Making Crowns from Autumn Leaves

0 Comments
Marci Darling

I lie here on my pink puffy bed in my pink silky pajamas, or pink flannel depending on my mood (the only thing you can bank on is that there will be chocolate smeared somewhere on my attire), with my pink feathered pen, writing my most delicious daydreams. Funny? Sometimes. Scandalous? Hopefully. Inspiring? Perhaps. Full of love? Always.

Welcome to my World.

Similar Posts

  • Whisks, Violins, Rabbit Muffins, and Wishing I had a Tail…

    Hours

    I couldn’t help but shake my head in wonder tonight as two-year-old Henry took the whisk from out of the kitchen drawer, stuck it between his legs, and started to ride it around the kitchen making clip-clop noises with his tongue. “Look a’ me, Abelle” he said and continued to gallop and clip-clop. When he says “Abelle”, it sounds like Apple. George was making a grilled cheese sandwich for Abelle while this went on, and he flipped the spatula in…

  • My Fabulous (but not flaming)Boy

    Hours

    For those who know me, it’s no secret that I have a special bond with gay men. We like the same movies (Auntie Mame!), we love stories with dramatic flair, and we appreciate fabulous fashion. So, when my second child was a boy, I was thrilled!  “Oohh!! Maybe he’ll grow up to be a drag queen!” I thought. Sparkles, rhinestones, gorgeous costumes, cabaret songs all danced in my head. At first, there were all sorts of positive signs. He wore…

  • | | | | | |

    Dragonslayer

    Hours

    My favorite mythologist, Joseph Campbell, said near the end of every hero’s journey, we face a massive dragon guarding life’s greatest treasure—the truth of our soul. It’s a lesson I learn over and over, but it seems the dragon is bigger this time, with much sharper teeth and claws and hotter fire-breathing capabilities than ever before. But guess what? I have experience slaying dragons. After getting my Masters degree at Harvard, I craved quiet, long walks in the woods, and…

  • | | | |

    The (Kind Of) Invisible Woman

    Hours

    As I sat alone at the bar at Chez Josephine, I hung my pink beach ball purse on the hook under the bar and ordered my favorite champagne. Before long, the bartender saw my purse and gasped, so I pushed it over to her. She slung it over her arm and paraded around the restaurant for people to admire her. The other women sitting at the bar began gushing about my feathered cape and entire ensemble.  I was surrounded by red velvet walls, a blue tin ceiling, dripping chandeliers, and massive images of my favorite icon, Josephine Baker. Someone was singing boisterously in French, and the bar was lively with people shouting and laughing.
    I sat quietly, bathed in the soft lights, and just… was.

  • | | |

    Divorce in a Patriarchy ( I Prefer Divorce in a Pastry-Archy)

    Hours

    Patriarchy? Does the Patriarchy still exist, you ask? I’ll let you be the judge. So let’s start with the fact that I just finished house hunting and started wondering why the big bedroom in every house is called the “Master”. Why? Why isn’t it called the “Mistress?” Or better yet, “Mistress Minx?” Or “Mistress Cream Puff.” I don’t want to sleep in a “Master.” I want to sleep in a “Mistress Minx” room with a bed shaped like a cream…

  • Drinking Happy Juice called Henry

    Hours

    There’s something so stabilizing and powerful about the mountains of Utah. Walking up rocks holding the hands of four toddlers only to emerge at a breathtaking waterfall, a cool spray on my face, moss-covered rocks…so beautiful. This morning Henry swung on the pole of my parent’s treadmill and told me he was on the streetcar in New Orleans. He then insisted I carry three buckets up the stairs—one was his hat, one his drum, and the red square one his…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *