Happy Leap Day!

It’s that magical day that only comes once every four years. A very Happy Birthday to all the leaplings (coolest name ever, by the way) out there!
In honor of this auspicious day, here are some other awesome things that we know are out there in the ether, but only get to experience every once in awhile.

The Summer Olympics- Coming up this summer and I’m already pumped. For someone without any athletic skill (or interest) to speak of, I get strangely excited about these events. Of course, it may just be that it offers me a reason to fondly recall the year I got my Amanda Borden haircut. Good times.

The Winter Olympics- These aren’t quite as exciting to me as the summer games, but you hear more people chanting “Quack, Quack, Quack!” due to the presence of hockey. And that’s really more than enough to get me interested.

Total Solar Eclipse- You shouldn’t look directly at these, but they’re pretty cool. Much like this video.

Tori Scott- She was there and then she wasn't. And then she was there again. And then she wasn't. She may not have graduated with Bayside's class of '93 (or ever met Kelly and Jessie), but I know she's out there somewhere. Just waiting for the right moment for her return.

Miss Zarves class on the nineteenth floor- ‘Cause I know it’s there. Even if it is non-existent. I just know it.

Life Lessons with the Berenstain Bears

Jan Berenstain of Berenstain Bears fame passed away on Friday. I don’t know about the rest of you, but that fun family of bears was a pretty constant presence in my young life. Between the books and the TV movies, they were teaching me lessons all over the place.

Of all of their books the two that always come to my mind first are The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Junk Food and The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room.

I think Too Much Junk Food sticks out in my mind because I always wanted more candy than I was allowed. I still remember looking at the illustrations and thinking, Man, that candy looks good. Not the message I was supposed to take away, I know.

The Messy Room, however, was one that I related to greatly. Much like the cubs, my sister and I shared a room and were not always the neatest. We too had bunk beds and a big storage closet that you opened at your own risk. We also, like the cubs, needed to learn to work together. Cleaning the room was one of the few things that could consistently make lil' sis and I argue. It wasn’t so much about one of us wanting to get out of the cleaning, but rather than I wanted to be the Grand Room Cleaning Poobah. In such an exalted position, I, naturally, expected my sister to follow all my Poobah commands. We would clean in the manner that I saw fit and that was that. Shockingly, my sister wasn’t a fan of my tyrannical tidying. Who’d have guessed?

It took us awhile, but we finally figured out a way that we could clean together without killing each other. We created a story. It wasn’t our room we were cleaning anymore, but instead the mall (yes, the entire mall) where we worked. And it wasn’t our mess, either. Two boys, named Jimmy and Johnny, had come in after hours and thrashed the place. So, there we were, the much put upon store employees, called in on their days off to deal with this mess. And because it was our job, we would clean – all the while complaining about what colossal jerks Jimmy and Johnny were. In between our railing against them, we’d talk about the other people in the mall and how we couldn’t believe none of them had come in to help us out. We’d discuss what we were going to do when we got off work (you know, like going to a fancy ball or taking the train to Manhattan to eat at Jekyll and Hyde’s or something equally adult-like) and slowly the stuff littering the floor would disappear.

I honestly can’t remember which one of us to credit with this little bit of brilliance, but it worked. The room would get clean and we’d still be friends at the end of it. After that, whenever the room reached threat level midnight, one of us would say, “Can you believe Jimmy and Johnny got in here again?” And, shaking our heads, we’d roll up the sleeves of our Flinstones tees and get down to business.

So, now when I see kids reading the Berenstain Bears stories, it makes me think of those cleaning afternoons with my sister and the magic of conflict resolution through storytelling.

Many thanks to Mrs. Berenstain for all the stories she and her husband brought into our lives. She will be missed.

Speak Softly and Carry a Big Amusement Factor

Recently, there has been a serious upswing of people walking past my office whilst talking to themselves. As they never look at me, I'm assuming their comments are not meant for my ears, but rather, I’m just a lucky bystander. Needless to say, I’m thrilled with this development.

My favorite thus far has been one gentleman’s “We’re running out of time.” Now, I suppose it’s possible that this had something to do with a work assignment that he was feeling particularly overwhelmed by. However, given the hushed tone in which it was delivered and the fact that there was no one in the hallway to whom he was addressing the comment, I don’t think it’s outside of the realm of possibility that perhaps he was sporting some kind of earpiece and chatting with a mysterious third party. Perhaps a pilot with a drinking problem. Or maybe he escaped a mysterious island and he and the other survivors are trying to decide how to best protect the people he left behind. It’s also possible that he might be part of a team using paranormal slime and national landmarks to fight tyrants coming out of paintings. You just never know. It could just be that he’s worried about the impending squirrel attack. And rightly so.

Whatever the reasoning behind his muted exclamation, I appreciated it. Really raised the stakes on my day – possibly more so than a dramatic pause would have, though that’s debatable. All I know is that later, when Roomie asked me what I wanted to do for lunch, I was inspired to stand up and face dramatically away from her as I emotionally discussed our options. And it felt right.

So, many thanks to the numerous whispering individuals in my office for assisting me in my goal to make my life more melodramatic. My door is always open. Please feel free to continue your Gollum-like utterances in the surrounding area.

The Unmixing of Signals

In recent years I have been advised by some of those closest to me that perhaps it would serve me well to be a little more discreet in my nerdom. However, the actions of these individuals have directly contradicted their words.

As I have mentioned it previously, I will use my love of Star Wars as a case study here.


Things I’ve heard:

Here’s a thought, how about we shift those bookcases around so everyone doesn’t immediately see the Star Wars books from the living room?

Oh, you still have that t-shirt. Have you ever thought about donating it? Or, you know, just throwing it out.

What do you say we put those action figures in a box and maybe put that box in the hands of a child?

Ewoks are the big guys right? Like the one that flew with Harrison Ford? (This is from Roomie. And, for the record, she knows they’re not.)



Now, for a detailing of the Star Wars related tokens I’ve received from the same people in recent years:

- Keychains
- T-Shirts
- Zip-up Hoodie
- Emails regarding Star Wars: In Concert (which we went to and it was phenomenal. Anthony Daniels hosted in a gold vest.)
- Bobble heads
- Books (naturally)
- Death Star Cookie Jar (can easily fit a floppityjillion cookies)
- Apron
- Pancake molds
- Cookie cutters
- Cupcake decorating kit
- Snow globe (Boba Fett holding a candy cane in front of Han Solo in carbonite wrapped in a ribbon with the tag, “For Jabba.” Awesome.)
- Themed alphabet print
- Fillable Easter eggs


The majority of these were not bought for a traditional gift-giving occasion. And each and every one of them is greatly appreciated. Because, you know, they’re freaking awesome. Still, they are all forcing me to quote from my Samantha: An American Girl Embroidery Sampler (circa 1995): Actions speak louder than words.

So, I finally figured it out. It doesn’t drive these guys crazy that I’m a big Star Wars nerd. They’re not embarrassed by it. They love it. They get to roll their eyes about how silly all these things are, while reveling in the excitement that can only be brought by finding a mug in the shape of an Ewok’s head.

I am nerdy, so they don’t have to be.

To all of you (you know who you are), I would just like to say….You’re welcome.

The Return of the Recurring Dream

Why does it seem like my body and my dreams sometimes conspire against me?

I know everyone has experienced this. You’re having a bad dream and you finally manage to claw your way out of it. There’s that momentary wash of relief and then your body says, Ha, ha….got you!, and sends you spiraling back into an unconscious state. Once there, of course, you find that the monsters were just on a smoke break and are more than ready for your return.

Of course, if you’re having a good dream – for instance, you’re just about to cut Mr. Dewey’s class to go to The Max with the gang – and the alarm goes off, not only does it pull you from the dream, but you’ve never been that awake in your life. You try to fool yourself, pretend you’re still sleeping (See, mind? I’m still asleep. It’s okay. You can send me back to the dream. Send me back! Please?). But no matter what you do, there is no way you’re getting your geometrically decorated cropped shirt and scrunchie back.

Then there’s the recurring nightmare. Not only does no amount of waking up actually help you escape it, but you know what’s going to happen before it does and you still can’t convince yourself it isn’t real. As a child, mine was always the Wicked Witch of the West. Not surprising, since I knew she was sending her guards after me. Anyway, the dream would go like this:

I awaken in my darkened room, knowing something is amiss. I scan the perimeter from the safety of my top bunk. No one is there. I start to release a sigh of relief when I see her. Standing in the far corner of the room, the moonlight glints dimly off her malevolent eyes. I would know that green face anywhere. The Witch!

I don’t bother using the ladder. Time is of the essence. I jump from the bunk bed, propelling myself to the door. I must warn the others!

I make it downstairs to my parents’ bedroom. For reasons that I don’t have time to figure out, my entire family is there. I yell at them to run. She’s coming! There’s no time for explanations. Just get out of the house! They heed my warning. I wait until the last one has left and go to follow.

A green hand shoots out from under the bed, grabbing my ankle. I scream and fall to the ground. Looking up I see that, it’s too late. The Witch stands over me. Her black robes flowing in the sudden wind gusts that are spinning around the bedroom. She cackles. Her hands reach towards me –
And then I’d wake up. Like clockwork. It never failed. I had that dream over and over and over again. No variations.

My sister had a strikingly similar dream, only her villain was a giant gorilla, which is very strange as she always really liked gorillas. Another small difference was that when she would yell at the family to run, I would laugh at her. Circling back to the whole me being a dream jerk issue.

Eventually, we both got past these dreams and went on to be (arguably) normal, well-adjusted adults. I realized that the Wicked Witch wasn’t really all that bad. I’d probably be ticked off too if someone stole the shoes off of my dead relative. I also came to understand that Glinda wasn’t all that good. Not only did she facilitate the pre-grave robbing, but the whole “You wouldn’t have believed me” thing? You could have at least made the attempt, lady. Saved everyone a whole lot of trouble. But no, you and the wizard were too busy conspiring to make Dorothy into a pre-pubescent hit man. Not cool, Glinda. Not cool.

Not that any of this is the point I’m trying to make here. My point is, I got over the nightmare….or so I thought.

Last night, for the first time in over fifteen years, the Witch came for me again. And it was exactly the same. Same bunk beds, same yellow paneling on the wall, same hand reaching out from under my parents’ bed.

Twice I woke up and twice I was sucked back in to where it was apparently playing on loop. And let me tell you, adult me is no more calm, cool and collected, than kid me was.

As a side note, though, pretty sure I was wearing footie pajamas, proving that there really is a silver lining to every cloud.

Finding Stories Everywhere

My mind is constantly searching for stories. I see objects or people or landscapes and they prompt the beginnings of new narratives in my head.

On Monday, amid the sea of knickknacks, my eyes fell on the Santa figurine. I pictured leaning in to read his list and seeing only my and my friends’ names. Then, of course, all the other visitors to the mansion would suddenly disappear and every secret doorway we found would lead us further into the labyrinth. At some point we’d be separated from each other and find ourselves in different rooms filled with objects from our individual pasts. It would be a creepy story, that ultimately ended happily after a lot of fear and struggle (I’m a big believer in the happy ending).

I studied for a semester in Ireland back in 2007. If you are ever looking for a location that lends itself to stories, that is it. My dorm overlooked the River Shannon, which I had to cross to get to campus. There was a big bridge, with a couple lanes of car traffic in addition to pedestrians. Several yards further up the river was another bridge. This one was much smaller and certainly older. A little rusted, it led to a hiking path that I often found cows or sheep lounging to the side of. This bridge always struck me as the perfect dwelling place for a ghost.

In my mind, the ghost was a young woman, probably in her mid-twenties when she died. The young woman, originally from America, came to Ireland to escape the tragedies of her family’s deaths in the 1891 tenement fire in New Jersey. One night, while walking along the Shannon, she slipped and drowned. I was taking a folklore class at the time and the professor discussed how in Irish folklore it was believed that if a person was not mourned, they were doomed to walk the earth for eternity. With her family gone, no one missed this woman. She found herself forever tied to the water where she died and the bridge that was built over it.

The image of her on that bridge is still very strong in my head. Someday, I'll finish writing down her tale. In the meantime, I’ll keep enjoying the new stories my imagination presents to me.

What about you? Do you ever see things that make you think up new people or picture yourself on a crazy adventure?


In other news, Squirrel Menace Update: We may need to recruit this gentleman.

Simple Math

Let's start with the equation: Secret Passages + Creepy Dolls = A Lifetime of Happiness.

And now I'll break it down for you:

My friends and I visited the Mansion on O Street for Presidents' Day (hope all of yours were wonderful, by the way). Technically, it’s five row houses that were bought by the same woman that were then connected. The owner then went on to create themed rooms and connect some of them by secret doorways that guests must find. In addition to this, every surface is covered in random knickknacks and books and artwork. Most of this has been donated to the mansion and everything is for sale. It’s sort of like you wandered into a Victorian episode of Hoarders. And it’s awesome.

First things first, this trip has cemented my plan to one day live in a house with secret passageways. Not only do I want secret doorways to other rooms, I want regular looking doorways that open up to brick walls. I want hallways no one else knows about. I want to pull the secret lever and reveal the trapdoor under the chaise lounge that has a slide that deposits me into the chair behind my desk in the second floor library. Naturally, I’ll have to have different contractors handle different passageways to ensure that no one but me ever knows about all of them. Or maybe I’ll just learn to build them myself.

I remember reading Patrice Kindl’s The Woman in the Wall when I was a kid. The main character, Anna, is so shy that she’s virtually invisible. Scared of going to school, she retreats into the walls of her family’s house, building secret tunnels and rooms where she lives from ages 7 to 14 until a new friendship finally draws her back out into the world. I was never really into the whole disappearing from the world thing, but, man, did I want my own set of secret wall tunnels. A desire, which apparently, has not lessened. So, if Anna could build all these things at the age of seven, I should really be able to figure it out. Right? Right.

In addition to making plans for the totally bitchin’ house that I will one day lord over, I also realized that my mind works in creepier ways than my friends'. In one of the rooms, amid the sea of stuff, was a figurine of Santa Claus. He was sitting in a chair holding a rolling piece of parchment. Checking his list, clearly, whether it was for the first or second time I can’t be sure of. Anyway, there were a number of names on the list in gently sloping cursive. I leaned over to read them and said the first thing that came to mind, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if his list just had all of our names on it?” When I turned back around, I was met with horrified expressions and a chorus of “No.” “What’s wrong with you?” and “That sounds like the beginning of a Goosebumps book.” Despite these negative comments (except for the Goosebumps one, ‘cause that’s just a compliment), I still think it would have been pretty cool. Creepy definitely, but cool.

The conversation reminded me that I need to amp up my doll collecting so that when I have my awesome house I can put them in each room. I plan on having some in plain sight and hiding others so that it takes you a little while before you realize they’re watching you. And then there are the portraits with the cut out eye holes for the hallways. But, that's just a given.

Once I have this all set up, I plan on inviting the friends (providing I haven't scared them away yet) over for a rousing game of Clue.

During which I may or may not hide various family members in the walls to make ghost noises.

Cue maniacal laugh here.

End of the Week Tunes

In honor of the joy of Friday, I am (naturally) in a singing mood. Talking about fairy tales all week has some interesting tunes running through the old noggin. And since I know that you’re all dying to host the same mental concert that I am enjoying, here are the top five songs on my current internal playlist:

1. Little Town – Beauty and the Beast – The opening scene of the 1991 Disney movie is a classic from my youth (if my memory serves correctly, the soundtrack to this movie was my first cassette tape). Also this is the introduction to Belle, the cartoon soul mate of all little bookworms.

2. That’s How You Know - Enchanted – Having grown up on the Disney cartoons, I definitely enjoyed seeing one come to life. All the leads are a lot of fun to watch, but what really sells this number for me are the little old men dancing with their flowers.

3. Agony Reprise – Into the Woods – Here we find two less-than-charming (but pretty funny) princes with wandering eyes. The recently wed husbands of Cinderella and Rapunzel confess to each other their respective interest in two other women, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. I didn’t know anything about this play until high school. I remember getting to this song and thinking, Hey! I’m not the only one wondering about the prince’s devotion.

4. Happily Ever After – Once Upon A Mattress – Our heroine, Winifred, is preparing for the test that the Queen has prepared to assess whether she is a true princess. Fred laments the help other princesses have gotten (some have fairy godmothers, others seven men dedicated to their happiness, and others just have really strong hair follicles). Fun fact: On any given night, this song is likely to be sung (with volume) in my apartment. It’s what I like to call roomie bonding time and often culminates in the classic living room dance party. Sometimes even the turtles join in.

5. Fairytale - Sara Bareilles – Pulling in a number of the classics, this song is about fairy tales that are just not all they’re cracked up to be.

Along with the music, there’s also a little bit of this mixed in for good measure. So, to end our fairy tale week (and possibly stop my obsessing about when I’m going to finally get my pet gryphon), I now present you with the conclusion to Meki’s story.

Part V

Meki glared at the glitter of the King’s icy sword. "You don't deserve warmth." The King advanced towards her, but she continued speaking. "You wish to steal it from others. Never once does it occur to you that it is something that could be shared. Had you just approached us with your request, things could have been easier."

"Shared?" The King asked. "That's impossible."

"Why?" Meki asked angrily, "Because you didn't think of it? It is certainly possible. And if my Queen ever knew of the suffering of these people she would have ensured they be given relief."

"And now?"

"Now, you have abducted us and threatened death if we do not comply with your every demand. Mercy will not be high on her list for you."

The King was indeed an angry and bitter man, but, despite this, always cared for his subjects. Realizing that he made their situation worse, he humbled himself.

He asked, "And if I were to leave? If I were to go, would you share the warmth with my people?"

"You would give up your throne to ensure their happiness?" Meki wondered.

The King nodded. "They can not be allowed to suffer further for my missteps."

Meki shook her head. "While warmth will come to you for certain cycles of the year, you will also have to deal with cycles of cold. Your people can cross the borders as they will, but you must confine yourself to the North."

The King agreed quickly. "Even one cycle of warmth would be more than enough for me. I will stay in the North."

"And I will stay as far South as I can to get from this place." Meki heard Lucius mutter under his breath.

Softly, Meki began chanting another incantation she learned from the wise sorceress. The world around her began to shake, but she continued her spell. Suddenly, sun light pierced through the oppressive clouds and bathed the town. People began screaming and dancing through the streets.

The King looked around him in awe. "You have my humblest apologies, my lady. And my deepest gratitude."

"I am not yet ready to accept your apology." Meki said. "But your people are welcome to the warmth."

The King immediately ordered his sorcerer to see Meki and the young prince to their homes.

From that day forward, the kingdoms were melded. Though they maintained some boundaries, no longer did they wield absolute power over any type of weather. Parts of the year were warm, parts cool. The King of what had once been Winter stayed in the North and the weather there remained cooler throughout the cycles. Lucius had spoken truth when he said he would live as far from the King as possible. He made his home in the South and kept a little extra of the warmth. The former kingdoms of Autumn and Spring happily lived between the other two, enjoying the change in the cycles.

And that is how we got the seasons.

As for Meki, she spent the remainder of her days exploring all of the world. She slept in snow, trekked through deserts, sailed through waters and met scores of fascinating people. In short, she lived happily ever after.

The End

Is there a minimum wage for fairy godparenting?

I always wondered about the whole fairy godmother deal. Here were my big questions:

1. Are there only fairy godmothers or are there also some fairy godfathers out there? If so, is it a godmothers deal with the girls, godfathers deal with the boys sort of deal?

2. How many fairy godparents are there? Is it one person to each fairy or do they have a heavier workload?

3. How do fairy godparents get assigned to their specific human godchild? Is it all magic? The day the child is born do the godparents feel a warm glow and think, Ah…my human godchild has arrived. Better start preparing for when their life goes to hell.? Or is it more structured, with some fairy managerial staff that doles out assignments (a la “Hey Mabel, I know I just gave you that whole mermaid/human fiasco, but I’m going to need you to take this case over in Zylagria, too. I just got a call that some kids have been nibbling on Doris’ cottage again and she is reacting….poorly. Don’t know what she expected, building the damn thing out of candy. I’d give it to Merryweather, but I just had to send her over to help Flora and Fauna. They’re having a hell of a time with some spindle situation. Don’t even ask. It's just one of those days.”)

These are the questions that plagued my little kid head (and continue to haunt my big kid one). If any of you have answers to them, I would appreciate it greatly.

I will also accept speculation.


Now, to continue with our story.....

Part IV

"This is wrong." Meki said.

"Yes," Lucius agreed. "But we can't do anything about it."

"What if we could?"

"You want to help them? Their king kidnapped us!"

"We can't punish them for his actions." Meki continued to scan the frozen road. "Lucius, they're freezing."

"I won't take the warmth from my people."

"No, of course not." Meki agreed. "But what if it could be shared?"

"How?"

"I have an idea."

Before she could tell Lucius what it was, an explosion of ice flecks erupted in front of them. The Winter King stood before them. Just behind him was the old man who had brought Meki to this place.

"Did you really think I would let you escape?" The King boomed.

"You shouldn't have taken us." Meki told him.

"My people are suffering."

"I can see that. A sad fact, to be sure, but not one that excuses your actions."

"You will give us the warmth." The King demanded.

"Never." Lucius replied.

"Then you will die by my sword." Upon making this threat, the King pulled a sword made entirely of ice from his scabbard.

Looking for Something A Little Different

As a kid, most of my earliest exposure to fairy tales was through Disney movies, which I loved (still regularly sing most of the songs, as a matter of fact). But that’s not to say that I didn’t have some criticisms.

First and foremost, I never liked Prince Charming. A lot of this stemmed from the fact that I was convinced that the prince in Cinderella and the prince in Snow White were the same guy, making him a pretty big jerk. Plus, that name? Not only did he not live up to it, but does it really get more pompous than that? I always assumed he was the son of King Too Awesome For My Own Good and Queen I’m Prettier Than You.

And then, on top of all of this, he was boring. Of course, there were problems on the other end of the spectrum, too. The Beast, with his borderline psychotic anger management issues comes to mind. Certainly not boring, but not exactly an easy guy to hang out with.

The fellas were certainly not alone in their personality defects. The ladies were often right there with them (Snow White, people have tried to kill you and you’re still naïve enough to accept food from strangers??)

Again, I’m not saying I didn’t love these movies or that I don’t still pull out the VHS’s from time to time (rockin’ it old school). As long as I can remember, though, I’ve been thinking, How would I do this differently?

Part III

Meki crept along the damp walls of the narrow hallway. The sound of the man's yelling grew closer. Through a hole in the stone Meki saw a handsome young man get struck by a guard. He stumbled backward, but did not fall.

He spit out blood. "You will get nothing from me."

"You will give us the secret to the warmth." The guard smiled cruelly. "Or you will never again feel the sun upon your face." Hitting the young man once more, the guard left.

Meki began to chant softly under her breath. The hole in the stone wall widened into a doorway. The man swung around to face the new attack and stared at her, clearly confused.

"Come on!" Meki urged. "Before he comes back."

The man joined her in the hallway and she closed the wall.

"How did you do that?" He asked.

"A sorceress showed me."

"Why?"

Meki shrugged. "I like to see the inside of rocks."

He paused for a second, pondering that. "That's very strange."

"I just saved your life." Meki gave him a shove. "I'm not sure criticizing my hobbies is the best way to show your appreciation."

He gave a small bow. "Of course. My apologies. I am grateful the help. Who are you?"

"Meki, Countess of Spring. And you?"

"My name is Lucius. I'm the Prince of Summer. Were you captured as well?"

"You ask a lot of questions. But, yes, I was. And now I'm going to find a way home." Not waiting for his next query, she set off down the hallway. She heard him following behind her. Eventually they reached a dead end, and using the spell once more, moved back out into the cold.

Immediately, she began to violently shiver.

"We are not dressed for this." Lucius pointed out.

"No, but we haven't many other choices. Come on, we need to move."

They had come out of the castle on the opposite side from where Meki entered. She saw a small town just past the gates. As they made there way to it, Meki noticed the small spirals of smoke coming from each of the chimneys. The tiny tendrils barely made a dent in the cold wind.

Not everyone found shelter in the small houses. People huddled together on the streets in an effort to escape from the bitter cold.

Meki's stomach dropped as she looked around at the tortured citizens......