I learned a new word today—paracosm. The internet says it is a detailed imaginary world. Paracosms are often formed by people in childhood and the creators can have complex, deeply felt relationships with this universe of imaginary characters and conventions. I remember having vivid daydreams as a child, but do not remember a consistent fictional imaginary world that I would return to. I find this concept fascinating. These are some expert level imaginers to be committed to a fully created universe that they continue to develop from a young age on through adulthood. I am actually quite impressed.
As a writer, I try to create alternate worlds for my characters in my books and I can’t keep all the details straight. I forget my own rules and setting characteristics and have to keep referring to my notes. People who create paracosms just do it naturally and don’t even have to try. I wonder if novelists who create such amazing fantasy worlds are doing this, in a sense. Maybe some people are naturally more capable of writing fantasy because their brains easily create paracosms.
In case anyone else was unaware of this curious word, I thought I would share what I learned. Then I also made some art on my Gencraft site about paracosms. I simply typed in that word using different models and let AI share what the word made them think of. They turned out really interesting.
My grandson Julian (6 years old) found a giant fossilized megalodon tooth in the backyard today. He brought his prize to show me, and it was quite impressive. It is probably the biggest limestone shark tooth I have ever seen. I suggested he go show Grandad (91 years old) and get a second opinion. I don’t think Grandad played along as well as I did, so Julian took it back outside to do some more excavating and promptly misplaced it.
Speaking of teeth, Charlotte (my 10-year-old-in-8-days granddaughter) has a loose one—I believe it is #8, a canine. She likes to wiggle it in the mirror and point out that she only has 2 baby teeth left in her mouth. How time flies. I remember when she was first cutting her little tiny teeth on her bottom gums and we were super excited. Now she’s old enough that I spent over an hour on the phone with Apple tech support trying to get the parental controls set up on her phone so we could figure out which objectionable content to allow and which to block to help with internet safety. One issue was that I apparently set a password years ago and forgot it. We tried everything we could think of, but the Apple people were stumped. There was no fixing it. We finally gave up and decided it was unsolvable. A few hours later, on a whim, I typed in 1,2,3,4, and it worked. So embarrassing.
Julian brought me half a Mini Coke with a straw in it yesterday.
“Here you go, Ema. You can drink this because I joined the army and can’t drink sugar anymore.”
Woohoo! I like this game. Apparently, Charlotte was his drill sergeant and got him drinking water only. She had him working out and doing obstacle courses all day long. I bet his little muscles are sore today.
Charlotte convinced Julian to wear a bonnet to bed the other night like she does. Her curly coils have to be protected by a silky wrap at night to keep them from getting frizzy or damaged. Julian has the complete opposite texture hair. But with Charlotte’s application of who-knows-what-goo and some little twists here and there, Julian awoke with one or two curls on his head. He was very proud of them. I was impressed he made it all night in the bonnet.
This morning, Charlotte made Julian the Coraline breakfast special. I have never seen the movie Coraline, but Charlotte is obsessed with it. Julian lucked out. All by her little self, she made an egg and cheese omelet, 3 slices of bacon, and toast with jelly. It was a masterpiece. This is the same girl who melted onto the floor in a puddle the other day when I asked her to push the vacuum a few times. She literally did one strip of carpet before collapsing from the difficulty of the task. The next time she acts helpless, I’m going to remind her how capable she is when she wants to be.
Julian pulled a prank on us today. He was at the top of the stairs, and Charlotte and I were in the kitchen area.
Suddenly, we heard his pitiful little voice whimpering, “Help me, help me. I can’t see. Everything’s dark. I can’t see. I need help.” He was really laying it on thick.
Charlotte headed his way to see what kind of a bind he had gotten himself into this time. She returned just as quickly, marching with her hands on her hips, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Julian appeared around the corner with his sweatshirt pulled up over his face like he was either trying to put it on or take it off; I’m not sure which. He was laughing so hard at his own joke that he ended up making us laugh, as well.
Grandad informed me that he was taking Charlotte to McDonald’s. She convinced him to take her to McDonald’s so she could spend her own allowance money on French fries. I tried not to be irritated. She already asked me and I said no. I told her to go make her own fries out of the perfectly good potatoes and oil we have here at home. They are easy to make in the air fryer. Grandad is a pushover when it comes to that girl. He was my grandfather first, and he never would have stopped what he was doing to take me to McDonald’s when I was a kid. He would have lectured me on saving my money and not begging all the adults all the time to take me places.
But honestly, I love that he has softened and spoils my grandchildren rotten (his great-great-grandchildren.) Every kid deserves at least one adult in their lives that is wrapped around their little finger. Mema was my person (Grandad’s wife of over 70 years and my grandmother.) She would do anything for me. Knowing that kind of love made me a strong woman who knows how to ooh and aah at shark teeth rocks and 10-year-old-in-8-days loose teeth for my own grandchildren. It all comes full circle if we put in the time and effort to be present in each other’s lives. And Charlotte is right that McDonald’s fries are way better than homemade. The girl knows her fries.
Julian thinks he has blood burp, the kind where blood comes out of your body. We’re not sure if he needs to go to the hospital, or if he simply needs a glass of water. He said he burped like 1,000 times. He almost burped google plex. Do you know what google plex means? It means past infinity.
He’s busy playing the piano, and such beautiful music makes him wax contemplative. Try to guess that song, he says. Happy Birthday, I throw out on a whim. NO! It’s something that says uuuuhhhh. He’s learning to sound out words in Kindergarten and likes to point out the starting sounds of words to show how smart he is, like the color red – rrrrr, rrrrr, come on, guess it, he says. rrrrr, eeeee, dddd, red. R, E, D. Red.
Back to uuuuuhhhh. The name of his melancholic song. He is very offended that I can’t figure it out. Turns out, it’s Up from the movie. I think that is the saddest sounding song he can think of, and he wants to play something soulful. Now he’s banging in such a way that all the cats have run outside. He says the loud banging is from the movie, too. It’s the part where there’s singing. He’s done playing the piano.
Now he has my Wonder Woman sword and is practicing stabbing me in a variety of different ways. Through the underarm is his favorite because it comes out the other side and looks really realistic. Hey, wanna arm wrestle? he asks conspiratorially.
I’m not sure how normal our relationship is. This probably isn’t how most people imagine grandmothers and grandsons spend their time. But I don’t want to miss a second of it. What do you want for Christmas? I ask. Without missing a beat, Cristiano Ronaldo cologne from Amazon. Cologne? For a 6-year-old? Are you sure? He nods. What if it arrives and it’s stinky? It won’t be. Ronaldo always smells better than everybody all the time. My bad. I learn something every day.
My mother’s voice was a bit exasperated at the absence of anyone home. I did not hear the door behind her as she left, but hurried to let her know I was there and say hello. I opened the front door; she was already in her car but she turned off the engine when she saw me and decided to come back in, or so I thought… In her reality, she just arrived, had not yet stepped foot in the house, had felt no annoyance at the absence of anyone and made no sound. What future echo did I hear that never even happened?
@Genuine Joe’s – 184th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Echoes photos to accompany my poem:
The mother does what any mother must do after receiving the worst news imaginable; she mounts her dragon and flies as far as she must for confirmation with her own eyes that her son has been taken from this world in a vicious attack. She must reckon with the knowledge that all could have been prevented by her every step of the way, so she has herself to blame for her baby ending up in the belly of the enemy’s beast. A son for a son will become the battle cry that brings only blood to the realm. Winter is truly coming.
@Home Studio – 180th poem of the year (after watching Season 2, Episode 1 of House of the Dragon)
Condal, Ryan and George R. R. Martin, creators. House of the Dragon. HBO Entertainment and Warner Bros., 2024.
Runner ups for the Grieving Mother photos to accompany my poem:
Makin’ bacon workin’ overtime. So over having none, time to play, dough to spend, breathing room, lack of lack, more of plenty, less of less, unless by choice, space to be alone with creativity.
@Home Studio – 179th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Overtime photos to accompany my poem:
Bless your heart, you simple soul; not a thought going on up there. No light on in that attic of yours, or maybe the light’s on, but nobody’s home. You mean well, but you can’t help it that you’re not playing with a full deck of cards. Poor thing fell out of the family tree and hit every branch on the way down. It’s not your fault you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed; you’ve lost your marbles, you’re off your rocker, and your elevator’s stuck between two floors. You’re thick as a post, rowing with one oar, a pickle short of a barrel. There might be a leak in your think tank, one prop short of a plane, and I’m afraid you might have a few loose screws. You’re a few peas short of a casserole, two sandwiches shy of a picnic, a drink short of a 6-pack, and can’t think your way out of a paper bag. It’s ok that you’re silly as a goose, as smart as bait, and don’t have all the dots on your dice. You may not be firing on all 6 cylinders, possibly running about a quart low. You’re a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and your cheese might have slipped off your cracker, but I love it when you come around because if I stand close enough to you I can hear the ocean.
@Home Studio – 170th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Bless Your Heart photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 