Auntie Hortense
was a kindly and quiet lady… except when she read to me about the Musketeers
and their adventures.
Everyone
has a hero, or two… even three. In Dear Auntie Hortense’s case, there were
four. When she was a very young girl she began reading, as a way to practice
the art, about the Three Musketeers and D’Artagnan; they became a staple in her
daily life. As a growing child, she was very convinced they were real and
traipsing around the French countryside, running errands for the king and
queen. Apparently no one could tell her, much less convince her, about the
difference between fact and fiction. They were real … Period! ... No arguments!
As
she grew up, the fictional reality of the story began to tentatively creep into
her thought process but, don’t think for a minute that she believed these
almost saintly characters –from her viewpoint, anyway- had never existed. She
was willing to negotiate a settlement and admit that … maybe, just maybe, they
had a streak a fiction in them. But that they never existed??? … Never!!! ...
Jamais!!!
Auntie
Hortense was otherwise a kind, quiet lady and somewhat into her years, by the
time I met her. Or, at least, from the time I remember meeting her for the
first time… Too many “times” to remember? Well, no matter… It’s time to go on with the story.
She
loved to tell stories of gentlemen saving ladies in distress; of horseback
riders who would take down the baddies and, as they were cheered by the common
folk, restore peace, love and unity to the countryside. Ahhh… nothing like a
real dose of romance and romantic tales to make her eyes light up and, while showing
her interlocutor the shine of her eyes, fondly think about those days of yore…
yes, sir… those were the days!!
Many
nights she would come to my bedside and sit there, asking if I wanted to hear
about her beloved musketeers… and D’Artagnan, of course!! As I looked into her eyes, I remember that
all I would usually see were two huge windows into her mind, full of life, wistful
imagination and a never ending love for the worlds where that gaze was firmly
fixed.
Auntie
Hortense could make that story come to life so vividly that, often, on those
nights I would become a willing and enraptured audience of one … besides the love of a great tale, I knew this
meant that the sleep “curfew” hours would go by the wayside … The following
hours would bring me, through the world of Morpheus, into those very plains and
forests where these brave musketeers pursued their quests, ending one enemy’s
reign and assuring that the rightful queen or king would see the throne room
from within its walls and not be left to look at it from without.
What
wonderful nights those! I would find myself handling an epeé and a blade better
than all except, of course, the four heroes. I think this limitation was bred
into the storytelling somehow. No way could a simple child be allowed to best
her version of the “Superheroes”. And … Oh My!!! The horses flying through the
grasslands and jumping over the riverbeds… Of course, not the stuff of real
life but… Who Cares??
As
all in this existence has a beginning and also, by definition of a finite life,
has an end, so did Auntie Hortense. My knight(ess) in shining linen and silk
took her last horseback ride when I was but 6 years old. This champion in
training, yours truly, was devastated … nothing in life seemed to matter
anymore.
Then,
another wise court counselor (he presented
himself to me in the guise of my grandfather, but I just knew he was really an
important magician of yore) came and said to me:
-
“Why don’t you try walking through the same glens and crossing the same
riverbeds on your own?” - “I think your aunt would love to see you do this …
and she is watching you, you know…”
Hesitantly,
I asked him –“What do you mean?”
-“Come,
let me show you…”
I
took his hand and followed him through the hallowed halls of the familial manse,
until we came to a small, guarded room… He opened the waiting doors and inside…
an incredible number of books… about anything and everything that could be
imagined or even fantasized… And there, in the Middle of the mound… was that
magical book from which Auntie would read night after night…
Needless
to say, I embraced that wonderful tale and many, many others as each one would
open my mind’s eyes into these incredible worlds which came from the
imagination of so many great writers… folk who could see beyond the immediate,
into a world yet to be or… long past gone. But never to be forgotten.
Every
time I reach for a book (and this happens
quite often, you know) or every time I reach for the keyboard (not as often as I would like this to happen)
Auntie Hortense’s face and eyes come to mind… the eyes that have it… the love of
the fantasy, of the what if? … of the wide open plains inside and, yes, outside
the mind … those dreary plains where we must abide in day to day pursuits.
Let
your mind grow out… reach for those worlds that so many say do not exist for,
as you believe in them, they become real in your life. Let all others be well
set with their feet firmly planted on the ground… they can grow roots for all I
care…
Don’t
be afraid to let your heart wander and your mind wonder… It’s an incredible,
never ending trip.
Be
Well … Be Back!!!
Final Notes:
- Pray for those who are fighting an illness which
may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and
counts!!
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… Bienvenidos!!!
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