Personal Fairytale

Three Times the Charm

            Once upon a time there was a girl who couldn’t see well but didn’t realize it. When others fearfully pointed out dragons flying by in the sky she would look up to see only a blurry whirl of motion against a backdrop of blue murkiness.

            Maybe this is why she didn’t notice when a dragon came to live in her attic. Having never seen a dragon nor anything else clearly she figured the crepuscular lump behind the moth eaten divan was a pile of outgrown clothing or perhaps a dress maker’s mannequin outfitted in some gothic Victorian nonsense. Except, sometimes it snorted. And her hearing was excellent.

            One day she clambered up the rickety ladder to the attic. She was on the hunt for her grandmother’s old tarot cards. She hoped to read them as a road map. Not seeing well she could also not see herself. She was lost.

            The attic was dark with only one tiny window and the afternoon was overcast. She tripped over various bricolage and bric-a-brac, whatnots and thingamajigs until she stumbled upon her grandmother’s hope chest. Her grandmother was now long gone and had presumably taken all her hopes with her to the grave. Perhaps her hopes were like seeds that sprouted a garden of marvels and bibelots among the begonias and hyacinths. The girl was lost in imagining this when suddenly she was whipped to attention by a sudden movement behind the divan. Why the mannequin seemed to be slyly scooting in her direction. Well, if it had been a mannequin it would be scooting but it actually seemed to be lumbering. She began to think it was not a mannequin at all nor a harmless heap of clothing but something quite disquieting.

            Of course, being a good Catholic girl she could only guess now that it was a demon aka an invisible embodiment of evil. Not cool. “Drat those tarot cards!” she mumbled reaching for the nearest something that could shield her which turned out to be a Ouija board. She dropped it as if it had burned her. (She had seen the Exorcist and knew no good could come from that!). The thing that wasn’t a mannequin was galumphing closer. She looked about her desperately seeking a weapon or some other defense like maybe a crucifix. But the attic was so dismally dark and with her eyesight she could see nothing.

 Except…by this time the dragon had trudged close enough that even in the miasmic shadows she could tell it must be what others called a dragon. One might think this would have filled her with dread but sometimes naming a fear tames it. But most of all she was struck with wonder as she realized that the foul stench of sulfur she was always catching a whiff of wasn’t from something rotten in her but from the dragon! As she watched licks of flame flicker from his nostrils she understood now that his fiery breath is what had caused the blood to rise to her face all those times…that it hadn’t been her blushing with shame after all! As exceptional as these epiphanies were they were not going to help her fight the dragon.

But actually they did. It was like a light was lit inside her. It startled her and she stood up abruptly, knocking over a brass coat rack which crashed into a ramshackle rocking chair setting it to rock maniacally, upsetting a hatbox where a pandemonium of gewgaws spewed forth, one of the items glinting coquettishly. She was sure it was a sign from heaven because what is the point of a mortal existence on earth unless it was filled with signs and symbols of the divine? So she leapt atop the pile of trinkets confident she would find a weapon, an amulet or anything at all that would help her because though the dragon was fatsome and slow it was bound to reach her sooner rather that later. However, the hatbox had only been stuffed with embellishments gone to rust and other such rubbish. As she was looking away to check on the dragon’s progress, from the corner of her eye she noted the glint again. Was it a fairy? A tiny Dancer? Why, it was a hand mirror, tarnished and down on its luck but she crowed in delight. “Perfect”, she thought, as if she were battling Medusa and not a noxious and conflagrant dragon. She had a pronounced predilection for mixing up mythology with fairytales with religion with science but who doesn’t?

She brandished that hand mirror, making it snicker-snack as if it were a vorpal blade. The dragon lunged, she lurched. The dragon plunged, she pitched. Her reactions were quick but there comes a time when one must not just react to dragons but confront them directly. She raised the gloomy mirror over her head then slammed it down, smashing it soundly on the creature’s snout. The fearsome blow caught the dragon unawares because no predator expects its prey to attempt to conquer. The dragon gasped, with pain? With surprise? It does not matter but that when he gasped he sucked back in his own fiery breath. In a flash of flame he incinerated before her eyes, a victim of internal combustion.

The blast of the dragon’s demise felt to her like a thousand flashbulbs exploding. She shut her eyes as she fell over. She lay still for a moment thinking herself: a.) blind b.) dead

 c.) victorious. She knew from her years of taking tests at school, where she had not been able to see the lessons scratched on the chalkboards, that when one doesn’t know the answer on a multiple choice exam the best guess is the third one. Or maybe she was mixing this up with the third time is the charm. Either way, she opened her eyes.

Not only was the dragon gone but the entire attic had been cleared of its clutter. The mementos from dear, dead grandmother- gone. The piles of shabby clothes-gone. The stacks of “maybe I’ll read them someday” books- gone. And to top it off there was now a rather gaping hole in the roof where one lone ray of sunlight shone through. Now that had to be a sign from heaven. She walked into the light singing, “I can see clearly now the rain is gone…” But she was wrong. The lone ray of sun was quickly eclipsed by a cloud and rain pelted through the hole. She laughed however, lifting her face to let the rain wash away the soot.  Soon there would be much to do: 1.) repair the roof  2.) get eye glasses 3.) be brilliant and brave over and over and over again!

Write Away

I am reading a very interesting book titled, Your Life as Story,by Tristine Rainier.http://www.amazon.com/Your-Life-Story-Tristine-Rainer/dp/0874779227 I may end up not finishing it as I thought it was about journal writing in a literary style. Now I am thinking it is more about writing memoir but nevertheless, it is interesting, She writes, "We must create and find our own stories, our own myths, with symbols that bind us to the world as we see it today." One tool to do this consists of writing a personal fairytale-not rewriting one already told but making an entirely fresh one with oneself as the main character. The rules are: to write in the third person; have a beginning, middle and end; feature a problem that will be surmounted so that the main character changes in some way. Oh, and also it needs to be short-one to two pages.
Easy enough except that it isn't. My first try  was a boring list of vignettes filled with preachy aphorisms. Yech! My second try was better as I went with the fairytale aspect and created a fictional yet true story. It is more than two pages long but then I wrote it long hand in a 9"x 6" journally book so who knows how long it is typed. I will share it in my next blog but I sprained my left hand today. It is now wrapped in an Ace bandage so typing is tiresome at best. In the meantime why not try your hand at writing your own personal fairytale? It is fun and ever so illuminating but I mustn't give anything away. Write away!
ps: Turns out it wasn't just typing it but rewriting it, of course! So that makes the third try--three times the charm!

Dog Days of Summer

The term Dog Days refers to the hottest, sultriest days of the summer. It came about  back in ancient times when the star Sirius rose with the sun in the summer. It doesn't anymore probably because of something to do with letting sleeping dogs lie. It was said that the dog days were a time "when the seas boiled, wine turned sour, Quinto raged in anger, dogs grew mad, and all creatures became languid, causing to man burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies". Not good. And who the heck is Quinto anyway? Whatever. The Romans thought this could all be helped by appeasing Sirius which they tried to do by sacrificing a dog at the start of the Dog Days. Those Romans were crazy.

There are much better ways to deal with hot spells, air conditioning being one. However, even in AC one's mood can turn sour with the unrelenting pulsing of the the sun's brutal rays.Friends, spouses and children can become irritable and even worse they can become very irritating. So what is one to do?

I don't know and I can't really be expected to figure it out for everyone else but I stumbled upon a solution that works for me, a little and only sometimes but it is better than sacrificing a poor, hapless pup. I learned the hard way that my mood can increase measurably by just doing something. 

Anything really, other than cooking which by definition requires using a heat source. Of course, swimming or going to your brother's lake house are the best things to do but not always possible.  Most of the time my only choices are to read, watch tv, create pixie journals, write blogs, or mindlessly scan Facebook in search of something I have never actually found. 

Interestingly enough, my best poems have been borne of moods of desperation and deep ennui. Which is the point entirely- that when I create something from nothing  I always feel better. So when the Dog Days nip at your heals, remember that however fun it may seem to bitterly complain about the sweat stinging your eyes it might be even more fun to create something, anything--even dinner if it can be made without employing fire in some way!

PS. In previewing this blog I did notice that I misspelled heels as heals but as a therapist I find this Freudian slip very amusing so I am keeping it. Ha!

Magical Thinking

It is fun to see my Urban Pixie Journals evolve--this one includes a little bird charm and many specialty papers. It is also much thicker. I might not make future ones so thick but all the rest will certainly feature a charm.
My current dilemma is what to call them. I was torn between urban pixie and urban fairy. My own little pixie (Marci sporting a new haircut!) picks one up daily to just flip through it told me they didn't seem pixie at all but very fairy. Both monikers are equally magical.

I know there are many people who do not believe in the magical world. I understand this as a war between science and religion but I say can't we all be friends? Remember Shakespeare , "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy". Any moment can be marvelously miraculous...smiles between strangers, a grasshopper jumping in the door when you arrive home, a blackbird cawing good morning. I guess, in the end, it is not about what is believed but what is allowed, even encouraged to bloom in your heart... and that, dear reader, is magical.

Urban Pixie Journal # 3

This is the third Urban Pixie Journal formerly referred to as plexi glass mini journals. Each one has proved challenging in a different way. I suppose the challenge is part of the fun, though. I am so happy when I complete one because I know the intricacies of its creation and love it even more for its complications!
I got the best compliment of all when Marci noticed them lined up on the coffee table, picked one up to examine and said something to the effect that it was cool (or whatever word teens use now to express approval). Generally when others feel moved enough to comment on my art they say something about how creative I am. My first response is always to assure them they are also creative. Humans are creative by nature. Each day we create our experiences by how we respond to events or the activities we choose to engage in. We can choose kindness, patience, forgiveness or sarcasm, self pity or fear. We can choose to hang out with friends, daydream, clean or a million other things. Just the choosing of activities and attitudes is an act of creation.
However, I realize that is not what people mean when they say I am creative. They are noticing I make things that have never been made quite that way before.
I create whimsical artsy objects because it is FUN. Creating whimsy whether in art or words is how I play. Daydreaming is also play for me and generally it all mixes together in a way that makes my soul laugh. So I think that is what I feel people are validating for me when they say I am creative-they are saying they notice my soul laughing. And then my response is for their soul to also laugh. Is that too much to ask?

Bookmaking!

The mini plexi glass journal turned out fabulous! It was a bit tricky because I had to figure out how to make the binding. I wanted to add pictures to show the various steps but it looks like I am going to have to consult with Natalie for that.
First I had to cut out the pages which took several trims to get right. Then four sheets are stapled together to make a signature. All the signatures are pressed together and their end sections glotted with glue and the endpiece attached. I then cut out the cloth binding, glued it on, added a ribbon to hide the ragged edges, clamping the whole shebang at each stage.Finally I cleaned it all up and a beautiful little book is created.

Speaking of Books...

Today I spent the day with my niece, Natalie. Niece is an odd word as it conjures up the image of a person much younger than one's self. It is true she is almost half my age but that does not seem to matter now that she is a young woman. She is mostly a great friend. I can talk to her about anything and do!
Today we mostly swam back and forth in her pool talking about books and such after she helped me spice up this blog. We talked about how if one is forced to read a classic it can ruin the book yet at other times not. If I had not been forced to read a book such as Tale of Two Cities I might have missed out on a truly great book. My daughter, Marci, however hates To Kill a Mockingbird which she was coerced into reading several different times. This is very sad. There have been several books that I did not particularly enjoy in the reading but I am glad to have read anyways. The ones that come to mind are Crime and Punishment, Lord of the Flies, Brave New World, and the autobiography of Saint Therese. Do not look for a pattern here!
Lastly, Nat and I went shopping where at Marshall's I commented I do not like boxes that are shaped like books because I feel they are a trick. You think it is a book and open it up to find it empty. What I would like is a box that you open only to joyously discover it is really a book!I was also attracted by the pocketbooks because, well, they look like books!
Hopefully, Natalie will come to my place next time and I will teach her how to re-purpose an existing book into a journal. In fact, my current project is to make a mini book with plexi glass samples. It is in its early stages and if I can figure out how to upload the picture you will see it now and later you will see the finished project. (I did get it to post! Yay!)
So whether it is reading books, creating your own book or learning the intricacies of notebook computers it always about books in the end. I once had a dream where angels were showing me a holographic book of my life. They seemed to find it very interesting but had some editing comments they felt compelled to share with me! Oh, well. I am glad I am the heroine of my life as a book. I am also so happy to have such a colorful and delightful cast of characters sharing my book with me and am honored that I am in their books. My hope is that we all live our lives so that they make a fun read in heaven. Live your life like a book that no one will feel forced to read-what a novel idea!