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.