When I was growing up there were two TV shows that I had to watch or my life was completely–incomplete. They were both regional shows, because when I was growing up TVs were run by gerbils and you got receptions by bending wire coat hangers into bunny ears and attaching tin foil to them to try to improve the signal. I had to watch The Magic Garden with Paula and Carole; think folky Puff the Magic Dragon and Mr. Rogers but with the womens running the show, as it should be. The other one was a show called Hatchy Milatchy with Miss Judy. YouTubed a little bit of it a while back to reminisce and I think I’m safely on the side of, What the Ever-Loving Fudderluck? But I hold the memories dear because my Brownie and Girl Scout group went to the station and guest-starred each year.
Where the hell am I going with this trip down memory lane, because it seems like an entire pile of trivia that you would be served at the retirement home by the kooky lady that is kept in her room. The point I’m getting to is whimsy and magic has always fueled my blood; even when it was young and pale pink blood, it was scented with fairy perfume and unicorn poop. Just so you know, unicorn poop was expensive and everyone wanted it, and Jordache Jeans back then. Thankfully my tastes have grown more simple because these days Clare Murray’s books are like gypsy chocolates; I can’t eat just one and once I have a bite, the book and Clare own me like the time-travel loving bitch I am to her brilliance.