totally random

Slowly but surely

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Have you ever experienced moments that fly and drag all at once? The scenario’s quite familiar to me as of late. And as you might imagine with such, the days have not been bereft of oddity.

Take last week, for instance. In an effort to spell narcissism, I had the brilliant idea to type it out on whatever document opened before me.  After all, I’d simply delete the word once typed; no big deal.

Only I failed to recall that last bit . . . until I looked down at the copies I was preparing to distribute in a meeting. There, in black and white, was a stray narcissism.

My eyes grew wide, my heart raced, and they called my name to speak. My tactic: explain that, after thinking things through, the best mode of attack would be to send electronic copies, so they could review at their leisure.

Alas, the project manager had none of it, thus propelling me to open our corporate review with, So, funny story . . .

Thankfully, they did laugh. As a matter of fact, they thanked me afterwards; it seems laughter was just the medicine needed, after months of stress.

With that, I wish you a weekend filled with laughter. Though the days be few, may they be mighty in the moments they hold. And even if things don’t go exactly as planned, may you find it just what you needed.

xo

A note from an ancient hero

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Tell me the truth. Do you think of me when you see this?

You may have heard: Canada’s Musée de la civilisation is on the lookout for doppelgängers of sixty or so of their 2,000-year-old sculptures. Submit your photo; face recognition software will scan your features, compare with their database of images, and tell you the sculpture you most resemble.

Such brilliant, nerdly fun!

Naturally, I had to give it a try. My match {drumroll, please} ………………. Hercules.

That’s right, I most resemble the son of Zeus and Alcmene. Years ago, when a friend noted I’m more of a classic beauty, this was not what I had in mind. Sigh. At least he’s an adventurous sort of fellow. Had I been the twin of a tedious man, it may have been more than I could bear.

But I digress . . .

With that, I wish you a good weekend. May your days be full of adventure and your exploits, the stuff of legend.

xo

Oh, the stories we’ll tell

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Once upon a time, there lived a king and queen who had no children–the fact of which made the queen most melancholy.

To fill the halls with laughter, the courtyards with play, they adopted a wee girl to raise as their own. One day, the queen happened upon her daughter playing with a beggar girl. Aghast, she tried to break up the friends–only to have the beggar girl insist her mother knew how she could conceive a child of her own.

Intrigued, the queen approached the child’s mother, who quickly refuted the claims. Yet something in her eyes told a different story. So the queen offered a bit of refreshment. After a few glasses of the good stuff, the woman’s “I know not of which you speak” became a slurred “wash yourself in two pails of water before going to bed, then pour the water under your bed. The next morning, you’ll find two flowers sprouted–one fair, one rare. Eat the beautiful one. But do not, under any circumstances, eat the other.“

The queen did everything just as she was told . . . until it came came to eating the flowers. You see, the lovely flower was such a tasty morsel, she couldn’t help but eat the other.

So it was, approximately nine months later, the queen gave birth to a girl–a rather frightful girl, who clutched a wooden spoon in one hand, and rode upon a goat.

As you might imagine, giving birth to such was something of shock, to say the least. Thankfully, her alarm was short lived, for she also gave birth to a girl who was fair and full of grace.

Years passed, and it never ceased to amaze how such a winsome princess could possibly be related to the girl known as Tatterhood (for the tattered hood she wore over her unruly hair). Yet related they were; not only that, but for all their differences, they were the best of friends.

One Christmas Eve, not long before the girls reached adulthood, a great clamor filled the gallery. Tatterhood inquired after the commotion. To which her mother explained, “Trolls. Every seven years, they ramble into town, causing all manner of shenanigans . . .”

Well, Tatterhood would have none of that. Instructing her mother to keep the doors and windows firmly fastened, she headed out to fend off the troublemakers. But her lovely sister worried something fierce. She had to know her sister was OK. So she peeked her head from the window–and just as she did, a troll flashed by and snatched it from her shoulders, replacing it with a calf’s head.

Shenanigans, indeed.

The trolls laughed and carried on. They thought they’d won. But they, like many others, underestimated Tatterhood. She took her sister’s hand and together they set sail to the isle of the trolls. A fierce battle ensued, but Tatterhood came through victorious. She rescued (and somehow managed to restore) her sister’s lovely head, and they escaped to a distant kingdom.

Where, as it happened, the widowed king found himself most smitten with the lovely princess. No sooner had they stepped from the ship, then he asked for her hand in marriage. Alas, the lovely princess refused to marry before Tatterhood. The king took one look at Tatterhood, shuddered, and knew he faced quite the conundrum. So he did the first thing that came to mind: he turned to his son and begged him to marry the unfortunate sister. Being a good, dutiful son, he agreed.

On the day of the double wedding, the king, his son, and the lovely princess stepped from the castle gates adorned in their regal finery. Tatterhood, on the other hand, trotted up on her trusty goat, dressed in her customary rags, with nary a hair in place. Her groom hung his head in misery.

“Why so sad, my love?” she asked.

“Why are you riding goat?” he replied.

“Why it’s no goat, it’s a magnificent steed!” she said, and poof; it was so.

On an on it went. “Why the rags?” Poof! It’s a resplendent gown. “Why the spoon?” Poof! It’s a fan. “Why the hood?” Poof! It’s a golden crown. “Why you so ugly?” Poof! She’s the most beautiful bride in all the land.

Suddenly, he wasn’t sad at all. The wedding party boarded the wedding coach to the cathedral, where they married, and lived quite happily ever after.

So goes the Norwegian fairy tale Tatterhood (as told by me,  naturally; officially, its part of a collection by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe).

Why are you telling us an obscure fairy tale, you ask? Because Sunday, February 26, is National Tell a Fairy Tale Day–and I thought I’d get this party started.

With that, I hope the days ahead are full of the best sort of adventure. I hope you remember things are not always as they seem. I hope if you get in a pickle and lose your head, you recover quickly. I hope you find time to get lost in a fantastical story or two–and maybe, just maybe, write one all your own.

Happy weekend, my friends!

xo

PS – If you’ve been around for any length of time, you no doubt recognize a Daily Drop Cap, by Jessica Hische. They’ve popped up before, no doubt they’ll pop up again. But if you haven’t checked out her website lately, I must encourage you to do so–especially if you’ve a heart for hand-lettering, illustration, and design.

Here we go . . .

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The other night, I had a dream . . .

As I planned my exit from buying wares at the Home Depot, Donald Trump (I’m fairly certain it was just Donald Trump, as I saw nary a secret serviceman) motioned me aside. He stood behind a long table–taped to the front was a sign of bright blue construction paper, Make America Great Again! scribbled in magic marker. Something akin to a Girl Scout booth, only in place of cookie boxes, were cinnamon rolls atop white paper plates.

“Might I interest you in a cinnamon roll?” he said.

There was something in his voice–calm, unassuming–I’d not heard before. And for the briefest moment, it gave me hope.

“Why yes, I’d love one.” I said.

He handed me a plate; I took it. He nodded and smiled; I nodded and smiled in return. He posed the question to the person behind me; I continued on my way.

A few moments later, I relayed the encounter to a friend. She was aghast. Aghast I tell you!

“You took a cinnamon roll from Donald Trump!” she exclaimed.

“Of course I took it,” I said. “It was a cinnamon roll!”

What does it all mean, you ask? Yeah, I’m not entirely sure.

It probably has something to do with the fact that I cannot wrap my head around so many people, so excited for Trump’s presidency. I cannot fathom how they pay no mind to so many red flags. So many . . .

On the flip-side, I’m appalled with the bullies. A bully is a bully; it doesn’t matter who you are, where you come from, or why you use fear and intimidation to sway others. And the whole #notmypresident bit? Ridiculous. As citizens of the United States of America, as of today, he is our president. Like it, or not. We either jump ship or we buckle down and try to find a way to row the boat, together.

Also, junk food is the only thing getting me through this winter. So, there’s that.

Needless to say, I hope (and pray) we do learn to work together; I hope we find a way to cross party lines and see people. I hope we find ways to do our part. And I hope with all my might, President Trump proves me wrong.

With that, here’s the to the weekend–and the start of the next four years; may it be sweet, indeed . . .

xo

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s what I know

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catalpa2

Yesterday, ever-so-close to home, the car in front of me slowed to a stop–in the middle of the street. A passenger rolled out of the car, meandered over to our neighbor’s tree, and began smelling its blossoms. “What in the world?”  No sooner had the words escaped my lips than the driver drove on, up ahead, around the corner. I followed suit, pulling into my driveway; the driver backed up to the spot from whence she came, picked up the passenger, and turned the corner once again.

That’s when I heard it: “Excuse me! Do you know the name of that tree?”

Why yes I do. 

Not that I’m an expert on our wooded friends, mind you. As a matter of fact, the Catalpa is pretty much the only tree I can identify with great authority. You see, we go way back, the Catalpa and I. Of all the trees in the world, few hold more magic for a child. Not only is their massive presence a welcome reprieve from the summer sun, nothing beats swinging from their branches. Their long bean pods make the perfect main dish–or sword, depending on the imaginary world in which you reside. And their large, hard shaped leaves? Well, they make splendid party hats.

Of course, once the lady in the car mentioned the tree’s popularity in my neighborhood, I began to wonder its allure for adults. So I did the only to do: I hurried inside to consult with Google.

Did you know?

  • Catalpas are not only fast growing, they’re tough fellows; they can grow in compact soil with poor drainage (check and check).
  • Not not only that, but they tend to balance the soil. They’re often brought in to stabilize areas prone to landslides; they’re also employed to heal land that’s been mined.
  • They do attract catalpa “worms” (or sphinx moth larvae, if you want to get technical)–but even they make for great fish bait. As a matter of fact, people have been known to grow the trees simply to harvest the bait.
  • That’s not all. Oh no, it’s not. Down through the years, people have viewed the Catalpa as medicinal: it’s been used as an antidote for snake bites; as a poultice for wounds; as a sedative; as treatment for asthma, bronchitis, whooping cough, and malaria.
  • It’s also lovely. The wood of the catalpa is lightweight and smooth as silk, popular for turning (or carving, as it were).

Hooray for obscure, random facts!

Also, it’s a good reminder: just because you think you know something, doesn’t mean you truly do.

With that, I pray this weekend finds you well. And much like the great Catalpa, may you help a little, grow a lot, and build your loveliness from the inside, out.

xo