Reincarnation #SillyCindy

Thursday morning driving to work. Traffic jams all over the place. The ideal time to catch up on the latest gossip with my favourite telephone voice, Dorothy Gale.

 

Re-inventing yourself isn’t easy,” I sigh into my handsfree earphones. “I need some clues. Some keys.”

“OK, I will help you next week,” Dorothy promises.

“Ooh that’s so sweet of you!” I purr down the phone. “But why would you do that? Do you love me in some strange way?”

“Yes,” is all Dorothy has to answer.

“The same way as you love Joti?” I ask her a bit in defence. I love Joti dearly too. Yet feel the poignant need to measure how much her love is for me, in comparison to somebody else.

“Nooo…” Dorothy draws out her answer slowly, giving her more time to think. “We have walked this earth together in some form before. Joti is my daughter. Who do you want to be?”

“Ooooh so strange! I was always worried that Willem was the re-incarnation of my nasty biological father, Graham. But he can’t be because he’s such a happy soul.” I jump straight in on this subject as it has been playing on my mind for ages now, but never found the appropriate moment to discuss it with Dorothy. “And people have remarked that Willem and I have been here before. It’s so obvious.”

“Graham was a once off,” Dorothy reassures me. “That mould is broken. His sons will be the last.”

“Anyways, I found out who Willem is when I visited my mother in hospital last week!” I tell her cheerily.

“Your mother was in hospital?” Dorothy interrupts.

“Yes, I received a message from my Auntie June, that’s my mom’s sister, telling me my mom was in hospital with pneumonia.” I recount the story to Dorothy.

“Your Aunt sent you a message?” Dorothy sounds disgusted. “And couldn’t your mother have informed you herself? What’s this for rubbish?”

“She said she was scared I wouldn’t let the children visit her during her once-a-month-court-ordered visit.” I go on to explain.

“Nooo, that war is long gone now,” Dorothy spits. “Why does she keep hanging on to that for? Is it to make people feel sorry for her?”

“Anyway, she looked good when I visited her in hospital,” I tell her. “So I sent a message back to my Aunt to inform her my mom was looking good. At which I receive a message back from her asking if I’m sure my mom looked good, because they spoke the evening before and apparently my mom sounded terrible. Dying, or almost.”

“Yeah, she’s just creating drama again.” Dorothy hisses. “Needs more attention. Typical for someone with a narcissistic disorder like hers.”

“I’m always surprised how we manage to see through all of her manipulations, but others don’t.” I ponder. “Especially the family in England. You’d think she’s a saint or something.”

“No darling, far from.” Dorothy susses. “It’s Freudian. People only see what they want to see.”

“Anyway, the big reveal is that Willem is my grandad reincarnated!” I almost sing it out. “He has come to help me stand strong.”

“What made you jump to that conclusion?” Dorothy wants to know.

“Willem was born on 6/06/16 at 21:21” I tell her proudly.

“Wonder why he chose you to be his mother?” Dorothy partly ignores my magic numbers.

“My grandad was born on 11/11/1922!” I shout out triumphantly. And because I get no immediate reaction, I answer her question: “Because he loved me dearly.”

“Willem is from 1666.” Dorothy whispers down the phone.

“And he doesn’t agree with what my mother is doing to me.” I go on. “Willem is my grandad.”

I wait for Dorothy’s reaction and giggle. I know she isn’t really buying it. So I add some fuel to the fire: “I can be your granny if you want. I’ve got granny pants and I do granny nail polish too. How does that sound?”

“I hated my granny,” Dorothy whispers.

“You don’t particularly like me,” I retort.

“No you can’t be my granny,” Dorothy pouts. “You’re too sexy in any case.”

“Come on, your granny must have had some appeal else she wouldn’t have had babies,” I point out to her.

“I guess so but not for me,” Dorothy is sounding real sour grapes all the way down the telephone line.

“Why didn’t you like her?” I enquire. “And who do I remind you of then? Or what kind of feeling?”

“She was a bad listener, my grandmother was,” Dorothy tells me and I can just imagine her nose all curled up. “You remind me of Fiona. The one that got away.”

“Well I am Fiona,” I laugh at her. “Not sure about the listening part though.”

“You are?” Dorothy all dubiously.

“Euh yes…” I’m sure she’s making fun of me now.

“You are in my fantasy,” Dorothy dreams on.

Now at this point I’m starting to find it a little bit creepy, because I’m not into girls. And for as far as I was aware, neither is Dorothy. She’s clearly a woman who likes men. Very clearly.

“We were in love in a previous life but both of us promised to another and therefore ours was an impossible love,” I’m starting to sound over romantic and terribly dramatic. “Like Romeo and Juliette.”

Dorothy answers with growing distrust in her voice.

“Or just your imaginary friend come to life,” I’m still trying to save the day for this insane conversation.

“I guess so. Or you let me down,” Dorothy finally gives in. “Maybe you were too good last time. Or I let you down.”

“That sounds more like it,” and I can’t help myself from cackling.

“Or something,” Dorothy’s breathing is going wild through the receiver. “Maybe you were a witch in the 14th century.”

“What happened in 1666?” I want to know, as I can’t let go that Dorothy predicted that my baby Willem was from 1666.

“Hastings,” Dorothy answers nonchalantly.

 

What do you think? Do you believe in reincarnation? Let me know in the comments below. 

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Experiments in archetype design #SillyCindy

I’m jumping up and down excitedly as Dorothy walks into my kitchen on Wednesday. Well not too excited, because I’ve just had a tooth implant done. And everybody knows how fussy I am about going to the dentist.

 

“Dorothy darling, I no longer relate to Dorothy Gale from Oz!” I realize I am totally making sense, but hoping Dorothy gets my kind of crazy. “I’m Silly Cinderella!

There is a long awkward pause which I take as a cue to continue my line of thoughts.

“The proof: I am working my ass off, and being bullied by my mother and half-brothers,” I look at her expecting a show of the aha-moment, but her face remains blanco. “And I want to go to the ball and meet my prince. A prince with a shoe fetish. Hopefully he’s got expensive taste and he likes Louboutin, or Prada, or Jimmy Choo.”

Dorothy still stands there blinking at me. Then she slowly moves towards the kettle to get a cup of tea going. All this time she’s watching me without breaking eye contact.

“Which means you’re no longer my Wizard of Oz. You can be my Fairy Godmother instead.” I’m making this sound like a huge promotion. “You’ll magic me a pumpkin carriage and colour me beautiful. Then when the prince finds me and fits a Prada shoe on my foot, I’ll be rich and powerful. My mother and brothers will then ask for forgiveness for all the nasties they have done. Of course I will gracefully accept their apologies.”

Still no reaction from Dorothy. This requires a grand finale and big arm gestures.

“Then I’ll live happily ever after.” I sit down at the kitchen table and beam at her. I’m waiting for my applause and congratulations on this very serious business plan. The objectives are at least very commendable.

“I hope this comes true for you,” Dorothy finally replies in a tone too soft to meet my enthusiasm. “But I will remain the Wizard of Oz. I will make your case to your Fairy Godmother.”

“You know in some versions of the story there is no Fairy Godmother but Leonardo da Vinci, the inventor, instead.” I look at Dorothy expectantly. She might like being an inventor. “Hence you can help me to re-invent myself.”

Dorothy is thoughtfully stirring the tea, as if there are deep thoughts brewing up in her mind. So I take the opportunity to continue my plan.

“I’ve already been locked away and stripped off my beautiful dress,” I remind her. “Locked away as in the great family shunning. And stripped off my beautiful dress, as in stripped off all what I held dear or thought to be true.”

Dorothy solemnly hands me a cup of steaming hot tea and, still sunken into her own thoughts, starts to blow her cup gently.

“Does this sound nutty?” I want to find out. “Dorothy’s ruby slippers were stuck to her feet. She couldn’t take them off. And Silly Cindy lost one of her slippers…”

Here I go, making connections because certain elements stand out. At the same time ignoring the context is completely different for both imaginary damsels.

“No, you don’t sound nutty. Not at all. Metaphors are lovely,” Dorothy sips her hot tea slowly. “I think Cindy was just a manipulator.”

“She was?” I look at her surprised. Can’t remember anything of that part in the fairy tale. “Why do you say that?” And then to add some extra vigour and credibility to my statements: “I am working my ass off, you know.”

“She teased the prince with a blow job and left her slipper instead of her hankie.” Dorothy looks at me with big eyes.

“What difference does it make, between the slipper and the hankie?” I’m giving her my evil look now. Don’t burst my bubble, Dorothy.

“The slipper can only fit her foot as it was made to fit,” Dorothy remarks. “Not like shoes in a shop.”

I let out a deep sigh and find my spirits plummeting into despair. I was so sure there was gold to be found in my new archetype.

“Is Wim your dying prince?” Dorothy starts to tease me now there where it hurts most.

“That’s not funny, Dorothy!” I shout at her woundedly. “You’re making it sound like Swan Lake.”

“It’s not meant to be funny,” Dorothy says dryly. “Yes tragic, isn’t it?”

“He’ll survive,” I say in defence. There is something about this conversation that is bothering me, but can’t for the life of me figure out what it is, or what I’m feeling in reaction to it.

“I hope for your sake,” Dorothy grins my way. “Otherwise I will be stuck with you for ever.”

Dorothy starts pulling weird faces at me. At which we both just burst out laughing and finish off our tea with an extra helping of chocolate mousse. Mmmm delicious!

 

What do you think? Which archetype best suits me, and which one for Dorothy? Do you have an archetype you identify with? Let me know in the comments below.

Fairytale castle of King Arthur

I love watching my children play out their fantasy world. My daughter Lilly twirls in a glittery dress and tiara, then helps her brother Winston to tussle with fire-breathing dragons. To continue feeding my littles’ imagination I love to visit the storybook castles and to show my darlings that it really does exist. These enchanted landscapes prove fertile for delicious long walks. Camelot Castle, King Arthur and his knights of the round table, the Wizard Merlin… to name but a few elements of mythology which still live up to my fairytale fantasies.

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The location of Camelot has been the subject of significant debate. We set out some years ago with our babes to discover the true site of the fort and its famous round table. Tintagel in Cornwall, is home to the Camelot Castle hotel, which neighbours some impressive ruins. These ruins are potential candidates for being the real thing. In any case, having been to the end of the world to visit Camelot Castle and it’s ruins, I would sincerely love to believe it is. To reinforce this assumption, there was a Dark Ages palace in Tintagel – also the rumoured birthplace of the famous King.

Whether King Arthur actually existed remains a matter of dispute. Some people suggest the legendary figure may be based on a number of real-life British rulers merged in to one while others say the legend is likely to be based on a real king.

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Situated on a cliff bordering the Atlantic Ocean, Camelot Caslte hotel is grand, romantic, and as close as you can get to a real “a once upon a time” experience. The estate is open to visitors and hosts cultural and artistic events, with a restaurants, a bed-and-breakfast, Camelot Castle ruins and seashore caves, and demonstrations.

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— Camelot Castle, Tintagel, United Kingdom (May 2010)