A Story of Loss

Once upon a time, a young maiden grew weary of living a manageable life full of things like time to spare and money in her bank account. So, she gave this all up to embark on an adventure that had, of course, been so romanticized in her head, she had little time for much else, and thoughts of normal things such as college and jobs had no place of their own to occupy.

Now, this maiden knew that the very best way to adventure was to jump into it as unprepared as possible. Of course she chose the place where no one had yet to explore. (No one from her program that is. It’s a pioneering trip of sorts.) Who was to prepare her for all of the strange and new ways of another sort of people and a new way of living? No one, that’s who. And off this maiden went, far away to an unknown land.

Well, this particular maiden was quite fond of floor sitting. No, really. Ask her family. Floors are ever so much better for sitting than chairs and sofas. They are always accessible, you have plenty of room for sprawling, and something about the floor just fills one with comfort; thus it had been a lifelong practice. And lucky for her, there just happened to be a floor in this new place.  Happily she sat, and all was well.

Or, that is, until a kind-hearted old woman, filled with concern, hastened over and began jabbering in Romanian and waving her arms about. Now, every child (for she was not quite grown) can recognize a chastising, no matter the language. The maiden just wasn’t sure what she had done wrong. Therefore, she simply stared uncomprehendingly, waiting for the woman to finish. And so it was until her coordinator/translator came to the rescue. Yay Mario! Mario told her that to sit on the floor meant a cold shock to the ovaries, and she would never have children of her own. The maiden muttered that if they had wanted to discourage floor sitting, they shouldn’t have made the rugs so cushy. The strange woman was still professing her righteous indignation.

And now the young maiden writes of her loss, to discourage floor sitters everywhere while there is still hope.  And she does all this while sprawled on the floor. So long as she’s barren, she may as well enjoy it.

Muchness

Muchness: The innocence and imagination that appears in the hearts of young children. As children grow older, they become more mature and gain responsibilities. They lose their muchness.

--Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll

It took me ages to decide on a blog name. I wasn't entirely sure where I wanted to take it, and I didn't want it to be limited to a specific topic in the future. So I decided to go with Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, which is the word you say when you don't quite know what to say. My parental units were unsupportive. Instead, I chose one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books; also a made-up word, and just as symbolic. In this wonderful story, our female protagonist has to become reacquainted with herself. She delves into the deepest part of her mind and spends the whole book trying to "become Alice." To find her muchness that had been left behind. It's brilliant. In the beginning of the book, she expresses her distaste for society and its rules. "Who's to say what's proper? What if it was agreed that ‘proper’ was wearing a codfish on your head? Would you wear it?" She eventually breaks away from the expected and begins to use made-up words because they hold more meaning, and she learns that the most authentic form of truth lies in the impossible. She finds her muchness.

Now how does this apply to my blog? I'm not entirely sure that it does. But that may be the whole point. It's nonsensical and has no limits. It's perfect.