Nerd Rant #2 - My Wonderland Obsession

Ya. I was *that* girl
 (hello Lisa Frank!)
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I am one of those 80’s kids that grew up watching The Neverending Story, Labyrinth, Legend, and the like. I love mystical adventure. Dragons, fairies, unicorns, and other really nerdy things were introduced to me early in life and my imagination grabbed onto that shit and held on for dear life. Not to get too Freudian, but I kind of had a tough early childhood in which I learned escapism. Escape for me was being someone else, or at least somewhere else, as often as I could.

I was not a child that loved Barbie, though I did have several; she was too close to realism for me (ha!). I would rather pretend that I was a My Little Pony than a beautiful girl; I would rather pretend to be a wolf on the hunt than a fashion model –

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and so I did. I may have mentioned before that I moved to my grandmother’s house at an early age; I think I was around eight. This was where my Wonderland obsession began. I had, of course, seen the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland many times at this point and loved it with all of my heart. I had also watched the real-life version of Through the Looking Glass and Wonderland that was full of pseudo-celebrities more than my fair share of times by this point as well, so it was not a new story to me by any means. 

When I made the move to my grandmother’s, I really only took clothes with me. My grandmother was a small children’s Sunday school teacher, so she had plenty of coloring books and puzzles appropriate for my age range. However, what I did not have was unlimited access to a TV and tons of videos like I did at my parent’s house. There was a TV, but there was no cable and even if there were, the TV was not for constant

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I *need* this

passive watching; my grandmother was what I would call “old school” in this regard. It was during my first nights at her cozy house that she presented me with what became one of my greatest treasures – a copy of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I remember her placing it in my outstretched hands gingerly and asking me to be very careful with it. It was old. The spine was well-worn. The pages were a brownish-yellow and it smelled like…I am not sure, but I now associate the smell with old books. Her name was written in the top corner of the inner cover in very faded pencil. I remember writing my name beneath it in a sloppy print that contrasted to her neat cursive. It was my first “real” book. I had read various kids’ books. I was well-versed in Little Golden Books and Dr. Seuss – but this was different.

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I remember running my fingertips gently over the embossed illustrations and dreaming night after night that I was Alice. I looked around my grandmother’s house filled with white lace doilies and floral motif tea sets – hand stitched quilts and handmade dresses and found myself down the rabbit hole. The backyard was full of flowers, berries, and soft grass that reminded me of the flower garden from the book. The stray yellow cat that watched me from the roof of our house was my Cheshire cat. The horrors of things done to me before I found the peace and tranquility of this Wonderland were my Jabberwocky. Everywhere I looked, I saw that the fantasy was real. My grandmother baked me delicious and seemingly magical cookies (something that I was wholly unaccustomed to) and the normal drink was tea – cold for me, warm with lemon and sweetener for her. The Red Queen reminded me of my mother and the White Queen was likened to my grandmother. My father was the kind (but clumsy) White Knight.  I suppose you could say that happiness and normalcy were my elusive white rabbit, and I saw not only Alice,                   but the Mad Hatter in myself. 

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I made my own Wonderland from the pages of that book and I have continued to do so throughout my life. I can still feel the shattered innocence inside of me that was sloppily glued back together by books like Carroll’s and what I call the “golden years” of my youth that were spend crafting and learning with my grandmother. Is it a weird obsession to have? Perhaps; though it is a popular one for women of my age. In a way, no matter how old I get, I will always be Alice and I will always cherish my time in Wonderland – though I have yet to slay my Jabberwocky. 

Jabberwocky

Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

  And the mome raths outgrabe

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

  Long time the manxome foe he sought --

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

  He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?

  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'

  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

  And the mome raths outgrabe.

Re-acquaintance + 30 Things 3/30 Describe your relationship with your parents

Oh hai, Internets. Aye, I realize it has been several *cough* months since I created an entry. To be fair, I did say from the start that I would probably not be able to “stick with it”, as they say. To get back into the swing of things I figured I would pick back up on the narcissistic journey that is 30 Things!

http://weirviewphotography.wordpress.com

My relationship with my parents – oye; this is a touchy one for me. I actually did not live with my parents for a large portion of my childhood, but I was in regular contact with them. Eventually (in my mid-teens I think) they came to live with my grandmother and myself, but that is beside the point. My beautiful, sweet mother died a few years ago, so I will focus on her first.

I inherited quite a lot from my mom: my love for nature, music, and books. I also inherited a good deal of my looks from her and, unfortunately, I inherited some mental health issues from her. My mom had what she called, “nerve issues” but she would never see a mental health professional about them. Instead, she had her pcp give her various “nerve pills” to help her. I suspect that she was an undiagnosed bipolar and she certainly had severe anxiety and depression. In our society these are shameful illnesses to have, and that’s bullshit; but I assume that this is why she never got a proper diagnosis or proper treatment. Because of these illnesses mom could be difficult at times, but she was, at her core, one of the most amazing people I have ever been lucky enough to know.

Yes, very much like this. 

My mom loved everyone, including me.
She loved me the best that she could when I was very young. I can remember going shopping with her every week, even after I moved out of her house. We did love to shop together, much to the dismay of my father at times. Our trips to the mall to clothes shop were always epic. Book and music stores were an all-day event. When I was a teenager she was kind enough to haul my friends and I around everywhere – she even listened to our music with us without complaint.

True story - she loved our
grunge music.
http://eddie-vedder.tumblr.com/page/51

She was one of those “cool moms” that became more of a friend and buddy than an authoritative figure to me. It was not until I got older that I really began to appreciate what a good mom she was. She was *always* there for me. If I needed someone to talk to I could call her at any time and talk to her about anything. I will never have another person in my life that will love me quite like she did. I will never have someone in my life that is genuinely as interested in every single thing that I do and think as her.

My dad is still alive, but we live about 1,000 miles away from one another so we rarely get to see one another. I was always, in a way, “daddy’s girl” growing up. I was his only child and I had him wrapped around my little finger for a good portion of my life. Dad and I have spent a lot of time together in cars. Back in the day (when I was a small child) when he and mom were mad at one another, or when mom was having one of her bad days, it was RoAd TrIp time! 

I am fairly sure we spent a large amount
of time in Bat Country. 

He would haul me into the car, grab his wallet and keys, and the two of us would drive around all day – no destination in mind. We lived in Northwest Louisiana and it was not unheard of for us to end up in Dallas or some far-flung nowhere in Mississippi on one of these days. Sometimes we would go visit some obscure family member that he hadn’t seen in 30 years or so, other times we would go to some overgrown cemetery. He would drive 150 miles away to get us fried catfish at a specific gas station restaurant in Nowhereville, Louisiana. I always liked the trip back home the most. I can remember laying in the backseat of my parent’s ugly old Ford Fairmount staring up at the stars. It was 

amazing to me how much brighter the stars were outside of the city.

Good times...

Once I was a teenager, dad started taking me out to teach me how to drive; this was always exciting for me. He started out taking me to my high school’s parking lot on Saturday and Sundays; I was so enthusiastic about driving around in circles at very slow speeds! Eventually he started letting me hop into the driver’s seat in rural areas. Finally, he let me drive on one of our road trips – an empty highway in the middle of nowhere; it was glorious!

http://cheezburger.com/3952668160

There were, of course, times that he and I did not get along very well, but those times were few and far between. Dad was more often disappointed in my bad choices than he was angry at me; of course that disappointment hurt far worse than him yelling at me ever could. My dad and I always had a special relationship. I wish that we could now communicate more easily. We talk on the phone about once a week, I always call him. I think that he doesn’t want me to worry about him so he isolates himself from me; but this actually makes me worry more about him than less. I am still trying to convince him to move here and be close to me, but he has resisted so far. 

I guess that’s about all there is to say that is not too personal. I will close by saying that I know how lucky I am to have had the parents I did. I had two people that loved me and loved each other very much. They were both good people who loved to help others and didn’t mind taking in people and animals in need. I was, and am, damned lucky to have known them both. 

http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-things.html