Today is the 11th anniversary of Medeni's death.
In about a fortnight, it'll be the end of the first year without D'Argo.
Barrayaran custom, while technically fictional, suits my aesthetic. Once again, I took the little brass brazier with the dog figurine on the side and half-filled it with sand; went out to Medeni's burial site, lit the charcoal (it was uncooperative, and the matches were worse. I need fresh matches and better charcoal.) and after it started glowing, dropped in the ring of my hair and the little twizzle of dog hair tweaked from 2½corgwn and a very unsheddy mutt.
Burning hair smells awful, but there's a nice symbolism there of the bitterness of loss, isn't there. After a bit, I added some "church" incense (maybe I should have gone to a real botanica, this was thin stuff), which, even though not perhaps the best-made, sweetened the smoke with the rich scent of frankincense and other resins melting and sizzling away.
Sirius blinked in the lower western sky, fuzzy in my un-eyeglassed vision, but easily identified. It feels so appropriate to have him watching over the ritual. I thought about my family who are no longer with me, vexed that I'd misplaced the actual years for some.
I left the brazier to finish burning off the hair, some extra incense, possibly the mess of discarded matches which had tried to ignite the charcoal... my dogs were waiting for me, impatient.
Barrayaran custom, while technically fictional, suits my aesthetic. Once again, I took the little brass brazier with the dog figurine on the side and half-filled it with sand; went out to Medeni's burial site, lit the charcoal (it was uncooperative, and the matches were worse. I need fresh matches and better charcoal.) and after it started glowing, dropped in the ring of my hair and the little twizzle of dog hair tweaked from 2½corgwn and a very unsheddy mutt.
Burning hair smells awful, but there's a nice symbolism there of the bitterness of loss, isn't there. After a bit, I added some "church" incense (maybe I should have gone to a real botanica, this was thin stuff), which, even though not perhaps the best-made, sweetened the smoke with the rich scent of frankincense and other resins melting and sizzling away.
Sirius blinked in the lower western sky, fuzzy in my un-eyeglassed vision, but easily identified. It feels so appropriate to have him watching over the ritual. I thought about my family who are no longer with me, vexed that I'd misplaced the actual years for some.
I left the brazier to finish burning off the hair, some extra incense, possibly the mess of discarded matches which had tried to ignite the charcoal... my dogs were waiting for me, impatient.