While I've Been Away...

It's been a while...and I missed it.

I thought about it each night, wondering what I would write if I had not have been immersed in the world of Lungas and Danu the lions, and Riley and Owen, their little cubs. Don't get me wrong, I truly enjoyed the challenge of scripting a children's book, but this blog has gotten a bit under my skin. Time away has taught me that I am much better suited for essay writing, memoir writing and adult fiction writing, than I am for the intricate responsibility of packaging a moral lesson into a box of imaginative adventures.

Several months back, my husband and I made a promise though. We decided we would write a children's book for our brand new niece and nephew. With the days ticking past until Christmas, we knew this was our opportunity to act. And I knew there was no way I could avoid an all-encompassing immersion into the world of our little imaginary creatures; that's why I decided to put my blog on hold.

This was absolutely true, as Lungus, Danu, Riley, and Owen, as well as Finn, the baboon, managed to invade my dreams. I loved every minute of imagining their story, and everything seemed to be going perfectly until I realized the book needed pictures. I'm not sure why that didn't occur to me from the outset--after all, I've read a gazillion children's books throughout the course of my life. Nevertheless, as I stared at the black and white letters filling each edge of a word document, I realized our story about respecting differences, and meeting in the middle, seemed naked without appropriate images. My stomach churned with anxiety; drawing is not my forte--and to say it is not my forte is actually an understatement.

Contemplating my options, I ultimately settled on cutting out images from scrap booking paper. I found traceable lions online, and I made them out of unexpected patterns. I drew the outline of a less-than-identifiable baboon and I added him into the mix. Then I made a tree, I cut out a hill and I found the colors of my sky. Suddenly, I had something to work with. I laid out my images and I snapped photographs. Inserting them into the slots beside the words, my husband and I managed to make something that seemed to finally resemble a children's book.

Through the process, I realized how much creative energy it took to bring our idea to life. I found myself considering images in a way I never considered them before, and I came to appreciate an art form I've never explored. Any time you throw yourself into unfamiliar territory you are bound to grow, and I feel like my endeavor to produce a children's book pushed me in ways I didn't know I could be pushed. It also made me TRULY appreciate the efforts of all children's book writers who penned and drew the books I loved as a child.

Hopefully one day little Owen and little Riley will like their story. Their aunt and uncle sure had a great time making it, and we can't wait to fly across the country, hold them in our arms, and read every last page together.

And though I'm proud of our creation, I'm also pretty darn excited to be back to my world of blogging. Though still a bit unfamiliar, I think it's slightly better suited for my wandering mind.

Surreal

Rosing, Norbert. Sitting Bobcat Gazing to the Left. “Bobcat.” National Geographic: n. pag. National Geographic. N.p., n.d. Web. 19 Oct. 2011. .

PROMPT: Think of the most recent surreal moment you can recall. Retell that moment with a retrospective lens. Go...

***

"Uh...I think a snow leopard just ran in front of my car," I choked out, interrupting my father's thoughtful response to some insipid observation I made about a daily detail I can no longer recall.

"Where are you?" he inquired, momentarily entertaining the possibility that I could be near the zoo, and that perhaps a furry little creature happened to sneak out into Dublin, and grace me with his presence.

"I'm on Kinnear Road," I explained, identifying a street smack dab between Ohio State's campus and a small suburban neighborhood.

Our conversation met a moment of silence, then my father muffled his chuckles. To be perfectly honest, he was justified in his response. My imagination occasionally spins out of control, and stories hop on board. I generally own up to the bi-products of my creative license, but occasionally, my strange celebrity encounters, or turns of bad luck and good luck are actually 100% true.

"Maybe you should hang up and focus on the road right now," he offered diplomatically, evidence of suppressed laughter lingered in the breath between words.

Ignoring every trace of disbelief, I agreed.

"I know. This is seriously the strangest thing," I explained, "I'm kind of freaked out by it."

"You're safe in the car; just pay attention to the road. I don't think the snow leapord will follow you downtown."

I snorted light-heartedly at his sarcasm; then, I hung up. Stunned, I rode the rest of the way in silence, trying to process the defined muscles and jarring speed of the creature who darted in front of me, and directly into the woods. His face caught my eyes for a brief moment before he disappeared, and the cat-like features--the scrunched face, the diagonal eyes, the svelte ball of dotted ivory fur--replayed over and over in my memory. He was too big to be a household cat, he ran like a deer, and he appeared to be the size of dog. If he wasn't a snow leopard, he had to be something pretty important on the chain of authoritative felines.

Before my husband even made it entirely inside the door, I told him about my snow leopard.

He paused very patiently, fighting the edges of his mouth who so desperately yearned for an explosion--a sudden burst of laughter looming on the horizon of his first few words.

"I'm pretty sure we don't have snow leopards in Ohio," he said about as nicely as one could respond to something that seemed positively absurd. I provided specific details about my creature, insisting that it was not any of the common animals I typically see on a regular Friday night.

"Maybe it was a bobcat," he offered, going on to explain that his mother saw one in their backyard several years back.

Ill-equip with at-hand knowledge regarding exotic animals, and unable to defend my observation with any specific scientific classification, I promptly shuffled to the computer and searched images of bobcats and snow leopards.

Gazing at a criminal lineup of large cats, I eliminated the animals one by one, until a single cat remained. I studied his pictures for a while, captivated, in particular, by the image of him staring off to left. He was my man. He was my creature. He was my bobcat.

"Babe, it was a bobcat. I swear I saw a bobcat," I determined, searching for information about him. Reading about the habitat and tendencies of bobcats, I ultimately learned that the little guy gave me a glimmer of something few get to see--him. Stealth and secretive creatures, bobcats are rarely spotted. It's not really their thing to pounce across a suburban street at 5pm on a Friday night. On this Friday night, however, my bobcat decided to shift reality and grace me with his presence.

As strange and as jarring as my observation was, my quick dash of fur was no match for the surreal experience many Ohioans had to endure this morning when they woke up to see lions, Bengal tigers, bears, baboons and wolves wandering around their neighborhood. I cannot even begin to imagine the processing one endures when he sees characters from the jungle pounce into his reality. I also cannot process the tremendous loss our world endured as a result of one man's selfishness. Authorities had to kill 49 beautiful, strong, innocent animals in order to save humans who live around them.

The whole situation saddens me. I understand why the shootings had to take place, but I am angry that the animals were ever put in that position. I am angry that it is so easy for people--who have no business owning powerful creatures--to gain ownership of them, to enslave them on their property to satisfy some selfish obsession. If that man cannot live without those animals, then he should move to Africa to live with them; he shouldn't force them to move here where they are locked up and denied the basic pleasures of being free. Those animals lost their life for no reason. None. Unless we pass stronger regulations, they have all died in vein.

As I pondered their plight, I also could not help but think about my bobcat. I couldn't help but imagine how selfish we have been to steal his land. He seems out of place today, but at one time this was his place. When I reported his existence to authorities, I did so because I didn't want children or pets to be eaten. As I think about him today, I worry that my phone call might lead him to the same demise as the 49 other innocent animals who were victims of human greed.