The Meadow

Once upon a time I would make up stories based on stories I didn’t know. If I was in the mall and I saw a pretty girl, I pretended that we were friends, even if we didn’t so much as make eye contact. If I heard a song and could only remember one line of it, I would make up the rest. If I saw part of a movie trailer but not the movie, I would build a scene around what I had seen in the trailer.

One such trailer I had seen as a child was “Fairytale: A True Story,” and I think it is based off of that trailer that I dreamed up a place that only existed where colored pencils touched paper. My drawings of that land of hope and peace and dreams are still etched clearly in my mind, to the extent I could probably recreate the meadow on paper now if I tried.

I don’t think I ever saw the fairy movie, but there were certain images in that trailer that contributed to how I drew that secret place. I don’t think my drawings were just images I had seen in the trailer though. I had taken the idea and made it my own. But part of me still thinks that maybe it was a dream I had, although whether it be a night dream or a day dream I am uncertain. Maybe it was both.

I told my friend about the wonderful meadow, and the two of us plotted to search for it and find it. The more time passed the more I began to realize that maybe the place didn’t exist, but my friend still seemed convinced that we could find it someday. I didn’t see how that was possible. The only meadows and woods I could find were the ones passing by the car windows, and they were almost always near a highway or houses. The world was very small to me at that time, and so it was hard for me to imagine what the world looked like outside of the few places I had been. Maybe that meadow was what heaven looked like.

More time passed. My friend and I moved away from each other, and we have since grown apart. I wonder if she remembers the special meadow. She may think it a trivial thing now. Maybe I do too. But the child inside me still believes that it could exist somewhere, even if it’s in a different world.

Here’s to Old Shows!

Heroes in a half shell. Turtle Power!

I was watching some old theme songs today on YouTube, and they brought back so many memories. The top two I’ve been listening to multiple times I would have to say are Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I would love to go driving and blast those theme songs at full volume with the windows rolled down. Old kids’ shows were awesome. They just were.

I listened to several Power Rangers themes and saw how they had evolved over the years; some of the shows I had seen, but a lot of the more recent ones I hadn’t. Nothing can beat the original, although I must say I really do like the Lost Galaxy theme song. Did anyone else watch the Lost Galaxy movie as a kid and want to cry when Magna Defender died? I hated that part. And yet I watched the movie multiple times. Maybe a better movie was the one with Ivan Ooze, because that actually had a happy ending. I remember liking the Power Rangers Turbo movie as well. The Lightspeed Rescue series wasn’t too bad, especially with the Ryan’s cobra tattoo. And I liked Wild Force because I really liked how it incorporated nature. But ultimately nothing can compare to the original series, if for no other reason at least because of that guitar solo in the beginning of each show.

Ninja Turtles of course was awesome too. I don’t remember very much of the cartoon series, but I remember loving the movies made of them in the 90s. The hilarious Mikey, moody Raph, serious Leo and nerdy Donny. And their undying love for pizza. Not to mention watching them fight and knock down the bad guys. Maybe they’re part of the reason I want to learn martial arts? Seeing them and Karate Kid. I don’t know.

There are so many more shows I could talk about, but for now it’s those two that are sticking in my mind. They have really strong ties to my childhood. And they’re fun. Kowabunga!

Teatime

Dear Journal:

Today Mommy and I went to a tea place called Lavender and Lace. She brushed my hair, and we got all dressed up to go to afternoon tea. We got there, and the tables had purple tablecloths. The food came out on what looked like three plates stacked on top of each other – Mommy called it a three tier plate. We ate cucumber sandwiches and also scones with jelly and Devonshire cream. They were so good. We also shared a pot of tea. It was a lot of fun.

Dear Journal:

Today Mom and I tried out a new tea room, a place called “Amelia’s Teas and Holly.” We had a nice chat with the owner, who had named the place after her grandmother. I tried a new tea, called sencha tea. I liked how mild it was. Of course the tea sandwiches and sweets were delicious. Going out to afternoon tea was a nice break from the stress of the week. I enjoyed being able to get away for awhile.

Dear Journal:

I’m looking out the window, watching the rain fall as I hold my hot cup of green tea. It’s chilly outside, but the steam ascending from my mug warms my face as I wait until the tea is cool enough to drink. I’m far from home, but I feel happy. Now all I need is a cucumber sandwich.

Yay Sheep!

Sheep are my time machines. The sight of them transports me back to my childhood when I learned the traditions of generations past through one activity: spinning wool.

My first harp teacher taught me how to spin wool on a small device called a drop spindle. It’s not as big or as complicated as the spinning wheel, something which I tried to use but could never get the hang of. By spinning the drop spindle, I learned how to twist sheep’s wool into lumpy yarn. Ideally the yarn is supposed to be smooth, but the lumps added character as it displayed the lack of skill of the little child’s hands who made it.

(image from seedpodcraft.com)

I can remember feeling the rough, greasy fibers gliding through my fingers and interlocking with each other as they formed one coherent string. I was so proud when I had spun an entire ball of yarn, although what became of that ball I’m not sure. I think I gave it as a gift to one of my parents.

I don’t know why I loved spinning so much. Maybe it was the smell of earth that appealed to me when I buried my nose in the white fluff, or the rough warmth I felt when it touched my skin. Maybe it was the novelty of creating something useful all by myself. Thinking now about spinning brings to mind memories of visiting sheep festivals, seeing a lamb being born at a friend’s farm, watching my harp teacher create a strand of yarn so effortlessly with her expert fingers.

I still have the drop spindle somewhere, sitting in a forgotten corner of the house, probably some wool with it. Someday I am going to get out that drop spindle and begin spinning again. Maybe I’ll use the lumpy yarn I spin to knit a scarf. Maybe I won’t make anything. But it was something I used to enjoy.

Things I Love: Theater

Bleached overalls, Superman shirt, suspenders. Yup – the earliest memories I have of a theater performance would have to be my church-at-the-time’s production of Godspell. It was being put on by the youth choir there, which my big brothers sang in, so my mom and I would watch the rehearsals. In fact, I think I remember the rehearsals more than I remember the actual performances. The feather boa worn by the girl who sang “Turn Back O Man,” the angry face my one brother made when he had to freeze during “We Beseech Thee,” the way Jesus’ head hung upside down as he was being carried away after the crucifixion.

Through the years I’ve discovered that when I watch people on stage, I’m moved in a way that words can’t quite describe. It’s not just the “aww” moment when a couple kisses or the blood boiling when the main character gets beaten. I sense a unity between the actors, a bond formed only through countless hours of rehearsing, and I feel like I want to share that bond. I don’t just want to watch the magic, I want to make the magic.

Many people (and I’m about to make some huge generalizations here) will only think about the performance for the couple hours they are there. They’re not thinking about the show two weeks before when the lead actress sprains her ankle or when one of the light fixtures breaks. They can’t feel the sweat caused by having run that one dance number eight times. They don’t know the stories told backstage or the inside jokes created when someone messed up his line. They’re not stressing out three days before over a ripped costume or a missing prop. They simply attend the performance. Which is great, because that’s what an audience is supposed to do. They’re not supposed to know what goes on behind the scenes. But I don’t want to be just an audience member. I want to be onstage. Not for the fame, but for the family. There’s just one little problem.

I don’t act. Or sing.

Sure, I’ve been in a couple productions in school or in the community, but I honestly have no idea what I’m doing. Okay, so I’ve taken one acting class. But when I’m on the stage I feel like I’m missing something. And I can’t figure out what.

I have great admiration for those who can take words on a page and bring them to life. That’s what I want to learn to do. Yeah, I’m not great at it now, but I’m going to change that. I’m taking voice lessons to make my voice stronger. And when I can find where to take acting classes/lessons, I’m going to do that too (if anyone has any recommendations where to go, feel free to tell me!). Will I make a career out of it? Highly unlikely. Will I be an amazing actress? Also unlikely. What I am going to be is the best actress and singer I can be, and learn all I can in the process.