The post Henry and Mudge appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.
]]>Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel, and every Dr. Seuss book ever written. I grew up with these stories ringing in my head, guiding me through life. Some were weird, and they taught me how to laugh. Others were more serious, and they helped shape the basis for right and wrong.
I’ve always wondered if I could write a children’s book, one that could someday make a child happy, or thoughtful, or sleepy. Maybe one day I will. For now, I’ll stick with stories about dying pets, injured birds of prey, and grieving spouses. I’m good at writing those.
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]]>The post Engrossing appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.
]]>Okay, well, I am a terrible person, clearly. I must fix that immediately.
Any other suggestions? And don’t say 50 Shades of Grey.
Edit: Also, because I’m a sellout and probably a little girl, I’m making a Pinterest board for my books. Check it out.
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]]>The post Hroom Hrom appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.
]]>By “wing”, I mean that I did not sit down to write with any idea of what I want to write about, or reference, or even any conscious, relatable thought whatsoever. But as I type, I will formulate a theory or opinion, piece it together keeping grammar and spelling on par with substance and content, and scribe it without previous intentions for all the internets. Even as I- okay, I got it.
“…the most famousest of hobbits, and that’s saying a lot.”
This is a mildly-recognizable quote (and if not, the context is pretty plain): It belongs to a mister J.R.R. Tolkien, a professor of language and linguistics, who is most famous for writing his The Lord of the Rings trilogy and the prequel, The Hobbit. Specifically, the quote is from the second book in the LotR series titled The Two Towers, where Samwise Gamgee, a hobbit (which is a fictional race of beings invented by Tolkien) tells his master Frodo Baggins that one day, when the adventures and trials both hobbits are involved in become stories to tell younger generations, Frodo will be revered and remembered as a great historical figure, and children will grow up wanting to be as brave and courageous as their hero of old.
This is a happy part of the story, which at this point has grown very dark and foreboding. (I know, because I’m reading them for the third time.) And it strikes me how silly the movies make certain parts of the tale, when, if read from the pen of Tolkien himself, the background and character-building is immense and practical and wonderfully detailed. Wise ents bring a new perspective to questions I’ve asked for years. Falsehoods and trickery, the calling card and persona of one shrivelled, skulking mess of a character, speaks to me of my own deceit, makes me self-conscious of my scheming. And a hobbit, a 3-foot-high, rotund elf with hairy feet and a pure heart of truth, stands tallest of all the great, towers over the giants and beanstalks of older tales, and knocks me over with decided force- I have much to learn. Specifically, the concept of friendship.
Hobbits like three things: Food, friends, and things you eat food with. They are simple-minded, and not in the mentally-incapacitated way, but in the let’s go eat and we’ll argue about politics afterwards kind of way. And while food is cool, people you love and cherish are decidedly more valuable. Sam Gamgee personifies this quality throughout the epic.
But there seems to be a cut-off point for me. A time where, once that date had passed, I refused to make new friends. I mean, I can be friendLY, and chat you up nicely, and keep regular contact with you, and bring you things and give you car rides and help you move and go to church with you and heck, I’ll even listen to your problems and give you advice if you want. BUT…ask me to sit down nd share a problem I have, or get real about my relationship with God, or find out what I do with my life, and I will close right down. You’ll see my surface-face, and hear my surface-voice, and be friends with my surface-person. And even with my really good friends, I manage to shove them off sometimes with mincing, shallow word-trading. It’s a defense mechanism I nurtured and coddled like a bad habit until it became an interference, then a problem, and finally, a destroyer of relationships.
The hard part is getting back to simple. Back to being motive-less in my relationships, and unconcerned with discomfort. Whatever I’m protecting, it’s not as important as a friend.
I’ve got a bit more to grow before I’m as young in heart as the hobbits of Middle Earth. It would be nice to have everything perfect, and all my goals accomplished at once, but I guess if that happened, I’d get bored pretty quick and have to resort to building a fortress of mountains around a volcano (which actually sounds pretty great).
Here’s a video of the scene I’m referencing, subtitled in…..German?
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJmprT9i8GY]
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