I really, really want to dance in a fountain with my girls. Y’all know what I’m talking about: The opening credits to that wonderful, iconic TV show FRIENDS. Three guys, three girls. Dancing, playing, having fun.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Dance in the Fountain
Some weeks ago I was enjoying conversation with my Mississippi bestie, whom we’ll call SuperGirl, and my Georgia bestie, whom we’ll call Paige. Yes, that Paige, of Paige’s Plantation Part One.
In the course of conversation, guided heavily by our love for all things coincidental and identifiable, I happened to mention my current binging of FRIENDS on Netflix. In particular, after choosing to #EmbraceTheCrazy, I celebrate my affinity for Phoebe and her near-Bohemian/Gypsy character. Okay, maybe those aren’t exactly demonstrative of her character. But, you know. Whatever.
So, we haven’t known each other as long as, uhm, they have. You know, the original FRIENDS. But we do know each other as well, and that’s gotta count for something, right?
So here’s the fun part. This year at Blue Ridge is the first time we will all three be together. #truestory! SuperGirl and I met two years ago before Paige attended. Paige and I met last year when SuperGirl couldn’t attend. And this year, hello! The cosmos smiled and here we are. All three. Together. Smashing, isn’t it?!
It’s been a little unsettling for some of us who are the introverts of the group (I won’t say who, but, uhm, not me), who are nervous about meeting the other one they haven’t met. Oops. Did I just give it away? My bad.
So, anyway. In less than a week we’re hanging at Blue Ridge, learning to be better writers, and we even have our daily coffee hang out: Clouds! How perfect is this ~ our own version of Central Perk!
Frankly, My Dear . . . : FRIENDS and coffee.
But back to the dancing thing, because this is about all of us, not just me. We also have a motto. Or is it a mantra? Whatever. It’s in three parts. Which is kinda neat, cuz there’s three of us. So, it’s Deal with it. Let it go. Dance it out. I bet you can’t guess which part is mine.
Oh, and you want to hear the best part? They totally identify with Monica and Rachel, too! SuperGirl thought she could hide it, but please. Everyone knows she’s a neat freak and loves to cook. She’s so obviously Monica. And Paige? Paige is the one getting ready for a major life move. She’s so Rachel. Could I be any more right?
And me? Well, I’m still Phoebe. In fact, I’m now Penny-Lily-Scarlett-Phoebe. I’m pretty sure you can figure out the Penny and Scarlett, but Lily will have to wait for another time.
Call me any of the above. I’ll answer. Just don’t call me Smelly Cat.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : New FRIENDS
So, okay. Now it’s your turn: Which FRIENDS character are you most like?
With an intimate group and a great coffee hang out,
~Molly Jo
If there can be a positive legacy of war, spring floral colours are a good one.
At the end of the Second World War, the Netherlands were liberated by Canadian forces. During the war, the Dutch Crown Princess Juliana had found refuge in Ottawa with her daughters, one of whom was born here. As thanks, the Dutch royal family sent tulip bulbs to Canada, a tradition they have kept up ever since. In the years that followed, those bulbs, and more being bought by the federal government, were planted in various spots in the city. By 1953, the idea of a formal tulip festival was proposed and initiated by the Canadian landscape photographer Malak Karsh, a local photographer who had been enjoying capturing the tulips as they bloomed each May. If his name sounds familiar, it should- Malak was the brother of the famed Ottawa portrait photographer Yousuf Karsh, and the two brothers pursued their common love of photography with different subjects.
The festival has carried on ever since, evolving over time, but always centered on the tulip displays. Beds of tulip bulbs are planted in the fall in parkland both in Ottawa and Gatineau, on the Quebec side of the Ottawa River. By late April the tulips are showing themselves, just in time for blooming in May. The festival takes place over a few days, ending on the Victoria Day weekend, and each year, weather plays a factor in the peak time of the bloom. Some years it’s early, some years it’s later. This year, as of this writing, I suspect the last weekend will be a good one for visitors.
And it brings in the visitors. Locals and tourists come to the parks and flower beds where the tulips are in their full glory. Photographers are to be found everywhere with cameras taking pictures. Some of the flower beds are arranged with patio stones leading into the middle of them, with posing for pictures specifically in mind. Weekends tend to be when it’s busiest around the tulips, so for a local like me, it’s easier to photograph during the middle of the week on a sunny afternoon.
There are numerous locations. The Rideau Canal has numerous flower beds along its length in the downtown core, filled with tulips. Where the Canal widens into Dow’s Lake, the largest number of tulips for any one location can be found- Commissioner’s Park, a spot that’s ideal for a pleasant walk, with a rich variety of bulbs and colours providing a feast for the eye.
There are other locations- Major’s Hill Park is a particularly splendid spot, with its grand views of the city skyline and multiple tulip beds. The national museums have tulip beds close by, as well as a quiet spot most people don’t know about, the Garden Of The Provinces, which lies at the western edge of the downtown core. Jacques Cartier Park in Gatineau, Rideau Hall, the official residence of the Governor-General, and the Mackenzie King Estate in the Gatineau Hills are other ideal locations for tulips. And there are the tulips on Parliament Hill itself. They fill the flower beds out in front of Centre Block, providing a visual delight to visitors to our seat of government. Of course that doesn’t even take into account the countless tulips planted in private gardens across the city by residents.
But one of my favourite spots for the tulips is over on the Gatineau side of the river. On the grounds of the Canadian Museum of History, overlooking the river, with a great view of Parliament Hill, one will always find a bed of tulips planted and looking colourful in May. The bed is named for Malak himself, and it is a fitting place to pay tribute to the founder. He once took a photograph from this spot, a photograph of floating lumber and a boat or two managing the log drive on the river, with Parliament Hill as its backdrop. That very image was on our Canadian dollar bill for many years- with a portrait of Queen Elizabeth on the other side, an image taken from an official portrait of her done by his brother Yousuf. It’s a delightful spot to come to when the tulips are in bloom- the vivid flowers, the mighty river, and two cities and a grand landscape around you.
I’m lucky to live here. Throughout the period when the tulips are in bloom, I can go see them at my leisure. Visitors from out of town come by the legions to see them, to photograph them (becoming what I call the tulip paparazzi), and to delight in the multitude of colours. It’s a wonderful tradition that serves to be a great treat in the national capital.
Pink Tulips by William Kendall, Photoblogger
White and Red Tulips by William Kendall, Photoblogger
Some time ago, in a galaxy we still live in, This Girl was fighting a war. A war of discouragement and unconscious undermining from those around her.
“Oh, you want to be a writer? Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” “What’s that, you say? You’ve sold a cookbook? Aw, bless your heart.” “Gee, that’s a tough gig. What are you going to do for a living?”
This Girl had to make a decision. Either go along with the facade of presenting herself as society says she should ~ quiet, structured, always responsible, living day to day routinely and repetitively ~ or rise against those who fought to stifle the Muse, the ones who called her “crazy.”
She was afraid of her inner self. The self that didn’t fit it, and didn’t want to conform. The self that has known she was born to be *gasp* a Creative. Her Creative Self fought to emerge, but her Responsible Self wouldn’t let it. She was afraid The Others would be proven right. She equated creative with crazy. Oh sure, she’s let the Creative Self see daylight once in a while. Maybe feed it bread crumbs or cupcakes with sprinkles. But once the thing named “Normal” called, she had to lock up the Creative Self. She’s hear it singing through the closed door. Sometimes it would whisper through the keyhole. Sometimes it was silent. But no matter how quiet it was, she still knew it was there.
One day, she gave herself permission to open the door. Just a little. Just a crack. She wanted to give her Creative Self a breath of air. But what happened was the reverse. She found her Creative Self breathing air into her stale, dank soul. Inhaling deeper and deeper, she let it refresh her in a way she’d not known before. What she had thought was the sun was just fluorescent lighting. It was her Creative Self that led her to the real light ~ the deep, penetrating, shield-your-eyes-so-can-see-everything light.
Frankly, My Dear . . .: Let your Creative Self shine.
Her Creative Self would tell her things others didn’t know. It influenced her style of dress, manner of speaking, behaviors, and, yes, her thoughts. It structured her schedule and gave her permission to let loose.
But others didn’t see it. Others saw the square peg sticking out of the triangle hole. Sure a corner would fit now and then. But never the whole part. Never the part that was bigger than the hole.
She tried following those who followed the followers who followed the followers who followed the leaders. And when she would break into occasional song and dance, sometimes they hushed her. So she kept most of it inside.
The struggle is real, folks. The struggle is so real. Imagine knowing something about yourself ~ and I mean, knowing, okay? Not the “Gee, I would like to . . .” or the “Hey, I could . . .” but the “This is what I was made for. This is what I am!” knowing ~ and very few others see it or encourage it.
How does This Girl keep going when the rut of daily life gets bigger and longer? Simple. Find a way out by latching on to those already doing what she wants to do, and let them help her climb.
Frankly, My Dear . . .: Latch and Climb.
Now, I’m not a mountain climber. But I know if I ever wanted to go there, I should bring certain gear, supplies . . . and a guide. I definitely am not going up a mountain alone.
I also know you (well, I) need to be willing to let go of some things. What This Girl thinks is stability, is just something under her feet. Being tethered to someone higher up on the mountain has its perks. And responsibilities.
This Girl needs to make sure she follows her guides. They’ve been there before. They know the best path. Or not. Maybe it’s a new adventure for all of us. But the point is, we’re in it together. If This Girl slips, another can keep her tethered. Sure, she can lose a little footing, but she won’t lose everything. And what about the others? Yes, now and then they’ll need to slow down, repeat instructions, stop moving ahead.
The goal is for everyone to excel, yes? Y’all don’t need someone resisting your assistance. So it’s also This Girl’s goal to make sure she doesn’t bring the guides down. In fact, it’s This Girl’s goal to someday know enough to toss a tether down to someone else, and help them climb. Even if that tether is designed with Tiffany blue Zebra stripes.
Because it’s worth it.
Because when we are all on the summit together, glorious things await.
Let your Muse out of the closet. Give your Creative Self permission to dance and sing. Sooner or later, someone will want you to help them climb.
