Category: writing

the art of arting

First of all, I’m a delight.
Second, we are all artists.

photo of a colorful campfire

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.”
– Henry David Thoreau

If we, made in the image of a creator (science or spiritual), then we are also creators. When I taught art classes, that was always my opening statement, along with the ins/outs of the art world. My goal with every student was to help them understand that creating for the joy of it is part of who we are.

For a long time I made art to support my family – everything from abstract art to mosaics to Zentangle. There were words, images, stories, all formed by the overwhelming urge to remind others how magical humans can be. It was absolutely where I wanted to be in my life, and was doing pretty okay in the professional creative world.

The thing about being an artist is that you have to produce items, or at least talk about the processes of what you are making/writing. That was going pretty okay for me, with some art shows under my belt, classes, and even a few articles in the local newspapers. Then something happened that shifted everything that gave me an almost 11 year hiatus of everything in my life. While the Universe might have known what was up, it took me just a little more time to see the wisdom in those changes.

What got me through those moments was the support from my wee little family — my husband and our kids — who have always believed in me. Better stated, we all stood together, making sure that everything would be okay. It is hard to explain the levels of gratitude I have for the ability to persevere through some of the wildest moments of my adult life, and to also have the resources to keep all of us afloat. Sometimes when I look ahead to my goals for bringing my pieces back into the world, my being fills with feelings of grace.

This week’s episode of The KimboBurly Tales will be about some of this, and how to find your way back home to yourself. Most likely I’ll write about up until that day, so be prepared to read a ramble or seven.

It’s a beautiful Monday, and I think the best way to enjoy it is to get out some yarn, sit on the porch, and have gratitude for the little things.

Until next time…much love,
~ KEU

The erasing of lived cultures

First of all, I’m a delight.
Second, please stop saying the Gods chose who they chose.

Sun shining through plants.
If you take this photo as your own, pixies will come and tie knots in your hair.

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery’ all too often means ‘Appropriation is the easiest form of thievery’.”
― Jamie Arpin-Ricci

As I step back into my work with Mom’s Strange Magic, the algorithms have decided to show me all kinds of things like tarot readers flinging cards at their camera and telling me that the powers that be wanted me to know something. Then comes the vague information such as, “They are thinking of you,” or the “The signs say go for it.” I mean two things can be true at once, the algorithms knowing your patterns and the Universe seeing a way to get a message to you, but lemme tell you a little bit about how that kinda stuff is dripping with appropriation.

This is not the time, nor is it the place, to give an extended look into the world of cultural appropriation. Also, none of us are immune from engaging in this activity. I mean how do you think we have most of what we have now – it wasn’t from honoring the societies and communities that created their rituals and ways of being.
One little trip back into history, at any time, will show you how those with more resources and greater military power conquer societies and communities…only to adapt the rituals and folkways to their own needs. It’s sort of how I see the Romans when the early Christians couldn’t be taken down by the powers that be — sort of like if you can’t beat them, join them kind of thing. Figuring that there needed to be one central place for these folks (and their money) to hang out, wouldn’t it just be a good idea to, oh…I don’t know…create the Holy Roman Catholic Church? Once fully established, and you know, never mind all the other monotheistic belief systems stemming from Abraham, because this one is the only one. But let me not ramble a blue streak about that, because I can and often do with my dear sweet husband. He’s such a patient partner, and always willing to hear about my new esoteric and arcane fact about the history of faith systems.

So, as a very pale skinned person who has parents that are from this area and engaged in the modern rituals, practices, and culture of their parents, this makes me 100% a caucasian woman from the United States. While I can appreciate Neo-Paganism and the good intentions of that belief system, often times followers of that path overlook the darker parts of how their modern ways came to be.

Just a random side note here, your dear old 2nd grandaunt who grew up in the mountains and healed people would wash your mouth out with dirt if you ever called her a witch. That woman believe in the power of the Bible, and saw Jesus as her savior. Now I’m not saying there weren’t what modern folks are calling witches, but most likely they weren’t dressed like Stevie Nicks.

Which, by the way, is sort of appropriation of cultures that were called derogatory names. I mean, we all love Stevie for sure, but also, she is also a caucasian woman from the United States. Calling oneself a “gypsy” reduces a complex culture into a lifestyle or trend.

Maybe this is where I need to say an important thing…

Being marginalized from different directions taught me a lot about how not to marginalize others. That was amplified in 2020 when the demographics of where I live got ridiculed online with phrases like, “Y’all Qaeda.” Now I understand the psychology of why this happens, but that doesn’t mean it should be accepted. One cannot say they love all, then spew hatred at those who aren’t like them.

Before I type out a dissertation on the co-opting of poverty culture for likes on social media, let me just share this week’s episode of The KimboBurly Tales with all y’all.

Y’all, I’m relearning the rules and regulations of hanging out on this platform. Apparently if you post something daily it helps push you out into the greater reader-verse (which I’m still really trying to figure out…it’s a little easier to do that over at Medium, but I’m sticking to this platform here, so…you know…just doing my best out here). You’ll see some of my lovely creativity posted this weekend, but not a lot of words. Those are my days off, well mostly off as I’m always working, but technically…that’s when I turn off my devices for a bit and stare into space.

Thanks for listening/reading. While this might seem a little like preaching, it’s more like I’m trying to do a bit more of the teaching thing. Not because I know it all, but more like there’s too much info in my brain that can be shared with others. You know, to make more room for new information!

Until next time…sending you lots of good energy and love,
~ KEU

Releasing the urge to combust

First of all, I’m a delight.
Second, I contain multitudes.
Third, growing older is not for sissies.

“If someone isn’t what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

In the land of cognitive dissonance, one should not be allowed anything that is combustible, nor should anyone be given kindling that looks like self-sabotage.

Not that I know anything about that crippling grasp of imposter syndrome, or how to badly manage things when my cup was overflowing to the point of flooding everything around me. Along with that, I had been very well trained in my youth to believe that everyone else had my best interest at heart. Plot twist – they don’t.

This isn’t because they are inherently wrong, or bad, but more like they got wonky data themselves. It is really difficult to get past input that looks like one thing, but is really something else. Sometimes you fall into the trap of feeling as if someone is there to help you, but really just want to talk about their degrees or themselves beyond the normal flow of healthy conversation. As one of my kids always says to me, in their youthful wisdom – “Sometimes it just be that way.”

Now, if you’ve already gathered all the things needed to set yourself (metaphorically) ablaze, making sure there are no bridges to you, don’t forget to leave breadcrumbs for yourself after you get done burning brightly as the Sun. These are the things you will use to find your way back to that behavior after forgetting what you learned in the crucible of change. Not that I would have any personal experience in this (insert pondering face emojis here).

All joking aside, I’m not exactly sure why it took me so long to work with myself the way I work with my clients. You know, all for thee, but not for me, but with an Uno reverse, a raccoon selling you trinkets, and some crows that clearly have some ideas about things. But then one day, and as much as I love a good “this [insert amount of time] ago,” I couldn’t pinpoint when it was for all the delicious cookies in the world. Just one morning my feet hit the floor, my body walked into the kitchen for coffee, and I just sat down at my desk and wrote out a life plan for the next 20 years. And not general things, but deep thoughts about all the mistakes I made, all the boundaries that needed work, and how grateful I was for a life partner/spouse/bestest friend who supported every wild hair (dream) I thought was mine to work with.

Then I got quiet. Real quiet, like silent running quiet, moving my submarine up some shallow waters to rest among the inlets of peaceful calmness.

Oh, and I threw away a ton of stuff, and I’m about to do it again here in a few weeks. If you know anything about semiotics and how the brain leaves us little messages with items we have around us, then the stacks of books, creative tools I was never going to use, and the sheer amount of doodads…good Lord, the absolute weight of the tchotchkes everywhere… Honestly it was like I was picking up these things in hopes that others would see them and see me as a person that enjoys such things. Brains are funny that way, and after years of studying why they do what they do to help people in their daily lives, it just seemed like a good time to dive into mine after the umpteenth reinvention of myself.

Oh, wait, did I just say that out loud? Well, I mean I *do* contain multitudes. And do I contradict myself? Oh, absolutely! LOL!!

This is why healing isn’t linear. Also, when working with clients I share these processes with them. That’s one thing I find lacking in the modern conventional wellness word — the admitting that just because one is degreed, has learned the dogma from the halls of higher education, or whatever language is used to show expertise in their craft, doesn’t mean they know it all (or are above making mistakes). But that is a ramble for another day…

Starting May 1st, 2026, in addition to all the wonderful stuff at Mom’s Strange Magic, the first episode of The KimboBurly Tales will go live on YouTube. Of course it will be posted here, too, so you can just watch it in a post, but if you wanna help a human out, after it launches you can subscribe for updates. There will be guest appearances, side quests with Mr. The Mister, and lots of whimsy. Also, if you’ve ever wanted to know all the details of my life, then you will be happy to know that no stones will be left unturned.

While I could continue to write things, there are crochet projects that need my attention, and I think one of the cats wants my office chair.

Thanks for being here, and thanks for being you!

Until next time – much love and good energies your way,
KEU

Lemme tell you a story…

First of all, I’m a delight.
Second, everything I’m about to tell you is true.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
― Rumi

This is a story 54 years in the making. It has taken me a long time to figure out how to share it with others, but what I do know is that it’s beyond time to lay it all out.

These tales are not just about my life, as Mr. The Mister has some wonderful tales of his own…one of which includes a painting we own from a well known conspiracy theorist that opened our eyes to a whole other world.

Let’s start here, with this photo.

These are my biological parents on a date while we were visiting my father during a time when my Mom was separated from my birth certificate father. At the time no one was willing to let me in on such facts. The trip was a blast, and he convinced my mom to let me get my ears pierced. The highlight of the trip was being able to see the Battlestar Galactica setup at Universal Studios. I do remember that at some point my mom was crying because of something my dad said. Again, just so all y’all know, at that time I had no idea that this man was my real father.

My mom and step-dad came to visit me at my collage apartment for my birthday. I was worried that there was going to be some kind of bad news, as my mom had just had a biopsy done to check for cancer. After I asked how she was, her reply was this – “Your dad is not your dad, but your real dad wants to talk to you now.” She picks up my phone, makes a collect call, then hands me the receiver saying, “Here. Talk to him.”

“We have as yet hardly spoken of the infant; that little creature, whose innocent life had sprung, by the inscrutable decree of Providence, a lovely and immortal flower, out of the rank luxuriance of a guilty passion” – Nathanial Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

In my work I help folks put pieces of themselves back together after learning about the intrigue of their family tree. It is difficult to learn that all the people in your life colluded in keeping your origin story secret because of their job, faith system, or what-have-you. The largest database of information is held by the Mormon Church. And yes…there are still wards that will do proxy baptisms of the dead – meaning that your relatives and ancestors might have an extra ticket to the streets of gold with ambrosia and caffeine free Coke.

As a student of all the world’s faith systems, I am able to see the benefits of spiritual community, but there are times when you just gotta wonder what in the world. Messing with other faith’s ancestors is one of those “what in the world” moments.

While I’m writing this my hands are shaking. Not from worrying about what people will think, or if any of these family members will have beef about what I’ve learned over the years (and what they can’t keep hidden), but from wanting to heal (mostly) out loud. Not for attention, or do get that social media b.s. clout, but to let others know they are not alone.

The reason for writing this post today is because RootsTech starts tomorrow, March 5th, 2026. People will be flocking to the halls of genealogical expertise to figure out who their ancestors are, but will often come away with a huge bag of surprises. There’s no aid for those who find out their family secrets are not what they were told (or not told). Many leave there feeling even more alone, not getting any answers for their questions.

With that, I’m off to work on some projects. Also, this week’s podcast for Mom’s Strange Magic is up if you want to check it out here.

Much love,
KEU

New Moon who this?

Image of the new moon for February 17th, 2026.

First of all, I’m a delight.
Second, everything I’m about to tell you is true.

Happy Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, Lunar New Year, Annular Solar Eclipse, and the start of Ramadan. Who knew that the Moon could be such a fun way to celebrate being human?

Today is also the eve of bring Mom’s Strange Magic back to the public. If you wanna see what that’s all about, just click the friendly link here. Now you might be wondering what I’m going to do with this space, or how this site will move forward into the future. It’s a fair question given the fact my time online has been quite chaotic over the past – what…like 4 years? Well guess no more, as I’m about to give you some insights.

Mom’s Strange Magic is something that came about after my dear sweet partner, aka Mr. The Mister, told another family member that the work I do is…you guess it, “Just mom’s strange magic.” The name stuck, but honestly my life wasn’t in the place to really get things going, but nevertheless I tossed my wacky wall walker of a life to the ceiling and hoped it would stick.

It didn’t. But that’s okay.

While chatting with one of the adult kids (which feels so very odd to say because in my eyes they are always gonna be wee babes) about all that we’ve experienced as a family, I told them that there are some days where it would be nice to go back and do things differently. In this calm voice they said, “Well, things are the best they’ve ever been, so I don’t think we should change anything.”

Y’all…

I mean, just y’all…that is some deep wisdom right there – especially from a human in their 20s. While they are absolutely correct in that sentiment, I wasn’t always able to see my life from that perspective. For longer than anyone should have to endure, some of my inner dialogue would start off with, “Well, you did that wrong…” that is, until I flipped it around to, “Well, you did your best at the time, so move forward with a little more knowledge instead of worry.”

Getting to this point wasn’t easy, and it came with baggage that wasn’t mine to carry. At the core was this little dab of people pleasing mixed with some feelings of insecurity and a dash of being lost. In order to find my way back it took a lot of work on my boundaries, engaging in a bit of “silent running,” aka being very still and very quiet, calling all the broken pieces of self back “home,” and a lot of support from my wee little tribe of folks whose core is our little homestead. There was also a lot of saying the word no, standing up for myself, and no longer feeding energy to people/places/things that were never going to reciprocate.

Oh, and the deepest, widest, and most intense dark night of the soul…with months little earthquakes as everything shifted back into place. Maybe more like filling the cracks of self in with some alchemical gold.

This shift in my life is a little scary, and my “voice” feels a little shaky while writing. For me this is a good sign, as all the other times I let myself be shoved into boxes that weren’t for me, I felt like it was the right place to be. Sort of like that whole “Oh, if this is how people want me to be, then this means people will support my time here.” There’s a lot of stuff to unpack with all of that, which might come out here…or not. It just depends on what words want to flow through my fingers when I sit in front of the empty space in the editor.

Before I sign off to start the day, I want to explain why Mom’s Strange Magic is hosted on Patreon. First, dear sweet Mr. The Mister has reached the age (and beyond) where he can retire, and continues to work to help the family stay grounded in resources. It was our “plan” (used loosely as the Universe had its own plans) for me to be back to my work 2 years ago. But there was COVID, unexpected illnesses, life shifts, and more – which is, as my kiddo said, exactly as it was supposed to be. While Patreon is a pay-to-read site, most of the content there will be free – not all, but most. Also, I’m not tossing all my energy out into the internet, and am closing down other sites such as Bluesky, Substack, Medium et al. I will be on YouTube and Meta platforms, as well as this space on WordPress. If folks want to find me, they will, and that means I won’t have to keep giving my time away.

Now…I know that WP has a whole subscribe thing here, but honestly I’ve got to stick with what works best for me. With that….if you enjoy what I do, consider supporting me on Ko-fi.

And not it’s time to finish some chores, work on some projects, and prepare for tomorrow’s grand re-opening of Mom’s Strange Magic!

Much love,
KEU