Red Tash - My Life as a Kitchen Witch

A true story

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

2019

Hawthorne Gallup Publishing

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1: Out of the broom closet

Chapter 2: Bacon and other love spells

Chapter 3: DO NOT EAT! Potions & other poisons

Chapter 4: Demons, familiars, and other minions

Chapter 5: How to hover, weightlessly

Chapter 6: Eye of Newt and Totally Out of Milk (more recipes)

End Notes

Chapter 1:

Out of the Broom Closet

H is face was red, his mouth a sneer. I don't remember specifically what the fight was about, but I do remember one thing he said. Angry, grounded, and lashing out, my son reached deep into his bag of insults and produced: You're a witch, Mom! A look of triumph twinkled in his eye. What a sick burn.

I was supposed to be hurt, I'm sure. Instead, I laughed. You're going to have to try harder than that. As he seethed, I tried not to smile. A witch is a wise woman. She's crafty and learned. She's seen a lot of things, and not much scares her. Yes, son. Your mom is definitely a witch.

I never thought I'd say that. Ever .

Well, it's spooky season now, folks, and I've been gathering my pumpkins for carving, my cider for drinking, and my black cats for worshiping. We just finished two weeks of what I call Teacher Break (school calls it Fall Break, but it's definitely not a break for anyone I know.) Life's pretty good here in the Tash Treehouse, although it's never been more full of work. The book you're reading springs forth from that workthe work I've enjoyed and the work I've dreaded. The work of my family life, and the magic of managing six separate lives, not counting all the animals.

Before I share with you all the tips and tricks and magic spells I've picked up over the years of performing practical magic, I long to tell you how I got into this blessed mess. If you're primarily interested in Bacon and other Love spells, feel free to use the table of contents, I won't mind. This chapter is mostly for my longtime readers, who have asked from time-to-time about my vanishing act over the past few years.

Have you watched that show, The Magicians? Like an unsuspecting Quentin pre-Brakebills, I sometimes feel like I got sucked into an alternate reality. There was the future I thought I was planning as a working author, the courses I thought I was plotting, both for myself and my characters, and then...there was my actual life, which was what happened, in the words of John Lennon, while I was making other plans.

When you first met Red Tash, online publishing was new. While I had young children and a new baby, I furiously wrote and released dozens of ebooks for creative expression and profit. It was so much fun, I thought nothing would ever stop me from whipping up more. I had goals! I had schedules! I had resources! At the same time, I was working on getting healthier, after a lifetime of neglected health conditions. I was blossoming in the loving care of a devoted husband. What could go wrong?

This is the part of the story where it's tempting to paint my child's then-undiagnosed autism spectrum disorder (ASD) as a curse. Maybe an evil fairy like Maleficent cast a spell on my family, right? No. Let's get real. Every single person has challenges, and sometimes there is no one to blame.

You have challenges, too, I know, which is why I thought I might drop a collection of kitchen witchery on your doorstep and see if any of these spells or potions can help you like they have helped me.

So, yes, my family had a lot of unforeseen challenges. ASD, food allergies, three teen boys inhabiting my home at the same time, a growing little girl, a marriage to maintain...despite all the blessings, we had daunting, mysterious challenges to figure out. While this isn't an autism book, per se, I must tell you, folks: despite how far we have come in this culture with regard to autism awareness, there is precious little in the way of handbooks when it comes to dealing with high functioning autism and highly intelligent young people. When your child is smart enough, cute enough, funny enough, and normal enough to go undiagnosed for years, people tend to think his autistic tendencies are a behavioral choice. Count me among those people. Count his siblings and teachers, too. This has caused us to build up a life that will be years in the detangling. We were wrong about so many things, and it takes years to get our heads around it.

My friends, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. It is no exaggeration to say that I was raising an autistic child for 15 years before I realized it. And guess what? You can't discipline autistic behaviors out of a child any more than you can cure a pediatric cancer patient by sending the child to his room without supper. Neither can you discipline his siblings into finding compassion. It is a long, slow road our family walks. In all this time, I honestly haven't had the head space to write about trolls or fairies. When I think about the Red Tash who used to do that, I miss her a lot, but I know someday she will have the bandwidth again, and onward she will roll.

In the meantime, I can, however, make perfect bacon . I can, and I do, my friends. I so do.

One last PSA about autism for those of you who haven't heard: the standards that American healthcare practitioners used to diagnose ASD changed during the years my little ones were growing up. It is called a spectrum now because the definition of autism went from black and white, to literally an infinite array of grays. No two people are the same, and we all know thatso the diagnostic criteria changed to more aptly fit the people it was labeling. Praise be for that, for sure, but the timing caught a lot of families like my own by surprise. My son is not alone in being misdiagnosed and missing out on services in his formative years.

As long as it took for doctors to understand the changes to their industry standards, imagine how much longer it took for Molly Weasleys like me to get the memo. To add to this fine kettle of fish, I'm still regularly reminding my child's teachers that the definition of autism has changed. It doesn't matter if it shouldn't be my responsibility. That is my child, hurting, in the center of the misunderstandings. If I could wave a magic wand and get my child identified as autistic earlier in his life, I probably would, but that sort of magic is the kind that only exists in books and movies...and possibly in string theory, I reckon. Where is the time turner from the Harry Potter series when I need it?

When I was five and someone asked me what I was going to be when I grew up, I answered ballerina. And why not? I had unlimited potential, as all babies do. As an adult, I identified professionally as a writer, probably more so than as a mother, for many years. I have actually been a mother for eighteen years, but embracing motherhood was something that happened gradually. I embrace my role now as wife, mother, and witch. I do magic. It's mostly in the kitchen, on the internet, or in caring for my family, and it's important. That's what this book is about, friendsa reveal of all the magic tricks, potions, and friendly spirits I have picked up along the way while life was happening these past few years.