Adele Elliott: Local magic

May 4, 2013 1:36:40 PM

Adele Elliott - [email protected]


I love stories about magic. Geese lay golden eggs, straw is spun into gold, and genies grant wishes with only a rub or three on a brass lamp. Of course, we know that life is not a fairy tale. Good things sometimes happen, but the next day we must begin again, to face a world of flat tires, broken appliances and stubbed toes. The harsh reality is that there is no happily ever after. 


There are a few rare moments when common things can seem mysterious and enchanting. I am beginning to believe that I have an extraordinary front porch. Amazing and desirable objects just appear there, with no fairy godmother in sight. 


One day this week, we opened the door to discover real French bread at our doorstep. I would suspect that this was the work of some fairy bakers. However, the long loaves were wrapped in paper printed with the name of a New Orleans bakery. Chris and I cannot get enough of this wonderful, crusty creation. Thank you, sweet elf! 


It is true that I have a romantic imagination. Certainly, that is reinforced by my friendship with Mother Goose. She, accompanied by Little Goose, brings me bits of jewelry and glittering trinkets to include in my assemblage art pieces. Goose (as we close friends call her) is truly a character right out of Hans Christian Anderson. This goes to support my theory that I am surrounded by magic. 


Clippings and press releases about cultural events appear in my mailbox and on my church pew. I assume they are dropped from the sky by mythical, flying beasts. I am grateful for these missives, because they often contain tidbits that find their way into my column. With this sort of delivery system, who needs The Associated Press? 


Lately, the charm has expanded from the porch, into the yard. My grass has inexplicably been mowed and the trees trimmed. How, you might ask? At first, I suspected my thoughtful neighbors, Jyl and Greg. But, more likely, this is the work of winged unicorns, because Greg could not possibly fly high enough to reach the branches that scraped against my roof. 


There is also the possibility that a spell has been cast on an ordinary bean, causing it to grow high into the oak, so that Greg could clip the limbs. This seems a bit far-fetched, even to me. 


I am beginning to wonder if I should send requests to my fairy benefactors. Is it rude to ask for gifts? I believe that it is. It is more fun, too, to discover the unexpected. 


I will not bore you with any more of my outrageous rantings. However, if any of my readers would like to read a piece of "fiction" penned by me, check out, for a short story called, "Flight." You may recognize a Columbus landmark or two. 


Russian author, Vladimir Nabokov, said, "Our imagination flies -- we are its shadow on the earth." Thanks, Vlad, I agree, and often fly.

Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.