My kale has apparently been sending out pheromones and/or seductive telepathic vibes to my non-kale eating friends! Today, while out to tea with me, my non-kale-friendly friend, Suzanna, happened to mention with a gleam in her eye, “I just keep thinking about your kale! You know I don’t really like kale, but I keep thinking about yours.” She smiled a dreamy smile.
“That’s kind of strange,” I said, “because David’s sister sent me an email last night about my kale, and we have never known her or any member of her little family to eat kale, either! It was quite a passionate email: ‘Ask David about ground kale in mashed potatoes. Maybe we can have some of that at Christmas, if you love us enough.’ And then today, David’s dad drove by, saw me repotting pineapple sage in the garage and stopped over for a visit. We walked back to the gardens and he said for the first time ever, ‘Do you think I could get a couple leaves of that kale?’ That’s three people in less than twelve hours asking about my kale.”
“Three non-kale-eaters,” Suzanna replied, then added with another gleam in her eye, “that we know of!”
She mentioned having seen some photos of kale on my blog “awhile back” and I asked if she had seen my horizontal kale.
She wasn’t sure she had, but when I described how this one had decided to stretch out across the newly opened garden bed, we both started laughing. “That must be the one!” she said. In my mind, I saw my kale [un]dressed as a reclining nude, seductively beckoning my non-kale-eating friends and perhaps even unknown others.
Well, that little giggle fest reminded me of my bizarre dream this morning after a brief bout of insomnia. I awoke at 4:22 a.m. — tired, but for the life of me I could not fall back to sleep. Even my usual trick of lying on my stomach with pillow against my crown did not produce the desired snooze. I finally played my most reliable insomnia trick: I asked the faeries for a Dream. Lulling myself into the dream, instead of counting sheep, for some reason, I found myself in a classroom with someone writing on the chalkboard all the different ways to spell “Whatchu” as in “Whatchu talkin’ about, Willis?” Who knew there were so many ways?!
When David’s alarm went off, I was deep in the middle of dream in which our house was completely decked out for Christmas. Every nook and cranny and surface had some sort of Christmas bling on it. Someone presented me with a huge stocking with LAURA written in glitter, and then a large “man” rounded the corner and nearly ran me over. Was he The Candy Man? You tell me! He had on bright orange tights and clown makeup with a jester’s cap, and his entire torso was the Candyland game box.
“I’m the only Game in town,” he said.
“Yeah, all the rest are Jokes!”
I looked around to see who’d said that, and a bunch of little guys appeared in blue apparel — kind of a cross between Santa’s elves and Smurfs, except with blue clothes instead of blue skin. They elbowed each other and guffawed. I looked at their name tags, “Punch Line Joke,” “Very Punny Joke” and others like that — about as many Joke names as there were ways to spell “Whatchu.”
“I’m the only Game in town,” boomed Mr. Candyland Game.
“Yeah, all the rest are Jokes!” The little blue clad men suddenly stood in front of all the shops in downtown Goshen, and the Game stood proudly in front of his. “I’m the only Game in town.” “Yeah, all the rest are …”
And then I woke up.
Those faeries and elves are having fun with me. On the way home from tea, I got a little poke in the brain to “Go to the bookstore!”
“Are you serious?” I thought, “I was just telling Suz I’m reading twelve books right now. They better have bookmarks there.”
“Just go! We’ll even change the light for you, so you don’t have to stand in the cold on the corner.” At that very moment, the crosswalk sign switched to Walk again, even though I had not pushed the button, and the intersection had most assuredly not gone through its cycle.
I went into Better World Books and found myself at the gardening section. Surprise, surprise! One title caught my eye right away: “The New Victory Garden” by Bob Thomson. I rolled my eyes, because imho, I have bought more than enough gardening books this year.
“Look at the price!” blasted across my brain, followed by almost palpable, excited, energetic giggles. I turned it over, and how ’bout that, this new book was marked $4.98.
“Too good to pass up, dontcha think?” Wink, wink, and more of those high vibe giggles that were much more felt than heard.
“But wait! There’s more.”
And so there was …
I then found myself in the spiritual section. Yep, another big surprise there. I scanned the shelves, because I could feel Something waiting for me. Nothing jumped out at me, but I got a sudden urge to pull out a book whose title did nothing for me. Behind that book was tucked, “A Field Guide to Irish Fairies,” by Bob Curran. Pure, crystalline laughter tinkled across my brain. I started to walk away, both books in hand, when I felt a tug, a raised eyebrow and a silent, “Ahem!!!” at the back of my head.
I picked a different, non-attractive-to-me book off the shelf, and hidden behind it, flat against the back of the bookshelf was “Irish Fairy Tales,” by Joseph Jacobs. I gathered my three books and received a “You may pass.” Why, thank you, kind freakshows. Since I was already buying books, I figured I’d have a look around, maybe get some coffee beans for my brother or a book for someone else. Apparently, not! Let’s just say, various synchronous “no’s” appeared as obvious road blocks after all the synchronous “yes’s.” I bought the three come hither books. You’ll notice that, despite my best efforts at turning the iPhone around all 360 degrees and attempting to edit the photos, these books nonetheless refused to be photographed in anything resembling a normal way:
And did the bookstore have “Better World Books” bookmarks that I could tuck into my newly purchased books? Why, no, of course they didn’t! You know why? I do. Because before I left the house today and mentioned to both David and Suzanna that I had run out of bookmarks and “needed some more,” I received the ever so slightly gleeful and mischievous intuitive message that “Faeries prefer Alphonse Mucha postcards.” Sure enough, I’ve been quickly running through these beauties, not only for my more recent books, but also for books I had been reading but set aside to make way for the current twelve. It has not escaped my attention that most of the postcards just happen to look like faeries:
Nor has it escaped my attention that our house gnome, known to us by his code name, “Alphonse,” currently has a black eye because he caught his hat (aka “Ferdinand”) on my coat last week. When I put him back together, everything fit fine and no black eye showed up. Instead, a huge amount of energy surged out of the gnome like a sigh of relief and expansion.
The black eye came a few nights later, after I had just reiterated to David that “Alphonse has outgrown his shell.” We had left a laundry basket near portal Door Number 4 where Alphonse stands, and somehow — I really don’t even know how, because this was logistically not plausible — my feet did a mid-air, both off the ground at the same time swish, causing me to kick the laundry basket directly into Alphonse, knocking off both (hat) Ferdinand and a tiny piece around Alphonse’s eye. We had intended to glue the piece back on, but apparently, this gnome enjoys his new bruiser look. Every time we plan to glue him together, some strange situation or distraction intervenes to derail that project.
What can I say? We employ him as an “energetic bouncer.” Maybe that black eye makes him more intimidating to undesirables:
So yeah, kind of a kooky day. And week. And month and year. Such is the bizarreness of life intertwined with the Faery Realm. What have I learned? I don’t know, but I sure do laugh a lot!