Urban fairies have moved to Ann Arbor

I'm headed to the US later this summer and part of my tour will include a visit to the various fairy doors that have been appearing in Ann Arbor. Sometimes these doors are found open and you can peer into the home of a fairy, complete with a winding staircase and little fireplace. Noob spotted the door at Peaceable Kingdom, one of my old haunts when I was a student at U of M. There's a fairy store in the shop (lots of pennies, little hats and even a pair of hand-knit fairy socks) and not too far away, at the Ark (where I watched Vienna Teng perform), there's an entrance just for fairies, and also a fairy ticket window that dispenses tickets to "The Tempest" and "A Midsummer Night's Dream," among other plays. Maybe I'll pick up a couple of tickets when I'm there. They seem to be self-serve ones.

These pictures are from the urban fairies site:

The Ark - can you spot the fairy entrance/exit and the ticket window?

This one was found outside one of my favorite places, SweetWaters Cafe.

This is a wee red door outside a shop called "Red Shoes."

Thanks again

Thanks to noob who sent me the link to a song, "Thanks Again" by Georgia Murray. I've played it so often I can't get it out of my head. Written by James Rushing, re-interpreted by Murray. It's a cover but what a cover. Her deep, resonant voice, a solo guitar and lyrics that have their way with your emotions.

Peter Ho Davies, my advisor at grad school, once named a story collection "Equal Love," questioning if love between parents and children could ever be equal. For how can we ever repay our parents for the years of love and devotion - in my case, the goodnight songs, late-night feeds, homemade cakes and cookies, trips to the library, sewing clothes for my dolls, carrying me down the streets of Hong Kong when I couldn't walk anymore, letting me go away to school even though it was the hardest thing to do.

I think about how wonderful that each of us was a child once, and that one day, we might become parents. Perhaps we'll understand many things only then. Thank God for parents, the ones who try so hard and who love unequivocally. It isn't easy to let them go. Last week, in the large columbrium near Upper Thomson Road, I watched my mother anxiously hunt for the urn holding my grandmother's ashes. My brother and I stood by her as she spoke private words to a small picture of our grandmother. April 16th was her death annivesary. 18 years have passed, but my mother still tears up before the saffron-colored urn. Her mother was her best friend, she once told me.

"Thanks Again"

I've sent bouquets for Mother's Day,
For Father's Day, a shirt and card.
While they came from the heart,
They all fell short of saying how special you both are.
It wasn't ' til I was up and gone,
Married with a couple of kids of my own,
Doing what mamas and daddies do,
That I realized what I must have put you through.
So thanks again for the love in the cradle,
And all of the changes that kept me dry.
And thanks again for the love at our table,
And tannin' my bottom when I told you a lie.
For takin' me fishin' and flyin' my kites,
And tuckin' me in, yes, night after night:
To my beautiful life-long friends,
Hey, Mom and Daddy thanks again.

I'm still a young girl, least I think I am,
But I'm watchin' my own hair turn gray.
And your call last Sunday brought to mind,
That I owe you a debt I can never repay.

So thanks again for worryin' and waitin',
When I started datin' on weekend nights.
And thanks again for the help with my homework,
And sittin' up with me till I got it right.
Your car for the prom, your letters in 'Nam,
But most of all, Daddy, for marryin' Mom:
To my beautiful life long friends,
Hey, Mom and Daddy thanks again.

To my beautiful life long friends,
Hey, Mom and Daddy thanks again.

Someone else always gets there first

In my case, it would be Haruki Murakami, so that's okay since I'm in no position to compete with him. A short while after I returned from my trip to Hawaii (Maui and the Big Island), I began writing a story about a desperate and grieving woman who wanders the black sand beaches on the southeastern coast of the Big Island. In the evening, she visits the Mauna Loa Solar Observatory, hitchhikes rides in 4WDs to the summit and gives random bits of information to her unsuspecting drivers.

I'm sure there're plenty of stories set in Hawaii - I just haven't found and read them - but it was surprising to find one from a favorite author while I was working on mine. The Guardian is publishing Murakami's story in two parts over two weekends. Here is the first. And the story will also be part of his new book, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, due in July this year. I'm looking forward to it. In the meantime, I'll finish up my miniscule one that will probably be bound for the slush-and-then-reject pile.

I'm actually quite upbeat today despite the missed deadlines, despite the inherent despair of a Monday, despite the discovery of an eerily familiar Hawaiian story. This brings to mind a short text my father read me some eleven years ago. It may be familiar to many - "Desiderata" by Max Ehrmann. And despite the hoax, it's still a nice piece of writing.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

The Easter promise

Happy Easter to everyone! Whether you spend the day going to mass or service, eating hot cross buns, hunting for eggs, contemplating the renewal of life, or embracing another new day, it's wonderful to be alive. The same goes for this blog. Just as I decided to write again, the blogs belonging to my friends and me got hit by a bunch of trackback spam, so our ringleader, the wonderfully reliable and most scrumptious (check out her picture) Van Tan, decided to move our 100 Acre Wood blogs to a new web host.

Van gave me the go-ahead for publishing a new entry today. A significant day indeed, although for the past month, I've been making small changes and additions to my life. I wakeboarded for the first time, I filed my US taxes, I am dancing Argentine tango again (and this time, I will buy some proper shoes), I am re-learning to parallel park (yes, I am that awful at it). I've also been busy with more editorial projects, which are rather urgent and this worries me. A crisis marks my days and I still ache, but I cope with it better now. "Some hearts, like evening primroses, open more beautifully in the shadows of life." - These are lines I read from a book called Streams in the Desert, and I'd like to thank Kermit who recommended it to me in a comment a while ago. It's brought much peace to me in these days.

I have much more to write but this will have to do for now. It's Easter, and I want to be outside feeling the sun on my face and remembering what today means. (Might be rain though, judging from the thunder I hear. No matter. No matter at all.)