Not to old for fairy tales

This is what I'd like to believe when I think of the TV show "Once Upon a Time" that has been my January delight. 

Sometimes I am wary of film or TV adaptations because if they are done in a  Disney's  like  way, the plot loses lots of the original's subtleties. But even though "Once Upon a Time" is inspired by the way Disney has visualized many of these stories,   it has its own unique touch. The characters, stories and symbols are mixed, intertwined and  so in a way it is a completely new story. But that is also one of the traditions of storytelling.

I love how the authors of the show have followed Snow White, Red Riding Hood and  others in their quest to tell us the well known stories from their point of view. We can go much deeper into their motives and emotions than in many of the adaptations.

In the  "Once Upon a Time" the fairy tale world reflects  the past that defines us and haunts us at the same time. The characters, who we  get to know  through the retrospection of their life back in the enchanted forest and their present life in the real world, make different choices, sometimes they overcome their weaknesses, sometimes they fall down.  So  there is always a  choice about how we want to act in the present and shape our future. 

And the roles that they played back in the fairy world- the princess, the evil queen, the warewolf- they need to overcome them in some way, recognize the gifts the role might carry but also its limitations. Find out who they really are.  To connect with the real world. 

I hope I will be able to do the same with my own fairy tale...

January blanket

January seems to be a month of excitement, vivid memories of holiday craze and starting new. But this year I am discovering its sadness. Maybe it's a sadness that comes from the fact that I recall all the failed new year resolutions from the past years? And that as much planning as you might do, growth isn't a linear process. I come back to the old issues, new come up...  Awakened by the holiday cards and wishes I also think of all the people I would like to see and catch up with. But then deep down I know might not  keep in touch as I would like to, or even worse meet up with them. 

It's not a kind of sadness that makes me panic though. I'd like to think of it as a sadness that is closer melancholy and nostalgia. A kind of blanket to wrap up in and stay still for  a while.

I lately learned that the first nations in America assigned a special meaning to January as a month of  dreaming. So I think of this month as a time to create a space for wrapping myself literally in a blanket each day and dream of who I want to be this year looking beyond lists, resolutions, promises and declarations,  even it means first being with this sadness for a while.

Guiding words

Take care of the one you love,
Take care of the one you need,
Take care of the one who needs you most,
Take care of the one you love.

These words come from Imany's song "Take care". I have been enchanted with Imany's warm voice and ambiance of her songs  since the end of last year, but this one struck me in a special way. Maybe because somehow the lyrics turn my attention to myself, not other people.  I want to take care of people in my life. But there is also a small whisper in my head saying "How about yourself? How can you care for others, if all these times you don't take care of yourself?" 

I don't know exactly what taking care of myself means. The answers will probably slowly come, if the question has appeared. As I think of this year I want to hum gently to myself "take care of the one you love, take care of the one you need"....

A lesson in abundance

This year we planned to have slightly fewer dishes for Christmas. I should have been happy about that, considering what a horror it is for me to  realize that a holiday where we sing of the modest manger has turned in so many ways into a time we gorge ourselves in food and almost eat ourselves sick. Of course we do it out of a good intention of enjoyment and sharing, but it's kind of painful for me to hear all the time "I've eaten so much that I can barely move" or "No, no we cannot possibly take more cake home, we wouldn't know what to do with it". Sometimes I feel I am a part of some crazy game, we know we will have too much food, we know we will eat too much, but we still do it anyway because  we want to make our best foods and taste them with our loved ones and friends. 

It has taken me a bit of time to realize I don't actually have to eat everything there is on the table to taste the best things and enjoy myself. But it is much harder to stop myself from thinking "I need to cook, I need to cook, there won't be enough". And it seems like our plan to make maybe two or three dishes less woke up some inner panic in me, that we would be short of something. So instead of making one principal dish I planned (in our family we divide the cooking and each of each us makes something), I added a few more... Now, I don't have to tell you, that even if I hadn't made them, we would have had enough. Enough to go around, enough to share, enough to enjoy, enough new tastes to discover and traditional ones to savor. 

And so here is my lesson in abundance. My abundance at Christmas does not come from worrying, from calculating and making lots of food. My abundance comes from the fact that when you have a big, loving family and friends who will come for a visit and whom you visit, there will be enough, there will be sharing, there will be variety, and there will be all those special dishes that need to be there.

A place where it's okay to cry

Recently I have talked with some friends about how our culture is uncomfortable with crying. We never know how to react when someone is crying, we want to look away or try to fix things as quickly as possible.
 

Tears can be so much more than just a sign that something is wrong and needs to be mended. I cry when I am deeply moved by something, I cry when I realize something important, I cry when I need to let go of some things and cleanse my soul. Sometimes I cry out of rage. I do cry when I am in pain, when I am upset and helpless. In these moments it means so much to have another human being notice my tears and be there for me. But maybe instead of saying "Don't cry, be strong" we could say "Cry all you need to be strong?"

I spent ten days in an Non-Violent Communication training where it was okay to cry. At every session there was a box of tissues ready, in case someone got in touch with their emotions. They did come in handy. It's not that we always knew how to react to other's tears. Some people wanted to have their hand held, some didn't. Some wanted to talk about it, some wanted to stay in silence. But there was space for tears as a way to say " I am feeling something important right now and my tears are freeing the passage to it."

 As a parting gift each participant got a bracelet with a little dangling giraffe, the symbol of empathic communication. One of the things it reminds me is to make more space for myself and others to show and receive tears, even it it's not always easy.

That other reader

He sat in the corner of the room, a newcomer to our book club. He was quiet, listening to our chatter and banter. Of course when you are new to something, you don't want to say anything first. You need to test the ground. After a while our moderator turned to him with a smile "And what do you think?".

The newcomer raised his eyebrows and gave us all a defiant look.

" First of all, if you had really read the stories you would have seen how inaccurate some of your theories are..." he stated.

" Could you point us to some examples?" continued the moderator pleasantly.

" No. Read the texts and you will know" he retorted. He didn't want to say anything more.   

 Still you don't give up on trying to engage new people, right?

 After a while I turned to him. 

"Maybe you would have other ideas of how to interpret the story?" I asked with a smile. 

"If I will want to speak, I will" he answered. 

I think at that point (the first time I was slightly taken aback and stunned) I might have given a meaningful look to the moderators or even rolled my eyes... Did I? I don't remember. There was definitely a feeling of discomfort, a wall between him and us. I think I even thought of him as plainly rude. 

He seemed to imply that were not being serious enough, trying to put the missing pieces of the literary puzzle based on our vague memory. We weren't backing up every argument with a quotation, we were jumping from general impressions to details, we were bringing up literary associations in a very free way.  He didn't approve of our mocking tone. 

I remembered how I  used to feel about the codes, the style of discussion in this club. How at times I do not feel totally comfortable with the Monty-Pyntonish tone. Today I was enjoying it. Have I started to feel at home here?

But then there is that itch, that question whether the newcomer will come again, whether we will be able to continue making efforts to make him welcome and at the same time show that even if we are not perfect readers, we would like some kindness and understanding too...

Bitter-sweet

As long as I remember this cuckoo clock was in the house where my Grandmother was born.  This house is no longer habited and I saw it empty, its habitants having moved to a larger and more comfortable house. I am glad that they have moved and have a better life. It overshadows the nostalgia over the empty rooms.  It was sweet to look at the clock once again and remember its ticking sound at meals at my Grandmother's sister house. 

Family visits indeed have a bitter-sweet taste or shall I say sweetly- bitter.

They remind me of who  I am and where I come from. I feel my own distinctiveness and how our family has moved on from the days when my Grandmother grew up in that village in the mountains, but it is all about understanding this path and feeling we breathe the same air. To laugh at the same jokes, and remember the taste of the same recipes. There is also an immense sweetness in discovering that with so many of your relatives it's not just the blood kin that bonds you, but also a sense of friendship and camaraderie. 

And then there is the bitterness of not being able to talk about the most important things, because they have been pronounced taboos. It creates clods in the flow of communication and damps the joy of being together.  There is also a bitter taste in the way it is easy to tell your family what is best for them because you think that coming from outside you know better. Finally, it feels so rushed because you want to see and satisfy everyone, but there just isn't enough time. 

All the same  the bitterness is worth the sweetness.