Fodder for fable is fuel for the imagination.

I’ve been glued to my local news channel all week.  Between Eyjafjallajökull and  the lost treasure of the Saxons, I have been a news junkie.  

“What Saxon treasure,” you ask?  Gasp and guffaw!

Well, last summer while I was investigating Tintagel, Glastonbury,Stonehenge, and my favorite spots in Wales, apparently, someone was doing a bit of treasure hunting a bit  to the north in Staffordshire.  Had I but known...

It turns out that a man with a metal detector, a dream and some spare time on his hands quite literally stumbled on the largest  collection of Saxon gold and silver that Britain has ever seen.  There is even a jewel encrusted sword hilt (ooh, visions of Excalibur dance in my head).  All of this dates to the Seventh century A.D. 

Be still my heart.  Just when I was wondering if my plot was going in the right direction, here comes National Geographic to reassure me. Sigh...

With no cable, I must depend on the kindness of others to see the special tonight.  So far, I’ve sneaked a peek online, and on the morning news whetting my appetite for the mysteries yet to unfold regarding the gold, garnet, and silver weapons and trinkets found in a farmer’s field.  

Check out  the National Geographic website~http://www.nationalgeographic.com/   

to take a look at this and all the assorted articles that thrill nerds, such as I am.  

Scientists figure it will take years to get to the truth of this archaeological treasure trove.  I already have some ideas of my own.   Anyone else out there interested in guessing about the treasure???

Could this be the fodder for the legend of Arthur’s knights, the roundtable, and Excaliber?  So far, I’ve checked out medieval hill forts,  ancient Roman/Briton sites, Tintagel, Merlin’s mound, the glass lake area, old abbeys, subterranean caves, and stone circles all around Britain (England, Scotland,and Wales), plus various sites around Ireland.  There is not much evidence to support that the stories have no basis.  

Remember, somewhere between fact and fiction lies the real stories that help build the myth...and therein lies the magic.

Fodder for fable...fuel for the imagination.

I’ve been glued to my local news channel all week.  Between Eyjafjallajökull erupting all over Iceland, and interrupting  the rest of the globe,  and  the lost treasure of the Saxons, I have been a news junkie.  

“What Saxon treasure,” you ask? 

Gasp and guffaw!  I can't believe you don't already know!

Well, last summer while I was investigating Tintagel, Glastonbury,Stonehenge, and my favorite spots in Wales, apparently, someone was doing a bit of treasure hunting a bit  to the north in Staffordshire.  Had I but known...

It turns out that a man with a metal detector, a dream and some spare time on his hands quite literally stumbled on the largest  collection of Saxon gold and silver that Britain has ever seen.  There is even a jewel encrusted sword hilt (ooh, visions of Excalibur dance in my head).  All of this dates to the Seventh century A.D. 

Be still my heart.  Just when I was wondering if my plot was going in the right direction, here comes National Geographic to reassure me. Sigh...

With no cable, I must depend on the kindness of others to see the special tonight.  So far, I’ve sneaked a peek online, and on the morning news whetting my appetite for the mysteries yet to unfold regarding the gold, garnet, and silver weapons and trinkets found in a farmer’s field.  

Check out  the National Geographic website~http://www.nationalgeographic.com/   

to take a look at this and all the assorted articles that thrill nerds, such as I am.  

Scientists figure it will take years to get to the truth of this archaeological treasure trove.  I already have some ideas of my own.   Anyone else out there interested in guessing about the treasure???

Could this be the fodder for the legend of Arthur’s knights, the roundtable, and Excaliber?  So far, I’ve checked out medieval hill forts,  ancient Roman/Briton sites, Tintagel, Merlin’s mound, the glass lake area, old abbeys, subterranean caves, and stone circles all around Britain (England, Scotland,and Wales), plus various sites around Ireland.  There is not much evidence to support that the stories have no basis.  

Remember, somewhere between fact and fiction lies the real stories that help build the myth...and therein lies the magic.

DragDragons rule!

Dragons Rule!

Hurrah for mythical creatures.  Hurray for the imagination that creates such wonderful stories through books, films, and art.

When I was a child, my father plucked a thorn from a rose stem, stuck the flat side to my head and said, “There, you’re a unicorn.”  What magic there was in those words.  I was four.  Around the same time I saw Sleeping Beauty for the first time.  Though she was the antagonist, I saw the beauty in that animated fire-breathing creature that existed within Malificent’s being.  It seemed that the power of a thorn had transformed mad faerie to dragon.

I’ve loved unicorns and dragons ever since.  When I was in college, I attended a renaissance faire and chanced upon “Lancelot”, a unicorn  (a goat bred with one horn).  He was traveling the  renfest circuit, and making quite a hit with the crowds.  Love at first site.  He trotted over to me and, yes, plopped his head down in my lap and sat contentedly. No laughing out there~seriously.

This week, I am consumed with a sense of wonder for those things the modern world considers mythological.  The Greek and Roman gods, creatures, King Arthur, etc.  I’ve skulked around caves in Cymry (Wales) and Cornwall (England), and can verily imagine such beings and beasts.  Such architectural marvels as exist in some of the most remote areas of the world give me cause to wonder at their creation.

Of course, that leads me to simultaneously marvel a the commonalities in folk tales around the world.  From faerie tales, to pour-quoi tales, there exist many common factors.  Giants, beasts, dragons, angels, sea monsters,  treasures, fey, miracles.  

So, tell me, dear readers, what  creatures do you believe in? What creatures or tales inspire a sense of wonder in you?

Dragons rule!

Hurrah for mythical creatures.  Hurray for the imagination that creates such wonderful stories through books, films, and art.

When I was a child, my father plucked a thorn from a rose stem, stuck the flat side to my head and said, “There, you’re a unicorn.”  What magic there was in those words.  I was four.  Around the same time I saw Sleeping Beauty for the first time.  Though she was the antagonist, I saw the beauty in that animated fire-breathing creature that existed within Malificent’s being.  It seemed that the power of a thorn had transformed mad faerie to dragon.

I’ve loved unicorns and dragons ever since.  When I was in college, I attended a renaissance faire and chanced upon “Lancelot”, a unicorn  (a goat bred with one horn).  He was traveling the  renfest circuit, and making quite a hit with the crowds.  Love at first site.  He trotted over to me and, yes, plopped his head down in my lap and sat contentedly. No laughing out there~seriously.

This week, I am consumed with a sense of wonder for those things the modern world considers mythological.  The Greek and Roman gods, creatures, King Arthur, etc.  I’ve skulked around caves in Cymry (Wales) and Cornwall (England), and can verily imagine such beings and beasts.  Such architectural marvels as exist in some of the most remote areas of the world give me cause to wonder at their creation.

Of course, that leads me to simultaneously marvel a the commonalities in folk tales around the world.  From faerie tales, to pour-quoi tales, there exist many common factors.  Giants, beasts, dragons, angels, sea monsters,  treasures, fey, miracles.  

So, tell me, dear readers, what  creatures do you believe in? What creatures or tales inspire a sense of wonder in you?

Judging a book...

Be forewarned~ I am about to annoy those who are narrow minded, and this may end up being  politically  incorrect.  As my father would have said, "Wheeeee! Let the fun begin!"

I used to work at the airport in Newark.  We had a grubby man who came up every week to buy a ticket home to  North Carolina.  He looked horribly ill-kemp, spoke with a pronounced southern accent, and paid cash for his tickets.  While some others did not particularly like to wait on him, I found him to be charming.  It turned out, he owned a salvage and disposal company in New Jersey, and commuted.  He was probably one of the wealthiest--and most humble--customers we had travel on our flights.  And he was also one of our most loyal customers.

This week, I became aware that several acquaintances were wary of allowing their middle school students to attend a county-wide field trip festival day to a Renaissance Faire, based primarily on the notion that they didn't like the kids being exposed to "those kinds of people".

What kind of people?  Actors?  Artisans?  Merchants?

I suspect the prejudice here is that in keeping with the characters they portray, many of "those people" sport long hair, tattoos, pierced ears (and occasionally eyebrows), and facial hair.

Gasp and Guffaw!

Truth be told, I have been involved with Renaissance faires for nearly thirty years both as patron, and occasionally as performer/server.  The fact is, the majority of the faire folk are employed in regular jobs throughout the week, or they are busy creating the wares they sell. 

 I knew a man who sold medical equipment for twenty years (suit and tie and all), before he decided to try his hand at selling custom designed boots on the renfest circuit.  He lost the suit, grew a beard, and made a modest living traveling the country working for a west coast based company that created the footwear.  And he found wonderful happiness in his work.  He would definitely be classified as one of  "those people".  

I have known people who worked as martial arts instructors, teachers, accountants, booksellers, and even architectural and engineering design assistants who spent their weekends donning period costumes and affecting accents to create a world from the past, for the enjoyment of others.

These are the people we're supposed to be  wary of?

The same people who are eager to label the law school student as a ne'er do well because of his garb and coif, are likely to proclaim a book with the word  "sorcerer"  in the title, a heinous creation of some atheistic monster.  Consider how ludicrous that last supposition is.  Now, consider how on-the-mark it is.

The performers are just that.  They adopt a character and perform for their target audience.  When the county sends the schools to the faire on that special day, the performers, and vendors, and artisans will cater to that special target audience.  I doubt that they will judge the teachers or the masses by the rudeness of a few patrons.  I doubt that they judge the crowd by their lack of costume, or the money in their pockets, but will focus on the laughter, and the smiles, and the joy that they, as performers, inspire.

And if, by some miracle, a student ends up picking up a book, or doing some research on the Renaissance period, or takes up fencing,  then maybe  those who were initially so concerned will take the time to thank "those kinds of people" for their dedication.

I know.  I doubt it, too.  But it is wishful thinking.

  

 

The Olympics have seduced me.  I am not sleeping; I don't care about celebrities' love lives or press conferences; I have even forsaken reruns of favorite television shows.  Who knew snow boarding could be such a spectator sport?  And I don't even like snow.

Wait. I do not personally have anything against snow.  I just don't like to shovel it, or drive in it, or have to walk a dog in it.   If I can just enjoy the fire, watching the flurries, sipping hot tea, and reading a good book, then snow is wonderful.  And as a device in plotting, snow is good. Characters can get trapped in a snow storm.  Snow can slow the action down, can be used to enhance romance, intensify suspense, or provide humor.   And don't forget the conversations characters can have regarding how each flake is unique.  Why, snow, in this case has even provided me with a subject for today's ramble.

Last week, a friend taking a quick trip was delayed a due to snow.  She had to chortle a bit at the inane behavior of her fellow passengers when the airport they were traveling to closed due to blizzard conditions.  Everyone seem so upset that the airport had closed due to bad weather and low visibility (de-icing delays might have been foreshadowing).

While everyone else was yelling at the customer service agents (because apparently they should possess the power to control the weather), my friend sauntered over a cozy corner, dialed reservations, gave the res agent the pertinent information and got booked on the first flight for the  morning.  She then popped into the news stand for some snacks and a drink, then returned to her cozy corner where she set up the cot that the airline had provided for the passengers.  

When her fellow passengers questioned her about why she wasn't in line at the desk, she told them.  While they were foolishly yelling at the agents who had no control over the weather situation, she had taken care of business like a responsible adult should.  Their amazement was no doubt compounded by the fact that she had gotten one of the last seats on the first flight the next day.  No complaining.  No yelling. No problem.  She was ready to pull out her  laptop and watch "hulu" for the next few hours until she fell asleep.

Ironically,  she was probably one of the youngest travelers on the flight (in her mid-twenties).   Her parents raised her right... life is an adventure, not a tantrum waiting to happen.

Despite the fact it was Valentine's weekend, and she hadn't seen her husband in weeks, and he couldn't drive the four hours to meet her at her connection airport because roads were closed, she found the good in her situation.  A warm, quiet space.  A moment to reflect (she wasn't trapped in a ditch, she wasn't trapped outside in the cold).  Just like life--she reasoned--snow happens.

For those wondering how her story ends, she made it to her destination the next morning.  Her husband was thrilled to see her, and they had a wonderful (albeit short) weekend together. Most importantly...everyone remained safe.  

As for me, I am grateful that these days the only snow I have to worry about is the kind I get on the television.

     

A Pocket Full of Change~

In the past couple of weeks, I have been reminded just how a little change can make a big difference.

   Following the earthquake that ravaged Haiti, everyone started collecting money, including a small school in Tampa.  Though the student body is small (around 150 students), their hearts are big.  The kids were challenged by Student Council to create a dime line; the classroom that yielded the longest line of dimes would win the accolades of their efforts, and a small prize (like a free dress day, or a pizza party).  

   With less than a week's notice, the students rose to the the challenge.  Even the local media turned out to document their efforts.  Spirits soared with a "spirit day" attire as parents, staff, and students laid dimes side by side.  When all was said and done, the students managed to raise more than three thousand dollars.    Most importantly, they did it not so much for themselves as for others.  All from a coin that used to have a store named after it .Remember the "Five and Dime"? Go ahead, look it up.

   The second example of change appears in this week's TIME magazine which features an article about a man who hopes to foster a small change, himself, by opening a coffee house and used bookstore in Cairo, Illinois.  Although Chris Johnston is not a native, he hopes to help become part of a solution for a town that has dwindled over the past several decades.  The "Ace of Cups" might be a small step in the right direction.

   Think about it.  Coffee, books, conversation.  If communication is a pathway to change, why not offer an opportunity to grab a cup, and a chair, and engage in something that can bring people together.  Stories shared.   A history preserved.   Something so simple could help build bridges in the community.

   Admittedly, I have fond memories of Cairo.  Since my grandmother and grandfather and assorted other relatives lived there (some still do), I spent many muggy summer afternoons strolling along the sidewalk in front of my grandmother's porch, playing with cousins. Occasionally Grandma would take us to Woolworth's, where she worked, and we would be allowed to choose something from the "five-and-dime" bins.  

   Once, when I was about four years old, my grandfather bought a sack of tomatoes from a roadside market. For about fifty cents, we got a large paper grocery bag filled with juicy red fruit balls only slightly  larger than my four-year-old fist.  Grandpa and I sat down on the stoop, and he showed me how to eat a tomato  and thoroughly enjoy it, sprinkling it with a shake of salt for flavor, and giggling as the juice ran down our arms.  The messier it was, the better it tasted.

     As cited in the article, there were many reasons that this small river town (immortalized by Mark Twain's scamps, Tom and Huck),  began to fade as a center for commerce.   And yet, there may be just as many reasons to try to reinvent the sleepy town that rolls up its sidewalks as the sun begins to sink. 

     Cairo is a testament to history, both the good and the bad.  It is the first city one passes through when crossing into the state, heading north.  It sits cradled between Missouri to the west, and Kentucky, to the east.  Just across the river is a significant archaeological excavation.   The "City of New Orleans" train stops in Cairo around midnight to let weary college students off, before continuing on to the Crescent City.  

Most importantly, Cairo is where the mighty Mississippi and Ohio rivers meet.  Standing at the "Point" park just south of the town, one can see the dark murky waters of the Mississippi as it blends with the current of the Ohio.  And it is an amazing thing to see.   There is a fantastic sense of force, of nature, and of  time flowing incessantly as the currents combine and continue toward the Gulf.

Remember, I mentioned that Huck and Tom visited Cairo in Twain's books?   I can very well imagine their adventures.  I think my uncle and my dad used those tales as a guidebook for adventure. My daughter just finished reading Huck's adventures.  She had no problem envisioning the river.  She'd been there often enough.

Magnolias, hydrangea bushes, front porch swings, and Shemwell's pressed barbecue sandwiches  are all part of the Cairo I grew up enjoying. 

Change helped transform a school's spirit; it promises to help a nation irrevocably changed by tragedy; and change might help save a town struggling not to fade into history. 

Ah, to revisit childhood and once again know  that sense of wonder that a small bit of change can inspire...That would definitely be worth the price of a cup of coffee.