Val Muller

I’ve always loved imagining the fantastical within the realm of everyday life. As a child, I became intrigued by The Dark Crystal¸ a movie in which a main character harbors hidden wings. For several months—if not years—I checked my back every morning to see if my wings had sprouted yet. I’ve always been fascinated with the outdoors and with cultures who believe in fairies and other mythical beings. I suppose as an author, I’m attuned to imagining possibilities beyond the ordinary.

In my Internet wanderings, I came upon an interesting article about a phenomenon in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where tiny “fairy” doors have been showing up in homes and stores. These are literally tiny fairy-sized doors. Some of them even contain windows allowing us to see inside.

My favorite part about the phenomenon is that children have been leaving little gifts for the fairies, including coins, drawings, and other trinkets. It makes me happy that the adults who own and build these stores still see the need for magic in the world. The article referenced above features a video that explains the doors a bit:

I’m not sure what a fairy door would do in terms of resale value, but if I ever have to renovate a wall in my house, I may just see if any fairies want to put in a door or two. Realtors may cringe, but that type of magic is priceless.

I had another post planned for this week, but I procrastinated on my research. Good thing because something fantastic happened to me today I thought I’d write about.

My toddler, online known as the CLK (Cute Little Kiddo), had an early morning. Teething woke her, and despite my attempts at comforting/bribing/consoling her with food/cartoons/cuddles, she would not go back to sleep. So I figured: why not hit the supermarket before it gets crowded?

So I packed her into the car, and not half a mile down the road, she was out.

It was one of those deep sleeps in which even being taken from a car seat on a very sunny, very cold, and very windy morning did not wake her. So instead of sitting attentively in the shopping cart and trying to pull things off the shelves, she slept soundly on my shoulder while I shopped.

If you’ve never done it before, I challenge you to go shopping with a snoring twenty-pound toddler slung over your shoulder. If you don’t have a toddler handy, you can pick up a large bag of flour/rice/potatoes instead. Real sleeping toddlers are just as limp, though you may want to add (or imagine) snoring and the occasional tossing and turning. The experience will definitely prove to you that time is, indeed, relative.

After one-handedly navigating a cart through the aisles and picking items as gingerly as possible, I headed for the checkout line. I’d been getting sympathetic glances the entire time, people looking from me to their carts with a look of relief washing over their face that at least this element of their lives, the trip to the grocery store, was unencumbered. At least I could be their foils for the morning.

At such an hour, only two lines were open, and I wasn’t going to attempt a self-checkout with one hand. A woman with a super-loaded cart arrived a second or two before me. She glanced sympathetically at me, looking from the CLK to her own ten-ish-year-old daughter.

“I remember those days,” she said. “Why don’t you go in front of me?”

I thanked her, but I declined. She’d probably finish faster, anyway. I chose the second available checkout—the slightly longer line.

“Okay,” she insisted, “but I’m sending my daughter over there to unload your cart onto the conveyor belt for you.”

I watched in amazement as her daughter unloaded the cart onto the belt and even took the reusable bags up to the cashier for me. It was a small gesture, but it brightened my morning. I was reminded to cherish the sleeping toddler on my shoulder—because I know this stage doesn’t last long. I was encouraged that one day, the CLK would be old enough to help load up groceries with/for me. And I was inspired that one day, when the CLK is old enough, perhaps I’ll be able to show her the value of helping others by lending her services to another mother in need.

Chocolate. Hummus.

Stay with me, here.

I didn’t know this was a thing.

I really wanted to write about the 75-degree weather for this week’s Fantastic Friday post. In fact, the reason I’m late (posting this on Sunday instead of Friday) is that I was out enjoying the unseasonable weather while it lasted. Today is cold again, so I’m sitting by the fire at my laptop, catching up on the blog.

But I think chocolate hummus is much more unique than the beautiful weather we’ve all been enjoying.

To understand the significance of chocolate hummus, I have to share my “chocolate frosting” dreams. A while back, when my husband and I decided to collectively lose 100 pounds, one of the things that helped was cutting down on desserts. As I decreased my sugar intake, I found I didn’t miss it that much. Ever since I was a kid, I haven’t really been super interested in food (just ask my dad about the tricks he had to do to get me to eat). I prefer just to eat quickly and efficiently and then move on.

Except for chocolate frosting. It’s my Achiiles’ heel.

As I lost weight, I literally had dreams that I was eating a spoonful of chocolate frosting.

Multiple dreams, over days, weeks, and months.

And it’s not like I used to eat tons and tons of sweets. It’s just that I really love chocolate buttercreme frosting. So every once in a while—and this still happens—I will have a dream in which I am about to eat a spoonful of chocolate frosting. And then, just as I’m about to take a bite, I wake up.

And there is no chocolate frosting to be had!

Enter chocolate hummus. I was at Giant picking up my weekly package of hummus (hummus and veggies for lunch helped me lose 50 pounds two years ago), when I saw “Twisted Chocolate hummus.” I figured, what the heck? Give it a try. The package suggested it would be good for dipping fruit or pretzels.

I packed some strawberries the next day for lunch and hoped for the best. And I wasn’t disappointed. It’s not quite buttercreme frosting, but it hits the chocolate spot without doing too much calorie damage. It’s chocolatey and creamy with a bit of cinnamon/heat to it. I could imagine it topping cupcakes and cookies, as a matter of fact.

When I went to Google it, I was startled to find so many recipes for it. In fact, there are numerous recipes out there for dessert hummus, including peanut butter and cookie dough versions! So as I continue to make choices and substitutions in what I eat in an attempt to be as healthy as possible, it’s always exciting to discover alternatives to something as unhealthy as chocolate buttercreme frosting.

Because what would the world be without chocolate?

I’m a bit too far south and just missed the most recent snow, but several states enjoyed a snow day yesterday.

If you’d read any of my snow-related posts (like The Great Snow Nightmare or several posts inspired by the blizzard birth of my daughter), you’ll know I’m not a huge fan of the cold stuff. But even I’ll admit that there’s something magical about the snow.

My earliest memory of the power of words, one I often share at my author talks, is a night when my dad took me to the dining room window one winter to show me how the full moon made the freshly-fallen snow glow. He quoted a line from “The Night Before Christmas,” a poem we’d memorized together (“the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of midday to objects below.”). To me, that moment of staring at the snow under the moonlight made literature come alive. I realized that the poet had captured exactly what I was seeing—a magical, snowy scene—and set it down on paper to be read and imagined forever.

My husband is just the opposite. He loves snow days and always appreciates the beauty of snow (I remind him of this every time I send him out to clear the driveway! I love summer: I get to mow the lawn. He loves snow: he has to shovel and snowblow!)

When I first met him, he introduced me to one of his favorite childhood songs. It came from a film version of The Snowman, a book by Raymond Briggs. I found the entire thing on YouTube. Because it’s Fantastic Friday, I’ve included the version that has the introduction by David Bowie (after all, there’s got to be something warm to counteract all that snow!)

The story follows the reaction of a young boy who wakes up, thrilled to find a magical winter world outside his door. I imagine it’s how my husband must have been as a kid. I’ll admit, when I was younger, there was definitely something magic about snow. In this tale, the boy shows the snowman his world, and then the snowman takes the boy up in the air to visit a snowy wonderland. The tale, with the exception of a song—and David Bowie’s introduction, if you’re watching that version—is wordless:

I read just yesterday that author Raymond Briggs was recently honored with a lifetime achievement award. In the midst of all the hateful news out there lately, it’s refreshing to read something positive.

Besides, I hear it’s supposed to be near 70 this weekend 🙂