What I won and what I made:

 You have heard, perhaps, of the sweet and whimsical little store in Berkeley called Castle in the Air.  I first heard of it years ago when my friend Kristin took a class there on altered books. She told me I needed to see this place, so I met her there and was immediately enchanted. Giant gnome villages, paper theaters, a mermaid's grotto...It was like stepping inside a fairy tale. I have since stalked Castle's class catalogues, knowing that one day I would take not one, but many classes there, pouring through the class descriptions, biding my time. Willing it into existence. Then a few months ago, I left a comment on their blog, and won a spot in a class! My first Castle class. The first of many. Because this is the one that got that old ball rolling. 

The class I got to take was taught by John McRae, and it was all about making party hats out of crepe paper. I am ashamed to say that, although I arrived in Berkley 2 hours before the class was to start, I was a half hour late to class because I wrote the time down wrong. No matter, John brought me up to date and got me started on my first hat. 

Okay, so if I'd taken this picture at the Castle, there would be glitter and dresden trim in the background, not hair gel and deodorant and dog shampoo. Try to ignore that, if you please. I picked out the colors and made the wave shape, but it was John who suggested the dresden fish and crepe seaweed. He was a generous and lovely teacher. 

The women in the class were sweet and helpful too. I have noticed this every time I've taken any kind of art or crafty class. Here are some of their hats. 

The tall white hat and the silvery-blue funky one were mine as well.

I would have loved to have taken more pictures at the Castle, but as I said, I arrived late and never had the chance to ask if that was okay. I do have my eye on the next class I want to take! 

Thanks to John McRae and Castle in the Air. It was a magical experience. 

This thing I don't talk about

     There's this thing I don't really talk about, even though most people I know would say I talk about it all the time. My husband would say that. My kids, my friends, my doctors.... With the doctors, it's all I talk about. It's the only reason I know any of them, the only reason I come into their offices. From my primary to my neurologist, my acupuncturist, my ob.
     But this thing, which is chronic headaches--I'm not trying to be mysterious, is not something I really talk about. I mention it, probably 10 times a day on a good day. And the truth is, a good day means a low-grade headache that never slams into hardcore pain. That's what a good day looks like. I never talk about the reality of it because who wants to hear about that? Who wants to hear what it is like inside of my head, or what it feels like to ask my eight year old to please stop whistling. I don't really want to talk about the fact that over the past three years, I've consumed bottles of Vicodin and Tylenol with Codeine (though not at the same time), or that I sometimes feel so sorry for myself, even though people I know are losing friends and parents to cancer, not even to mention Boston and Palestine and North Korea. Not even to mention that.
     No one wants to hear about my stupid headaches. At least that's what I thought, until recently. When a bunch of things all kind of happened at once. The first thing was that my friend Adrienne, who knows of my headaches more intimately than most, passed the May issue of Harpers onto me. There is an article in there by Sallie Tisdale called Uncommon Pain, Living with the Mystery of Headache. Several days after reading that article, I heard Terry Gross interview Laurie Edwards about living with chronic pain. In that NPR interview, Laurie Edwards mentioned a book by Paula Kamen. The book is called All in my Head, an Epic Quest to Cure an Unrelenting, Totally Unreasonable, and Only Slightly Enlightening Headache. Which I bought. And all of the sudden I realize that I'm not alone. And I realize that people are talking about this.
     Did you know that Emily Dickinson and Virginia Woolf both battled with chronic headaches? Did I know that? I must have learned it at some point, but it's not the kind of thing that's all that interesting unless you can relate. Until three years ago, I couldn't relate at all. The pain I could relate to was that of poetic ennui, that depressive stuff so many creative people tend to muck through.
     "I felt a funeral in my brain," Dickinson wrote. I'll be honest, poetry still kind of confounds me, even though I love to read it. What did I think this poem was about when I first read it? Who knows, but not the literal. Not that she felt an actual physical pain in her head. A chronic headache. Suddenly, I feel like I have sisters.
     This is my blog. I've had it for a long time. I try to keep it positive. Sweet missives to my kids. Pretty pictures. My own weird little poems. If I start talking about this, it is going to change the tone of this blog. But "Hope is the Thing with Feathers," as the poet said. So it is with hope that I begin a new dialogue. Onward.

I felt a funeral in my brain,         And mourners, to and fro, Kept treading, treading, till it seemed         That sense was breaking through.And when they all were seated,         A service like a drum Kept beating, beating, till I thought         My mind was going numb. And then I heard them lift a box,         And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead,         Then space began to toll As all the heavens were a bell,         And Being but an ear, And I and silence some strange race,         Wrecked, solitary, here. And then a plank in reason, broke,         And I dropped down and down-- And hit a world at every plunge,         And finished knowing--then-- E. Dickinson

day 3

Silver bells and cockle shells and kendamas all in a row.

day 2

but she would much rather play.

day 1

We're calling her Ariadne. From one Ariadne to another. And as my friend pointed out, she surely loves golden twine.

Have A Magical Easter!

Eleven

Then
and now