Lessons From the Baba Yaga

It was never my intention to wander away from the road that you have so kindly paved for me. I simply wanted to smell the roses.

And then my eye caught sight of some beautiful wildflowers. Was it my fault that they grew so deep in the field away from your watchful eye? I picked what ones I could; the roses may smell so sweet, but wildflowers are much more potent to the gypsy heart. I plucked one and made a ring of it for my sweetheart. If only I had a sweetheart, that is. Surely someone, somewhere, is wanting a wreath for their finger. (And for whom I shall gladly supply!)

I kept thinking all the while, how nice it would be to not know the difference between dreaming and awake. The way that small children do not know that the difference: it is all the same to them.

How nice would it be, if...
I am close now to the grove of trees that make the forest. Far down from the lane where you stand. Your hand held horizontally against the vertical sun to block out the shine. Those green-blue fervent eyes looking rampantly around for my familiar face that has gone wondering. You call out my name, although I do not hear you, I know that that is exactly what you are doing. I do not want to come back for fear of being scolded for wandering off. Although I would love you tell you, that had I not ventured as far as I have, I would have never found you a ring.

He loves me, He loves me not,...
I leave a trail of petal breadcrumbs for any who dare to follow. My feet echo my thoughts as they trail on from high grass to pinestraw forest floor. I do not know you anymore. My mind is somewhere else, in the meditation that comes with solace. Deep into the woods now, I hear the caw of a crow. It is now that I take notice of where I have led myself to. Here is where I see your cottage. So quiet, alone, and brooding. Behind its doors I know are answers. Answers that I know I need, but somehow do not want and am afraid to achieve. Asking questions requires daring risk.

I do not let my reasoning mind get the better of me, but allow the curiosity of an inward child peak thru my eyes. The wooden door gives way under my slight touch, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and there you are: Haggard, dusty, draped with age and bitterness, and cloaked in crooked grin. You let me in.

I sort for you the grains of your youth as you weave together stories for my young and maliable mind to feed on. Your bent cane resembles the back of the one that it carries. You do not so much as walk as scuffle across your pine floors that perhaps once were dainty. As you may have once been.

I come to wonder how one comes to live this life. Where herbs are hung upside down to try, and hang from the beams like faeries asleep. You tell me that it was not the life you had intended to live. You were different. You saw more than they saw. The colors to you were always more vibrant. The glory you saw in all things, others were blind to see. Somehow, they managed to shun you. To keep you hidden and unloved. And you let yourself believe them when they said that you were not enough. Eventually you sought solace in the only place that offered it: in the deep, deep, hollow. (Where Angels fear to tread.) Every now and then you would have a visitor. Usually a young girl, not unlike myself you say. You would teach her the ancient and graceful ways of protecting herself from the very ones that turned you away. And now you would teach me the same.

Today I have come to learn from you, and hope against hope, that even as great as you are...I do not end up like you.

Shall We Dance?

I’ve been thinking about romance lately, as some do in Spring when flowers are blooming and the weather is warming. And no, it is not that I’m pining, but it is just an interesting topic. The genre of romance emerged, according to some, in the late Medieval period with chivalry and all that jazz. It later revived as an answer to the Industrial Revolution and the Romance era was born. Byron and his lot exemplified the Romance era lifestyle of sitting around large villas in a consumptive stupor and telling idyllic versions of the past.

Now, despite my penchant for movies involving gun fights and arterial spray, I’m a big romantic softy at heart (minus the consumption). There are many things in life that I will see and think, “How romantic!” Candle lit tables, a night time cityscape sparkling on a water front, anything French, an old couple holding hands, etc. and so on and so forth.

However, for me, the most romantic thing on earth is a waltz. To quote my mother, “I've never met a waltz I didn’t like.” I can’t explain the appeal that the waltz holds for me, but whenever I hear that ¾ beat I slip off into a soft focus daze of Old Europe, poofy dresses, and masquerade balls. I even like those creepy “circus” waltzes. You know the ones; on the surface they sound pleasant, but then you notice the chords are not quite right and the whole thing seems off kilter and sinister.

There aren’t many musical styles that are quite as versatile as the waltz. A waltz can be happy and dreamy, or sad and mournful. Waltzes were heard in grand cities and in rural villages, in palaces and in town halls. Waltzes are beautiful, creepy, folksy, elegant, and everything in between. No matter what kind of waltz it is, it embodies the spirit of romance and romanticism. A waltz will always transport you to some other place, some other time. Let’s face it folks. Waltzes are magical.

Hopefully, Blogger will cooperate with me now, and I can put up my favorite waltzes. Let's see:











This isn't all of them, of course, but it will do. I hope you enjoy these and I hope that there is something out there that means as much to you as a waltz does to me.

Unplug

I just found out it is National TV Turn-off Week, which is ironic since the husband and I, people notorious for not watching television, bought a device that allows us to watch webcasts on the old boob tube and immediately surfed to Jon Stewart. That’s me, always going opposite the trends.

I bring this up because the week reminds us to choose how we’ll spend our precious time. How will we make and/or receive magic?

If you’re considering National TV Turn-off Week and want a few good reads, these sites and blogs have great suggestions:

The Book Studio

The Book Lady’s Blog

Lena’s Lit Life A great author blog. LOVE her.

Slushbusters They have author interviews, too.

Fountain Bookstore Folks near Richmond, why not take that tv watching time and go to a literary event?

James River Writers author interviews

Indie Bound

Not interested in being a bookworm this week?

DIY with Young House Love

Knock Off Wood

Soccer By Ives

Will you hide the remote this week?

Bueller Days

I’ve recently taken to calling them “Bueller Days.” I was proud of myself for coining the phrase a week ago. I used to call them fly days. (If you know anyone else who calls them Bueller Days let me know). You know the days. The sun is shining; white puffy clouds create funny dinosaur shapes one minute and a completely different shape the next, maybe that of a Harry Potter character… maybe not... Maybe a breeze carries your favorite smell – Confederate jasmine, cut grass, or the Chinese grill across the street. Maybe a parade comes through town. All day the slant of light is conducive to all types of magic. You feel like anything could happen, anything could be accomplished – anything but work. It’s quite vexing when you have to go to work on a Bueller day. Seriously, to sort of quote the name sake, how can you possibly be expected to handle anything unmagical on a Bueller Day?

P.S. Sorry for the lack of posts over the last few weeks. I’ve been slammed with work, resumes, applications, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, and so on, and so forth. Also, I’ve been having blogger troubles.

Montana Magic

For a while now I've been developing the travel bug. One of the places that I've been dying to see, (and Gertrude, too!), is Montana. Also known as "The Last Best Place". And if the pictures below are a taste of proof, you can see why!

(pictures courtesy of Google Images)

Please excuse me whilst I wipe the drool from my keyboard... Can you understand why I am so smitten?

Where are some places that you've been bursting at the seams to visit?

Childhood Caling....wait....

Sound familiar? It should. I’ve used it before. And there is a very good reason for my using it again.

I’m punking out.

No grandiose excuses, no spine tingling adventures by way of apology; I’m simply all out of anything even remotely resembling wit, talent, or cleverness. Or brain function.

However, I feel confident that after a very restful three and a half day weekend coming up I will once again regain my gusto and produce something worth reading. I swear it and you may believe me for I do weep when I vow (although that could be because I just ran over my own foot with my roll-y chair.)

Ok, so on to the “punking out” bit. I was watching “The Dark Crystal” the other day. It has been years since I had last seen it and you know what? It was just as awesome this time around as it was when I was a kid. So that started me thinking about all the other movies or shows I would watch with my family. The 80s era fantasies went a long way to shape hope how I perceive magic.

What did you watch when you were young that sent the synapses sparking with the hope that there really were magic crystals and castles beyond the horizon? I really want to know. I’m rediscovering my childhood movie magic and want to see if I missed any good ones.

Next on the list, my two favorites: Legend and Labyrinth (although I am still terrified by David Bowie’s codpiece).

April, Oh How I Love Thee…

Pardon the late night love note to April. She and I have had our fall-outs over the years, but as I sit down to write my post, my mind returns to how I love April. Here is why:

1. Tax season ends. All the lovely accountants can unshackle the desk manacles and salve their paper cuts and come out to join the rest of us enjoying spring. My fondness might also come from a refund showing up in my checking account.
2. Spring weddings start. Typically being dressed up and forced to socialize for hours is my idea of torture, but a friend’s wedding last weekend cut through the misanthropy. They are a beautiful couple and I can’t help being joyful. April is also the month the husband asked me to marry him.
3. A new Dresden Files novel is released. Wizard Harry Dresden is a private eye like no one in Chicago has seen before. Changes, the twelfth novel in Jim Butcher’s kick-butt series, hit stores last Tuesday, and you can guess where I headed five minutes after quitting time. I’ve been looking forward to the novel for months (literally twelve months), and it was better than I’d hoped. I even felt sympathy for a character I’d hated since book two. Changes will delight me for months as I imagine what Butcher is going to put in the November novella that picks up where the cliff-hanger ending in Changes leaves off.
4. Friends have birthdays. It is always good to celebrate the coming into existence of people you love, but I remember the magical celebrations held when we were kids.
5. I finally get around to planting flowers. I always wait until late April because of the diminished frost danger. Alright, so I also have to wait until the end of April because I can’t get myself organized and motivated sooner.
6. Everything is blooming. It is enough to overlook the pollen tarp over all of Richmond.
7. Easter means faith, family, food, and John Donne. Yes, I tried to fit an F in there but I couldn’t. Johnnie Boy is one of my favorite poets, and I always try to read his work, especially “Good Friday, 1613, Riding Westward,” during the season.
8. My sister finishes up a year at college. She and I have a tradition. On move-out day I go to her college and we eat tongue-titillating desserts before lugging refrigerators down three flights of stairs. Maybe this year we should try gorging on ice cream after heavy lifting.
9. My brother has prom. One of the great benefits of having the cutest siblings on Earth is seeing them decked out to promenade. And promenade they do when hundreds of people turn out to flank the walk and watch the couples a la Academy Awards. Don’t believe me? See for yourself.
10. Fantastic Spatulans will come together to par-tay. More on that weekend magic later.

Are you infatuated with April? Having a fling? What would you include in your love note?

Thanks

Hello, my lovelies! I trust you all had a pleasant Easter holiday? I know I did; what could be nicer than a calm spring day, with lively people, fun conversations, and way too much delicious food.

This year, the Easter weekend was doubly nice, for my mother’s birthday was the day before. We spent the day watching fish and frogs at the pond, eating good food, and watching Dr. Who.

Well, you may be thinking, that’s all well and good, but what’s my point? Please bear with me, reader, for I am about to become a little bit maudlin. Thinking about my mother’s birthday reminded me that all the things I find magical in this world are that way because of her.

I would never have found music to be so moving had she not taught me to listen and appreciate it. I would not have been squirreling rocks away in the nooks of trees, hoping for dragons to hatch, had she not encouraged me to let my imagination run rampant. Let’s face it, folks, I wouldn’t be me if not for her. Thanks Mom, you freak.

Who, in your life, inspired you to see the magic in everything? Have you thanked them lately?

Look! Dragon eggs!

Weekend Magic: Back to My Roots

The husband and I enjoyed a sunny Easter weekend back home with family. My sister Kimberly and I dug up daffodils and daylilies from the edge of Grandma’s yard to transplant to the flower bed here in Richmond. In Grandma’s yard the brick borders have fallen and lay covered in weeds, but working in her garden brought back memories I hadn’t thought of in years. I remembered childhood afternoons spent playing among the irises and hyacinths while Grandma created Eden inside brick borders.

My family has lived in our small town for about seven generations, a time spanning over two hundred years, and my parents' farm has been in the family about a century. It is our place. We see our ancestors as clearly in the creeks and fields as we do in the old portraits Kimberly and I found in Grandma’s spare bedroom. Are you rooted in a place? What about it draws you? Would you be the same person if it wasn’t for that place?

What's in a Name?

(credit)

For those of you who know me, you know that it's not unusual to find me under my headphones for more than two hours at a time. I love music. I have it on almost constantly while I'm at home and all the time I am driving in my car. Some music really catches you off guard and speaks to you in such a way that you just can't help but get farklemt.



But what I really love are name songs. Talk about something being personal! Even if the song is not about me per-say, there is usually some element I can relate to. So I decided to go troll the interwebs and find some youtubilicous samples for each of the Fantastic Spatulans. (See if you can guess which video belongs to whom. Though I'm sure it won't be too hard. You geniuses, you!)









So how about you guys? Do you have a favorite name song?