Erin Morgenstern's Blog, page 9

blossoms & tiny thoughts

Last week I managed to get a cold again because 2014 is apparently the year of me being ill, but I’m feeling better this week. I even managed to sit under cherry blossoms in the park. I’m still finding petals in my bag from the cherry blossom rain.

The new Tori Amos album, Unrepentant Geraldines, is beautiful. It reminds me of Scarlet’s Walk. “Oysters” is my favorite track, in that right-song-at-the-right-time way.

I am writing very slowly. I am not where I wanted to be now that it’s cherry blossom season already, but I’m trying to feel alright about that. Things like taking care of myself are taking priority, and there’s a lot of stuff in my head that needs figuring out, fiction-wise.

This tiny post is brought to you by the fact that I needed to post something in between flax-golden tales and I do not have the time or the brain power for a thinky post, and I don’t have enough photos for a proper photo post.

flax-golden tales: elevator to your destiny

elevator to your destiny

There’s an up button and a down button but they don’t really mean what they say.

It’s a preliminary test, to assess your state of mind.

(They’ll tell you in secretive tones that up is always better than down, but that’s not at all true.)

Once an elevator decides to let you in, the direction it goes is always personalized for the rider.

But you have to know where you want to go.

If you don’t know, the elevator won’t move.

This part can be intimidating.

Many choose the stairs for fear of ending up in an immobile elevator.

(The trick is: you don’t have to be certain about your destination, you just have to have an idea.

And you can always try again.)

 

About flax-golden tales . Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

may is making me sneeze, but it is pretty.

flax-golden tales: pray to strange gods and receive strange answers

pray to strange gods and receive strange answers

The strange gods are gods of the in-betweens and the unnoticed things, but they are still gods.

Gods of lost socks and orphaned foxes and 3:52pm.

And they will answer your prayers, if they are in the mood.

Say hello and wish them well and hold out your hands.

They might send you feathers or fountain pens or illustrations ripped from children’s books.

Bits of broken neon signs or rotary telephones or roller skates.

Or they might ignore you entirely.

Or they might respond in ways that are not as tangible as skeleton keys and candy hearts.

And the strange gods don’t particularly care if you believe in them or not.

They don’t particularly believe in you, either.

 

About flax-golden tales . Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

2 things i

Thing 1:

When I had bronchitis and I was basically useless and after I’d watched Wreck-It Ralph four times I started watching episodes of TableTop on YouTube. I have not been much of a board game person beyond never finishing a single game of Monopoly as a child and an enduring fondness for Clue! but watching other people play newer games was oddly fascinating and entertaining (I think it would be even if you weren’t nursing a fever) and beyond that was a fantastic way to get a sense of the games themselves.

So when I could breathe again I went out and picked up a couple of games that I’d been intrigued by and now I am a little bit obsessed with Pandemic. I’ve never really played a cooperative board game before and really like it and it’s reminded me how much I like strategizing. And swearing at inanimate objects. Also I feel like it’s teaching me better geography.

This is pretty much Wil Wheaton‘s fault, but I have been fond of Wil ever since I watched Star Trek: TNG on a tiny black & white tv and had no idea how ugly Wesley’s sweaters were. True story.

 

Thing 2:

In keeping with the “things I couldn’t do when I was sick” theme, I am back to creative cocktailing and I’m playing with something I was introduced to via Julibox a few months ago: the wine-based cocktail.

Tonight’s experiment was a variation on a recipe they’d sent that I made a few creative substitutions for and ended up with a pinot noir/apple brandy/Licor 43 (which is, by the way, one of my new favorite things)/pomegranate juice/lemon concoction that was really quite lovely.

I’m getting better at creative substitutions. And fixing cocktails if they don’t quite come together on the first try. Also, it’s nice to have options for wine that are sangria-esque without being proper sangria.

 

Both of these things combined are doing wonders for keeping my brain awake and my inner editor distracted, which is precisely what I need right now.

flax-golden tales: validator

validator 

People love the Validator.

They swear by it and whenever it’s broken they complain, loudly and widely.

The problem with the Validator is that it does not discriminate.

It’s just a post, really, with big letters that spell VALIDATOR and a stamping bit on top for validations.

And it’ll validate anything.

Your deepest fears or your unfounded biases or your parking.

It doesn’t care, or rather, it gives the appearance of not caring.

It does break a lot.

Some people whisper that the Validator breaks itself on purpose.

Ashamed of its own apathy.

 

About flax-golden tales . Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

in lieu of proper post: fish.

Went to the aquarium today.

flax-golden tales: bunny without a hop

bunny without a hop

Lost your hop! the other bunnies say and they laugh at the joke but he doesn’t find it amusing.

He misses his hop and he doesn’t know how to get it back but when he tries to explain the other bunnies don’t understand.

They tell him to cheer up, to just get up and hop.

He tells them he doesn’t remember how.

The other bunnies leave him alone after that.

The bunny sits quietly and watches the grass and waits for the flowers.

Flowers usually make him feel better.

And then maybe his hop will come back, even though he cannot see the point in hopping at the moment.

The hop usually comes back, eventually.

But he does not know when eventually will be so he waits and watches and tries to remember what hopping feels like.

 

About flax-golden tales . Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

momentary spring

So it was Spring, it really was, even though it’s decided to be snowy cold again.

Pictures from proper Springy Central Park this past Sunday:

 

 

flax-golden tales: DIY spring

DIY spring

We have to have Spring now, my littlest sister declares.

This declaration is followed by a watering can emptying over my head.

I manage to save my book from liquid annihilation, barely.

April showers to bring the May flowers! she explains before I can ask about the details of this do-it-yourself Spring.

But she doesn’t have flowers, she takes my book away and hands me bunch of fuzz-tipped pussy willows instead.

Then she gives me a paper parasol.

Oh! I should have given you this before the showers, she says, frowning and turning the empty watering can upside down and letting the last drops fall on the grass.

I’m not sure painted paper works for April showers, I tell her, and the frown goes full-blown Grumpy Cat.

We’re doing Spring wrong! she wails, flopping down on the soggy grass next to me.

It takes awhile, but I manage to convince her that we’re doing Spring just fine because there’s no snow, and we gather our parasols and pussy willows and head off in search of proper flowers and a towel to dry my hair.

 

About flax-golden tales . Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.