close call

I'm no Ebenezer. In fact, the smell of fresh pine (or even pine candles for that matter) just gets me all Christmassy. But, this Elf on the Shelf business makes me a little wary. For those not in the know, here's the lowdown: A scout Elf is sent to a family via Barnes and Noble, whereupon he or she (let's be politically correct here) is named and adopted. From that moment on, the elf is not be touched or it will lose its magic and cannot report its findings to Santa...namely, whether that child has been naughty or nice that particular day.

True parents, this is a genius tool to manipulate your children into good behavior for 25 days or so, ("ah ah ah, the elf is watching"), but it's a bit melodramatic. Part of the magic of Christmas lies in our imaginations...in the, what we don't see and never do. The reindeer we think we hear prancing on the roof, just missing Santa slipping up the chimney, or cookie crumbs left messily on the plate. Do we really need such an elf? It's cute idea in theory. It's made a bang for its buck...great for commercial America. But flawed in my traditional, perhaps simple opinion.

The other day I took the kids into the mecca bookstore as we often do...to read, chill in comfy oversized chairs, browse.

To what to their wondering eyes did appear? A whole wall full of elves covered in decorative plastic...that's what.

Much to their surprise. No. That's not the word. Shock, stun...and it was then did I witness Christmas spirit almost make a grand exit with childhood innocence trailing behind it.

"Jessica, what's that? How did they do that?" Why is our elf in so many boxes? Why is he in this STORE? Doesn't he live at the North pole with Santa or at a kid's house??!?" Insert nervous laughter.

(Fear sets in. Eyes widen.) They look to me for answers.

And I scramble. And scramble some more.

And I rest my case. But it bears repeating...

It really is our on-the-inside that holds all things beautiful. The things we do not see so readily.

I cleaned up the mess and we made it out alive. Upon return, I gave into the shpeel, gave our elf a hug for good measure and comfort, let them see he's loved and perhaps has feeling (adults are allowed to, fear not). Yet in a world where so much seems to be tactile, it feels good to know at this time all true warm and fuzzies come from somewhere inside, hidden from view...unless of course you're of this generation and are fed the tangible daily concept that $29.99 elves are reporting back to Santa and if you're not "good," he won't bring you any toys...er...Harsh.

"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye." Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

culture dawg

One of my sweetheart friends made it home. When I say home, I mean back into the world of the symphony. It's not my beeswax to say much, to put it out here, only that after a long such hiatus from what was, the days in the conservatory of music, he found his way back and in turn his way forward.

As for me, I've always been a little of this, a little of that kind of gal, but have to say I felt a little bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman going to the Symphony (sans the indecent part of course). Upon walking in to the grand lobby of one of the top 3 concert halls in the world, I notice gold adorning the gilt-edged modest architecture and handsome mythical statues that meet my gaze, and as I reach for my ticket, my bohemian white cascading skirt catches on my scuffed brown boot (yes, boots--no heels tonight) and nearly put on a new kind of show for the high-fallutings: Girl In Black Polka Pot Panties: free of charge.

"Oh, please do watch yourself, dear," said the woman taking our tickets. And I pull up my skirt up just in time, laughing too loud, as always.

The music starts and I am enchanted. The conductor is frenzied and then not. His arm moves as if detached from himself. I like him already. I hear a deep sigh beside me and know what it means. I close my eyes. There is a mercurial nature to the symphony, and it seems the more mercurial, the more I like it. The reflections of the varying instruments bounce off each other, dazzling us, or at least me, dancing together, singing their songs, and then the big kuhuna, the giant cymbal crashes making waves against the wall.

I made it through, calamity free. Mostly.

It is possible to rock here. It may not make it into my playlists, but it can, it does trigger something in the present and put you under a spell for a moment.

A little film noir. Add some percussion and he's back.

gobble no more

In the spirit of thankfulness, I'm hoping you thanked your turkey today...

If you are one of the masses... Poor, poor turkeys...

Scavengers we appear to be.

I don't think I'll ever stop being puzzled by this.

peace

I love all books, and so naturally never grew out of loving the one's when I was a kid or discovering newbies now. Ferdinand, the bull remains one of my favorite characters. He's a wallflower; I can relate. He likes to sit in green pastures, smell the flowers, take time. He's a loner. I also happen to be a literature freak (lit major, never goes away) and have the glorious dissecting bug in me...find deeper hidden meanings, sift through cultural historical text, context. But today, I read an article that tore my sweet friend Ferdinand apart, and it got me thinking...

For those that may not know, or may need a refresher, Ferdinand is the story of a bull who just didn't want to be a bullfighter. He didn't protest for peace (this comes later), he was simply being himself. His mother, a cow, realized this was who he was and let him be because it made him happy. He would go to his favorite spot under a cork tree and smell the pretty flowers, when one day a bee stung him causing him to run and charge all the way into the bullfighting ring. When he got there he saw all the flowers in the women's' hair and just sat down quietly and took in all the beauty. Everyone cheered for him to fight, but he simply wouldn't. It wasn't him. So they took him home and he was happy.

To me, for me, Beautiful story.

The article (to follow) is interesting. It has, from a nerd's point of view lots of provoking arguments and facts about the time in which the book was written, but it makes Ferdinand look bad. It makes it seem as though "sitting out" is always the bad thing to do. I'm not saying it is or it isn't. I'm just saying, I don't like slandering Ferdindand.......or am I?

The book was published in 1936, during the Spanish Civil war. At the time the book was burned by Nazi germany and forbidden in Spain. It explains Ferdinand as a tool for anti-facist propaganda. Turns out Ferdinand was too peaceful, came off as too much a pacifist by wanting to smell those flowers.

The author, Munro Leaf, always rejected any such meaning/voice/agenda, but then again he may have chose to keep quiet in times of war. Especially if he were Ferdinand himself.

Digging deeper I found Ferdinand is ever so popular out there. And it seems more towards a guide in the voice of war. This could be a good thing, and yet...I scratch my head.

I could be wrong. But I'm going to say, as a wallflower, a loner, as a lover of peace, as someone who loves to sit and smell the flowers, with my two cents, or maybe one cent...Ferdinand is lovely. He is a wonderful character, a needed character of ALL times, nations.

rockin' robin

presents...

Does a girl ever really get over her rock n' roll crush of the 90's? The answer is NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I could say No a couple more times, in fact I feel like I should for emphasis, but I'm sensing the point is clear. If it's not, they say pictures speak for themselves. This is me early, albeit really early, waiting for Him. Yes, capital necessary.

My ultimate crush, Chris Robinson of The Black Crowes. Moment of silence. Rapture. Swoon

Pitter-patter. Thump. Thump. (sound effects of my heart). Me squealing. What is it about Him you ask? The way he holds his guitar, his slightly hunched, virile stance, his long chaotic hair and rebellious unkempt beard (I'm really just a hippie), the purity of his voice. Did I mention the guitar? Put a guitar in any man's hand and he's infinitely more sexy. Not sure the physics of that, but it is a fact. I regress. Chris is not just any man. He's been my crush for as long as I can remember, and I got to see him again last night. Squeal. Heaven.

I admit to bias, but everyone agreed amidst the cloud of Mary Jane and happy feet, it was one of the best shows they've ever seen. At one point I was even 3 feet from the stage. Groupie right? Oh yeah. Face melting guitar riffs, crooning gentle tunes...3.5 hours of non-stop beautiful madness.

Ah. Mazing.

inators

I spent a good chunk of my day today creating inators with one of my favorite little people in the world. If you don't know what an inator is, you're clearly not acquainted with Phineas and Ferb, which is a down right shame, even blasphemous in my opinion. But, for the sake of clarity, let's call it an invention. Some of my favorite inators:

Voice-inator: Because Doofenshmirtz is self-conscious about his voice, he concocts a device that makes voices higher, resulting in his sounding lower and more manly...only to have Perry foil his plans as always.

Shrink-inator: Doofensmirtz plans to shrink objects for his beloved train set.

Copy and Paste-inator: Doof hates to wait in lines, makes copies of himself so he won't have to wait anymore, which is of course is thwaretd by Perry about 15 minutes later. "Curse you Perry the Platypus!"

Make Up Your Mind-inator: Doof wants to obliterate anyone who can't make up their mind.

Ugly-inator: He tries to make everyone else ugly due to his poor (and comically vocal) self esteem.

Slow-Motion-inator: Creates this just for Perry the Platypus, his nemesis, in hopes that it will slow him down so he can't stop him from his evil schemes.

Leaf Blower-inator: Very specific. Intends to blow all the leaves onto his neighbors lawn and aggravate him.

This one is not an intor, but it's one of Doofenshmirtz's greatest inventions:

EULG. a Glue-esq substance that breaks materials apart. Genius.

I could go on, but I realize I am an adult. I need to be sophisticated or something. (I may have passed that point after the third inator?) But, seriously. If you're not watching this show, what are you doing with your life? And truly, we should all be scheming up our own inators. It need not ere toward the dark side (in fact please don't-we don't need anymore diabolical creations or devices in our world). Sara and I created a Summer-inator today...the technicalities of which I won't delve into detail here. We may be onto something and need a patent. My lips are sealed.

So go ahead, put on the tube, be amazed. Get your own league of whomever, listen for references to Poe (yes, Edgar Allan), crack up at ridiculously clever acronyms (inator: BO-AT...Buoyancy Operated Aquatic Transport, pronounced as spelled) and laugh your way into the next episode. Cartoons haven't been this good since Bugs Bunny and the gang.

a new piece of me

As the election is drawing closer, I can't help but think of our past presidents. I don't know a great deal about each of them, but I do know everyone has an opinion...about everything. Say whatever you will, it's just not our job to judge the private lives of any individual...none of us care to be under a microscope. This speech (and many others from him) distinguishes the man behind the president and simply inspires.