Strangers On Airplanes

           I had finally finished shuffling down the aisle of our crowded international flight, and turned to shimmy into my seat, my carry on catching onto arm rests and other passengers in the process. It was my University Concert Choir’s third flight in the past twenty four hours, and also my third time that day with a window seat. I sighed, staring at the wing outside the tiny smeared glass, and shoved my grey floral bag under the seat in front of me with my feet. Our tickets had been bought in bulk, but also at random, so I had been sitting next to strangers all day. I had the privilege of being by an elderly couple that were making floor plans of how they theoretically wanted to reorganize their house, and a younger athletic woman that was tapping her smart phone with her acrylic nails all through the flight.

            I hoped that the seat next to me would be empty. After we left New York, the journey would take around five hours, and I was not sure that I could handle any more awkward new friends. I also hated the window seat. Flying generally makes me nervous, and the constant reminder of just how high in the air we were barely helped. A middle aged man with fair skin and wisps of red hair paused by my seat and moved in to sit beside me. His eyes were a grey blue, sitting in his face that looked like it had not received proper rest in days.

            I stared at him, figuring I should introduce myself if we were going to be in close proximity for the next few hours.

            “Hello,” I began—casually, I thought. “How’re you?”

            “Good.” He sighed back, “You?”

            “I’m doing fine!” I smiled, embarrassingly. The man was Irish, with a thick accent. I was ecstatic and could barely keep myself from smiling. It was the first Irish accent that I had heard besides Gerard Butler’s character in P.S. I Love You. I was suddenly very nervous. This would be my first time spent with an actual Irish person, and I had no idea what to say. I wanted him to like me, to think What a lovely young woman. I am so glad that she is coming to visit my country. She is a representation of everything charming and good.

            “Where are you going?” I continued the conversation. I wanted to seem interested, and I also waited in anticipation for him to speak again.

            “Dublin for my niece’s wedding” he replied, with a hint of resentment. “I have lived in New York for twelve years and hardly ever go home.”

            I was taken aback. Of course people still immigrated to America to Ireland. But why would he choose New York over Dublin? I hadn’t yet been to Ireland—but it seemed so green and calm. The essence of serenity and beauty sprinkled with sheep. I enjoyed New York on a basic level, but—

            “New York is a fun place” I decided to say. “Do you like it?”

            “Busy, but I love it” he finally smiled, his eyes creasing around the corners. I could sense his adoration of the city, for it reflected mine for Columbus. Fine, perhaps he was crazy for wanting to leave Ireland for America’s busiest city, but at least he was happy and had made a home. I realized that I was weirdly dissecting this man, and was going to make things uncomfortable if I seemed too interested. I didn’t want to ruin my first interaction with an Irish person by being creepy, so I turned back to look out of my window while we were still standing on the runway.

            I soon heard another male Irish voice in a close proximity. I turned my head to the right to see an older gentleman passing out small chocolates wrapped in pink and blue foil. He gave a handful to my new partner in flight, who turned and offered me some. How sweet, I smiled cherubically, I would never be so kind as to buy chocolate and give it away. I would definitely eat it all because I have a problem.

            I wondered if this was an example of the Irish hospitality and friendliness that I had heard about. If it was an American man in tube socks, jean shorts, and a button-up tee shirt with hibiscus flowers on it, I probably would have been freaked out and declined even the most delicious of candies. I unwrapped the chocolate and set it on my tongue, letting it melt slowly in my mouth. I suddenly had the fear that the gesture could have been a façade. What if the chocolate was poisoned and the man used his Irish charm to get away with mass murder? Oh God, I contemplated spitting the chocolate out. I turned to look at the man next to me wondering if he would notice, only to decide that I was being insane and the chocolate was already in my system anyway. If it was foul play, I was already done for, and might as well eat the other piece to make sure that the job was done right.

            “Why are you going to Dublin?” my seat partner asked me. I felt a shock move through my abdomen. He spoke to me without being provoked! He didn’t sense my paranoia and alarming fascination with his accent.      

            “I am traveling with my University’s Concert Choir,” I started, hoping that it sounded impressive and not juvenile because I was still a college student. “We are touring the country to give multiple performances over our winter break.” I then realized that it perhaps sounded pretentious. He probably wondered if there was a need to spend thousands of dollars and fly across an ocean to sing to strangers. I wanted to tell him that it was more than that. That we wanted to build a cultural bridge with our music, and bare our souls to a whole group of people that we hope would be touched by our art. We wanted to change lives, even if for an instant, and maybe change our own as well. I decided that the background explanation was a little too deep for plane talk, so I bit my tongue and hoped that he would get it. He looked unaffected—perhaps he didn’t.

            The plane started to move and we took off, quickly reaching the point in the sky where we were free to walk around and utilize electronics. The backs of the seats in front of us had small, individual screens where we could watch television shows, movies, read books, or play games. I fumbled in my pocket for my headphones and decided that I would distract myself with a movie. I shifted through the selections, suddenly very conscious of what the man next to me would think. Would he scoff at me for watching Tommy Boy twice in a row? I knew he wasn’t paying attention, but I worried that he would shift his eyes to see which movie I selected, or would nonchalantly turn to see Chris Farley ripping David Spade’s coat in a motel room. I slyly turned my eyeballs to look at his screen, while keeping my head forward. He had a small map of the world showing, with a tiny plane flying over the Atlantic Ocean, headed towards Ireland. How did he know how to find that? No movies for the flight? This guy meant business.

            I decided to watch the movie anyway, hoping that any thoughts from the man regarding the film would be in appreciation of my timeless sense of humor. A little while later, a flight attendant came by to give us complimentary drinks. I hesitantly asked for an apple juice, knowing that I would have to use the restroom a short while later. Inevitably by the end of the movie, I definitely had to go, but realized that the man next to me was fast asleep with his head tilted back, slightly snoring. I did not want to wake him, and decided to try to hold off going to the bathroom for a little while longer. On a normal day, I tend to use the restroom about every hour because I hydrate incessantly, as a singer. I knew that I would drive this guy crazy if I actually used the bathroom five times.

            I decided to wait until he woke up to use the restroom, and then I would get out too. I did not have to inconvenience him. He would think, How thoughtful of her. She waited until I had to go instead of climbing over my lap to get to the aisle. It was a decent plan. Although the pain started to swell in my bladder, I decided to wait.

            The man woke up not too long afterwards to utilize the facilities, and I eagerly followed. I struggled to retain my balance in the cramped bathroom stall, and was equally challenged to find out how to flush the toilet. I found a grey button and pushed it, only to hear the loudest flush that I could ever imagine. I jumped backwards, hitting the locked restroom door, covering my ears. My faces reddened with hints of tears in my eyes, for I have always had an irrational fear of loud noises and often cry on the spot if I am not prepared for them. I looked at myself in the mirror, realizing that I looked ridiculous. I couldn’t go back down the aisle looking like I had been crying in the restroom. I wiped my eyes and ran my fingers through my tangled hair, while giving my reflection a few exaggerated smiles. Good. No one would notice that the toilet almost gave me a heart attack.

            I got back to my seat before the man next to me did, and I decided not to drink any more beverages for the remainder of the flight. I glanced at his screen and realized that we were practically halfway there. Feeling sleepy, for my whole choir group had hardly slept in a day’s time, I decided to lean against the window and try to sleep. I positioned myself as close to the wall of the airplane that I could, terrified that I would wake up on the guy next to me’s shoulder. And he would probably have just let me sleep there. He seemed like the type, too nice and Irish.

            When I woke, the flight attendants were busy handing out meals that resembled breakfast food. Because of my Celiac Disease, I was given a special gluten free meal that consisted of a rice cake with honey, and an apple. I turned to see the man next to me eating eggs and a biscuit voraciously. I dipped a piece of the clumped dried rice into the honey packet and stuck it in my mouth, trying to convince myself that it couldn’t be that bad or else they wouldn’t serve it. It was.

            The attendants quickly came back to gather our trash, and I faced my fears to use the restroom once more before we landed. I nervously asked the gentleman if I could get out, and he let me through without any embarrassing complications. I plugged my ears before I pushed the grey button this time, and glided back to my seat optimistically. We were almost in Ireland!

            The plane landed roughly, bouncing all of its passengers from side to side when the wheels hit the pavement. We raced down the runway as I finally willingly looked out of my window to see grey sky and green grasses surrounding the terminal. We were here. I was about to breath Irish air.

            The plane finished taxiing and we all stood up to stretch and grab our belongings. We began to form a line in the aisle to get off of the plane, and I watched the man next to me move up through the aisle while the other passengers in front of us took their time to organize their bags. I had said nothing to him, or he to me as he left. I knew that I would never see this man again. I contemplated yelling for him, telling him to have fun at the wedding but decided against it.

            I held the handles of my carry on in my hand as I made my way into the airport to go through customs. I was finally in Ireland, and had successfully had multiple conversations with an Irish person. He had given me the little bit of confidence that I needed to walk the Dublin streets and converse with locals, and I was thankful for that. I smiled to myself, moving slowly through the plane, realizing that I never even asked his name. 

 

Go raibh maith agaibh (Irish for Thank You),
Jordan

Are We Fat-Phobic?

I followed a lead on Reddit a couple of weeks ago about a possible pop culture blogger. Upon reading the description, I was totally like "YES PLEASE ME HEY LOOK!". I sent the woman some samples of my writing, she seemed to dig what she read, but then also asked me for a more contemporary pop culture piece in the style of the website. Over two weeks and a few emails later, I have not heard back from her. So, I decided to share my attempt on here, instead, since it is completely valid and discussing an important issue.

            With workouts, diets, and magazine tips, women almost everywhere are striving to improve their body image. Our society regards being thin as the desired body type for women, which often results in unrealistic photoshopped pictures of celebrities and models that are meant to set the standard for beauty. On the other end of the spectrum, whirlwind sensations such as Beyonce, Sofia Vegara, and Kim Kardashian are giving curves positive attention.

        

   Unfortunately, if you are a woman that does not fall into the “skinny” or “curvy” categories, your weight and self confidence are still challenged by our societal expectations of beauty. We are so quick to shame heavier bodies and pass it off as a genuine concern for women that we do not even know, with comments such as, “Poor thing, she has really let herself go,” and, “She cannot possibly be healthy or happy with that kind of lifestyle!” Why does a woman’s weight have to dictate her beauty and contentment, and are we, as a society, Fat-Phobic?

           Amanda Duberman, at the Huffington Post, shed some light on actress Mindy Kaling, dealing with this exact issue. It is easier for us to judge and criticize celebrities because we do not personally know them, and they are often objectified beyond the point of being human. Duberman writes about the “12 Things We Can Learn From Mindy Kaling”, highlighting quotes from Kaling pertaining to her weight and astounding assurance. She writes:

“In an interview with Parade magazine last September, Kaling called out those who seem to think that women must overcome some tremendous hurdle in order to feel confident:

I always get asked, “Where do you get your confidence?” I think people are well meaning, but it’s pretty insulting. Because what it means to me is, “You, Mindy Kaling, have all the trappings of a very marginalized person. You’re not skinny, you’re not white, you’re a woman. Why on earth do you feel like you’re worth anything?”

Perhaps her worth comes from the fact that Kaling is a successful actor, producer, director, and New York Times best-selling author. It has nothing to do with her physical appearance. She does not feel the need to justify her body image, and will often be blunt about her body and love of eating in her popular television show, The Mindy Project. Her positive outlook empowers women of all body types, and she acts as a positive role model to young, Indian girls.

Kaling also made the point that women can wear whatever they wish, despite their weight. Duberman makes note that during an interview with Jimmy Kimmel, Kaling made fun of the fact that heavier women are often praised and seen as “brave” for wearing revealing clothes on television. After wearing a cropped top to an event, Kaling recollected that “Some people were like, “She’s just so courageous!” She then said to Kimmel, “Aren’t surgeons courageous?’”

Regrettably, heavier celebrities have to bravely embrace the fact that ignorant commentary will come with the cropped tops and tight dresses. They must be comfortable with their bodies to be able to let the negativity not affect them, or keep them from dressing and looking how they want. Women like Kaling are completely inspiring, but should also not be telling us these things that seem so obvious. Her statements should not be an epiphany to us all, but instead, common sense. When we see an average or larger sized woman in the spotlight, we are either relieved by her optimism, or disgusted by her weight. Why can’t we see her for what she is: a talented woman?

Kaling is not the only actress that refuses to let societal pressures sway her self-esteem. Recently interviewed by Rolling Stone Magazine, Melissa McCarthy seemed mostly content with her life, saying:

“I could eat healthier, I could drink less. I should be learning another language and working out more, but I’m just always saying, ‘Ah, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.’”

            Thankfully, she has not. Until we stop looking at heavier female celebrities like they are heroes for merely existing, or being completely turned off by their appearance, we need women like McCarthy and Kaling to keep making a difference and reminding us that “fat” can also be synonymous with success and beauty.

Stay lovely poopies,

Jordan

Are You A Good Witch, Or A Bad Witch?

As a child, I can remember sitting on my bed and staring at the knick-knacks on my dresser, attempting to will them to move with my mind. I would stare at the glass dolls or "Girls Rule!" picture frames, trying to get them to float, or even shift a fraction of an inch. I was totally and completely convinced that if I concentrated hard enough, I'd be able to succeed. I had seen Bedknobs and Broomsticks enough times to know how things worked.

I was also constantly obsessing over Disney's Halloweentown, and Hocus Pocus. I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe a countless number of times, flinging open closets and the door to my family's eerie guest room (that literally no one has ever stayed in). I was consumed by magic and finding the ~~other~~. I'm still not completely sure that these realms do not exist.

 A few weekends ago, I spent time at a local, eccentric bookstore—The Book Loft. As I walked through the rooms, running my right hand along the shelf tops, a book on Wiccans caught my eye. Curious, and recently enlightened by an early American Literature class that I took last Spring Semester, I casually flipped through the first couple of pages with great interest. The author explained that witches are connected with nature, and that Wiccans only cast spells for positive energy. She also wrote that she and her husband were occasionally approached by Satan worshipers or individuals that wished to cast spells to harm or possess others, but that Wiccans firmly do not associate or condone any sort of Devil-worshiping or dark magic. The witches in older readings (such as Cotton Mather's accounts) were seen as satanic and malevolent by a society that feared what varied from their Christian, normative lifestyle, simply for being different. 

We are now in a society that honors a practicing Wiccan religion, and weaves witch figures into our pop culture through works such as Harry Potter, Wicked, and American Horror Story: Coven. So, have witches really changed? Probably not. Instead, I believe that we have turned Puritan witches into Elphaba and Hermoine. To be a powerful, magic woman is totally sexy and seemingly forbidden. And that's cool.

I have previously mentioned my incredible Buffy fandom, which is perhaps out of control. But I honestly cannot help but to drool over Dark Willow when she becomes "the big bad" of Season Six. Sweet Willow sheds her sweaters and maxi skirts for an all black outfit, dark hair, and a vein-y face that somehow, totally works.

As far as supernatural story-lines go, obviously vampires were recently (or still perhaps are?) in their prime. But the witches in mass media movement is so much different. These characters are not only witches, but women, showing that girls can be strong and take charge. Jessica Lange in AHS Season Three is a total bad-ass. Hermoine Granger was the brains of the operation throughout the whole Harry Potter series. The underlying empowerment is stronger than we realize, and completely effective, especially for those of us that are completely swept away with worlds of mysticism. 

12 years later, and I'm still trying to move things with my mind. I'm also currently contemplating a super hot witch costume for Halloween, although also in the running is a gypsy, Inara from Firefly, or Shilo from Repo! The Genetic Opera. Obviously, I have some decisions to make.

But maybe I'll just give Halloweentown another go,

Jordan

Sassy Cows

While grocery shopping on Sunday, my boyfriend purchased us a couple of mini chocolate milk jugs. Being extreme chocolate milk advocates and connoisseurs, we excitedly decided to give "All Natural Promised Land" a whirl.

It wasn't until now that I decided to read the back of the container, while waiting for the kids that I nanny to awaken. The description started off normal enough, with only a slightly dramatic flair:

"Purity. All natural goodness. Sustainability."

Okay, All Natural Promised Land, I'm listening.

I continued reading the next portion:

"We do things a little differently here at Promised Land Dairy. First of all, we start with all Jersey cows. These Jersey cows, with a sassy swish of the tail and a wink of a long-lashed eye.."

I'M SORRY, WHAT? Did Promised Land Dairy just sexualize their cows?!

So naturally, I think of this:

And this:

Promised Land Dairy Farmer: "Oh Bessie Cow, love, can you spare a drop of milk for me?"
Sassy Bessie Cow: "You'll have to can-can it out of me, daaarlin" *batts eyes*

If it wasn't bizarre enough, the container ends with:
"He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Deuteronomy 26:9"

????????????

Cows be with you,

Jordan

Sleepy Hollow Fanfiction

Last Wednesday was indeed, my birthday.

I had a wonderful gluten free grilled cheese, visited my favorite, eclectic bar, and received a POP TV GOB Bluth vinyl figurine :')

This 22nd birthday was made possible by Sarah Michelle Gellar, Yoohoos, and Neopets. xoxo.

In lieu of having quite a busy, previous week, and working an obnoxious amount, I will share with you a mini Sleepy Hollow Fanfic that I wrote a couple months ago (in the style of Washington Irving).

                                    The Curious Happening With Katrina Van Tassel

Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of

hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile,

but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash—he was

tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the

goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. (Irving 37)

Ichabod slowly raised his head, only to see his ghoul offender galloping through the night before him, with a deserting Gunpowder on the Hessian’s heels. He jumped to his shaking legs, a bit disoriented from the blow. Quivering, he ran back into the depth of the wood as quickly as his length would take him.

Branches whipped at his upper body and knotted roots grabbed his ankles, slowing his pace.

“The whole forest is enchanted!” gasped he, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me”*

Ichabod continued stumbling through the forested ground, but was stopped when a coy voice echoed around him,

“My dearest Ichabod, I can assure you that you will find protection with me.”

Ichabod halted and lifted his eyes to see the young, beautiful Katrina, completely untouched by the dark evils of the wood. If anything, he imagined, she had a slight glow, and a bit of rose to her soft cheeks.

“What sweet apparition is this?” sang a startled Ichabod. “Fair Katrina Van Tassel, there are dark forces afoot. The Hessian, he came with night fall and nearly terrorized me into a deathly fright. We must make haste with God’s speed” Ichabod finished, while dutifully making the sign of the cross.

“But foolish Ichabod”, hummed Katrina, “I rather fancy the cloak of the wood, especially at this late hour. I have been looking for you. I pray that you stay a while with me, for we have hardly the opportunity to properly converse.”

“Beautiful lady,” responded a slightly more irritated Ichabod, “I will not let you fall to the witchcraft that lurks about this haunted forest. The Hessian will surely be back, and I will get us to safety.” He began forward, reaching for Katrina’s plump upper arm, when she let out a cackle. Ichabod, taken aback, noticed a sudden, peculiar height difference in Katrina’s usually delicate frame. He looked to her shoes and saw that she was indeed levitating off of the ground!

“Katrina!” gasped Ichabod, “Witchcraft! You are a witch!” Practically in hysterics, Ichabod tried to step away but found that his feet were firmly planted in the ground.*

“You have paralyzed me, you demon! Tricked me into love, you bewitched coquette!”

Katrina morphed her lovely face into a slight pout.

“But Ichabod, I thought that you had taken quite an interest in me, and would court me despite our minor differences,” she closed her eyes and laid back her head. Suddenly, a cooked Cornish hen and a bowl of corn popped up in each of her hands. The smell was intoxicating, and soon wafted to Ichabod’s vulnerable snout.

“Stop this, this instant! Unhand me!” demanded a weak Ichabod. Despite his fears, he was finding himself alarmingly drawn to the handsome Katrina and her plates full of delicious food. He could feel his stomach tremble and growl while his heart raced in his chest.

“As you wish”, sighed Katrina. The hen and corn vanished as quickly as they had come, and she floated back to the ground. Ichabod regained power of his legs, and approached the witch.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”* Ichabod hissed, feeling betrayed by his devotion to the deceitful Katrina.

“If that is how you really feel, sir, then so be it. But let me remind you that you have taken a strong hit to the skull, and perhaps you are delirious. Who can say if I am a mere figment of your imagination? A playful fantasy”, purred Katrina as she traced a fingertip around his chest.

Ichabod firmly grabbed her shoulders. “Lovely witch, I’ll prove that you exist and are what I accuse you of. I will find the mark of a witch, and the truth will be before our Lord.”*

With that, Ichabod ripped at her collar in a rage, tearing the top of her dress down past her now exposed breast. Towards the center, where her bosom rounded, he could see a light, red marking, ever so clearly.

“Proof, you devil,” whispered Ichabod, still staring at her exposed chest. He looked up to meet Katrina’s sultry eyes and slightly parted pink mouth, as a sigh escaped. Overcome by the undeniable attraction to the lady, Ichabod kissed the witch’s mark, following his lips up her décolletage and neck until he landed on her full lips.

“You darling creature,” he groaned into her neck, “I am helplessly enchanted and will always love you..” he stopped abruptly, feeling cold. He looked before him to see the vast darkness of the woods, with Katrina nowhere in sight. Ichabod Crane was completely alone.

(based on: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving)

Hopefully I utilized the term "in lieu of" correctly,

Jordan

OYY OYY!

5 Facts About My Recent Trippity Doo Dah To Cincinnati, Ohio:

1. I stayed in a quaint bed and breakfast with my boyfriend that had a lovely, eclectic garden. The path wound through a small, forest area. The trail was dimmed to shadows, decorated with old bird baths and a twinkling of purposefully forgotten Christmas Lights. The whole feel was very steam-punk and whimsical, with a touch of Alice in Wonderland.

2. During the first night, we underwent bizarre experiences of apocalyptic proportions. While driving through the country-esque roads to the bed and breakfast, small pelts of something unidentified kept splashing onto Jeepus' window. The residue was almost milky-white, but the sound of the hit was audible, like loud rain drops. After we slowed down to observes our surroundings, we noticed what seemed to be a plague of giant, swarming bugs. They were similar in nature to giant flies, and perhaps were a mutant strand, but they flung themselves at my car with impressive force and did not easily wash off. We had also noticed that an incredible storm was quickly moving our way. Obviously, we were under attack by monstrous flying bugs with acidic insides and a hunger for human flesh, trapped under what looked to be potentially the worst storm of all time. I whimpered, shrinking downward in the passenger seat, while black clouds covered the sky, spitting lightning. The thunder was groundbreaking, while the bugs swarmed on, thumping against my windshield. We miraculously made it back to the bed and breakfast, with only minor, emotional scarring.

3. I went to Kings Island and saw DINOSAURS ALIVE! It was essentially an hour-long path through the woods with animatronic dinosaurs. I gleefully ran through the trail looking anxiously for the triceratops and a baby tyrannosaurus-rex. The models were life-sized and all extremely impressive. My boyfriend turned into a six year old, and happily gave me multiple facts about each dinosaur we approached. We made plans to soon rewatch the fabulous documentary, "Walking with Dinosaurs". ~~It's on Netflix~~

Mommy dino and bebe dino

4. While eating King's Island's infamous blue ice cream, my boyfriend told me about when he came to King's Island with his family as a small child. He and his mother jokingly would make silly sounds to each other, one of them being a high-pitched "OYY-OYY-OYY!", in the spirit of a young pig. In the bustle of the crowd, my young boyfriend was separated from his mother and sister. Overwhelmed with panic, his mother began to yell "OYY-OYY-OYY!" at the top of her lungs in the middle of King's Island. My tiny boyfriend then bounced through the crowd, with a responsive "OYY-OYY-OYY", and they were re-united. This is probably the best story anyone has ever told me.

5. I saw this.

I'm now back on my two-job-work-grind, saving up money to buy novelty hedgehog and zombie items.

Challenge: Try to think of a baby octopus today ^.^

OYY-OYY,
Jordan

BraveHedge, A Rendition

In the year of 1280, King Hedgehog "Longspike" attacks and conquers the most majestic garden hedge in Scotland. Fighting alongside his family in a war to defend the hedge's throne, young Huff Wallace survives the onslaught and is taken away to live with his uncle in Rome. There, Huff Wallace receives an education, and later returns home to Scotland.

 Huff quickly falls in love with his lovely childhood friend, Pointenne. The hedgehogs marry in secret, but Huff soon has to save Pointenne from being poked and sniffed by English hedge soldiers. As a result, Pointenne is captured and banished, never to place her tiny paws in a Scottish garden again. Enraged at losing his love, Huff Wallace bites two English hedge soldiers, gaining the attention of King Longspike.

Longspike commands his son, Prince Hedgeward, to stop Huff Wallace's uprising. Huff rebels against the English hedge soldiers, with a legendary army of hundreds. Through a series of battles, Huff's militia proves to be successful and noble. Growing worrisome, Longspike sends his daughter in law, Hissabella of France, to confront Huff. Lonspike hopes that Huff will harm Hissabella, tempting the French to declare war on Huff's rebellious army. However, upon meeting Huff, Hissabella becomes incredibly infatuated with him. Huff does Hissabella no harm, and Longspike prepares for a war against Huff's army.

Hissabella learns of Longspike's plans and warns Huff Wallace of the planned invasion. Longspike leads his hedge fighters into battle, and loses to Huff Wallace's might. Huff is taken to safety, and engages in a seven year war against Longspike and his hedge soldiers, with the help of Hissabella.

Huff Wallace is eventually captured by the hedge soldiers and tried for high treason. He is condemned to be publicly tortured until he submits to the king. The hedge soldiers tug on Huff's spikes and bite his little nose and paws, but Huff does not cry out. Obviously pained, Huff stands valiant in front of the crowd. The hedge magistrate offers once more for Huff to mutter "mercy", and the pain will end. Determined and empowered, Huff instead yells "FREEEEEDOM!!!" before he is ordered to be banished from Scotland.

While stumbling through the Scottish garden terrain to his isolation, Huff sees a vision of Pointenne in the distance, and is filled with an inner peace at his fate.

In Huff's memory, the rebellious are later able to rise against the English hedge troops and gain freedom for the Scotland hedgehogs, at last.

Quote from my boyfriend: "Hedgehogs never die. They live forever."

Freeedommm!
Jordan

(Based on the 1995 film, Braveheart. Braveheart. Dir. Mel Gibson. Paramount Pictures, 1995.)