Tuesday, March 31, 2009

I just don't know...

I'm sitting here right now reading people's blogs and trying to catch up with people's lives.  A "To Do" list sits by its lonesome on my desktop, with things that would keep me busy for at least two weeks if I did nothing else.  Meanwhile, a little girl who just turned 8 last week lies on her back next to me.  She is mouthing the words to Defying Gravity and a word comes out accidentally every now in then in a whisper.  Her mother got her a book yesterday all about the making of Wicked, and her mind has been on nothing else since (except last night briefly for our group reading of the Chronicles of Narnia).  I can't help envying her simplicity.  Why don't I get excited about little things like that any more?  Why don't I get swept away by the amazingness of life and love and grace that is so much grander than any song from a musical?  Am I that much older and wiser that I can't justify total enthrallment with something when a to do list looms over my head?


Maybe I should add something enthralling to my to do list.  Maybe I should make myself enthralled about my to do list.  Maybe I should scrap to do lists altogether and just do things as they come up and hope I don't forget anything important.  Maybe I should just sit down and do the to do list and then let myself get enthralled about something.  Since I can't figure out what to do, I'm writing this, which isn't all that enthralling and isn't on my to do list.  There's something joyous about that, too, I think.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Hello lovely English people -
7 of us went to the great state of Minnesot-ah for a conference. There were lots of nerds there. But we did here this British guy named Neil Gaiman speak and he read this beautiful poem about fairytales that I think you will all like. 

Instructions
by Neil Gaiman

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.
Say "please" before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.
A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted 
front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers. 
Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat 
nothing. 
However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.
If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it. 
If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain. 

From the back garden you will be able to see the 
wild wood. 
The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's 
realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.
If you turn around here, 
you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you. 

Once through the garden you will be in the 
wood. 
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-
growth.
Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She
may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle. 
Inside it are three princesses. 
Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.
In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve
months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales. 
They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where
you are going. 
The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-
man will take you. 
(The answer to his question is this:
If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to
leave the boat.
Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle give you a feather, keep it safe.
Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that 
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name. 
Do not lose hope - what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn. 
Trust dreams.
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid. 

Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall). 
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown). 
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is
why it will not stand. 

When you reach the little house, the place your
journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember. 
Walk up the path, and through the garden gate
you never saw before but once.
And then go home. Or make a home.
And rest