"Kipling would swallow his own ear for a title like that!"

(I wrote this a month or so ago, but I only just recently started this blog. I felt this was a good place for it, and a good first real post.)

"What Mahoney needed was the opportunity to prove to herself that she was something more than she believed."
~Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium


Have you seen this movie? If not, go watch it right now. It's okay, I'll wait.

Done? Good. Let's continue.

I've spoken to a few people about Magorium, and I've been surprised at how few of them really appreciated it for the beautiful film I perceived it to be. Perhaps it's because I just enjoy the bright colors, the music, the silliness that would only appeal to a child. Perhaps it's because I love delving into the depths of that feeling of wonder, the amazement that it seems only a child is ever able to fully experience, that world that sometimes seems lost to me, but that through interaction with the wee folk, I'm able to occasionally glimpse, through a thin, gauze curtain, quietly beckoning me to come back, come back and play one more game, just one more adventure, please, please, just one more swing across the river to Terabithia, one last peek through the wardrobe...

Perhaps it's because I see so much of myself in Mahoney.

"I'm stuck! "
"Oh, to my floor?"
"No, sir. Like a person. You remember when I was a little girl and I could play Rachmaninov's Second Piano Concerto and everyone was talking about my potential?"
"Mhm."
"Well, I am 23 now and everyone's still talking about my potential but if you ask me to play the song I know best... I'll still play Rachmaninov's Second."
"May I suggest you stun the world with Molly Mahoney's First?"


Thank you, thank you, Edward Magorium. Thank you for your ability to cut away all the grime, and the muck, and the cares of the world, and reveal the simple truth that lies underneath. That potential is still there. It hasn't vanished, it hasn't fled, it hasn't been consumed by those cares of the world. Quietly tucked away, patiently waiting for me to notice it again, hidden beneath the tainted Elantrian grime lie those gifts I was given so many years ago, like a cherished treasure that somehow got misplaced and lost in the conglomoration of distracting toys, jostled about, and buried underneath the bed. And there they sit, innocuously gathering dust, until that day when I once again realize that something quite dear to me is missing, and in a panic I tear the room apart, terror gripping my heart, and that blissful moment when I push aside an obscuring box and see that treasure glittering at me, welcoming me back for that one more game, and inviting me to travel once more to the second star to the right and straight on 'til morning.

"I still have no idea what to write."
"Write about anything. Write about your family, write about the talking whale! "
"What whale?"
"The one that's trapped in your imagination and desperate to get out."


Finding Neverland. Another great film. The story of Peter Pan has long been my favorite work of fiction, along with its brilliant villain, Captain James Hook. And then, of course, Steven Spielberg's masterful reimagination in his sequel, Hook.

Interesting. Dustin Hoffman plays a prominent role in two out of three of those films. I wonder if he feels any special connection with them...

But I digress.

There is a common thread among all of these works. Magorium. Finding Neverland. Peter Pan. Hook. True, three of them are based on the dreams and works of the same man, but it's more than that. There's a reason I've always felt a love for Neverland. (I still have trouble saying that name without hearing Dame Maggie Smith's cracking voice saying it. "You're in England now. Land of good manners!") Neverland is the place where that childlike wonder never dies. It's the place where even middle-aged Peter Banning can return, never knowing what's around the corner, be it a wandering tribe of savages, a band of vicious pirates, a half-feral band of young boys, or the hangman's tree, where the four seasons all occur simultaneously. ("That's early for spring to be astir. Spring's not due 'til 3 pm!")

Edward Magorium and Peter Pan... They're really two sides of the same coin: Magorium, the old man who is honestly still a child and accepts aging and death as his next great step in life; and Peter, the young boy who has lived for longer than us all and still holds onto his childish recklessness while actually fearing only one thing -- the inevitable march of time. (And THAT is why Hook is such a brilliant movie... because Peter finally comes to accept aging, continue in his maturing process, and yet remember that part of him that resides in Neverland.)

I consider myself lucky. In my life, I have never let Neverland get too far from sight. There have been times where it has seemed faint, and I've feared that I would lose my connection with it. But then, that second star to the right twinkles just a little bit brighter, and something reminds me. A beautifully written book, a particularly inspiring song... even the feel of a tiny hand reaching up into mine as my niece looks up at me with her bright blue eyes and her increasingly patchy smile as she loses her baby teeth but still grins up at me, completely unashamed (for each gap is a badge of honor). Yes, even at the times it seems far away, Neverland still remains.

"What's it like, Neverland?"
"Someday I'll take you there."