Welcome to Redhead Renaissance

I have created a website dedicated to the plight of redheads.

This site is dedicated to helping you realize the importance of your red-haired roots.

If you have ever felt different having red-hair, we are going on a quest to discover why.

One reason for our difference is that science has proven that redheads are genetically unique from all other hair colors.

With all of our differences, questions arise about our origins and place in history. Many people think that all redheads are Irish, but in fact they can be found throughout the world in unexpected places as Egypt, China and Russia.

In our red-haired ancestors, the sensitivities of being redhead manifested themselves through extra-sensory perceptions and intuitions. The Vikings, Celts, and Druids all had shamans, sorcerers and magicians. These abilities have been passed down genetically and can be found in many redheads today.

Even though redheads face hardship, our resiliency has shown through. Though we make up only 2% of the world’s population,  quite often redheads have been leaders and shapers in the history of the world.

Let the quest begin!


History Culture & Legends of Red Hair


On The Road Again

by Rose Larson

After a brief respite wintering in Montana, we have hit the road again, this time for San Diego, CA! Driven by his mission to heal people, Jesse is enrolled full-time at the Pacific College of Oriental Medicine, which will allow him to compliment his Certificate of Tuina with a massage license, and enable him to reach an even wider clientele.

The sacrifices have been great, including a return to homelessness. As always, however, we continue to meet people who need our help, among the students and the homeless. Jesse is always available to lend an ear to other’s problems, and his hands to healing their bodies. We believe this new adventure will bring even more fulfillment of the task appointed to us, to help those truly in need.

If you wish to support our efforts, please visit our online store http://www.rosesmagic.com, and consider purchasing our pure, handmade body care products for yourself or as a gift. Our Thor’s Hammer men’s line make great Father’s Day gifts!

Thank you!

Origin of massage

Hopefully someday, massage therapists will realize the origin of massage. French Jesuit priests learned of massage from the Chinese in 17th Century and later became Swedish massage. Massage in China is better known as tuina which is a part of Chinese medicine. The difference between tuina and western massage is energy. This energy or chi is the basis of Chinese medicine. Meaning that there is energy flowing in the body and as a massage therapist, you are moving chi within the body, its not just physical or spiritual for that matter. This message could be expanded to include western medicine as well.

The Endless Bucketful of Peanuts

Homeless Tales Part 2

The Santa Cruz library is a haven for the homeless. Sure, most folks look at the homeless as dirty and lazy, but if they would slow down and forget their “rush rush” life, they might just see amazing stories such as the endless bucketful of peanuts.

I witnessed this scene while waiting for the library to open. Rose and I had shown up a little early it turned out, although we didn’t know what time the library opened or for that matter, what time it was in the first place. Just then this scraggly guy in his 30’s, wearing dirty army clothes and looking like he just climbed out of some bushes, came strolling up carrying a 5 gallon white bucket. He sat down on the bucket, waiting for the grand opening too. Nothing out of the ordinary it would seem. But then he got up and peeled off the lid that was sealed tight and started to take out his wadded up army clothes that he either had from serving or from the surplus store. He pulled out each balled up wrinkled shirt or pants one by one, giving it a little shake and looking it over before throwing on the cement. Then he found what he was looking for – out came his fingers gripping a lone shelled peanut. I guess it was lodged in the folds of his wear. He scrutinized it, blew on it and ate it with slow deliberation. He dug out some more wadded up shirts and pants, and another peanut fell on the ground. Maybe it fell out of a pocket, I wasn’t sure. Again he eyed it critically, blew it clean and ate it. He then proceeded to wad up his clothes one by one and stuff them back into the bucket, sealing it with the plastic lid.

I was amazed how many clothes he could get into the bucket. At first, I guessed that he had a spilled bag of Planters Peanuts like the kind you buy from a vending machine. I thought about buying a bag myself. I found myself watching him as I’m prone to do, trying to surmise his persona. He was sort of furtive, legs crossed while back on the bucket, shaking his foot. Well, he jumped up, ripped that lid off again and started digging out his wrinkled apparel. He found another peanut and went through the ritual again before consumption. He reached in again, scraped around the bottom and came up with another Planter’s, again blowing on it, tossing it into his mouth and chewing it down. I was like, “Wow! This guy must be hungry!” He proceeded to haphazardly repack the clothes, pushing down hard to get that lid on.

At this point I was looking around trying not to stare, because the anticipation was killing me wondering if he was going to dig into the bucket again. Plus my mouth was really watering for the taste of salty crunchy, well I hoped they were crunchy, peanuts. Sure enough, he got up and ripped off the lid again. Those lids are not easy to get off because they seal up tight and he was really pulling and gripping that bucket to rid it of the lid. I looked around and saw a nearby lady watching with consternation. She couldn’t take her eyes off this man and his ritual. I think she was appalled at his actions. Who could blame her, she had a normal life and this just didn’t fit into her reality. This time he was digging deep, as if the bottom had a hole in it, reaching for that elusive golden nugget. I was wondering if he was going to fall in, but then up he popped with another peanut, blowing the dirt off before devouring the tasty morsel. I began to wonder about the origin of this charade: whether he had inadvertently packed away a shirt with a pocket full of peanuts, or whether “empty the bag and recover the peanuts” was a game he played to pass the time, or better yet, was it a method of rationing his scanty snack supply. Your guess is as good as mine.

Everyone was watching now as the clothes got jammed and crammed in again, fighting to get out, hoping to stave off the next round of inspections and interrogations of digging deep in those pockets that would be pulled out to make sure they were not hiding anything. Lint covered peanuts, mmmmm. I just couldn’t get over how many peanuts were in there and why he didn’t find them all in the first place. His clothes always ended up everywhere as he searched intensively for more. Yes, he found another of course, unbelievable. I was hoping it would be the last because I couldn’t go through the agony of him prying that lid off again and digging through those clothes. As he got the lid on again, the doors opened, to which I said, Thank God!


If you enjoyed this story and want to read more, support our work helping those in need by buying our handmade body care products. Click below!

Beard Oil Sampler
Beard Oil Sampler

Homeless Tales: Trip to San Francisco

Homeless Tales

Little did I know that my promise to God to help others included being homeless so I could understand the plight of the homeless and how they are treated by those that give them help. I laugh when I hear about rich people going on reality trip homeless vacations to “experience homelessness”. What a joke! It must be nice to know that they can go back to their normal plush lifestyle. The only way to really know what it is like to be homeless is to be forced into homelessness, forced to sell everything you own because you have to live in your car, with no income at all and nothing to go back to.


Part I : Trip to San Francisco

Rose was a couple weeks away from being due with the baby. We had been sleeping in our Jeep along the Monterrey coast for the last three months. What started out as a simple trip to the Salvation Army to scrounge for some food turned out to be an epic adventure north to San Francisco. There wasn’t anything to eat except bottom shelf peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and stale sourdough. That’s when I heard a strangely familiar female voice loudly emanating from another room. She came out limping and we recognized each other. She screamed and said that she was praying that she would see us. We had met a couple weeks earlier at a Santa Cruz church food shelf. She was homeless, living in her rental car. I had helped her with the cold she had. She was amazed at the healing power of acupressure. I can work on people anywhere because the only equipment I need are my hands. The last thing I said to her at the time was that she better return the rental car or risk getting thrown in jail. Too bad I was right. The police had arrested her and she had just spent a week in a local jail.

Now, one has to have a picture of her to better understand her predicament. I nicknamed her Susie Q because of her affinity for sweets, snacks and treats. She had a professional background with a good, loud speaking voice and absolutely no street-smarts. Susie Q was an example of the many homeless in the Bay area that live in their cars, working during the day and sleeping wherever they can at night, such as rest stops or along the coast highway, wherever the cops won’t harass them. She had lost her job, probably panicked and rented a car to live in. Obviously the rental car companies consider this theft so it was just a matter of time before she was arrested.

She was in desperate need of a ride to the pickup spot for the local homeless shelter bus because she twisted her ankle in jail. Since it was close by we agreed. Not sure of the exact location, we drove around for a short while until we found the stop by a duck pond, helped by the fact that there were other homeless people waiting. As we waited in our Jeep Cherokee, Susie Q. told us that the rental car company was holding all her possessions in San Jose. What she really could use, she confessed, was a ride up there to get her things and then a ride further up to San Francisco to a recently opened shelter on Pier 80. I was in empathy as I felt for her loss of control of the situation and especially enduring a week in jail. Plus I was worried if I was putting too much stress on Rose being pregnant but she agreed as well. As I chewed on making the hour and a half trip, I told her to make sure the place was open and to arrange to pick these things up. Suspense was growing as the bus showed up just as she finally got through on the phone to the rental car manager. The guy agreed to have her things ready and, with the bus waiting, we made the decision on the spot to drive her to San Jose.

It was 4:30pm and we had until the place closed at 6 to get there. As we drove up Hwy 101, she told us of her harrowing time in jail while sharing her Keebler cookies. She was a bit scared for her first time behind bars. While she was in, the rental car company dropped the charges after she paid them a large fee of a few thousand. Unfortunately she was held for several more days for reasons unknown. We laughed a lot as she made light of the whole situation but I could tell it was traumatic for her because of the repeated thanking us for the ride and how much a godsend we were.

With clear traffic and not getting lost, we barely made it in time. After getting hold of the manager, a person drove up with her stuff. Oh my God did she have a lot. I’m glad the Jeep had a rack on top or we wouldn’t have been able to take it all. I mean she had a couple suit cases, a few duffle bags and the rest they had stuffed into plastic garbage bags. She had car stuff like antifreeze and oil and some cans of food from the food shelf which we graciously turned down. The hapless woman’s life was on display as she rummaged through her overflowing bags filled with her possessions such as clothes, lotions, notebooks, women’s magazines, and flip flops while looking for her lost pound of pot and all the while complaining that the police had confiscated it and hoped they were enjoying it. My jaw dropped when she said that this wasn’t the half of it because she had two storage lockers, one in San Francisco and one in New York. One of the hardest things about being homeless is having to part with your possessions, but you have to do it or end up overloaded and burdened as she was.

You have to realize that when you decide to help someone, you have to go all the way because you never know how much it will take and how much worse it might get. It takes patience in order to help people in need.

We had to make an extra pit stop for her at a coffee shop and she also bought us some food at the grocery store for which we were thankful. It was getting dark as we headed out for the second leg of our journey to the homeless shelter on Pier 80 in San Francisco. The company Oracle had abandoned a hangar there and the people recently turned it into a shelter. I was a little worried because the place was not listed on the internet and had no phone number, and she was slightly overconfident about it being there, just like she was adamant that she wasn’t going to be arrested by the cops for the unreturned rental car. But I wanted to help because I knew she was in a state of panic after being homeless and spending a week of hell in jail.

Following the map, we found our way in the dark to where Pier 80 supposedly was. I took a wrong turn and ended up driving through a pot-hole trucker parking lot. Going back, we saw a large fenced area with some people milling about with a guard shack and large hangar. Pier 80 at last! Susie Q jumped out and had to scream through the fence to get the guards’ attention. To our serious dismay, they responded by saying that she had to check in at the main office downtown in order to be let in. She begged, pleaded and told them what she had been through and that we had driven all the way from Monterey, all to no avail. These people were strangely overzealous in following the rules.

Frustrated and upset, we set off following the vague and dubious driving instructions the guards had given, which might have been fine for a local, but not for us and especially not at night. Note that most of the streets in downtown San Fran are one-way and if you get messed up, you have to drive around several blocks to get back to where you wanted to be in the first place. It’s even worse with a back seat driver who isn’t sure where she’s going. It was 9:30 pm by the time we found the shelter, on a dark street and surrounded by homeless loafers. Susie Q disappeared inside the ominous looking building. The only place to park was in a nearby pitch-dark alley which turned to be a hideout for potheads of the homeless world. Not scary at all! Thirty minutes passed, and I began wondering what we were going to do with her stuff if she didn’t return.

She returned at last with an AOK that she could go to the shelter. We drove around in circles trying to find the freeway entrance back to Pier 80. It wasn’t fun anymore because we were all tired and irritated. Upon our return, we were surprised to see an older Chinese man guarding the gate. Without even knowing us he said, “Yeah, you come in!” with a big inviting smile and we all laughed. It’s too bad the guy wasn’t there the first time we showed up.

As we pulled up to the huge hangar, a couple of people came out to meet us with several huge bags, into which they began piling her stuff. That was a great relief because I was afraid we might have to keep her things for her. I had forgotten how heavy all her belongings were when I loaded them onto the Jeep the first time, but I had a burst of energy to get it down again so as to get back to our motel a couple hours away. We wished her well and was glad she had a safe place to stay. Interestingly, we passed a rest stop along the freeway jam packed with cars with steamed up windows from people sleeping in their cars. Wow, we got back after midnite!

We never heard from Susie Q after that night. She probably lost our business card again. The important thing is that we had answered the call to help someone in need, realizing that we had met her for a reason. If God puts you with someone who needs help, then you are the one meant to help them. We still have the little vial of amber lilac perfume that she gave us as a thank-you gift. And we have a great story that we’ll always remember!

We made a perfume reminiscent of that perfume.



My Dad and Bay Rum

ThorshammerbayrumaftershaveBay Rum has a long history with sailors, rum, and bay leaves with spices and cinnamon. It has made countless men smell good. The scent was popular during WWII, but has faded since.

I also have a life long history with bay rum. I remember my dad splashing on that gold spiced liquid after shaving. He would lightly slap it on his face. I guess he smelled good because he was always popular with the ladies. Striking blue eyes and God-given dancing ability helped as well. Born in the year of the horse, my dad vouched for playing the field. During my youth I would try his aftershave on my face to be more grown up. I especially remember that burn.

Bay rum was hard to find in the 1980’s, and my mom and I would drive all over town trying to buy some for Father’s Day or Christmas. My dad was hard to buy for – damn particular is more like it – and it had to be bay rum. He never liked the slippers we got him.

Years after my father passed, I was in my late 20’s and discovered his last bottle of bay rum in his travel kit in the bathroom of my parents’ house. I tried it after shaving with my dad’s electric razor, although I prefer a blade. The good smell and slight burn brought back many memories.

Since it was hard to find bay rum, it was a blessing when I discovered Burt’s Bees Aftershave Balm, with the old hippy bum on the bottle. Or it could have been my mom who found it on some discount rack. At first I was reluctant to try it because I couldn’t relate to the full-bearded man on the label. My memory of my dad was as a working-class man with an Elvis-influenced slick hair look. However, the scent was great and it felt nice on my face. I started using Burt’s Bay Rum when I got a job working at the airport with Northwest. My dad had worked there as well. It’s cool that I fit perfectly into his Northwest workshirts!

At that time I was moving toward natural personal care products because I found I was sensitive to artificial ingredients. After Burt’s stopped making their bay rum, I suffered through a couple of online purchases of bay rum with artificial fragrances and colors – yuck! I mean, yellow #5? Come on! I wasn’t moving towards Old Spice either. The scent never intrigued me anyway. It smelled like baby powder, and I’ve read it was initially formulated for women.

I was sincerely disappointed when Burt’s discontinued their bay rum line. I mean, I was all in – had their shaving mug and soap and brush. I guess you can blame it on the big manufacturer that bought them up. I remember trying to make that last bottle go forever by thinning it with water. Almost all commercially made aftershaves are full of artifical colors and fragrances, so I decided to make my own. It was not easy! The first recipe I tried left me with menthol burn to my eyes and cinnamon burn to my face. (Editor’s note: My husband is just being nice. I made the first batch of aftershave with the menthol that nearly blinded him.)(My note: its not her fault, just the recipe we tried) I liked how Burt’s Balm combined classic bay rum with modern, spicy patchouli and cedar, but I was looking for a fresher, cleaner feel because I always rinsed my face after applying it to calm the strong scent and thick feel. I wanted a slick, cool, refreshing aftershave with a slight brisk tingle embrace.

After a year of experimenting, Thor’s Hammer Classic Bay Rum Aftershave was born – at about the same time as our baby Jolene Rose. My recipe is all natural, with a foundation of oranges and cinnamon aged in rum. During our travels in Santa Cruz, California, we discovered the best fruits and spices, which really enhanced the rich, spicy aroma. Each batch has to be fine tuned because of the variance of the fresh oranges and cinnamon.

My interest in Viking mythology led to the name Thor’s Hammer. Vikings were sailors as well, so I put together classic bay rum history with the might and justice of Thor’s Hammer, like this aftershave.

I believe I have created an aftershave that my father would approve. Please try a sample of this classic scent today at our shop Freyja’s Magic.

Empath ~ Learning About the Gift

Empath – Learning About the Gift

Growing up with this sensitivity towards everything, I didn’t realize that not everyone

‘felt’ the same way. I couldn’t figure out why I was so different. Then I met this chi gong

master who taught me about emotions in the human body. Based on ancient Daoist

theory, emotions and a person’s history are stored in the organs and tissues. This stems

from the view of energy, that we are are energy and everything in the universe is

energy. I find that when I work on people my diagnosis usually comes from emotional

disharmony. I also feel their pain directly in my body.

Luckily, there has been research on what is known as ‘empaths’. I really identified with

this concept. However, the Daoist theory explains to me how energy flows and congeals

which helped me understand what I was feeling. Lets not forget too the conscious

directive of energy. The phrase of ‘body mind spirit’ overlooks the common link of

energy. What you are feeling is not just in your head!

Peppermint Rose Lip Balm for Empaths
Peppermint Rose Lip Balm for Empaths