Wayward Sisters – A Preview

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Let me take a moment to introduce you to the geneology of how this Wayward Sisters pilot came about.

Way back in season 5 of  Supernatural, we met Sheriff Jody Mills, and she quickly became a fan favorite. In season 9, she helped save Alex, a wayward teen who had been living with vampires. Fans remembered Castiel’s vessels’s daughter Claire, and wondered what happened to her. With another sheriff being introduced a couple of episodes earlier, the fans wanted the two sheriffs to meet, which they eventually did in season 10. A fan group was born: Wayward Daughters Academy. Jody and Donna’s home for wayward girls to teach them the ways of hunting.

And so a movement was born.

Two and a half years later, and this movement birthed a back-door pilot for a Supernatural spin-off series.

Joining Sheriff Jody and Sheriff Donna, Alex and Claire are two new young women: Patience and Kaia. Patience is a psychic, like her grandmother Missouri Mossley, and Kaia is a dreamwalker who was helping Jack find Mary Winchester in “the bad place,” another universe.

Here are a few links to get you excited for tonight’s premiere as well as including some basic informaton on the main characters.

Ultimate Wayward Sisters Watch Guide

How Supernatural’s All-Female Spin-off, Wayward Sisters, was Born

Preview of 13.10

Nerdist Preview

Wayward Sisters Documentary:

This is it, guys. This is not a drill. This is the week we’ve been waiting for for 2.5 years. Please, please:
• Watch live this Thursday night at 8EST on the CW
• Shout positivity on every social network

• Use the hashtags! #Supernatural #WaywardSisters 

• Take pics in your shirts!

• SPREAD THE LOVE 💙
(Please share!)

From wayward daughters Facebook

3-52 – Called

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We Are Called. David Haas.

January’s spiritual was hard to come together. I planned on posting yesterday, partly because it worked with the loose fifty-two week schedule in my mind, and partly because it was my mother-in-law’s birthday, her first since her passing in June.

As part of my own religious awakening, I had mass said for her, as I’ve been doing for another friend’s birthday and death anniversary since 2011. I thought it would be a nice way to get the entire family together and send their thoughts to her, assisted by the rest of the congregation. Yes, I do believe that. My family typically doesn’t come to church with me, and that’s alright. I invite them, and I will continue to invite them. It’s my faith. I can only share it.

The woman I usually sit with was behind us – we were too many to share the pew this week, and she was thrilled to see my family. She was grinning ear to ear, and pat my husband on the back. She is lovely, and for her and me and many others being here regularly is more than obligation; it is joy and peace and centering to get ready for the rest of the week.

There is always something that comes out of nowhere and shows us the interconnectedness of our worlds, our spirits, and our being.

Yesterday was also the Women’s March on Washington. Many women couldn’t go for economic reasons, travel reasons, personal reasons, and marches began to be organized across the country, and then across the world until there were marches and protests on all seven continents. In Chicago and Washington, DC, there were so many marchers that they couldn’t march, so they stood. Together.

With signs.

With pink hats.

Rainbow scarves.

Pro this, pro that, and anti too.

In Washington, there were zero arrests. ZERO. How do you have over 700,000 people on the Mall in DC, and have no one arrested for anything? It’s remarkable. I think it’s unprecedented, but I don’t have the hard figures so I’m only guessing from hearing about these types of things.

I was kind of taken with the idea that the women’s march was being held on my mother-in-law’s birthday. It seemed fitting. I don’t know that I’d label her a feminist, but she was really beyond labeling. She was eighty-two when she died. She didn’t drive, didn’t even have a driver’s license. She had no internet in her house, no computer. No cell phone. Didn’t know how any of that worked. No cable until a few years ago. Her camera was a disposable Kodak that you buy at the counter in CVS or Walmart when something momental came up, like grandchildren.

It makes it sound as though she was an elderly woman.

She wasn’t.

Far from it.

Up until getting hit by a car in 2013, she was more active than I was, not that that’s saying a lot, but she was hella active. She traveled several times a year, by herself, by long distance bus. She walked everywhere or took public transportation, usually the county bus. When our kids were born, she was on the first bus north the two hundred fifty miles to help. And man, she helped. She cooked, she cleaned, she took the other kids on walks and to playgrounds. 

She spoke her mind. No filters.

She was an amazing cook and seriously could take whatever was in your cupboard and make a gourmet meal out of it. No lie. I use her Christmas dinners as a model for my own (at my husband’s request). This was the first year mine was perfect. I think she must have been there adjusting the temperature, adding the right amount of pepper or garlic or steadying my hand to avoid over seasoning. The onions were to die for. The meat itself was perfectly cooked, rare enough for my husband, well enough for me. Perfect.

When she was a girl growing up in Belfast during World War II, there was rationing, where she learned how to do without, and how to do with whatever was available. As a teenager, she left home and went across the world to Australia – the Outback – Alice Springs, much more desolate than it is today. She worked and she lived with others who she’d never met before. She went to India and Afghanistan, and worked her way to the United States where she met a man, married, and had three children.

She was still adventurous, and I see her light every day in my daughter’s eyes, her clothes, her attitude. Why can’t I wear a party dress to the comic store? The question hanging in the air with her nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. The day my mother-in-law died we were visiting her, and she loved my daughter’s new shirt. Seventy percent off, and fuschia and orange from Eddie Bauer. I made a mental note to pick one up for her, so they could match on our next visit.

For her cremation, we looked for the most outlandish, brightest, orange-colored outfit that we could find. For the memorial, I wore fuschia, and my daughter wore orange. We were all brightly attired in honor or her brightness, and still, she outshone us all.

At yesterday’s Mass, the processional hymn was We Are Called. You can see the words in the picture above, but I’ll reiterate them again below because they perfectly encapsulated the March on Women, the independence of women honored and celebrated, sung and danced by and to.

We are called to act with justice
we are called to love tenderly
we are called to serve one another

If we remember these words, whether sung in church or said in our minds, we can persevere and move forward. Always forward. We can get through whatever we need to so long as we act with justice, love tenderly, and serve one another. Remember mercy and compassion. And remember those women who’ve gone before us to pave the way. We are all marching in some way to make things better for ourselves and our children. Equal rights are not given.
We all go across the world to a strange land, and we do whatever it takes.

We march.

We march.

We rise.

We stand up and we speak out.

And we don’t stop.

I wanted to take my daughter to the gathering in our state’s capital, but it conflicted with my mother-in-law’s mass. I was able to send my spirit to Washington along with my name on a sign, from a Gishwhes colleague who wanted to bring us all with her. How appropriate to the March and to Gishwhes. I had one friend in Seneca Falls, home of Susan B. Anthony. I had one friend in Chicago. My Instagram was filled with the L.A. march. Gen and the boys in Texas.

We’re not coming. We’re here.

All of our spirits have come together to say we’re here, you will listen, we’re not going back, the resistance is now.

Resist Peacefully – Compilation

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The day before the Inauguration I posted a series with different ways to peacefully resist the incoming Administration. We may feel powerless, but we aren’t. We are the people.

Here is a compilation of those links in one place:

We The People Resource Page (this website)

One – Graphic from Unitewomen.org

Two – Indivisible: A Practical Guide for Resisting the Trump Agenda

Three – Call out hypocrisy – Contact Congress

Four – Call it out – Contact the Executive Branch

Five – Defend the Press

Six – Graphic from Mary Engelbreit

Seven – The Women’s March on Washington

Eight – We Won’t Go Back

Nine – My Personal Oath from the ACLU

Ten – Inauguration 2017: Know Your Rights from the ACLU

The Women’s March on Washington – Posters

The Day He Left

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​[Note: This morning, I saw a prompt on the Writers Write Facebook: Write about the day he left. This immediately came to mind.]

It was dark when I woke up. It shouldn’t have been so dark at that time of morning, but the cloud cover and the grey skies combined to make the picture of a sad morning. The grey even seeped through the leaves of the tall trees outside the window, like a fog rolling in, obfuscating the electric lines and the roofs of the nearby houses, seemingly covering over the reality of the coming day. I should have really still been asleep. I tried. I really did, tossing and turning, each shift causing a spring to poke me in awkward places from my twenty-five year old mattress. It’s needed replacing for at least fifteen years; probably more. I finally gave in. I couldn’t sleep anymore. I would stop trying to. I also didn’t want to spend this last day in bed. 

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that today was just an ordinary day. I could hear the drip drip drip on the window ledge from the melting snow on the roof. The garbage trucks and school buses roared by, with each collecting their charges, the wet ground spraying water from their tires, the squelch as they stopped and then went again at the stop sign on the corner.

Today’s list of things to do includes a shower, buying a new (functioning) toilet, and possibly making a plan for my aunt’s ninety-fifth birthday next month. It does not include watching the news.

While dull in color, and heavy in weight, everything else around seems vibrant in feeling; not bright or brightly colored, but palpable in dread, an overhanging sad as the minutes tick down until the moment he does leave.

Twelve noon and it’s finished.

It’s the end of the second term of the first Black President, and at a very young fifty-five, he enters citizenship with more to do; much more. Books to write, a library to build and fill, a well deserved vacation, and politics as a citizen, just like me. Well, not quite.

I won’t talk about his successor. There’s no need. We’re going to have the next four years of twenty-four hour news cycles and nonsense from all sides. He matters at 12:01, but until that moment, we continue to enjoy and remember the Obama Presidency.

The sweet little girls who came into our lives eight years ago who are now young women, one starting college in the fall, and one finishing her two years of high school. Lovely, smart, kind by all accounts. They are a beautiful reflection of their parents and the good job they’ve done despite the scrutiny and the lack of privacy. They’ve done well, and I’m certain they will continue to do well.

Their mom, who left her career for another, unpaid one as First Lady pulling all of her priorities as a Mom to encourage us to do our best for ourselves, for our military families often forgotten. Let’s Move is the perfect analogy for her. Constantly in movement whether for her family or her American family, meeting, listening, and doing. Growing a garden at the White House – just magnificent. What a lovely person to look up to, to be inspired by, and to emulate.

Her husband. Our President. Not just well-spoken as all Presidents should be, but well-learned. Thoughtful and thought-filled. Caring. Innovative and inspired. Inspirational. Compassionate. Kind. Always looking forward and inward, and never worrying about what people would think of him, simply doing what he thought was best. Always.

His legacy is so much more than words on a paper or chapters in a history book. Others will remember promises broken, as is the case for all presidents once they get in and see how difficult running the government and protecting the individual is, but I will remember his sense of humor, and his easy laugh. His arm gently resting along his wife’s back and hers in the same place on his, a better definition of partnership I don’t think I could find. He sings, he dances, he pases equal pay laws and celebrates equality in marriage, in gender, affordable health care, and in religion. He doesn’t let his own beliefs and his Christianity get in the way or overshadow someone else’s, and there are many represented in this country.

He took the high road in all things, never showing his frustration despite the racism and the lack of civility and professionalism by his colleagues, some of whom should be embarrassed by their behavior. This level of obstruction and pettiness was unprecedented.

He won’t dwell on his last Supreme Court nominee stolen from him. (I will.) He will remain on the high road.

Give him credit, don’t give him credit for what he’s done with our economy and the inclusivity of our civil rights; he doesn’t care as long as he’s helped us.

And he did.

Scandal free, which doesn’t mean not making mistakes. We all make mistakes, but his White House was above board, fair, and diligent for ALL Americans, regardless of their feelings for him and his family.

The day he left was cold and dreary and grey. I don’t know if I’ll ever see his kind again in my lifetime. I can only hope that there is someone to carry his torch because right now, I’m not sure there’s anyone qualified to carry his coat.

I will miss you, President Barack Obama. I will miss you deeply. You were more than my president; you were my ally. You were my champion. You were my leader and my inspiration to do more, to do better, to be better.

Kinder.

Compassionate.

Thoughtful..

Forgiving.

Thank you, President Obama, and goodbye.

Welcome Mr. Obama. I hope to work with you in the future for the better. I will remain alongside you as we all roll our sleeves up and get to work. 

Yes. 

We did. 

We can. 

We will.