Full Moon Marathon: Strange Strangers On A Full Moon Night

 In honor of the full moon and Werewolves I’m running a Full Moon Marathon today. Enjoy, ponder, learn, leave comments, stay at home, wash your hands.

Full moon

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky last night. The moon was less than full but still exceptionally bright.

This morning I dropped the kids off to school. Garret’s car is in the shop so mom gets to drive. Anyway, I drop them off behind some temporary classrooms (that have been there for 45 years) because Clara doesn’t want to have to walk by the large group of “Stoners” who hang out every morning at the logical drop off point. So this morning she tells me she over heard one of the Stoners saying “That woman stops and turns around every morning. Weird. I guess she doesn’t want to stay here.” They had no idea I was dropping off kids. Sigh.

So the moon, teens, clueless thoughts… what does that all lead to? It made me think of a distant memory of when my brothers Val, Aaron and I were teens.

Go back to 1873. We lived in a city that had regulairly flooded, burned down, flooded again and survived illness and lawlessness and all sorts of disasters (Sacramento of course.) It was enough to make anyone want to leave, but instead people thrived and it grew. Railroads made kings. Agriculture was starting to boom. It was a city with growing art and culture and the new capitol building was almost finished. But to us it was home and our concerns were not those of adults or even most people. We were teens, comfortable in our own skin, a little less Victorian than most our age, a little more independent than most. My brothers and I lived in a tight knit community of Vampires, part of the Modern Vampire Movement. But you already know that.

One night, under a full moon, my brothers Aaron (age 17), Valentine (age 14) and I (age 13) were taking a stroll along the Sacramento River. We were always out looking for vagrants and activity from any riverboats. We were on the prowl, three well heeled Vampire kids who could use our innocence and charm to get in and out of any situation before our prey ever knew we were there.

With our stomachs full and our dark little souls throughly amused we walked home through a grove of trees on the edge of the riverbank. There we came upon a camp. Two figures were hunched over half a dozen large fish, I believe stripers or maybe steelhead. They grunted and tore at the fish. At first glance we thought they were coyotes or large dogs, but then we realized they were something else.

“Werewolves,” whispered Aaron holding his hand out to signal us to stay still.

We watched in fascination, with a bit of disgust, as the two turned back into their human form – a young man and a young woman. They were about our age and completely naked. He was skinny, unlike my muscular brothers. His skin was pale under the moonlight like the bellies of the fish he’d just devoured. She was also thin with ribs sticking out and knobby joints. Her grayish unhealthy looking skin was covered with red welts. Long dark hair hung below her waist. But what surprised us most was the hairless tail that hung down about 6 inches on the end of her spine.

I elbowed Aaron and he gave me a quick look that said “don’t move.”

“She has a tail,” Val whispered a little too loud. Aaron put his hand over his younger brother’s mouth.

The Werewolves put on their clothes, plain and worn compared to our fashionable togs. We had a home and parents. These two were obviously strays just trying to survive their miserable condition.

Val and I wanted to approach the Werewolves but Aaron was against it. He said we should just let them be and they’d be dead more sooner than later. There was a prominent pack of well-heeled Werewolves in town but we had little to do with them and it was obvious that these strays were not part of their pack.

Occasionally my parents would deal with the Werewolves, but always held them at a distance and with considerable contempt. One thing that stood out about the well to do Werewolves was their fondness for velvet. No kidding. Those Werewolves loved their velvet.

This isn’t going to be a moral story where we went back and helped the young Werewolves. We went back and they were gone. None of our friends had ever seen them. We told our parents about them. In turn they mentioned the strays to the pack leader in town and he had never heard of the young Werewolves.

It was just one of those weird things. Ships that pass in the night.

I asked my friend Adam, who is a Werewolf, about the pair when I stopped by his studio this morning (he is a photographer by trade.) He’d never heard of them. The tail on the girl turned out to be something extremely rare, just like a tail on anyone who is remotely human like.

“Why didn’t you help them?” Of course he had to ask.

“I don’t know. We were just kids. We thought they were dangerous. Beside that, maybe they didn’t need or want help. My parents asked around. Nobody knew anything, or if they did they weren’t telling us about it. I’m talking both Werewolves and Vampires. Nobody knew anything.”

I knew there would be nothing online about them but I after I left Adam I checked anyway. There was nothing.

This story has no moral or reason behind it. Just a story of something that happened a long time ago that I’ll tell my kids about and maybe they can find a moral in it.

It might be a mystery forever. But I have a knack for finding people and things so you never know. You never know about anything, not really.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

First posted in 2014

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky last night. The moon was less than full but still exceptionally bright.

This morning I dropped the kids off to school. Garret’s car is in the shop so mom gets to drive. Anyway, I drop them off behind some temporary classrooms (that have been there for 45 years) because Clara doesn’t want to have to walk by the large group of “Stoners” who hang out every morning at the logical drop off point. So this morning she tells me she over heard one of the Stoners saying “That woman stops and turns around every morning. Weird. I guess she doesn’t want to stay here.” They had no idea I was dropping off kids. Sigh.

So the moon, teens, clueless thoughts… what does that all lead to? It made me think of a distant memory of when my brothers Val, Aaron and I were teens.

Go back to 1873. We lived in a city that had regulairly flooded, burned down, flooded again and survived illness and lawlessness and all sorts of disasters (Sacramento of course.) It was enough to make anyone want to leave, but instead people thrived and it grew. Railroads made kings. Agriculture was starting to boom. It was a city with growing art and culture and the new capitol building was almost finished. But to us it was home and our concerns were not those of adults or even most people. We were teens, comfortable in our own skin, a little less Victorian than most our age, a little more independent than most. My brothers and I lived in a tight knit community of Vampires, part of the Modern Vampire Movement. But you already know that.

One night, under a full moon, my brothers Aaron (age 17), Valentine (age 14) and I (age 13) were taking a stroll along the Sacramento River. We were always out looking for vagrants and activity from any riverboats. We were on the prowl, three well heeled Vampire kids who could use our innocence and charm to get in and out of any situation before our prey ever knew we were there.

With our stomachs full and our dark little souls throughly amused we walked home through a grove of trees on the edge of the riverbank. There we came upon a camp. Two figures were hunched over half a dozen large fish, I believe stripers or maybe steelhead. They grunted and tore at the fish. At first glance we thought they were coyotes or large dogs, but then we realized they were something else.

“Werewolves,” whispered Aaron holding his hand out to signal us to stay still.

We watched in fascination, with a bit of disgust, as the two turned back into their human form – a young man and a young woman. They were about our age and completely naked. He was skinny, unlike my muscular brothers. His skin was pale under the moonlight like the bellies of the fish he’d just devoured. She was also thin with ribs sticking out and knobby joints. Her grayish unhealthy looking skin was covered with red welts. Long dark hair hung below her waist. But what surprised us most was the hairless tail that hung down about 6 inches on the end of her spine.

I elbowed Aaron and he gave me a quick look that said “don’t move.”

“She has a tail,” Val whispered a little too loud. Aaron put his hand over his younger brother’s mouth.

The Werewolves put on their clothes, plain and worn compared to our fashionable togs. We had a home and parents. These two were obviously strays just trying to survive their miserable condition.

Val and I wanted to approach the Werewolves but Aaron was against it. He said we should just let them be and they’d be dead more sooner than later. There was a prominent pack of well-heeled Werewolves in town but we had little to do with them and it was obvious that these strays were not part of their pack.

Occasionally my parents would deal with the Werewolves, but always held them at a distance and with considerable contempt. One thing that stood out about the well to do Werewolves was their fondness for velvet. No kidding. Those Werewolves loved their velvet.

This isn’t going to be a moral story where we went back and helped the young Werewolves. We went back and they were gone. None of our friends had ever seen them. We told our parents about them. In turn they mentioned the strays to the pack leader in town and he had never heard of the young Werewolves.

It was just one of those weird things. Ships that pass in the night.

I asked my friend Adam, who is a Werewolf, about the pair when I stopped by his studio this morning (he is a photographer by trade.) He’d never heard of them. The tail on the girl turned out to be something extremely rare, just like a tail on anyone who is remotely human like.

“Why didn’t you help them?” Of course he had to ask.

“I don’t know. We were just kids. We thought they were dangerous. Beside that, maybe they didn’t need or want help. My parents asked around. Nobody knew anything, or if they did they weren’t telling us about it. I’m talking both Werewolves and Vampires. Nobody knew anything.”

I knew there would be nothing online about them but I after I left Adam I checked anyway. There was nothing.

This story has no moral or reason behind it. Just a story of something that happened a long time ago that I’ll tell my kids about and maybe they can find a moral in it.

It might be a mystery forever. But I have a knack for finding people and things so you never know. You never know about anything, not really.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

I’m out of town for a few days and recycling tales worth telling again. First posted in 2014.

Memories, Parenting, Shared Stories, and Growing Up

My daughter turned nineteen yesterday. That now means I’m officially a parent of those who are exclusively adults.

With the kids in my life getting older it beings back a flood of memories from the time I was a little bit older than two years, to my childhood, and somewhat embarrassing and adventure filled young adulthood.

I hope that all adults, especially those with children, and I mean children of any age, can remember way back when. I don’t mean like those memes you see on Facebook that say “When I was a kid we jumped off of cliffs, played with guns and live hand grenades, went swimming in snake infested rivers, stayed out until dark, exclusively dined on fried food and sugar, and put our hands into garbage disposals, used chain saws unattended, and we’re still alive. Kids these days are spoiled assholes.”

Having children brings up random memories. Sometimes these are fearful. Sometimes they bring a sigh of relief because your child is not doing the same thing as you did. Sometimes they are happy, or bittersweet because of a time you loved that will never be again.

Yesterday I thought about how I waited on the front porch of our house with my mother and my brother Valentine as we watched my three older brothers walking off to school. They were fourteen, thirteen, and nine. Val was almost five. I was almost four. I remember telling my mother that I wanted to go to school. Val was silent on the issue. He’d already started to read on his own and had no plans on going to school. Not ever. He never told my parents so he missed his opportunity to be an exclusive self learner. I didn’t learn to read until I was six and didn’t master it until I was about eight.

I thought about how much I like my daughter’s boyfriend, and my son’s girlfriend.

And the most random memory came into my head. I dated a guy named Orin once who was nice. He had a dog who was nice and a nice sense of humor. His home was nice. What wasn’t so nice was the fact that his sister lived with him. Gertrude seemed nice at first despite the fact that she was loud and exceptionally out spoken. But then it got weird.

Wherever I went with Orin Gertrude would be there. When Gertrude would talk Orin would stop whatever he was doing and give her a dreamy look. Gertrude was the expert in everything and he would defer to her on everything. She monopolized every conversation. Eventually everything we did was what Orin and Gertrude wanted to do. In fact that only reason I think I was around was because Orin didn’t want to have sex with his sister. She already had dibs on all of the other girlfriend functions. It was like dating married man who brought his wife along, only weirder. So the last time I saw him I invited him for cocktails. I said we could do something afterwords. A few nights before I told him that I was bothered that Gertrude, or Gertrude and her boyfriend were always along. I wanted some time with just him. He brought Gertrude along. As we sipped our drinks Gertrude talked and Owen gave her dreamy looks and said nothing out of his goofy love stuck smile. I left after I was finished with my drink and never saw him again.

I’ve told that story to my kids. They think it is exceptionally creepy. Siblings are great. Just not like Owen and Gertrude.

This morning my daughter Clara and her boyfriend left for a camping trip on the north coast. I thought of a camping trip long ago with my friend Amelia.

I was living in Sacramento. Amelia was living in Las Vegas. So we met half way in the southern part of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, where the highest mountains in the lower 48 are. We were at Devil’s Post Pile, an amazing geological formation. As we set up our tents I heard seals. This was great. Last time I went camping on the beach we heard seals too.

I said to Amelia, “Do you hear the seals?”

She said, “Those are mules.”

Then I remembered we were three hundred miles from the ocean, and in the mountains.

I’ll attribute my memory fade to a four-hour drive in my sports car with the top down. Brain bake. Or maybe it was just me, because sometimes I’m like that.

Amelia is still in Las Vegas being fabulous. I’m still living near Sacramento.

Amelia and I are still having adventures. I heard the seals, aka mules, years before I ever had children. Now Amelia and I have grown daughters. I think our hearing is a lot better now. Parenthood will do that to you.

By the way, I haven’t heard seals in the mountains since then.

I was also with Amelia on my 19th birthday one hundred and forty years ago, but I won’t tell that story today.

In both storytelling and parenting use what you know. Use the truths from you experiences to teach your children. Entertain them with your stupid stories so maybe their stupid stories won’t be so stupid.

We all connect through our stories. Our stories make us who we are. They are something we can share at no cost, except maybe a little embarrassment.

I love to listen to stories and memories others have to share. It doesn’t matter if you’re sitting around a campfire, strolling through a museum, or hanging out at home. What matters is that we listen with open minds, open hearts, and a sense of humor. And add in some love.

Yes, even Vampires, despite the misinformation out there about us, know about love. We know a lot about love – and stories. So be like a Vampire and tell your story and collect stories from others. You’ll thank me for it later.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

vm darling girl

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vampire Diary: In My Youth

Dear Diary,

Who is the man they call Disney?

What magic does he use to lure children to his kingdom? What is this mouse who surrounds himself with princesses? And then there is a tale of a man who eats nuts and mice who dance at Yule time. It is no wonder that children bury their heads in their phones to escape the relentless call of these fiends who prey on children disguised as friendly lovers of animals and happy music.

I was on my front porch trying to get my cats to come inside when a small girl ran down the street with her small dog. Her name is Emily. Most girls are named Emily. I asked this Emily if she knew of the Disney Kingdom and if she had heard of Disney’s princesses.

She said, “Everyone loves the girls in Frozen, or Belle, or Cinderella, but I like Repunzle in Tangled. I like Jasmine too, in Aladdin. Mulan rocks it too. Hey, have you seen Robin Hood the fox? I love that one.”

I told her I had not. She shrugged and ran on with her dog. Then she ran up to me again and said I had to see Finding Nemo. What is Nemo and why does one need to find it? I just smiled without fangs and waved the child on her way.

When I was a child of her age, maybe about nine or ten years old my uncle brought me out to see a show of fire eaters, and men who did slight-of-hand magic. After one produced a monkey who danced, my uncle burned a large group of his rivals alive after impaling them on pointed stakes. Severed heads of men with gaping mouths and sightless eyes were placed on the side of the road as far as the eye could see. My uncle laughed and slapped me on the back. That night I crept into his room and cut out his heart. He looked at me with wide eyes and I told him that he gave my family a bad reputation. My father had told me that reputation was as valuable as an intact soul for a Vampire. I have since learned how right my father was.

My uncle’s daughter, my cousin, was a princess. She told me that she was going to run away with her lover. I told her to go. I told her that I would keep her secret. She looked kind of like the one they call Snow White, only her name was Dashi and her lover was not a singing dwarf, a prince, or a huntsman. He was a Vampire of noble birth who could read, and write. Dashi said she was going someplace where people did not fear Vampires. I told her good luck and laughed like a man. She took her father’s heart and put it in a box, then put the box in a bag and took it with her.  Then I felt bad. I went to the kitchen and drank blood from the arm of one of the girls who helped with the evening feasts. As I lay my cold bloodless cheek against her warm chest she stroked my hair and told me that I had done the right thing. Later my father, realizing I was upset and confused brought me the dancing monkey. I never saw my cousin or the box with my uncle’s heart again. My father was finally King of the Vampires.

Ten years later I controlled the kingdom. But I did not have dozens of princesses. I did not even have a queen. Lovers yes, always, but no princesses. I did not create a cult of children who lived in fear of their step mothers and…how I miss my Baba. She would tell me stories of cunning princesses who cut off the heads of men and drank their blood. These princesses were motivated by revenge rather than romance, but Baba said romance is like a drizzle of honey, or warm fresh blood on a cold winter day.

Why do the children of men fear Vampires so much while their very souls are being sucked out by a mouse? I do not understand.

As for the monkey. He did end up with his own princess. A few years later I gave him to a girl who took me to her bed. It was a fair deal. I turned her into a Vampire. I hear she lives in Seattle. I wonder if she still has the monkey.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

I watch as the kitten plays with his mother. He is almost grown now but my love Gillian says he will always be her baby.

I look at Gillian and wonder if perhaps…

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Gillian stayed the day with me. As we lay in bed, in the darkened room, I asked her about a childhood memory. She said it was so long ago, but I kissed her neck and told her to remember.

She laughed and told me how she liked to sit with the women who did needlework. When they would prick their fingers on the needles she would lick off the blood. What precious memories my love has.

I saw Emily and her little dog again today. She laughed and waved at me.

“Have you seen the bald eagle?” She was so excited to tell me about this bird.

“No,” I said. “Is is part of the mouse clan?”

“It is real. Right at the end of the street building a nest in the big digger pine tree,” she said with wide eyes. “I can’t bring Rufus down to see her because he’ll bark.”

Then she laughed and skipped away, without a mouse, or a phone, or a princess. She was just a little girl, like little girls who watched birds eight hundred years ago.

I will watch for the mouse. It will not take Emily away to be a princess, or I will have that mouse heart in a box.

I am no longer Vampire King but I will protect my own. That is something I do understand.

~ Vlad

 

blue cat

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/childhood/

No matter where you are, you’re somewhere.

I find myself frequently returning to the theme “You might not be where you wanted to be, but maybe you’re where you should be.”

Yes, I’m the first to admit that I do not believe in the whole predestination school of thought. The first time I heard about it was in a Presbyterian church while my brother Val and I were hidden in the rafters ease dropping, something we frequently did when we were children. My brother took it seriously for about 5 minutes. I didn’t make any sense to me at all. I couldn’t see our existence as one huge “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t” ordeal. It just didn’t make any sense. I was a child who lived by the rule of free will. I was also, and still am, a rule follower which shouldn’t make any sense but that is another blog post.

Anyway, early on I also started to get my romantic streak. That was a good thing and a bad thing. I saw the world as a big romantic adventure. Not so much romance with a man, but the notion that there was beauty in everything and the world was bound to just keep getting better. I knew I’d grow up to live a life surrounded by roses and parties and lovely times because THAT was my destiny.

I’d spend hours looking at books with beautiful pictures and reading lovely fairy stories. But at the same time I was drawn to anything to do with disasters, ghosts, murders and ghoulish things of all sorts (go figure.)

When I grew up things changed. The lovely order of the rose gardens and adventures hiding out in places my brothers and I shouldn’t have been, turned over to real life. There were a lot of adventures both good and bad. There were dangerous and foolish adventures. Nobody had ever told me of the disappointments and heart-break and frustration of the adult world. I flew through life until… all the frustrating weirdness led to my husband and that led to my kids. Now it seems like everything is all falling into place. I feel as if this was meant to be. Of course in all of the alternate and parallel universe places I also frequent it could have been different. I think of that a lot too. OK not that much, but when I write i have to get ideas from somewhere. Why not get them from my own dusty brain drawers?

So no matter where you are, you’re somewhere. When I was a child I knew I could be anywhere. I’m finally realizing that I was right.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

vm darling girl

 

Additional information: Along these lines I found myself answering to a writing prompt on The Matticus Kingdom (a blog you should follow). As usual I wrote about a man who found himself not with the woman he imagined being with but with the woman he should have been with (and it was a good thing.) I keep doing that when I write. Life it like that. So is fiction. Go figure. http://thematticuskingdom.wordpress.com/2014/07/22/prompt-finish-the-story/

Also, you might like this story about time travel and Vampires and my family. It kind of sort of goes with this theme. Go to the link for Cockroaches of the Space Time Continuum. https://vampiremaman.com/2014/04/03/cockroaches-of-the-space-time-continuum/

This post was inspired by a prompt. Then again, everything is kind of a prompt – the prompt of life… HA HA HA

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/adult-visions/

 

 

A little help from my friends…

As a child I never asked for help. At least never with anyone outside of my family.

I’d be the kid in the back who watched and waited and figured, or not, things out by myself. Asking for help showed weakness. It kept me open for attack. It was uncomfortable. And if it was an adult they would look at me with those big adult faces full of bumps and wrinkles and veins and red eyes and expect me to talk to them.

The only people I’d ever ask assistance from were my parents (sometimes), my brother Val (always) and the Elders who were like my grandparents (always). To everyone else I had to prove that I didn’t need them. Don’t ask me why. I was just that kind of child.

I grew out of that. I don’t see adults in such a horrible ugly light anymore (at least most of them).  Never the less, I don’t like asking for help. Being an independent woman in my world, the world according to Juliette, has always been first and foremost.

Those in my world, the world of the modern woman, as well as the Modern Vampire and well, a lot of different types of beings, requires that one depend on themselves.

BUT, that said, I knew early on that my kids would have a lot better time in life if they DID ask for help. RAISE YOUR HAND and ask your teacher for help. Ask me, ask your dad, ask your uncle, ask your Grandmama. By asking for help a kid interacts, learns, explores new options and generally has more fun.

Asking for help is a good thing. It can open doors, open jars, open friendships, open minds and open hearts. And giving help does the same ten fold.

It is still something that doesn’t come easy for me, but my kids… they’re not me…at least in that way.

But one thing I’ve learned that is so important is “If you don’t ask, the answer will ALWAYS be NO.” So I tell my kids to always ASK, because most of the time the answer will be YES.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

moth

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/04/daily-prompt-self/