When I was a baby Ewok

Nostalgia

1. a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time: a nostalgia for his college days.

2. my state of mind this week.

Everything is reminding me of childhood times in Wimberley, recently.  My grandmother's house seemed like a fairytale land when I was little.  The Blanco River roaring just down the hill,  the giant Cyprus and cedar trees, the bamboo forest... even the house itself with floor-to-ceiling windows, knick-nacks from her world travels all over the walls and shelves, and a plethora of fold-out sofas waiting for grandkids to fall asleep.

Then there was my family.  I remember getting positively giddy at the thought of going to Wimberley.  From the moment we arrived, there was a houseful of my cousins, aunts and uncles, the ever present soundtrack of someone playing piano, my aunts and my grandma singing along.  My dad and uncles building things, or working on things, or watching football. Everyone with a mug of coffee or hot tea in their hands at all times.

In the midst of the whirlwind of activity in this seemingly magical place, there we were, 9 cousins, building forts out of pillows, having soccer tournaments, making spears out of bamboo (safe), swimming in the river as long as they'd let us, walking up and down the road laughing and singing, catching fireflies in giant pickle jars....

Oh, and playing Star Wars. You should understand that Star Wars featured prominently in my childhood.  Not so much the actual films (and by Star Wars, I'm referring to the original ones, the REAL ones) as the universe of stories we created from that framework.  

For years, it seemed, we would claim one particular fold-out sofa from the adults, open it up and transform it into the Millennium Falcon (don't knock it, until you've tried it).   We had the stock cast: my older brother as Han Solo, cousin Danny as Luke Skywalker, Helen as Princess Leia. 

Then we reached the impasse where George Lukas had clearly not explored his possibilities...that and none of us wanted to be chewbacca.  So, we added Princess Leia's daughter for my cousin Madeline (just go with it), and a family of Ewoks portrayed by Jeannie, Becky and Myself.  I still insist that this is type casting.  sigh  

(if you're counting, that's only 7 of us. yep. Kathleen and Julie were not in the Star Wars cast... I mean, we needed an audience, come on) 

 It. Was. Magical. 

In this one place, this safe-haven of childhood, we were just a gaggle of kids running around and loving each other. 

(full disclosure: sometimes loving eachother may have included arguing, crying and locking ourselves in closets to get away from the littlest ones...)

One thing that sticks out in my adult mind is the love we were surrounded with.

Talk about feeling blessed.  My own parents (who are super cool), my mom's 3 sisters and their husbands, and my grandma (I still maintain that she's the most interesting person I know), all of them encouraging us to be the weird kids we were.

  

(and by weird, I mean weird.  did you teach yourself to write in runes from the LOTR as an 8 year old? didn't think so, because you're normal.  P.S. if you didn't pause to think about what "LOTR" stands for, congrats. NERD.)

Anywho, I've been thinking more and more about the roles adults have played in my life.  This may be the direct result of finding out that Martin and Lora are having a baby.  They will be  wonderful parents, p.s.  

I will be the aunt that buys them quirky toys from ThinkGeek and Toy Joy, and encourages them to be silly.  There will probably also be fort building.

Friday is for...... detox

I think it's impossible to be in a bad mood when you're eating fresh raspberries.   Just in case you were curious.  Research, done. 

There's a process referred as "toxification," wherein things increase in toxicity due to enzymatic metabolism (cheers, Wikipedia).  What, you ask, could cause a Friday to go toxic?  

Behold: 

According to my car, central texas is pretty much an easy-bake oven right now.  rough times.

Lorem Ipsum Dolor

For the last few days, the wise and witty Anna P. Luce has been vacationing on my couch. (she is currently head-banging to Simon & Garfunkel, fyi)  Delightful.  

Chica can cook- FACT.  My appliances and kitchen are pretty excited as I've been neglecting them for...well,  our entire acquaintance. They will be molto sad to see Anna return to the frozen north.  My feelings on this subject are similar.

During our fantastical adventures, many pistachios have been consumed, movies watched, and life-coaching commenced.  Not sure if this really qualifies as a vacation for Anna..... hmmmm.

Anywho, here we are, interwebs, on our awkward first-date.   I feel under-dressed. 

Nerd Moment: the subject line you see (Lorem Ipsum Dolor) is part of a common graphic design placeholder, it's a little trick that designers and publishers use while tweaking formatting.   If you knew that, congrats, you've earned an Intelligentsia Merit Badge. 

Since there is a considerable drought in the original-thought department this evening, I will conclude by sharing a poem by my favorite, Billy Collins.

The Moment

It was a day in June, all lawn and sky,
the kind that gives you no choice
but to unbutton your shirt
and sit outside in a rough wooden chair.

And if a glass of ice tea and an anthology
of seventeenth-century devotional poetry
with a dark blue cover are available,
then the picture can hardly be improved.

I remember a fly kept landing on my wrist,
and two black butterflies
with white and red wing-dots
bobbed around my head in the bright air.

I could feel the day offering itself to me,
and I wanted nothing more
than to be in the moment–but which moment?
Not that one, or that one, or that one,

or any of those that were scuttling by
seemed perfectly right for me.
Plus, I was too knotted up with questions
about the past and his tall, evasive sister, the future.

What churchyard held the bones of George Herbert?
Why did John Donne's wife die so young?
And more pressingly,
what could we serve the vegetarian twins

we had invited for dinner that evening
not knowing then that they travel with their own grapes?
And who was the driver of that pickup
flying down the road toward the single railroad track?

And so the priceless moments of the day
were squandered one by one–
or more likely several thousand at a time–
with quandary and pointless interrogation.

All I wanted was to be a pea of being
at rest inside the pod of time,
but that was not going to happen today,
I had to admit to myself

as I closed the blue book on the face
of Thomas Traherne and returned to the house
where I lit a flame under a pot
full of water where some eggs were afloat,

and, while they were cooking,
stared into a little oval mirror by the sink
just to see if that crazy glass
had anything particular to say to me today.