tollipop

yes, zoe, it sounds like an amazing book

One of my sisters lives in Chicago...a distance which tugs at my heart, yet has been somewhat softened lately by the newly struck up correspondence between our almost 9-year-old girls.

The letters are fantastic.  They're brilliant.  Here is an excerpt from Zoe's most recent epistle:

I've started writing a book called The Sweet Surprise.  It's about a girl named Laura Fisher who has one million chocolate bars fall on her head and she discovers a new power she has. Does it sound like a good book?  If so, I'll send you a copy when it's finished.

Not to be outdone, Caroline wrote a book of her own.  She plunked down last night for a dramatic reading as I was practicing an accompaniment to her cello concerto.  

Question: What better time to ask your mom's attention than when she's already doing something else on your behalf?

Answer: That's a trick question.  Any kid knows there is no good time to ask your mom's attention--just hijack it or you'll be waiting around forever.

At any rate, the story is called Willow's Park and it's about a girl named Willow who discovers, much to her relief, that she doesn't belong to the mother she lives with but comes from another planet and has a BETTER mother out there who misses her very much.  

She read the whole thing to me with a straight face, I swear.

Following is an excerpt, which Caroline is now busily transcribing to the computer in order to send her cousin a copy: 

Willow’s Park

Hi. My name is Willow.

I live on Cranberry Street. I have been trying to find the secret my mom never told me about. Something interesting I hope. I will tell you all I know about the secret. A trusted neighbor of ours said "do you know about the secret?"

“No,” I said.

“Never mind,” said the neighbor. Her real name is Rachel Page.

I said “Wait, would you give me a clue?

“When you were a baby people thought you were not from this world,” said Rachel. “Why?” I asked.

“You had glowing eyes. Your eyes would change colors by your mood.”

 “Really?” I asked.

 “Yes,” she said. I could not believe it. I really have glowing eyes.

“Will you give me one more clue?”

“No,” Rachel said. “But I will give you one thing; this is the map will lead you to where you used to live.”

“You mean that’s where I lived when I was a baby,” I said.

“Yes,” said Rachel.

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That's all she's typed so far and I can't tell you the rest as the book is lost somewhere in the catacombs of her bedroom.  But it just gets better and better! Especially the part where Willow meets her real, way more awesome mom.  

What do you think, dear Zoe?  Does it sound like a good book?  

Because Caroline is sending it your way as soon as she works out a few kinks in the plot. 

the mystery at lilac inn

Dear reader, would you like to see something spooky?  

No, it's not the Halloween decorations which are still haunting the house well into November.  That's not spooky. That's standard.

I'm talking about a mystery.  A ghost.  Missing jewels.  An old, decrepit inn.

Come closer and take a peek.  

See?  Spooky.  

If I tried to tell you about it, you'd never believe me.  It involves a titian-haired girl with intrepid sleuthing skills offering her services to track down a nefarious gang attempting to foil the renovation of a historic inn.  You'll hear about a spectre, a shark in fresh water, jewel heists, fiancés, threats, espionage, doppelgängers, blackouts, actresses, bomb threats, cold wars, and miniature submarines!

And I'm barely getting started. 

I mean, rather than asking what the story's about, try asking what it isn't about.  

That should stump Caroline.  That should buy you some time.

Then you can change the subject and ask her about something else.  Something that does not involve the summary of a story.  Because as I've already mentioned, the word summary to Caroline means taking something which is long, detailed, and intricate, and making it WAY MORE so.

unless you're on a leaky raft in the middle of the ocean surrounded by sharks and some guy just ate your chocolate...

Dear reader, how do you deal with an ordeal?  How do you face moments of hardship, adversity, and distress?  

I recently read Unbroken and was left to ponder, among other things, the way one's approach to a situation seems to determine so much of how it is experienced and even the outcome itself.  I'm referring to the ill fated rescue attempt by Louie Zamperini's flight crew during WW II, which resulted in their plane crashing into the Pacific and the three survivors spending over a month on a raft enduring horrific conditions.  

Two of the survivors met the challenge with an innate sense of optimism and determination to draw upon every resource in order to see it through, no matter how daunting the odds might appear.  The third survivor seemed to look at the same situation and draw a fatalistic conclusion from the outset.

The differing mindsets had a dramatic effect on the way these men experienced their ordeal.  Without wanting to give away details, it would seem it even affected the actual outcome of their story.

Who are you on the life raft, dear reader?  How do you deal with an ordeal? 

Last week I received a phone call that caused me to drop everything and get on a plane to be with someone who is very dear to me.  It's been a sad and scary, tender and funny time.  

How can terrible things also be funny?  I don't know.  They just can. You kind of have to be determined on that point, I think.  It's probably one of the few choices that's still yours to make in a moment of crisis.  You know?  Undoubtedly the terrible part is coming your way whether you like it or not.  If you see something funny amidst the wreckage, grab it.  Hold onto it.  Have a good laugh if you can.  It will feel like deliverance.  

Sometimes the humor will be perverse.  It may be dark.  It may be borderline inappropriate.  On the day I left, Caroline's hamster died.  Not funny at all.  I hugged my desolate girl and promised her dad would take care of things with a proper burial, then hopped on a plane.  But when I called home three days later only to be informed Tin Tin was still out in the garage, decomposing in plain sight, somehow that was funny.  Maybe you had to be there, maybe you had to have seen much worse, maybe you had to be sleep deprived, but trust me: it was funny.  

Dear reader, if I could wrap my arms around this world and make every little thing better, I'm afraid I would.  I'm afraid I wouldn't have the heart to let people suffer.  But suffering isn't always such a bad thing.  At least, in my moments of greater clarity, I'm compelled to admit some of the most profound and beautiful developments may occur as a result of sorrow and woe.  You become a better person.  You find deeper meaning in life.  You see the great character in others.  You are reminded more clearly of what matters.

Of course, nobody wants to hear about this while they're actually on the raft.  No way.  It's only for those who are looking back in hindsight.  Tons of hindsight.  

For those of you who are still in the thick of it: maybe you break a few emergency swear vials along the way.  So what?  Not every moment under duress needs be your finest.  Not every manner will be fit for tea with the queen.  

After all, you're on a leaky raft in the middle of the ocean surrounded by sharks, franchement.  And some guy just ate your chocolate.  Or maybe your situation is not quite that dire.  Either way, I'm sure you have grounds for losing it.  I'm sure you have grounds for being scared, hurt, angry, withdrawn, for wishing it would all go away.   

But you also have grounds for a laugh.  You do.  Steady now.  Wait for it.  Something funny is going to happen.  And you have grounds for noticing the beauty around you, for savoring every good moment, for not going down without one hell of a fight. 

that's my girl

Yesterday I came into the kitchen and found Izzy at the table reading Planet Earth and eating a snack.  

She looked up and said, "I love this book!  I've been reading it for years now and I'm finally starting to understand what it's all about."

She's a fantastic composite, this girl.  She likes nailpolish, dance moves and pop music, but she is also auditioning to perform with the Las Vegas Philharmonic, wonders about spiritual matters, and has a deep interest in the structure and dynamics of this planet.  

I wish I'd had a friend like her when I was going to school.

finding neverland

Dear reader, do you remember my diatribe against excessive homework several years ago?  

Well I do, as if it was yesterday.

That's because my mindset has not evolved much since then.  I still inwardly bristle at the truckload of worksheets and projects and assignments which clog up time I would otherwise spend eating bundt cake and pondering the deeper questions of the universe.  

But I am beginning to appreciate a certain miracle which has evolved from our journey of turning shoe boxes into leprechaun traps and miniature models of the solar system and semi-functional volcanoes.  

It is the miracle of the helpful older sister.

Yes, Sophie is a pro at these assignments by now.  She's had years of experience.  Years of using pipe cleaners to build everything from a perfectly scaled Eiffel Tower to a tiny, working, artificial heart. 

So when Caroline skipped through the door the other day to announce her first major project of the year, I was just about to start breaking dishes and emergency swear word vials and anything else I could get my hands on when Sophie looked up from her book and said she'd had a vision of Caroline's assignment and knew exactly how to help her.

If that's not a miracle, I don't know what is.

Within minutes she'd drafted a diagram and list of needed supplies.  Believe me, I was ready to supply a lot more than that.  Cash.  Cars.  A small island stocked with piña coladas.  But apparently the bribe of the century wasn't necessary.  

Sophie was only too happy to help.  

And for an entire weekend I was treated to something money cannot buy.  Two sisters working side by side, collaborating, sharing ideas, cutting, pasting, drawing, coloring, laughing, talking, exclaiming with delight. 

Neverland, sometimes you feel far away.

Sometimes I have to move back two spaces or lose a turn.

But you are not impossible to find.

When the clouds break and you shine through, Neverland, you are dazzling.

Filled with secret, hidden treasure.

And a little girl so happy she practically doesn't need pixie dust in order to fly.  

question for the man demographic at tollipop: do you exist?

 
A comment on a recent post  prompted me to wonder who, exactly, comprises the readership at Tollipop. 

As in: are there any dudes out there?

Forgive my momentary indulgence of stereotypes, dear reader, but it amuses me to imagine what appeal this blog might hold for the manlier amongst us. 

Are there not too many trinkets and baubles?

Too much love and mush?

 
A revolting excess of handiwork?

Heavy on pastoral scenes?

Notably lacking in pyromania?

Let's be honest: the real problem is Mr. Darcy, isn't it? 

Yes!  His pride and prejudice might sicken you, but deep down you know you'll never be half the man he is!  His noble birth and bearing, his fine figure, his clever way with the ladies...why, it's enough to make you want to bust him in the mutton chops!

Then again, don't lose courage!  What does Darcy have that you can't muster in spades?

 
Oh, ladies--can he do this?  Can he break out fresh moves like this in the midst of his simpering gigues and allemandes?

What?

I didn't think so.

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But I am curious, dear reader.  If you are, indeed, a man and happen to read this blog in and of your own free will...would it be asking too much for you to leave a comment admitting as much?  And perhaps let me know what draws you to this tea party while you're at it? 

Because if it's car chases and explosions you're looking for, darling, it could be you've wandered into the wrong place.

Then again, I'm sure I could rustle up a stick of dynamite or two if it would really make you happy.

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And to the rest of you, the question still stands: what draws you to Tollipop?  What do you like to read about when you stop in for a visit?

tess of the striped stockings: tollipop original giveaway

 
Dear reader, I found my way to a moment in the studio yesterday.  Various Easter decorations were still out (who has the heart to get rid of bunnies in one fell swoop?).  The laundry was not put away.  Plans for dinner veered toward leftovers.  But none of that mattered because I made up my mind not to let it matter.

So here is little Miss Tess and her striped stockings.  Hopefully not so tragic a figure as the lovely heroine of Thomas Hardy's fateful imagination.  I don't know how that guy had the heart to write some of the stories he did.  I think he had a thing for utterly bereft despair.  I, on the other hand, would have equipped Tess with indomitable high spirits, a penchant for martial arts, and an invisibility cloak for good measure.  That would have made for a much better ending, I can assure you. 

It hardly bears mentioning, I suppose, but last month marked the three year anniversary of Tollipop.  I meant to host a fabulous giveaway, or any sort of giveaway for that matter, but could not sufficiently marshall the forces in my life to make it happen.  Which does not register as a grave concern, per se, as I am not one who keeps track of time well enough to mark many significant occasions.  But I do like to think of them and appreciate what these things mean to me. 

And this blog means something to me.  While my life spans the spectrum of chaos, sorrow, and recalcitrant children like anyone else's, Tollipop is a place where I can linger over what makes me happy.  What I find beautiful.  And having you stop by this little tea party adds an element of warmth and delight I find difficult to describe. 

It is lovely to think of things which make me happy.  But it is much lovelier still to share them and feel them appreciated by others.  Thank you for this, dear reader. 

I hope your weekend is simply grand.

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Please leave a comment below if you would like to enter this giveaway.  I promise to wrap it up sometime next week.  If you Facebook like, blog, tweet, or otherwise promote it, please come back and enter your name for each time you helped spread the news (and thank you for doing so!).

the gingerbread man and the secret garden

 
Dear reader, for some time we've enjoyed the capture of a little gingerbread man.  He comes out each year at Christmas and attempts all sorts of antics to trick us into releasing him from his frosty world of sugar crystals and evergreens. 

But the girls and I have been very careful not to listen to a word he said. 

Until the other day, when he finally convinced me to dust.

{Which begs the question: what is a Christmas tableau doing in one's house during the month of March?  My answer: the same thing as a Christmas terrarium which was made in the month of January.

In other words, you are welcome to a logical conclusion if you can rustle one up yourself.}

 
At any rate, no sooner had I lifted the glass bell from its setting then the scallywag hopped down from his perch and was off!  He dashed past Mr. Darcy with no more than an "'Allo, guv'nor!" 

One can only imagine how the gentleman fairly bristled!

 
After that, it was on to the dancing lady.  The gingerbread man took a moment to spin her around the room.

 
There was a bit of a close call with the horse from the riderless carriage, but the lucky blighter came away with all limbs intact.

 
He then came across two lovers in the park.  To be sure, the girl was distracted and would have given chase, but the young man promised her a cupcake if she would stay awhile longer.  So she did.

 
Finally, he made the acquaintance of a fabulous lady with bee sting lips.  "Hello, sailor," she said in a low, mesmerizing voice, "Are you headed my way?" 

The gingerbread man hesitated.  No one had ever called him sailor like that before. 

I am sorry to report it was more than he could do to resist her.

All of which left me in quite a pickle, as you may imagine.  For there I was, with nothing to show for it but my empty bell jar and faded memories of the aromatic fellow who once lived there.

 
To console myself, I decided to make a new tableau.  Something more suitable for the season.

 
Something that would cause to me linger with pleasure and delight, remembering one of my favorite childhood books and the idea of robins and keys and hidden doors and the ancient magic which makes things grow and brings happiness to people who have once been sad.

portrait of a lady (#26)

 
She is rather accomplished, to be sure.  She may not paint tables nor cover screens, yet she does endure the pianoforte with a varying degree of affection. 

 
She may not pen a pretty sonnet, but her rendering of pastoral scenes, particulary during Sunday sermons, are nothing short of illuminating. 

She improves her mind through extensive reading and added to this, possesses a certain something in her air and manner of walking.  But please overlook the slipshod nature of her bedchamber...t'would be the ruin of us all!

And when, perchance, this shy creature happens upon a volleyball, why she gathers momentum in the most demure manner and drills it into oblivion with the force of a cold blooded assassin. 

 

looking for narnia

 
Dear reader, do you ever go looking for Narnia?  Do you ever think there must be a wardrobe door waiting somewhere, just for you?

 
And what if you found it and climbed inside, past all the musty smells and thick winter coats, until gradually the coats begin to feel like pine needles brushing against your face, and the air would feel crisp and clear and cold?

 
And something about the place would stir your heart and make you feel as if there's a bit of magic in your life, after all?

 
You might wonder at how still and lonely it is in this ancient place.  How very quietly the snow is falling. 

 
And yet, it doesn't seem as if you are all alone.  Such curious, frozen statues!  And the tracks of a faun on the pathway tell you perhaps there is a friend in the distance, waiting to say hello.