The sunrise this morning was breathtaking—and divided between the front yard and the backyard, as the weather so often is. The sky glowed Jack-o-lantern orange in the back, where Luna and Berkley play. Across the road, over the frosty field that Sneaky the cat used to haunt, it was a gentle rose.
The garage’s skylight sparkled, silver.
I can’t say, with any certainty, that winter weather is on its way. Just last week, we hit 68 degrees Fahrenheit! The week before, many local schools had morning delays.
This is life, I guess. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. And absolutely beautiful.
A dear friend, for Christmas 2019, gifted us a coffee table calendar. Each day features the picture of a dog and an inspirational quote. Sometimes, the dogs aren’t exactly “pretty” and the quotes aren’t exactly “thought-provoking”. However, I have found joy in seeing what each new day will bring. The picture of a poodle? A pug? A retriever? Will the quote be by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow? Helen Keller? Ralph Waldo Emerson?
Each day has been a surprise, and, yes, as a hoarder, I have held onto the pages that have resonated with me!
Recently, a chocolate lab with its bubble-gum-pink tongue sticking out, shared the page with this timely quote by Anatole France:
The truth is that life is delicious, horrible, charming, frightful, sweet, bitter, and that is everything.
It really is “everything”. Life is a coin with two sides. As we so often hear, we don’t know love until we’ve been heartbroken. We don’t know what happiness is, until we’ve been brought low.
So many of us feel low right now.
I am delighted by the solutions that the people around me have concocted.
Melancholy? Bring on the magic of Christmas!
Need some light? String up those holiday strands, across the front porch and roofline (we never took ours down; let’s hope they still work)!
Need something corny and sweet? Try a Christmas-themed movie.
I was recently introduced to a Netflix original series entitled, Dash and Lily. I’m only one episode in, but I can’t wait to watch #2! Thus far, the series has been surprisingly cerebral and yet soaked in city lights and holiday traditions.
Caroling? It’s got that—and it’s got me singing Christmas hymns and carols whenever I wash the dishes (which seems to be a never-ending task). BTW – anyone know all the words to “Frosty the Snowman”? I’ve somehow forgotten them….
AND—this might be the best part of Dash and Lily for me—much of it seems to revolve around a bookstore! There’s simply no way that I, a book worm, can walk away from a rom-com set among bookshelves.
It seems, in our COVID-infected world, that heralding Christmas cheer, light and generosity into our daily lives may be a salve for the sadness. A tincture for the terrible fear. A compress for the confusion.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. I can’t express how much you mean to me. Light up your world—with white lights, multi-color lights, blinking lights (if you must). Sing carols and children’s songs while scrubbing the silverware. Relax with a holiday film or show. It’s not rushing the season; it’s self-care.
So much has happened over the past two weeks! Most of it has been downright beautiful, deserving to be photographed, but alas, this writer did not stop to snap any shots. This blog entry, then, will be an exercise in both imagination and prose. Think of it as a pictureless scrapbook.
Can you, Dear Readers, ‘see’ what I saw?
“Come and see what we found!” My husband’s voice was full of excitement.
He had spent the morning in the garage with his best friend, organizing the first floor. Similar to most garages, ours was cluttered with tools, garden supplies and other items that simply don’t belong in the house.
Although a small space—so small, in fact, that only a compact car can fit in it—our garage holds secrets.
We inherited a woodstove, brown with rust, as well as a hip-high, once white, farmhouse-style cabinet. It’s black, wrought iron hinges and handles whisper of another life—a life spent in a warm kitchen where such charming hardware can be cared for and admired. If it weren’t for the drawers of curled, yellow newspaper and an overabundance of “chocolate sprinkles”, I would gladly rehabilitate the cabinet and give it the home it deserves. But…you know… “chocolate sprinkles”.
Crawlspaces underneath stairs tend to be spooky with cobwebs and dust motes—and ours had all of these things—but it also harbored another woodstove!
Hidden behind a metal cabinet, my husband and his friend uncovered a replica Jotul 118 woodstove.
It was love at first sight (for me, anyways).
The replica, albeit quite rusty, features a wrought iron tableau on both of its longer sides. This tableau, in carefully crafted images, is essentially my cultural heritage. There are two lumberjacks wielding a double-handled saw. Their horse waits nearby as they undergo the slow work of felling a pine tree. A small log cabin, bordered by a deciduous tree, seems to be a fox’s intended destination. Behind the lumberjacks stands a grand moose and his family. My heart, like the birds in the wrought-iron tableau, soared with appreciation for this artwork, for this glimpse into the past. My past.
I am, after all, the woodcutter’s daughter.
The White Mountains are Ablaze
Wednesday of last week included a trip to Boston for another transplant follow-up. I drove the first leg of the journey, through Vermont and New Hampshire, with my brother riding shotgun. He did the ‘city’ driving (thank goodness!). We listened to comedy sketches, belly-laughing, until we caught sight of the White Mountains.
New Hampshire’s peaks were ablaze with scarlet, orange and gold! Set against a nearly cloudless azure-colored sky, the Autumn foliage was utterly breathtaking.
Breathe in the spectacular change of seasons, welcome the harvest and its fruits.
My harvest? After years of doing everything I have been told to do by my physicians, I am now on a “we’ll see you in a year” schedule with Boston. It’s a bittersweet victory. I’ve come to respect and love my transplant doctors, depending on them to keep me safe and healthy. It’s like graduating from high school or college—you’ve been waiting and working for this accomplishment—and, when it arrives, you’re not quite sure how to feel.
You’re going to miss the way things were. Even though traveling four-and-a-half hours there and back is tedious, those rides were often filled with singing and important conversations (like when and where to get married). Still, the excellent blood counts and the taste of freedom, is thrilling. It’s the end of a chapter, closing with a late-night ferry ride on glasslike waters and silver stars illuminating the nearly impenetrable darkness of the sky.
My windshield, in need of a thorough scrub, was speckled with water droplets. Despite the heated seats and my fleece-lined stockings, I was freezing…and, stuck in the school’s parking lot. I had just finished interviewing at a local school district and was blocked in, actually, by a gathering of buttercup-yellow school buses (‘cheese boxes’, as an older cousin called them, when we were growing up).
While I waited for the buses’ departure, I spied a pair of deer across the road. They were grazing underneath an apple tree, undisturbed by their proximity to a house or to the line of buses. Maybe it was my dirty windshield, but the deer seemed framed by a thin mist, much like using a vignette in Adobe Light Room (the program I use when editing pictures).
These were the words that filled my mind.
Frosty (And, Not the Snowman)
The sun rose slowly yesterday morning, as it does these days, revealing not a green lawn but a silver-white one. The garage roof looked as though it had an inch of snow on it! Fallen leaves glittered in the first true rays of sunshine. Luna and Berkley’s breath, visible as wispy clouds, filled the silence. Even the newly arrived winter birds were still.
This—this heavy frost—was and is a promise of the winter to come.
“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” – Albert Einstein.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for taking this adventure with me. I hope you could “see” New Hampshire’s colorful mountains and our frosty lawn. Sending prayers, love and light your way.
Luna and Berkley are snoring—a comforting melody for this writer. Why? Because I’m not sure how this entry is going to work out. There have been so many moments this summer that have been absolute treasures…but to share them all in one blog post…is going to require faith, patience, and self-compassion. Writing THIS will be a challenge.
Fasten your seat-belts. This might get bumpy.
It’s probably best to start indoors—in the office, actually, where Alderaan spends the afternoons sleeping in my desk chair. There’s a towel covering that seat now; he has sharp claws capable of puncturing faux-leather and he sheds like it’s going out of style. Despite the punctures and the hair, this little guy holds my heart in his paw.
Earlier in the season, he went to the veterinarian’s office for an annual check-up and his distemper shot. I had suspected that Aldie might be experiencing dental issues. He was leaving pieces of hard food, outside of his dish. They were half-chewed, half-moons. As my writing companion, he had no problem weaving around my laptop, but he did so with atrocious-smelling breath (no offense buddy).
My suspicions were confirmed after his check-up, when the vet said that Alderaan was in great health, except for having “severe” dental decay. As someone that had to have a dental evaluation prior to bone marrow transplant (because bad teeth can be a gateway for infection), I knew that I had to schedule this procedure for my beloved Aldie.
The result? He’s a kitten again!
He’s been playing with his toys, dragging them around. Alderaan has been more vocal—especially when he thinks dinner should be served. He is a gray streak racing alongside the second floor’s banisters.
He even raised a paw at Luna when she got in his face one morning (something he has never done before).
Although he has transformed into a spitfire, Alderaan still makes time for his more sedentary, favorite activities, like sitting in the kitchen window while I wash the dishes.
Luna and Berkley, too, are experiencing a renaissance of sorts.
Perhaps their new-found energy has its roots in their puppy play dates with Finnegan (read “Berkley Turns Three”, dated 7/27/2020, to meet our friend, Finnegan), but this 2 and 3-year-old are experiencing the zoomies again! Every night, around 5pm, they start racing around the house, playing rough and showing off their rather impressive canine teeth.
It’s all fun and games to them; to me, witnessing this vivacity is inspiring, and hopeful—maybe, someday, I’ll get some of my pre-transplant energy back?
I find inspiration in other places as well—specifically the great outdoors.
Prior to this year’s garden, I had the thumb of impending plant death. It has been both a surprise and a gift to actually grow vegetables and flowers!
As a child, I picked flowers. As an adult, I like to take pictures of them. I hope I never set this joy aside.
The Outdoor Art Club also gives me joy. Earlier in August, we visited St. Patrick’s Oratory and Mother Cabrini’s Shrine in Peru, NY.
I got lost on the way there, of course, but getting lost is half the adventure!
The oratory’s grounds were verdant—offering everything from fruit trees to yes, more flowers:
It wasn’t just the flowers that caught my attention. There was a walking trail through the woods, encouraging contemplation via a variety of spiritual icons:
The shrine, open to the outdoor air, was the perfect blend of nature and sanctuary.
To the left of Mother Cabrini’s shrine was a small, well-maintained field with the stations of the cross.
To the right of Mother Cabrini’s shrine, and sprawling behind the oratory, was a cemetery. Little known fact (or maybe it’s known) about me, is that I LOVE cemeteries. Funerary art is fascinating! The gravity and sanctity of a cemetery plot reminds me of just how fleeting life is and how very important it is to love and to live while we’re here.
Love, it seems, is the key to everything. How we act. How we speak. How we spend our time. Alderaan wasn’t in the kitchen window when I observed a robin feeding a youngster. I thought this scene was a bit odd, since this ‘youngster’ had functional wings, two legs and a beak that could clearly open. Its feathers were still marked with white spots, though, and this—this vulnerability reminded me of a passage I recently read in Deuteronomy 32:10-11.
In a desert land he found him,
in a barren and howling waste.
He shielded him and cared for him;
he guarded him as the apple of his eye,
like an eagle that stirs up its nest
and hovers over its young,
that spreads its wings to catch them
And carries them aloft.
– As written in the New International Version of the Holy Bible
This is God’s great love…and, yet, I can see it reflected in that mother robin’s dark eyes, too.
The summer seems to be passing us by. Crickets are chirping all day and all night now. There are red leaves on the lawn and in the little trees surrounding our porch.
There is a sadness in this. I try to remind myself that, as the garden starts to wilt, “everything has its season”. This is natural. This is life.
I deadhead my flowers, now, and tuck them away in the office to air-dry.
Later, when September arrives, I will savor a mug of hot apple cider and plan next summer’s garden.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here today. I hope the transition of seasons gives you time to reflect, smile with joy, and build future plans. Sending prayers, love and light your way.
We left home in the early afternoon, when the sun was high in the sky, and a touch too warm for a leather jacket and jeans. It was an adventure, though, and any degree of discomfort was worth enduring.
The motorcycle purred as we chose to take the back roads to Lake Placid instead of the usual route via the interstate.
The back roads—some damaged by winters’ frost heaves—were bumpy, curvy and framed by a beautiful array of wild flowers. Queen Anne’s Lace, Thistle and Black-eyed Susan’s were just a few of the fragrant blooms on display.
There were stands of elegant white birch, moss and ferns growing up alongside their trunks.
Passing through one sleepy hamlet, I noticed that many of the driveways had a chair positioned at the end of them. The chairs—an assortment of plastic, wooden, wicker—seemed to be in decent shape; no broken legs or frayed cushions. They clearly weren’t set by the roadside for garbage pickup and disposal. Neither did they serve a decorative purpose as none of them were festooned with containers of summer flowers.
It was a curious pattern…one that I still wonder about…and may or may not use in a piece of fiction someday!
In busier locales, the sidewalks teamed with young families and roaming teenagers. Swimmers and beach towels dotted winding river banks.
We came to an abrupt stop for two, white geese, waddling across the road.
As we drove deeper into the Adirondack Park, we were enveloped by the fresh scent of pine trees.
Arriving in Lake Placid, we parked in the lot directly across from our destination: Emma’s Lake Placed Creamery. The line of prospective patrons flowed out of the parlor’s door and out onto the sidewalk. Hungry and overheated, we decided to have a late lunch. We found the perfect place to eat—Generations Tap & Grill—a ‘hop-skip-and-a-jump’ away from the creamery.
Once seated on the restaurant’s spacious porch, we ordered the “Firetower”—a handmade Bavarian pretzel of epic proportions (accompanied by two dipping sauces) as well as a club sandwich that was so generous that we had to share it. Coupled with an IPA for the hubby and a cider for myself, our late lunch gave us all the sustenance that we needed to continue exploring the home of the 1980 Winter Olympics.
Our first stop was the Alpine Mall. I instantly fell in love with the shop, ‘Vision of Tibet’! Lured in by a rack of silk and cotton dresses, I soon found myself immersed in the beauty and rich culture of the Himalayas. There was jewelry and additional clothing items, but the items that spoke to us the most were the handcrafted singing bowls and the prayer flags strung from the boutique’s opposite walls and augmenting the ceiling. A tapestry, with an embroidered quote from the Dali Lama, caught our attention as well. It described the purpose of life—a good life—and it rang true.
Leaving the Alpine Mall, we took a sharp right and tacked ourselves onto the end of Emma’s line. Once again, the queue stretched from the creamery’s threshold to the sidewalk. The sun was shining brightly still, heating the cement underneath our feet, and making the promise of cold ice cream all the more irresistible.
Except, that, by the time we reached the door, the number of tasty (and creative options) were almost overwhelming! Hard ice cream, soft serve, milkshakes, Sundaes, Bubble tea, gelato, ice cream cake, edible cookie dough, cookie sandwiches, smoothies—and, then, the Crazy Shakes.
Knowing that it could be years before I made my way back to Lake Placid, I decided to take a leap of faith and let my sweet tooth make this difficult decision.
I chose the Cookies &Cream Crazy Shake—and it was crazy delicious!
The shake itself, an incredible blend of vanilla ice cream and Oreo cookies, would have been enough to fulfill my sugar cravings. But the shake’s creators hadn’t stopped there. Oh, no—not only were there actual cookie chunks in the shake—it was topped off with a tower of Oreo cookie sandwiches (with vanilla ice cream centers rolled in rainbow sprinkles!).
It was a work of art that elicited so many smiles:
Crossing the street, to the parking lot where the motorcycle was, we sat down beside the lot’s sign and began to feast on our own chilly treats.
“Where’d you get that?” A passerby asked me. “I think I need one.”
I was amused by how one, sugary, flawlessly constructed shake could draw out such joy—not only my own, but that of all those who glimpsed it.
The drawback of this masterpiece? I’m a messy eater to begin with, and, in the afternoon heat, my shake melted too quickly. I had grabbed a handful of napkins while in the creamery, but I wasn’t prepared for this:
I was so covered in cookie crumbs, that I needed help putting my mask back on—all so I could dive back into Emma’s for more napkins. Such a feat should have been complicated by the line of customers, but my cookie-covered hands seemed to grant me easy (and quick) passage.
To say I was ‘full’ after devouring the shake would be a lie. I was beyond full—full of ice cream, happiness, joy. Climbing back onto the motorcycle was no simple task in such a state, but a little girl, standing beside her father saying, “I want to watch the motorcycle”, somehow bolstered my resolve.
Girls can ride motorcycles, too.
We ended our trip at Donnelly’s Ice Cream in Saranac Lake. Donnelly’s is a well-known favorite for those of us who are native to the North Country. The little shop makes one flavor of ice cream a day. Once the stand sells out, that’s that. Shop closed. Fortunately, we made it before the ice cream was gone!
An arranged meeting, we joined a good friend in Donnelly’s parking lot. After we each enjoyed an extremely thick, creamy strawberry-vanilla twist, we took the back roads home.
Thank you, Dear Readers, once again for continuing this journey with me. I do hope, that the next time that you go adventuring, you choose to take the less known roads. Sending prayers, love and light your way.
With Love & Gratitude,
Resources for the Curious:
To learn more about Donnelly’s Ice Cream, visit them on Facebook.
Vision of Tibet can also be found on Facebook, specifically @LPVisionoftibet
I am aware that hiding from it is impossible. I am reminded of this every time that my husband returns home from his shift at the hospital. Despite the fact that he has changed and showered at work, I immediately sanitize everything that he touches. Because this is real…and terrifying.
I cried this morning.
Dear Readers, I need a break.
I need an opportunity to think, and write, about other subjects…so, here it is…eclectic moments from the past few weeks.
Gunpowder & Geese
It happened the last weekend in March.
I became a card-carrying member of a remote shooting range!
Do I like guns? I’m…well…still wary of them, even after my husband walked me through all of the safety precautions and procedures.
Am I a hunter? Absolutely not, and neither do I have any desire to become one.
Yet, in these “uncertain times”, with reports of shady characters lurking around residential areas, knowing how to handle a gun is probably not a bad skill to have.
I do hope, however, that it’s a skill that I will never have to use.
The day after we spent time at the shooting range, I could hear geese flying overhead. Flying North, flying home.
Healing & Hawks
Surprisingly, this time of forced “social distancing” and “isolation”, has gifted me with the time and the space to work on healing old wounds.
I am spending more and more time in the Bible and contemplating devotionals. I’ve been praying more. Singing more. I am in awe of this promise:
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
– Isaiah 41:10, as written in the New International Version of the Holy Bible
I’ve even been taking the occasional nap—something that those who know me well, know that I never do! I’m trying to listen to my body more. Trying to give it the time and the rest that it needs when I’ve pushed myself too far and too hard.
It was after one of these naps that I looked outside, and saw these guys across the road:
At first glance, these two birds looked like plump, Bantam hens. But they’re not! If I hadn’t watched one of them circle before landing, I would have had no clue that they were hawks.
I said a quiet prayer of gratitude that Alderaan isn’t an outside cat. These two bruisers could easily carry my 11.5-pound boy away.
Stories & Starlings
I stopped writing fiction nearly 8-months ago.
I was discouraged. Defeated. I had two unpublished novels just taking up space on various USB drives. I began to think that I wasn’t good enough, that my ideas were sub-par.
Then, I thought that maybe I was writing in the wrong genre…and began to research my options.
I needed a friendly nudge—permission, really—to write again.
That nudge came late last week when my Bone Marrow Donor and I were talking via a video call. Not only has this incredible woman given me a second chance at life, she’s given me the inspiration to start writing again.
This time, though, with all of the research that I’ve conducted, I will be taking the plunge into Christian Fiction. No, my chances of publication aren’t any better in the Christian market than they were in the Secular market. The Christian market has its own set of unique standards and criteria that will not be easy to meet.
Yet, I feel as though this is where I belong.
Perspective counts for so very much….
I audibly groaned when the starlings returned to our backyard in early March. I didn’t like them (not a Christian-like sentiment, right?). They’re mean birds, after all. And, their idea of singing is screeching! In some locales, starlings are considered to be an invasive species, as they reproduce in overwhelming numbers.
One day, I counted two-dozen starlings in the bare arms of our deciduous trees! Based solely on the cacophony echoing through our backyard, I’m fairly certain that there were quite a few more hiding out in the hedges.
Honestly, I didn’t like them.
There have been mornings in which I would have preferred a flock of Blue Jays’, and their piercing squawks, over the starlings’ shrill screams.
And, then, my perspective changed. I happened to see the starlings’ dark silhouettes against a twilight sky…and again against a cloudy sky…they were suddenly magical. Beautiful.
Well, Dear Readers, as you have witnessed, COVID-19 found multiple ways to sneak into this blog post. It’s okay, though. I feel better after writing all of this. I hope you feel better after reading it.
As always, thank you for your presence here. I am sending prayers, love and light YOUR way.
If you were a kid in the mid to late 1990’s, and you were lucky enough to be home from school on-time, you may have watched a cartoon entitled, “Gargoyles”. If you were anything like I was during my late-elementary school years, you would have fallen in love with this show!
I mean, what’s not to love? It was the perfect blend of science and sorcery. And, the characters! They were amazing and so memorable! I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want to be fierce like Demona, flying away with a haunting screech and glowing, scarlet eyes?
For those of you who were not 90’s kids, and missed out on this cartoon, gargoyles (according to the show) were an ancient race of mythical beings that had wings, talons, tails and immense strength. The clan that the cartoon features originated in medieval Scotland. There, the clan protected a human castle. Although ferocious and nearly invincible at night, the gargoyles turned to stone during the day—a change that left them vulnerable. This was more than just an inconvenience or a commercial break; being stone during the day, when humanity was wide awake, made the gargoyles easy targets. A sledge hammer, a catapult, a mace…any of these tools/weapons could shatter a gargoyle and end its life.
Defending and protecting the castle by night would make one think that the castle’s inhabitants would return the favor and guard the gargoyles by day. Sadly, the humans were no match for a Viking raiding party and the conniving plans of a traitor among their own ranks. After the destruction and loss that they endured during the Viking raid, the remaining six gargoyles were turned into stone for 1000 years by the Magus (read: court sorcerer).
The gargoyle’s tale doesn’t end there, though.
The gargoyles—and the castle’s ruins—were airlifted to New York City by a multi-millionaire, David Xanatos. Xanatos is intrigued by gargoyle lore, and the spell that could not be broken “until the castle rises above the clouds”. When the spell is broken, thanks to Xanatos’ efforts, the gargoyles must learn how to survive in a modern, and fast-paced city.
That’s a lot of backstory, right? In the writing biz, that’s called, “backstory/information dumping”, and you should NEVER, EVER do it. So why am I doing it now? Well, Dear Readers, you know me well enough to know that when I break writing rules, it’s to make a point.
Despite the constant danger/possibility that I wasn’t going to be home from school in time to watch “Gargoyles”, my infatuation with them continued to grow. In fact, between episodes, I started making my own gargoyles out of discarded cardboard.
Some of these home-made gargoyles were modeled after the cartoon’s characters, but I didn’t stop creating them after I replicated Goliath, Hudson, Bronx, Broadway, Lexington and Brooklyn. Oh, no. I created my own gargoyles—over 100 of them. And, for every gargoyle that I made for myself, I’d make an identical one for my brother.
Turning cardboard into gargoyles was so much fun!
It is in this hobby, I think, that my roots as a writer can be found. The creative process went well beyond drawing a gargoyle on cardboard, coloring and cutting it out—it also included naming and developing a unique backstory for every single one of them.
I am sad to say, that as it often goes with the pastimes of childhood, my cardboard gargoyles are no more….
Thanks to Disney+, though, I can re-watch “Gargoyles”!
In viewing these episodes again, I have learned a bit about my memory’s capabilities and its limitations. It surprises me, still, when I can randomly recall the next scene or the entrance of a new character. My opinion of the cartoon has not changed; I find it amusing and even educational. As a child, I was oblivious to these carefully constructed lessons, as an adult viewer, however, I’m in awe of them and how seamlessly they are incorporated.
As the cartoon series begins, the gargoyles decide that NYC is their new home. As such, they must “serve and protect” the city’s residents. It is, after all, the “gargoyle way”. This philosophy conjures visions of hard-working police officers, yet, it’s also something that we each aspire to in our own lives. To help family, friends, and the communities that we live in, isn’t that important?
Now, the gargoyle’s new community—a fictionalized version of the Big Apple—is riddled with violent business take-overs and high-tech weaponry. When not out on patrol, some clan members enjoy watching TV. Unfortunately, the clan soon finds itself in direct combat with the television personalities that they have come to adore.
As spoken by Hudson: “Maybe we shouldn’t believe everything that we see on the TV”.
In the beginning, neither Broadway nor Hudson can read. They don’t think they’re missing out on anything—they do have a television set, after all. After the kerfuffle with their favorite celebrities, and chance encounters with other humans that convey how precious the written word is, both Broadway and Hudson decide to take the plunge and learn how to read.
By the second season, a new theme emerges: cultural preservation. The importance of honoring one’s traditions and culture is highlighted in Goliath’s travels to Japan. There, our hero meets Japanese gargoyles who are trying to preserve their belief system, BUSHIDO, by teaching it to their own young as well as to the humans that they protect. This belief system values honor, fairness, and like Goliath’s clan, incorporates, “to serve and protect”. Not only is it a code for gargoyle warriors, it’s a dictum by which to live.
After writing all of this, and re-watching season one and two (thank goodness there’s a season three!), I would like to tell Little Laura to hang on to those cardboard gargoyles just a bit longer. There was such joy in creating and sharing them! Sure, our culture tells us that as we age, we out-grow our former hobbies and must abandon them.
But, maybe, that’s wrong….
Age shouldn’t stop us from pursuing what brings us joy, what inspires us to share. Although I will not be recycling empty cereal boxes by making another clan of cardboard gargoyles—I do believe that utilizing the same artistic skills that created those gargoyles in the first place, should have a place in my adult life.
If you find joy, try to keep it.
Try to share it.
Let the shape of it evolve as you do.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here. May you find child-like joy in something today!