire neighborhood turns out for the more intimate atmosphere. And by dark, everyone -- viewers and performers with one pathetic exception -- are full of spirits. (The pathetic exception is me.) Must say I did miss that one shot of Fireball I might have imbibed. But I stayed the ol' sobriety course.

I got home later than ever before, to find a lovely dinner cooked by The Fair. Whole family sat down together and ate. So I got to spend the day with my Two Street Stomper family, and the evening with my biologicals.

Speaking of biologicals, usually both daughters attend in person, but this year only The Fair did. That was okay, since the other offspring went to keep her dad company.

EXHIBIT C: She Loves Her Some Philly

It's so magical to spend the first day of the year dancing in outrageous satin, with a big group of fun and lively people!  Here's to another 10 parades!

SCOTUS in the Tank

 If anything about 2022 stands out to me, it's the Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe v. Wade and Planned Parenthood v. Casey, both chopped with one blow of the axe.

I saw it coming, because an even less conservative court overturned a 1972 decision that affected organized labor. There will be more anti-labor decisions coming down the pike, including one against the Teamsters that will make it nearly impossible for unions to strike.

This conservative Supreme Court was never about unborn babies or concealed firearms. It's about creating a pro-oligarchy climate in America and entrenching the moneyed interests.

Trouble is, the Roe fiasco has shed new light on the Supreme Court as an institution. Its reputation has tanked.

Everyone is saying that this latest mid-term election wasn't a Red Wave because of Trump. I don't think that's true. I think the Red Wave was more like a still pond because of the Supreme Court. People just don't like the way it got loaded with ideologues so quickly. As we at "The Gods Are Bored" like to say, BAD FORM.

Recently, my daughter The Fair got a job at a lively new online newspaper called the Philadelphia Citizen. I've got to thinking about her good fortunes. In my youth I was unable to find a journalism job in a big city. So, in a way, my daughter is living my dream. But when I was her age, if I had needed an abortion, I could have walked into any clinic and gotten one. Our nation has gone backwards. The high court is off the rails.

The one bodily autonomy women retain is the ability to fill out a ballot and vote. I think they did it in 2022. I think they'll keep doing it. Justice needs to be not just for the rich, but for all.

A (Very) Short Chat with ChatGPT

Welcome, fellow sufferers on this mortal path! I'm Anne Johnson, hostess of "The Gods Are Bored." Long time no write, but hey, at least I'm not wasting your time.

Have you heard of this new Artificial Intelligence program called ChatGPT? You can ask a question about anything, and it will pour over the entire World Wide Web to craft an answer for you. This AI essayist is said to have all the knowledge of the world at its behest.

So, you know, almost like a Writing God, or some such.

Well, I put the blighted thing to the test, and it failed like an egg-sucking dog.

I went to all the trouble to log in, prove I wasn't a robot (ironic, eh?), get a numerical code on my phone, and then I could pose a question to the machine.

I kept it simple. I asked, "Are Gods bored?"

Here's its reply:

It is not possible for me to know whether or not gods, if they exist, experience boredom or any other emotion. Beliefs about the nature and characteristics of gods vary widely among different religions and belief systems. Some people believe that gods are all-knowing and all-powerful, and therefore do not experience boredom or any other negative emotion. Others believe that gods are imperfect beings who experience a range of emotions like humans do. Without more information about the specific beliefs of the person asking the question, it is not possible for me to provide a more specific answer.

Honestly, AI? You have access to the whole World Wide Web, and you didn't consult "The Gods Are Bored" to find the simple answer YES THEY ARE?

And here I was thinking I could get Chat GPT to write my blog for me, while I sit back and sip a hot cup of tea with a deserving bored Goddess! I'm crushed, I tell you. Crushed.

Going to the Polls with Dad

 We watch way too much CNN here at "The Gods Are Bored." It gets us all riled up where election results are concerned. So tonight I'm going to go to bed, pull the covers up to my chin, and listen to sports talk radio.

This year I used a mail-in ballot for the first time. It made me sad.

When I was a kid back in the 1960s, my dad always took me with him when he went to vote. He took me right in the booth with him, and it was so exciting when those curtains closed. I don't remember if he let me flip the levers. I doubt it, because he wasn't that cavalier. But I do distinctly remember the bustle of the polling place, the click of the curtain, the hush of the booth. And being with my dad, a staunch Republican who voted for Goldwater and Nixon. (Because Lincoln won the war.)

Of course I didn't think of it at the time, but when my dad made voting an event -- and showed how the process worked -- he created a comfort for me as a voter myself. When I went into a voting booth for the first time at age 21, I knew how it worked. I was comfortable.

There was only one time I didn't vote. It was a state election for governor and legislature. What the Hell. Why bother? Ahem, BAMMMMP!!!! So many Democrats stayed home that night that New Jersey wound up with a human pustule named Chris Christie.

EXHIBIT A: WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ANNE DOESN'T VOTE

Lesson learned! I don't shrug off those state contests anymore.

It's not the same, pushing a paper ballot into a drop box. How much fun is that? But I did it, and if I ever get any grandchildren, I'll make it an event -- let them put the ballot in the box, and then take them for cake, candy, and ice cream.

If you have a child, teach them to vote the same way you teach them to trick-or-treat.

Knock on wood, I am in fairly good health. It's my prayer that I some day get to shove a ballot in a box that has THIS guy's name on it.

EXHIBIT B: THE FUTURE I WANT TO SEE

Vote blue, no matter who!

Interview with a Bored God: Loki

 It's Friday night of Samhain weekend, and I wish I was up to more shenanigans ... but we're not getting any younger here at The Gods Are Bored.

[Knocking at door]

Oh! I know Who that is. It's Loki, checking in. Wait until he sees my new non-white easy chair! Let's give Him a warm, wonderful Gods Are Bored welcome, shall we?

[Anne opens door.]

Loki: Trick!

Anne: That's not how it works! You say "trick or treat."

Loki: I don't need a treat. Hey! Nice new chair! How about if I ...

Anne: Your Craziness, please. I have literally only had it three days!

Loki: Ah, I'm late to the party! You know what that chair needs? A little bit of magenta spray paint and a handful of parrot feathers.

Anne: So noted. No, really. I'll take care of it myself.

Loki: See that you do! But this time you called Me. What's up?

Anne: Just thanking You for Your advice to kick it in the broom closet. There's a brand new Christian club at my school called Sacred Outhouse, and ...

Loki: Sacred Outhouse? That's lit.

Anne: No, that's not the real name of the club, of course ... but it's close enough. The "Sacred" and the "Out" part are absolutely correct. Gods damn that Supreme Court! They flung wide the gates to this sort of rubbish.

Loki: So, what goes on at Sacred Outhouse?

Anne: Damn if I know! But a lot, and I mean a lot, of kids have signed on. Now they're wearing matching hoodies with a Crusader shield and a crucifix on the back.

Loki: Ouch.

Anne: Tell me about it! And what's worse is that this Bible-based club has leeched all the membership from my colleague Anna's club, Students Against Destructive Decisions. Anna lost her club stipend. And SADD is non-denominational.

Loki: Yeah, I can see that these two clubs aren't very compatible. Being a Christian is a destructive decision nine times out of ten.

Anne: I have a handful of student members of Sacred Outhouse in my homeroom. How long before they notice that I don't say "Under God" during the Pledge?

Loki: You didn't follow through with your plan to say, "One nation under Gods, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits," did you?

Anne: No. And again, my dear Trickster, thanks for the warning that I shouldn't! But it still burns me up that this Sacred Outhouse dodge is at my school right this minute, on the Friday before Samhain, having a "fall festival" fundraiser!

Loki: Ouch again. They just can't lay off Halloween, can they?

Anne: 39 other Fridays they could have scheduled their field day. Know what I mean?

Loki: Meanwhile you're being extra careful to keep your beliefs to yourself.

Anne: Right. And suppose I'm not the only Pagan in the building?

Loki: You're not. Trust Me.

Anne: What about the other Pagans?

Loki: My advice? Broom closet. Shit getting ready to pop in your country.

Anne: And what makes it worse? The club advisor for Sacred Outhouse is one of the union members that I rep. If she gets in trouble, I'll have to go in and hold her hand.

Loki: Meh. Throw her to the wolves.

Anne: I couldn't do that, Your Wiliness. See, Christians are Christians first and workers second. Me, I'm a worker first and a Pagan second. Workers can't be divided by anything.

Loki: And I see that court of yours has another case on the docket this year ...

Anne: Yep! Big Business vs. the Teamsters. And I know how that will go.

Loki: Me too. Well, My advice hasn't changed. Lay low. Bide your time. I can draw up some numbers on falling participation in Christianity if you'd like.

Anne: Really? You would do that for me?

Loki: Mmmm, no. BORING! Is it Mischief Night yet?

Anne: SUNDAY.

Loki: An appropriate day for Mischief Night. [rifling through cabinets] Wow, no magenta spray paint, Anne? I'm disappointed in you! Wait. What's this gold spray paint???

Anne: NO NOT THAT, THAT'S MY MUMMERS SHOE PAINT! Come back here! NO! NOT ON THE CAT! For the love of fruit flies, Loki!

Friends, I need to fly off and find a shiny thing to distract Loki before he turns Gamma Cat into an honorary Mummer. Whew. Such a chore for a tired teacher!

Snippets

 Nearly a month without "The Gods Are Bored!" Tells you how exciting my life is.

But in the interest of navel gazing I'll record some events.

*Thumbing my nose at the Supreme Court, but mindful of Loki's advice to lay low (see below), I took all of my students outside on a sunny day and showed them the Four Directions. Literally had them turn East, South, West, and North. And surprise! I'm having a much better year so far with this batch of kids.

*Went to a Renaissance Festival with my sister. When we sat at an ampitheatre to watch a show called "Puke and Snot," we were told by Snot that Puke had Covid. Snot asked if there was anyone in the audience who would like to read Puke's part of the script. And I guess my three readers know how that turned out! (Years of Fairy Festivals prepares one for such contingencies.)

*Got to know my students quickly, discovered that one of them is a backup quarterback for one of the powerhouse football teams in the county. When that student complained of a headache two days in a row -- and admitted he'd taken some tough hits in practice -- I alerted the nurse. Student was taken to the hospital and put on concussion protocol. Kind of put me off football for about ten minutes, but I couldn't stay away because

*The Philadelphia Eagles are undefeated! A big 6-0! Still I have to ask myself how I can support a game that scrambles the brains of sweet freshman students in my classroom.

*Speaking of Philadelphia, the aggressively mediocre Phillies are in the National League Championship Series. It's been a banquet in Philly lately.

*My school broke ground on a big new addition. It's being built over my assigned parking space, so I got a new space. The new space is closest to the Auto Tech shop, so I walk through there every day. It didn't take me long to notice the gleaming new Subaru Outback in one of the bays. Who knew? Subaru donated a brand new car to the school so students could learn about modern technology in cars! I like the Subaru I own, but I wasn't wedded to it. Until now. Anne will be Team Subaru forever.

*Today I got a Covid booster. My fifth Covid shot. Didn't make any plans for the weekend.

Well, last year was really challenging in the workplace. I'm knocking on wood, but so far this 2022/23 batch of freshmen is the best since way before the pandemic. They're still wiggly puppies, but they aren't writing expletives on each other's papers or punching the little kid when no one is looking. And they love the books sent to them by your generosity!

With no lint remaining in my navel, I big you farewell.

Lunar Faire New Jersey

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Out Shopping!" I'm Anne Johnson, and for once I got a raise this year. Time to spend, spend, spend!

Well, um. Not exactly. I'm actually losing money over last school year, because I quit all the after-school side hustles that padded my paycheck.

But pish, tosh! Last weekend was Dark Moon, and New Jersey is beset with this new event called Lunar Faire. It happens on New Moons and Full Moons, from 6:00 to 10:00 pm. This time it was close to my house, so I went.

I had high hopes for Lunar Faire, because the advertising for it includes "chaos" in the activities. And it is a dedicated Pagan event. How could I not have a good time?

If there's anything I've learned from writing "The Gods Are Bored," it's that you'd better gird your loins if you're going to say anything critical about a festival. Lots of people make money from vending and organizing festivals, and they don't appreciate feedback.

But in my search for information about Lunar Faire before I went, I found -- next to nothing. One short article about the two women who founded the event. That was it.

So if you're Googling Lunar Faire and finding this, I am going to be as candid as possible, so you can make a judgment about going.

The Lunar Faire I attended was held at Burlington County Fairgrounds, which is a good, large venue with lots of parking. And it turned out they needed those acres of parking, because this event was more than well-attended. It was crowded. There must have been 4,000 people there.

Mr. J and I went together. Two tickets cost us about $27. We got there about 45 minutes before dark and joined a throng of young, enthusiastic New Agers flocking into the faire.

Knock me over with a feather. I had no idea there were so many Pagans in South Jersey.

Lunar Faire is a night market. There are vendors with booths, selling merchandise. There were lots of crystals for sale, and jewelry, and candles, and tie-dye, and personal care products. There was a sound healing booth and several tarot booths. Stuff was affordable.

Uh oh. I've got to say it. The event was so crowded, it was hard to see what was in the booths. And then it got dark.

There was entertainment at Lunar Faire, but the darkness was a problem. There was a singer doing acoustic covers of classic rock at one end of the venue, and a small drum circle in the middle. I'm usually all in for drum circles, but this one had an odd vibe (at least to me). It seemed like the other people were enjoying it, though. It was dark.

The other entertainment was a drag queen show. And again, most of the spectators seemed to be loving it, but it was dark. The MC, Cookie Dough, had all the moves, but she was shrouded in shadow. And again, it was so crowded that Mr. J and I couldn't get close enough to really see what was going on.

I think there was a ritual -- at least the little piece of paper they handed out said there would be a ritual -- but there wasn't any real list of events to consult, no program, and no listing of events online. I didn't see the ritual, so I can't comment on it.

Mr. J and I wandered around for about two hours. We bought a brass candle holder and some moisturizer. Very affordable and high quality.

I guess what I want to say is, if I'm paying to get into a venue, I want to be entertained more. I want a list of activities at least posted where I can consult it, and those activities should be well-lit and variable. Most festivals that require an entrance fee have roving performers who interact with the crowd. Lunar Faire doesn't have that.

This is a very young event, like two years old or something. And for such a new event, it was extremely well-attended. I can't confirm that its popularity is due to Tik Tok influencers, but that's what I've heard.

Long sermon short, if you want to go somewhere in the dark where you will be surrounded by New Age people, or if you want to purchase items from Pagan-themed vendors, this is the place for you. But if you don't like crowds, and you're spoiled by decades of flawlessly crafted Fairy Festivals and earnest Pagan Pride Days  (I stand accused), you're likely to be disappointed.

Watch me get hexed for writing this.

The Great Wide Open

 Boy, is it ever hard for me to keep my mouth shut about my religion in my classroom! After all, we at "The Gods Are Bored" have dedicated ourselves to promoting and respecting deities who have been deprived -- by time or tide, or both -- of their praise and worship teams. So when a student comes in and proudly shows off his brand new, store-bought book from home called Celtic Mythology, ahem.

You know how "religion" turns into "mythology?" Some other religion steals its holidays and relegates its deities to "myth" status. The winning religion gets to keep the title of "religion," and the losing one gets flung in the dustbin of "myth." I tell you what. I'm not going to be the one who tells The Morrigan that She's a damn myth.

Well! That's actually an aside! Today's sermon is about something else.

For reference, here's a photo of the front of my school where I work:

EXHIBIT A: VO-TECH WHERE I WORK

Isn't that a gorgeous building? It was designed by the same architect who designed the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Yes, those are pillars! And above the pillars is a motto: "He Who Hath a Trade Hath an Estate."

What I want you to dwell upon, though, is that nice grassy lawn, and the lovely mature trees. The school was built in 1926. They just don't do it like this anymore. I would say there's about three acres of lawn in front. We also have a standard-sized football field and a baseball diamond out back.

Yesterday morning I was sitting at my teacher desk, conversing with a student who is sitting right up front in what I jokingly call the "teacher's pet seat." This student is a very quiet young lady.

The school will be having a pep rally next week, and the student asked me where pep rallies are held. (I teach freshmen.) I told her we all go out to the back fields and sit on the bleachers.

She said, "That's so much space out there. And there's so much out front. I've never seen so much open space before."

Reader, look at the photo and let that sink in.

My heart just broke.

Kids have said heartbreaking things to me before, but this one I guess just mangled my aorta because of my own lived experience. My school was bordered by a county park and was three miles from the vast swath of Antietam Battlefield. When I was that girl's age I could ride my bike to the Potomac River and sit all day by myself on the bank.

What kind of childhood has this poor girl had?

I do know that many of my students have to stay inside all the time because of crime, or repressive parents, or babysitting, or all of the above. Still it boggles my mind that someone has attained the age of 14 without ever having at least made one excursion to the beach just 50 miles away.

My students keep writer's notebooks, and sometimes I read about grandparents in the Dominican Republic, about riding horses and milking cows, and gathering eggs, and swimming in those gorgeous tropical playas. But I also read other notebooks in which the writer goes to school, goes home, locks the door, and stays inside. I remember one girl wrote, "I can't even sit on the stoop."

Tomorrow I will take all of my students outdoors onto that front lawn. I will literally point out the Quarters to them, and the motto on the building, and the soft grassy lawn, and the old trees. We will be present in gratitude to the open space that was a gift from the taxpayers of New Jersey to kids who want to fix cars.

If it's the most open space some of them have, then we'll honor it as such.

When the Queen Was Scheduled but Didn't Arrive

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Are you tired of reading about Queen Elizabeth yet? I won't keep you long. Promise.

My mother was born the same year as Queen Elizabeth II and was a huge fan throughout her life. The largest part of our home library was devoted to picture books about the royal family. My name, Anne, comes from Queen Elizabeth's daughter, and my sister Margaret is named after QE's sister. Any time that anything pertaining to the royal family made the news, we were all over it in my household. 

When I was a kid, life could be chaotic in my house. I never knew quite what to expect when I arrived home from school in the afternoon.

On one memorable occasion, I came through the door with my school books and found the kitchen table set scrupulously with all the fine china and crystal my mother owned. She had also pulled out the sterling silver flatware and the linen napkins.

Mom herself was dressed in her best dress and high heels. The first thing she did when she saw me was to tell me to take a shower and dress in the clothes set out.

In my room she had laid out my poofiest Sunday dress and my Mary Janes.

When I asked her what was going on, she said that Queen Elizabeth was coming for dinner. Now get in that shower!

The last thing I wanted to do after a long day of school (and probably a night without much sleep) was to indulge my mother's newest delusion. I was old enough to know that she had mental illness and that the Queen of England was, in fact, at home in England.

But there was no arguing with Mom when she was certain of something.

I don't know how I did it, but I dodged the shower and the Sunday dress. Maybe I just shut the door on the whole mess, and that was that.

At any rate, the hours passed, my dad came home from work, my sister was somewhere (perhaps staying with a relative), and the queen didn't come to dinner. This was probably for the best, because my mother didn't cook anything, she just decorated.

After waiting for Her Majesty until nearly 10:00 pm, my mother wouldn't hear of putting away the fancy tableware. There must have been a mistake. The queen would arrive tomorrow.

I don't remember how many nights we prepared for a visit from the queen. Probably not many. By the time my mother got that far along in a manic episode, the chaos would become more widespread. But I have never forgotten the evening my mother spent, done up to the nines, waiting for her heroine to arrive to our little brick ranch house in Appalachia.

Queen Elizabeth outlived my mother by 20 years. I lit a candle on my Shrine for both of them the other night. If there is indeed eternal life waiting to torment us, Mom will get an infinite number of dinners with the queen, and an infinite number of dinners with all the queen's ancestors. Sheesh. I would rather be with the faeries.

Our Civic Religion

 Still hot as Hell in Philadelphia this Labor Day Weekend, but welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" anyway! Here -- have an iced tea. You can sit right next to the fan, unless some bored deity drops in.

Speaking of deities, I'm freshly back from Philadelphia Pagan Pride Day, and what a great day it was! No protesters, just lots and lots of fun people in Clark Park, both inside and outside the event.

(Aside: The Proud Boys called Clark Park the "Belly of the Beast." If it truly is the Belly of the Beast, then I want to be a heaping hot plate of Beast food!)

The nice thing about living in a big city like Philadelphia is that we always get some first-class keynote speakers at PPPD. This year it was Diana Paxson, novelist and Heathen. And her talk really made me take a cold, hard look at the Independent Republic of Johnsonia.

In a nutshell, Diana Paxson feels that Pagans should not cede the American experiment to the Christian nationalists but should instead fight for the nation's civic religion. Then she explained what that civic religion is.

If you think about it, it's so obvious. America, being a pluralistic nation, has created a whole religion independent of any sect or creed. We have founding documents and iconic figures ("mighty ancestors"). We have holy days, and a Pledge of Allegiance that sounds a whole lot like an oath. We have hymns. And a flag that flies in both blue states and red states. Not only that, we have Lady Liberty out in New York Harbor, and the Goddess Columbia (I've interviewed her here before) whose statue graces the very pinnacle of the Capitol building.

Rather than rejecting this civil religion, Diana Paxson suggests we embrace it, because it has dope rituals and is predicated on everyone being equal, which let's face it, most religions aren't.

Well, this fine lady already had me swayed pretty firmly, and then she sealed the deal. She told everyone to put off shopping for bargains on Labor Day and instead celebrate the workers, because Labor Day is a holy day! And boy, did I swell with self-righteousness, because I was already planning to do just that!

Ms. Paxson then led a ritual that touched on the same themes and included Lady Liberty as the deity of moment. And she again mentioned Labor Day as a time to honor all the workers, past and present, that have moved this country forward.

Gosh, I wanted to bake her a pie.

Now I'm feeling as if the ol' US of A actually needs me. I would call the government of Johnsonia into session with the prospect of dissolving the union, but I can't wrangle a quorum of squirrels in this heat.

Happy Labor Day, America!

The Night Before School

 Whelp, my friends, it's 7:15 pm on August 31, 2022. Which means in 12 hours I'll be back in the saddle as a school teacher.

It would be so much harder without y'all.

Donations of books have poured in. I got some brand-new titles from Barnes & Noble and lots and lots of lightly-used books from ABE and Thriftbooks. I have 20 books and haven't even spent all the money yet.

I won't get to my classroom until Friday morning. When I get there, I will have a big bag of books that I know my students will want to read. That's such a relief.

May the Gods bless and keep you all. Wish me luck.

Bullhorn Bullshit

 Summer is winding down here at "The Gods Are Bored," and that means there are two events upcoming ... and we always go to both.

The first is Philadelphia Pagan Pride Day. It's held on the Saturday of Labor Day Weekend. The second is Labor Day itself, which includes a parade of unions along Philadelphia's waterfront.

Only one of these events draws protesters. I'll bet you can guess which one.

I can't remember if there was a Philadelphia Pagan Pride Day last September. I wouldn't have gone, because Covid was still an issue in our household. However, I did go in 2019, and readers, it wasn't all tree-huggy.

PPPD attracts the attention of the Christian fringe, and they come bearing bullhorns and banners proclaiming that all Pagans are going to Hell. Since they don't have a permit to protest at our event, they are supposed to stay on the fringe. But lately the Philly cops have been -- hmm, how should I put it? -- a tad lax. It's possible that these disruptors may lurch right into the event area with their noxious nastiness.

Honestly these protesters haven't bothered me personally in the past. But I know that their presence is very very triggering to some people in the Pagan community. Paganism has attracted many practitioners who have escaped the abuses of the radical evangelical Christian churches. Being accosted and harassed at a Pride event causes a lot of angst. For that reason, I deeply resent the intrusion of these moron zealots.

The event organizers at PPPD have been very adept at minimizing the Christian presence. Volunteers form a kind of human wall around the noise so that it doesn't drown out the programs and the rituals. And eventually the bullhorns must get heavy, because the protesters usually leave after about an hour.

Who is to say, though, in these emboldened times?

Now I know that West Philly is chock-a-block with anti-fascists who are able to rout any incursion by Proud Boys or other such rabble. But that's politics. This is religion, that other thorny subject. Doubtful that antifa will lend us a hand on this one.

According to trustworthy sources, Christian protesters have become more aggressive at Pagan events this year. I sure hope this isn't the case in Philly. All we want to do is see each other, donate a few cans of food and some pet supplies, buy trinkets from the vendors, and have a workshop or a ritual, or both. Why is that anyone else's business? We don't go to their stupid storefront churches and shout that they're headed to Hades! (Ahem, though it could be true.)

What should I, Anne Johnson, do if these nitwits crash our Pride Day? Don't suggest glitter bombs, because it's a city park with big old trees. Otherwise I am open to suggestions.

The Devil Went Down to Anneland

 Greetings from "The Gods Are Bored!" Wow, what an eventful long weekend I have had! Time to flip up the tank top and gaze deep into that navel!

But before I do, thank you again to everyone who contributed to this year's Personal Choice Reading Book Drive! My students will thank you. I do tell them where the books come from.

I'm just back today from a stay at my lovely, shady, untouched and untrammeled property in Bedford County, PA. I have named the tract Anneland. It's a colony of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia, and there could be no better place for such a colony. Why, only a half mile from its border there's a cemetery chock a block with Johnsons, including my direct ancestors.

Anneland is in fine shape. Meaning that it's just a forest, doing what forests do when they aren't pestered by people.

My daughter The Heir went with me on this trip. For her, Anneland was a source of constant wonder. There were mushrooms everywhere, and fossils, and she set about clearing a pathway and a little campsite where we could sit and feel cool.

We didn't spend the night on Anneland. It would be very, very dark in those woods. As luck would have it, there are some cozy and clean tourist cabins not far from the property. Nice to have a shower and a fridge and a microwave at your disposal while visiting the primitive colonies!

There is also a swimming hole near Anneland. One morning, Heir and I stopped by to check out the water level. I started to walk upstream a ways, and suddenly Heir shouted for me. "Mom, come quick!"

I obeyed my first born's directive and rejoined her by the side of the creek. She pointed, and I gaped.

EXHIBIT A: WHAT THE DEVIL IS THAT THING?

This is a case where a photo does not do a creature justice. This thing would have stretched from the tip of my middle finger to my wrist. It was like a big, green, horned, spiky cigar. It fell out of a tree, five feet from where Heir was standing.

Boldly going where no one had gone before, Heir guided the oversized insect to shore, because it fell in the water. Then, after we gaped at it for some time, she used a camp shovel to carefully lift it from the side of the creek to the safety of the woods.

Later that morning, when I found myself at a place that gets Internet signal, I asked Dr. Google what this thing actually is. Turns out it's a hickory horned devil caterpillar. They burrow into the ground to build a chrysalis, which explains why it fell out of a tree. You would think that such a monstrosity would be poisonous, but it's not. Poison would be redundant for something so huge and scary-looking. Oh, and by your leave, it's the largest caterpillar in North America.

There are more wild critters in my little New Jersey back yard than there are on four acres of Anneland. I've got a dozen species of birds, squirrels, chipmunks, bunnies, groundhogs, possums, moles, and raccoons. But I have nothing like the insect representation you get when you go to the mountains. "Hickory Horned Devil" is a great name for that caterpillar, but I'm tempted to call it the Lord God Bug. Because you best believe I said "Lord God" when I saw that thing.

We also did a little waterfall collecting, at Blackwater Falls State Park in West Virginia.

EXHIBIT B: A NICE ADDITION TO THE COLLECTION

And guess what else, readers? There are windmills upon windmills on the mountains in the Mountain State! Whole lines of them atop the high ridges! A feast for the eyes.

I also moved some roadkill off the road for the Sacred Thunderbirds, and later I saw them feasting on it safely. That was the religious portion of the trip.

Heir and I also feasted like kings at the local eateries, the Road Kill Cafe (not kidding) and the Chat & Chew Diner outside Keyser, WV.

But mostly we just hung out on Anneland. This is the hottest part of the summer, and those woods were cool.

Oh, Romeo Romeo Why The Hell Is That Your Name?

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," William Shakespeare edition! What ho, and wherefore?

Herewith an explanation:

"Romeo and Juliet" is a rite of passage for our public school teenagers. Seems like every freshman in the US of A (not to mention the UK) has to read it.

And since all three of you know I teach public school freshmen, you know I must needs teach this tome.

Aye, there's the rub.

As you might imagine, my freshmen can't even graze the surface of the original text. Oh, me! Zounds! It biteth like an adder!

Kind of a shame, because "Romeo and Juliet" is full of poetry and all sorts of fabulous imagery, especially name-dropping, at numerous intervals, bored deities. At the same time, it's a ripping good tale with lots of action and those fabulous plot twists.

My district purchased a "side by side" edition of "Romeo and Juliet" that has Shakespeare's text on the right-hand page and a "translation" on the left-hand page.

Aye, zounds, there's another rub. My students can't read the translation! It's still too hard. Their eyes glaze over. And those long speeches? Forget it. No one is willing to read them out loud.

There's another translated version of "Romeo and Juliet" online, called "No Fear Shakespeare" by Spark Notes. In previous years I have used that one, because it really is easier to read. However, this year Spark Notes put the whole thing behind a paywall. And my district won't buy it because we already have the unreadable one.

Enter Anne, with a Bear.

Readers, I wrote my own translation of "Romeo and Juliet" this summer.

I was faithful to the original. In fact, I was more faithful than the translations. I used some rhyme!

Only one character got a new name. The Apothecary became the Drug Dealer. After all, who these days has a gram of poison that can knock you dead even though you have the strength of twenty men?

And I made one other change that was inspired by this year's freshmen.

It's hard to explain the term "banished" to modern urban teenagers. Let's see. Romeo has to leave the city, and he can't come back or he'll be killed. That was a thing 400 years ago.

As one of my students pointed out this spring, it's still a thing. Now it's called deportation.

So Romeo doesn't get banished. He gets deported.

If you have idly wondered what I've been doing this summer, this is it. I re-wrote "Romeo and Juliet" with struggling urban readers in mind.

This year it will get a pilot run, and if the students like it, I may try to sell it on a teacher platform. Not sure how that will fly with Spark Notes, but hey. I didn't plagiarize their text. I can't even access it!

What a sad story. "Romeo and Juliet," I mean. Not my awesome hood-inspired translation!

A Teacher Begs for Books

 First let me say, books are not ever purposely stolen from my urban classroom. I'm firmly convinced that there are dozens of dusty volumes under dozens of beds in Camden and Pennsauken, New Jersey. And probably more than a few scattered around other boroughs that contribute students to my Vo-Tech.

Nor are books purposely defaced or brutalized. They just wear out from use.

The person who holds the purse strings at my school has accused me of not keeping good enough track of my classroom books. And she's right. My classroom library operates on an honor system. There is no way in Hell I am going to submit fine cards for my students if they lose a book. These are kids who get free breakfast and lunch! Why would I make the school charge them for a beat-up paperback?

And with all that said, I don't lose that many books from my room each year. I did when I sent each kid home with a book during quarantine, but can you blame me for that? I thought we would be back in two weeks. It was almost two years.

Anyway, here are a few titles that I could use more copies of. I'll tell you a little bit about them as well.

If there's a book that really does walk frequently, it's Tyrell, by Coe Booth.

These days I'm running a risk stocking this novel in my classroom, because our hero gets a blow job on page 4 and has plenty of action thereafter. But when I say that boys who won't read anything hang on every word in this book, I'm not exaggerating. Besides, this is one of the best books I personally have ever read. It's like the author channeled Charles Dickens and created a brand new Oliver Twist. This story is memorable and a really scathing social statement about our modern society. (Sadly, this book is issued with a weak binding and a flimsy cover. I have had to retire more than one copy after it fell to bits in my hand.)

Tyrell has a sequel, called Bronxwood.

In ten years of teaching, I have only ever had one student who read Tyrell and didn't clamor for Bronxwood. Same hero, same adventures.

Here's another novel that I've had disintegrate in my hands from overuse. It's Snitch, by Allison Van Diepen. The cover art may vary.

This author has several titles that are hugely popular in my classroom. The settings are urban high schools. This one is a sort of love story that includes gang initiation. I've read it, and it's a page-turner. I'm down to one copy.

Now, I'm going to admit that multiple copies of this next one went walking. But no wonder! It's so good. It's Butter, by Erin Lange.

"Butter" is the nasty nickname a bunch of bullies have given an overweight teenager who has no friends. So this teenager decides to livestream a fatal eating binge on New Year's Eve. When he announces this on social media, surprise! He's suddenly popular. Y'all want to read a good young adult novel? This one is tops.

One genre of book that is popular in my classroom is the verse novel. These are particularly coveted by students who speak Spanish at home. And this is a good one. It's called The Poet X, by Elizabeth Acevedo.

Our heroine wants to live a normal life, have a boyfriend, and write spoken word poetry. But her parents are religious extremists who don't allow her to leave home except to go to school. Needless to say, she starts sneaking around.

Now these last two are the most recent and are just getting traction in my classroom.

The first is Shadowshaper, by Daniel Jose Older.

In case you haven't noticed, most fantasy literature has white, white, white protagonists doing white, white, white things. But this one has a Puerto Rican heroine with a Haitian boyfriend, and her adventures are all based on interacting with the Orishas. Why shouldn't minority students have fantasy novels they can relate to? And by the by, this is a ripping good read.

Same goes for this last title, which was popular with my African American students. It's called Slay, by Brittney Morris.

This one is about a gamer who gets targeted online by racists. I think it's the topic that sells this one. Very relatable for my students.

If you plan to endow me with one of these tomes, email me for my address. My email is annejohnson17211 at gmail dot com.

So there you have it. Miss Johnson's hot read needs for 2022! I thank you, and my students thank you, and my administration bean counters would thank you if they weren't so busy counting beans that they can then stockpile as a surplus.

One bit of good news is that I don't need any school supplies this year. I have plenty of pencils and paper left over from past generosity. And I do still use pencils and paper. I tell my students that their grandchildren won't know the art of hand-writing things. But until then, we do use the basics.

FAQ about Loki

 Wow! Tens and tens of you read my awesome interview with Loki, below. I'm humbled by the outpouring. I want to leave that important message active for a few more days, even though Lughnasadh is upon us.

I must have gotten two or three passing thoughts about why I would serve Loki two pieces of blueberry pie when I have a white couch, white walls, and a white quilt on the bed upstairs. 

It's very simple. There are stains, and there are stains. If my cat Gamma stains the white upholstery, that's unfortunate. But if Loki stains the furniture, that's a stain from a God. I can point to it and say, "Look. Loki did that. Praised be."

All stains aren't created equal. Some are holy.

If you haven't read my interview with Loki, it's right below. You don't want to miss it, because it's trending in the labyrinth of my imagination.

Interview with a Bored God: Loki

 Oh, how we at "The Gods Are Bored" have strayed from our central theme: giving downsized deities a public platform! It's what put us on the map, so to speak, and has been a favorite pastime since 2005. Yep, that long.

And mostly this has been an uplifting and fun ride. (Ares is the exception, He speaks in all caps and sets the furniture on fire.)

Today I heard a lot of ruckus outside, and I do love me a good ruckus. Investigating, I found Loki on my front lawn, juggling squirrels. Even though the squirrels were having the time of their lives, I sensed that Loki had something to tell me, so I have invited Him inside. (I'm glad the house is a mess. He loathes a neat house.)

Please give a warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Loki!

Anne: All hail, aww Hell, oh well, howdy, Loki! Sup, cuz?

Loki: More than the usual chaos, Annie.

Anne: You mean extra chaos? Please tell me it's the kind that leaves everyone out of breath laughing and maybe only a few new stains on the upholstery.

Loki (looking around): What could have possessed you to buy a white couch?

Anne: Would you believe it's my second white couch? I know I shouldn't, but I take pride in how little I've learned. Here's a piece of blueberry pie for you, and that wide, wide expanse of white couch ...

Loki: Hey Anne! Watch this!

[Insert laughing emoji]

Anne: At least pick up the big chunks, willya?

Loki: Sure! Because I see you also repainted the walls -- blushy white!

Anne: This is the silliest of questions, seeing as it's You, but is there a reason for Your visit? Other than giving the squirrels a joyride, I mean.

Loki: I am going to ask you to amplify a message for Me.

Anne: Only too glad to oblige, Tricky Sir.

Loki: The message has been reported seriously and factually here. It came through a Seeress.

Anne: For real, for real? I saw a possession ritual once, and it scared me snotless! I'll bet you put that poor Seeress through her paces. But listen. I know that many blog readers don't want to follow a link from one page to another, so can you tell me the message without possessing me? Or could you at least wait to possess me until the weekend, when I'm going to a LARP and there will be water mods?

Loki: Snap, I love water mods! I'm in!

Anne: But the message ...

Loki: Okay. Part one: Dig up the joy! Look at you and everyone around you. Misery, misery everywhere! You know, misery and joy are both contagious, like viruses. Spread the one, get vaxxed for the other.

Anne: But there's so much to be ...

Loki: You want to sprain an ankle before you get to the water mods? What did I just say?

Anne: Spread joy. Okay, I'll try!

Loki: DO I HAVE TO GO ALL YODA ON YOU, WOMAN? Do or do not, there is no try!

Anne: Got it. Another piece of pie?

Loki: Do you have that white quilt on the bed upstairs?

Anne: White is my failing. Is there more to the message?

Loki: Yep. You know all those plans you have to deck your classroom with witchy stuff and witchy books? Revise and edit those plans. It's not a safe time to be a Pagan in America.

Anne: Dang! You are the last one I ever thought I would hear say this. Go on the down low? A Norse God telling me to go on the down low? Knock me over with a feather!

Loki: Done! Shame to ruin such a nice pillow. But if I can be serious for half a minute, you heard Me right. You are more valuable alive than you are as a martyr. And there are a lot of Christian wingnuts out there with guns, looking to create martyrs.

Anne: I've always had a sneaking suspicion that martyrdom is overrated.

Loki: Yep. So dial back the righteous protest over your Supreme Court's religious rulings. Because this is the remainder of my message: Time will catch up with these fools. All of them. Yes, you can expect some rough sledding. It's dangerous right now. We deities are feeling it as well. But when the smoke clears, some people will walk away like Mad Max, bruised but unbeaten. And those people will rebuild.

Anne: But Mad Max didn't rebuild, he just tramped off into the Outback...

Loki: Let's see what happens if I hold this feather pillow up to the fan ...

Anne: NO! NO! I GOT YOU, BRO! I hear you! Only to glad to amplify the message!

Loki: Thanks. And again, for more details, your fans can go here. Now. About those water mods...

Anne: You'll need a swimsuit that's at least passably in-game.

Loki: Everything I own slips nimbly into a LARP.

Anne: I daresay. Anyway, I'm going to the game on Saturday. Meet me here at 9:00, and please don't do that thing with the bugs and the windshield like you did last time.

Loki: Don't worry, Annie. Last time we didn't have anywhere important to go.

Image: Thalia Took

I Have a Crop!

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Property Owners!" I'm Anne Johnson, proud yeoman of the soil. I'm here to report on my crop yields.

I bought a plot of land in February and visited it in April. Nothing much was growing then except a little bit of sturdy lichen.

This past weekend, my daughter The Fair and I made a sojourn back to the property. If you recall, I named it Anneland.

The Fair is very much into foraging. If you haven't heard of that, it's basically bypassing the local eateries in favor of finding something wild to eat in the woods. The Fair actually found some morels when they were in season ... and those are solid gold.

It's not morel season anymore, but I was so, so glad to have The Fair with me, surveying Anneland. Because as it turns out, there's a crop growing on the hillside. I mean, all along the hillside. As in, probably a quarter acre or more.

EXHIBIT A: PRIMARY CROP, ANNELAND

This is an actual photo from Anneland!

Now, I am intensely grateful to The Fair for positively identifying the wild blueberries, because if I had gone there by myself, I would have assumed that these were poisonous dingleberries or some such, and I would have given them a wide berth. Instead they will be nurtured (along with one tiny raspberry plant I also found).

As you can see, very few of these were ripe. The Fair says I will still have some to pluck when I return to Anneland in August. Maybe enough to make a tart!

It's kind of fun to have your own blueberry patch. Thanks be to Venus Cloacina, great Goddess!