Curiosity-The Other Side of The Street

Everyone in Curio was named Jones but Jones liked to think of herself as more of a Joanna. Curio was a town stuck in time. The younger generations would try to pull it out, but the town stuck fast as the younger grew older and the cycle continued.

Joanna was sitting at a cafe table outside of the coffee shop. It was the only one in town and admittedly their best drink was hot tea. She was half enjoying a disappointing latte when she heard a POP and felt the atmosphere around her move in a nauseating way. The sensation began to fade. Joanna stood up, feeling a bit dizzy, and looked around to see what it could have been. The streets were silent. Curio was a quiet town, but not this quiet. Puzzled, she sat back down to finish her latte.

Mid-sip she saw a man turn a corner and saunter down the street. He stopped in front of the old store called Curio City. (Everything in Curio had Curio in the name.) He looked around as if he was about to rob the place and went in. Joanna finished her latte but decided to wait to see if this person would come running out of the shop with the shopkeeper hot on his heals yelling "Thief!!! Thief!!!" This town could use a little excitement and a better coffee shop.

After about five minutes Joanna decided nothing illegal was about to happen and stood up to leave. She tossed her cup in the bin,  just as the man stepped out of the store with a package in his hand. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper and string. She wondered who he had bought the present for. "Definitely someone named Jones." She thought. She laughed at her own joke and the man across the street looked up and locked eyes with her. She started to smile a friendly smile but the look on the man's face was strange. She looked away quickly, gathered her purse and walked quickly down the sidewalk away from him. 

Curiosity

Jones walked along the street he had been walking along all his life. Main street; every town has one. The artery of the town. A place where all life could get their sustenance, both physical and mental. Jones often liked to stop into the local grocery and get unique food items. The place always had something new to try. He was quite the adventurous type. In fact, today he was headed there when a shop caught his attention.

It was named “Curio City.” He was sure he had never seen it before. The sign above the entrance was old weathered wood. The kind that looked like it had never been properly treated and seen one thousand storms. Below the store name on the sign was “est. 1403” etched in and filled with black paint.

“Cute,” he thought. They certainly couldn’t have been around that long as he would have remembered the little shop from his many walks down this street. They must have added that little detail to give the right ambiance. He really appreciated when places went the extra mile to bring the right feel. He figured he could forgo his grocery shopping for a little bit to check out this shop. So he diverted his path and walked up to the door.

It required quite a bit of his effort to pull the door open, but with a little jolt he was able to get it moving. Once the initial pull was complete the door flowed open like it was resting on a cloud. And with that cloud came a wall of musty air that slammed into Jones’ senses. He stepped through the portal and all at once he felt like he was standing in the Galley of an old ship. He could almost feel the floor gently moving to water that he was sure didn’t exist.

“Ah, I see you have finally arrived.” A voice drifted from the back of the shop. Jones’ eyes started to adjust to the lower light and he could start to make out his surroundings. The place was carved wood from ceiling to floor. Shelves lined every wall with objects perfectly spaced from each other. An old man came out from behind a cloth curtain, which Jones had just noticed.

“This is a very interesting shop, when did you move in?” Jones inquired.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘move in’.” The old man replied.

“How long have you been in business?” Jones clarified.

“Ah, since 1403. We’ve been here for ages.”

“I bet you have.” Jones said knowingly. This old man was really selling the experience. “Is there anything in particular you suggest?”

“Oh, I don’t suggest stuff,” the old man said knowingly. “I have here exactly what you need.” With that he held up an old package, meticulously wrapped.

“I bet you do.” Jones replied. “How much will I owe for this mysterious item?”

“Nothing, this is your item. The only rule is you must not open it for three years.”

“Three years? Why would I hold on to this for three years?”

“I suppose you don’t have to,” the old man said thinking to himself, “but you will. On this very day three years from now is when you will open the package.”

Tired of the weird and cryptic old man, Jones took the package and was rushed to the door by the old man. Once outside turned around to tell the old man he didn’t appreciate the cryptic package and his demeanor, he found himself staring at a brick wall.

“Three years… heh…” and with that he walked off to the grocery with the package held loosely in his hand.

Fields

It’s days like this, she thought, I wish I was alone. She sat cross-legged in the grass plucking up one blade at a time and inspecting them intently. Each one seemed to have a completely unique look and feel up close, but from a distance they all seemed the same. Her hair, a flat umber with some sun infused gold strode down to her mid-back, but she kept it in a tight ponytail on days like this. She had a tiny nose that she was very proud of. And although most people wouldn’t be absolutely sure, her left ear was one tenth of a centimeter lower than her right. She’d measured it countless times. She had eyes that were a whirlwind of olive and ash with a slight mix of coffee dipped in. She wasn’t terribly fond of her lips; she felt the lower one didn’t stick out quite far enough, and the top one too thin.

With each blade she would think of a new dream that she wanted for her life. She would rub the blade between her forefinger and thumb, feeling the slightly scratchy side on one and the smooth part on the other. With each dream done, she would close her eyes and bring the blade to her lips, kiss it, and then blow it off into the sunlight. Countless dreams were released this way. To her it was the only way to live any of them.

It had been a long night, she thought, as the sun warmed her face and arms. One of the longest she had experienced in a while. Her name, Mariella, felt like someone else’s now. For all one knows she had stolen it last night from an unsuspecting person she crossed paths with? The events that took place were quickly becoming enclosed in the dense haze of her memory, much like to grasp at the last fading parts of a vivid dream as wakefulness cleanses ones mental pallet. Nothing felt real from then.

Mariella focused on the cold grass beneath her. It was a world of dreams for her to wish away. She closed her eyes and felt a light breeze touch her cheek and forehead. With it brought a delicate scent of far off water and fresh flowers. In the distance she could hear a dog searching for its master, or possibly mate. Her arms came up behind her and her hands interlocked behind her head. The wind slowly assisted her to the ground. She stayed lying there for hours. Things would eventually have to be done, but later. Later.

Clearing

I stood in the center of the clearing, deep in the forest. This was my place, a place where only the creatures of nature and I knew about. It lay a short walk from my back door through the woods. The trick was crossing the stream back there. There was a log you could cross, but it was hidden in a cove that was most likely created by beavers. To either side of the cavern was a branch and bramble wall, no way to forge over it. but if you looked real close you would find a small section of branches tied together with makeshift tree bark rope.

Once pulled aside you could crawl under the catch weed into a small space with the large timber to cross over the water. The space here was not mine, and I knew it. It was modified so I could pass, but there was always a sense of eyes upon you. I never felt in danger, but I knew that I was only welcome as a passer by and not invited to stay for any length of time.

Beyond the crossing there were a few love paths well trodden in the forest floor. They seemed ancient and terribly unkempt. I had once spent some time trying to map them out, but quickly became bored with the prospect of where they led when I had found the clearing.

I had affectionately come to call it the glade. It was about forty paces in diameter and near perfectly round. The edges seemed to understand that they needed to maintain the circle. The foliage was emerald green, not a section of earth could be seen, thick and lush. A short grass about ankle high grew all over. It was as if it had decided that it was at the perfect height and stopped.

The trees encircling the space almost formed a perfect privacy fence. From everywhere outside of the clearing one would have no idea it existed. It was as if nature herself decided that this place was to be kept hidden from most, I would say all, but I had been given the privilege of locating the space.

In the summer I could lay in the open space for hours and just think about the universe around me. It was quite an inspiring place to be. Light breezes would light over the trees and swoop down into the center and keep one at the perfect temperature, also creating a soothing sound, a music all it’s own, in your ears.

Sometimes a squirrel would play along the edge of the clearing searching for supplies for the upcoming winter, mostly they kept to themselves, but if I brought snacks with me, they were certainly happy to share. Sometimes they would dance along the edge of the green, a complex series of movements around each other, elegant and otherworldly I could watch their movements losing complete track of time. When the shade would hit the center of the patch I knew it was time to head home.

The Cat Man

Thump, thump, thump. A knocking erupted from the front door throughout the house. An old lady in her seventies waddled down the steps to her foyer and peeked through the peephole in the door. Through the viewing device she could only make out a large grin with stubble all around it. Oh no, she thought to herself, what could this man possibly want? She checked herself in the full-length mirror by the door it’s not proper to look shabby when greeting people she felt. Then she undid the main lock and opened the door.

A burst of breeze and sunlight bounced around the room. One might have felt a light happy musical tune off in the distance saunter in with the air and light and take a seat by the entry table. The tune whimsically observed the old lady and the man on the other side of the portal. He wore a loosely fitted brown plaid wool suit with a dirty well-worn fedora on his head. He had a touch of stubble on his face, as if it had been a day or two since his last shave. His eyes radiated a serene blue, which felt calming. He had a dark grey satchel draped over his shoulder.

“Hello there and what a lovely day it is. The sun is shining. The breeze is blowing. The clouds are playing in the sky. My name is Gerrod Fantingue,” his words came out in rapid-fire succession. The old lady was finding it hard to keep up; he seemed to notice this and slowed down just enough that she was still barely gripping on. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing on your doorstep today? I bet, you’re thinking to yourself, what could this somewhat shabby, yet debonair man be wanting with me. Well there are so many reasons I could be here, it’s near unfathomable. But the real reason is I’m here to sell you a used cat or two! It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss?”

She stood there, mouth agape. Mr. Fantigue looked around the foyer, and then decided it might be better to inspect his fingernails. After a length of time she finally seemed to catch up to the current point in the conversation.

“Ruth,” she said cautiously, “Did I hear you correctly? A used cat?”

“Ah Ruth, a truly wonderful name. I once had a grandmother named Ruth. Can’t go wrong with a name like that. And yes you did. As I was passing by, I noticed a distinct lack of creatures of the feline persuasion about your property and figured that we ought to rectify this toot sweet.”

Ruth wasn’t sure how to respond to this. The only thing that came to mind was that this man wanted something more than what he was letting on to. She decided caution would be the best policy. “Um. I don’t need any cats. As you can see, I’m old and fragile, I wouldn’t be able to take care of them.”

“Ruth, Ruth, Ruth. Do I look like I would be so insensitive? No, no, no. Like I said these are used cats, they can take care of themselves. I think I know the perfect one for you in fact.” He turned his back on her took off his satchel and started digging around in it. “Now, I know he was in here somewhere, I just saw him the other day… Oh where are you. Fred? Fred! There you are.” He turned back around and in the palm of his hand sat a very old looking miniature cat.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with that.” Ruth said to the man.

“Course you wouldn’t! You’ve probably never received a used cat before. It’s simple, just put him in the sink and run water over him, in no time he will be up to the right size. He knows how big he’s supposed to be.” The cat looked up at Ruth and smiled. “And look he already likes you.”

“I don’t think I can afford a fancy cat like that.”

“Afford? Afford! No Ruth, there’s no charge for used cats. They’re used. Already been paid for once. No need to pay again. This guy, Fred, be sure to get his name right, they get ever so testy if you don’t, is yours.” He handed the cat over to her. Before she had time to say anything back he was already walking away from her house.

“Wait!” She called after him. “I can’t take this cat!”

He just smiled and waved over his shoulder. The tune got up off the chair by the entrance and laughed heartily and spun out into the sunny day. Ruth took the cat into the house and closed the door behind her. She walked into the kitchen and put Fred into the sink.

“Well now Fred, lets see if we can’t get you up to size.” She said as she turned on the faucet.

This is Trulie and I've Been Thinking

  The Trulie Awesome Show is five years old this year and to celebrate, Totalie and I have been planning a party/show for August. We hope to have our friends entertain you and to create a birthday party atmosphere. I personally hope we have an area dedicated to throwing pies at Totalie's face. 

   While I work on convincing Totalie that the pies are a great idea, we are also preparing for my first gallery show at Blockfort!  This is one of my serious pieces and will be on view from March 7th-9th. I began with the concept of a paper chain link per every day of my life leading up to the show, and it is now a 30 minute piece exploring time and the constant internal and physical struggles I face. 

   In and around these two projects, we have a few small shows on the calendar and we are writing new comedy for shows that don't even exist yet. A twinkle in the eye, so to speak. It takes a lot of planning and organization to do a large event, but even the small shows take weeks of preparation. I love all of it.

   This week, I have a show on Friday and it is only one number. Usually my songs are under 4 minutes but every second has hours of thought put into them.  I've been obsessing over this dance and the costume all for it to be over in 4 minutes 45 seconds. 

   The month long projects are important to me, but the short bursts of extreme effort for a one and done show, are so satisfying. In the long run, big projects are still done in a night and then put back on the shelf, so maybe I appreciate the small shows for their mercifully short rehearsal periods and less stuff to put away.  

   The small shows are usually variety shows and that's where I started as Trulie. I created the character in 2012 and debuted my first paper costume at a Stupid Cupid event at Feverhead. So take note: Trulie's  birthday is Valentines Day. That date matches her color scheme too, so it worked out perfectly. 

   Having started out in small variety shows as just one person building paper costumes for myself and then moving on to over-the-top shows with lots of performers in them,  I also appreciate the intimacy of small venues and shows. I have so many great memories of getting ready for a show in the backroom of a bar with 8 other performers (and all of our suitcases) and performing on a tiny makeshift stage to a room of 10 locals who have never seen anything like what we do...it's home really.  It's "the life" 

  I'm so lucky to be able to constantly spend time working on projects for The Trulie Awesome Show. The last seven years as Trulie and the last five with Totalie Awesome as the Trulie Awesome Show, have given me more confidence and a sharper vision for my future than not doing those things would have given me. 

   I'm not very good with mushy feelings but those are my thoughts.

XOXO
Trulie

Plum Pudding Day

What is a Plum Pudding? A question I felt I would never ask myself at any point in my life up to this point. It’s sort of one of those things that people just take for granted. You hear about them in stories, but you very seldom see them in real life; At least I never have. In fact, I racked my memories in search of a plum pudding related recollection. Sadly, none came to mind.

I found I had many memories of plums. Summer days on a hill in the park with a friend on a blanket. We were staring at the clouds with a bag of plums next to us. Just eating them and throwing the pits down the hill (in the direction opposite of where we had come from). The wind was gentile and light, bringing scents of charcoal burning for a family’s weekend barbecue in the park. The clouds that day were more than willing attendants to our shape naming needs that day. We pictured dragons, knights, castles, and fairies in the forms above us.

Puddings! Now those I have many more memories of. I’m quite the fan of puddings. My favorite is tapioca, followed closely by banana. Perhaps I should mix the two? Nah, I should get two helpings, one of each and have both! So many soccer games with pudding and juice boxes after. Birthdays, family gatherings, and of course pudding Tuesdays, which I observe every day. One can never be to careful, wouldn’t want my calendar to be off and accidentally miss a pudding day.

Back to plum pudding. In my mind it would be a glorious pudding much like a banana pudding, but plum flavored. Turns out I was very wrong. It seems to be a more bread like substance. It could even be some sort of alien egg. Who knows? No one, because I’m sure no one eats them. They are scary looking. Why don’t we just forget about plum pudding day, and have tapioca and banana pudding day? Works for me, if it works for you.