Jesterly Challenge Month – November 28th

Sheena didn’t officially challenge me to write something based on this picture, but I felt compelled to, because it is too awesome not to contribute and pass it along.  So, here’s the picture, and my words follow, as always.

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Lego minifigures minifig jester queen pizza prince

“Where you going, Daddy?  Momma, where’s Daddy going?”

The Little Prince, as impatient with answers to his questions as he was with everything else at the moment, tugged on the Queen’s dress.  She bore it with the grace that comes with decades of royal training and smiled down at her son, with a raise of her eyebrows that indicated his answers would come if he would wait a moment longer.

The Jester, with a smile of his own, turned to face the Little Prince.  “Where do you think I’m going?”

The Little Prince was not amused.  Answering a question with another question did not get him what he wanted and he pursed his lips and furrowed his brow to show his disappointment.  With a vigorous shake of his head, he completed his refusal to reply.

The Jester bent down so he was level with his son and said, “I’m all dressed up.  Got my jingle hat on.  Got my sparkles on.  Got my bag of tricks.  Where do I go when I’m like this?”

The Little Prince smirked.  He knew the answer but was too stubborn to give it.  So, he shook his head again and crossed his arms in front of him.

With a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated, fake, sigh, the Jester rose, “I’m off to the blogosphere to spread silliness and joy.  But, don’t fret, I shall return.  I always do.”

“Momma, you going with Daddy?”

“No, I’m staying here to play with you.”

Relief flooded the child’s features and his infectious dimple bordered smile returned.  “Okay, bye Daddy.  Come on, Momma, let’s play!”

While the Little Prince eyed the nearest wall, considering its durableness and springiness to determine if it would be good to bounce off of, the Jester stepped closer to his wife.  “You know,” he whispered, “you are both welcome in the ‘sphere.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

“What do you know?”  The Little Prince was by her side again, earnestly hoping to meet her gaze.

“I also know,” the Queen continued, dropping the whisper, “that we are there with you always, even when we aren’t.”

“What are you talking about, Momma?”

She placed a hand on his shoulder but he ignored her request for patience.

“Momma?  Momma?  Momma!  What you talking about?”

The Jester smiled and bowed deeply to his Queen and then straightened as he spoke, “You are my loves, my muses, it’s true.  You are in everything I do.  Today, I’ll borrow the duality of his urgent clinging fearlessness and your unfaltering beauty.  I’ll take on the role of bard and pen a poem, constructed with your cadence and curves, and biting with jabs at the falseness of who we pretend to be.  Or, perhaps I’ll take on the role of minstrel and pen a song, with harmony and melody wondrous to hear, but with lyrics that frighten those who stray too near.”

The Little Prince was wide eyed and momentarily silenced, held in a trance by his father’s words, and the Queen smiled at her Jester and put her free hand on his shoulder.  “Whatever you are today, you will be great.”

The moment passed, “Bye, Daddy,” the Little Prince exclaimed while pulling the Queen the opposite direction.  “Come on, Momma, let’s go play.”

With a wink and a laugh, the Jester took his leave to wander, purposefully and distractedly, into the blogosphere.  He wasn’t sure who he would end up being that day, or what he would find, but he knew it would be good.  He knew it would be great.  The Queen was always right about those sorts of things.

If I could…

Rara shared some of her husband’s writing over on Stories. It is a powerful piece, as most of his work is, and it will grab you and make you pay attention. His words pretty much always have that effect on me… Pop on over and see if they don’t grab you too.

Stories that Must Not Die

This was written by Grayson Queen in December of 2012, and published in novellette format to his book, Orange Buffalo. You may remember it from there. He was an artist, a writer, a blogger, a geek, a diabetic, a depression-sufferer, my husband, and billions of other things. His was born David Martinez, and in May of 2015, he died from natural causes– specific reasons still unknown. If you were one of his dedicated readers, please know I’m finding a safe space for each of his precious words, and please keep your eye out for news on my re-publishing and sorting of his works into printed form.

Thank you for your continued readership.
– Ra
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Illustrations & Quote by Grayson Queen Illustrations & Quote by Grayson Queen

 

If I could come up with a solution,

would I bother ( ? … )

to be heard over the blare of mp3 players and bass-booming cars

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an origin story

When she walked through the door all I saw was the silhouette of her hair bouncing with a vibrant life that would continue to captivate me for years to come.  I was intrigued and turned away from the television to give the newcomer my full attention.  Then she stepped into the hallway where the light framed her smile and I was lost.

The smile didn’t start with her lips.  The upturned corners tried to cage it, but nothing could.  It surpassed the possible and began with her whole exuberant entrance.  It spread through her limbs to squeeze the air from the room.  It shone in her blue eyes with the warmth of an afternoon sky in the height of summer.  It set her hair ablaze in the joy of escaping the work week and adventuring unknown roads in her resultant freedom.

I do not recall what happened next in absolutes.  The days that followed are a blur of volleyball and laughter, food and drinks, and friends old and new.  It was a delirious whirlwind of activities and conversations.  I was delirious as I ignored a burning fever to spend an extra couple hours with her before she returned home and our separate realities brought an end to the smile-gifted festivities.

The timing wasn’t right.  The setting was wrong.  I was seeing someone else and she lived far away.  Even so, we exchanged email addresses and phone numbers before she got in her car and took her smile away.  In its absence I could no longer pretend there wasn’t a fire between my temples and I stumbled to the safety and relief of cool sheets and restorative slumber.

Time slipped after that weekend, both in reality and my memory.  Life carried on in its ups and downs.  Days passed.  Work was accomplished.  Adventures were had.  But, none of it mattered then, and in the context of now, none of it ever will.  Time was meaningless until the circumstances changed, I was single once more, and the distance between us no longer seemed important.  It wasn’t important.

We were lucky in a world that holds a premium on such things.  We were searching for each other.  We pursued each other.  We fancied and courted and learned and experienced each other.  And all of our adventures were within the glow of her smile, her wonderful smile.

Let It Be

Rara is free. And I have it on good authority she is sneaking around the blogosphere to see what everyone has been up to. Check out the last of her series over at Stories and feel free to leave links for “all the things” she has missed in the last year.

Stories that Must Not Die

This is post 6 of 6, and concludes the series of poems and prose that Rara sent to be shared with the Stories community. 

In a bit of good news, she was released early on July 18th.  

Still, if you can, and you haven’t already, please donate to the Rara Relief fund.  Every little bit will help her get back on her feet.

He wouldn’t be caught dead
In brick-ugly maroon, he declared

And I asked – –
Why?
Would it make the stars fade?

YES.  He said,
With a certainty most reserve for big truths.

(But then – he never believed in measuring truths.  Or dreams.  Or possibilities.  Or the cosmos.)

He wouldn’t have been caught dead
in a brick-ugly maroon box – –

but then he was,
and in appreciation of the way he let them be

– – limitless – –

the stars let him be right…

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Sad News

I have terrible news to share with the blogosphere today.

Horrible, no good, awful news.

Many of you knew him as Grayson Queen, author and artist extraordinaire.  Perhaps you’ve read one of his novels.  Perhaps you’ve purchased, or at least enjoyed, some of his paintings or sculptures…  Perhaps you knew that he was also Rara‘s husband, Dave.

I don’t have a lot of details, but I can confirm that Dave passed away earlier this week.

Please share this post wide and far.  Please say a prayer for Dave and Rara.  Please send her every ounce of spare energy you can muster.  She needs us.  Dave’s family and friends need us.

And send her mail to show her your love, your RawrLove:

Radhika Jaini WF0124
CIW LA 249 UP
16756 Chino-Corona Road
Corona, CA  92880

You don’t need to know what to say.  You don’t need to say anything beyond you are thinking of her, and you love her.